Chapter 1: A Trophy Father's Trophy Son
Chapter Text
“And Max Verstappen has forced Carlos Sainz off the track!!” yells the commentators, in shock of watching Max seemingly nudge his car into the Williams livery, causing it’s driver to spin off into the gravel. Not enough to retire him from the race, and with a good recovery Carlos managed to only lose a place to Max. “Lucky for Sainz but detrimental for Verstappen who is dangerously close to a race ban in penalty points”
- boop boop -
- boop boop -
Max storms through the paddock, ignoring every camera in his face and every person trying to speak with him. It’s been a rough season, his car is borderline un-driveable and any recommendations for improvements fall on deaf ears, despite him, you know, being the one who drives the damn thing and knows what it needs.
“Max! Max! Rumours are circulating that you may be losing your seat due to performance reasons, can you comment?”
“Max what happened out there today? Did you do it on purpose or is this how you drive now?”
“How does Christian feel about your lack lustre performance lately? Do you think you will be able to podium again this season or is this it?”
Max knows he has done what he needed to do in the race. He stopped giving a fuck about taking risks a few races ago, doing whatever was needed to show what he is capable of. Unfortunately, others don’t see it that way. He keeps his composure despite the many voices questioning his downfall, feeling the pressure rush to his head and making him see red. He pushes forward to the Red Bull building, making a bee-line for his driver room. In the corner of his eye, he sees his father losing his mind at some engineers, his ability to maintain composure considerably less than Max’s. Despite his best efforts to avoid, Max catches Jos’ eyes, seeing his face change to disgust… as if he was the most pathetic person he had ever seen. Max feels the a pit in his stomach grow, his vision blurs as he finally makes it to his driver room. He can feel his heart beat in his throat, desperately needing something to punch, throw or scream into… but his plans are thwarted as he sees Christian sitting on the couch, his expression blank. Max keeps the door open behind him, staring directly at Christian.
“Get. the fuck. out.”
“Sit down Max” Christian replies, staying seated. His voice attempting to be calm, but Max can tell he is pissed. Max slams the door behind him, knowing Christian to be just as stubborn as him. His knuckles whiten from holding his own grip, as he walks over to the mirror to take off his hat and fix his hair. Max’s cheeks are a patchy, flushed red and his lips slightly bruised. He didn’t realise how forcefully he was biting his lip to stop from blowing up. He lightly brushes his hair with his hands and turns around to meet Christian’s gaze again, his back leaning against the table behind him. The silence fills the room, but Christian gives in and breaks first, “Today was unacceptable”.
Here we go. Max pushes off the table and paces to the other side of the room, smirking and shaking his head in disbelief “and why was it unacceptable Christian? Because of me? Not because of the car bottoming out? Not because of the fucking steering being impossible? Not because this car is FUCKED and no one is listening?” The red Max is seeing gets even deeper as he continues to pace, fuelled by frustrated energy.
“You know exactly what was unacceptable. That little manoeuvre you pulled on Carlos? What were you thinking?!”
“I was thinking about how to win! Shocker! Competitive driver drives competitively! I saw a space, I went for it.”
“There was no space Max. There wasn’t last race, or the race before that and yet you continue to terrorise the track.”
Max picks up a pillow and throws it down to the floor, choosing not to respond.
“We love your determination, but this recklessness needs to stop” Christian pleads.
Bullshit.
Max takes his phone out of his pocket and looks at the notifications, one standing out from his father with a link to an article. “Look at what you are doing” Jos writes, with the article title glaring at Max as if it was coming out of his phone and jumping in front of his face.
Verstappen - a dying legacy.
Max throws his phone at the couch, watching it bounce onto the floor. Christian flinches, watching as Max turns his attention to the papers filled with car data on the table, using one arm to clear the table, forcing them onto the floor.
“You need to talk to someone” Christian says, his tone calm and empathetic but his stare stern and directed, not that Max would know while he stares at the floor at the chaos he has created, his chest rising and falling dramatically with his heavy, frustrated breath.
“I don’t need shit Christian! You know what I need? You to stay in your fucking lane and I will stay in mine” Max retorts. He may not be looking, but he can feel the burn of Christian’s glare blister his skin. He abruptly stops his pace in the middle of the room, bravely meeting Christian’s gaze. Max glares back, annoyance apparent on his face that his antics haven’t forced Christian to leave the room yet. Christian does not falter, but his body fails him as Max notes his deep, shaky inhale.
“Part of my job, as annoying as it may be to you, is to make sure you can do yours. You don’t have a choice here Max, if I don’t step in, the FIA will, and they are more annoying than me. You are so close to a race ban, it is unbelievable that you didn’t get penalised today” Christian remains fixed on Max, his relaxed body language incongruent with his tone. This fake calmness pisses Max off more, as he pelts his empty water bottle at a wall near him. Christian doesn’t react, being witness to many of Max’s tantrums in his career. Usually these tantrums would be brief and intense, but lately Max’s anger is a flame with endless fuel.
“Step in and what mate? What the fuck do you want from me? To see a shrink? Talk about my daddy issues and the pressure of professional sport? Fuck off.” Max runs his fingers through his hair again, pulling at the root before throwing his arms up exasperatedly “Might as well just admit me to a ward at this point Christian! That’s what they’re all saying right? Max Verstappen has lost the plot! Cracked under pressure! Ruining the family name and the good name of Red Bull Racing”
He can feel his face burning, his flushed cheeks turning into a full face rash. Max’s inability to control his emotions made him someone to be feared. Everyone knew not to fuck with him because it would either fuel further success as he channels the anger into his driving or result in a intense, hostile encounter. Unfortunately for Christian, he is exposed to the latter.
“What did you expect mate? You are driving like a suicidal maniac. It is beyond competitiveness at this point. Look, I know times have been tough lately and your dad hasn’t been help-”
”Don’t” Max interrupts. There was only one thing worse than Max when he is red hot and causing a scene, and that’s Max when he is dead still and appearing emotionless, preparing for a second onslaught. Christian gets the message and softens his gaze, lowering his voice to a near whisper.
“You are under immense pressure. You need an outlet that is separate from the track, or you won’t be on it anymore”.
Max scoffs, the threat against his future career stoking his flame even higher. He resumes his pace, placing his fingers to his temples and rubbing to find relief from the overwhelming pressure. “I won’t be on it anymore? HA! what a joke, I am a 4 time world champion. The FIA aren’t going to ban m-”
Shit. ShitshitSHIT.
Max’s eyes widen with the weight of the realisation hitting him hard and fast, its not the FIA… Christian is threatening to drop him from his seat. The rumours were true. “… they wouldn’t ban me but they aren’t the issue are they?”
“World champion or not, you need to pull your head in. You are seeing a psychologist next week. I will email you the appointment details. ” Christian gets up, his muscles tense from frustration. His gaze is no longer soft, his volume now louder than ever. He gets to the door handle and turns around, contemplating making one last-ditch effort to get through to Max. He knows it will probably piss him off more, but maybe enough that it wakes him up a bit. “Just because he raised you to be like him does not mean you have to comply”. He slams the door behind him.
Max picks up the glass on the table and smashes it against the wall, yelling “FUCK OFF” loud enough for everyone in the hospitality to hear. The glass shatters across the floor of his room, glittering amongst the other items that have met the same fate.
His body is on overdrive. His heartbeat is overwhelmingly fast, pounding in his chest so hard he feels it in his throat. He feels it in every limb, the anger and frustration. His blurry vision worsens and he starts to feel sickeningly dizzy. His legs give out as he sits on the couch Christian just departed from. Still and sullen, he massages his temples for relief, before cupping both hands over his face. Teardrops break away from his cheek and falls on his racing suit, and he is grateful that Christian left before he could witness the pitiful aftermath of Max’s pathetic feelings.
Max used to be able to calm himself down. He used to have a network of people he could call and rant to - other drivers, friends, partners, a seemingly proud father… but no one cares now. He pushed them all away enough for them to not care or check in anymore. Now, he can’t control his emotions even when alone. They consume him, swallowing him whole. Max’s breath starts to quicken, nearing hyperventilation and he knew all too well what was happening.
No no no fuck stop
The problem with always wanting control is the panic that happens when it slips through your fingers, and the emptiness that follows… and here was that panic right on queue, attacking his nervous system quicker than he could manage. Max quickly takes off half of his racing suit, hoping his body feels less restricted but it is not enough. His eyes can’t hold the load of tears brimming at his waterline as he starts to sob, grabbing a pillow with his shaking hands and holding it for dear life, his head forced into it as he lets out a muffled yell.
Stop fucking crying stop fucking crying
He rocks back and forth, clamping his eyes shut against the fabric of the pillow. Max throws the pillow across the room, matching the fate of the last pillow. He strikes the top of his head with two closed fists. Once. Twice. Three times.. until he runs out of energy. He knows how much pain he will be in tomorrow, but it works. His breathing slows but his body feels heavy and lifeless. He musters up enough energy to reach for a water bottle on the table and waits until he is able to walk out for the race debrief.
Chapter 2: Bigger than my body. Colder than this home.
Summary:
“Max Verstappen, what a pleasure to meet you. My name is Charles.”
“The pleasure won’t last long”
or: Charles starts at RBR and has his first session with Max.
Notes:
I did not expect my fic to be perceived at all, let alone get such kind comments! Thank you so much!
I tried to make this chapter a bit longer, i am unsure when the next one will come out because I have a few important deadlines that I have used this fic to procrastinate from. The title is inspired from Control by Halsey.
I hope you enjoy!! Let me know what you think (or don't, that's fine too!).
I hope you are all doing well and having lovely days/nights <3
Chapter Text
Charles walks to the front of the Red Bull Racing headquarters, taking the moment in with a deep breath. He straightens his tie and flattens any visible wrinkles on his button-up shirt before opening the door, meeting eyes with the front desk receptionist.
“Good morning, Dr. Leclerc” smiles a well-mannered and groomed woman tasked with showing Charles around. “I hope you found your way easily enough! English traffic can be a nightmare!”
Charles smiles politely and lets out a small laugh “easy enough thank you, but I am not a doctor”. The woman smiles, apologising for her mistake and introduces herself as Kaia. Signalling for Charles to follow alongside her.
“Christian will see you soon, but I thought I would show you around until he is ready”
Kaia walks with Charles around the open space that is carefully curated with Red Bull branding, memorabilia and cars. He almost feels the need to pinch himself, recognising the insane opportunity that has landed in his lap. Kaia asks what life is like in Monaco, his hometown, and how long he has been a psychologist - which hasn’t been long. This is Charles’ first major job since graduating, previously working at a small practice in Monaco. It paid well, but he knew he would not enjoy it forever. When he saw the ad to be a psychologist for his favourite sport, the sport he grew up watching with his father, he knew he had to try. He just didn’t think he would actually get it. After the tour, Kaia leads Charles to a long hall where Christian’s office sits at the end. “He should be ready to see you now, feel free to knock”.
Charles smiles at Kaia, nodding as if to signal a thank you for her hospitality. He would just say it, but the words are caught in his throat from the anxiety rising from his chest. He flicks through his mental catalogue of emotional regulation skills like a good therapist, practicing what he preaches. Taking the moment to ride the anxious wave, he breathes in deeply, knowing the feeling of wanting to throw up and cry will pass. He grows the courage to knock on the door, a cheery “come in!” responds in return.
“Dr. Leclerc! What a pleasure to meet you in the flesh.”
Unlike with Kaia, Charles decides he is too anxious to correct Christian, instead smiling and agreeing as he shakes his hand “It’s nice to not see you through a screen! Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Hor-”
“Please, call me Christian. Mr. Horner is my grandfather”
Charles feels himself relax into his chair as the conversation continues. Going over general procedure, how scheduling around the calendar works and the scope of what his role entails. Christian talks about needing Charles to be flexible with his availability, which Charles knows, he wouldn’t have moved to London if he wasn’t ready to be flexible. Charles explains what he needs from Christian, and the basics of privacy and confidentiality. He makes it very clear that he will never disclose any client information to Christian, regardless of him being his boss. Christian agrees, listening as Charles describes his responsibilities under his profession’s code of conduct.
“I guess getting you to sign the NDA was a waste then” laughs Christian, which Charles smiles in return. “Anyway...” Christian continues. “Despite mostly working with staff, you will also be working with our drivers. One of them is quite… direct. Hard to crack. He will not be easy on you.”
Charles studies Christian’s expression which turns serious and stern, contradicting the tone of the conversation prior. He knows who drives for Red Bull and the reputation that clouds him, so this wasn’t news for Charles. “That is fine, I have experience working with people who don’t want to be helped”.
Christian faintly smiles but drops it a moment later. “There is a lot on the line here. We need a turnaround or his career is in danger. Without him, we are fucked. We need a miracle.”
Charles feels his stomach react, sinking in response to the pressure placed upon him. He knows he is good at what he does, but he cannot hide from the fact he is still relatively new to the field. Charles was always quieter than the other therapists he trained with, continually being told to be careful about being a ‘submissive therapist’ that lets clients walk all over him. For a split second, Charles doubts himself and wonders if he can even help or if he is in over his head.
“I’ll try my best” Is all Charles can muster, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Christian’s posture softens as he gets out of his chair to walk Charles out and shake his hand. Kaia waits for him on the other side of the door, ready to show Charles his office.
The walk is quiet, which Charles is thankful for. He thanks Kaia again and walks in, pleasantly surprised by what he sees. It’s spacious, with floor to ceiling windows behind his big, mahogany desk. A bookshelf covers the left wall with plenty of space for Charles to fill it with his library. Two comfy armchairs face each other, an empty coffee table in the middle. It needs decorating, looking more like an office than a therapeutic space, but Charles has time for that. He takes a minute alone to take a deep breath, or ten. The pressure from that meeting sitting in his shoulders leaving him feeling tense and rigid. He walks to his comfy, quite bougie, office chair and attempts to relax, choosing to be open minded about the journey ahead.
A Week Later
Charles smiles as he walks out his client, one of the pit crew who got injured during a stop. The crew mate needs some exposure and cognitive behavioural therapy to get back to work but that’s easy, the kind of work that graduate school drills into your brain. Yet, as he closes the door Charles feels dread enveloping him, knowing who his last client of the day is. In the week since he has started at Red Bull HQ, pressure from that meeting with Horner still sits in the room with him, making him aware of its presence. Charles walks to his desk and takes a sip of his tea, trying to distract himself by focusing on the sensations - the hot liquid travelling down his throat, the feeling of his lips on the cup, the aroma embedded in its stream; but nothing really works. He can’t stop anticipating what’s ahead for him. He knows Max Verstappen, not personally, but through his TV. He did not let it be known to Christian that he was an F1 fan, but it was his favourite past time with his dad when he was around. Max joined the F1 in the year before Charles’ dad passed away, so most of his time was spent watching the races with him in his final years. He always thought Max was fantastic, but a bit of a brat. Charles tries not to psychoanalyse people that he doesn’t know, but he can see how much of him is moulded by his father, Jos Verstappen.
And now he is his client, and he has to pretend he hasn’t been watching him for years. He has to pretend he doesn’t think his father is a dickhead or that he is a bit of a dickhead too. Therapists are meant to be a blank slate, and Charles definitely is not one, but he is reflective enough to know how to mitigate his existing opinions and move on. Charles knows he just needs to bite the bullet. He stands up and adjusts his sweater, something Charles is noting to be a nervous tick these days, making it sit on the waistline of his black work pants. He opens his phone camera, making sure his hair is still maintained from when he styled it in the morning. He takes one last look at himself before placing his phone on the desk, walking to his door. He hesitates for a moment before pulling the handle, putting on his best smile as he lays eyes on the physical manifestation of the pressure that plagues his mind.
“Max Verstappen, what a pleasure to meet you. My name is Charles.”
Max sharply lifts his head up from his phone and meets Charles’ gaze, placing it in his jeans pocket as he raises from the chair. “The pleasure won’t last long” he remarks, following Charles’ signal for him to enter his office. Charles tries not to react with all he has, but his stomach knots as the words reach his ears.
Max commands his way into the room, taking a seat where Charles would usually sit, not like it mattered. Charles makes a mental note of how easy that was for him, most clients awkwardly hang by the door and tentatively wait until Charles picks a seat to sit in, but not Max Verstappen. He is immediately asserting dominance, but Charles expected that, knowing how he is on track.
The table in between both of them has a few fidget toys, a clock, and some tissues rested on top. It catches Max’s attention as he picks up one of the fidgets, a Chinese finger trap, from the table.
“Didn’t realise you see children here”
Charles laughs at Max’s lack of understanding “I don’t see children, but adults use fidgets too”
Max nods, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he places a finger into one end of the trap “and this is for?”
“A few things honestly, sometimes breathing exercises, but mostly it just distracts restless hands like yours”
Max scoffs at Charles lightly, placing down the fidget where it was “my hands aren’t restless, and you are not getting me to do breathing exercises”
Charles hides his annoyance for Max’s overt brattiness, his impressions through the screen being proved correct. He guises it with a neutral but warm gaze, trying to invite Max to relax even a little bit. He prepares his pen and pad to write down anything notable. “So, tell me why you think you are here Max”
Max rolls his eyes “because Christian threatened to remove me from my seat if I didn’t”
“And why did he enforce that?”
“Because he is a cunt” Max shoots back with a blank, emotionless expression. His eye contact is unwavering and intentional; Charles knows his motive is to intimidate him. He wants Charles to run away so he doesn’t have to face whatever is going on for him, or he at least wants to dominate the space, so Charles doesn’t feel strong enough to challenge him. Charles prays his body doesn’t fail him while he attempts to act unbothered by the intensity of Max’s gaze and abruptness of his speech.
“I guess that’s a start” Charles lightly smiles, trying to ease the tension in the air. “Could you elaborate why?”
“Why what? Why he is a cunt? I wish I knew, maybe I could fix whatever it is and get out of this fucking situation.”
Charles takes a moment to observe Max’s body language, leaving the room in silence. Max looks rigid and tense, but his leg is bouncing. Charles notes a few possible reasons why, either he is frustrated beyond belief, or he is anxious. Charles isn’t 100% sure, but despite Max’s fixed gaze, his body gives a different narrative. Max is scared… or ready to murder, but Charles would keep those hypotheses in his back pocket as he starts to get into his element.
“Maybe it would be helpful for me to say what I have been told and have you fill in the gaps. I am under the impression you have been unhappy with the team’s decisions, the car is struggling, and the press paints it as you dropping from your prime. In an attempt to fix it, you are leaving it all on the track regardless of risk or consequence and now you’re at risk of a race ban and potentially having your seat revoked… is that right?”
Max purses his lips tighter as Charles spoke. Bingo. Charles notices Max’s knuckles whiten as it grips the arm of the chair.
“You missed the part about Horner being a cunt”
Charles stifles a laugh and drops his head in response “and Horner is being a cunt”.
Max’s grip relaxes slightly but keeps his gaze firm. The silence fills the room as the two men stare at each other. The heaviness of Max’s intensity is thick in the air, it’s uncomfortable. Charles knows Max is trying to read him, trying to see any sign of weakness to pounce on, and Charles hopes his poker face is better than it used to be because he is feeling very weak.
“Look. How much do you want? What would it take for you to lie to Horner, tell him that I attend every session and I am making great progress and his pride and joy is cured”
Charles’ expression changes to one that is more quizzical, raising his right brow slightly. “He would actually need to see improvement; it’s not just your attendance”
Max shifts his hand to his temples, feeling the pressure in his head forming at the stubbornness of the therapist and Horner for making him do this.
“Whatever, it’s fine I will relax and stop driving so competitively. God forbid a professional athlete wants to be competitive!! This isn’t going to he-”
“Why are you so against this?” Charles interrupts abruptly, trying to take back some dominance in the conversation.
“What?” Max responds, taken aback by the forwardness of the previously gentle man in front of him. Which, admittedly, Charles is very pleased about.
“I am just curious, why are you so against this?” Charles repeats, less sternly. “Have you had a bad experience in therapy before?”
Max scoffs
“You’re bad at your job if you think I have been in therapy before”
Charles ignores his insult and presses on.
“What do you mean by that?”
Max laughs dramatically, as if to humiliate Charles.
“Now you’re sounding like a typical shrink. Surely you have done your research about me, if I had been in therapy before, do you think I would be as fucked up as I am?”
“So you think therapy would have helped you then.” Charles retorts, cornering Max to either backtrack or admit that he sees therapy as a benefit in some degree. He watches Max clench his jaw in defeat.
“Maybe when I was a kid sure. Not now.”
Charles makes a mental note of that, his confidence growing. Max’s leg bounces even quicker now, and Charles sees that his childhood is a sore spot for him. Charles decides to move the conversation, but still press on Max while he is on the back foot of the dominant dance they are in.
“So who do you talk to then?”
“People”
“Multiple people?”
“Plenty.”
Max’s responses become shorter and sharper, his tolerance wearing thin. Charles knows this is a defence mechanism, he saw too much of Max’s vulnerability and now Max is shutting down. Charles knows the delicate line he is walking on but decides to keep pushing.
“Great! So why are you being forced to see me if you talk to SO many people?”
Charles emphasises his words with slight dramatics. He knows his is winning the tug of war when Max shifts in his seat, his cheeks starting to tint red.
“Whatever, I don’t need to talk to anyone. I am a 4-time world champion with money coming out of my ass and a life anyone would dream of. I am fine.”
“You are fine, but you are also “fucked up”” Charles questions, using air quotes so Max doesn’t think Charles sees him as fucked up, even if he does in a nicer way. Max doesn’t respond, caught out on his contradiction. Charles takes a moment and leans in slightly, placing his elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his face on his knuckle “It sounds like you are scared to be vulnerable, Max”
Max shifts in his seat again, a sign that Charles is under his skin.
“Oh for fucks sake this is why I did not want to come” Max rolls his eyes and throws his head backwards dramatically, pulling his hands down his face. Charles leans even more forward, resting his elbows on his knees, inviting Max to stare at him as he has been all session. Max accepts the invitation, and from closer inspection Charles can see how bloodshot Max’s eyes are. He lowers his voice, knowing what he is about to say will piss Max off beyond belief and cause a therapeutic rupture before the therapeutic relationship has even started.
“Max, I think you’re scared”
Max stays silent but grips the arm of the chair harder, his knuckles whitening more than Charles thought possible. Charles presses on.
“You’re an athlete, one of the best! You know you can’t have emotions on track or it will jeopardise your race. Your identity as a person and an athlete has become so enmeshed that I don’t think you even know what Max Verstappen is feeling because Driver 33, sorry, Driver 1 doesn’t let you feel it until you can’t manage it anymore. It’s okay to feel, Max, you don’t need to-”
Max interrupts Charles by banging his hand on the arm rest in frustration. Charles jumps, despite knowing this would upset him.
“Would you just shut up?! Fuck! You don’t know me!”
Charles leans back, giving the dominance in the room back to Max. He takes an audible breath in and shuts his eyes for a moment before rejoining the staring competition Max signed him up for. He tries to look empathetically at him, hoping Max can see his good intentions, but Max doesn’t break his facade. Charles can swear he can see wetness brim in his eyes, but he is too far to be sure.
“I am not taking your offer, whatever it was going to be. People care about you, and I think you need to take some time and think about what you might want to speak about in here. Do you really not see any future where this could help?”
“I can see a future of me driving into a wall if we continue any longer” Max sarcastically retorts.
Knowing he has to take every statement of risk seriously, and seeing how Max has been driving lately, Charles attempts a risk assessment.
“Have you had any thoughts of suicide recently?” Charles asks bluntly, knowing that even if Max had, he would not tell him.
“Can therapists take a joke? No, I don’t want to kill myself. Can I go now? Is time up?” Max breaks eye contact for one of the first times to dramatically direct his gaze at the clock. Charles looks at the time, only noting 30 minutes since the session started. Typically, sessions last around 50 minutes, but Charles knows if he keeps Max in this room any longer he might just jump out of the glass window to escape any sort of feeling.
“Okay Max, I am happy to end early, provided I see you next week at our scheduled time” Charles smiles warmly
“And if I don’t come?”
“I imagine Christian will tell you to update your resume and find a new team.” Charles jokes but the sentiment being serious. He feels strange giving an ultimatum that someone must complete therapy or they get fired, but in the end it’s not his ultimatum, it’s Christians. Charles gets up from his chair and waits for Max to follow, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays planted in the chair.
“And he would say the same to you” Max retorts, attempting to be threatening.
“C’est la vie” Charles responds, his Monegasque accent thick when speaking his mother tongue. Max takes a deep, exasperated breath realising that Charles is just as stubborn as him. He finally gets up from the chair and follows Charles out of his office.
“It was, and still is, a pleasure to meet you. Contrary to your belief”
Max doesn’t acknowledge the statement, storming out of Charles’ office. Charles can hear his feet hit the tile as he shuts his office door. He presses his back against it, taking a deep breath of air that is no longer thick and syrupy with intensity. He reflects about how calm he is feeling, considering the events that transpired in the room. Charles should be shaking with frustration, annoyed with the audacity of Max’s behaviour. There should be alarm bells going off in his brain begging him to tell Christian to find a new psychologist or just give up.
None of that appears. Charles only feels sadness.
Max was scared. He was sitting in his fear for maybe the first time ever.
A pit grows in Charles’ stomach thinking about how long Max has had to suppress his emotions for the sake of his career. He pushes his back off the door and walks to his desk, sitting down and typing the extension number for Christian’s office.
“Dr. Leclerc! What can I do for you?”
“Just Charles is fine” Charles laughs “Just updating you that Max attended his first session, and he is exactly how you describe him”
Christian laughs “Yeah, he wasn’t always like this but lately…”. He trails off his sentence and Charles knows not to push further.
“It is going to be difficult Christian. Psychological intervention is often never quick, but especially with someone as…” Charles tries to think of a word that isn’t insulting “strong-willed as Max”
“I understand. Look, I’ve known Max since he was a teenager. Racing aside, I am worried about him. This is more for his safety than it is his success”
Charles runs his hands through his hair as he hears the sincerity in Christian’s voice. “Okay, as long as you are cool with slow progress”
“As long as there is progress at all”
“Thanks Christian, have a good night”
Charles sinks into his chair and puts on his glasses to begin his note writing for today’s sessions, but his mind struggles to move away from Max and what he is harbouring. He knew taking this job would be difficult but only now did he realise just how tough it would be. He looks down at his notepad, giggling at the only words written before he got carried away in the dominance tug of war.
Horner is being a cunt
Max POV - After Session
Max walks out of Charles’ office in haste. He does not attempt to hide how desperately he wanted to get out, his feet heavily hitting the tile with each step.
Who the fuck does he think he is.
Scared? SCARED? I’ll show him scared.
Max’s thoughts rampage as his cheeks flush their usual patchy red. His tears betray him as they finally break from his lower lid, crashing onto his cheek as he hurries to his car. For a man that isn’t religious, he prays with everything he has that he doesn’t run into anyone on his way.
For once, luck goes his away as he makes it to his car unseen. He hits the steering wheel a few times, grabbing it firmly and rocking back and forth before giving in and leaning his head against it. The tears don’t stop, and Max rues the day that Christian hired Charles Leclerc.
Chapter 3: Losing my control, the city spins around
Summary:
“… You saw? Like you actually watched?” His tone pointed, as if it was absurd that Charles would watch F1. Because it is! Max knows he is assuming but in his short time meeting Charles, he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy motorsports. He seemed like the type to enjoy poetry and art or whatever has meaning in it. In fact, he assumed Christian hired him because he wasn’t a motorsport fan.
Charles tilts his head again and smirks, like a confused puppy. Annoyingly cute.
“Does that surprise you?”
or: Max crashes at Baku and crashes out in session, but Charles can help one of those things.
Notes:
Hiii me again... so remember when I said I have deadlines? lol.
I don't really like this chapter tbh, but I have written ahead further chapters and need more build up so I'm sorry if this is boring!!
I hope life is being kind to you x
Chapter title inspired by look after you by the fray c:
Chapter Text
Max sits in his car in the second row of the grid at Baku. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to make it through qualifying with some pace; it helped that half the grid decided to hit the barricades and not record a lap. The noises around him both excite and overwhelm, the screams of the fans, the roar of engines. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest so hard that he thinks GP would be able to hear it over the radio. He focuses his eyes where he needs them to be, the world around him quieting down. It’s painfully prevalent how badly he needs a win, and that pressure weighs heavy on him.
Lights out and Max floors ahead, managing to overtake one of the Mercedes off the rip, putting him in third. Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri are ahead of him, turning with precision but struggling on the straights as per usual. Max plays it safe, for once, knowing Baku is unforgiving and one mistake will end the race.
The McLaren’s are way ahead, 15 seconds from Max in 3rd, until Franco Colapinto crashes his car hard enough for a red flag to be called. Max smirks as the best possible scenario for him occurs before his eyes. Unable to pit earlier, Max now has a free pit, a fresh set of tyres, and the gap between him and the McLarens has closed. If there was any chance for him, it would be now. Max can taste it; redemption is within reach.
The race restarts and Max manages to overtake Lando, the papaya car unable to keep up with the Bulls on straights. Max listens intently to the radio, pushing as hard as possible to overtake Oscar, and he does. Pure adrenaline and focus, he keeps up his momentum, each straight granting him more and more time on the McLaren duo.
“And here we are on board with Max Verstappen, absolutely flying down the straight. Currently leading Oscar Piastri by about 5 seconds… this is looking like a very good race for the 4-time worl- OH BUT HE’S LOCKED UP! MAX VERSTAPPEN IS IN THE WALL AND THAT IS HIS RACE FINISHED! Red flag has been called and that has got to be heart breaking for him.”
and it’s over.
Another fuck up, but this time it was his own. He broke too late; the car was doing fine but he pushed it too far. Max sits in the car unhurt by the impact but also not moving, hearing GP come through on the radio.
He climbs out of the car, kicking the wheel 3 times as he walks away. The helmet around him fills with warm air as his breathing becomes heavy, as if it wasn’t already suffocating. He takes it off as marshals guide him back to his garage, where Christian attempts to console him by reaching his hand out to pat his shoulder. Max swats it away before he gets the chance, walking into his driver room and slamming the door behind him, knowing all too well the cycle that’s about to repeat. Lose > cry > hit > repeat.
Going home that night, Max cracks open a beer and watches the replay over and over... and over, trying to not be resigned to the idea that maybe this is just how it’s going to be for him from now on.
A few days later..
Max sits anxiously outside Charles’ office. Dressed in his usual Red Bull hat & shirt and paired with deep blue skinny jeans, he looks up to the ceiling, hoping to whoever possible that Charles forgets the appointment and Max can just-
“Max, come in”
Dressed in another fucking sweater, Charles interrupts his fantasy. He wonders if his closet only consists of knitted sweaters or if he knits them himself, he seemed like the type that would do that. Max groans quietly, desperately thinking of a way to escape. Charles probably couldn’t catch him if he ran, but he also probably wouldn’t try to… and Christian would kill him.
Fucking hell.
He finally gets up from the chair and walks past Charles into his office. He sits in the same chair as last time, watching Charles sit down in the one adjacent. He seems around Max’s age, slightly shorter but not by much. He scribbles something on the notepad before looking up and meeting Max’s stare, smiling as he does. Despite Max’s hatred for him and what he is putting him through; he can appreciate that Charles is easy on the eyes at least. Looking on the bright side. It's almost as if Charles can hear him think, as Max watches his eyes gleam and his head tilt and yeah...
Wow
“Do you usually wear glasses?” Max asks randomly, trying to break from his own straying thoughts
“Sometimes, I do when I am typing or reading but otherwise no.”
“So why now?”
“Do you want me to take them off?”
Max fights the urge to smirk and make a childish joke, maintaining his hopefully intimidating persona.
“I don’t care I’m just saying be consistent”
Charles chuckles, not falling for the useless conversation that Max tried to fill the time with.
Unfortunately.
“How are you, Max? I heard it was a difficult weekend for you”
Max looks down to pick at a running thread on his jeans, not looking up Charles. He doesn’t want to see his stupid doe eyes looking at him as if he was this fragile, pathetic thing ready to break at any moment. It’s a stupid question anyway.
“I think anyone flying 150 kilometres into a barricade would probably say it was a shit weekend” He replies sarcastically, but the sentiment is honest. It was a shit weekend.
“I’m sure, I saw you were doing pretty well before it”
Max’s breath hitches and he hopes Charles didn’t notice. Silence fills the room as Max thinks through what Charles said word for word. He looks back up at him and tries not to show his surprise in his expression, although unsure if he succeeded.
“… You saw? Like you actually watched?” His tone pointed, as if it was absurd that Charles would watch F1. Because it is! Max knows he is assuming but in his short time meeting Charles, he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy motorsports. He seemed like the type to enjoy poetry and art or whatever has meaning in it. In fact, he assumed Christian hired him because he wasn’t a motorsport fan.
Charles tilts his head again and smirks, like a confused puppy. Annoyingly cute.
“Does that surprise you?”
Max’s stomach churns at the thought of Charles watching the race. He probably got some sick pleasure at watching him pissed off in the press interviews or beating the shit out of his car. He can only imagine how Charles psychoanalysed him and made a bigger deal out of it then it is. Just like that, he knew that Charles saw him just as everyone else does.
“Is there anything you wanted to say about the race or get off your chest?” Charles probes carefully, his voice soft and gentle, attempting to break the tension in the room.
Max just stares, his mind running wild about what Charles must think of him now. He probably thinks he is a petulant childlike Horner always compares him to when he is pissed off after a race. He probably laughed when Max bottled the race that was gifted to him on a silver platter. Max’s leg restlessly bounces while he grips his knees a bit too hard for comfort, feeling the heat rise quick enough that he could take off at any moment.
“Okay… what about from last week, any reflections?”
The energy in the room doesn't change, earning a shift from Charles in his chair. For once Max is able to read him, it’s obvious Charles is very uncomfortable. He studies his jawline, cataloguing how his jaw clenches under pressure, watching Charles swallow as silence fills the room.
He looks at his hair, messy but in a styled way. Rings adorn Charles’s fingers, and a gold chain sits flush on his neck. He is wearing thick rimmed black glasses and shows off freshly cut facial hair, leaving a tasteful shadow. It is almost aggravating how every hair fills a space so perfectly, no patchy gaps or ingrown hairs in sight. Max moves his gaze back to his eyes, bright green and thoughtful. They're unique. He tries to build a story about Charles that fits his narrative, some rich, nepo baby who had everything handed to him in life. Someone that never knew hurt or pain but decided to help people who had anyway for some sort of sick, self-serving purpose. Like Oh look at me! I’m Charles Leclerc! I have a French accent and have never experienced hardship in my life and yet look how good of a person I am to help those who are fucked up and get paid for it! Aren’t I just so cool?
Charles breaks the long silence eventually, startling Max out of the character building in his head.
“If your plan is to sit here in silence until I break and tell you to not come back, it’s not happening”
Although that was partly his plan, realistically Max just got caught up in trying to understand the man in front of him. Charles looks annoyed, even if his eyes don’t show it. Max notices how tense his shoulders look and how he is impatiently tapping his pen against the notepad lightly, not enough to make a sound. Despite that, Charles matches his stare with one infinitely more warm than Max deserves.
He always does.
Max wonders what he is thinking, whether he is also creating a narrative of Max that is likely wrong, like that bullshit about having two identities that can’t feel or whatever. Ridiculous, he can feel emotions just fine, that’s why he is here! He feels them too much… like the anger he feels about wasting time in session right now. He can acknowledge that right away. Time is passing slowly, Max’s attention wanders during in the stare off thinking about unrelated things like sim racing or what he will eat for dinner, but most times it comes back to Charles. Has he always been a F1 fan? Did he take the job to get closer to it? Maybe he is some psycho stalker… or maybe he is just a guy that likes sport. For a moment he feels stupid overthinking this, of course he had some interest, or he probably wouldn’t have applied. Curiosity brims over, and Max decides to grant Charles some respite from the painful tension in the air.
“Why did you watch the race?”
He notices Charles stop tapping his pen, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. Charles’ eyes glance down to Max’s restless legs, making him self-conscious enough of it to stop.
“It seems like the idea of me watching you is unnerving you” Charles meets his stare again, eliciting a scoff from Max.
He is right, but Max would never admit that.
“No, I couldn’t care less.” Max lies “But why did you watch? Do you usually watch F1?”
“Is it important to you to know why I watch?” Charles retorts quickly but calmly. Max starts getting frustrated at his antics, pissed off that he can’t answer a simple question.
“Just curious” He shrugs, trying to act cool despite feeling like his body is on fire. He can feel his heart rate rising as he watches Charles’ movements, desperate for any idea of what he is thinking.
“Interesting.” Charles mutters before writing something in his notepad. It starts driving Max insane that Charles is resorting to writing as opposed to talking now, almost like he is talking about Max behind his back but right in front of him.
“Fucking hell mate are you going to tell me or not?” Max raises his voice, shifting in his chair and resuming the bouncing of his legs, which of course Charles notices.
“Sure, when you tell me why me watching the race was such a big deal”
Max’s gaze is unrelenting and his stubbornness unforgiving. He shakes his head as if to indicate that there was no chance of that happening. He makes his dominance known, letting Charles know where he stands...
... and to Max’s pleasure he complies.
“It’s fun to watch”
Although true, he doesn’t buy it… a gut feeling telling him Charles isn’t telling the whole truth.
“Yeah, bullshit”
Charles looks perplexed, furrowing his brow and slightly scrunching his nose… but it’s not convincing enough for Max to rethink his intuition.
“Hm? What answer are you looking for here?”
“The real one preferably”
Max wonders when Charles will have enough of his smart-ass responses, or if Horner’s pay is worth the pain. He watches him bring his cup of tea to his mouth before he responds.
“It is the truth, I have watched for many years, and it is fun to watch.”
“So you knew who I was before meeting me?”
Charles’ eyebrows unfurl and he closes his eyes, nodding as if he just had a revelation... and writing in that fucking notepad.
“Ah… I see, it’s more that maybe you think I have an idea of you in my head already? I never said I didn’t know you Max”
Max’s jaw his tense, his teeth grinding.
“You acted like you didn’t know I was fucked up when you have been watching me blow up every other week”
“Or, I just don’t think you are fuck up”
The back and forth stops for a moment while Max takes in Charles’ words. Now he is sure that Charles definitely has a picture of him that is not true, one from idealised screens and scripts of victories past. That doesn’t stop his stomach fluttering at Charles challenging his fucked upness, making Max feel uncomfortable and changing the subject.
“When did you start watching?”
“When I was very young”
“What got you into it?”
“I’ve told you Max, it’s just fun” Charles says while chuckling uncomfortably
“No I’m sorry but if you were very young, someone surely put it on the tv for you or you saw an ad… Who or what was it?”
Charles sits in silence for a moment; it wasn’t very long but Max can tell that question made Charles think.
“My dad”
Pleased with Charles’ compliance, Max continues pushing to fill the time.
“What did he think of the race?”
Charles curls his lips on one side, just enough to be classified a half grin but in a sombre way. Max for a second thinks he’s got him again, right under his skin as Charles breaks eye contact to look down at the floor. Finally, Max feels accomplished in getting to him.
“Who got you into it Max?” Charles avoids the question and eye contact, and Max knows he has hit a sore spot. That or his father talked smack about Max and he is too polite to say so.
“Both of my parents, but you probably knew that”
“No actually, believe it or not I do not research your life history. I would rather hear it from you than from others with bad intentions”
The fluttering feeling from earlier fills his stomach at Charles’ embarrassing sincerity, going against the narrative Max curated and hoped to stick with. Uncomfortable with the feeling, Max routes the conversation back to Charles.
“You gonna tell me what your dad thought?”
Charles doesn’t respond with a sombre smirk this time. He doesn’t really react at all.
“Kinda hard to watch when you’re dead”
Max’s eyes open wide as he realises the monumental size foot his has put in the situation. Major pain in his ass or not, Max never would have wished that for Charles. Immediate regret fills his lungs and comes out with a heavy exhale.
“Ah, I didn’t mean t-”
“So are you going to tell me anything about this weekend Max? Or are you going to keep asking random questions to fill the time so I never get to anything of substance with you?” Charles interrupts, directing his gaze to his notepad again and writing as he speaks. As much as Max hates to admit it, Charles read him like a book.
“What do you want me to say?”
“It’s not about what I want you to say. You can say anything you want, it’s your space, you can do with it as you please”
“Hm” Max hums, playing with his beard as if he is thinking deviously “anything?”
This earns a laugh from Charles, and Max feels a bit better about his fuck up from earlier.
“Well… anything within reason. I didn’t realise I had to be specific with you”
and that earned one singular chuckle from Max.
“This weekend sucked.”
“Okay” Charles responds. Not dryly or anything, just acknowledging. He says nothing else after that, and Max gets the hint to keep going through Charles’ expression.
“I fucking hate losing”
“Mm” Charles hums, scribbling on the page “I know you do, but why?”
Max furrows his brows at the absurdity of the question.
“Because it’s not winning”
Charles smiles, scribbling on his notebook again and now Max can’t let it slide.
“What did you write?”
Charles raises his brow. “Just little notes to remember”
Max reaches his arm out, not believing that Charles needs to scrawl words on paper to remember what people have said, especially when they say as little as Max does. “Show me” Max demands, flexing his fingers open and closed.
Charles blinks at him, obviously considering his options in his head.
“Okay, it’s your right to see I guess...”
Charles turns his notebook around for Max to see, not handing it to him. Max leans in and squints, noticing a few words here and there, until a few stand out “just like father”.
“Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Max queries, pointing to those words in particular. Max can feel the heat from before rise to his head realising Charles is assuming things he has never said, just like everyone else in the world.
“It seems like you learned perfect is the standard you need to meet, and I believe it may have to do with your upbri-”
“Of course! I am a perfectionist! if I wasn’t, my car would be in the wall every weekend! I wouldn’t be a professional fucking athlete. Are you dumb?”
Max raises his voice but Charles doesn’t flinch, instead he sits and stares, pissing Max off even more.
“My father has raised me to be a winner, but I am nothing like him and fuck you for writing that.”
Charles doesn’t react to that either, just nodding in response. Max stands up, feeling the need to shake off his overwhelming surge of energy before he punches Charles in the face, or himself.
“Therapy is so fucking stupid man, you just sit there and assume and pull shit from thin air.”
Charles gaze follows Max as he paces up and down the room.
“What a joke seriously, yeah of course I want to fucking win and do everything right! It’s my job!”
Max notes Charles' head is slightly lower than before, his fingers fidgeting with his many rings, but that doesn’t stop his onslaught. Max’s rage keeps fuelling at the thought of Charles thinking of Max as anything like his dad, which he tries so hard not to be. His vision starts to blur, and he knows his control is slipping through his fingers.
“You are a fucking jackass”
“Okay”
“No! really! Such a dickhead. Wanker.”
“Okay.”
“You are just like those tabloids you said you wanted to be nothing like”
“You’re right”
Max stops pacing at those words, which he doesn’t hear often, especially not after he just spent 5 minutes lobbing abuse and vitriol at them, and yet Charles sat and agreed? Max's hands are shaking from adrenaline, but he can feel the heat rest in his cheeks and the pressure subside from his head.
"You are absolutely right" Charles repeats himself, making Max's heart jump out of his chest. He takes a breath, sitting back down after realising he has gotten the energy out of his system.
“… Why are you not reacting?”
“Is that usually what happens?”
“Well yeah, people don’t typically respond well to being called a jackass dickhead wanker”
“How do people respond to your anger?”
Max thinks about it for a few minutes, realising that people don’t usually respond well. It’s usually Horner telling him to calm down, his dad telling him to fuck off, his mum withdrawing from conversation or his team ignoring him until he calms down… none of which are fantastic responses but what else could they do? Nothing gets through to Max mid breakdown.
“They tell me to fuck off, or they fuck off themselves I guess”
Charles lets out a small “hm” and gets more comfortable in his chair after sitting rigidly during Max’s outburst. “So I can hear that instead of listening to what you are saying when angry, maybe all people can hear is your tone or volume... so they see your approach and respond according to that as opposed to your concerns?”
Max sits silently, taking in Charles words and realising that Charles is on his side for this, despite being the recipient of the anger he spoke about. Max nods, and Charles takes that as his signal to continue.
“Or maybe you want them to walk away, because it’s easier being alone than having to deal with people who don't understand you. It sounds like you want to be heard. So you speak loudly, cause a scene… even if it’s not helpful, people at least can’t avoid hearing you when you are in their face.”
That one hit for Max. Despite never being physically alone since his career became serious, Max has always felt alone. If he could, he would just live in the mountains where no one could tell him anything. No one could misunderstand him or ignore him. Deep down though, he knows Charles is right. He wants someone to try and listen. Max wouldn’t admit that, but blinks at Charles as if to communicate maybe you are onto something but move on, feeling a stinging in his eyes as they threaten to tear up.
“It’s crazy what happens when someone actually listens to you isn’t it?”
Max’s heart skips as Charles’ words reach his ears. He is annoyingly right, and it takes Max a minute to realise that he didn’t break down as usual. All the signs were there, the heat in his face, pressure in his head. His heart racing and vision blurring… but nothing happened, he just calmed down. Max can’t remember the last time he calmed down without hitting himself or crying. He realises he is no longer looking at Charles, instead looking past him as if he wasn’t in he wasn’t even there. He sinks into the chair, exhausted.
“How about we leave it there for today… maybe this is something you can think about though? I’ll see you next week over Zoom and will send you the link tonight. All the best in Singapore”
Max stands up and follows Charles out without saying a word, as usual. His mind feels fried but for once it is oddly quiet, and Max starts to consider that maybe he is shit at character judgement.
Charles POV: After session
Charles closes the door behind Max, taking a moment to stand in his room and just breathe, realising he must have held his breath a lot in session without being aware.
It wasn’t a bad session by any means; he is surprised with how much Max lets him get away with considering how much Charles has pushed… but Charles regrets telling him the truth about his dad.
Stupid stupid stupid
Charles knows how strong self-disclosure is therapeutically, but this was not helpful. This just made Max feel like shit. He saw it in his face, he can see how Max's lips parted in the realisation of what Charles said, how his eyes winced, the way he immediately went to apologise. Yes, Charles was so fucking annoyed that Max refused to drop it, forcing his hand, but he knows better. Charles should have lied or redirected or anything but that.
Making it worse, Max knows Charles isn’t a blank slate now. He’s essentially a fan. How can Max open up to a fan? Now Max knows every weekend his psychologist is watching him, through success and failure, an additional pressure.
Charles runs his hand through his hair and sighs as he walks over to his notepad, picking it up from the table and walking it over to his desk to start note taking. He looks at the words that triggered Max and again thinks about how stupid he was to write that. Of course, no client has ever asked to look at his notebook notes, but this was a rookie mistake.
Charles couldn’t help but feel like he failed Max but also helped him. On one hand, Max rode his anger and regulated on his own, realising he can be listened to and responded to when calm. On the other hand, Charles made him feel like a piece of shit and accused him of being like his dickhead father and made assumptions about his character and story that he hasn’t even been told yet which was the OPPOSITE of what he told Max he does. He is convinced Max won’t come back, or if he does that he will be even more guarded, and Charles feels a deep sickness he knows won’t go away until he sees him next... over zoom... which is notoriously awkward and hard to connect through… as if it wasn’t hard enough already.
Great.
Chapter 4: I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace
Summary:
“You want me to keep my camera on... but yours off?”
Max’s stomach flips as he realises how weird that sounds. He knows the answer is yes, he likes seeing Charles’ warm smiles and thoughtful eyes. He likes seeing how he reacts to what Max says. He likes looking at him in general… the idea of which now keeps him up at night.
Or: Max breaks and Charles is there to pick up the pieces.
Notes:
Hiiiii!!
These chapters keep getting longer lol. Hope you survived the great AO3 rapture (being down for maintenance). I have a reaaaallly big deadline next week so i'm gonna try (and probably fail) to focus on that. I hope this chapter isn't too confusing, I tried what it would be like to have a few sessions in one.
Let me know what you think!! Sorry in advance!
Chapter inspired by My Tears Ricochet by Taylor Swift <3
Chapter Text
Charles carries his bowl of popcorn over to his couch, a Leclerc tradition when the F1 is on. He bundles up on his blanket, ready to watch what the Singapore GP has in store. F1 has become a lot more stressful now that he has a stake in the game, his sanity after a session with Max. Thankfully, Max qualified in P2 which Charles was happy about. It gives him a better chance of winning, and if he wins, he will be a less of a dick in sessions… at least he hopes. Charles usually roots for Oscar Piastri, previously Daniel Ricciardo - he has a thing for Australians, but he can’t help but root for Max quietly… feeling a bit of an obligation to now that he works for Red Bull.
The race was unremarkable for the most part, that is until Lap 58. Max maintained P2 pretty comfortably throughout the race, with Oscar too far ahead for him to catch up without a safety car. George Russell crept up to Max this lap, cutting it dangerously close to his rear wing and by the sounds of the radio, Max is not happy. George makes a play for the right side, taking the outside lane and turning in on Max instead of allowing enough space, forcing both of them off the track and Max into a wall, pinned between it and Russell’s car. Max radios in that he is okay, and Charles breathes out a heavy sigh. Another DNF for Max. He grieves what his session in a few days will be like but also grieves for Max, knowing how miserable he would feel. Not like Max would know that himself, as every negative emotion for him just ends up as anger. Charles can’t help but giggle hearing Max radio in…
In true Max fashion, he does not listen to GP’s orders and gets out of the car as soon as the red flag is called. The camera stays on him and George, as George jumps out too. They both take off their helmets quickly, desperate to confront one another. You can’t hear the drivers on the broadcast, but you can see Max throw his hands in the air as he stands directly in front of George. George towers over Max, making him seem much smaller than he is. You can tell George is getting frustrated, both of them close enough to smell each other’s breath. He must say something to piss Max off, as he pushes him away from him. George returns the act, and Charles covers his mouth in shock, not expecting what happens in response.
The idiot punches George Russell square in the face.
Marshals come running in, needing to restrain them both before they start a brawl. Charles didn’t realise until he takes a breath in just how long he was holding it for. As suspected, Max’s inability to hold his anger and tolerate distress has resulted in another poor decision, and here were the consequences right on cue.
Typical bratty, angry, annoying, misunderstood Max.
Charles sighs as the notification at the top of the screen shows up ‘stewards have noted the event between driver 1 and 63’. The uneasiness sits at the bottom of Charles’ stomach, remembering how close Max was to a race ban and knowing there was no way of getting out of a penalty here. The FIA decide quickly, George receiving a penalty of 5 grid places and Max 10 for their next race, meaning Max has used up all his penalty points and receives a race ban. The broadcast cuts to Max in the Red Bull garage, looking like he probably could kill Russell if they let him. Someone obviously tells Max the news live on air, causing him to throw his helmet to the floor and walk away.
Oscar wins the race in the end, and Charles decides to turn off the TV, weirdly sad despite his favourite driver winning. He checks social media, specifically to see if any of Max’s media pen interviews had been clipped which thankfully they had. Charles can’t help but laugh boisterously at his behaviour, somehow endeared at Max’s natural talent of being a little shit.
Interviewer: Do you think it was the right decision to assault Russell?
Max: He assaulted me first with his damn car!
Interviewer: You punched him in the face
Max: And I would do it again!
~
Interviewer: Max walk us through the events of today
Max: Do you not have eyes? I think technology allows for replays now no?
Interviewer: Right… do you agree with the penalty? How do you feel about the race ban?
Max: Fantastic! Absolutely splendid! I love getting beep in the beep by a lanky British beep
Interviewer: Uh.. um.. right. Thank you Max
Charles knows he shouldn’t be laughing; this is the exact treatment he will receive in a few days, but he can’t help it. Max is naturally funny. It’s a part of him that Charles is fond of. Even when blind with rage, Max will say something unhinged that is undeniably funny. Charles locks his phone and walks to his bedroom, doing his night routine before getting into bed. Despite feeling exhausted, his restless mind won’t let him sleep. Fleeting images of Max cloud his mind, him throwing his helmet, punching Russell… he starts to wonder what is happening with him right now. Is he okay? Is he still distressed, alone in his driver room? The thought is hard for Charles to imagine, but he can’t rewire his brain to stop thinking about it. Will he come to session this week? Will he tell Charles anything?
Charles tries to relax and reflect why he is doing this, fixating on Max. Part of him thinks maybe it’s because Max is hard work, and there is a lot to think about with his presentation. The other part of him thinks he just likes thinking about Max, but he doesn’t like that possibility one bit.
A few days later...
Charles looks at his screen, hovering over the ‘start call’ button on Zoom. He takes a breath in, needing a moment to collect himself as he always does before sessions… well, Max’s sessions anyway. He opens the Photo Booth app on his laptop, checking how his button-up looks on the screen and if his hair is still semi-decent, again another part of his before-Max-session routine he should probably start to reflect about. Closing the app, he presses start call and waits for Max to join.
10 minutes pass and there is no sign of Max, which Charles finds odd. Max is always meticulously on time, early even! He usually waits outside of his office for about 15 minutes like clockwork. Charles didn’t think this would change moving online, starting to believe maybe his fears from last night were coming true. He tries to think rationally, it’s probably a tech problem, he probably has crap internet at the hotel, he definitely isn’t refusing to come back. Charles starts to think how he will tell Horner, ‘Ah yes hi Christian, Max isn’t showing up for his session and it’s probably my fault because I pushed too hard too early and while i’m at i-’
Max has entered the waiting room
Charles feels a wave of relief wash over him, something he never expected to feel when linked with Max Verstappen. A smile creeps on his face as Max shows up on the screen.
“Hello Max! Internet trouble?”
“Yeah, hotel wifi is dogshit”
Charles laughs and notices Max move closely toward the screen as if he is trying hard to look at something.
“You’re not wearing a sweater? I never thought i’d see the day”
“I didn’t realise I was building a reputation as a sweater enjoyer”
“Mate I thought you just had a lifetime supply”
If you had told Charles yesterday that he would be in session laughing jovially with Max, he would’ve called you delusional, but here they were. Charles tries to return back to his professional demeanour, attempting really hard to move on from the fact that Max actually takes note of what Charles wears in session.
“I won’t ask how you are because I think I know”
“Mmmhm” Max hums, leaning back with his arms crossed on his chair.
“Are you physically okay?” Charles asks warmly, watching a sly smile form on Max’s face.
“Yeah, you should’ve seen the other guy”
Charles rolls his eyes and holds his tongue from telling Max he is an idiot. He purses his lips from forming a smile, making Max’s grow even larger.
“I did see the other guy actually, that wasn’t a wise decision Max”
“Yeah well he had it coming”
“Hm” Charles neutrally states, not wanting to agree and condone his behaviour. The call is filled with the droning noise of Max’s air conditioning until he unexpectedly speaks.
“Whats the weather like there?”
Charles shakes his head and smiles at how endearing Max is being, despite having a shit race weekend. As much as he would love to indulge it, he knows he is just trying to fill time with random topics to avoid ones that would provide him with any therapeutic benefit.
“We are not doing this Max”
“Its 33 degrees and 86% humidity here”
“Mmhm”
Charles decides to speak in hums until Max gets the hint, this call testing the strength of his poker face… which could not be any weaker if he tried.
“Thank god for air con or I would be sweating my balls off”
“Mm” Charles’ mouth twitches but he manages to feign disinterest.
“It’s meant to be cooler in China at least..”
“Mmm”
“I thought about what you said last week”
Charles’ can see his own eyes light up when Max initiates some sort of worthwhile conversation. His poker face completely dropped, thrown in the bin, set on fire. He nods, urging Max to continue.
“You know, about how people don’t listen to me or whatever”.
Charles nods again, almost too excitedly. He sits in disbelief that Max actually managed to reflect about their session. He almost feels bad for doubting him, or doubting himself.
“I have been telling them for months what could be improved with the car. Months! They won’t fucking listen! If I yell, people think i’m this petulant dickhead and don’t listen to me and if I don’t yell, they brush me off and don’t listen to me!”
Charles leans back in his chair, impressed at Max’s reflections. He can see Max is frustrated through the screen, his gaze still as intense as if he were in the room.
“And how does that feel?”
“… It pisses me off”
It has been prevalent to Charles since meeting Max that the problem isn’t just that he can’t control his emotions, but it’s almost as if Max can’t recognise ones that aren’t rooted in anger. Emotional intelligence is learned from a young age, and when you’re young, you only have a few people you can model off of, your parents. Charles theorises that Max hasn’t learned how to recognise and respond to other emotions as well as he has to anger and happiness. Charles’ brain connects the dots while the call sits in silence.
“I can imagine, however being pissed off isn’t a feeling. It sounds like you might feel disappointed”
Max nods.
“and frustrated, that you aren’t being heard”
Max nods again, still choosing silence.
“and it’s sad, watching the championship become a non-possibility. I can imagine you feel quite powerless”
Max doesn’t nod. He doesn’t move much at all. In fact, Charles would think his screen was frozen if he didn’t blink.
“I wonder, Max, where did you learn that yelling gets you seen?”
Max eyes look up, as if in deep thought. His mouth parts as if he is going to start speaking but he shuts it nearly immediately, as if he won’t let the words leave his mouth. Max replaces the words with a sigh and looks at Charles, a glimmer of helplessness in his eyes. Charles’ chest pangs at the sight, knowing this is difficult for Max.
“Maybe that’s something for another day” Charles smiles warmly in an attempt to move on “So they don’t listen, and then you try harder to be heard in less than helpful ways, and then they punish you for doing so”
“Exactly! It’s so fucking stupid, what else am I meant to do? I know my car believe it or not, I fucking drive it! They don’t!”
Charles nods while Max vents, a sense of proudness brewing inside of him that he can’t help. He is trusting him. Max is using him as an emotional sounding board and actually responding to his therapeutic reflections. For a moment, Charles wonders if he has ever trusted anyone else before, but he lets that thought fade.
“What exactly do they say to you? Is it possible you aren’t hearing them? Not to say you aren’t, but I am just curious”
Charles prepares for a blow up around the way he phrased that, but luckily his backtrack was enough for Max to not bother.
“Oh the same bullshit like ‘yeah we hear you Max we will get onto it’ or ‘so and so said yesterday that was next on the agenda' but it’s just to shut me up! It’s always bullshit lies.”
“and I presume you then tell them that they are bullshit liars and the argument ensues”
“well, yes”
Charles smiles, earning one from Max too.
“Hear me out, could we work together on a way to talk to Christian about one concern with the car… Maybe one that would make a difference enough for them to take your words seriously but is also not a massive undertaking”
Max looks surprised, his mouth parting while he tilts his head.
“Like you will talk to him?" He chuckles "Charles, If he doesn’t listen to me mate he will not listen to you”
Charles laughs at his logic and rephrases his proposal.
“No no, I was thinking we could write an email together. You’re banned next week, which it seems like you are handling surprisingly well by the way? What is that about?”
“I think it’s a bit of a relief having the penalty points no longer over my head, and it was fun pun-”
“I am not letting you finish that! We need to work on more… adaptive ways to regulate your emotions that AREN’T punching George Russell in the face but anyway. That should mean they have time to work on the car right?”
“I mean yeah, i guess so”
“Should we give it a go then? Writing the email together for you to send? You can tell me what you would like to have changed, and I will teach you how to communicate it effectively. Deal?”
There is something about the way Max is looking at the camera that makes Charles’ stomach twist. It’s not intense, it’s soft… the gleam in his eyes give the idea that Max genuinely appreciates the gesture, that someone is not only willing to hear him but help him be heard.
‘Okay” Max agrees, containing the smile that creeps on his face.
“Great! Lets start it with a “Dear Christian…”
“and then write 'You’re a cunt'"
“Wha- No!”
Max laughs at Charles’ reaction, and Charles follows suit. Laughter is something that happens often as the two draft the email together. Max proposes his ideas about the front wing and the floor which he thinks will make a major difference, and Charles lets it slide that he clearly said “one improvement”. Max was so engaged and happy in a way Charles had never seen, he wasn’t about to ruin that. Max attempts to throw in sly, shady remarks about Horner and the team which always earned an unimpressed look and a “Max…” from Charles. He probably did it on purpose just to elicit that reaction. Throughout, Charles teaches him effective communication skills and Max does well. It’s clear he can communicate, but is resigned to believing no one will listen and so uses his tantrums to get attention to what he means.
“Great, I’ll email this to you and you can send it to Horner… but Max, if he doesn’t respond how you like, you need to sit with the emotion and let it ride before you react”
Max screws his mouth together, pulling it to the side, as if he isn’t sure about what Charles said.
“But how? How do i not just react?”
“Have you always just reacted?” Charles asks, wondering if maybe that’s Max’s temperament, or maybe he has issues with impulsivity.
“No, actually I never used to react at all when I was a kid”
Charles makes a deep effort to not react, despite his ears perking at Max mentioning his childhood on his own accord.
“That’s interesting, would you be okay with telling me more?”
“It’s nothing, but whenever anyone would tell me off or get mad at me I used to just stand there”
“Where did those emotions go?”
“Later.. they would just come later.” Charles notices Max’s camera is ever so slightly bouncing, and he can just imagine how restless his legs must be. Charles has learned that to be Max’s biggest tell that he is anxious, his legs do not stop moving. He decides not to push, despite desperately wanting to. Instead, Charles goes into the basics of distress tolerance, teaching Max how emotions don’t stay long and the importance of feeling and not reacting to a situation until he is at baseline. Max sits quietly, almost too quietly as Charles talks. No smart ass remarks, no sighs or yawns to indicate how bored he is. He finishes, and Max still hasn’t responded
“.. Max? Does that all make sense?”
Max looks almost caught off guard for a moment as he responds hurriedly
“Yeah, feel emotions, get over it.. yeah got it”
“Well.. no, not quite. What happened there? You seemed like you were in a different world”
Max looks like he is staring right through Charles. A few seconds of silence pass before Max drops from the call. Charles waits a few moments before receiving an email.
From: Max
Internet just gave out. I’ll see you next session.
Charles closes his eyes and sighs in frustration, not believing Max’s excuse for even a second. He retraces his steps, realising Max was pretty dissociated from when he brought up his childhood. This part of being a psychologist drives Charles insane. Looking back and realising things you missed but also seeing the issue bright as day without being able to force it. He can see where Max’s pain originates, he can see how it has impacted him, and yet he cannot touch it. No chance.
He decides to stop lamenting over the trials and tribulations of working with clients who have experienced trauma and instead reflects about the session before Max left, which was the best him and Max have had so far. It was almost fun, like laughing with a friend. Him and Max bounced off each other well, and Max actually listened and engaged in talking about his emotions. Charles smiles thinking back to the sweater comment, and how Max’s eyes lit up when he realised he was not wearing one. He opens his laptop and starts to search for different outfits he could wear to work before he writes his notes.
Chinese Grand Prix
Sitting with his popcorn on the couch, Charles watches the Chinese Grand Prix. Admittedly, it’s less exciting without Max racing. The broadcast shows him briefly every now and then, especially during the pre-show. A commentator attempts to interview Max in the garage and is met with a fake smile as he continues on his path. Charles was just pleased he managed to smile, even if it was fake.
Oscar Piastri wins yet again, but a different person graces the podium from the usual McLaren and Mercedes. Yuki Tsunoda had the race of his life, causing him to podium in 3rd. The Red Bull team are elated, cheering and recording the moment. It has been a while since Red Bull podiumed, and even longer since there was a Red Bull podium that wasn’t Max. Curiosity hits Charles as he leans forward during the pan out to the Red Bull team, and he cannot find Max anywhere. Even in the celebrations after, where everyone douses the drivers in Red Bull, Max was nowhere to be seen. A pit grows in Charles’ stomach, wondering how Max is coping.
The day after the Chinese grand prix, the phone in Charles’ office rings with the familiar number of Horner’s office extension flashing on the screen. It’s not often that Christian calls, but it’s also not uncommon either. Charles doesn’t think much of it as he answers the call.
“Christian! Congratulations for yesterday!”
“Thank you, yeah Yuki had a hell of a race.”
Charles sits up in his chair, noting how off Horner sounds. He isn’t as vibrant, instead sounding quite stern.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
He hears a sigh from the other side of the phone, making Charles’ nerves go haywire. He quickly thinks about anything he could’ve possibly done wrong in the week that passed.
“I received a very thoughtfully written email from Max the other day”
“Ah yes! We worked on that together in session.”
“That was evident, it sounded nothing like him.”
“I can assure you that although I typed it, the words were all Max. Granted, some choice phrases were omitted but that was with his knowledge. Is something wrong?”
“Charles, that was quite an overstep”
Charles shifts in his chair, his eyebrows furrowing at the concept of being punished for helping Max.
“Uh, i’m sorry? Could you help me understand so I don’t overstep again?”
“I need you to focus on getting Max’s head right so he stops crashing into drivers and walls and abusing everyone. I don’t need your input in my job”
“Christian, I can’t go into the ‘why’ of that email due to confidentiality but I assure you the intent of it was with that purpose in mind… not to tell you what to do in your job”
The call goes silent for a moment, and Charles holds his breath hoping that Christian moves on from the misunderstanding.
“I appreciate that Max was able to talk to me without screaming in my face for once, but there is no scope for talking about team strategies or car mechanics in your sessions. I hope this is clear”
Charles can feel his face burn with a mix of embarrassment and anger, and suddenly he has a first hand look of everything Max must have been feeling for the last few months. Charles helped Max, and Christian is acting like he made things worse.
“I will be helping my client however they see fit. If Max would like to talk about those topics, I will not be stopping him. Rest assured, the content of his conversations will not leave the room, if that is your concern.
The call goes silent again, the anger rests in his head as he waits for Christians response. He is happy that Christian is on the other side of the world because it would be abundantly obvious that Charles is filled with rage if he saw him in person, and Charles isn’t sure he would be able to act professional.
“Speak to you soon Charles”
He hears the phone hang up and drops his mouth open in disbelief. He puts the phone back in the dock a bit too hard, making a loud noise as he does. Charles puts his head in his hands, running them through his hair in frustration as he takes a shaky breath. Maybe Max wasn’t over reacting, he is right.
Horner is a cunt.
Max POV
Max has never been one to feel nervous often, yet every session with Charles Leclerc makes him feel like he needs to spew out his insides. Max’s mind was not kind to him this week, despite Red Bull actually fixing the car with his recommendations. Sunday was particularly hard, he wasn’t able to stay on the track when Yuki managed to podium. He couldn’t stomach it. That should be him. Instead, Max went back to his hotel and absolutely trashed the place. The aftermath of it remains, bed sheets everywhere, clothes strewn across the room, the remains of the lamp he broke still on the bedside table. Other than that, he looked like a mess… almost disheveled. He has barely slept, too consumed with thoughts that refused his brain to rest and tears that refused to dry. His face paints the tale, with bloodshot eyes and heavy bags beneath them tinged purple. His hair is disgusting, feeling unmotivated to shower after testing. Still in his pyjamas, Max looks over at the clock and realises it’s time to Zoom Charles.
But how could he looking like this?
He knows how annoyingly observant Charles is, even through a screen. He will immediately know something is wrong and he will prod and poke until Max physically cannot hold it in anymore. Part of Max wonders if he actually wants that, to have someone notice his suffering and show that they care. The other half wishes Charles would suddenly become an amnesiac and forget who Max is completely. Begrudgingly, he walks to his mirror and uses whatever energy he has to change shirts. Unbothered to change his pants since Charles wouldn’t see them anyway. He wets his hand and uses it to style his hair, unbothered to use his brush and gel. He throws water at his face, hoping to look less… well… miserable, but nothing helps. He considers wearing sunglasses to hide it, but that would not work. Not with Charles. Max resigns to the fact that he looks like shit and sits at his laptop on the small hotel table, intentionally sitting in a way that blocks the mess of the room. The nerves rage inside of him, right up to the point he courageously presses ‘join call’.
But then there he is, looking warmly as always, in a black linen looking shirt. Somehow, Max actually kind of misses the sweaters… because each session Charles looks hotter and hotter. Max gulps, realising he is uncomfortably staring at Charles’ chest. He looks away out of respect, even if Charles wouldn’t be able to know it through the screen.
“Hello Max” He smiles, waving sweetly at the camera. Max doesn’t wave back, not having the energy to.
“Hi, internet really sucks here sorry.”
Charles nods and Max is relieved he doesn’t seem to suspect anything.
“How is China?”
“I don’t know, haven’t really left the hotel other than the track”
His smile slowly fades and Max immediately kicks himself for being so honest. Max has no filter when he is tired, and he is exhausted. Deciding this could be very bad for him, Max puts one finger up to the camera as if to say “one second”. He leans over to the mini fridge and grabs a Red Bull, hoping it would help him get through the session without letting every feeling that is trapped in his chest out to the one person who would actually do something with it.
‘Max, what happened to your room?”
Fuck
Max forgot that leaning over would give Charles a glimpse of the last 48 hours, his heart racing at what Charles could be thinking.
“Restless sleep, knocked the lamp over in the middle of the night”
“It looks like you haven’t slept a wink”
Of course he notices, he always does.
“Like I said, restless sleep”
Charles’ eyes bleed warmth, staring directly into Max’s soul. He knows what Charles is saying despite being silent. He knows Charles doesn't believe him, but he is worried. Max can’t look anymore, not without crying. He looks down at his fingers, playing with seam of his shorts.
“Did Christian say something?”
Max doesn’t answer immediately, wondering why Charles went straight to that as the first option. Surprisingly, Christian had been fine this week and took his email well.
“No, why?”
“I was just wondering, you do call him a cunt every session”
Usually Max would smile at that, but the heaviness of his cheeks won’t let him. He accepts Charles’ reasoning and moves on.
“Well for once he was normal”
Charles stares for a minute, making Max’s cheeks feel hot. The feeling of having his every movement analysed is too much for him right now, especially when he looks as shit as he does.
“Can I turn my camera off?” Max asks quietly, his head rests low as he continues to fidget with his shorts, his legs bouncing restlessly under the table. “Please?".
“That’s fine, I’ll turn off mine t-”
“You can keep yours on” Max panics, hoping it didn’t come across as too desperate. Max turns his camera off and slumps in his chair, looking back at Charles’ video and seeing his puzzled expression. The nerves start to fade, his cheeks cooling off without the pressure of Charles perceiving his every fault and flaw.
“You want me to keep my camera on… but yours off?”
Max’s stomach flips as he realises how weird that sounds. He knows the answer is yes, he likes seeing Charles’ warm smiles and thoughtful eyes. He likes seeing how he reacts to what Max says. He likes looking at him in general… the idea of which now keeps him up at night. He tries to think of a normal reason for wanting Charles’ camera on, but every second that passes makes any answer seem completely weird.
“It helps me know when my internet is playing up, your video would break up and stuff”
Proud of his answer, Max takes a quiet breath out as Charles nods to his reasoning, keeping his camera on.
“Okay, but you can’t just sit there in silence the entire call now”
“I won’t” Max assures.
“What do you need Max? It sounds like you were heard this week, and action was taken… but that isn’t enough…” Charles leans his head on his hand, something he does when he is trying to pull something out of Max that he knows he would be reluctant to share. Annoyingly, it works every time. He can feel his words rise up from his stomach and into his throat. So much to say but no energy to say it. All of his feelings that he has bottled up over the week tear at the fibres of his skin. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he would be going for round 2 around the hotel right now with how much it is weighing on him. He feels his eyes brim with tears, hoping Charles doesn’t hear when he embarrassingly sniffles.
“I -” Max croaks, his voice struggling to keep up with his mind. He takes a moment to arrange the words chaotically floating around his mind, all just as important as each other. Overwhelmed, he instead blurts out “I-I want an apology”
Charles looks with sad eyes, nodding with Max’s confession. Max feels the tears drip down his cheeks but he is not willingly to clean them up, feeling like if he stopped looking at Charles he might just break down into a sob. Charles nods again, and Max gets the hint to continue.
“They were wrong. I don’t care that I was right but they were wrong.” Max chokes out, this time unintentionally making it very obvious that he is crying. Charles lowers his head, his lower lip sticking out on reflex before he goes back to a sad but neutral expression
“They were wrong” Charles repeats Max’s words, making his heart tighten hearing them from his mouth, agreeing with him. “You were wronged”
Max’s tears can’t be stopped at this point, his collar soaked. He stares at Charles and tries to be normal, but he can’t. It’s almost like he is hypnotised, but he isn’t mad about it. Embarrassed beyond belief, but not mad. The words have passed his throat now and bang at the doors of Max’s mouth before they push right through.
“I always have to be held accountable for my actions. I’m always the one that has to apologise. Why doesn’t anyone ever realise when they hurt me? When they are wrong? Why am I punished even when I am right?”
“They hurt you”
“They hurt me! They did! Seeing Yuki on that podium fucking killed me! Seeing them cheer him on hurt so fucking bad. I like Yuki, I am happy for him, but fuck! It felt like they were cheering for my fucking downfall, it was torture! Why am I always the problem?”
“You are not a problem Max” Charles coos, his eyes staring so deeply that Max feels it in his soul. “They hurt you. You are valid for wanting an apology. I’m so sorry, that must have been awful seeing Yuki celebrated for something you have spent months fighting for”
Max covers his eyes in an attempt to stop the flood, his breath stuttering as he breathes in. The words find their way, despite Max desperately willing them to stop.
“Everyone knows this story of my Dad leaving me at a gas station because I came 7th in a race against kids that were all older than me and more experienced. They all know the story of when he smacked my helmet so hard at a track that I was too scared to take my helmet off for hours. Every time that comes up randomly I always see tweets about how people feel bad for me, how i didn’t deserve that. I never got a sorry. Everything was justified by my behaviour, it was always my fault...”
Max’s breathe starts to quicken, his tears unrelenting as he talks. He has never sounded so whiny in his life, the sound of his own voice making him cringe… but he just can’t fucking stop while Charles’ eyes will him to continue. They’re soft and sad, almost too sad. Max wonders if he is tearing up, but he can’t tell through his own blurry vision.
“...I never thought it affected me, but every time you talk to me it feels like there are words screaming in my body, bouncing around and begging to get out and it’s fucking scary and I hate it”
The words have finally left his body as Max sobs into his hands, grateful that his camera is off with all the snot and tears that cover his fingers and shirt. Charles sits quietly, but Max catches him slyly wiping at his eyes. Charles breathes a heavy, unsteady sigh, shifting in his chair and moving the laptop slightly closer.
“Thank you Max, for sharing that with me. I can’t imagine how exhausted you must feel right now”
Max nods, forgetting Charles can’t see him. He manages to whisper a “yup”, unable to speak anymore.
“I can tell that’s been a long time coming. I know it’s scary talking about it and uncomfortable and fucking unbelievably tiring. I really am so proud of you for opening up, that is the hardest step in therapy.”
Max’s breathing slows as Charles talks, taking in every word like it’s gospel. His pounding heart quietens to beating, his tears finally running dry.
“I obviously can’t see you right now, but I can only imagine how exhausted you must feel. I am not trying to piss you off here Max, but given the state of your room and your last 48 hours… are you going to be safe?”
“I will” Max mumbles “I promise”
Charles shoulders ease as he leans back in his chair, almost as if he forgot that he was on camera. He runs his hand through his hair and checks his watch.
“Okay, I trust you. Please contact me if you need, remember the skills i taught you last week. I am going to put my number in the chat, in case of emergency.”
Max watches the number appear, reaching for his phone to put it in his contacts.
“I will see you next week Max. Please, take care”
Max can hear his emphasis on ‘please’, almost like he is begging for him to.
“You too Charles” he replies before ending the call. Max takes no time getting up from the chair, removing his shirt before getting under the one remaining sheet on his bed. Within minutes, he falls asleep with not a single thought plaguing his mind.
Chapter 5: Arrogant boy, love yourself so no one has to
Summary:
“Aren’t I the boss? Like you’re technically my employee”
Charles dramatically opens his mouth in disbelief, laughing at Max’s absurdity.
“I’m Red Bull Racing’s employee”
“And I am Red Bull Racing, if you didn’t already know” Max grins even wider “So really, you could say I do own you”
Or: Max and Charles get closer after another huge breakdown.
Notes:
I finished what I needed to for my deadline!!! Yipppeeeee!! Back to RPF!!!
Thank you so much for the love shown for this! Like I said, never wrote fanfic before so this is so foreign to me but your comments make me want to keep going :) I definitely feel parasocial but oh well!
TW for this chapter: mentions of abuse, self-harm. If you have emetophobia also be wary!
Of course disclaimer that I am just making shit up, everything is just for the sake of immersive writing and I am not making any real life claims about any characters in this fic!
Anyway... enjoyyyyyy!
Title inspired by Therapy by All Time Low (ironically).
Chapter Text
The sun glistens off Charles’ skin, soaking him in warmth as he lays shirtless on a lawn chair of his mother’s Monaco home next to their pool. Charles has a few days off to celebrate his brother’s birthday, moving his clients to other days. There aren’t as many clients during off race weeks, which made organising a bit easier. One thing lingers on his mind, not allowing him to fully embrace his break. Max didn’t respond to Charles’ emails about moving his session before he left for Monaco. Charles thought he would be chomping at the bit to move his appointment, and yet he hasn’t heard a peep. For a moment that pisses Charles off, imagining Max with a devious smirk opening his emails and ignoring them, probably thinking Charles would constantly check to see if he responds, which he was wrong. Charles prides himself on his separation between work and play, rarely doing work on vacation or weekends. The anger passes quickly though, morphing into worry as Charles considers the last session. Images of Max’s smashed lamp and coverless bed rush into Charles mind, and Max’s sniffles and sobs fill his ears. He throws his towel over his face and groans in frustration, knowing what he has to do. Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he logs into his work email, breaking his cardinal rule of doing work on break… but then he sees it.
From: Max Verstappen
Did you give me the wrong number? I need to talk to you
Charles panics, noting the response was from an hour ago. His heart beats in his throat as his mind goes wild with possibilities, knowing he gave his number to Max for emergencies only. He doesn’t allow himself time to scold himself for apparently typing the wrong number to Max, instead responding to his email as quickly as possible.
To: Max Verstappen
If I did, it was purely a mistake. Are you okay Max? I am sorry I didn’t see this earlier. Here is my number again, I promise its right. Call if you still need.
Charles sits up in the chair and hunches over his phone to block the suns glare, catching the attention of his brother Arthur, who pushes his sunglasses down his nose to look at him.
“Something wrong?”
“Just work stuff” Charles responds, chewing his cheeks as his eyes fix on his phone, trying to use telekinesis to tell Max to check his fucking emails.
“That’s unlike you…” Arthur scoffs, and Charles only manages a nod in response, still fixated on the phone. His brother gets the hint, leaning back in his chair and putting his sunglasses back on his face. Every minute that passes makes Charles feel increasingly sick, regretting ever coming to Monaco knowing Max was not in a good way. He reads over the email again, his eyes sticking to the words “I need to talk to you” knowing that Max must be desperate to be that vulnerable willingly. He knows its unprofessional, but he starts to type another email to Max… sounding like a desperate ex trying to get his attention.
To: Max Verstappen
If you need to talk I am here to listen. Please call, Max.
He holds his breath as he hovers over the send button, hating everything about this. Pressing his eyes shut dramatically, he presses send. Hoping Max will call any minute he gathers his towel and walks to his room so he can worry in peace.
Max POV
Max’s phone rests where it landed after he threw it at his bedroom wall, the text from his father that sparked his quick ascent to complete panic still open on the now cracked screen.
“I didn’t drop everything in my life for you to become such a disappointment and throw your career away. You and I will meet with Christian on Friday at lunch. It would be wise that you do not argue with me on this.”
He couldn’t believe the text when he read it. It was unbelievable, who reacts that way when your son is obviously going through some shit? It shouldn’t surprise him, guilt, insults and manipulation are his dad’s forte, but he finds himself always holding onto unfounded hope that one day he will care for just Max, not Max the F1 driver. He knows that’s unlikely, knowing his dad only respects him when he is doing well or listening to him. That was something he learned from Charles, that his worth and his achievement are the same thing because his dad treated it that way.
The words feel like poison coursing through his brain, triggering memories of Horner yelling and Charles writing on his notepad.
"Just because he raised you to be like him does not mean you have to comply”
Just like his father
He paces his apartment, his knuckles white from holding his own grip to stop him trashing the place. Max’s relationship with his father is complicated. He started him in karting, that much was right, but it was Max’s determination and effort that got him to be a world champion. He loves his father, but he has always treated him like shit, especially when he was a kid. Part of him still has a small amount of admiration for him, knowing that he did give so much to make sure he was on the road to success, but he always knew he never, ever wanted to be like him. He knew it every time he raised his voice, he knew it every time he laid a hand on him or someone he loved, he knew it since he was young enough to understand what he was doing was wrong. Yet here Max was, raising his voice, laying a hand (albeit George Russell is not someone he loves), and overall doing wrong. The realisation that he is more like his dad than he thought makes his breath quicken, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the tears start to form. He starts to think about how he feels when he interacts with his dad, and the thought that others feel that way with Max makes him feel sick. He runs to the bathroom, hearing his phone email tone as falls to the bathroom floor, gagging into the toilet. He is sure its Charles responding to him, finally seeing his desperate, embarrassing email that his Father would probably add to his “how Max is a failure of a man, driver and son” list. He doesn’t know why he sent the email, knowing that Charles seeing him like this would be beyond mortifying, but his fingers typed before his brain could catch up to what it was doing. Max gags into the toilet again, but nothing comes out as the sickness feels heavy at the bottom of his stomach. His breathing is still quick and the tears unrelenting as he hears another email tone go off in the other room. He wants to check, god does he want to check and see if his theory is right of it being Charles, but he can’t bear to be confronted with the message on the screen again, oozing with so much vitriol and hatred. Max can’t possibly hold anymore, not with all the hatred he is already holding for himself. He starts to feel lightheaded, his vision blurring in panic. He manages to get off the bathroom floor and walk over to where his phone sits, pathetically closing his eyes so he can swipe off the message and not have to relive the words that feel like they are branded into his mind.
2 New Emails
Charles Leclerc 5 minutes ago
Charles Leclerc 1 minute ago
Max feels slight relief as he reads the emails, taking no time in clicking the number to call. The call only rings once before its immediately answered.
“Max? Are you okay?”
Silence fills the call, only being able to hear the sound of Max’s heavy breathing and quiet sobs.
“No… No, I’m not” Max finally says, his voice whiny and coarse.
“Alright, are you sitting down?”
“No”
“Can you sit down for me?”
Too tired to fight back, Max obliges. “Okay”
“Thank you, Max”
Max places his phone on the table with Charles on loudspeaker, resting his head in his hands.
“Can you tell me what’s happened?” Charles asks quietly, his voice obviously showing concern. Max thinks about what happened and decides it’s too pathetic and mortifying to even verbalise. What is he supposed to say? "My daddy said I’m a failure"? He is a grown man, not a child. He shouldn’t be so affected by his father’s words but he is. The thought of repeating the message sends him into overdrive as he throws the remote across the room, grabbing at his face and losing his control.
“I can’t Charles I-I fucking can’t this is so - so fucking stupid I don’t know why I called I am so fucking pathe-” Max cuts himself off as he balls his hands into fists, striking his hand to his head, not caring how loud it sounds.
“Max please please listen to me I am going to facetime you okay? I need you to listen to me. You don’t need to have your camera on but please look at me”
Charles immediately converts the call to facetime and max hesitantly accepts, turning off his camera as soon as he can but knowing Charles would have seen a glimpse of Max’s tired, miserable face. He continues to hyperventilate, gripping his phone tightly to look at Charles as other hand grabs his hair. Charles is in a room Max doesn’t recognise, a bedroom, wearing a normal white t-shirt and sunglasses on top of his head that pushes his hair back. His eyes aren’t as warm as usual, they’re worried… frightened even. Max feels a pang in his chest thinking about Charles being worried about him, caring about him.
“I know you said you would never do this with me, but I need you to try okay? You don’t need to tell me what happened, just do what I do and watch my fingers okay?”
Max nods in desperation even though Charles can’t see him. At this point, he’d do anything to stop feeling like this. That’s the only reason he called Charles, remembering the time he calmed him down like it was nothing in session. It was so easy for him, and something Max could never do on his own. Charles takes a deep breathe in and raises his pointer slowly up, changing its direction after he deeply exhales. Max watches and tries to control his shaky breathe, mesmerised by Charles’ finger on the screen. Charles draws a box, with every line being an inhale or an exhale. Once Max gets the gist on his own, Charles keeps drawing his imaginary box but stop doing the breathing with him.
“Now keep breathing while I speak to you and keep your focus on the box.” Charles draws a line and Max breathes in, still shaking with every breath.
“This feeling will pass” Charles says calmly, staring into the camera.
This feeling will pass, Max repeats in his head as he breathes out
“Pain is not forever”
Pain is not forever, Max breathes in
“You are going to be okay”
I am going to be okay, Max breathes out
“You are doing so good, Max”
Max’s breathe hitches at the sound of Charles saying that, obviously not repeating it to himself. Max’s cheeks flush immediately, the way he said it almost feeling intimate. Max finishes his breath but knows that line will be seared on his brain for a while. Charles stops drawing the boxes, putting down his finger as he smiles warmly, the smile that Max has come to adore. Despite shit talking breathing exercises, Max recognises he is calm, his chest isn’t tight and desperate for air. He can feel the pressure slow relieving from his temples as he rests back against the couch.
“I’m so sorry Max, I wish I saw your message earlier.” Charles’ voice is stained with regret and sadness. Max can tell he is beating himself up over it, which wasn’t his intention.
“It’s fine I know you’re in Monaco; I shouldn’t have even messaged in the first place”
“Well, I am really glad you did. I was worried about you”
The fluttery feeling brews in his stomach, the one that seems like it’s reserved only for Charles. Max’s mouth parts pitifully, trying to respond but he is at a loss. Charles patiently waits, his gaze no longer worried but warm again. Max takes a deep breath, gathering the words in his mind before he speaks.
“Am I really like him? My Dad?”
Charles eyes soften, a sad expression on his face.
“Like i wrote on my notepad?”
“Yeah… and Horner told me something similar just before he made me start therapy”
Charles sighs and rubs his hand over his eyes in frustration
“Max, I never meant you were like him in that way… just that it seems you both believe you have to be perfect to be worth anything… that’s all. You are nothing like him personality wise… hell I don’t know anything about the man other than what is shown on the screen”
Max doesn’t believe him immediately but tries to take in his words. He agrees that his standards are for perfection and nothing less, and he agrees that is his father is like that also. Charles doesn’t know him, but he is able to read him so well.
“Okay” Max manages to respond quietly
“I am so sorry Max… it must have been hard to be told you are like the person you least want to be”
“How do you know I don’t want to be like him?”
“I don’t think you would be having a panic attack if you liked the idea of being compared to him”
“Touché” Max concedes, earning a smile from Charles. His eyes crinkle at the sides, and Max can’t help but smile a little back.
“Don’t be upset with me, but I need to ask. Were you hitting yourself before?”
Max freezes for a moment, his brain throwing words at him to say but none of them make sense. He sighs, knowing Charles has already witnessed a lot of Max’s pathetic moments… what’s one more to the count?
“Yeah”
Charles looks sadly down the camera, Max’s eyes prickling with tears again but this time in shame, not panic. He used to hit himself a lot when he was younger, when had too many feelings that he didn’t know how to deal with. His dad never stopped him, but his mother did, if she saw (which wasn’t often). His sister would stop him too; he always used to feel bad when she would cry about him hurting himself. It made him stop for years. That was until he started in F1. He didn’t hit much, just when he was really struggling. He had a girlfriend back then who would help, but when they broke up, he went back to his old ways. Then he started winning. Life was good, but nights sometimes got so lonely that he would spiral and end up hitting himself just to sleep. This year it got worse. After every race lost, hit. After every testing gone wrong, hit. After every conversation with his dad, hit. It was the only way he knew how to calm down, but that was before he met Charles.
“Why? Why do you do it?” Charles asks pleadingly, almost begging for Max to answer. Max looks down at the floor instead of at Charles, feeling embarrassed even though Charles can’t see him.
“I don’t know… it just calms me down”
“Hmm..” Charles hums. Max notices Charles looking deep in thought, scrunching his lips to the side. “Can I have a guess at what it’s function is?”
“I guess” Max says, but in honesty he would love to know what he thinks. Charles has an annoying knack for being right, even when Max doesn’t want him to be.
“I think its complex… I think the actual action of hitting yourself gets out energy that is bottled inside… but you could do so many things to express energy that I think leaving that as the reason isn’t enough. I think it’s punishment”
Max’s eyes widen at Charles words, staying quiet as he continues.
“I think you have a very warped view of yourself as being a bad person who deserves to be hurt. It sounds morbid, but sometimes people learn that punishment marks the end of suffering. You know when you were a kid, and you did something bad and you get so worked up thinking about the punishment, and then when it comes those feelings are gone? I think you punish yourself as a way of ending the panic, because you learned feeling panicked is bad. Does this make sense?”
Max’s mouth drops as Charles speaks, his tears spilling over his cheeks. He never thought of it that way, and memories of him as a kid being smacked when he cried flood his mind. He always stopped crying after that, because he didn’t want to be hit again. He feels a sudden sickness brewing in his stomach like before, as he drops the phone on the table to run to the bathroom… this time actually throwing up whatever is inside. He can hear Charles saying his name in the other room, but Max can’t get up from the floor yet to answer… feeling too nauseous.
Eventually he manages, once everything is out, to go back to Charles on the phone. Max was surprised he was still there, considering he had been gone for a while. He was relieved that he hadn’t gone. Charles must not have heard Max come back as he can hear him talking to someone in French with his camera only showing the view of his ears and hair as he talks off screen. Admittedly, hearing Charles speak his mother tongue was like music to Max’s ears. He wishes he knew French so he could understand what he is saying, but is enjoying the experience nonetheless. The person speaking with Charles leaves the room, and Max lets Charles know he is back.
“Sorry, I.. uh… vomited”
“I’m so sorry Max, I have a habit of pushing too far at the wrong times”
“You were right… about the punishment”
Charles sighs, closing his eyes for a moment as if it hurt him to hear that as much as it hurt to say.
“These things can be really hard to stop… but do you think if I sent you more adaptive ways of calming down that you can try to read them? Maybe even try using them?”
Max wants to tell him that talking to him is the more adaptive way of calming down, but he doesn’t… he has already humiliated himself enough today. He wonders if this is Charles’ way of saying “do this, don’t call me” but he moves on.
“Yeah, I can do that”
“All I ask is that you try them, and you have my number anyway if they don’t work”
Max smiles, realising his previous thought wasn’t true. Charles was still only a call away, that prospect alone enough to calm him down.
“Yeah… that sounds good”
Charles smiles at Max’s compliance.
“Okay, are you feeling calm enough for me to end the call? I’ve booked you in for next week but if you need earlier, I can move some people around”
Max’s smile grows at Charles’ offer, and Charles patiently stares down the camera for his response.
“Next week is fine, enjoy your time in Monaco”
“Okay, please take care” Charles puts emphasis on the please again, and Max wonders if he even knows he does that.
“Oh, and Charles”
“Hm?”
“Thank you…”
“A privilege as always, Max”
Max watches as the call ends and lays back on his couch, grateful that he didn’t smash up the apartment for once, so he didn’t need to clean up… although he did need a new phone. He is exhausted, needing a nap desperately, but he sits and revels in the calm… a feeling he craves often but feels rarely. It’s one of the reasons he loves driving; it’s one of the only times in his week that he does feel calm most of the time. The other times are in session with Charles. It’s dangerous how fond Max is becoming of him and the calmness that surrounds him. Maybe he should send Christian a hamper, because the best thing he’s ever done was deciding to hire Charles Leclerc.
Next Session
For someone that vehemently hated the idea of therapy, Max has had a pretty big shift in perspective. Once he realised that all it involves is complaining, being told sweet things by a hot psychologist and being able to rile him up as much as he wants, he realised it isn’t that bad. It’s the last week of Zoom sessions, which Max thanks his lucky stars for. He used the calls to his advantage of course, being able to turn off his camera or fake WIFI issues was a privilege he will miss, but he finds himself damning the shitty quality of Charles camera… ruining one of the best parts of sessions. Looking at him. His lips. His prominent cupids bow and the way it distorts when he smiles. Max stops himself daydreaming, as he waits for Charles to join the call.
He has felt a lot better this week, feeling intrepid anticipation for Silverstone. It’s not his favourite track, but the itch to race again aches after nearly three weeks off, and it’s a lot less daunting now he has a clean slate for penalty points… not that he wants to rack them up again. He had lunch with Christian and his dad, an event which was painfully boring to get through but not that bad. Sure, his dad was an asshole as usual who threw a few… a lot of sly digs at Max and Christian… but at least it wasn’t all aimed at him. Max even grew the balls to ask Christian for an apology about not fixing the car earlier, although he disguised it in a joke. Like “ha ha.. man I deserve an apology for all the times you ignore me ha… ha”. Of course, he didn’t get the apology he wanted, but he did admit Max was right and said they will implement his input more often. For once, he actually seemed sincere.
A noise sounds from his laptop, indicating Charles had joined the call. He smiles, turning on his camera for the first time in a fortnight. Charles’ camera turns on too, revealing his radiant smile, one that’s warm enough that Max can feel its rays through the screen. Charles does his dorky little wave as the audio connects, and for once Max returns one back.
“Hello Max! How have you been?”
“Surprisingly, I have been good”
Charles’ smile remains as he claps his hand together “Well that’s fantastic to hear, what’s been happening this week?”
Max goes through his week as Charles listens attentively, nodding for Max to continue. He fills him in on the lunch and how he has actually spent some time relaxing this week, a concept previously foreign to Max on race weeks.
“Am i still talking to Max? You… talked to Horner… and your dad… calmly?”
Max laughs at Charles’ banter and flips him the bird, earning a loud cackle back that makes Max laugh even harder.
“Yeah, it’s crazy what happens when you learn people can listen” Max quotes back Charles’ sentiment from an earlier session, tweaking it slightly. Charles smirks back, rolling his eyes playfully as he recognises Max’s callback.
“Did you look at the things I sent you last week?” Charles asks, less casual than before. Max can tell he is nervous just by his change in tone… he is becoming a Charles Leclerc body language expert. It makes him sad, knowing Charles gets nervous about the possibility of setting Max off.
“I did... yeah. Some of them were a bit weird”
Charles laughs and relaxes back into his chair “Yeah? Which ones?”.
“Like exercise I get, I used to do that so I can try that again. I get the breathing stuff… but what the fuck is this holding ice business?”
Charles stifles a laugh and tries to act professional, taking the opportunity to run Max through the sheet he sent him. Max is listening, but his mind wanders as he takes in the pixels of the man in front of him. Charles wears a denim jacket over the top of a red turtle necked shirt. The red caught Max’s eyes, it’s something different from his usually neutral colour palette… not like Max can talk, he lives in the same white shirt, Red Bull gear and jeans. He can see Charles’ rings, watching his hands move as he talks. Charles is one of those people that do that, Max is too. Charles’ hair is curled and tousled perfectly as usual, and for a moment Max lets himself wonder what it would feel like to run his hands through it.
Okay yeah, he isn’t listening.
He tries to tune back in; Charles is explaining how cool temperatures reduce heart rate… and Max feels like he needs a cold shower as he wonders what it would feel like to have those hands around his co-
“Do you understand now? It seems pretty silly at first, but it makes sense”
Max coughs, clearing his mind of its devious thoughts.
“Yeah okay, more on board now”
Charles gleams at Max’s response, not realising he just tuned out thinking about how gorgeous he is the entire time. Luckily, he seemed to tune back when it mattered.
“I can’t help but notice you have really opened up to me Max”
Max wishes he could open him up in other ways.
“Okay Okay don’t push it” He laughs “I like the red by the way”
“Yeah? Thought I would rep Ferrari today”
The statement weirdly invokes something territorial in Max, his cheeks glowing red enough to be visible on camera.
“You should wear dark blue next week”
“Hm? Like Red Bull colours?”
“Mmhm” Max responds, tapping his fingers on the table beside him.
“I could, or I could wear orange for McLaren next week” Charles says with a wink
Max scoffs, but his body feels like it’s on fire at the sight of Charles winking at him.
“I’ll bring you a Red Bull shirt”
“I have some, Christian gave them to me when i started”
“No, I’ll give you a specific one”
Charles tilts his head like a confused puppy again, and Max grins deviously at the screen with his plan in mind.
“You are not giving me a Max Verstappen branded Red Bull shirt as if you own me” Charles laughs, rolling his eyes again as he catches on to Max’s inference. Max laughs, but deep down the idea sparks something that he never knew excited him.
“Aren’t I the boss? Like you’re technically my employee”
Charles dramatically opens his mouth in disbelief, laughing at Max’s absurdity.
“I’m Red Bull Racing’s employee”
“And I am Red Bull Racing, if you didn’t already know” Max grins even wider “So really, you could say I do own you”
Charles facepalms theatrically, and Max is certain he can see the red form in his cheeks… but maybe it’s the shirts reflection. Charles sighs and leans forward, looking straight into the camera.
“As much as I would like to continue talking about your fantasy to own me, maybe we should get back to therapy hm?”
It’s Max’s turn to roll his eyes now, disappointed that the banter was seemingly ending. Charles has the same sense of humour as Max, and that’s something that’s rare. He can take what he dishes, and god does he look hot when he is bratty. Charles continues talking about different techniques on his list, and Max continues to mind wander. Charles is not his normal type, Max usually goes for men who are taller, scruffier, more built with brown eyes… but Max can’t deny that Charles would make him look twice if he saw him on the street. Not like Charles would look twice at Max, because he isn’t gay like him. A reality that is sad but makes it easier to be less attached… because there was no way anything more can happen. It’s fun though, to fantasise harmlessly with no consequences and a clear boundary. Max’s talent of tuning in at the right time showcases again, as Charles wraps up his monologue.
“How are you feeling about this weekend? First race in the improved car”
“Excited, I really just want to get back to it and prove I can do it”
Charles looks serious for a moment, letting the call go silent.
“You don’t need to prove anything Max, we know you’re good… we know your worth without getting a win to prove it”
The words melt into Max’s skin and saturate him in warmth. He gulps, feeling the words that he doesn’t want to say queue up in this throat. Instead, he nods once and breaks eye contact, hoping that’s enough for Charles to move on, which thankfully it is.
“I know you’ve got this though, and fair warning… I will be watching from the comfort of my home”
Max laughs at Charles’ absurd dig at him, shaking his head.
“Maybe you’re a jinx”
“I like to think of myself as a good luck charm actually! Maybe for Oscar though”
Max’s possessiveness peaks again as he clenches his jaw, his eyes hurting from how hard he rolls them.
“Wear your Red Bull merch while you watch, and stop cheering for Oscar it’s weird”
“I can’t cheer for my favourite driver?”
Max fights the urge to frown, admittedly a bit sad that he isn’t Charles’ favourite.
“Didn’t realise he was your favourite”
“I’ve always supported McLaren, or maybe I just supported Australians because I used to rep Daniel Ricciardo. I have a soft spot for them I guess”
Max’s face is red hot now, not in anger but in jealousy of Charles rooting for his rival and old teammate.
“Well, you have shit taste I guess”
Charles laughs, and Max tries to act like he is joking but he is a shit actor.
“Anyway Max, rest assured I will also be cheering you on. Give them hell.”
Now that’s something that Max can get behind. He grins at Charles’ praise and admiration, feeling his body soften.
“Thanks Charles, I will.”
Charles smiles and nods, before glancing at his watch.
“I guess we call it there! I will see you next week.” Charles waves goodbye, and Max smiles as he returns one back again. His heart pangs when the call ends, no longer being able to oggle Charles through the screen. Max stands up and stretches, feeling a sudden inspiration to work out and start some sim racing prep.
Chapter 6: Say what you want and I'll keep it a secret
Summary:
The lights reflect around him as he walks to the bar on the left side of the room, looking around for someone to take home for the night.
And then he sees him.
It could be the alcohol but Max is sure he knows that hair and smile anywhere.
Charles Leclerc. In a GAY bar.
Or: Drunk Max sees Charles in a gay bar and sober Max doesn't know how to handle it.
Notes:
Double upload!!! Hope you wanted it and if you didn't, TOO BAD.
Title inspired by One of your Girls by Troye Sivan c:
Chapter Text
“… and he valiantly crosses the line in Silverstone, grid penalty be damned! The loss streak has been broken, and Max Verstappen wins the British Grand Prix”
Max pumps his fist in the air a few times while slowly reducing his speed, waving to the grandstands. He can feel the tears prickle his eyes as hears the crowd roar, goosebumps covering his skin. It was a hard race, and George Russell was on his ass the entire time, but he managed the car well. He kept pace, maintained his tyres, ruthlessly overtook…
and he fucking won.
Just like Charles told him to do, he gave them hell.
Max pumps his fist in the air a few more times after he parks his car outside the podium in the number 1 position. He climbs out, standing on its front and thrusting his hands in the air, his signature move after a win. The Red Bull team cheers, beckoning him to come over. Max runs, launching himself into the sea of mechanics and engineers. He winces every time a strong hand beats against his back in congratulations, but he admittedly misses the bruises of glory and praise. He does his post-race routine and press obligations before it’s finally time for him to grace the podium again.
Max walks over to his first-place position, yelling with the roaring crowd that is making his ear ring in the best way possible. As he stands, listening to his national anthem, he wonders a few things. He looks to the crowd and meets his dad’s eyes, his heart twisting at the proud look he returns back at him. As he should look, that was likely the best race of Max’s career. He wonders if this means he will be listened to more, considering how good the car has felt with his changes. He wonders if this means he will start to feel okay again. He hears Charles’ voice in his head telling him to not tie his self-worth to achievement, but damn does he feel worthy right now. So… wanted. It’s addictive. He can’t help but wonder if Charles is still watching. The thought both exciting and nauseating at the same time. He daydreams that Charles is as excited as he is, rowdily yelling for Max as he crosses the line. He imagines his warm eyes gleaming as he watches Max on the podium, knowing Charles would be happy to see him happy. In the case that he is watching, Max gives the camera his best smile, eye creases and all. He winks at the camera as he prepares for the champagne shower. George and Lando let the champagne rain over him, signifying the end of his win drought.
After all the press commitments and the team debrief, he decides he deserves a good night out filled with booze and probably bad decisions. He texts his team that he is leaving soon, looking in his bathroom mirror while styling his hair with gel. He picks out a white linen shirt, it’s kind of see-through but Max knows he will end up drenched in sweat by the end of the night anyway, so it doesn’t matter. He puts on a pair of beige chinos and white sneakers as well as his favourite TAG-Heuer. Spraying some cologne and giving himself one more look over, Max can say for the first time in forever that he looks good, matching how he feels. He knows this won’t last forever, but he tries to savour the moment. He receives the text that his driver is outside, grabbing his phone before making his way out.
He meets his team at the club, one that most drivers go to in London. Hearing a cheer as they spot him, Max puts his hands up in the air cockily, provoking the team to cheer louder. He says his hellos and hugs around the VIP area they are in, occasionally bopping his head to the music. Max notices 4 gin and tonics waiting on the table in a row, as he looks up and grins, knowing they are for him. He picks up one and starts to drink, knowing tonight will be one he absolutely will forget.
Hours pass, and Max is beyond drunk. The fact he hasn’t lost his shoes or an article of clothing yet is something of a miracle, as is common when Max mixes with alcohol. He leaves the club with his arms around two mechanics, joyfully giggling and talking entirely too loudly.
“Max mate you better go home” One of the mechanics try to assert, falling on deaf ears. Max shakes his head dramatically like a toddler, pouting his lips.
“NooooOOOOOO C’MON MAN!! The night is young!!”
The two mechanics laugh and disentangle themselves from him, starting to pile in the uber. Max stands on his own, swaying like a tree in the breeze.
“Last chance, come with us or you’re on your own mate”
Max grins cheekily and waves them away “you’re no funnnn”
The men laugh as they shut the doors, yelling their goodbyes again from the window. Max traverses the streets of London alone, though that doesn’t stop him from joyfully singing the PSG anthem loud enough that fellow club-goers could probably hear him from inside. He at least walks with purpose, knowing a low-key gay bar is a few streets away that he used to frequent, back when he was actually interested in having sex and finding someone to be with. He hasn’t felt that way in a couple of years now but tonight could change that for him. His top is now half undone, and his hair is a mess of gel and sweat, but Max tries to maintain enough composure to be let into the club. The perks of being Max Verstappen is people (other than his team) don’t say no to you anyway, because between him barely being able to speak English and telling the bouncer that he looks beautiful in the moonlight, he definitely shouldn’t be allowed in any establishment with alcohol. He makes his way down the hall and is met with more loud beats and a dancefloor of sweaty bodies. The lights reflect around him as he walks to the bar on the left side of the room, looking around for someone to take home for the night.
and then he sees him.
It could be the alcohol, but Max is sure he knows that hair and smile anywhere.
Charles Leclerc. In a GAY bar.
Max freezes in place, semi hiding behind a pylon near the bar. He is definitely visible, but his brain can’t figure out two things at once, and right now his focus is on Charles.
Charles looks different outside of his professional dress. He wears a black shirt that’s covered in intricate cut outs, his caramel skin peeking through. He has two buttons undone from the top, showcasing a shell necklace around his neck and his chiselled collar bones. He wears black shorts that ride up his thigh, dangerously but tantalisingly high. Charles is holding a drink in one hand on the dance floor, moving his body in rhythm to the music. Two men are on either side of him, his body grinding against them hypnotically. Charles leans his head back, giving dreamy eyes and a drunk smile to the man behind him before kissing him sloppily. When he’s done, he faces forward and does the same to the man in front - and fuck, Max can’t help his jaw from dropping. He has never seen anything so obscene, especially from someone as put together and innocent-seeming as Charles. He can’t look away, addicted to watching him let loose but feeling the burning jealousy of not feeling him against him, being the one planting messy kisses on his perfect lips.
Max shakes his head as if to wake up to himself, realising he is in plain sight and this is, in fact, a really fucking bad scenario. Even drunk, Max knows if Charles sees him that things won’t be the same… and that cannot happen. Especially not now. Max turns around and bee-lines for the bars exit, pushing his way through the crowd of bodies until the cool British air hits his face again. The bouncer helps Max call his driver, his brain too preoccupied with Charles’ collarbones and legs and hair and-
oh god this is bad
He uses the drive home to unclutter his messy mind, unable to get the image of Charles sleazily dancing between two men out of his head. He hasn’t seen Charles in the flesh in weeks, his first session back in person scheduled for two day’s time. Max originally chalked it down to Charles being eye-candy that made sessions more enjoyable… or maybe it was how easy he was to rile up. Just harmless things that got him through the sessions… but his head spins as the alcohol reveals some truths that he has tried very hard to deny. Yes, Charles is annoying, very annoying. He thinks he is so smart, like he knows everything. It’s like he is 10 steps ahead before you even know you are on stairs. He overthinks every word that comes out of Max’s mouth and finds meaning in things that are inherently meaningless. He always has that warm fucking smile on his face, even when Max is being a complete asshole to him. He is impossible to get a read on sometimes and that drives Max fucking insane.
But Charles is also kind, and caring. He listens and he makes Max feel like not everything in his life is a fucking disaster. He just always knows how Max feels, and how to say it in a way that isn’t so difficult. He doesn’t pity Max, he doesn’t feel for him… he feels with him. Worst of all, Charles knows him better than most people in his life; and he is actually helping him... and god he is incredibly fucking hot.
A very drunk Max comes to grips with the fact that Charles actually means a lot to him, a hell of a lot more than just being nice to look at… which again, Max cannot believe how nice he is to look at. Max realises his harmless fantasies of fucking Charles are no longer harmless. The boundary has been demolished. Charles is gay, or bi... he likes men... probably… and that non-zero chance that Max has makes his fun suddenly very… very scary.
He finally gets to his apartment, stumbling to his door and fumbling to get the keys in. He starts to strip off his clothes as he walks to his bedroom, exhausted both physically and mentally from the day’s events. As he unbuckles his belt, pulling down his chinos, Max feels immediate relief from the hard-on he didn’t even realise he had, too drunk and stressed to feel it. He groans, pissed off that his body has betrayed him like this instead of giving it a rest for the night. He crawls into his bed and pushes his hand into his boxers, gripping his length. He takes a sharp inhale in as he does, realising he must have been hard for a while for it to be this sensitive. Max begins to stroke, closing his eyes and imagining Charles dancing in the club but this time on him instead. He imagines he piercing eyes looking back at him, how good it would feel to have his body rub against him, and the way his accent would beg him to fuck him.
That’s all it took.
Max releases his pent-up frustrations over his stomach pathetically, the liquid shining off his skin. Panting, Max reaches over and grabs tissues to discard any evidence of his transgression before rolling over and setting his alarm. He lays his head on the pillow and throws is hands over his face in embarrassment, because if he wasn’t already weird enough… now he is the guy that fantasises about his therapist while he cums.
Two days later
Charles POV
Charles finishes the note from his previous client before taking a sip of tea, glancing at his clock and confirming it’s time to see Max. It had been a while since he had seen him in person, which acted as a bit of relief from the anxious feeling of wanting to throw up every time he saw him. It was nice not having to poker face his way through a session or act as if having someone stare into your soul for 50 minutes was completely fine and comfortable.
But Charles can admit he might actually miss it.
A lot.
Max was a challenge that Charles would previously have never taken on. He is a pain in the ass, but the reward is so worth it. He is one of those clients where you know deep down, they are good person who learned shitty things from shitty people. Charles fiddles with his rings as he stares into space, realising that he is daydreaming about Max. He lightly shakes his head like it is an intrusive thought he wants to disappear and stands up, making sure his button up shirt is still tucked in correctly and his trousers not weirdly creased. Breathing out slow, he opens the door. Charles wonders if one day he will ever not approach the door with bated breath.
“Max, come in, it’s good to see you in person again” Charles smiles, watching Max assert his way into the room as usual, not acknowledging his welcome. He is wearing something different to usual; a plain white shirt hugs his arms and light blue jean shorts replace his usual dark skinny jeans. Usually, Charles would comment on the appearance of his clients if it dramatically changes, however he decides not to knowing that whatever he says will probably sound ridiculous to Max anyway. Besides, Charles doesn’t trust that his compliment would come across professionally, because he cannot deny how good he looks out of his Red Bull gear.
“I saw your win, Congratu-”
“I don’t want to Zoom anymore” Max abruptly states, making himself at home in Charles’ office. He has his back against one arm of the chair and his legs thrown over the other. Charles looks at him puzzled, stopping in his tracks trying to understand what he means.
“… is Zoom a funny way of saying drive? like zoom zoom?”
“No, what?” Max chuckles and looks at him perplexed, cracking a smile at the absurdity of Charles saying zoom zoom in his thick accent. “The app. Video calling.”
“Right… why don’t you want to do video sessions anymore?”
“Video sucks”
“As in the tech difficulties? I think we managed the WIFI problem pretty we-”
“It was so fucking awkward”
Charles feels his heart rate increase as Max stares at him with his usual intensity, and he notes the irony of how awkward he currently feels being so diligently observed by Max. He can’t fathom how Max thinks looking at a screen could be more awkward than this.
“What has brought this on Max?” Charles asks, realising he is still standing like a buffoon near his office door. He walks over to his desk, making Max shift his position to see him.
“Why does there always have to be an elaborate reason?” Max groans, throwing his head back and rubbing his eyes.
“I guess, I am wondering because it was so important that you had to say it immediately as soon as you were in the room. Could that be it? You are used to this room and so it felt-”
“It’s not the room” Max interrupts again, and Charles feels the heat of annoyance rise to his cheeks, only quelled by his confusion and curiosity. Charles tries to think of every reason that a client has said they prefer in-person sessions and exhausts the list entirely, leaving one possible but ridiculous option.
Max just likes seeing Charles.
But again, that’s ridiculous.
“Okay, I know video conferencing can feel pretty awkward sometimes… What do you propose?”
“Come to the races” Max states, smiling in a troublemaker sort of way, like he has some devious plan in mind. Its childish, and it takes Charles completely off guard.
Fuck.
Charles freezes and Max smiles, happy with the reaction he is seeing. Something about getting under Charles’ skin or taking him by surprise just does it for him, Charles knows it. Any opportunity Max gets to read the man in front of him is met with deep satisfaction… and that makes Charles feel hot under the collar. Charles collects his thoughts and slowly smirks, leaning back on his desk as he pushes the sleeves up on his dress shirt.
“Careful Max, I am starting to think you’re beginning to enjoy therapy”
Max dramatically rolls his eyes, but Charles saw the small smirk attempt to appear before Max stopped it.
“It just makes it more tolerable.”
“To have me near you?” Charles fires back, his smirk deepening. It’s rare, but Max’s eyes widen in response, shocked at the boldness Charles found from nowhere. It surprises Charles too, realising his filter did not really kick in to stop that one from coming out. Max closes his eyes and takes a breath before continuing.
“So, will you?”
Charles can see Max is trying to play it off like Charles is annoying him, but theres the faintest sincerity peeking through his voice.
He actually means this.
“If you can get Horner to clear it, then okay”
“Cool. Now, let’s get this over with” Max nods, again correcting the smile that was destined to come out.
Charles takes his turn to roll his eyes now, walking over to his chair.
“Well congrats again!”
“Thank you” Max responds, a smile beaming from ear to ear. It’s the kind of smile that makes his eyes crease in the most endearing way. It’s foreign seeing Max so happy. Charles revels in Max’s delight, unable to stop himself from smiling back.
“Did you celebrate after?”
“Uh yeah, with some of the team and friends” Max responds, but Charles immediately saw the tone shift. Max’s jaw clenches as he finished the sentence and awkwardness replaces the delight in the air. Charles is again reminded why he liked the respite of a camera-less zoom call.
“That’s good to hear”
“What were you up to?” Max asks before Charles can think of a direction to go in. Charles looks quizzically at him. He knows that Max sometimes likes to throw questions back at Charles to waste time, but the hastiness makes Charles think that there is something else here.
“On Sunday night?” Charles asks, which Max nods in return. “Hmmm” Charles thinks, but it doesn’t take much to remember where he was, and there is absolutely no way he was disclosing that to Max. Oh yeah! I was at a gay bar getting rubbed on by many men and leaving with none of them “I was at home, watched a movie after the race”
Max stares at Charles without asking any further questions, and Charles hopes he is in the clear.
Rest of Session
Max POV
Bullshit.
Max stares at Charles as he talks about some therapeutic bullshit, the words falling on deaf and steaming ears. He can hear the words, but nothing is sinking in as he thinks about why Charles would lie. Why wouldn’t he say he just went out? Is he closeted? Does he think Max is a homophobe? Max can feel his cheeks glow red while his thoughts spiral.
“Max? Have you been listening at all?” Charles interrupts, making him blink twice in succession as he returns his attention back to reality.
“No” He responds honestly, as he never really did pay attention to lecturer Charles trying to teach him skills. Charles sighs exasperatedly and puts his worksheets on the table beside them.
“What’s on your mind?”
You
“Nothing” Max lies
“Okay well can you try to pay attention? This is important foundational stuff for our work together”
Charles continues on but Max goes back inward. It’s all good and well that Charles expects honesty from him, but he can lie to Max in return.
“So when you start thinking like this, your body responds wi-…”
Max hates liars. He remembers times when his father would lie about how long they were training for, or when he could see his friends next.
“And then your feelings fuel your thoughts, creating a toxi-”
He thinks about when his team lies, saying that are implementing his feedback only to ignore it.
“If you can cut the connection between thoughts and behavi-”
All the people that lied to get closer to him, get something from him. Max’s leg becomes restless, his face burning from the pressure of holding in his frustration. It doesn’t take much more of Charles’ lecturing for Max to break.
“What movie did you watch?” Max asks, a little too forcefully.
“…What?”
“On Sunday, what movie did you watch Charles?”
Charles looks perplexed and looks up at the ceiling, making an “umm” sound as if he is thinking of another lie.
“What? You forgot the movie already?” Max prods, not allowing Charles the space to complete the lie.
“Are you looking for recommendations?” Charles retorts “Where did that even come from, is that what you were thinking about this whole time?”
“Just curious” Max knows he can’t be nonchalant anymore, annoyance painting his face. “I didn’t think your memory was that poor”
“I didn’t watch a movie. I went out as well actually. I just didn’t think it was appropriate to say so before.”
Max’s breath hitches as Charles tells the truth finally. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t for him to admit it… even if it wasn’t the whole truth. Max feels his body release as he recognises that maybe he didn’t have ill intentions but just wanted to be professional. Max’s cheeks turn red for a different reason, feeling bad for thinking Charles had malicious motives still. Having no reason to be defiant anymore, he sinks deeper into his chair.
“… well how will I know what movie to watch tonight now?”
Charles stifles a laugh and rolls his eyes, smiling before continuing what he was saying and this time, Max listens.
Chapter 7: You're closing the space, a smile on your face
Summary:
Charles can see that Max looks deep in thought about a new question, as he chews the side of his cheek and plays with his fingers. His foot taps on the chair, making Max’s body slightly bounce. Charles knows his nervous tick is restless legs, and this is the closest he’s got with his arms wrapped around his knees. The worry is contagious, as Charles tries to mind-read to understand what has got Max so stressed.
“Are you single?”
Oh.
That would be it.
OR: Max gets bold and Charles gets timid.
Notes:
hiiiiiiiiiii!!
I procrastinate wrote again :)
As always thank you for being so kind!! The comments really make this worth it, makes me feel like I am not writing to the void.
I hope you are all treating yourselves with kindness! x
Chapter title inspired by HOW DOES IT FEEL? by The Kid LAROI
Chapter Text
Max spots Horner from across the room at Red Bull HQ, taking a deep breath before approaching him. Horner finishes what he is saying to one of the mechanics before turning to Max with a smile.
“Ah, theres our winner! You alright?”
Max smiles at Horners praise, something that he has missed in the win drought.
“I am great, just wanted to get your approval on something”
Horner signals Max to sit down at the table and chairs next to them, and Max obliges. Horner’s body language looks tense, more rigid than when he was talking to the mechanic.
“Right… go on”
“I want the shrink to travel with us”
Horner’s eyes widen theatrically, completely taken aback by Max’s request. Max wants to laugh, but maintains a poker face to show he is serious… because boy is he serious.
“You want Charles to travel with us to races? Am I hearing this right?”
Max nods, watching Horner’s expression turn from one of surprise to confusion.
“I hate to admit you were right, but you were. It’s helping… like therapy is… but it’s fucking intolerable over Zoom mate, it has to be in person”
Horner strokes his beard, looking sceptical and deep in thought. His eyes explore Max’s face, and Max tries not to buckle under the pressure. He keeps his gaze firm, not allowing Horner to intimidate him.
“Look, it’s music to my ears to hear that I am right… I don’t think you have told me that in years,” Horner chuckles “, but I don’t think I can justify the cost of hosting Charles around the world, Max.”
Max can feel his frustration rising, his heart beat starting to quicken. He can tell Horner is not on board. He lets the silence sit for a moment, drawing a box on his leg under the table while he breathes and thinks of a possible solution.
“I’ll pay for it. He can come on my jet and I will foot the accommodation. Happy? No cost to Red Bull”
“It’s not that easy” Horner tilts his head down but keeps his eyes on Max, shooting his gaze above his glasses. Max keeps drawing the box, trying to keep his temper at bay despite Horner getting on his last nerve.
“Yes, it is. Just send me the invoice”
Christian’s eyes narrow in on Max, the scepticism unfading. Is it weird that Max is gunning this hard for his therapist to galavant with him around the world? Yeah, it is… but if the other option is having to look at him in 280p then he will just have to continue to look like a complete freak in front of Horner. Horner sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his pointer and thumb.
“… he is helping you that much?” Horner looks at him warily, and Max hastily nods.
“Why do you think I won Silverstone?”
“Because you are good at what you do”
“And I had someone to stop me from running in front of traffic” Max bluntly says, exaggerating massively in desperation of Horner seeing that this is a non-negotiable. Horner’s expression softens as he sighs deeply.
“He will pay his own invoice, Max. What you do with your jet is your business, but you cannot just pay for him; HR definitely won’t like that, and I doubt Charles would either. Are we clear?”
Max delays the smile from spreading across his face, slapping Horner affectionately on the back.
“Crystal, I’m gonna go tell him now”
“He doesn’t even know about the plan?!” Horner laughs
“Nope” Max lies, watching Horner rest his forehead against his fingers as if he has a headache.
“You are chaotic, go on. Let him know that I’ll get Kaia to send him his itinerary now.”
Max nods at Horner, only letting his smile beam when he turns his back. He tries not to have too much of a skip in his step as he walks the halls of Red Bull HQ to Charles’ office. He scheduled his next session with Charles for later this week, intentionally making it after media day in hopes Horner would agree to his plan. He sits outside his door, hearing chatter from inside and realising Charles is likely in a session. It’s 2:40 pm, and Max knows Charles is insistent on having his sessions on the hour, so it’s only 15ish minutes to wait. Regardless of the many things he needs to do before COTA this weekend, Max sits patiently in the chair and scrolls through his phone for Kaia’s contact. He presses call, grinning at the floor as he waits for her to answer.
“Hiya Max! What do you need?”
“Has Christian told you about the plans for Charles?”
“He just sent me the email, I was just reading it. Any issues?”
“Is he booked in the usual hotel?”
“Christian wrote to put him in the same hotel as the mechanics. Did you want me to change that?”
Max furrows his brows in confusion, wondering why Christian made that stipulation.
“Yeah, from now on just book him at the same hotel as me.”
“Got it! Anything else?”
“Yeah, I need a favour, can you route the invoice to me instead of Charles quietly? I know you hate hiding shit from Horner, but this is really important”
“Fine…” Kaia sighs loudly into the phone.
“Thank you, Kaia”
“You’re welcome Max”
Max hangs up the phone and tries to think about why Horner has a stick up his ass about Charles. Why is he putting him with the mechanics? It couldn’t be to avoid him staying in a hotel with his client, half of the mechanics are clients too. It makes no sense to him; he was the one who mandated these sessions in the first place, so you would think he would be ecstatic that it’s helping. Regardless, Max smirks again, remembering he got what he wanted… more time to stare at Charles Leclerc in the flesh.
The door opening startles Max slightly as one of the corporate team steps out of Charles’ office, thanking him for his time. Charles waves goodbye with a smile before noticing Max, his head tilting in surprise.
“Oh! Hello!” Charles awkwardly says with a laugh, “We are seeing each other on Thursday… correct?”
Max scratches the back of his head, nerves deciding to flood his chest. He flashes a small smile to Charles, trying to act cool despite feeling the complete opposite.
“Yeah we are. Do you have a minute?”
“Always have a minute for you, Max” Charles responds, opening the door wider and signalling Max in. Max bites his lip as he passes, making sure he is out of sight of Charles. His heart races at Charles’ overt charm. He takes a seat in his normal chair and takes a breath, but not a deep one, because Charles would clock that immediately. Max hates the mental gymnastics of trying to act cool in front of the man who analyses his every movement.
“Just spoke to Horner, you’re cleared to travel with us”
Charles’ smile grows as he connects the dots from their last session. Max can’t help but beam a smile back. How could he not when Charles looks at him like he just brought down the moon for him?
“You’re kidding. I thought for sure he would tell you to fuck off” Charles frames his face with his hands in excitement in the cutest possible way, making Max giggle in response. He wants to tell him the truth, but he knows Charles would overthink if he thought Horner had his doubts.
“Kaia is going to send you your itinerary, actually, you might already have it if you want to check?”
Charles giddily jumps from his chair to his computer, presumedly checking his email. Max’s heart pounds at the sight of Charles looking so ridiculously happy. He loves it when he can just see how Charles is feeling without the whole professional facade to mask it. It used to drive him insane, not knowing how to read him; it still does, and moments like these show him what he is missing.
“Ah, I think there has been a mistake”, Charles laughs “It says I’ll be on a private jet! I’ll just quickly respond to Ka-”
“No, that’s right” Max grins “It’s my jet”
Charles snaps up from hunching over his laptop and glares at Max, making him flinch at the sudden change in mood.
“What the fuck are you thinking? I can’t do that. That is such an ethical violation! I can just fly economy, don’t be ridiculous”
Max frowns at Charles’ reaction, hurt that he is so vehemently against flying with him. He knows he shouldn’t, but Max decides one more white lie for the day won’t hurt.
“Christian proposed it, it was a bit short notice for a flight, and the jet wouldn’t cost the company”
Charles scrunches his mouth to the side and looks back at Max, deep in thought. He sighs, a smile creeping on his face again.
“As long as we are clear that this is not you doing me favours for me to continue my service”
Max can’t help but shine another smile back.
“Crystal”.
On Route: Texas
Charles yawns in his oversized hoodie and matching sweatpants, waiting for the driver Red Bull organised to take him to the airport. It was a battle figuring out what to pack, with Charles not having much of a summer work wardrobe, considering England is miserable most of the time. Charles rests his headphones around his neck, deciding to reserve charge for the long flight… or maybe there are power points on the jet. Not like he has ever been on one before to know, and the fact that he is makes him feel sick with excitement. He triple checks his carry-on bag for his important items, his passport, laptop and wallet, all of which are there, packed like Tetris. A Mercedes starts to slow in front of his apartment, the only available spot being in a ‘no stopping zone’. Charles waves them over, watching the back window retract as the car parks to reveal a very smug Max in the backseat.
“Good morning sunshine” He jokes. Charles groans and rolls his eyes as the driver helps him put his bags in the boot. He was surprised by how little Max packed compared to him, but I guess that’s what happens when you wear a total of 3 outfits. He gets into the backseat, Max’s smug grin not subsiding.
“It’s 1 pm Max”
“And yet you look like you’ve just rolled out of bed”
“Not your therapist right now, so I can tell you to fuck off until I have coffee” Charles spits while putting his headphones on his ears, bluffing that they are turned on. Max chuckles in response, obviously pleased with his successful annoyance of Charles.
The ride is smooth, and Max surprisingly respects Charles’ wishes of not annoying him. Charles mostly looked out his window the entire drive, but occasionally spared a glance to see what Max was doing… which was usually on his laptop doing some sort of work thing. Charles was too cranky to notice what Max was wearing before, one of his own merchandise shirts and a pair of dark blue jeans. Charles subtly shakes his head and scoffs, but it’s enough to catch Max’s attention.
“What?” he awkwardly laughs, confused by Charles’s action.
“Really? Your own merch?”
Max shrugs and goes back to what he is doing, making Charles stifle a smile as he thinks about how interesting a character Max is. He is cocky and confident, and anyone who didn’t know him would think he is completely arrogant and self-centred, donning his own brand over him like a walking billboard. Yet that’s not the case; he just doesn’t give a fuck. He doesn’t care about what he is wearing because he is a professional doing his job in his job attire… and Charles respects that deeply.
Doesn’t mean he doesn’t look like a complete dickhead, though.
At least he is a hot one.
The driver pulls up to a private entrance, the view of Max’s jet in the distance making Charles’ stomach do flips. You’d think he was a child at Christmas with how much joy is on his face. As he gets out of the car and walks closer to the tarmac, he notices the signature bright orange lion alongside Max’s brand logo plastered along the aircraft. He turns his head sharply at Max beside him with an astounded look, making Max laugh and shrug his shoulders again.
“How would I know if it’s mine without it?”
The absurd answer makes Charles throw his head back in laughter. The sound of his suitcase rolling on the tarmac is an oddly satisfying sound that he hasn’t heard since arriving in London… only really ever packing lightly for his quick trips back to Monaco. Staff come and collect him and Max’s bags before he starts to walk the stairs up to the jet.
“Want a photo? First PJ ride?” Max says behind him, making Charles turn around and nod his head enthusiastically. This is too cool an experience not to memorialise. He hands Max his phone as he makes his way back down the stairs. At the bottom, he jogs a few metres away to get enough of the plane in. Charles holds the railing and smiles, showcasing the jet behind him. Max smiles behind the camera, taking a few shots before running up to take a closer-up shot.
“Sayyyyy baby’s first PJ!” Max yells, making Charles sputter out an unexpected laugh
“Fuck off Max, take the bloody photo”
Max complies while giggling before walking back up to hand Charles his phone. Eventually reaching the top, Charles marvels at the white upholstery and pure opulence in front of his eyes. He takes a seat at one of the few chairs, sinking in with comfort. Max walks down the aisle presumedly to speak with the pilot, and Charles takes the moment to check the mass of photos Max took. He scrolls through, favouriting the ones he liked most and deleting the bloopers. He comes across a slew of photos Max decided to take of himself in the process, flaunting a goofy smile and crossed eyes.
Such a child, but undeniably cute.
He decides to keep them, justifying it to be a memory that he can keep to himself. Pulling out his laptop from his bag, Charles puts his headphones back on and smiles at Max as he walks back from the cockpit. Max signals his hands as if he is sipping from an imaginary cup, mouthing the word “coffee?”. Charles laughs and tells him that his headphones aren’t playing anything yet, earning a slight blush to form on Max’s cheeks.
“Well, coffee or no?”
Charles nods yes and asks Max for a double-shot espresso. Max nods as he turns around to the small coffee machine nailed to the counter. It’s endearing watching Max make the coffee himself; Charles admittedly assumed he would have staff waiting on him hand and foot. Max is obviously trying to make this experience as nice as possible for him, and even though he feels uneasy about taking a private jet with his client, he appreciates the effort. Max pours the coffee into a cardboard cup, covering the top sturdily with the lid, and checking it twice. Meticulous as always. He brings the coffee to Charles, placing it on the table next to his laptop with two sugar packets just in case. Charles thanks him, and Max replies with a smile and a nod before sitting down across from him and bringing out his own laptop. He takes a sip, and Charles becomes annoyed that he is even good at making coffee. Reflecting that there isn’t much Max isn’t good at, other than unpacking emotions, which even there he is improving.
Max actually leaves Charles alone for the first few hours of the ride, doing work opposite him. He occasionally catches him bopping to whatever music is playing in his AirPods, and Charles always smirks at the view. It was almost unbelievable how much work Charles managed to get done, and how different he thought the ride would be. He thought Max would be infuriating, constantly trying to get under his skin and be a nuisance, but he has done nothing but be respectful and kind the entire time. It almost makes him feel bad for doubting him. Charles decides to finally put his headphones away, catching Max’s attention. Charles smiles back at him as he watches him put his AirPods away in solidarity.
“Fancy a therapy session thousands of feet in the air?” Charles jokes, pulling his legs up to his chest and his back against the plane window, turning his head to the left to look at Max. Max chuckles and shakes his head.
“I could not think of anything worse thank you”
“Yeah, me either” Charles agrees, closing his eyes as he leans his head back. The sky darkens by the minute, and Charles can’t help but yawn, tiredness settling in.
“You know, I feel like you know so much about me, but I know nothing about you” Max states, mimicking Charles’ position with his back against the wall.
“Mmm, that’s kinda the point Max, you’re not meant to know about your therapist”
“I guess…” he scrunches his mouth to the side, seemingly unhappy with Charles’ answer. A pit forms in Charles’ stomach, feeling compelled to comply with his attempt to know more about him, even though he knows he shouldn’t. Charles instead flips it on Max.
“Well, I still feel like I know nothing about you… like every day stuff. I never really got to do a proper assessment with you because you’re a pain in the ass”
Max stifles a smile, his eyes twinkling at Charles in the moody plane lamp lighting.
“Well, you can ask me anything… but all I ask is that if you ask, you also answer”
Charles hums in response, his ethical brain screaming at him to say no. He knows this is a glorified game of 20 questions, and his high school years taught him that never goes well.
“I’ll try”
Charles never liked his ethical brain anyway.
Max no longer suppresses the smile that was desperate to shine, both he and Charles turning to face ahead, looking outside the window across from them.
“What’s your favourite colour?” Max starts, despite the point of this being Charles asking him approved questions that he could answer. Charles lets him off, seeing as the question was tame anyway.
“Baby blue”
“Very specific” Max raises his brow, still not answering the question. Charles realises that this may be more one-sided than he hoped.
“It reminds me of home” He answers truthfully.
“Do you miss home?” Max asks quietly, turning to look at him.
Charles keeps his eyes trained on the window, despite it being purely dark outside. Of course, he misses home, but honestly, he hasn’t felt homesick in a while. He loves his job, he gets to travel the world with one of his sporting idols… he is fine.
“What’s your favourite colour Max?” Charles looks at him, trying to reorient Max’s attention back to himself instead of Charles.
“Blue… just blue” He smiles
“Boring” Charles retorts, watching Max’s smile turn to fake offence. “Morning or night person?”
“Night, I hate getting up early” Max replies, but Charles knew that. He remembers trying to organise his first session with Horner and how insufferable he described Max would be if he had an early morning session. Little did Horner know that Max would be insufferable in every session regardless.
“Same”
“I know, Mr. Wake-up-at-midday. At least I’m not that bad”
Charles throws a sugar packet at Max, making him laugh the way Charles likes best. Max folds his chest over the table as his hands lean on top of it, his mouth open wide as he cackles. The joy and warmth wash over Charles, making him enjoy the game of questions more than he initially thought he would. They both exchange questions for a while, from favourite cuisines to pet peeves, favourite scents to …
“Do you have a hidden talent?” Max asks, resting his head on his hand as his elbow rests on the table. He looks deeply interested in Charles’ potential response, something that Charles can add to the list of adorable things Max does sometimes.
“I can play piano, write my own compositions actually”
Max nods, an impressed look on his face “You ever thought about pursuing it further?”
“Nah, it’s just my thing. I don’t need to make it a job. What about you? Max of all trades?”
Max grins at the nickname and looks down at his fingers, knowing his hidden talent isn’t anywhere as cool as Charles’
“I… uh… I can juggle?”
Charles curls his lips over his teeth to not laugh, his eyes closing.
“That’s… so coo-” he starts to say before breaking and laughing, Max crosses his arms and pretends to be mad, not doing a great job of hiding the smile that peeks from his fake pissed off expression.
“Man, for a shrink, you’re kind of an asshole”
Charles continues to crack up, his hand slamming on the table in enjoyment. Max breaks his act and joins in.
“Do you have any nicknames?” Charles asks, a smile still plastered on his face from the laughing fit he just calmed down from. His eyes are glassy with joyful tears.
“Not any that I like… they used to call me Mad Max, but I always found it stupid. Maxie maybe? Do you?”
Charles smiles shyly, knowing his nickname is similar to Max’s. The amount of coincidences between them gives Charles thoughts that he doesn’t want to and can’t acknowledge.
“Yeah, Charlie. One of my friends called me Lord Perceval once because it’s one of my middle names, but that didn’t really stick with anyone but him”
Max laughs in response and lays his head against the wall of the plane again. Charles can see that Max looks deep in thought about a new question, as he chews the side of his cheek and plays with his fingers. His foot taps on the chair, making Max’s body slightly bounce. Charles knows his nervous tick is restless legs, and this is the closest he’s got with his arms wrapped around his knees. The worry is contagious, as Charles tries to mind-read to understand what has got Max so stressed.
“Are you single?”
Oh.
That would be it.
Charles sits in silence for a moment, his ethical brain sounding off every alarm possible. It’s running to every part of his body and telling it to shut down and shut up. Hey heart? Stop fucking beating so fast. Mouth? Don’t even THINK about it. Stomach? You need to chill.
This is bad.
Bad news.
Code Red, Blue and Black.
Max looks straight ahead, not indulging Charles with any eye contact whatsoever. Charles challenges his ethical brain. What was the worst that could happen anyway? Maybe this is Max’s way of being able to open up about his relationships? Who is Charles to stop his endeavour for more relational work?
“I am, yes”
Charles’ lungs feel full in anticipation, waiting for Max’s response while he doesn’t move an inch from his position. Not that Charles would know for sure, with them both only being able to perceive each other from their periphery, both too awkward to make eye contact. Charles knows he should be modelling better, showing Max this isn’t an awkward conversation to have… but unfortunately, he sometimes can’t practice what he preaches.
“Me too” Max finally spits out before Charles has had a chance to think about what to respond.
“Cool” He hurriedly says. Cool. COOL? Charles’ ethical brain yells so loud it rattles in his skull, echoing and bouncing off the walls. He tries to think of something else to say, stupidly going with the first thing that comes to his mind again. “When did you last have a relationship?”
Charles justifies himself right now as doing the clinical interview he never got to do, because Max couldn’t engage with that at the start. He knows deep down that the true reason does not align with his justification, but that can stay deep down.
“A while ago now, like 4 years?”
Charles knows the point of the game is to answer the questions he states, but decides to continue asking questions in hopes that Max forgot that part. Charles's ethical brain starts to unplug itself from his body.
“What happened?”
Max still doesn’t move a muscle as silence fills the room. Charles begins to overthink, believing this is one of those times he pushes too far and makes the client tell him things they aren’t ready to tell. It’s something that Charles is painfully aware he does, despite trying to work on it. He prepares what to say to move on from the conversation, but Max starts to answer.
“I just didn’t love her”
Charles nods, the lull of the plane engine filling the cabin. The silence, for once, is comfortable, not as tense as it usually is. It’s calm, and Max is calm… and that is something that Charles has not seen often.
“You haven’t answered those questions yourself” Max turns his head to look at Charles, but Charles pretends not to notice in hopes he doesn’t catch his expression change. It’s not like there is much to say; he has just never had a long-term relationship. He never found anyone that he wanted to stay with, and just opted to have fun now and then. Charles watches as his ethical brain jumps out the window of the plane as he answers the question.
“Because the answer is boring, I have never really had a proper relationship”
“What?!” Max’s face is in disbelief, his hands banging on the table dramatically. “You’re kidding”
Charles smiles and looks puzzled at Max’s reaction.
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
Max shakes his head with his mouth still wide open in disbelief.
“For a shrink, you’re pretty fucking clueless mate”
Charles turns his body to face Max, trying to look for cues to understand what on earth is happening.
“What are you on about?!”
“Nothing” Max laughs, his gaze turning to his hands as he fidgets with his fingers. “That’s just crazy”
“Oh my god Max just spit it out” Charles says exasperatedly, sick of the game Max is playing. Maybe it’s the tiredness, but he can feel his patience faltering and any sort of professionalism completely dry from his body.
“There is no way someone as ho-conventionally attractive as you hasn’t been in a relationship, like seriously, mate, get a grip. If you wanted to lie, you could’ve made it believable”
Charles begs his body not to blush at the idea of Max finding him hot, knowing that to be the word he prevented himself from completing, but it betrays him nonetheless. He returns to his position with his arms wrapped around his knees, thoughts flooding his brain. Charles didn’t ever think Max would be one to call a man hot, nor did he think he would care about his relationship woes.
“1. I am not lying, and 2. It’s not like there haven’t been offers. I just don’t date for the sake of it. Besides, becoming a shrink is hard work; it’s a long degree. Lots of late nights. Not many people can deal with not seeing the person they are interested in all the time.”
Max nods in understanding, before suddenly looking like a lightbulb flashed over his head. He pinches the bridge of his nose, giggling under his breath.
“What now?” Charles smirks at the giggly man beside him
“I reacted how I did because I thought that meant you were a virgin” Max starts to laugh harder “It took me a bit to remember people can have sex outside of a relationship”
Charles laughs with him, his cheeks hurting from all the smiling. The situation is absurd, late-night talking with Max on a private jet about their love and sex life… but Charles is loving it. He didn’t want to acknowledge that, it’s so beyond ethically and professionally fucked, but he isn’t on the clock right now. He can relax. Maybe he can be an ethical fraud just this once.
“So you’ve just never found the right girl, then?” Charles asks Max, making him shift in his chair. Max takes a while to answer, as Charles expects. It’s a bit of a confronting question after all. Charles reaches for his water bottle while he waits, taking a sip of the water that is still cool with ice as a way of grounding himself.
“It’s hard to find the right girl when you’re attracted to men”
Immediately, water is spat out from his mouth, covering his sweat pants and the chair in front of him. He turns to Max slowly, seeing his shocked expression. Both of them boom with laughter at Charles’s mess and lack of decorum. Charles tries to collect his thoughts, his heart skipping many beats at the realisation that Max is gay.
Oh god.
He is gay.
He likes men.
Charles likes men.
He suddenly misses his ethical brain, that’s probably deployed its parachute and is halfway to the ground. It’s probably laughing at him from below, enjoying the comically sized bullet it somehow avoided.
“Right, that would make it difficult” is all Charles can manage to respond, still in a daze.
“mmhm” Max hums, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “What about you? What do you mean by dating for the sake of it?”
Charles smiles at Max’s curiosity, finding it cute that he is playing therapist. He thinks carefully about what to respond as he wipes the water from the chair and dries his sweatpants. He can’t deny the intense compulsion to let Max in that little bit more. Surely this is rapport building, right? The therapeutic relationship is so important, and it’s a good thing if Max can relate to Charles and share a bond. It means he will engage more in therapy and then benefit more as a result, right? Yeah. That’s why he is doing this… yup.
“When I find a guy that I think I could marry, then I will date him… I just haven’t had a guy stay long enough to figure that out, I guess”
Charles looks at Max, seeing his eyes still closed, but a mile-wide smile grows on his face, one of contentment. Charles’ cheeks turn crimson as he looks down at his lap. The air is still and calm, and Charles almost doesn’t want the flight to end. The whirlwind of thoughts continues. He can’t deny how fond he is of Max, but he always thought of it in a purely platonic way. Yes, he is a good-looking man and yes, he is rich and famous and yes, he is gay… but that doesn’t change anything. He is a client. He is vulnerable; Charles can’t have any feelings beyond professional, platonic caring. He cares for all of his clients, that’s the job… and Max is a client. He is sensitive and caring, and he has eyes that glitter whenever he speaks, but he is a client. Yes, he smells good, he is funny, and they have so much in common… but he is a client.
He is a client.
Charles keeps repeating the statement in his head, trying to summon his ethical brain back, but it’s no use, as Max decides to open his stupid, cute mouth again.
“What’s your favourite ice cream flavour?” Max asks, grinning as he does. Charles can hear it even if he isn’t looking at him.
“Vanilla” Charles smiles at Max’s sweet redirection, turning to look at him finally, “you?”
Max's smirk grows as he looks down at his lap
“Same”
“Boring” Charles responds, making Max launch the sugar packet from before at him immediately.
Max and Charles continue to talk for the rest of the flight, arriving a few hours later in Austin, Texas. Charles goes into the bedroom of the jet, changing into more weather-appropriate clothing from his miserable London attire. It’s 6 pm in Austin, but it’s still sweltering. He changes into a brown baggy shirt and blue denim shorts, grabbing sunglasses from his carry-on and putting his headphones around his neck again. He slips his white Adidas back on and packs away his sweats, leaving the bedroom and rejoining Max. Charles notices Max give him a quick look up and down, before looking down at his feet to hide it.
He is a client.
Just a client.
They both get off the plane, and Charles follows Max, assuming they are being picked up by a driver. Their luggage is still on the plane, but Max advises it’ll be at the hotel waiting for them. A staff member meets at the gate and hands Max a pair of keys. Max walks over to a convertible that has its roof down, looking at Charles with a cheeky grin.
“Absolutely not” Charles crosses his arms defiantly.
“You can walk then” Max shrugs, putting his carry-on bag in the boot. Charles stands there for a moment before huffing in defeat, dramatically storing his own carry-on too.
“Drive the limit, Maxie” Charles states firmly, but cheekily adding his nickname. He shuts the boot with a loud, dramatic thud and walks to the passenger side seat. Max dons another pleased grin, seeing that his plan has worked. “I mean it”
“Okay, okay” Max replies, putting his hands up in surrender. He starts the car, placing one hand on the wheel and the other behind Charles’s seat as he reverses back. The act shows off Max’s biceps as he turns to see behind him, and Charles feels ridiculously small in his presence. Max turns around to face in front, leaving his hand on the wheel, but the other meets the gearstick… and Charles can’t help but miss the presence of his arms so close to him.
He is just a client.
He stares at his hands on the gear stick handle, marvelling at how he can cover the whole thing and then some. As much as he would hate to admit it, Charles has spent an embarrassing amount of time looking at Max’s hands in session, staring in wonder at their size. He doesn’t even understand how he handles the small F1 steering wheel, when the normal steering wheel looks like one for babies in his grip.
He is just a client, though.
Max drives the limit as promised, his hair going wild in the wind of the roofless convertible. Charles can only imagine that his hair looks just as unruly as he self-consciously tries to fix it up while Max stops at the first red light of the trip.
“I’m a good driver, see?”
“I never said you weren’t” Charles laughs “I know you’re that good of a driver that you would be able to floor it like a maniac and be safe, but y-”
“Oh, good! Permission granted” Max cuts off Charles and laughs, pushing the pedal to the concrete as the light goes green. The engine roars in response, and Charles grabs onto the door panel and the side of his chair in fear, letting out a pathetic yelp as Max dashes down the street at illegal levels of speed. Max laughs maniacally and starts to slow down, and Charles feels his breakfast and coffee coming back up for a second go. The world spins for a moment as Max approaches the next red light.
“Oh come on, that wasn’t even that fast” He jokes, his hand gracing the back of Charles’ headrest again as he turns to look at him. Charles shoots him a look loaded with daggers.
“I am never getting in a car with you again”
Max pulls a sad puppy dog look as he responds in a patronising tone “Aw, does Charlie not like it fast?”
Charles presses his tongue to the side of his mouth in irritation, earning another smirk from Max. He regrets ever telling Max his nickname; their sweet moment turned sour. Charles gives Max the middle finger as the light turns green, already gripping the seat in case Max has another sudden desire to act like he is in a Fast and Furious movie. Luckily for Charles’ stomach, he goes back to driving the speed limit. Charles relaxes his grip on the seat, looking out the window as Texas passes them by. He turns his attention to Max for a moment, admiring how he looks when he drives. Charles always had a thing for how guys looked when they drove, even he couldn’t understand where that came from, but seeing Max’s side profile and concentration was rewiring his brain nonetheless. Charles studies his jawline, his eyes following the sharp edge to his prominent chin. His facial hair is slightly patchy, but it frames his face so well. Charles moves up to his lips, full and decorated with a small freckle near his cupid’s bow. Max catches Charles’ glance, a half smirk growing at the realisation that Charles was looking at him… perhaps a bit too long. Charles averts his gaze quickly, embarrassingly… because it was abundantly obvious that he was inspecting every feature of Max’s face.
Just.. a client…
“Take a picture mate, it’ll last longer” Max sarcastically remarks.
“I was looking out your window” Charles calmly responds, despite not being calm in any sense of the word. Max laughs at Charles’s failed attempt to hide that he was essentially memorising Max’s anatomy.
“At least I know that you have meant everything in sessions so far, because you’re a shit liar”
“Or maybe you just misinterpret situations to be about you when they’re not”
“So defensive…”
“Max please, for the love of god, stop talking”
Max puts up the roof of the car and shuts the windows, a sign that they are probably close to the hotel, which brings Charles relief. The amount of time he has spent with Max and everything he has said to him in that time makes him nervous. His ethical brain has found its way back inside Charles’s head, and he regrets everything. Max turns off into a driveway, parking in the private garage of the hotel. He takes the key out of the ignition, ready to leave the car, when Charles stops him.
“Max, today was lovely; however, I feel the need to re-establish a professional boundary.”
“Charles, relax, we just talked… you’re so uptight”
“Yeah, but the whole situation borders on unethical and inappropriate, and the board I am regulated by would absolutely have my head if they knew. More importantly, I don’t want to impact your progress”
“I think it helped my progress in my personal opinion” Max says, undoing his seatbelt. He shifts his body to lean in closely, stopping just before Charles’ ear. Goosebumps form on Charles’ skin from the proximity alone, worsening as Max’s now whispered breath travels down his neck. “Besides, I can keep a secret if you can”
Okay.
Not just a client.
Charles freezes in place for a moment as Max shifts back to open the door. Charles couldn’t respond if he tried, the moment sending his nervous system into disorganised chaos. Even his ethical brain is too stunned to speak. He manages to remember how to open a car door, even if he did bang his head on the roof on the way out, which, frustratingly, Max notices. He smothers a laugh as he walks to the boot of the car, handing Charles his carry-on.
“Okay, well, thank you for the lift and the jet ride. I’ll see you at our session tomorrow.” Charles hurriedly states, deciding now is the best moment to get away from Max so he can wallow in self-pity and embarrassment. He turns around quickly to face the hotel entrance, making a quick pace towards the door.
“You’re… welcome?” Max says, sounding confused at Charles’ sudden departure. Charles doesn’t look back, going straight to the hotel concierge. He lets out an inward groan at the line of people waiting at the front desk, refusing to turn behind him and be met with Max’s cocky fucking smirk. He hears footsteps stop behind him, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. Charles keeps his head trained forward, despite hearing an irritating whistle behind him, trying to bait him to turn around. He pulls out his headphones and puts them on, despite there only being two people ahead of him in line. The headphones are dead; he forgot to charge them during his and Max’s deep and meaningful private jet session, but he hopes the bluff works enough to get Max to stop taunting him from behind. Charles finally makes it to the front of the line, speaking with the sweet receptionist to get his room key. Max stands next to him, waiting to grab his own from the other receptionist. Charles finally gets his, smiling and thanking them while avoiding all possible contact with Max. He hastily walks away with his bags, blushing at the booming voice that fills the beautiful hotel atrium.
“See you later, Lord Perceval!!”
Charles keeps his head down and doesn’t react, hoping no one links the stupid nickname to him. He curses at himself for letting his guard down, vowing never to let his ethical brain go on leave again. His room is on the 16th floor, and it’s beyond what he expected. A king-size bed and a beautiful view, alongside a pristine modern bathroom and a small hamper with champagne. He smiles, grateful to Red Bull for reading his mind and knowing he would be desperate for a drink after a day spent with Max. He plops his carry-on bag on the chair tucked into a small desk, the rest of his suitcases nearby. Walking closer to the TV console, he notices an envelope, a small bar of chocolate branded with the hotel’s logo, and a flat, square box with a small card on it. Charles picks up the chocolate first, looking to see what flavour it is, delighted to find out it’s almond and milk chocolate. He begins to unwrap it, reading the card on the box.
“Wear this tomorrow”
There is no sign off, but Charles presumes it’s a Red Bull exec giving him some sort of uniform for the paddock. He opens the envelope before the box, beaming at the sight of his paddock pass clearance. It was his and his Dad’s dream to get paddock passes one day, and he can feel his inner child excitedly smiling at him, as well as his Dad. He hangs it on the lamp next to his bed to be sure he doesn’t forget it before walking back to the flat box. Charles sighs heavily, running his hands through his hair in frustration as he glares at the contents of the box.
A Red Bull shirt with Max Verstappen’s driver number and name plastered on the front.
Charles puts the lid back on the box and puts it in the closet, trying to hide any evidence of Max’s overt attempt to get under Charles’ skin. Which worked, of course. Too well. The thought of wearing Max’s name on him is too intimate to think about. Especially now. Charles finds the room service menu, his stomach rumbling as he searches for something to satiate him. He starts to reach over the bed for the phone on the bedside table before his own phone vibrates with his text tone.
“Hi Charles, this is Christian. Feel free to contact me here if needed. We are having a team dinner tomorrow, I’ll forward the team’s hotel address and see you there around 7 pm”
Christian’s message has a location attached, which leads to the hotel Charles is currently at. Charles wonders why Christian framed his message as if he were at a different hotel, but he settles on the notion that he is a busy man who probably doesn’t know Charles’ itinerary. Finally, Charles calls for room service and starts to get changed into his pyjamas, knowing he is likely to sleep as soon as he finishes eating. As he changes his pants, he notes the uncomfortable wetness that has partly dried around his tip, staining his briefs. He can feel the heat rise to his face at the realisation of how turned on he was at some point of the day, probably all of the day, and the pathetic idea that he was just sitting in a pool of his own cum that manifested because of his client. His hot fucking client, whom Charles knows is gay. He needs to shower and wash his briefs, deciding he has enough time before room service arrives. Not able to stop thinking about Max’s hands around the gearshift and mischievous smile.
The thought lingers until he gets into bed to sleep, desperately trying to stop his brain from cataloguing and psychoanalysing every moment spent with Max that could have been considered flirting, since now that is a very real possibility. He pulls the blankets over his head, sighing loudly before turning on the TV to drown out his thoughts. He knows now more than ever he can’t indulge in them, with Max doing so well in his treatment. He can’t ruin this. Charles’ ethical brain kicks back in, deciding for him that from now on, professionalism only.
He is his client.
Chapter 8: I'll wait for nothing, pretending we're something
Summary:
“How do you think I see you?”
A mischievous glint sparks from Max’s eyes, and Charles is startled by the immediate change in demeanour.
“Hot”
Charles doesn’t write that, shooting a disapproving look at Max
“Sexy” Max adds, his grin widening as he continues.
“Max” Charles warns, his tone clipped and sharp.
“Charming… Well endow-”
“MAX!”
OR: Charles is in deep, and Max is in deeper.
Notes:
I finally had some time to dedicate to writing and I kinda went crazy with it. Sorry, a lot of words I know! I could've made this two chapters but oh well! This is the first time i've been able to actually read a chapter a few times and refine it, and I am pretty happy with it!
Anyway! Let me know what you think as always
I hope you found time to smile today, and if you haven't, can you now? please?
Chapter title inspired by eleven eleven by Conan Gray
Chapter Text
Charles hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Between the anticipation of walking in the paddock and the relentless replay of his time with Max, rest had been impossible. Morning light spills through a small crack in the curtain, a quiet reminder that it’s time for him to brave the day. He groans, pulling a pillow from beside him and pressing it over his face, muffling his sounds against the cotton. He knows he is being dramatic, ridiculous even. Because really, he is lucky. This opportunity is beyond anything he ever expected, yet beneath the gratitude, a part of him thrums with something dangerously close to longing, yearning even, while another part battles with crippling fear. He is terribly aware that if anyone found out just how much Max actually meant to him, his license, career, and everything he built his entire life around would be at stake.
Yet still, in the face of losing everything he worked tirelessly for, nothing terrifies him as much as the thought of losing him or hurting him.
Charles reminds himself of his vow from last night, one of strict professionalism. It sounds so simple in theory, it’s safe, and it’s rational. Be his psychologist, not his friend and definitely nothing more. Still, he can’t help but wonder how long this newfound resolve will hold, especially when faced with the man who so easily makes him forget every trace of reason and sensibility that he prided himself on.
He drags himself out of bed eventually, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and forcing his sheets to look somewhat decent. He autopilots his morning routine up until the final step of figuring out a suitable outfit for the disgustingly hot Texan weather. He debates between wanting to exude professionalism or staying comfortable, and in the end, comfort wins by a narrow margin… because no one likes looking at sweaty men while they talk about their innermost feelings. He pulls out a cream, waffle-textured, collared shirt and a pair of matching coloured shorts. He spares a glance toward the box on the floor of his closet that Max had sent him, and Charles can’t help but huff a quiet laugh, shaking his head at his audacity. He grabs his access pass and leaves, not before a last check in the mirror on his way out.
The van ride to the circuit is crowded with PR managers, social media and other Red Bull staff chatting around him. It isn’t peaceful, but it aided his goal of avoiding Max. The hotel isn’t far, and soon enough, Charles can feel his pulse in his throat as he steps on the grounds of Circuit of the Americas. The air hums with noise and movement - the whirl of engines, the metallic rhythm of pit-crew practising and the music buzzing over conversations. It’s exhilarating and overwhelming all at once, and something he never thought he would witness in his lifetime. Yet here he is, scanning in at the paddock gates and walking through with a pass that could open more doors than he probably knew about. He follows the staff to the Red Bull motorhome, where Christian greets him with a polite smile and firm handshake. Pleasantries are exchanged while Christian shows him to the room where Charles will have his sessions, before he quickly heads back to his many competing tasks.
And then it’s quiet again.
The room is small and windowless with a table in the centre, surrounded by four mismatched chairs. A lone plant sits in the corner, probably not thriving under the fluorescent lights, and a TV is bolted to the wall. Overall, it is not the best space for therapy. It’s so sterile, devoid of any warmth or character… but Charles’ excitement overrides his concerns over practicality. He tells himself that he doesn’t need much anyway, just two chairs, some quiet and a door that closes… but god, it’s grim.
He unpacks his bag, unloading a small whiteboard, markers, chargers and his laptop. When he finishes the set-up, the room shifts into one made for a deposition. Charles scoffs a laugh at himself and allows himself a coffee before his first client. He holds his head high around the paddock, the heat clinging to his skin. He walks with purpose, taking his time in exploring all it has to offer, especially since he is about to be trapped in an airless box for the rest of the day. Besides, Max is still busy with his media duties, which knocks out at least three-quarters of Charles’ anxiety.
The day is quick and painless. Familiar clients, smooth sessions, stolen bursts of sunlight in between sessions where he could, and some of the best coffee that he has ever had. Unfortunately, second to Max’s private jet brew. For a few blissful hours, everything feels stable… until it doesn’t. Charles knows that waiting outside of the room is the source of his lack of rest; a six-foot something man with a shit attitude. He takes the moment to breathe, looking into his phone camera and checking how he looks like it is muscle memory. It’s pathetic, really, how automatic and ingrained that ritual has become, making sure he looks presentable for Max and grounding himself before Max inevitably makes him want to burst into flame under his unrelenting gaze. It’s something Charles knows he needs to quit, because he should not care what Max thinks of how he physically looks, nor should his eye contact make him want to jump his bones or jump off the building, depending on the context. Usually the former.
“Max, come in”, Charles manages to speak, his voice as unsteady as he feels. He holds the door open as Max stands, flashing a brilliant smile at him. He puts away his phone before taking a seat. Not one across the table like any other normal human being, not one that is even considered a polite distance away, but the one right next to him. The one in closest proximity to his setup. Charles can feel his body go rigid, panic ricocheting in his mind… because who the fuck sits that close to their therapist if they didn’t like them?
“Interesting choice of seat”, Charles laughs lightly, attempting to sound casual, but there was nothing casual about the scent of Max’s cologne filling his senses. There was definitely nothing casual about the veins on his hands or how they rested upon his thigh… and there was absolutely nothing casual about the erotic natured, intrusive thoughts short-circuiting his brain.
“Don’t want me close to you, Charles?” Max replies, his familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans back in his chair, his thighs on full display as cements his place. Charles’ body screams at his overt cockiness, feeling sweat form on his face from the pressure.
“I don’t think there is a good answer to that question” Charles laughs awkwardly, desperately wanting to move away from the conversation at hand.
“I think there’s a right answer”, Max retorts quickly, smug as ever. Charles realises Max has chosen to be a challenge today, and immediately feels a sense of dread as his morning resolve dissipates before his eyes. Max is sharp, relentless, and ready to test any boundary he identifies. A few weeks ago, Charles wouldn’t have had a bar of it; he would have known how to redirect Max and take control. However, sitting next to him now and having every breath laced with his scent, Charles crumbles. Powerless. He takes a breath in, cursing his body for how shaky it sounds.
“Anyway, how are things?” Charles tries to move on, clasping his hands in his lap. It’s almost like he has forgotten how to be a psychologist; every gesture feels unnatural, and every posture feels forced.
“I mean, I haven’t done much between the time spent with you apart from work… so it’s been pretty good” He replies cheerfully. Charles’ mouth begs for the chance to ask if he’s the reason for that, but dismisses the impulse.
“Has the media been kind to you?”
“They are never kind” Max shrugs “but they were manageable today. Same old questions, you know? ‘Do you feel pressure to keep winning’ in about 5 different ways”
Charles nods, but truthfully, he is at a loss about how to continue. Sweat pricks at his hairline despite the motorhome air conditioning being excessively strong. Under Max’s gaze, he can’t help but feel so unbearably perceived. He fails to meet Max’s eye contact, looking down at the rings on his fingers instead as a distraction from the blood rushing away from his head down south of his stomach.
“Uh… this is the part that you talk to me about psychology garbage” Max laughs, ducking his head to catch Charles’ eyes. Charles feels his body shut down, white noise and static replacing any functional thought, leaving only unholy ones to remain. He reaches for his bottle and takes a sip, taking the silence as an opportunity to get back into his professional headspace.
“Yeah, sorry” Charles clears his throat before continuing “It’s been a pretty overwhelming day. Not sure how you do this every week”
Max nods in response, relief washing over Charles that his excuse appeared to have landed.
“Hmm” Max hums, leaning back in his chair and placing his hand on his chin “and here I was thinking you were pro under pressure…”. The smirk returns, even more knowingly as he witnesses the effect he has on Charles. He stretches out, legs sprawling and imposing themselves on Charles’ space. It’s deliberate, to the point where their shoes essentially touch.
For someone who teaches fight, flight and freeze responses, Charles has never experienced one quite as prominent as this. He stays quiet, his body restricting him from doing anything else. Max takes it as an opportunity to continue.
“…when actually, you’re just really good at hiding the cracks in your facade. Maybe I’m figuring you out, Charlie” His tone shifts to one that is low, almost dark, but also as patronising as ever. The nickname brings goosebumps with it, the intimacy and teasing nature driving Charles wild. Charles’ face burns, and when Max’s foot ever so slightly grazes up his calf, he jerks backward in reflex.
“I uh- I need to go to the bathroom” Charles blurts out quickly “Can I trust you to not run away?”
Max’s smirk deepens. “From you? Never.”
Oh.
That will leave a permanent mark on Charles’ brain.
A spark ignited into wildfire, encasing Charles in its flame. He stands up quickly, enough to make him dizzy, as he prays that Max doesn’t notice the outline of his hard cock in his shorts. Luckily, the bathroom isn’t far, and Charles is pleased when only a few people happen to be nearby. He closes the door behind him and exhales for what feels like the first time all day. He runs the tap, cool water washing over his hands, then his face. He quietly hopes the water will wash away the sinful thoughts plaguing his mind, but nothing seems to calm them, or the pulsing in his pants. The thoughts intrude anyway, uninvited and incessant. He can hear the low rumble of Max’s voice while he teased him. The grazing of his foot against his calf. The scent of his cologne blocking his senses, and the way his smirk darkened each time Charles reacted to his overt cockiness. It’s electric, every memory snapping through him like lightning and exciting him in ways he hadn’t felt in a long time.
His head hangs low over the sink while his eyes look up at the mirror. He is reflective enough to know this is more than just lust; it is yearning. This would be fine, exciting even, in other circumstances… You know, ones that aren’t for his very famous, very vulnerable client. He squeezes his eyes shut, nose scrunching tightly with the knowledge of what he needs to do to move on and the speed at which he needs to do it.
“What the fuck, man” Charles whispers to himself in the mirror, his hands finding their way onto the button and zipper of his shorts. They work in haste, desperately aware of the relief he needs to think like a grown man and not a horny teenage boy. His thumbs dip below his waistband, pulling down his briefs enough to grip his length unobstructed. He opens his palm, spitting into it once or twice due to the absence of nearby lube. Wincing at his own touch, he wraps his hands at the base of his cock and marvels at how achingly hard he is. Perilously, he fights back a moan with everything he has. Hiking his t-shirt up to his mouth, he bites down on the gathered fabric and his lips to muffle his pleasure and avoid any mess simultaneously. Usually, Charles is one to take it slow. He loves the feeling of working up his pleasure… but in the heat of this moment, he decides on the opposite. His strokes are fast and pressured, making sure to gather any precum for additional lube. His cock gleams in wetness as he messily handles his length. It’s a level of pleasure he hasn’t ever experienced before, one so intense he feels dizzy almost immediately. His mind floods with vivid imagery, visions of Charles’ hands in his hair, commanding and forcing his length down Max’s throat. The thought of a very powerful Max being made to relinquish the control that he holds so dearly, making him succumb to Charles’ will. He can imagine the intoxicating look on his face, eyes watering on his knees with that familiar cocky smirk he adores. A whimper slips between his teeth as Charles takes a deep inhale and releases hot and heavily into the toilet basin. He drops his shirt from his mouth, unable to contain his whispered whines.
“God, fuck fuck fuck”
Coming down from his unbelievable high, his legs shake as he stabilises himself with an arm against the wall. He looks down at his mess, fuelled purely by a craving he shouldn’t, and probably never would satisfy. He flushes, glancing at his watch and noting that about 5 minutes had passed, a new record for a usually slow and methodically horny Charles Leclerc. The mirror reveals more than he hoped, a dreamy, dazed expression, flushed and sweaty cheeks… nothing your usual wee break would usually provide you with. Charles knows that with every minute absent, the amount of embarrassment he feels will grow.. but nothing could be as bad as Max knowing that he came as much as he did, as fast as he did, just to the thought of him. Charles washes his hands and face once more, frustrated that his release did not clear any thoughts from his head, in fact, making it worse.
When Charles walks back into the room, he notices Max look up from his phone, a grin spreading across his face that makes his legs want to buckle.
“Good piss?”
“Yeah” Charles laughs and nods, feeling suddenly disarmed by Max’s childish humour and vulgarity “I have just been so busy that I haven’t had the chance to today, so I appreciate you waiting”
He walks over to his chair and ever so slightly moves it a bit further away from Max, even though the extra couple of centimetres gained didn’t really mean much. Max was still painfully close.
“Horner actually asked me about other ideas I had for the car; they’re implementing one today about the drink system” Max beams at Charles, mimicking a 5-year-old excitedly talking about his day. The boyish but endearing gesture makes something twist painfully in Charles’ chest. He hates that reaction, compared to his far more neutral one he would have had prior. Its implications mean more than Charles can acknowledge right now.
“That’s great Max” Charles coos softly, trying to hide how fucking elated he is that people are finally treating him as he deserves. He wants to jump up and hug him and tell him it’s about time… but he won’t. “How does it feel to be listened to?”
“Good…” Max leans back, pushing on the back of his chair as he thinks “…like I am worthy”
Charles raises his lower lip and nods, impressed at Max’s reflection about his worth. He knows there is a small window here that is slightly opened, and he wants to capitalise on it before Max decides to be deviant again and cause another hard, for lack of a better word, situation.
“Worthy” Charles echoes back, still nodding his head slowly. “That reminds me of what we talked about before, around your worth and identity being tied to things that aren’t conducive to your wellbeing… like your achievements”
Max’s body language shifts, crossing his arms over his chest. Charles knows this means he is on the defensive. He can recognise instantly that Max is trying to protect a boundary he is putting up, but Charles is used to that; he knows how to work through it. He is back in control.
“Tell me, Max. What is it like when people listen to you outside of work? How does that feel?”
“What, like you?” Max questions. He is still closed off, his affect more blunted than before. Charles persists, hoping he can get through.
“Sure, like me. You tell me things you tell no one else, I’d presume.”
“Unfortunately” Max quips, unable to hide the cheeky smile cracking his composure. He has gotten worse at that, Charles notes. Sure, his intensity is still as prevalent, but his ability to hide his emotions is faltering. Charles’ stomach flutters at the possibility that he may be the reason.
“How does it feel to be heard here? Knowing the content is very different”
Max hesitates for a minute, his gaze flickers away and comes back. Charles holds it firm and intentional. Up close, he admires the small details that he shouldn’t be privy to; the faint sunburn on his nose, how long his eyelashes are, the way the rest of his skin is blemish less… annoyingly. Max’s eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, not quite his favourite colour, but they may be growing to be. They’re captivating. For a moment, Charles forgets he is supposed to be observing. He is just… daydreaming.
Max shifts in his seat, gulping down whatever words he wanted to say. Charles snaps back into focus, knowing his question has landed as intended. A smirk tugs at his mouth.
“Good” Max finally answers, short and sharp. The amount of time it took to get there not matching the answer given.
“Hmm… can you give me more than good?”
“Why? Is this a quick ego boost for you, Charlie?”
Charles rolls his eyes and shoots Max an unimpressed look, earning a suppressed smile from Max.
“No, Maxie, my ego is intact and un-needing of any boosts. Try answering the question with more than a rudimentary adjective, please.”
“It feels…” Max hesitates “scary, but it also feels… warm, I guess? I can’t think of words. I don’t know” Max rambles, tightening his arms around his chest and breaking eye contact. Charles leans forward as much as he can without it being weird, resting his elbow on the table beside them. It’s uncomfortable and likely intimidating, but he knows this is a chance to push.
“Scary because I’m seeing you for you? Because we unearth things about yourself that may provide you with an identity outside of your work?”
“Scary because it’s a lot, and warm because you just take it… and hold it.”
Charles smiles at Max, feeling privileged to be able to hold his burden safely.
“Notice how it isn’t tied to achievement here, where it may be everywhere else?” Charles says gently. “Here, Maxie is heard. Out there, Max Verstappen, four-time world champion, driver 33, is heard. It isn’t as scary for him, because as much as it is you… It isn’t you… But in here? Maxie is speaking. Maxie is doing the work… it is scary, yes, it’s helping you acknowledge who you actually are.”
Charles notices Max’s cheeks flush crimson as he speaks, his restless legs bouncing on cue. He doesn’t stop, knowing that when Max is on the backfoot is when the truth slips out.
“I know you hate when I talk about the two identity thing, but could we do an activity about that? I think it could be enlightening, it also might be confronting, though.”
Max sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before nodding, “Anything to make the session go quicker.”
Charles chuckles, moving to set up the whiteboard and markers. “You’re clearly feeling the warmth; your cheeks are bright red.”
Max’s eyes widen “It’s hot in here”
“It’s 16 degrees actually” Charles teases, glancing at the thermostat on the air con remote. Admittedly enjoying watching Max squirm.
“Oh yeah? What was your excuse for sweating in here before then? You couldn’t even string a sentence together, but I didn’t point that out, did I?” He retorts, a cheeky smile gracing his face.
“I told you, I needed to pee and was overwhelmed” Charles states confidently, despite lying through his teeth.
“Sure” Max replies brattily, the infuriating smirk deepening “let’s go with that”
Charles wishes he could get up in his face and make him believe him, or the opposite, tell him exactly why he was like that and what he did to fix it…
But he doesn’t.
He can’t.
“So anyway!” Charles moves on, pretending not to be bothered by Max’s bratty demeanour and mischievous smile. He segments the whiteboard into two parts, labelled 'Myself' and 'Others'. Charles reaches for his notebook and tears out a page, hiding what he is writing from Max, which earns him a raised brow and a curious look. He flips over the paper when he is done, doing so with a disarming smile.
“Okay” Charles starts, marker in hand “How do you see yourself?”
“Uh… determined… focused… good at what I do, am I allowed sentences? What are the rules here?”
The goofiness earns a laugh from Charles, “Let’s avoid sentences, just describing words. The ones you said so far… could you reflect on them?”.
Max mulls them over as Charles writes each word on the board. Max leans back to stare at the ceiling, as if trying to fish reflections out of the air. He scrunches his lips to the side, surrendering in bratty defeat with a little groan.
“They are all about what I do” He mutters.
“Funny that” Charles retorts, grinning widely at Max’s realisation. “They are fine words by the way. Those are great traits to have and identify with, but not on their own. Try to find something that isn’t tied to achievement or industry”
Max places his hand under his chin and taps his face with his pointer. Charles waits patiently, training his gaze anywhere that isn’t his perfect, large hands and long fingers.
“Intelligent” Max says slowly. “Adventurous. Loyal.” His fingers continue to tap as he lists off words, and Charles is pleased as he identifies more that aren’t about how he interacts with others. He notices Max’s expression become more sullen as the tapping stops.
“…Misunderstood”
Charles nods, continuing to write on the whiteboard. Max is quiet, waiting for Charles’ instruction.
“How do you think others see you?”
“Annoying. Angry. Antisocial. Frustrating.” He rattles off with haste, able to connect them better than self-identifying words, which Charles knows is common. Sometimes it’s easier to assume what others think about you rather than know what you think about yourself. Max's voice is still glum as he continues. “Reliable. Irritable. Smart. Ambitious… ah, those are achievement words, wait um… Stubborn, Hard Work… wait, that is two words”
“Who is ‘others’ to you?” Charles interrupts gently
“My team… my dad… other drivers… yeah”
“Not your friends?”
Max lets out a small, dry laugh. “Have I mentioned many friends?”
Charles nods once in realisation that he hasn’t. Not once.
“Okay..” Charles says softly, drawing a third column. He writes ‘Charlie’ at the top. “How do you think I see you?”
A mischievous glint sparks from Max’s eyes, and Charles is startled by the immediate change in demeanour.
“Hot”
Charles doesn’t write that, shooting a disapproving look at Max
“Sexy” Max adds, his grin widening as he continues.
“Max” Charles warns, his tone clipped and sharp.
“Charming… Well endow-”
“MAX!”
“What!! I meant monetarily” He jokes, obviously knowing that to not be true.
“Okay, let’s just move on, I gues-”
“Broken” Max blurts, causing Charles to stop mid-sentence. His marker hovers in the air before he writes it on the board. The word hangs heavily in the air, hitting Charles harder than he expected. The idea that Max thinks he sees him as broken makes him feel sick to his stomach. He looks up at him in warmth, willing him to continue with a nod.
“Hurt”
Max pauses after each word, deeply considering each one.
“Annoying” He smiles faintly “and kind… I hope. Rough around the edges… better than I actually am”
That one hurt Charles more than it should. He frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly as he catches the glassiness of Max’s eyes. He doesn’t care if he is back to using sentences at this point, feeling the genuine sadness that drips from every word.
Charles doesn’t respond for a moment, instead flipping over the piece of paper he wrote on earlier and sliding it over to Max.
“I wrote this before” Charles says quietly, near a whisper “before you told me how you and others saw you. Can you read it out loud?”
“Gentle. Curious. Misunders-stood” Max stutters on the word, glancing up at Charles at their mutual characterisation. “Hilarious. Confident. Deserving. Wor-”
Max stops, his jaw clenching as he lowers the page.
“Worthy” Charles finishes for him. The air is syrupy thick with tension, and Charles can’t help but feel pleased with the effect his words had on Max. It seemed like it got through and touched something that needed to be tended to. Charles continues with a tender tone, leaving a last sentiment and deciding not to push further.
“You are not broken. You have been mistreated, and that made you feel hurt, but you are not hurt by design. Yes, you can be annoying, but you are also kind, and I think I have had the privilege of seeing you in a light that most people don’t. The real you… And that is better than what you let them see."
Max looks down at his feet and fights a smile, his cheeks talking for him, glowing pink like a neon sign.
“…and what about hot?” he murmurs, grinning up at Charles.
“Yeah, okay, let’s end it here” Charles chucks his marker dramatically across the table, earning a giggle from Max.
“Okay, okay, sexy? No? Come on, what about charming? You gotta give me that”
Charles exhales through a reluctant smile, “Charming is the absolute most I’ll give you”
Max beams triumphantly and stands up from his chair with Charles, following him to the door.
“Will you be at qualifying tomorrow?”
“I’ll be watching from here”
“You have got all access, you could watch from the garage”
“Maybe one day, but likely not tomorrow”
Max feigns an accepting look, though the disappointment shows. He says goodbye to Charles, leaving the office, but for once he doesn’t take the tension with him. It sits in Charles’ chest, heavy and unwavering. A constant reminder of the fucked up situation he has gotten himself into.
Back at the hotel, Charles heads straight for the shower. He tells himself it’s just to wash off the heat and sweat of the day, but also to wash away his sins committed in the Red Bull motorhome bathroom. He knows he could stay in the same outfit, especially since most Red Bull staff don’t care for aesthetics, but the outfit feels tainted, so he changes - a plain white shirt, light fabric shorts and his hair tousled in his usual curls. He sprays a light mist of cologne before grabbing his phone, heading downstairs to the hotel restaurant, where most of the staff are already sitting. The conversation hums over the clink of glasses, and a few heads turn as he arrives. A few staff members shake his hand, quiet cheers acknowledging his arrival. He can’t help but feel welcomed, part of the team, even Horner seems more relaxed and welcoming than usual. Probably the wine that sits in front of him.
“Charles! There is a seat here if you’d like” Horner calls out, waving him over to a chair across the table. Charles politely smiles and nods, sliding into the spot between two staff members he has never met. Horner jumps straight into small talk, asking about the paddock, whether his room is suitable at the motorhome, and if he is settling in alright. Charles answers, before being interrupted by the table’s cheers. He turns and spots Max and Yuki walking toward them, and his stomach drops. Of course, they would be here. Why did he think they wouldn’t be? For some reason, Charles assumed “team dinner” meant everyone but the drivers. Somehow… or maybe it was wishful thinking that he could have a night of reprieve. He watches as they both scan for an empty seat, and Charles silently prays that Yuki takes the one diagonal to him.
But of course, Max is vigilant and observant and he spots it first. He walks the line of the table, greeting everyone in his path. His hand squeezes the back of Charles’ neck in casual acknowledgement as he passes. Charles’ attention stays trained on Horner, trying to act unbothered by the electricity of Max’s touch and the goosebumps it left in his wake. He adored the feeling, but that something he needs to repress somewhere deep down. Charles makes the conscious effort to talk to everyone around him that isn’t Max, even going as far as to be borderline unresponsive when Max tries to chime in on the conversations.
“Yeah, I think it’s the air con because my eyes have been awful in there too” Charles explains to one of the team members who was talking about their concerningly dry eyes at the paddock.
“Same here” Max interjects.
Charles doesn’t even spare a glance, continuing to converse with the team member named James.
“Yeah, so anyway, you were saying about your allergies?”
He is giving his most interested expression despite being bored out of his mind. In the corner of his eyes, he notices Max go inward and return to his meal, unimpressed and hurt by Charles’ bluntness. Charles’ guilt pricks at him, but what else can he do? Whatever tension that exists between them in private cannot bleed into this setting, especially not in front of his boss. If they got the wrong idea, it would be catastrophic. The conversation dies, as you would think it would when you are talking about dry air and eyes. Charles faces ahead to Horner and gets his attention.
“Christian, thank you again for your hospitality. The fact I am here and you somehow got Red Bull to foot the bill is beyond me”
Christian’s smile fades slightly and his eyebrows pinch together briefly as he quickly glances in Max’s direction. It was subtle, but Charles catches it and knows that it will drive him mad until he figures out what on earth that was about.
“Oh, yes. Our pleasure.” Christian replies smoothly “We are glad to have you here, you are making quite the impact”
“Positive, I hope?” Charles asks inquisitively, the previous interaction making him more paranoid than usual.
“Of course, but you know that”.
Charles nods, his mind already 100 miles away from the conversation. Everything just felt so odd to him. Horner personally sending the hotel’s address, acting strange with Charles thanking him. It’s probably nothing, he tells himself. He tries to use rationality like he teaches his clients to. Maybe Horner isn’t used to being thanked, or maybe there is something entirely different on his mind. Still, Charles feels his unease linger about the unknown. He distracts himself by joining another conversation with a mechanic diagonal to him on his left, whose wife recently became pregnant. James jokes about most mechanics being chronically single, turning the question on Charles before he can sip his drink.
“Are you seeing anyone, Charles?” He asks
Charles moves the drink from his lips and deflects quickly, “Why, are you interested, James?”
The group around him laughs while James flips him the bird. Charles shakes his head and starts to answer seriously. “Not right now, just focusing on my career”.
“Yeah, who needs a woman when you have money?” another unknown voice jeers. The underlying misogyny makes Charles uncomfortable, never liking the blokey jokes about the other sex. He fakes a smile and puts his drink to his lips again.
“Yeah, cheers to that” Max says flatly, obvious sarcasm spitting from his words “Am I right, Charles? Who needs women?”
Max raises his glass and clinks his drink to those around him, but no one seems to notice the sarcasm. Max is unnervingly good at acting straight. Charles skulls his drink before Max could clink it, standing and offering the long table a friendly wave.
“I'd better call it a night, I don’t know how you all still have energy! Goodnight”
“Oh no, stay a bit longer!” Horner laughs a little too loudly, his words slurring “Surely you wait for your taxi”
“Yeah Charles, stay” Max agrees, much quieter than Horner. The sound of his voice aches deep in Charles’ chest. He can tell his attempts to distance are working, and Max doesn’t seem to understand why it’s happening. He looks confused, even deflated, and Charles hates himself for getting to this point where it’s needed.
“I didn’t get a taxi” Charles smiles, ignoring Max “I am in the hotel too, Christian, no need to worry”
“Oh, I had no idea. I swear you were with the mechanics, but I guess I was wrong” He shrugs, giving a final wave to Charles before glancing at Max again. Charles catches that again, but chooses to pretend he didn’t. He desperately wants to observe like a fly on the wall, but knows he should leave while he still can.
Back in his room, Charles flops on his bed, exhausted from the day. The guilt that pooled in his stomach sloshes around, making him feel ill. The rollercoaster was exhausting, one moment coming undone from the mere thought of Max, and the next he was avoiding him like the plague. He knows this can’t be good for either of them, but he stupidly can’t stop pulling as much as he pushes.
Two Days Later: Qualifying
At the Red Bull motorhome, Charles feels a bit more settled despite it being far more chaotic, given it’s qualifying day. Yesterday was fine, Charles kept himself busy with sessions and rarely left the motorhome. There were a lot of meetings anyway, muffled debriefs and plans around how to improve the car being heard through the walls as he wrote his notes. Now and then, Max’s voice cut through the noise, seemingly confident and happy, making Charles catch himself smiling subconsciously. He has fewer clients today, most of them being needed to prepare for qualifying. He grabs a double-shot espresso from his favourite coffee place and roams around the paddock, hearing the roar of engines signifying that qualifying will start soon. He walks to the viewing area of the motorhome, where other staff and guests watch in anticipation around a massive screen mounted to the wall. The broadcast cuts to Max, honing in on his eyes whilst in his helmet. Charles shivers, goosebumps growing up his arms. Max is locked in, and it’s dangerously attractive. He can’t help daydreaming about where else Max would look at him like that, with the same intensity and drive. He wonders how any of the other drivers can dare drive against him when he looks as determined as he does. He flips down his visor, and the camera switches away. Charles feels himself twitch in his pants, grabbing a pillow and holding it in his lap in embarrassment. He doesn’t blame himself, however, because whatever he just saw would replay in his mind as one of the hottest things he has ever seen.
He feels nervous, his stomach quivering as he watches Max excel with each sector in purple. He easily makes it through Q1 and Q2, but Q3 proves more difficult. The radio message flashes on the screen.
Charles grips the pillow harder, watching the time tick down as Max sits at P8. Max pulls in to the pit, the broadcast briefly showing his team swarming the car, tinkering away quickly. Sure enough, he is out with 3 minutes left.
One more chance.
McLaren is currently in P1 and P2 with only 3 hundredths of a second between them, but not enough time for them to try for another lap. Max starts his, sticking to the corners with surgical precision and devouring the straights. Charles holds his breath, watching the sectors turn purple one after another… except for the last sector. The car snaps, oversteering and locking up, but Max saves it, somehow keeping the lap alive. He crosses the line at P2, and relief ripples through the room. Charles exhales, his chest still tight, knowing Max won’t be pleased with his minor mistake. Everyone else leaves the viewing area, instead moving to parc fermé, presumedly to cheer for Max, but Charles stays. Of course, he stays. He wants to revel in Max’s brilliance, but as far away from him as possible. He sits, intently waiting for Max’s post-qualifying interview. Max removes his helmet on the screen, his hair wild and damp with sweat glistening from his skin. Charles salivates, swallowing hard and unable to look away as Max takes a sip from his drink bottle. Charles analyses the way his jaw flexes, and Max’s gaze is fixed straight down the camera. He looks rugged and powerful, the slight frustration in his demeanour doing something weird for Charles, despite being someone who doesn’t care for dominant men. Except for Max, apparently. Max puts on his hat, hiding the mess of hair that Charles would give anything to grab onto. The impossibility of such being devastatingly unfair for Charles. He is grateful in the moment that no one is around while drool pools in his mouth.
The interview starts, Max’s smile seems half satisfied, half forced, the kind that you know isn’t completely genuine but could pass if you didn’t know him well enough, which most people didn’t. Max talks about the lock-up and how he believes he could’ve been P1 had it not occurred. He is still positive, being polite in his answers. That is, before the interviewer decides to dive in, a bit too audacious for Charles’ liking.
“Earlier this year, you were struggling; you weren’t even placing. What has changed? And is P2 good enough with that wasted time?”
Charles winces. The question felt like a condescending slap to the face, heavy with implications that the interviewer probably doesn’t recognise. The man essentially confirmed that the world knew Max was in a bad place and implied that anything that isn’t P1 may as well be P20 due to Max’s history this year. He braces himself for Max to lose his temper, or at least a sharp retort that Max is famous for.
Instead, Max takes a breath, hesitant to respond immediately. He raises his eyebrows at the audacity of the interviewer.
“Yes, I was struggling” He says matter-of-factly “and I still am. I am human, you know? But P2 is a great result, I am doing the best I can, and that is all I or the team care about. We are working together, and it’s paying off. I look forward to what the rest of the season brings” Max ends his statement with a strained smile before walking away.
And Charles’ mouth actually drops open, staring in disbelief.
Because what the fuck was that? He didn’t snap. No smart ass response. He was vulnerable, honest… on live TV. He didn’t tear himself apart for not being perfect or throw his team under the bus. He was hopeful.
Charles can’t believe his ears, wishing he were at home so he could rewind and watch on repeat. Charles’ chest swells, feeling pride, admiration and something inappropriate that he cannot contain. Max respectfully stood his ground, showing his humanity and not giving a fuck. It was painfully, devastatingly hot. Charles recognises that everything about Max excites him now. He feels alive in his presence, and can’t shove down the deep yearning that bubbles from within anymore. It is obvious and overt, as Charles finally closes his mouth and takes a deep breath. He decides to take off early before the crew, pit wall and drivers make it back to the motorhome to debrief. Calling a taxi to take him back to the hotel before he does something reckless.
Charles is overheated as he gets back to his room, knowing it is not just the weather making him so. He is flushed, sticky, and half-melting. Outside, the hotel pool glitters under the afternoon sun, enticing him to dive straight in, but exhaustion wins. He decides to take a nap, waiting until the sun dips a bit lower.
The alarm wakes him around 6 pm, as he changes into his swim trunks and puts on his sunglasses, bringing a book and his phone downstairs. The pool is relatively empty, only a few guests lazily floating or lounging at the edge, tilting their faces to catch the last rays of sun. Charles places his items near the edge before slipping into the pool, the cool water sizzling on his hot body.
He swims over to the edge, resting his elbows as the air hums with jazz from the speakers, the water rippling softly around his lightly kicking feet. Charles doesn’t move as the sky turns dark, the heat still enough to make the water more comfortable than outside of it. The pontoon lighting switches on, as he dry his hands to read his book. He reads about how trauma settles in the body, how it remembers pain when the mind forgets. Inevitably, he thinks of Max, and what his body might be harbouring. It’s a soft thought, and the first one about Max since he woke from his nap. Charles takes that as a good sign; maybe his mind is starting to quiet about him. He sets the book aside, resting his cheek on his folded arms, resting his eyes shut.
That is, until he is disrupted by footsteps, sounding more like stomps, as they stop right in front of him.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
Charles groans, only just lifting his head enough to see Max towering over him. Not like he needed to see him to check, it was apparent who it was by his bratty voice. His arms are crossed over his chest in annoyance, despite Max being the one to ruin his moment of serenity.
“I have no idea what you mean. There is no problem” Charles replies bluntly, laying his head back down on his arms. He hears the sound of shoes hitting the ground and the feeling of displaced water as Max sits beside him, his feet dipping into the pool. Charles knows he is in for an uncomfortable conversation, deciding to keep his eyes closed to cope with it.
“You have been so weird since our session” His tone was pointed and stinging. “Don’t bullshit me”
Charles sighs. “I assure you, there is no problem between us Max. I don’t have problems with my clients”
“Well, you sure as shit do with me!” Max raises his voice slightly, but not enough to make a scene. “For someone that preaches all this shit about communication and honesty, you’re doing a shit job at practising it.”
Charles can hear the restless movement of Max's legs in the water, the same nervous tell Charles knows too well. He’s right, of course. Charles is withholding. He is lying by omission, but it’s for Max’s own good. It’s for the best. At least that’s how he justifies it anyway.
“Max, you’re overthinking” He replies softly, still refusing to look at him. “Sometimes, people feel closer to their therapist than they actually are. Then, when the therapist maintains a boundary, it feels like distance”
“Is that right? Is that what this is?” Max scoffs, a bitter laugh chokes from his chest “I didn’t think you would resort to gaslighting. Just be real, this is fucking annoying”
Charles opens his eyes for the first time, not like Max can see through his sunglasses. He is met with Max’s thighs right there, close enough to touch, his muscles taut beneath dark blue shorts. They are splayed out, right in front of his face. Charles swallows hard, grateful for the water hiding evidence of his cocks betrayal as it twitches in his shorts.
Then he sees it. Max’s hand is drawing small squares on his thigh with his finger. He is box breathing, the technique Charles taught him back when he was at his worst… and now he is using it because of him. The thought makes something in Charles shatter. His stomach twists, guilt burning through his conviction to stay distant and vacant. It goes up in flames with the steady movement of Max’s finger. It’s a compulsion he feels now; he needs to comfort him, protect him, tell him it’s not his fault. He can’t be another lesson Max learns, one of not trusting people, or they will leave. While he stares, he says nothing, leaving Max to break the silence.
“I feel like I’ve done something wrong and I don’t know what it is… just tell me. Please.” Max’s voice cracks, his tone somewhere between frustrated and pleading. It makes something in Charles ache. Max’s defences are down; he desperately seeks assurance, validation, and affection. That solidifies it for Charles, shattering his vow of professionalism, placing tape over his ethical brain’s mouth to stop him from changing his mind.
Charles pushes himself out of the water, perching himself on the edge of the pool so their legs hang side by side. He pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, drying his hands on the towel before reaching out and resting one hand on Max’s shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting, but the warmth of Max’s skin under his palm feels intimate. Max doesn’t look at Charles, his eyes trained on the water and his hands still, keeping him up in the concrete.
“No Max, you haven’t done anything wrong. I have. I am overwhelmed.” Charles hesitates for a moment, searching for words that don’t sound like a confession. “I think I have been blurring the lines, because we get along so well. It’s my job to maintain boundaries, and I have not been living up to my responsibility. So I pulled back”
Max looks up at Charles, his eyes glassy, hurt and curious all at once. Charles’ heart races in response, begging Max to just accept how things have to be.
“Blurring lines?” Max echoes, slow and testing. Charles hesitates, his mind scrambling for the least incriminating truth. Yeah, the line between being a therapist and wanting to make you cum and then make you breakfast in the morning.
“Yeah, like the line between therapist and friend”
Max’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile but just a flat line. “Right, friends” he repeats bluntly. Charles sits in silence, unable to read Max clearly enough. Max’s fingertips fidget with the hem of his shorts. “Well, can you stop being weird and distant if I promise that I do not see you as a friend?”
Charles lets out an involuntary laugh, but deep down feels almost offended at the statement. It helps, though, having Max draw a line in the sand. “I promise I do not see you as a friend either”
He means it, but not in the way he should. If he were to see Max as anything other than a client, it would be much, much more than a friend.
“I like the way it was. How it was on the plane, in our sessions… Can we just go back to that?” Max finally glances over, his eyes soft but dark.
Charles knows what he should say. He should explain that this kind of closeness is dangerous and unprofessional. Max’s bratty flirtation and Charles’ provocative banter can spiral quickly, especially in a space where Max is meant to be vulnerable. Max doesn’t understand the power dynamic, or if he does, he doesn’t seem to care about the consequences. Charles thinks Max still sees himself as in control, but it’s undeniable how much power Charles holds over him in the room. Despite all this, he can’t bring himself to cut the cord. He selfishly loves it too. Surely, if he is careful, this can be therapeutic. After all, he is helping him faster than ever imagined.
“Yeah, we can go back to that”
Max POV
Max smiles at Charles finally giving in, the weight on his chest melting away. It’s been days of desperately trying to catch a glance, a casual conversation, a cheeky remark; all for Charles to disappear the moment they start to get close. Sitting next to him now, his chest glistening from the pool, broad shoulders catching the moody light, it almost feels unreal. A man like this finds him funny, charming, worthy. That last one rewiring Max's brain permanently.
He had seen how Charles was with the team at dinner. He was polite and interested as usual, but not invested. Not like he is with Max. Yet still, the jealousy burned as he giggled at James’ jokes, enough to make Max drink one too many gin and tonics. Horner nearly had his head when he organised an IV drip to help him through the hangover for quali. He knows with Charles, there is more than a spark; there is fire. Max knows Charles enjoys the chase, because Max certainly does. His body hums just from proximity, the cool weight of his hand on Max’s shoulder sending electricity through him. Max is sure this isn’t just him, but he needed to hear it from Charles, and now he is happy with his answer. Charles must see it too, even if he says it’s a friendship; Max is more than happy to ruin it.
They both sit quietly, watching their reflection in the pool shimmer beneath them. Max can’t handle it much longer; the tightness in his pants grows at the heat radiating from Charles’ half-naked body. If he doesn’t do something, Charles will surely see something that ‘friends’ don’t see.
“Wanna swim?” Max suggests “Just for a few minutes, I have to get some rest before the race anyway”
Charles huffs but obliges, dropping himself back into the water and wincing at its coolness now that he has to re-adapt to the temperature. Max takes his phone out of his shorts, taking off his shirt and tossing it next to his shoes. He walks over to the counter to grab a towel, strategically holding it below his stomach to hide any indication of how hard his cock is. He notices Charles staring as he turns around, and watches as he quickly averts his gaze. Max feels a deep satisfaction that Charles was probably thinking just as unsavoury thoughts as Max was.
Max lowers himself slowly into the water, unbothered that he isn’t wearing proper swim trunks. He can feel his pressure in his pants relaxing as soon as the coolness hits, relieving Max of the potential embarrassment. He swims closer to Charles, testing him to see how close he will let him get, which is close. He can feel his breath on his skin, close enough to grab his face and pull him in with ease… but he won’t… not yet anyway.
“Are you excited to see me tomorrow?” Max questions cheekily, knowing how it can be interpreted “See me race, I mean”
Charles doesn’t look away, his mouth curving into a small smile. “I am excited to watch the race, yes”
“Watch me win the race, you mean”
“That too” Charles replies, and Max beams radiantly back at him.
“Surely you come out with the team to watch my podium” Max prods, close to begging him to do so. There is only one thing he can think of that is better than standing at the top of that podium, and that’s seeing Charles’ dreamy eyes and proud smile below him. Knowing he was there for him, to see him prevail.
“Don’t you think it’s weird to have your psychologist out there with your team? Typically, clients don’t want to associate with me more than they have to” Charles shakes his head and chuckles, watching as Max starts to swim around him in a circle.
“I don’t think I give a fuck what others think” Max states matter-of-factly with a wide smile.
“Yeah, well that’s apparent” Charles smiles, continuing to spin and maintain eye contact with Max.
“So come then” Max stops, his tone more of a plea than a request “to the podium celebrations”.
“God who knew you to be so needy” Charles quips. Max is starting to lose patience with his avoidance, wanting a clear yes or no. He moves closer, not enough to touch but dangerously close.
“Just come, Charles. Please.” He breathes, his voice low and needy.
Charles hesitates, searching his face in front of him. Max can feel his shaky breath against him.
“…Okay” Charles whispers.
They stare at each other for a moment, Max flickering between Charles’ hypnotising eyes and his plump lips. There is something unspoken between them, something they both understand but don’t dare name. Desperate to break the distance but scared to push it too far. Charles moves backward, taking another deep, shaky breath as he does.
“Well, you better get some rest like you said” He says, swimming to the side of the pool and pulling himself out. Max admires the muscles in his back, how they tense and grow as he uses his own weight to get out. It’s a sight that will be burned in his brain, as he vows one day to leave his mark on the broadness of his skin.
Everywhere.
“Yeah, you too” He manages to return, watching Charles hurriedly dry his body enough to get inside. He gathers his book and phone, adorably half jogging to get away from Max. Max laughs, grateful that he did because even the water can’t hide how achingly hard his cock is as it presses against his wet pants. He dries off and hurries back to his room, desperate to relieve himself of the pressure. It’s part of his routine now, thinking of Charles and getting off. He would be embarrassed, except Charles is hot enough to warrant that. No one could deny that. He strips himself down, stepping into the warm shower as he grips his length, stroking hastily, knowing he has to sleep well before tomorrow. He has to be on that podium. He has to see Charles there. He thinks about the feeling of Charles’ breath against him in the water, his soaking, caramel skin and chiselled chest and longing eyes and-
“Oh god, Charles”
It doesn’t take much before Max unleashes his hot load on the shower floor, an indication of just how much he wants him. He has never moaned a man’s name when alone before, but it just felt right. It felt good. He washes himself clean and dries off before slipping on a pair of boxer briefs and calling it a night.
Race Day
Just as he promised, Max wins the United States Grand Prix.
It was a masterclass from start to finish, complete domination. Max had never felt so motivated in his life, fuelled by something more than just competition. He drove with precision, overtaking Lando Norris in the first lap and maintaining his lead throughout. The pits were quick, his tyre management was impeccable despite being termed a ‘tyre muncher’ online. It’s one of those races where everything clicks, as if he were perfectly in sync with the car. He couldn’t have done better.
As he crosses the line, cheers erupt from the grandstands and the radio explodes with celebration. Max waves to the crowd, pulling up to the podium in P1. The team wait at the barrier to greet him, as he runs and leaps into their arms. Relishing in the sting of congratulatory slaps on his back, leaving loving bruises. It’s chaotic and loud, everything he loves about winning, but his eyes can’t help but search the crowd. No sign of Charles.
His heart sinks, but he forces himself to breathe. He said he would come; he probably just didn’t know where to stand. Max retreats to the cooldown room, noticing the tension in the air between Lando and Oscar, who seemed to have some sort of event on the track. Max is usually the one to be brooding in these rooms, but he leans back as he cuts the tension.
“Alright” He grins, looking from side to side at both men “who fu-… messed up now? Papaya rules?”
Oscar and Lando both look at him and laugh under their breath, shaking their head at his nonsense. Neither of them respond out of respect, but at least they manage to smile at each other and watch the rest of the replay.
And then it was time. Max had never been nervous for a podium; he had done this hundreds of times, but as he steps up to first place and looks over the crowd, his heart thumps loud enough that the two other drivers could probably hear it. He tries to be nonchalant, scanning the crowd and smiling in acknowledgement. To everyone else, he is soaking up the moment, but really, he is searching.
And there he is.
At the back, behind some of the tallest men he has ever seen and next to Gemma, his media officer.
But he is there, smiling the way he thought he would. He is clapping enthusiastically, even bringing his hands to his mouth like a megaphone, shouting something. Max can’t hear it over the roar of the crowd, but he can imagine it perfectly. A heavily accented “woooo” that would make him laugh if he wasn’t so busy holding himself together. He stays trained on him, his smile widens, and when he launches the trophy over his head, it is not just for the fans; it’s for Charles. The champagne pops, and he pours it on himself in self-indulgence.
After all the celebrations, which Charles watched from afar, Max scrolls through his phone and hovers his thumb over their messages. It’s for emergencies only, he knows that, but this feels like one. He needs to see him again, and it’s urgent… for his viewing pleasure.
To: Charles
The team are going out tonight, they wanted me to ask if you wanted to come.
He quietly hopes that Charles agrees, begging for another night of watching him let loose… maybe enough to let Max be the recipient of sloppy drunken kisses in a dark corner like he saw after Silverstone.
From: Charles
Not tonight, exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow, don’t get too drunk.
A small smile tugs at Max’s lips. He is disappointed for sure, but he can’t help but find it endearing how Charles’ social battery works. He burns bright but fast, and it’s adorable. Max gets ready for a rowdy night, knowing he will see Charles at some point tomorrow night for their next flight to Mexico.
Chapter 9: You were all at once, 'til the fade to black
Summary:
“What is important, though, and it’s difficult, I know, is that you need to trust. You need to say how you feel Max, people won’t know unless you tell them”
His timing of tuning back in is magnificent as always, and the words dig deep, a direct hit to his chest. It’s like he is speaking to him, daring him.
Say how you feel.
OR: A line is crossed, and Max navigates the fallout.
Notes:
HEEEEEEEEY!
Life got a bit crazy, and I ended up writing a near 10k long chapter... so I have chopped it up a bit and made it two chapters. Pleaaaase tell me what you think bc I am unsure if I like this chapter or not, I am kinda nervous about posting it aaaaaaaaa!
Anyway, I hope you are feeling the love you deserve!
Chapter title inspired by I Told You Things by Gracie Abrams
Chapter Text
The flight from Texas to Mexico is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. It's peaceful. Charles sits by the window, typing notes and session outlines that he likely will overthink and change later anyway. The soft hum of the engine fills the space as Charles looks up to see Max slumped against the cabin wall, sunglasses on like a sleep mask. Clearly hungover. For a while, Charles isn’t completely sure if Max is asleep or just quiet, until he hears the slow, steady rhythm of deep breathing and the occasional snore. He looks exhausted, but tranquil. His hair is messy, and Charles suspects he is wearing the same clothing from the night before because Max is not one to wear button-up shirts or chinos usually. Charles smiles to himself, observing the rise and fall of his chest and feeling immediately disarmed. His gaze lingers a bit too long, enamoured by the way his bicep is showcased when his arms are crossed, pulling on the fabric of his shirt. Reluctantly, he drags his eyes back to his screen, trying not to imagine the way his arms would feel around his body. A part of Charles wonders why Max didn’t just sleep in the private bedroom; it definitely would be more comfortable, but selfishly, he loves the proximity and is glad he didn’t. Slight turbulence rocks the plane, making Charles jolt forward. It’s enough to wake up any human, at least one that isn’t Max… who at most groans before settling again. For a fleeting moment, he is grateful that he is having a stolen moment with Max, even if he isn’t aware of it.
This time, Charles made sure Max hired a driver to usher them back to the hotel; the idea of being in another car with him alone made him feel nauseous. Max continues his rest in the back seat, his mouth humorously open as his head rests on the window. The roads of Mexico are unforgiving, making them jolt. Max tucks himself into the corner of the car, and Charles can’t deny the warmth creeping up as he fondly looks at Max’s endearingly childlike position.
The week moves quickly. Charles chose to move the bulk of his clients to Monday and Tuesday to limit disruptions to their work. Red Bull hospitality has no private space for Charles this week, instead hiring a conference room at the hotel for him. Charles notes how stress-free it’s been, being surprised by the radio silence from Max. No accidental encounters or passing glances, just nothing. He went from pushing every one of Charles’ boundaries last week to being AWOL. Charles expected resistance, but there was nothing. By Wednesday evening, Charles finds himself sitting alone in his room, feeling not just bored but lonely. It’s not a feeling he is used to naming, enjoying his own company and independence, a big fan of personal space. He has never been one to crave more close connections, and yet here he is, wishing for company.
Max’s company.
Charles stares at the dim light of his screen, opening their message thread. His thumbs hover over the keyboard, starting the internal battle in his head.
Do I text?
No. That’s crossing a line you shouldn’t…
But what if it’s professional?… that’s fine, right?
He types, pauses.
“heeeeeey… how are you?"
Delete. That’s weird.
“You up?”
Delete. Jesus, what is this? A booty call? He rubs his hands over his face and finally types.
“How’s your hangover? 😜 Did you need to reschedule our session?”
Okay, that could work. It’s harmless enough, just a check-in. Hell, this is even ethical! It’s totally normal to do a check-in on a client. He is just being a responsible practitioner, making sure his client is well for the next session and not incapacitated.
Yeah, that’s all it is.
The winking emoji though…
Yeah. He doesn’t have an excuse for that one.
Charles presses his eyes shut, hitting send before he can talk himself out of it. He drops his phone on the bed and stands up quickly, pacing. He pours himself a glass of Whiskey from the minibar, feeling it burn down his throat. He isn’t someone who drinks alone. He tells clients that drinking is often a way of “avoidant coping”, but right now, his hypocrisy doesn’t matter; he needs the liquid courage to quiet the nerves coursing through his body.
It’s ridiculous, really. He is in fucking Mexico, a city filled with adventure, and yet here he is, in his room, nursing whiskey and pining for a man whom he should never even have started wanting in the first place. He finishes his drink in one big gulp, and picks up his phone to distract himself. He looks up places to eat nearby while a banner pops up at the top of the screen. Charles grins widely as he opens Max’s message.
“Aren’t I court-mandated to come? and yeah, hangover is still lingering but mostly fine. Remind me not to go out this weekend when I win 🤒”
Charles giddily laughs at himself in an embarrassingly fond way, before straightening up when he realises how he pathetic is acting. Oh god he thinks to himself as he smiles at his phone like a teenage girl kicking her feet and giggling. He clears his throat, as if that will make him any less shameful.
“As if you would listen to me if I said that. Anyway, you are probably Horner mandated but I would let you miss one if you needed. Drink lots of water 😚”
Send.
Charles stares at the screen for half a second too long before it hits him.
Oh no.
No, no no no. The emoji. The fucking kissy emoji is next to the one he wanted.
“Fuck” he mutters, already typing, his pulse hammering over his fatal mistake. Well, it seems fatal anyway; feeling like he might die from embarrassment.
Charles responds immediately, but it’s too late, and Max is already typing. The three dots bounce on the screen, and he is sure he is going to pass out at this point.
Oh.
Charles can’t be normal about this.
Charles’ brain short-circuits as he stares at the message, so much to unpack between the nickname, the emoji and the fact that Max didn’t even cancel despite being given the chance, even though he is always complaining about coming. Every ethical alarm that his brain can sound rings in unison as Charles giddily smiles at the screen, his cheeks aching. He is in deep, down bad to the nth degree. His fingers type before his brain can catch up to what they are doing.
Charles doesn’t throw his phone this time; he just stares at it with his heart in his throat, watching as the typing bubbles appear again… and then vanish… and then appear.
He groans in embarrassment, feeling his heart sink in rejection. Frustration settles in at his sudden incapacitation, a communication expert who can’t respond to a stupid fucking text. He types a response halfway, then deletes it and starts again. Everything sounds too eager and desperate. He lands on the safest option he can manage.
Charles stuffs his phone in his pocket and groans at himself as he grabs his wallet dramatically, deciding to walk off the shame and rejection.
Media Day: Max POV
Max practically dances around the media pen, radiating energy. He is finally over his hangover, winning races, and Charles is finally responding to his advances… and even initiating. The past few days of agonising distance worked, and Charles falls straight into his lap. Life, for once, feels uncomplicatedly good. Sure, there is no mathematical chance of him winning the championship despite his recent dominance, and a few months ago that would have absolutely gutted him. But right now? He is content. He walks over to the final interviewer of the day, a smile plastered on his face.
“Max, it has been a brilliant few weeks for you. What’s the atmosphere like at Red Bull right now?”
“Yeah, look, it’s really great.” Max answers, “We are all working together now and it’s been, yeah, awesome”
“Working together now? Were there some teamwork issues prior?”
“Not issues really” Max shrugs, despite being a lie. “Just… miscommunication”
“Right, it seems that you have patched that up in recent weeks, and it’s working for you!”
“Yeah, I have put in a lot of work into myself, how I talk, how I act. The fact that I am not colliding with someone or something every race probably shows that so”
The interviewer laughs, thanking Max as she wraps up. Max hands back over the mic and steps aside. Gemma gives him a warm pat on the shoulder as they walk away.
“You truly have changed for the better, Max”
“Yeah” He smiles, looking down at his feet. He never did well at personal compliments like that. Compliment him on his driving and he will take it in his stride, compliment him as a human and he will not know what to do with it.
Gemma glances at her phone. “You’ve got your session with Charles in 20, do you want anything before then?”
Max shakes his head and says his goodbyes to Gemma, making his way over to his driver's room, where Charles will be waiting for him inside. He could probably skip there with all the excitement bouncing around in his body, but he makes a conscious effort to walk somewhat normally… just in haste. He leans against the wall outside for a moment, rehearsing in his head what he wants to say. It was all he could think about the night before, things he had never really said out loud. Watching the clock tick down to his exact appointment time, Max knocks softly… despite it being his room and not needing to show the courtesy, but he does anyway.
“Come in!” Charles’ voice calls cheerily.
Max feels his heart grow at the sight of Charles, having to stop himself from smiling too widely. Charles springs up from the couch, moving to the chair he stole from outside. Max laughs, endeared by Charles’ politeness.
“Want me to lie down, like people do with shrinks in movies?”
Charles laughs, shaking his head “I am not Freudian, thank god”
“I have no idea what that means” Max responds, dropping onto the couch and setting his bottle on the table.
“Probably for the best” Charles grins. “He was the guy who thought deep down everyone was jealous of their father for fucking their mother”
Max bursts into laughter, caught off guard by Charles’ description “Oh yeah, that guy!! You’re not into that?”
“Into what? fucking my mother?” Charles retorts, laughing as he does “What are you even saying?”
Charles is nearly doubled over, and Max’s laughter still hasn’t slowed. His cheeks ache, but he doesn’t care; he is too enamoured by Charles’ laughter.
“Alright alright” Charles says, wiping joyous tears from his eyes as he does. “Enough jokes, how have you been? Busy week for you”
Max fills Charles in on the week past, how hard the team has been working on car changes and how well Max has been doing at communicating with a very stubborn at times Horner. Charles’ eyes light up as he continues, and Max’s chest feels so unbearably full. The idea of making Charles proud making his cheeks feel hot.
“I even talked about it in an interview!” Max exclaims in excitement
“I actually saw that,” Charles replies, his eyes sparkling. “You kind of broke the internet”
“What? I did?”
“Yes! Max Verstappen, former track menace, now reformed and on a journey of self-improvement and discovery? You thought saying that out loud wouldn’t cause a reaction?”
Max scoffs in response, “I don’t use social media mate. Besides, I came straight here after the interviews so”
“Well” Charles leans in, grinning at Max “As usual, you have impressed the world, Max”
Max looks down, his foot tapping against the ground. He can feel his thoughts fumbling around at the compliment, not that it wasn’t appreciated, but it’s so hard to hold. Silence settles between them, thick and uncomfortable, at least for Max anyway. He exhales before just blurting out the words lodged in his chest.
“So why do I feel so lonely?”
The air shifts in the room as Charles softens. His head rests against his hands delicately, elbows resting on his knees. He could be a work of art, worthy of being someones muse.
“It’s not uncommon for those in the public eye to feel that way. There is a difference between being surrounded by people and having meaningful connections”
Max blinks at Charles, trying to condense his thoughts into something intelligible.
“I think I… uh…” Max clears his throat. “I just don’t really have anyone that uh..”.
He twists his hands together in restlessness, trying to get his brain to cooperate with his mouth with no success. Instead, they decide to stop connecting altogether and make a complete fucking fool of him. Charles doesn’t push; he sits and waits patiently and warmly as Max drinks from his bottle, giving him the space he needs. Max becomes a prisoner of his mind, staring at a spot on the floor as his mind flurries with thoughts he can’t contain.
“This can be pretty tricky to open up about. If you aren’t ready, please don’t feel that you have to push the words out” Charles smiles, trying to catch Max’s attention. Max shakes his head, determined to just say it. He has held it for so long, and it just keeps growing.
“I just want someone who wants me”
“Someone who wants you…” Charles nods slowly, taking in his words
“I want a friend that doesn’t work with Red Bull, and fuck I want someone to want me more… romantically” Max blushes, his stomach twisting with each word.
“It sounds like you’re wanting to be unconditionally loved, a love that isn’t for your fame or what you offer someone”, Charles proposes, his voice low. Max’s skin crawls at the sound of him saying what he exactly feels.
“Yeah… something like that” Max nods faintly, unable to look Charles in the eyes. The silence stretches again, and he can feel Charles watching him, his gaze burning holes into his skin. He feels small, which is foreign to him. Max wishes he could just retreat into himself and walk back his words, but his mouth has already gone and done it now.
“Max? You seem like you want to say something, but you’re holding back,” Charles says quietly, sweetly. Max huffs a small laugh, frustrated that Charles just knows… always. Max is a book he has read countless times, and yet it takes all of Max’s energy to understand even an inch of Charles. He twists his hands together in restlessness, trying to get his brain to cooperate with his mouth.
Max has played the role well for a while now. Every interview that tried to pry into his romantic life was met with the same lie Max would tell himself: that relationships aren’t the priority, winning is. He was the determined, locked-in driver who rejected romance as a distraction. Solitary, independent, focused… and that was all true for a while, but now? Max craves something more. To be loved and to be in love.
Max eventually nods at Charles. Despite the man always knowing what Max meant, he wasn’t getting this. An unspoken message behind his words that he cannot, under any circumstances, say out loud.
He wants Charles to want him.
But every time Max gets close, Charles pulls back… the stupid blurred line that Charles won’t cross. It’s cruel and unusual punishment by the universe, giving him someone capable of loving him but making him unable to do so. Max meets Charles’ gaze and is immediately burned by its warmth. It’s overwhelming, all of it. Max feels the weight of the conversation on his chest, realising he isn’t as ready as he thought.
“It’s also common in the gay community” Charles continues, interrupting Max’s inner world battle. His tone is careful, as if he is scared of saying something wrong. “Especially when you are the poster boy of a sport that is not exactly open about that side of things. It makes it hard to be vulnerable and look for a real connection”
“It’s shit mate” Max croaks, a rough, tired laugh escaping as he speaks. “It’s mortifying. I need an NDA to be written up if I even plan on going out and sleeping with someone. How am I ever to know if someone actually wants me or the life that comes with being with me? How can I let anyone in knowing they will have to be a secret for as long as my career lasts?”
The words spill out fast and angry, and Charles just listens. He just absorbs it and grounds the storm that brews. Max leans back on the couch, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as his head starts to ache.
“How many people know you’re gay?”
“You, Gemma… random men I have slept with”
Charles nods thoughtfully, never showing a shred of judgment despite Max’s words.
“Your family?”
“No” Max looks down “well, maybe my sister, I don’t know. I am very open about my support for queer people. She is smart, maybe she put it together.”
“How about we circle back for a moment? You said you don’t know if someone wants you for you. Maybe we start by figuring out what you want in someone first? Can we work that out together?” Charles asks carefully, expecting Max to blow at the slightest misstep. It saddens Max that he does that, but he understands why… It’s not like Max has made it easy for him.
Max nods, watching as Charles grabs the little whiteboard and marker. Charles starts to get up, but then sits back down.
“Can I sit next to you? So you can see what I am writing”
Max nods quickly, too enthusiastically, as if he would ever turn down being closer to Charles. His heart skips as Charles closes the space, and Max tries his best not to glaze over despite being completely mesmerised by him and all his features up close.
“Okay” Charles poises his marker “What do you want from a partner Max?”
Max forgets how to be a functioning person, feeling hot under pressure. He scrunches his lips to the side, thinking hard about how to answer.
“Uh, kindness?” He responds, watching Charles write on the board.
Charles is kind.
“Intelligence”
Charles is intelligent
“Confidence, like someone who can, uh, put me in my place sometimes”
Charles is confident, and he sure as hell puts Max in his place.
“Supportive”
Charles is supportive
“…Attractive”
Charles is definitely attractive.
A smirk creeps up on Charles’ face, writing the word without looking back at Max. Max doesn’t fight the smile tugging at his mouth, deciding to try being bold.
“Brunette” Max says after a pause, his smirk deepening. “I like longer hair. Facial hair is a bonus, same with an accent”
Charles’ marker glides across the board, but his posture changes. Max can see his shoulders tighten, his lips pursed together to not allow the smile, but his cheeks give him away, bright red.
“Tan” Max continues, his voice confident “Calm”.
Charles bites the inside of his cheeks, and Max catches the faint indent of teeth against Charles’ lower lip. It’s all too much and not enough at once. Thoughts envelop Max, loud and reckless about what it would be like to close the distance and stop pretending that this is all professional. He craves it, to taste his lips and feel his warm skin. Charles clears his throat, snapping Max from his fantasy.
“Okay, a long list which is good” Charles smiles “Didn’t really expect to go into physical characteristics there, but that’s fine!”
Charles keeps talking, something about values, about staying open to people who embody the traits Max named. At least that’s what he thinks Charles said, the truth being he hasn’t listened since before he started his monologue. Max’s focus narrows on the very little space between them, how easily he could just reach. He’s never wanted something so much, and he has never not gotten what he wanted. It’s frustrating, having what you desire sit in front of you but not being able to touch it. Charles’ voice filters back into Max’s brain.
“What is important, though, and it’s difficult, I know, is that you need to trust. You need to say how you feel Max, people won’t know unless you tell them”
His timing of tuning back in is magnificent as always, and the words dig deep, a direct hit to his chest. It’s like he is speaking to him, daring him.
Say how you feel.
“When you find someone you really want, you’ll know” Charles smiles, his hand putting down the marker and resting in the small space between him and Max. “You’ll feel it. Sometimes, your body realises it before your mind does”
Max’s body shakes with his restless legs, his hands gripping the edge of the couch. His pulse is communicating panic at the truths Charles is saying, screaming out in agreement. Max tries to train his eyes on Charles’ and not let them stray to his lips. Charles leans forward slightly, his voice lowering, quieter, more… intimate.
“I am so proud of you for opening up today, Max.”
Fuck. Max swallows hard.
“You did so good”
Fuck fuck fuck
“Anyone would be lucky to know you as much as I have gotten to know you. It is a privilege I hold tightly”
FUCK
“and they would be even luckier to date y-”
Fuck it.
Max doesn’t think; he just moves, launching forward and closing the distance in one impulsive second. His hands find Charles’ face before his mind can stop him. Every bit of tension in his body melts as he feels Charles’ lips on his, as soft as he always imagined. He isn’t gentle; his lips move desperately, longingly. It’s raw emotion and pent-up desire. It’s everything Max has wanted.
Charles doesn’t move, he doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t touch Max either… but to Max’s delight, he complies. Charles’ mouth parts, allowing Max’s tongue to explore. Elation fills Max’s lungs; the kiss is beyond good. It’s perfect. Max’s hand finds its way from Charles’ face to his hair, intertwining in the curls he had adored from afar for months. A breathy gasp leaves Charles’ lips at Max’s touch.
And Max vows to hear that sound again, many... many times.
He loses control of his inhibitions, propping himself up to deepen the kiss. Max bites lightly on Charles’ lower lip, earning a quiet moan from Charles and a deep growl from Max. Charles’s hands finally reach Max’s body, goosebumps growing on impact...
Until he pushes him off.
Charles stands up from the couch, running his hands through his hair as a look of panic washes over Charles’ face. Max’s heart sinks, his body withdrawing from Charles’ touch.
“Max” Charles’ voice wavers “That cannot happen again”
Max stands too, feeling Charles’ panic take over him too. His nervous system was on full alert, like it was when Charles was starting to distance himself a few days ago. Fear sits in his stomach, growing at an alarming rate.
“I’m sorry I - I didn’t mean, I mean I didn’t plan… I just… god” Max stumbles over his words, his voice almost a whine “Don’t you feel it too, Charles?”
Charles paces the room, his composure shattered. Max can see his chest rising and falling quickly, hearing the air flood from Charles’ nose. It’s like Max can see his brain ticking over, seeing his thoughts overflow out of his brain and onto the floor. It’s like Charles is frantically chasing them around the room. Max feels a sudden wash of guilt, never seeing Charles so impacted before. Charles takes a shaky breath in and turns to face Max.
“Okay” Charles places his hand on his stomach, as if to temper its movement. “It’s normal to develop feelings for your therapist”
“Charles, no, this isn’t-”
“You tell me things you don’t tell anyone else” Charles cuts Max off, unwilling to hear his point. “I revel in your best moments and hold your darkest moments with you. I offer you the warmth and a safe space you so desperately wanted and needed. Of course it feels intimate…”
“Charles, it isn’-”
“These feelings aren’t real,” Charles says, firmer than before. He is making his stance known as he stares sharply at Max. “They are part of your healing. They’re about what you need, not who I am. Your attachment and emotional needs are being met for one of the first times in your life. You don’t want me. You want love, and that’s okay! That’s good! But it isn’t me!”
Max’s jaw clenches at Charles’ complete unwillingness to listen, deciding for him how he feels. It’s nothing like him; the usually warm and open Charles is replaced with one who is cold and firm. It’s the complete opposite of what made Max fall for him in the first place. It’s forced and unnatural, it’s performative… and it’s pissing Max off.
Max’s breath is unsteady, images flashing in his mind of all the times he was sure Charles was giving signs and signals, billboards saying “I want you more than you think”. He questions himself for a moment, wondering if he got it all wrong, but he can’t be. There is no way.
“You’re wrong” He finally says, his voice breaking as he does. “I do want you Charles, and I see how you fucking look at me. You feel it too. You can’t tell me I’m imagining it when you just sat there telling me to trust what I feel”
The room is silent, the kind that hurts. The air is thick to the point of being unbreathable, as Charles and Max stare at each other without moving. Charles’ face is unreadable, as Max’s eyes desperately search his face for any sign that he is right.
“This is exactly what I meant by blurred lines” Charles huffs, frustration sharp in his voice. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing again.
“So why didn’t you push me off?” Max snaps, his patience completely depleted. “What’s your excuse? You haven’t even fucking denied it yet”
Charles stops pacing but doesn’t look at Max. His jaw tenses, his tongue pushing to the side of his teeth. He looks pissed, and that fuels Max’s fire… because what the fuck does he have to be pissed about? He is the one lying. He is the one making it difficult. He is the one who built Max up and is hell bent on tearing him down again. Max sees red, unable to hold back.
“You tell me to be vulnerable, you tell me to trust what I am feeling. Here I fucking am, I am trusting it” Max continues, his voice croaking as he does.
He is probably speaking far too loudly, and the patrons of Red Bull hospitality can probably hear vaguely what he is saying, but he doesn’t give a fuck. The anger is too much to hold, and for once, Charles isn’t holding it either. It just runs wild, uncontained. It’s thrilling and scary all at once, as both of them refuse to take ownership of the tension. Max closes the distance between them, standing in front of Charles’ pace trajectory to block him off. Charles’ head lowers, and Max mimics to try and meet his eyes, which are glassy with tears.
“Say it Charles” Max says firmly, but quietly. His voice was near a whisper and laced with desperation. “Yes or No? Stop fucking with me”
“I can’t” Charles exhales shakily, a tear flowing over his cheek.
“Fuck!” Max yells, throwing his hands to his face and rubbing his eyes in frustration, immediately feeling bad as Charles winces at the volume. “Just say yes or no Charles” Max pleads, his voice trembling as he watches Charles’ tears flow with more haste. Max wipes some away, the touch making Charles flinch from its intimacy. Charles turns his head away from Max.
“This can’t happen, Max” He whispers, his voice as fragile as his posture.
“Look at me” Max demands gently
“I will lose my job, my license-”
“Charles” Max persists through Charles’ panic. Max watches his breath quicken in between words as he unravels. Charles manages to meet Max’s eyes, both of them too close, breathing in each other’s breath.
“You.. aren’t even.. out” He manages between quick, shallow breaths. “If anyone.. found out, it would destroy.. you..and me. Max we will both…lose everythi-”
Max interrupts his spiral with another kiss, one more gentle. It’s soft, sweet and only fleeting. Charles’ lips move in tandem, not resisting. When he pulls back, he sees Charles’ sad eyes staring into his soul, burning into him.
“Why don’t you push me away Charles?” Max whines, his voice raw as he desperately pines for an answer. “Yes or no. Do you feel the same?”
Charles just stares, his breath hitching as he messily wipes the tears from his cheeks. He turns away, pushing past Max to gather his things with trembling hands and uneven breath.
“No please” Max begs, his voice cracking. “Please don’t leave. I’m sorry please”
Charles leaves in silence, the door closing softly behind him. Max stares at the closed door, willing him to change his mind and walk back, wishing he could turn back time and not make the biggest mistake of his life, which, confusingly, is simultaneously the best he has ever felt. He sinks into the couch, feeling empty. The room, in his skin, in his mind - empty. Regret fills his lungs, replacing the elation, in a familiar feeling he has not had in a while. It’s suffocating, the guilt thick in his throat. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as his breath starts to stutter with the tears pouring from his eyes.
He consciously tries to take deep breaths, measuring the time with his fingers drawing on his thigh, but his trusty go-to is no use. He starts to unravel fast, voices in his head telling him to hit. He deserves it after all. He ruined everything. And as per usual, Everyone leaves when he needs them. Max’s head is in his hands as he sobs, desperately trying to avert his focus anywhere else. He sees his bottle on the table, lunging for it and opening it quickly. He pours its contents into his hands, uncaring of the pool of water at his feet. Ice sits in his hands as he closes his fist, feeling the shock of the cold, the stinging as his nerves fire off rapidly. As always, Charles was right; it helps. It anchors him just enough to focus on the pain as opposed to the thoughts, enough to breathe again.
When Gemma knocks on the door, he’s still sitting there - bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, his cheeks and shirt soaked with tears. She steps in and freezes in shock, before her expression softens at the state of Max.
“Oh, Max…”
She sits beside him without another word, pulling him into a hug, and for once, Max doesn’t resist.
Chapter 10: The longer burn, the sweeter that you smell
Summary:
The scene loops on repeat in his mind, the light sting of Max’s bite still lingering on his lips like a brand. He hates how desperately he needs to feel it again, like he is withdrawing.
It was perfect.
It was terrible.
OR: Charles and Max reach breaking point
Notes:
Hiiiiiiii!!
Remember how I said I wrote like 10k last chapter and split it into two? Yeah, I changed everything. Hehe :) Shout out to my dear friend C who helped me work out where to go from last chapter and listening to my many rambling voice notes (hii when you read this!!).
Thank you for all the kind words and comments, it makes my day (I check my emails incessantly to see if people comment) (It fuels my deep desire for validation) (I think I need a therapist like Charles lol).
I have an exam next week, so the next update won't be until after that. I hope this is enough to tide you over!
I hope lots of good comes your way this week! xx
Chapter title inspired by caramel by Conan Gray (really vibing his newest album if you can't tell)
Chapter Text
Charles spends all of Friday and Saturday holed up in his hotel room, curtains drawn and lights dimmed. The air is heavy with anxiety, supplemented by Charles’ feelings of misery. With his clients already done for the week, there is no reason to go to the track and attend qualifying. He is drained, emotionally hungover from yesterday’s event. Exhaustion sits deep in his chest, the kind that makes breathing feel laboursome. More than that, he is filled with hate and resentment, but only toward himself.
He hates the way he felt relief, happiness, pure fucking elation at the sound of Max’s confession. He hates the butterflies in his stomach, the way his chest tightened in excitement. He fucking hates the way that kiss will be burned in his brain for the rest of his life. It was like he was floating, watching himself from outside of his body. The scene loops on repeat in his mind, the light sting of Max’s bite still lingering on his lips like a brand. He hates how desperately he needs to feel it again, like he is withdrawing.
It was perfect.
It was terrible.
He sees Max’s hurt eyes. The way Max’s voice pleaded and cracked as he begged Charles not to leave haunts him.
Charles fucking hates that he left.
He thinks about all the lessons that event taught Max, that his pain is too much to hold, that those who care will leave from the burden, that his feelings are not valid and not true. The resentment hits Charles like a truck that he couldn’t just be there for him. He watched as Max picked up his own pieces and put them aside just to help Charles pick up his.
Charles watched it happen, and still, he walked away.
It was all too much for him, and it’s obvious why. The truth moved from a corner of his mind to the dead centre; he cares for Max. Far more deeply than he should. It’s not the usual unconditional positive regard that therapists feel; it’s heavier… and that terrifies him.
Charles is not one to date for the sake of it, always one to be careful, calculate the risk and see if the reward is worth it.
This is so fucking risky
But he can’t help but feel it would it be so… so worth it.
He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling and rethinking everything. Every decision, every want, desire and dream. He catalogues every past lover and tries to piece together why it feels so different, why he has never felt this way in his whole damn life.
He thinks back to his first “boyfriend”, if that is even the right word. They had met during his undergraduate studies. It hadn’t lasted long enough to mean much, though it had felt important at the time simply because it was new. The guy was sweet and kind; he was quiet and reserved. Charles wanted to protect him. He was struggling - with school, himself, everything. No matter what, Charles was by his side, making sure he was safe. He remembers long nights studying for finals while the other boy slept beside him, scared to leave him out of his sight. He remembered writing his assignments for him, making sure he ate, and dragging him to class when he didn’t want to move. It was exhausting, the kind of relationship that drained you instead of filling you up. Charles knew the boy couldn’t care for him because he couldn’t care for himself. It ended quietly, as they often do. The boy dropped out, and Charles never heard from him again.
The next man came through a friend, an older, finance type. White collar through and through, crisp white shirts, polished, and larger than life confidence. Charles loved his ambition. Until his job became too much. It started with late nights, missed calls, and the smell of alcohol on his breath mixed with mint gum. Charles would field random calls in the middle of the night, driving to strange side streets to collect him where he passed out and nurse him back to health. Charles was already stretched thin back then, deep into his postgraduate degree, but he always went. He was always there.
Then came the last one. The one that hurt differently. Charles had just finished his degree, and he finally felt like he could be open and try for once. This guy was fun, spontaneous. He made Charles feel so alive that he would just follow wherever he led. The connection was fast. After the first date, they talked every night and saw each other every day. One night, Charles really needed him. It was his father’s birthday, a date that always made him feel hollow. He reached out, asked to see him, and he promised he would be there soon. So Charles waited. One hour, then two. Five texts, two calls. Nothing. No explanation or goodbye. Ghost.
After that and in between, there were others. One-nighters, some that stretched into days, maybe even a week or two if they were lucky. They all ended the same. The moment things started to deepen, when they wanted something more than Charles could safely offer, the walls would come up, and it would fall apart. Almost every date followed the same script: his career would come up, and inevitably, they would start to unload and expect Charles to hold their hurt. It was maddening.
So, Charles adapted. He learned. He shaped his preferences for his own protection, building a version of love that couldn’t hurt him or anyone else.
He told himself he wanted calm, someone rational and methodical like him. He wanted someone self-sufficient and stable, not needy. Someone who could hold their own emotions and wouldn’t crumble when things got hard. He wanted someone focused and fiercely independent, someone who could share in joy without spilling their pain.
More importantly, he promised the same of himself; to be a mirror of the person he wanted to be with.
Charles knew it was ironic, a therapist (of all people) unwilling to share his needs or rely on others. A therapist who refuses their own vulnerability. He knew it wasn’t healthy or sustainable, hell, it wasn’t even reasonable, to demand strength in moments where tenderness should exist. However, Charles knew what the alternative looked like. He had lived and carried it, and refused to do it again. He gave enough of himself to the therapy room, and that is where it belonged. Outside of it, he couldn’t afford to be that person anymore. Not when he can’t rely on it being returned.
Charles was always the anchor, the one people would turn to when life became unsteady. People said it all his life; he was such a good listener, he had great advice he was always there. That’s what led him to psychology in the first place, the idea that maybe he was just made for it. The job had boundaries; clients come in, get help and leave. The line was clear. The contract was clear.
So Charles made one of his own, a mental contract for his own dating life. No partners who didn’t meet his criteria. A mutual agreement that they could handle their own weight and not make each other their foundation to stand on. Charles made himself both the rock and the hard place, protecting himself from hurt but preventing the heal.
Then came Max, and Charles’ contract turned to ash. For a man who vowed never to be burned again, he found himself willingly running into the fire. The rock shattered, and the hard place was demolished. Charles’ walls were down, and there he was, exposed and vulnerable; but in that ruin, Charles finally saw what he was missing, what he had been wanting all along.
He didn’t want calm and predictability. He wanted fire. He wanted passion and longing. He wanted someone to test his limits and still push him further. He wanted someone persistent. He wanted to be painfully seen, for every inch of his flaws and assets. He wanted someone to dig in their heels and not back down when he retreated. He wanted his heart held the way he held others. He wanted safety, just like Max. He wanted to be wanted, just like Max.
He wants Max.
An admission that's nothing less than life-altering.
Charles stirs in his bed, looking at the time and realising qualifying is about to start. He eavesdrops on the battle of his brain and his heart, knowing that if he watches, he will spiral, and if he doesn’t, he will spiral just as much. Either way, he loses. He gives in, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV.
The broadcast switches to a side view of Max in his car, helmet on but his visor up, staring straight ahead. The commentators call it being focused, hungry, and filled with bloodlust…But Charles knows better. Max isn’t locked in; he is dissociative. He looks stressed, angry, and frustrated. He looks like he is in his own head, completely withdrawn from reality… and it’s because of Charles. The person tasked to help is the reason he unravels. It’s nauseating, the thought of Max being tuned out while flying 200km/h or more down a narrow track.
It’s something Charles wanted to talk about in future sessions, how to ground yourself when you feel like you’re in your own head or out of your body. The guilt settles in his throat at the thought of never being able to teach Max, because how the fuck can they ever go back after this? How can he just pretend he isn’t hopelessly enamoured and recklessly attached?
Good afternoon, Max! Let’s ignore the fact that your tongue was down my throat last week, and I have since realised you're my entire hierarchy of needs, wanna learn about dissociative experiences and trauma responses?
Charles shakes his head at the ridiculous thought, trying to hone his attention on the broadcast instead. He watches with bated breath as Max struggles through Q1 and Q2, his old patterns appearing in front of Charles’ eyes. Frustration fills the radio, the broadcast relishing in the entertainment value. Max is sounding off at whatever he sees, the traffic, the team, the car, even GP cops a stray comment and a resounding “shut the fuck up”. Q3 isn’t any better; Max’s time quickly drops on the ladder and finds its place in P9. The team makes a major mistake, neglecting to send out Max on time to complete another lap… and Max doesn’t make it across the line before Q3 is over. Charles winces as Max’s onboard is shown for the world to see, as he smacks his wheel before smacking his helmet, again and again.
Tears well in Charles’ eyes at the sight. Flashbacks to that phone call while he was in Monaco fill his brain, knowing Max does this for punishment, and when he is desperate for his pain to stop.
He watches as Max aggressively gets out of the car in the background of Lando’s shot, ripping his gloves off and storming away. The world sees petulance, but Charles sees collapse, and it’s his fault. He failed Max, both professionally and personally. He couldn’t just do his fucking job and keep it in his pants, and now Max pays the price.
The tears fall as Charles turns off the broadcast to stare at the black screen. He needed the quiet to think about what to do, his brain already loud enough. Finally, he grabs his phone. His fingers tremble as he dials Kaia’s number.
“Charles! How have you been? How is Mexico?” She greets brightly as usual
“Hey Kaia, I’m actually quite unwell. I think I am coming down with something. Do you think you can contact my clients and let them know I won’t see them next week? I would usually do it, but I am just very out of it” Charles lies, trying to temper his breath.
“Oh, that’s no good! Travel can do that to you, lucky there is a decent break after this, hey? I can absolutely do that, will you see them the week after?”
“I’ll keep the bookings but play it by ear” He replies softly, hesitating before continuing. “One more favour, are you able to find me a flight home for tomorrow morning? I can book one myself, I just figured Red Bull has been paying anyway…”
“Oh… um.. right yeah.” Kaia stutters, “There might be some… clearance issues. Maybe it would be easier if you just book it yourself, and I can see about reimbursement later”
“All good, no need for reimbursement. I will book it now. Thank you, Kaia”
“No problem, please take care” Kaia says sweetly before ending the call.
Charles places his phone back on charge, his eyes heavy. He buries his face in the pillow and prays his mind lets him switch off for a while.
Race Day: Max POV
Max reads the email again, and again, and again.
From: Kaia
Hi Max,
Letting you know on Charles’ behalf that your session for next week will be cancelled, as he is unwell. Your next scheduled appointment for the week after will be tentatively going ahead, dependent on his recovery.
Kind regards,
Kaia
By the hundredth reread, the words blur. His chest tightens until it hurts.
Unwell.
A load of shit. He knows what unwell is, it’s avoidance. He sits in his driver’s room, suit half on. He knows he fucked up colossally, his mind spiralling about every possibility, each one landing on Charles leaving without a trace. It’s a reality that cannot happen, not without Max fighting against it.
With limited time to spare, he texts Gemma to join him in the room. She arrives in minutes, slightly out of breath.
“What’s up? Are you okay?”
“I need you to get Charles here” Max states bluntly, uncaring of how weird it sounds. Gemma’s eyes widen slightly as she leans against the door.
“What’s going on? Something I should know about?” She asks quietly but firmly.
“No, just get him here, before the race… please” Max pleads, his head in his hands as he speaks. Gemma starts to leave the room, but Max stops her. “Call here, loudspeaker..”
Gemma gives him a perplexed look but gives in, dialling Charles’ number and putting it on loudspeaker. It rings out, and Max’s throat feels like it’s closing in.
“Again”
“Max, what is going on?”
“AGAIN!” He yells this time, his eyes locked and sharp on her. Gemma gives in, redialling.
This time, he answers.
“Hello Charles? It’s Gemma. Are you there?”
“Yes I am. Is everything okay?”
“Not really, how fast can you get to the track? I can organise a driver to the hotel”
Silence fills the call, and Max’s heart pounds in his chest in anticipation.
“I can’t. I am about to board my flight back to England”
Max’s mouth parts in disbelief. The only thing keeping him sane lately was the thought of seeing Charles on their flight in a few days. He didn’t even think of the concept of Charles leaving on his own; it seemed too far-fetched. Gemma looks to Max in panic, helplessly glancing between him and the phone.
“Charles, this is really important… Is there absolutely any chance you can come back?”
“No Gemma, I am so sorry. I am unwell. I recommend reminding Max of the techniques I have taught him; there are some I sent via email. He particularly likes box breathing; it might be good to do with him if you can”
Max shakes his head quickly, signalling to Gemma that it won’t work and to keep pressing.
“I-uh.. I don’t think that will help. Do you think you can talk to him on the phone at least? If I just give him the phone no-… in a minute when I get to his room?” Gemma saves her mistake, and Max's chest rises and falls rapidly, panic settling in deep.
“I think that is a bad idea… because I am sick, I mean. I won’t be totally focused.”
Max throws his hands over his face and starts to silently sob, realising how bad the whole situation has become. He sinks into the couch, uncaring of what Gemma sees.
“I see… okay Charles. Safe flight” Gemma frustratedly replies, hanging up the call. She walks over to Max and sits beside him, knowing too well that Max can flip on a dime whether he needs closeness or space. Max lets the air leave his lungs heavily as his sobs become more pronounced. Gemma leans in and throws an arm around him, and Max stays unmoved for a moment, but eventually gives in. He is loud now, embarrassingly loud. His breathing interrupts his sobs, causing choked noises to escape his throat. Gemma uses her other hand to soothe him, rubbing his shoulder.
“Max… I’m not gonna ask what is going on, but we need to make a decision here. Do we need to retire you from the race? I am scared for your safety.” Gemma whispers, her voice unstable as she speaks. He can tell she is scared, and probably very stressed at the situation she is in. He looks up at her and adjusts in his seat, his eyes stinging from the tears and his fireproofs soaked.
“No. I.. I will … race. Give… me 5”
“Max, I’m happy to-”
“I will race” He says firmly, almost strained, getting up from his seat and walking to his drink bottle. He takes a huge sip as he looks back at Gemma “I will be out… there in 5. Please just… leave me alone until then”
Gemma gets the message and leaves the room, giving Max an empathetic glance as she does. The moment she leaves, he runs to the mini fridge and holds two cold Red Bull cans to his face, uncaring of the cold. He has no ice, and this is the best he can do in the meantime. He watches his breathing, using all his energy to keep it as steady and slow as possible.
Max looks at his phone and considers calling Charles himself. It’s not like he would be seen as any more pathetic; it’s not possible to stoop any lower… unless he drove to the airport himself. Which he won’t. He decides against calling; he will just hang up. There is no use. Max calling him in this state begging him to come back will just make him sound insane, and it’s a blow to Max’s dignity that he would probably never recover. Max accepts he has taken it too far and ruined something good, and now he has to deal with the consequences of that.
He tries to think positively; maybe giving Charles space will make him realise how he feels. Maybe distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that bullshit people spout when they justify being apart. This could all be for the better. He wonders if he is going to watch the race, and whether he will check in and see if Max is doing okay. Max almost wants to run into the barrier just to see if Charles will call, see if he cares… but he knows that is an insane thought he should not make reality. He wonders if Charles would smile if Max made the podium, and that thought alone is enough to make him want to try. Even if he can’t see it.
Max is still wound up as he wanders into the garage, shooting daggers at anyone who dares to look at him. With 0 patience left, he snaps at engineers and mutters curses under his breath. He can feel the weight of every gaze on him, a dark cloud follows Max that impedes on everyone’s space, making the air suffocatingly thick with tension. Horner walks over, braving an interaction.
“Max… I don’t like what I’m seeing here”
“Oh! So sorry to inconvenience you!” Max scoffs as he takes a look at the data sheets. He points to the sheet dramatically. “The car bottoms out at T6, by the way. How about you go focus on that instead of bothering me?”
Horner rolls his eyes, his tongue pushing against the side of his mouth as he bites away the words he likely wanted to say. Gemma comes up beside him, mouthing “sorry” to Horner as she whisks Max away, avoiding further conflict.
“Has he called back?” Max whispers, quiet and broken.
Gemma shakes her head, and Max’s brain becomes static. The lack of contact from Charles becoming debilitating, despite it only being a day since he spoke to him last.
“If you need to talk to a therapist, I can probably find one for you after the-”
“No” Max cuts off, knowing he would never speak to anyone else that isn’t him. His jaw tenses as his temples pulse with a persistent pressure. Gemma nods lightly, putting a hand on his upper arm.
“Please, be safe out there” She pleads, enough to make Max soften. He nods, rubbing the hand that rests on his arm before he walks over to his helmet. As he puts it on, the previously fuzzy world filled with static is now sharp, quiet. He slides into the car, waiting while they line up on the grid. Max hears GP’s voice in his ears.
“Aright Max, you ready?”
“Ready”
The race flashes by, with Max clawing back to P5. Not like it matters, Max did not give a fuck where he came in the race. He does his media duties, replying short and sharp to get through it as quickly as possible. He shoots Gemma a look with every text she receives, hoping it’s from him. It was always met with a very subtle shake of her head and an empathetic smile. Max remembers Charles would probably be on a flight right now. Not even close to home. Max mourns the time lost; he couldn’t deny how much he was looking forward to an uninterrupted 9 hours with him, getting to know him more. He can’t remember a time he felt more miserable, more anxious… more unsure. He has no control over what is happening, and it’s unsettling. On a whim, he decides he wants to leave Mexico as soon as possible, calling for his plane to be ready. Usually looking forward to the break, Max finds himself dreading it, knowing time will pass achingly slow on his lonesome. A part of him hoped by now he wouldn’t have to spend it alone, but it was wishful thinking.
Next Week: Charles POV
The week off feels endless, every minute feeling like an hour. Charles tries to fill the void with things he used to love, things he neglected while being consumed by work. He opens a book, but his mind won’t let him focus. After a couple of pages, he realises he has reread the same paragraph on a loop, the words not sinking in. He sits at the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys and playing a few soft chords of his own composition before the memory hits. Max, curiously asking about his passion for playing. Charles shuts the lid.
It’s the same story every time. Everything he does in some way or another reminds him of Max. Morning coffee? Nothing like Max’s, or the coffee from the paddock. Video games? He remembers talking to Max about sim racing and COD, how much shit he would talk about Charles’ preferred loadout. Suddenly, nothing fills his cup. It’s filled with holes, the joy pouring out the sides.
The loneliness is painful. He feels it in his bones; it aches. Solitude never used to be an issue, but now that he has experienced company he actually wants to keep, the distance is debilitating. Midweek, he almost packed his bag for Monaco. Almost. He desperately wanted to sink his feet in the sand, to have his mother’s cooking. He stopped himself, knowing he was meant to be sick… and in a way he is, but not physically.
He thought the space would bring him clarity, that time away from Max would make him see through the chaos, but it only amplified it. Every thought echoes around his brain, becoming louder as it does.
So he tries to sleep, but even there, Max finds him. Visions of his smile, his tears, his eyes, him hitting himself. He finally gives up on sleeping, given it’s 4 in the afternoon, and stares at the ceiling, watching as his thoughts spiral around his head.
Is Max okay? He hasn’t messaged. Should I message? Maybe I could text Gemma? No. God, no. That would be so suspicious. What would I even say if he did text?
He turns over, pressing the pillow over his head as the thoughts continue to cloud his judgment.
Do I even want him to message? He is waiting for me to reach out. I am the one who left. Maybe I should, i’m the one in the wrong.
Charles groans into the mattress. He knows he can’t avoid this forever; at some point, he will have to speak to Max again. He will have to sit across from him, stare at his gorgeous eyes and pretend his heart doesn’t skip every single time he smiles. How could he possibly ever say anything other than sweet nothings and loving confessions in the face of someone as tailor-made for him as Max is?
Charles knows there are only two choices: tell him the truth or lie through his teeth.
Anxiety builds inside of him, buzzing underneath his skin. He rolls out of bed, throwing on a hoodie and tugging the hood low to cover his forehead. He leaves his apartment for the first time that week, the late afternoon air hitting him like a slap. His shoes scuff against the cobblestone as he jams his hands into his pockets.
He starts to imagine what it would look like if he did tell Max the truth, confessed everything, and how deeply and uncontrollably he wants to be with him. Maybe they would have some twisted, but happy ending. Maybe it isn’t so impossible. The thought unravels as quickly as it comes. He can’t be his therapist if he does, he would lose his job that he loves so much. He would have no income to stay in England. Even if he quit, the ethics board mandates no romantic relationships with clients until 2 years after treatment. Two years. By then, Max would move on.
What if he didn’t quit? What if he tried to maintain the impossible balance? Therapist and client by day, something else at night. Boyfriends? Friends with benefits? The taboo idea makes him sick. There is no way he could be neutral. He wouldn’t be able to push Max when he needed to; he couldn’t be that blank canvas for Max to sound off to. Their sessions would be tainted, with so much at stake.
But lying feels just as unbearable. Pretending there is nothing there, that Max’s words meant nothing. It would destroy Charles just as much as it would destroy Max. The thought of hurting him despite trying to protect him is too much to handle. It would end the same. Charles would lose his job. Max would spiral. It would be a rupture beyond repair.
Charles swallows hard, his mouth dry from a mix of the cold air and the stress in his body. No version of this ends cleanly. No right choice, just different wrong choices with altering levels of damage. The only clear thing was that someone, at some point, would be hurt.
He walks faster, the chill biting at his nose as his warm breath steams in front of him. By the time he reaches his building again, the tension in his chest hasn’t eased; it’s worse. The nervous energy is trapped in his body, thrumming in his chest too fast to control.
As he walks through the door, his stomach drops at the sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket. It’s how he has reacted all week, expecting a notification with the bad news he expects. He pulls it out of his pocket, his breath catching at the sight of Max’s name.
The message sits on the screen, hitting him like a punch to the stomach. Charles blinks at it, almost in disbelief. His lips twitch into something between a smile and a grimace, and he feels that wonderful and awful sting behind his eyes as they prickle with tears of joy and sadness.
Max is checking up on him.
It doesn’t make sense. It should be the other way around. Charles is the one that fucked everything up; he was the one who walked away. He was the one who was a coward and left Max to spiral. Yet here is Max, the one to reach out. Guilt and relief swell into a concoction that’s hard to swallow. Because of course, Max would be the one to put his own hurt aside to make sure Charles is okay, that is who he is, against all media portrayals - selfless and heartbreakingly loyal.
Everything inside Charles shifts. The noise in his mind fades to quiet. The ache in his chest softens. His lungs feel comfortably full for the first time in days. His thumb hovers over the keyboard, his pulse in his ears. For the first time all week, he knows what he wants. It’s reckless, probably ruinous, but it’s what he wants.
Max POV
Max’s breath hitches as he sees the text.
For a moment, all he can do is stare. Reread the message again and again just to be 100% sure he has it right.
Let’s talk.
Two words are all it takes for his heart to race and his stomach to drop at the same time. He types his address with trembling fingers, pressing the send button instantly… and then there is nothing to do but wait.
He can’t sit still. The silence in his place feels too loud, and every second is too slow. He prepares the coffee machine, checks his hair in three different reflective surfaces, and checks his phone a heinous amount of times. Anticipation runs through his veins, tangling with the hope in his chest and the fear in his brain. He can’t really tell what’s which anymore; he just knows he feels sick. By the time the knock finally comes, Max feels like he has run a marathon without leaving his home.
He opens the door and nearly forgets to breathe. Charles stands there, small and quiet in the dim outdoor light. He looks fragile - for a moment, Max wonders if he actually was unwell after all. His eyes are tired and shadowed, not the kind of tired that sleep can fix… it looks like exhaustion. His usual warmth is clouded by a cold, sad stare as Max steps aside wordlessly, letting him in.
The silence that follows is deafening, only the sound of Charles’ shoes on the floorboards echoing through the place. It’s tense, different from the usual tension. It’s uncomfortable. Max sits on a three-seater couch, hoping Charles will sit beside him. He doesn’t, choosing to sit on a one-seater that is the furthest from Max’s seat. His body posture is closed off, taking his hood off his head and resting his arms over his chest. He looks down at his feet, and Max’s chest tightens, fearing the worst.
“This is bad, Max” Charles lets out, his voice monotone and tired.
“I know” Max replies, his voice matching Charles.
“I don’t think you do know…” Charles dismisses “I think I’ve gone over every fucking possible outcome and nothing ends well”
Max keeps his gaze steady, but Charles refuses to look up at him. He just fiddles with the cuff of his oversized jumper - a nervous, childlike gesture that makes him look smaller somehow. His usually larger-than-life presence is now reduced to an anxious mess. Max desperately wants to close the distance, to hold him and tell him he’s sorry… but he stays in his position and waits, scared to push Charles any further.
“I’m sorry.. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I really just thou-”
“No, it’s my fault” Charles interrupts, shaking his head “I blurred the lines. You acted on ambiguous signs”
Max’s ears perk at that, the confession that there were signs there. It’s a small win, but not enough for Max to celebrate.
“I guess we both fucked up” Max dryly laughs, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yup” Charles replies bluntly, before letting the silence fill the room again.
“Was I wrong?” Max asks, almost too softly. His voice cracks as he does. “Was it really all just therapy?”
Charles softens slightly and pinches his eyes closed, fighting tears that threaten to spill over.
“I think so, Max. You don’t know me, how could you possibly have feelings for me? Have you thought about why you feel this way?”
Max shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his cheeks.
“As if it hasn’t been the only thing I’ve thought about since Thursday last week… or every day before that”
Charles sinks into the chair, pulling a pillow from behind him and cuddling it tight to his chest.
“Tell me then. Tell me what you have possibly fallen for that is separate from our time in session” Charles replies, frustration coming through. Max takes it as a challenge, feeling his own frustration grow at Charles’ stubbornness. Max straightens, as if to brace himself.
“I fell for you, because I do know you. Yeah, I don’t know all of you, but I know enough” Max starts as Charles shakes his head, huffing at the prospect. The challenge continues, and Max refuses to give in. He moves up the couch, closer to Charles.
“You listen to me. You are kind, you understand me and my feelings before I even do. It feels like you know me better than I know myself. So yes, part of the feelings come from Charles the therapist, but that aside…” Max takes a deep breath, attempting to steady his voice. He leans in, taking a page out of Charles’ book. Charles looks up, his eyes glassy and conflicted, but a slight twinkle of hope shines through as Max continues.
“… I also met Charlie on the plane, outside his apartment, in the pool. I see parts of him in session; he comes out and peeks his head before running behind therapist Charles. He is funny and talented. He is thoughtful and considerate, and he is fiery. God, he is so annoying sometimes.” Max laughs “He isn’t afraid to speak his mind, and he shows genuine interest. He observes, not the same way that therapist Charlie does, but in the way that he just takes everything in. Like he doesn’t take things for granted.”
Charles’ tears start to flow down his cheek, and Max fights the urge to go over and wipe them for him. He continues instead, his mouth unable to stop now that it’s started.
“You’re right. I don’t know everything about you. You don’t open up, and you’re stubborn as hell, and I know that is probably because you can’t as a professional, but I can tell there is so much under the surface, and I desperately want to know you. I want to learn.” Max’s voice pleads.
Charles cracks at Max’s pleas, his face falling into his hands as his shoulders tremble. His breath comes out in ragged gasps between quiet sobs. Max hesitates, but moves closer, slowly and cautiously. He places a tentative hand on Charles’ back, rubbing gentle circles as he cries.
“This is… so… fucked Max” Charles chokes out between breaths.
“It doesn’t have to be” Max refutes, attempting to stay strong in his position.
Charles scoffs, shimmying Max’s hand off his back and getting up from the chair as he paces through Max’s living room. He is still crying, but he moves onto the next stage: panic.
“It doesn’t have to be? There is a power dynamic you are ignoring here. I essentially took advantage of you at your lowest. How could this ever not be fucked?”
Max rolls his eyes at Charles’ words, sick of the overreaction. He paints Max as this fragile and vulnerable being. It’s infuriating, the implication that Max could ever be that impressionable. Beyond that, anger builds at Charles having no idea of Max’s “lowest”.
“At my lowest?” Max scoffs “ You fucking left at my lowest”
Charles winces at Max’s words, grabbing his hair in frustration.
“I had to! You wanted more than I could give! If I came back when Gemma called, you would’ve been just as miserable”
“More than you could give?! I didn’t need you to give shit, Charles, I just needed you to stay. You left knowing I needed you!” Max snaps, his voice breaking. Words come out before his brain can stop them. “Even as a professional, that’s pretty fucking low”
Charles shakes his head in anger, his eyes filled with hurt.
“And I couldn’t even do that! You’re right! It was fucking low! So why do you want me? Hm? Because you cling to this idea of me that isn’t real! Don’t you get it? If you were fine, winning races and living your life… You wouldn’t feel this. It would be completel-”
“Why are you always assuming this shit for me? I just told you IN DETAIL why I liked you beyond being a therapist”
“You shouldn’t have known any of that shit, but you do because I took ADVANTAGE of you, Max! It was WRONG. It’s MANUFACTURED” Charles raises his voice, the conversation quickly spiralling. It’s like last week, the anger is uncontained and flying around the room.
“Stop this ‘taking advantage’ bullshit! I am not a fucking child! You left because it was getting all too real for you, just admit it! You are making this worse to avoid saying what you feel! You’re a complete hypocrite!”
Charles shoots a sharp look and takes a deep breath. His voice lowers, but it is still fierce and spitting with anger.
“Let me break this down for you. If anyone found out about this, you would be outed. I would lose my job. I would have to leave England. I would likely be reported, lose my license. You would be the first gay driver in F1, and who the fuck knows what would happen when you race in countries where homosexuality is banned! This is the worst it can get, Max. This is catastrophic”
Max freezes, the words hitting him deep and sharp, but not how Charles intended. His mind goes wild, making connections from the implications of Charles’ words. Why would Charles get in trouble for Max falling for him? He said it himself, it’s common for clients to fall for their therapist. There would only be an issue if..
“You feel the same” Max finishes his thought out loud. Charles looks at him wide-eyed, caught off guard. “You do, don’t you?”
Charles continues to stare in shock. His hands shaking slightly beside him. He swallows hard, opening his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Max stands up and walks over to him, with Charles’ eyes following his every movement.
“That’s why you’re scared. You feel it too” Max continues, his voice steadier now. He lifts Charles’ chin up to make his eyes meet his own. “If you don’t feel the same, we can leave this here. I will never bring it up again. If you feel the same, I need to hear you say it. Please.”
Charles still looks dumbfounded, his glassy eyes searching Max’s face in desperation. Max can feel his staggered breath against his face as Charles finally replies.
“I feel the same”
Max feels all the air rush into his lungs, his heart pounding against his rib cage. The ache he’s carried for weeks melts away. He can’t help the smile that grows on his face, despite Charles still looking exhausted in front of him. All the podiums, trophies, championships - none of that compared to this. This was everything, and Max wanted to stay in the moment forever.
“Say it again”
A small, shaky smile tugs at the corner of Charles’ lips, one that he tries and fails to hide.
“I want you, Max”
“Finally, holy fuck” Max replies in one breath, ditching all restraint as he grabs Charles’ face and pulls him into a kiss fueled with weeks worth of longing and fear. Max’s thumbs brush over the faint stubble on Charles’ jaw, feeling him lean into the touch. Charles parts his lips, sighing into him, letting Max taste him with a tender hunger. The kiss deepens, slow and breathless, their tongues meet and explore every corner with a reverent need. Equal parts release and surrender. Charles’ fingers tangle in Max’s hair, while Max’s arm snakes around his waist, refusing to let go. It was more than a kiss, it was a confession, apology, forgiveness and a promise all in one. Soft whimpers escape in between breaths, their lips dripping in sweetness.
When they finally break apart, they rest their heads together, breathing each other in. Their eyes meet, Charles’ still glassy with tears, but there is light in them again. They revel in the moment, Charles’ hand leaves Max’s hair and traces down to his face, gently moving down towards his neck. He plants one more sweet, fleeting kiss before pulling away.
“Okay.” Charles concedes, his voice hoarse, “How are we going to do this?”
Chapter 11: With nothing to do, I could lay and just look in your eyes
Summary:
“Next season” Charles concedes “You find a new psychologist. Until then, you take the sessions seriously, or I’ll cut this off. Clear?”
And Max knows he means it.
“Crystal”
OR: Charles and Max have a plan
Notes:
Hiiiiiiii
A lion does not concern themselves with writing well paced fluff (or sprint races, they no longer exist I declare). This chapter drove me fucking insane and I wrote over 15,000 words and I couldn't get it right and and and waaaaaa
Anyway you look nice today, let me know what you think!
Chapter title inspired by about you by the 1975
Chapter Text
They talk for hours.
The clock on the wall knows no difference as minutes stretch into more. They spiral through every scenario, every pro and every devastating con. No more tears, the calm has entered after the storm that collected everything in its path. Max’s hand rests on Charles’ thigh, a quiet reassurance as Charles rambles through yet another hypothetical that always ends the same way, them falling apart. It was true, there was no real solution, not one that doesn’t destroy something in some way… but one thing is certain and unwavering.
Moving on is not an option.
When the silence finally comes, it sits tentatively in the air. Charles runs a hand through his hair, his eyes tired but lighter than when he came.
“So… we take it slow” Charles murmurs, almost to himself. Max nods in agreement.
“Slow is good”
The tension from their fragile pact weighs on them, both achingly aware that despite it being easy to agree, nothing about this is simple. It had to be their best-kept secret, and Charles makes sure to reiterate that a hundred times. Max agrees at every instance, though his reassurances fall on deaf ears, doing nothing to soothe the chaos of Charles’ mind.
He knows why Charles is anxious; of course, he is too. He has his reputation and Charles’ career on his shoulders. It’s connected all over his body like live wire, a ticking bomb ready to blow.
And yet, none of it matters.
Not when Charles looks at him like that.
Charles’ gaze flickers over Max’s face, down to his hands and back to his eyes. Not in a way that feels flirtatious, but as if he is memorising his every feature. It’s intimate in a way that Max feels exposed, the heat of Charles’ stare slips under his ribs and sets inside him alight. There is a tenderness in his eyes that Max doesn’t know how to respond to; it disarms him completely, rendering him a non-responsive mess. He swallows hard, trying to play it off, but Charles’ gaze doesn’t waver. Max can’t look away. The world could tilt, the walls could collapse, and he would still be trapped in the green fields confined in Charles’ iris. Charles’ rambling filters back in as Max comes back down to earth, piecing together the main points heard in his trance.
Charles agrees to stay at Red Bull. It allows him to accompany Max, keep the job he loves and stay in England, but on one condition.
“You have to find a new psychologist” Charles says firmly, his professional voice creeping back in.
“Yeah, not happening” Max says without hesitation
Charles shoots him a look, one that’s part annoyance and part pleased. Max’s defiance makes Charles narrow his eyes, but the faintest curve of a smile threatens his mouth despite himself.
“You realise that this won’t work if I am both your therapist and your, uh… “ Charles pauses, searching for a word that fits their arrangement “… interest”.
“My interest?” Max laughs, loud and unrestrained, earning a light smack on the shoulder from Charles, whose cheeks start to warm. “Come on, it’ll be fine! Let’s just try it out”
Max teases with a wide boyish grin, but Charles’ expression hardens.
“I’m serious, you won’t treat me as an unbiased party, and I won’t feel comfortable pushing you because there is more at stake”
Charles tries to reason, but watches as Max’s expression slowly turns more sullen. Max averts his gaze to play with Charles’ cuff.
“I’m not ready to talk to someone else.” He admits, his voice quieter now “Not yet.”
Charles’ resolve cracks, the fight draining from his body. His hand finds Max’s, tracing small circles with his thumb against his skin. He softens, but the edge of authority remains in his voice.
“Next season” Charles concedes. “You find a new psychologist. Until then, you take the sessions seriously, or I’ll cut this off. Clear?”
And Max knows he means it.
“Crystal” Max grins in quiet triumph, knowing if Charles even fought back a little, he would have caved just to make sure he would stay. He counts his lucky stars that Charles is as exhausted as he is, knowing his stubbornness for rules to be harder to crack, usually.
The plan is reckless and naive, stitched together loosely with hope and denial. Somehow it feels right, at least for now anyway. They both know one misstep could unravel their future, but they decide the risk is worth the reward.
The rest of the night slips by easily, too easily. They sit tangled on the couch, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Nothing deep, but mindless conversation that never seems to end. Charles laughs softly as Max’s cats climb over him, kneading his jumper and demanding affection. Max insists they’re “good judges of character”, and Charles rolls his eyes while holding back his blushing smile. It was terrifying how natural it was, and how quickly they fit. The way they slipped into their roles of quiet domesticity. By the time Max’s phone lights up with a notification, it’s already 2 am. The spell breaks and the real world bleeds in around the edges. Charles sighs as he gets up, announcing his departure. Much to Max’s dismay.
At the door they linger, one more kiss and second stolen before pretending this is nothing again. Max watches from the doorway as Charles walks to his car, his hoodie pulled tight, hands in his pockets. The red glow of the taillights fades up the private driveway, leaving the home painfully still. Max exhales, raking his hand through his hair. The home feels too big now, too empty. For a fleeting moment, the weight of everything sinks in, but it’s drowned out by something stronger that glows in his chest and warms him at his core. For the first time in a long while, Max understands what it is like to feel whole.
Charles POV
The next few days shift between chaos and calm. Charles tries to stay away and keep a comfortable distance, wanting to be sensible, but every time his phone lights up, he grabs it at lightning speed.
They text constantly, calls that were meant to be goodnight chats stretch until sunrise. They play Call of Duty together, their banter being so easy that you would think they had known each other for years. Sometimes, Charles thinks that. Maybe they met in another life, kindred spirits reconnected, but accepts that to be nothing more than folklore.
By Tuesday, he caves. He drives to Max’s place under the excuse of catching their early flight on Wednesday morning, but both know that is not the whole truth. It was boring without Max near him. More than that, it was near miserable.
Max doesn’t let Charles lift a finger. Lunch, dinner, coffee on demand… all of it taken care of. The guest bedroom is set up with fresh towels and linen, a new toothbrush in its packaging waiting on the sink. He sets Charles up on the dining table so he can finish some reports while Max disappears into his office, or what used to be an office. Now it’s dominated by the simulator rig, trophies on the floor and a mini fridge. It was hilarious, the concept of having so many trophies that they become cumbersome, residing on the floor of a random room to gather dust.
Eventually, Charles wanders over and leans against the doorway, quietly watching. Max’s concentration is mesmerising. His sharp reflexes and steady hands gripping the wheel, the way he braces his body and tenses his muscles in tandem with turns, it’s all so impressive. The wheel jerks violently, the virtual car snapping around the corners at insane speeds, but Max’s precision remains. The intensity and control is beyond sexy, yet he presents so softly with his messy hair and casual clothing. Charles’ smile grows before he realises it, the privilege of seeing Max in the zone feeling almost sacred. In this space, he is unguarded, completely absorbed, and Charles is all in with him.
He glances at the screen and feels his stomach twist at the speed, the realism nauseating. He refuses to imagine what it’s like for Max in real life, to be strapped in and powerless if something goes wrong. It’s too much for his already uneasy insides.
Max finishes his lap and says something to whoever’s on the headset. The room falls quiet, and Charles clears his throat gently enough not to be picked up on the mic. Max turns instantly, his face lighting up the second he sees Charles. He mutes his mic, checking it twice to be sure, and crosses the room without hesitation. He wraps his arms around Charles, making his feet feel like cement in the same way that made it nearly impossible to leave a few nights ago.
“Hey” Max chimes quietly, a grin curling at his lips as he leans in. Charles doesn’t answer; he just smiles and closes his eyes as Max presses a soft kiss against his. “How long have you been there?”
“Not long” Charles smiles “Why? Do I make you nervous?”
“Ha! No” Max laughs, shaking his head “I’ll actually try this time, though”
Charles’ brows furrow in confusion
“You mean that wasn’t trying?”
“That was literally a warmup” Max grins cockily, confidence oozing from him.
Charles’ eyes widen. The idea of Max going any faster than he just saw makes the uneasiness in his stomach return with a vengeance. He has always watched Formula 1; he knows how dangerous it is and how fast they drive, but it’s different now. It’s real. There is something to lose in this game. He swallows his fears and hides them behind an amused smile, knowing Max would hate the idea of Charles thinking he couldn’t handle it.
“Can I keep watching?” Charles asks shyly.
Max’s grin widens, excitement beaming from within as his eyes glitter back at Charles’ request.
“Yeah? I mean, yeah! Of course! Wait here”
Before Charles can respond, Max bolts from the room. From somewhere down the hall comes the sound of dragging fabric on the carpet, muffled curses and footsteps. Charles looks with adoration as Max appears again, triumphantly hauling a bean bag through the doorway. He sounds a theatrical exhale before taking off again, returning a minute or so later with a blanket, pillow and a bowl of ice-cream balanced on a tray. He flicks off the bright overhead light and switches on a soft lamp, the faint glow of the red bull neon sign giving ambience to the room. Max steps back to admire his work before his arm rightfully snakes around Charles’ waist again.
“Voilà” He declares proudly, gesturing at the cosy area he crafted.
Charles can’t help but laugh, the premise utterly ridiculous and childish, but so warm and loving. It’s a level of care Charles isn’t used to, but the initial discomfort fades as he pulls Max in for a tight hug, pressing a grateful kiss to his cheek.
“It’s perfect” He states, a teasing smirk growing on his face “Except one thing”
Max tilts his head, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“You need a spoon to eat ice cream, typically” Charles laughs, gesturing at the lack of utensils on the tray.
Max looks down at the bowl and forms an ‘o’ with his mouth. He dashes off again, returning a moment later with a spoon in hand and flushed pink cheeks. He gets down on one knee and presents the spoon like a knight kneeling before a king.
Max on his knees is a sight that Charles can get used to.
“Your spoon, my liege” He says theatrically, his head dipped low but his eyes peeking up at Charles. Charles takes the spoon and bows at Max in response, extending his hand to help him up before sinking into his cosy cocoon.
He watches Max for nearly an hour, marvelling at his skill and control. When his eyes grow heavy, Charles doesn’t fight it. The light clicking sounds and soft glow of the screen fade into the background as sleep takes over.
He barely stirs when Max gently shakes him, his voice soft in the darkness.
“Come on, bed is comfier”
Charles mumbles something incoherent back, letting Max guide him to the guest bedroom. The last thing he felt was Max’s lips brushing his forehead as he sank into the guest bed, and goodnight wishes whispered into his ears.
When he wakes, it’s to the smell of coffee and the sound of Max placing it on the bedside table. Max kneels beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair from Charles’ face. He smiles softly as Charles’ eyes flutter open. Charles slowly props himself up on his elbow and reaches for the double-shot espresso made for him.
“Good morning sunshine” Max whispers, pressing a sweet kiss to Charles’ forehead, now it’s clear of stray curls. “Not to alarm you, but the car will be here in an hour”
Charles’ eyes nearly pop out of his head in shock as he looks at the time on his phone.
“WHAT? Why didn’t you wake me earlier?! I need to shower and pack, and oh my god, my hair”
Charles leaps out of the bed and nearly trips over the tangled sheets in his rush, running toward the bathroom.
“You looked comfortable! Sue me!” Max responds, clearly enjoying the chaos. Charles turns on the hot water and runs back out, stripping off his shirt as he does. He shoots Max a glare as he takes another sip of his coffee before hurriedly pulling an outfit out of his suitcase for the plane ride. Max’s gaze is stuck to Charles’ chest as Charles huffs at his ogling. He shuts his suitcase dramatically and snaps Max out of his daze.
“I could have slept on the plane” He shoots back, disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him before stripping down. Charles can hear a muffled groan of protest from Max on the other side of the door. “Shut up pervert, go get ready”
Max’s laughter echoes down the hallway as Charles hurriedly showers with a smile plastered on his face.
Despite the frenzy, they make it on time. The flight to Brazil is long, but comfortable. Max’s curiosity is unbridled as he takes every opportunity to learn as much as he can about Charles. Nothing too deep, which Charles appreciates. He wasn’t particularly interested in opening up on a random Wednesday morning after a few days of… whatever this is. Charles is apprehensive about labelling it yet, with it all being so fresh and new.
“What has been your favourite part of the race weekends?” Max asks, taking a sip of his coffee. Charles smiles, knowing the answer Max wants to hear… which just so happens to be the real answer.
You. Spending time with you. Seeing you thrive. Celebrating with you.
But he decides to have fun with it.
“The coffee”
Max shoots him a look of disgust and disapproval, nearly spitting out his coffee.
“Really? The coffee mate?” Max teases, prodding for more “Absolutely nothing else that excites you about it?”
“It’s good coffee what can I say! And fine, the cars too” Charles concedes before his expression turns mischievous. “Actually, my favourite part?”
“Hmm?” Max’s eyebrow quirks in curiosity
“Your race suit, specifically when it sits half off your hips. That’s my favourite part” Charles smiles, his head resting on his hands as he flutters his eyelashes flirtatiously at Max, indulging his desire for flattery.
Max freezes mid-sip, a pink blush creeping up his neck. A smirk tugs at his lips as he slowly puts his coffee back down on the table.
“Good to know”
They keep talking until Max’s eyes start to droop, fluttering shut every few seconds. Charles watches him fight to stay awake, the exhaustion catching up with him. Charles doesn’t know what time Max went to bed, but he assumes it was later than Charles would have liked.
“Go to sleep” Charles says gently “I’ll just grab a spare blanket and-”
“What?” Max looks at him perplexed “There is a bed”
“Yeah, for you” Charles replies firmly
“It can fit two people, you know” Max says, stifling a laugh.
“Yeah and that’s a great look, isn’t it? Definitely wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.” Charles gives him a sharp look, nodding towards the cockpit and feeling uneasy about the risk. Max bites his lips to fight back a laugh, making Charles’ eyes narrow.
“I didn’t realise men couldn’t share a bed without it being gay” Max teases “I think it’s possible to share the space without sucking each other’s co-”
“Okay okay I get it” Charles interrupts, shrinking into the chair in embarrassment. The laughter spills from Max’s lips at the sight. “No funny business though, you need sleep”
“Noted” Max replies, holding up his hands in surrender with a lingering grin. Charles responds with an approving nod.
They make their way to the bedroom; Charles’ paranoia makes him trail far behind and look around despite the pilots obviously being busy with more important things. He knows it’s irrational, but he can’t help but be hyper-vigilant. He closes the door behind him, turning around to Max pulling his shirt over his head without a second thought.
Charles forgets how to breathe.
It’s not like he hasn’t seen Max like this before, but something differs about this moment, seeing Max in the dim light of the cabin, framed in gold by the faint glow of the reading light. He catalogues the way his broad shoulders taper cleanly to his waist, his body both lean and soft at the same time. His gaze lingers longer than it should as he watches in awe. He knows he should look away, but instead his gaze switches to Max’s arms, and thoughts flood his brain about how good they would look while Max pins him against a-
“You really need to work on that” Max smirks, catching Charles in his daze “The staring, you do it all the time”
Charles blinks, his brain scrambling in denial at Max’s statement and snapping out of his inner world.
“No I don’t” He protests, earning a look of disapproval from Max “Right?”
“Charles” Max says flatly, climbing into the bed “If I ever saw you not looking at me, I would be concerned. I’m not complaining here, but you’re the one acting like you’ve been caught”
“Noted” Charles mimics, trying to act cool. Max quietly laughs as he watches Charles get into bed.
They both rest on their back, their shoulders brushing but otherwise still. Despite how close they have been lately, this feels different. Charles feels small and awkward… not remembering the last time he was in bed with another man that didn’t leave within the hour. Charles’ brain works overtime, the intimacy of the moment driving him mad. He stares at the ceiling, thinking about the last few days and how easy Max has made everything lately. How he has taken care of Charles, how he reaches out, how he takes Charles’ anxious chaos and holds it so well. Max has initiated it all, and Charles decides it’s his turn to reciprocate. He raises his arm and turns his head to face Max, subtly inviting him to fill the empty space. Charles is used to being the big spoon, but figured Max would be too based on his usual dominant demeanour. Surprisingly, Max’s eyes light up as he starts to shuffle over, pausing before making contact with a teasing grin.
“But what if the pilots see us being… you know” Max puts his hands up to his mouth and whispers theatrically, overpronouncing the word “homosexual”
“Do you want to cuddle or not, asshole?” Charles laughs
That’s all the permission Max needs, as he shifts closer and tucks himself into the space against Charles’ chest. His head finds its home just below Charles’ chin, one arm draped across his torso. The weight of him was perfect, so solid and grounding. The prior tension melts away as Charles’ hand plays gently with Max’s hair.
“Why did you keep this on?” Max mumbles sleepily, his hand pulling lightly at Charles’ hoodie.
“It’s comfortable, and if I didn’t you would be begging to join the mile-high club instead of sleeping” Charles smiles cockily, chuckling as he does.
Max’s head snaps up; his mouth parted in shock as his eyes widen at Charles’ bold words.
“Oh!” Max chimes, his hand slipping under Charles’ hoodie to trace Charles’ warm, bare skin. He is agonisingly slow, exploring the paths of Charles’ abs and dipping into the outlines of muscle. “Are you saying I wouldn’t have any self-control?” Max continues.
“Yes” Charles holds his gaze, unflinching, the cocky smile still planted on his face. “That is exactly what I am saying”
“A bit cocky, isn’t it?”
“I learned from the best” Charles responds, leaning slightly to plant a soft kiss on Max’s head. Max relaxes back into place, while Charles’ fingers twirl small strands of Max’s hair around them, massaging his scalp with tender care and doting on his content sighs. Max was putty under his touch, melting deeper into Charles’ chest. Charles couldn’t get enough of it, soothing Max, making him feel cherished. “Now, can you sleep? I’d prefer not to be rock hard while trying to rest”
Max laughs at Charles’ brashness, lifting the blanket for a peek
“Too late for me” He giggles, making Charles smack the back of his head lightly and roll his eyes.
The comfortable silence settles, the plane’s vibrations acting like a lullaby. Charles’ eyes drift shut, a smile lingering on his face at Max’s closeness, the way his arm protectively curls over him. His chest tightens at how natural this feels, how easy and rewarding it is to care for him. For once, Charles feels like he is taking as much as he gives. Charles feels Max’s chest rise and fall against him, their breathing gradually syncing. It’s grounding, muting Charles’ brain. As Charles continues stroking Max’s hair, he realises how much he’s been starving for this kind of touch, something he has vehemently denied ever needing. He glances down at Max’s long lashes resting against his cheeks, his features soft in his sleepy state. He looks so unguarded in a way that hurts Charles to look at, so innocent and sweet. For someone known for his control, his defiance and ruthlessness, Max looks impossibly vulnerable and incredibly human. Charles feels the overwhelming need to protect this version of Max, knowing it’s the part that no one gets to see behind his defences.
“Goodnight Maxie” he smiles, putting his finger under Max’s chin to raise it enough for a kiss on the forehead.
“Goodnight Charlie” Max hums in contentment, his voice already fading with sleep.
They arrive in Brazil late on Wednesday, the humidity wrapping around them as they step off the plane. The weather isn’t sunny, dark clouds cover the sky, but no rain has started yet. Charles remembers Max talking about wanting it to rain for the race and finds himself hoping the universe continues the gloomy weather until then. To avoid attention, they take separate cars to the hotel. Charles watches from a distance as Max interacts with the crowd, signing memorabilia and posing for photos. Charles walks by, head down with a strange ache in his chest at the absence. Even then, Charles felt too perceived. Hopeful fans’ eyes dart around for anyone who looks like a driver, likely aware of how out of place Charles must seem. The paranoia seeps in again, that someone could connect the dots despite no one knowing who he is.
Once in his room, Charles draws a boundary with himself as much as with Max, texting him a quick message about him sleeping early. He sets his phone face down as he eats the room service sandwich he ordered at the front desk for a late snack. The quiet feels sterile, especially after the warmth on the flight. He turns off his light, falling asleep to the hum of Brazil’s city sounds beyond the window, wondering if Max is doing the same.
Media Day Session
Max POV
After a long day of media responsibilities, Max is a man on a mission. The interviews were boring and mind-numbingly repetitive. His body felt like it was vibrating with unused energy. He charges towards the room reserved for Charles’s session, someone’s currently unused office. He is usually one to knock, but Max knows Charles is diligent and always on time, so he decides to open the door without warning and close it quickly behind him. Charles looks up at him, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses as he types on his laptop.
“Well, hello!” Charles smiles in surprise, getting up from his chair to greet Max.
Max responds with a playful smile, his eyes locking onto Charles with a mischievous glint. He looks him up and down, taking in how good Charles looks in his dress pants and tucked-in blouse. He wears a cardigan, reminding him of his sweater obsession when they first met. Like a moth to a flame, Max strides over to Charles commandingly. Max hooks his fingers into Charles’ hips, pulling him closer. He can feel Charles’ knees buckle as his arms wrap around Max’s neck instinctively, surrendering to him. Max grins at Charles’ compliance, his eyes darkening as he takes control without hesitation. His lips crash into Charles’, leading with confidence and desire. His tongue sweeps into Charles’ mouth and claims every inch with hunger. Charles’ quiet moans make Max’s head spin in ecstasy, desperately wanting them to continue. He spins Charles around and pushes him against the desk in the room, parting Charles’ thighs with his leg and pressing firmly between them. The sudden friction draws a sharp gasp from Charles, vibrating against Max’s lips and pulling a low, throaty moan from him in response.
“Max” Charles manages to say between ragged breaths, his voice trembling with equal parts trepidation and lust. Max doesn’t pause, choosing not to acknowledge it. Instead, he deepens the kiss, his dominance unyielding and his hands gripping tighter.
“We… shouldn’t... here” Charles tries again, the words fragmented and breathy, barely escaping as Max’s mouth silences him.
“Mmhmm” Max hums dismissively, his leg pressing harder, grinding against Charles in a way that makes his hips buck involuntarily. Charles’ moans start to get louder, and Max can’t help but grin at him slowly losing his inhibitions.
Charles places his hand against him and pulls back, his chest heaving as Max chases him, leaning in for another taste. Max’s eyes are serious even if his mouth isn’t.
“Whaaaat?” Max whines, his hands moving up Charles’ thigh agonisingly slow.
“We can’t do this here” Charles insists, though his words sound less convincing when his hand is still tangled in Max’s shirt.
“We can’t” Max echoes, his tone mocking the gravity of the words as his grin grows. He leans in again, with Charles dodging just enough to avoid another round. A reluctant smile creeps on Charles’ face.
“This is wrong”
“So wrong” Max whispers, his fingers splaying possessively around Charles’ upper thigh, the other hand sliding down Charles’ back, guiding his hips to roll against his thigh. The deliberate friction tears a stifled moan out of Charles throat, raw and unfiltered as he rushes his hands to his mouth to muffle it.
“We are going to get caught” Charles protests weakly, moving his hand to speak.
“Probably” Max replies cheekily with an unrepentant grin and a shrug, his gaze fixed on Charles’ flushed cheeks, drinking in his lack of resolve.
Charles shoots him an unimpressed glare and tries to disentangle himself.
“My knee is dangerously close to your nuts right now Max. I suggest you move and remember our deal, take these sessions seriously” Charles reminds, his voice firm and sassy, just how Max likes it.
Max raises his hands in surrender and moves back from the table. He watches as Charles’ hands tremble to straighten his own shirt and smooth the fabric, adjusting his pants where the evidence of Max’s efforts obviously strains. Max’s gaze lingers on the sight of the bulge before Charles grabs his notebook to cover it.
“The deal, Max”
“The deal Max” Max responds, pitching his voice high in a teasing mimic. The imitation drew another sharp look from Charles, but Max laughs it off.
Charles sits down in the chair with obvious discomfort, which Max feels pride in being the cause of. He tries to reclaim some semblance of professionalism as he writes in his notebook. Max’s eyes follow him intently, lingering hungrily at his lips, which are now swollen and tinged red. Max knows he is under his skin when Charles swallows away the tension, and he can’t help but feel his desire grow in response.
“Okay Max, let’s get into it. I’ll skip the pleasantries. I know your week has been good… but last week wasn’t”
“Mm” Max hums flatly, already recoiling at the prospect of reliving it. “We talked about that”
“No, not really” Charles tilts his head disarmingly, lightly shaking his head “I actually have no idea what happened when I was gone.”
Max does. He remembers it all with excruciating clarity. He remembers the decline, the slow unravelling. He remembers the tears and the nausea that didn’t stay in. He remembers the meals skipped and the nights spent awake. He remembers how his body felt hollow, empty, and foreign. He remembers how time went achingly slow while he agonised over every single moment spent with Charles. The ache, the guilt, the urge to hit and how much it took not to.
“Not much” He lies
Charles raises his eyebrow, unconvinced. Max expected that. It’s a curse sometimes, how easily Charles sees through him.
“Not much.” Charles echoes, slow and sceptical. He leans back in the chair, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. “Right, so Gemma calling me and begging for me to come back was for nothing?”
Max presses his tongue to his cheek, crossing his arms. He can feel his patience for Charles’ persistence dwindling rapidly. He only just got Charles back; he sees no use in recalling when he was gone.
“Yeah okay fine whatever, it was shit”
“Evidently” Charles retorts, unflinching and not even trying to soften it, which Max can appreciate “So talk me through it. I left, then what…”
“Didn’t realise you were into that” Max mutters with a weak smirk “talking through it…”
But Charles doesn’t crack, doesn’t even twitch. All clinical focus, back to being unreadable. It’s Max’s least favourite version of him, the one that has him under a microscope. Max’s grin fades as he gives in, realising Charles is committed to his newfound resolve.
“…It wasn’t that bad at first” Max sighs
“At first, as in Friday?”
Max nods, thinking carefully about what he says. Friday was bearable. Sure, the memories of Charles leaving looped in his mind, but he got through it. He didn’t really understand the depth of his mistake, that it would have ended as poorly as it did. Ignorance is bliss.
“Free practice was fine. The car felt okay.”
Charles props his chin on his hand, watching him with that soft, attuned attention Max both craves and resents. He knows that wasn’t the kind of answer Charles was looking for, but going deeper feels like pushing fingers into an open wound.
“That’s how driver number 1 did” Charles smiles gently “How was Max that day?”
Max rolls his eyes. He still hates that dumb analogy that Charles clings to.
“Stressed, I guess”
“ And what does stressed look like?”
“It has a look?”
Charles stifles a smile at Max’s naivety. His questions become more fast-paced, not allowing Max the space to overthink.
“What do you do when you’re stressed?”
“I distract myself, I guess” Max says after a moment “Free practice was a distraction”
“And at the hotel?”
“I just watched TV. Didn’t want to think”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to overreact, at that point I thought I would see you the next day”
“And then it got worse” Charles nods softly
With every question, Max feels his body become more tense. Beyond the fact that it’s exposing, methodically unravelling the events of his last mental breakdown is so… confronting, and awkward. Charles peels him open layer by layer, and Max lets him, knowing Charles wouldn’t leave him bare. Not without a good reason anyway.
“Yeah, Quali.” Max exhales deeply “I couldn’t distract myself. You weren’t in the paddock, I just… spiralled”
“What did you spiral about?”
“You not coming back”
“Why would that be a bad thing?”
Max breaks the fast pace to give Charles a confused look, as if Charles just said the dumbest possible thing ever.
“I wonder why”
“Indulge me” Charles smiles warmly with that irritating calmness that always coaxes Max to speak.
“I tried to indulge you before, but you pushed me off” Max smirks, trying to regain some control in the conversation.
It doesn’t work.
“Max, why would that be a bad thing?” Charles repeats, firmer.
“Because I wouldn’t see you anymore?” Max questions, not because he doesn’t know, but because it’s so nonsensical, having to explain why Charles leaving his life was a bad thing.
“Think deeper, Max. Why is that so bad?”
Max clenches his jaw, hating when Charles says that. It means Charles already knows the answer, and he wants Max to sit in it and stop hiding.
“Because I hurt you” Max’s voice cracks slightly
“And why is that a problem?”
“Because I like you” Max snaps, frustrated with the obvious answers “if that wasn’t clear enough”
Charles smiles and shakes his head, the gesture not dismissive but enough to clear the air a little bit.
“Beyond that” Charles encourages “Ignoring that part where you like me”
“I would be alone” He admits, as his throat tightens. The truth spilling out before he was even ready to say it.
“Okay” Charles nods, his gentle eyes filled with empathy. “So Friday, the threat wasn’t really there, so you could cope. Saturday, the threat of me leaving became real, but it wasn’t about me leaving; it was about being alone. You’re scared of being lonely”
Max’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He stares at Charles, his face blank and body still. It’s like all Max hears around him is static, that fuzzy, detached feeling creeping up again… like he isn’t even in the room, let alone his body. He knows Charles is right, and he hates to admit that. He hates how exposed he feels to hear it out loud. All these years carefully curating his persona of being independent and unreliant, purely because he can’t bear the alternative of acknowledging his crippling fear of being alone.
“Let’s keep going. What happened Sunday?”
“You know what happened” Max flatly replies, the energy draining from his body.
“No I don’t, I know that Gemma called and was worried. I don’t know at all what you did”
“I lost the race”
“I wouldn’t say P5 from P9 was a loss” Charles smiles “but what happened to you, Max? Start from before Gemma called”
“I got your email” Max nearly whispers “Read it until my eyes blurred. I was so pissed off. Realised how badly I fucked up”
“So the threat was established” Charles affirms “It went from a fear to a fact”
“Yup”
“And then…”
“I couldn’t stop thinking that I would never get to talk to you again”
“That you would be alone” Charles finishes for him
“… yeah” Max finally says, feeling his heart in his throat. He knows Charles’ pressing is getting somewhere, but it’s still painful to relive it.
“So you got Gemma to call me and found out I was on the next flight out of here… and suddenly alarms were going off and you felt what?”
“Panic.” He rubs at his face “I panicked.”
Charles dips his head low to attract Max’s gaze; both of his elbows sit on the table in front while he rests his head on both hands. Max’s body doesn’t melt as usual, feeling too numb.
“And yet, you raced. You coped. How?”
“I tried the stupid ice thing when you left Thursday, and it helped. I tried again on Saturday but we had no ice, so I just used Red Bull cans” Max laughs weakly at the memory, even though it wasn’t particularly funny “I just wanted to breathe so I could race. Thought maybe if I did well you’d message”
“If you did well? Why only if you did well”
“Why else would you message?”
“You don’t think I would message if I thought you weren’t doing okay?”
“Well you left last time I wasn’t okay… and you didn’t message”
Charles winces slightly; it’s subtle, but Max sees it. Charles nods quietly, his lips slightly pursed at the burn.
“You’re right, but it wasn’t because you weren’t okay, Max. I was scared; it had nothing to do with you not being okay. In fact, I did it to protect you, but regardless, we have talked about thi-“
“Why can’t we talk about that?” Max clings to the opportunity to move on, desperate to redirect from his own unravelling onto Charles’.
“We can, just not here. This is your space, we can talk about me outside of it… in our space”
Max half-smiles at the idea of our space.
“I saw you hit yourself“ Charles says after a pause, his eyes slightly sadder as he does. “During qualifying. Did you hurt yourself at all last week?”
“No, it actually… exhausted me trying not to do that.”
“I am really proud of you” Charles smiles faintly “That takes a lot of energy, and you did it. Maybe this airy fairy psycho bullshit works hey?”
Max scoffs at Charles’ light-hearted joke, knowing he is right. Charles grins, but then his voice firms back to seriousness.
“What happened after the race?”
“It wasn’t good”
Charles nods, his eyes essentially pleading for Max to continue.
“I just existed” Max says finally, “The first few days I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I was just… there. Then it all hit, and I just cried… I cried so much I vomited like twice. God, it was pathetic…”
Charles’ face falls. Max can almost hear the crack in his chest. He knows Charles would hate that he did that to him, but would hate it even more if Max lied. Not like Max can ever successfully lie to him, Charles always knows.
“You were just… there”
“Yeah I can’t explain it, time moved but I didn’t. I was there, but I wasn’t”
Charles nods, and Max can see the cogs working in his brain.
“Do you remember any other times you felt this way?”
Max sits back in his chair, closing one eye as he tries to think back. He takes his time, carefully sorting through his memories.
“Never that bad, but yeah, when I was a kid. Whenever I got in trouble or dad was a dick, I would just check out… mentally”
“You have brought this up before, when your feelings ‘come later’, right? And then you hit when they come all at once, because you want it to end.”
Max swallows hard at Charles’ recalling Max’s words. He can barely even remember saying them, but trusts he did. It was right nonetheless.
“Dad would hit me when I cried. He would tell me to suck it up, it was only ever a smack, nothing serious, but yeah... I guess that stuck.”
“It is serious” Charles says firmly “It taught you that feelings are not safe and that you have to punish yourself for having them. So you hit yourself to control it and end it. You did it to survive it.”
Max blinks, and the tears slip free before he realises they were there. He looks down, breath shaking as he nods to Charles’ words, accurate as always.
“It sounds like when things ‘come later’ and you’re ‘just there’ it was your body protecting you” Charles continues softly, his eyes becoming glassy “It’s called dissociation. When it all gets too much, your mind goes somewhere else. It’s your body saying that it knows it can’t handle the situation, so it will keep you safe until you can”
Charles leans closer, his voice low as he reaches his arm over the table, his palm open for Max to grab. Max slowly extends his own, trembling at the touch.
“You’ve done that your whole life, to survive. Your body knows when to protect you. We need to teach it that it’s okay not to, that you are safe to feel, and you will heal through it. You are already doing that… and I am so proud of you”
The words land like warmth spreading through his cold limbs. They sink into his bones, melt into his brain and cover the faulty wiring. Something in Max’s chest gives way as his tears flow faster now, making him shake his head in embarrassment. He has heard them before, so many times before, but never for something as simple as surviving. Max covers his face, mortified at his reaction to such a simple set of words, but Charles walks around the table, kneeling in front of him and removing his hands back down to his lap.
“No chance” He says softly “Look at me. It’s safe to feel.”
Max’s eyes meet his, bloodshot and raw with emotion. The crying could be worse, but Max won’t let it happen. Until Charles hugs him, his mouth against Max’s ear as he whispers
“I know, it’s scary, but I will hold it with you until you’re ready to let it go yourself”
That was enough to break Max’s guard. He folds into Charles’ shoulder and sobs, not quietly or politely, but fully.
Finally.
Max crumbles under Charles’ tender touch, the prospect of not pushing through alone being everything he needed to hear. Swallowed in Charles’ embrace, Max swears fiercely and silently that he will never lose him again.
Chapter 12: Take me like you do in your dreams, i'm not gonna stop you
Summary:
He crinkles his eyes before they widen; it takes him a second and a complete double take to notice, but Max can’t believe his eyes when he does.
Because there is Charles in the front row, donning the personalised Red Bull shirt Max gave him weeks ago. Max’s name branded on Charles's chest, scarlet red for all to see.
OR: FINALLY THE TAGS MAKE SENSE
Notes:
Hiiiiiiiiii
I am ovulating and decided to write smut. Fantastic decision. If you're my friend, no you're not. Do not perceive me (unless you liked it, then you can perceive me).
anyway hope it was worth the 13 chapter wait and if it wasn't, don't tell me c:
love u bye!
Chapter title inspired by Ankles by Lucy Dacus
Chapter Text
Max walks through Red Bull hospitality with a spring in his step, a product of the emotional exhaustion that knocked him out cold the moment his head hit the pillow. It was the most rested he had felt in a long while, and more than that, he woke up next to Charles. He grins to himself, remembering their ridiculous negotiation the night before.
“Just come back to the room”
“Are you insane? It’s like you want to get caught?”
“You just made me bawl my eyes out for an hour, and I can’t relish in the comfort of my ‘interest’ after that? like anyone else would after therapy? What a shit deal actually”
The last line got Charles. Max recalls Charles’ eyes rolling paired with his goofy grin as he accepted, only after curating a quick, flimsy alibi. Charles insisted he needed to change first, which nearly led to Max’s early death by choking on his own laughter as he arrived with sunglasses on, hoodie up, and a beanie covering his hair like he was some sort of celebrity fleeing paparazzi. He couldn’t be more conspicuous if he tried, but of course, Charles couldn’t see that. What he did see was Max refusing to sleep until Charles threatened to knock him out. The premise was tempting, but Max did begrudgingly comply under Charles’s empty threat. Waking up next to Charles quickly became his favourite way to wake up, even better if he would ditch his clothes.
Max shakes himself out of the sweet memory when he spots Horner, greeting him with an uncharacteristically chipper handshake. Horner blinks at Max like he has grown a second head, which is fair enough, seeing as Max was an insufferable asshole for the last week. But being unpredictable is one of Max’s greatest joys; it’s part of his appeal, and he knows it.
Horner continues with his task as Max leans back against a wall, his eyes find Charles as if he were magnetic. He’s laughing with a couple of the media girls, a cold brew in hand. Max squints, double-checking what he’s seeing, knowing Charles can’t stand iced coffee. He watches Charles’ body language, the way his eyes crinkle with laughter and how his arm crosses over his torso. Max already has his driver's suit on, but begins to unzip it so it sits halfway on his hips. Charles’ favourite.
Charles notices him, of course he does. They have a pull toward each other that is indescribable, like an invisible thread connecting them at all times. Max watches the micro-glances, the quick darting looks of Charles trying not to be suspicious in conversation. They talked about this the other night, how obvious Charles can be when he is flustered, and Max can see in real time Charles fighting his instinct to stare. It’s adorable.
Max’s confidence exceeds his body, as he walks directly across Charles’ path, where he absolutely did not need to go. He intentionally bumps into him, and Max’s hand slides along Charles’s waist, his fingers curling possessively for half a second before he lets go.
“Fuck sorry mate” Max apologises with a polite smile, nodding his head in greeting towards the media girls “I got distracted”
Charles’ eyes go wide, quickly giving Max a frantic once-over. Even in front of everyone, Max smiles at the fact that Charles couldn’t resist. “All good, b-brother” Charles stammers, his hand immediately rubbing at his eye in awkwardness “I don’t know why I said that”
“Brother?” One of the media girls laughs as Charles covers his face with both hands.
“It’s early, and you’ve given me an iced coffee.” Charles groans, shaking the coffee in his hands dramatically.
Max smirks, taking the coffee from his hands and taking a sip. The girls’ mouths drop, and Charles follows as Max’s lips unhook from the straw.
“Yuck, what is this… single shot?” Max asks with disgust
“Cool! Just take a sip, I guess” Charles sarcastically responds “I wasn’t drinking that or anything”
Max hands over the coffee, smiling as he does.
“Next ones on me, for all of you”
The girls smile as Max turns around, leaving them all with a lazy little salut. His stomach flips at Charles’ flustered reaction, proud of himself that he is the one to elicit it. Maybe too proud.
He thought he would hate hiding this, whatever this is. He thought it would be a nightmare pretending that Charles was just another team employee and not the person who had taken residence in his dreams and daydreams and every thought in between. But he can’t deny it, it’s actually very hot. The stolen glances meant so much more now. Their secret language of tiny gestures, passing touches and coded expressions makes everything more charged. He loves acting nonchalant and mundane while making it so hard for Charles to be normal, or maybe he just enjoys making Charles hard in general. It was addictive catching Charles off guard, watching him scramble to gather his composure. All Max had to do was exist nearby for Charles’ cheeks to glow pink.
But Charles wasn’t an innocent victim; he obviously loves playing the same game, and Max is just as terrible at hiding his pleasure as he is.
He leans on doorframes now, hands in pockets with his shoulders relaxed, because Max stupidly admitted that pose drives him crazy. Every plane ride, Max has been incapable of shutting up around him, letting every thought fall out of his mouth while Charles pretends not to realise how flustered Max gets.
Luckily for Max, Charles can hardly wink; instead, he blinks in the most tragically adorable way. However, he licks his lips slowly and sensually, which makes Max’s brain short-circuit. His tongue always left his lips glistening, and Max swears time stops whenever he does it, watching intently and wishing to feel his tongue against his own lips instead.
Or elsewhere. There are many places Max would like to feel Charles’ tongue.
Sometimes Charles gets bold, like when he leaned over a table as he spoke to an analyst, his back arched just right and knowing exactly what angle Max had. His ass was perched perfectly in Max’s view; he’d even glanced back once over his shoulder with a smile that could’ve been illegal. Max hasn’t stopped thinking about it since. Max’s chest hummed like his car’s motor recalling the memory. It’s unbearable, the tension between them continues to grow, and Max isn’t sure how much longer he can let it build before he just explodes.
That small touch of Charles’s waist was enough to last Max the whole afternoon as he made his way back to the garage for qualifying. The brief contact still warms him, softening the edges of a day that is quickly threatening to spiral. He had so many worries going into quali. The car felt wrong all through free practice. He had told the team, and they listened to an extent. They offered a quicker, cheaper workaround first, and Max agreed to try it.
His mistake.
The car was fucked. No grip, no balance, no pace. He fought it, wrestled it, tried to drag performance out of something that refused to cooperate. By the time he crosses the line, the frustration is already a persistent, pounding ache behind his temples.
Walking back to the garage, he feels the anger coursing hot beneath his skin. The heat travels through his veins and leaves him with zero tolerance and complete irritation. He unclips his helmet, hanging it up and turning to Horner, ready to argue, only for Horner to lift his hands in surrender.
“We hear you. We see it. Let’s figure it out before you have my head”
Max takes a deep breath, nodding once in response. Horner squeezes his shoulder in assurance, walking towards the pit wall. When Max turns towards the viewing gallery, he freezes. Standing behind the barricade, headphones far too big for his head, so comically oversized and goofy that it’s disarming, stands a bright-eyed Charles Leclerc. Somehow, the dark and sharp edges of Max soften, and the pressure dissipates before his eyes. Charles raises both thumbs in exaggerated encouragement, trying earnestly to make Max smile.
It works. Very well.
The anger and self-criticism quieted because Charles came. He is here for him, knowing the risk. Max gives him a thumbs down in return, a sarcastic acknowledgement of the disaster that was qualifying. Charles laughs, nodding once in understanding before taking off the headphones.
Max forces himself back to work, despite desperately wanting to spend the rest of the afternoon staring into the incandescent eyes of Charles. Media, debrief, endless data sheets scattered across the meeting room table; the proposed changes pile up to something massive. Massive enough for a pit lane start and an all-nighter for the mechanics.
The exhaustion weighs on Max, emotionally wrung out from the week and physically drained from driving the undriveable. When he finds a moment and is allowed his phone, the first thing he thinks to do is message Charles, but it appears Charles beat him to it.
Max stares at the message longer than he should, a smile tugging at his mouth. Gratitude washes over him as he pockets his phone, comforted knowing Charles is there for him, even from a distance. He thinks about him the entire way back to the hotel, not like it was any different from his thoughts being trained on him all day. He desperately wants to run his hands over Charles’ chest, intertwine his fingers in his hair, feel his mouth around his-…
Yeah, maybe it’s a good idea that Charles is at a distance because Max knows he would not waste a minute sleeping in his presence. Max halts his thoughts, recognising he is still at the track. His car pulls up, and he regrets ever deciding to wear skin-tight jeans. Too exhausted to even release the pressure in his pants when he is back at the hotel, Max falls into bed immediately and sleep pulls him under before he can think too much.
Race day arrives, the air crisp and the track damp. Max wakes up feeling refreshed, focused on the positives. The track is how he likes it, the car should feel better, and there is a certain thrill of starting from nowhere and seeing how far he can climb, as he did just the year before.
As soon as the lights are out, the improvements are immediate. The car behaves. He can push. He can fight. And he does, clawing back to P3 and showing the world just what it means to be a 4-time world champion and to never underestimate him.
When he steps out in parc fermé, adrenaline floods through him as he climbs on the top of the car, raising his fists triumphantly. His team cheers, rallying him to jump into their arms for them to leave their loving marks. He crinkles his eyes before they widen; it takes him a second and a complete double take to notice, but Max can’t believe his eyes when he does.
Because there is Charles in the front row, donning the personalised Red Bull shirt Max gave him weeks ago. Max’s name branded on Charles's chest, scarlet red for all to see.
For a moment, Max can’t move. It hit him harder than the podium itself, Charles’ quiet defiance and wordless declaration. Telling the world without saying a word. He isn’t afraid to be seen supporting him, as if Max is someone worth standing behind.
The possessiveness burning inside Max is immediate and overwhelming. He finds himself grateful for his helmet, certain his pupils must be blown out in the ecstasy of Max’s view. He feels the pressure in his chest, his heart pounding against his rib cage. He feels the pressure elsewhere, again thankful for the multiple layers under his suit.
Max jumps off the car, realising he has been standing on it for an uncomfortably long time, and crashes into the arms of his team. He loses himself in the celebration, thanking everyone he can in view. He reaches Charles and grips his hand tighter than necessary as if he is pressing a silent message into his knuckles.
I know what you’re doing, and I want more.
Charles squeezes back with just as much intent and attempts a wink, yet again failing.
“God you’re good!” He shouts over the noise, grinning so widely that Max can’t even attempt to contain his own. Max drags himself away from him, because he has to, because all eyes are on them… but every step away feels like a strain. Max wants to be stupid and reckless, to take off his helmet and wrestle Charles’ tongue live on television. He wants to make it clear why that shirt means what it does, what statement it makes.
He is Max’s.
Instead, he goes to the cooldown room and tries to breathe through the rush of emotion threatening to drown him. Ironically, it does nothing to reduce Max’s temperature despite its name. The image of Charles in that shirt, confident, unbothered and unapologetically proud, sits on Max’s chest like an ember with nowhere to go. The sound of Charles’ muffled moans fills his ears as Max recalls the way Charles relinquished all control to him under his touch. He thinks about how pretty he would look on his knees, his back, perched over a-…
“Wow, how did you avoid that pile-up?” Lando interrupts unintentionally, breaking the tension as he points at the replay on the screen. He was right, Max narrowly escaped a collision, but there was no space in his brain for that right now. “Huh? Oh, I don’t know” Max hurriedly answers, his mind miles away.
The podium is a blur of noise and light. Max runs out, throwing his hands in the air and hyping up the crowd after his valiant effort. The crowd erupt with the familiar sound of “du du du du”, giving him goosebumps despite it being embarrassing. It all goes quiet as he sees Charles, clapping so hard his palms must sting and cupping his hands around his mouth to join the crowd’s cheers. Max doesn’t even try to hide the way he looks at him. If Charles wants to stand in the open, wearing his name across his chest… then Max shouldn’t have to pretend he doesn’t feel it. He wants Charles to feel his gaze burn into his skin from the heat radiating from Max’s core. The champagne flies as Max opens wide for the delicious reward of his efforts, second to the figment of his desires cheering in the front row.
Later, when Max finally returns to his hotel room, the decision to text is immediate and effortless with zero inhibitions.
Charles arrives on time, on the dot. As always. The door clicks shut behind him as he swiftly enters the room before any prying eyes see. Not like there should be any, the team are all out celebrating their efforts. Max’s alibi? Asleep, in bed. Was it suspicious that party animal Max Verstappen decided against a night out? Yeah, it was. Did Max care? No, he didn’t. He had his own plans for celebration, one far more exciting. A present ready to unwrap in front of him. Charles smiles as he takes off his hoodie at the door, revealing the shirt at the root of Max’s temporary insanity. Max’s eyes darken at the sight of his name in bold, possessiveness coiling in his gut. He storms towards Charles, stopped by a single fingertip pressed into the centre of his chest and a devilishly seductive smile. Charles drags the finger downward, slow, deliberate, leaving flames in its wake. Max’s head tilts in confusion before Charles grabs his hands and places them on his hips, stepping close enough for his lips to nearly graze. Nothing between them but cotton, heat and the frantic thrumming of two heartbeats, Charles stares at Max directly, maddeningly.
“Marked for all to see.” He lustily says, his voice low and teasing. His finger points to Max’s name, conveniently placed where Charles’ heart would be. Max’s grin deepens, his chest rising and falling against Charles’. He leans in until their foreheads touch, his thumb tracing the raised lettering, pressing the fabric against Charles’ skin like he can brand it deeper.
“All mine”
“All yours, Max.”
The words snap the last thread of Max’s restraint as he drags Charles in, one hand fisting his soft hair and the other crushing him close against his body. Their mouths collide, foregoing gentleness. Its teeth and tongue, fuelled with raw, starving need. Charles is already hard, grinding against Max’s thigh with shameless urgency. Max answers with a roll of his hips that drags a moan from them both.
He claws at the hem of Charles’ shirt, desperate for skin. He manages to rip his mouth away just long enough to drink in the sight of him, flushed cheeks, blown-wide pupils, lips swollen and wet, before hauling off his shirt and throwing it aside.
“I can leave my mark on you in other ways” Max growls against Charles’ ear, teeth nipping at his lobe. Charles shudders, a breathy moan spilling out as he yanks Max’s shirt off. Max marvels at Charles’ dazed, hungry look as his palms map every line of muscle. His fingers tenderly drag, starving for the contact as his nails scrape lightly with reverence.
They crash together again, their kissing turning into a hungry devour. Max shudders in pleasure, feeling Charles’s cock throb against him as he loses the last of his patience. He hooks his hands under Charles’ thighs and lifts, earning an excited yelp and giggle in response. Charles’ legs lock around his waist instantly, arms circling his neck as Max carries him to the couch without ever breaking the kiss.
He drops down hard on the couch, allowing Charles to adjust onto his knees and tower enough to take control of the angle. His hands frame Max’s face as he grinds down in slow, filthy circles. The friction through thin sweatpants is maddening; their moans bleeding together in a vulgar harmony.
That is until Charles stops, and Max makes a helpless, frustrated whine at the absence of Charles’ lips.
“If we are gonna do this” Charles says, his voice ragged and smile sharp “we gotta do this right… okay?” He pants lightly as he halts his movements, his hands resting on Max’s shoulders and neck. Max rolls his eyes, already mouthing at his throat and sucking bruises into the golden skin.
“Are you forgetting I’ve been initiating this shit for weeks now? I don’t think I can wait any longer” Max whines
“I know, I know” Charles giggles, indulging Max’s touch “I just want you to tell me what you want, and I’ll do the same”
Charles insists by pulling Max off his neck, cupping his jaw and forcing eye contact. His pupils are black with want and desire. “It’s important” He persists
“Fuck Charles, I just want you, any part of you, anywhere, doing whatever you want. Isn’t that enough? I don’t know what else I could possibly want” Max laughs, desperation lacing his voice. His cock aches in his sweatpants, the pressure of Charles’ body against him being no help.
Charles’ smile turns mischievously lethal, his hands slowly moving from Max’s face down to his chest.
“How about I tell you what I want, and you tell me if you agree or disagree? Can you do that for me?” Charles’ voice is low and tantalising, his slow finger tracing mesmerising Max in a trance. Max can feel his body weaken at the combination of Charles’ sultry voice and agonisingly slow touch, only just managing to nod in response.
“First” Charles starts, his voice velvet “I want you in my mouth”
The grin that follows is devastating and wicked, making Max’s eyes blow wide, his pupils swallowing the blue until almost nothing remains. His cock jerks hard against the confines of his sweatpants, a helpless pulse that makes Charles’ gaze sharpen. Max can feel the heat flood his face, his body tremble and the sudden rush of saliva under his tongue. Another second of this and he’ll be drooling like an animal.
“Max, you’re meant to agree or disagree” Charles tilts his head, mocking patience.
“Y-yes yes yes I agree yes” Max rambles, the words tumbling out in a rush. His hips buck without permission, chasing friction… or anything that isn’t words. Charles presses down harder with the flat of his palm, pinning Max’s thighs to the couch and stilling him with humiliating ease while his other hand continues its calculated path across his chest.
“Good” Charles coos, his voice dripping like warm honey straight into Max’s bloodstream, sticking to every part of his brain. Max’s head falls back against the cushions, lips parting on a broken exhale as the sound of Charles’ praise threatens to unravel him completely. Charles’ thumb hooks under the waistband of Max’s sweats, tracing the sensitive skin.
“I want to take my time” He continues, his voice low and seductive “Tonight, I want to show you how good you deserve to feel. Do you agree?”
Max nods before the question is finished in frantic desperation. Control is never something he surrendered easily, whether that be in life, on the track or in bed, yet here he is, powerless under Charles’ hungry gaze. Every nerve is alight and begging, his body completely at his mercy.
And he loves it. He fucking adores it.
Charles’ thumb slips lower, brushing his leaking tip through damp cotton, and Max can’t swallow the needy moan that tears free.
“Words, Maxie” Charles teases cruelly but perfectly.
“Yes” Max gasps, his hips rolling forward into the touch, craving delicious friction “Fuck, anything, just please”
“You’re doing so good” Charles grins, part dark, fond and possessive all at once.
The praise hits harder than any touch, sinking into his bones. It cracks his chest wide open, aching and overwhelmed by the sudden, dizzying certainty that Charles wants to take care of him, and ruin him. Gently. Max revels in Charles’ overt acts, a side of him unseen.
“When it feels good” Charles continues, his voice somehow dropping even lower “I want you to show me. Tell me, touch me as hard or light as you need. Bruise me if you want, I’m yours to mark.”
Max’s heart stutters to a halt. The thought of his fingertips blooming purple across Charles’ thighs, hips, ass… sharp red love bites carved into his neck. It flashes white-hot behind Max’s eyes.
“Do you know the traffic light system? Red means stop, green means go?” Charles continues, and a nod is all Max can manage, his knuckles white where they grip Charles’ thigh.
“Good” Charles whispers “I want you to listen when I tell you to do something, but when I give you the go-ahead…” Charles’s head leans close to Max’s face, his lips barely grazing in promise and in threat “I want you to take complete control. Fuck me however you please”
The air leaves Max’s lungs in a rush; his jaw actually drops as a stunned sound escapes. Charles laughs at the ruin he’s made.
“I’m clean” Charles adds, a bit more seriously “If you are too, I want to feel you”
“Oh my god” Max chokes out, half prayer, half sob, dizzy with the weight of Charles offering himself bare with complete trust. He thinks about what good he has done recently to earn enough karma for this moment.
Charles cups his face, thumb stroking over Max’s sharp jawline, his voice softening to be more tender.
“Last chance, are you sure you want to do this?”
Max’s hands rise until they frame Charles’ jaw, his palms huge against Charles’ delicate structure. He drags one thumb across Charles’ bottom lip, watching them part before Charles takes it in, sucking slowly and deliberately as his green eyes lock on his. Max’s voice is raw, stripped down to nothing but truth and hunger.
“I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire fucking life”
Charles surges forward, claiming Max’s mouth again like he’s been starving for it. The kiss is filth from the first touch, their tongues sliding as they fight for dominance. Charles rolls his hips in one slow, deliberate circle, dragging his bulge against Max’s with devastating precision. Max’s hands spasm on Charles’s waist, nails biting half-moons into his skin.
Charles breaks away only to drag open-mouthed kisses down Max’s throat, pausing to suck a bruise just beneath his jaw. Max winces in pleasure, uncaring of how his neck may look when he returns to work. Charles continues lower still, from his collarbone to his sternum, every press of his lips and flick of his tongue worshipful. When he closes his mouth lightly around a nipple, Max’s back bows off the couch. He keeps going, sliding off Max’s lap and sinking to the floor in one fluid motion, never once breaking his crusade of burning kisses. By the time his lips reach the waistband of Max’s sweats, Max is near shaking, his breathing laboured. Charles looks up with glittering eyes, and Max lifts his hips without being asked. His sweats and briefs disappear in one impatient tug. Max’s cock springs free, red and slick with precome, curving heavy toward his stomach. Max groans at the release, almost pained.
Charles stares as if he is in the presence of something holy. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, drenched in the divinity of Max’s intimidating presence. You would think Charles had just discovered the sun, the way he marvelled at Max’s length. Max has never felt more wanted in his life. Wordlessly, Max snatches a cushion from the couch and drops it at his feet. Charles smiles sweetly, grateful as he rises from the floor to strip himself.
The sweats go first, then the grey Calvins that are soaked through at the tip in anticipation, clinging obscenely to him. Max’s mouth actually waters at the sight. He dissolves like jelly at the thought of Charles’ cock, wet and ready for him, but patiently waiting just to pleasure Max. Charles turns slowly in front of him, bending at the waist as he peels the briefs down inch by torturous inch. He presents himself to Max, clearly showing how he is already slick, open and ready for him.
“Holy fuck” Max rasps, his hand wrapping instinctively around his own cock without conscious thought, stroking once helplessly at the vision of Charles Leclerc offering himself like that. How could he not? When he turns to face him with eyes straight from a porno, filled with lust and wanting. Max just prays he can last long enough to make it to that point, desperate to feel the warmth and tightness of Charles around him, filling him up like he deserves.
Charles straightens and turns back before dropping to his knees again. His own cock stands flushed and leaking, but he ignores it completely. All of his attention is on Max, and Max is sure his eyes must have morphed into hearts at this point. He takes over the slow stroke Max started, fingers wrapping around his base. A perfect fit applying delicious pressure. In all his wet dreams, Max never could have imagined something as obscenely beautiful as this.
“Oh my god Charles” Max whines before a single lick has landed. The view of Charles on his knees, mouth parted and eyes burning with desire is enough to finish him.
“You are so annoying” Charles chuckles “Even your cock is perfect”.
He leans in, tongue flat and drags it up the sensitive underside of Max’s head. Max’s laugh fractures into a broken moan, his stomach fluttering at the praise.
“Since when was I perfect?” Max smiles, looking at Charles’ pretty green eyes as he edges around his cock.
Charles’ smile is everything, as he presses a soft kiss right to the tip. Max hisses at the contact, hips jerking for more.
“Since always”
Charles spits into his palm and slicks Max thoroughly, starting a slow, firm stroke. Max’s head falls back, his eyes rolling in pleasure as a whiny moan escapes his lips. He feels his cock twitch, blurting out precome that Charles licks off in his stride.
“All yours” Charles whispers, before sinking down.
Hot, wet suction closes around Max’s touch-starved tip. Charles’ tongue swirls relentlessly, making Max hiss at the sensitivity. If he weren’t so achingly desperate, he would be embarrassed about the mess of gasps and whines, but it doesn’t matter. Max’s hands fly to Charles’ soft hair on instinct, his fingers intertwining with Charles’ locks. Charles hums, the vibration shooting straight to Max’s spine. He is unhurried, his eyes locked upward the entire time. Max’s breath becomes shaky as sweat breaks across his skin. He doesn’t recall ever being looked at like this, something to be treasured and ruined at the same time. His words fail him as Charles takes him deeper, before pulling off just long enough to breathe.
“You’re doing so good” Charles near whispers, his voice hoarse and hungry “I want you to push me down”
Max’s brain short-circuits at Charles’ filthy demand, still taken aback by his dirty mouth. He looks up at the sky and thanks every lucky star, feeling completely euphoric in the moment. He threads his fingers tighter, grips and guides Charles, pulling an obscene-sounding moan from Charles’ throat. Max is sure he will never hear something as beautiful as that ever again. The light pain of Charles digging in his nails is intoxicating, like he is begging for more.
So, Max gives it to him.
Slow thrusts turn deeper and steadier. Charles takes everything, his throat relaxing and tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Spit sticks to his chin and Max’s cock in equal measure. When Charles suddenly shoves Max’s hips down and forces himself all the way down to the base, nose pressed to Max’s pelvis, Max nearly finishes there and then. The choked noises of Charles’ ambitious endeavour make Max yank him off on pure reflex, watching his chest heave to catch his breath. Strings of spit connect Charles’ swollen lips to Max’s throbbing length. His tongue is still out, eyes watering, looking utterly debauched and desperate for more. He looks ethereal, the sweat and spit glistening off him as the moody hotel lighting casts its glow around him.
“Look at me” Max orders, his voice shredded. Charles obeys instantly, tears tracking down his flushed cheeks and tongue dripping down his body as he pants, and he’s never been more beautiful.
“Oh my god” Max moans as he cups Charles’ jaw, thumb brushing over spit-slick skin. Charles smiles widely, pleased with himself.
A string of desperate moans leaves Max’s mouth as Charles dives back down, faster now and relentless. Max’s grip tightens in his hair, his hand forcing him down in a pulsing rhythm with every tug earning a muffled moan that vibrates straight through Max’s cock. His hip rocks into Charles's mouth, his breath hitching as he quickly unravels.
“You look so fucking gorgeous right now” Charles pulls off just long enough to pant with that same sweet, filthy smile that halts Max’s heart.
”Why are you… fuck… Why are you making me blush while you’re sucking my cock?” Max laughs breathlessly in disbelief “It’s confusing”
“Because it’s true” Charles says simply, stroking faster “Look at you, you’re doing so good for me Max”
Fuck.
Max’s hips jerk, a groan tearing free, warning that he is seconds away and teetering on the brink. His breath comes in short, frantic bursts as his muscles lock tight. Charles’ voice keeps pouring praise over him like molten sugar, sickeningly sweet. One more second and he will unravel; he knows it. He forces Charles down one final time, hips jerking helplessly, and then yanks him off with a wet, filthy sound. Spit spills in a glistening ribbon across Charles’ chest, catching the low light like liquid sin.
“Your turn?” Max grins sharply, his desire bordering on feral. Although posed as a question, it wasn’t in actuality. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he stands and pulls Charles up with him, fingers laced tight. Charles’ legs are unsteady, his knees trembling from the time spent on the floor. He laughs, soft but wrecked, as Max steadies him. They cross the short distance to the bed like that, hand in hand, Charles’ giggles muffled against Max’s shoulder.
Charles sinks into the edge of the mattress, propped on his elbows, thighs falling open in blatant invitation. Max drops to his knees between them, pressing reverent kisses to the faint red marks blooming on Charles’ skin, as if he is thanking them.
“Slow, Maxie” Charles murmurs, voice hoarse but still honey-sweet “Don’t rush, I want to feel every second”
Max nods, his gaze dragging down to the flushed length of Charles’ body and locking on his cock, curved to perfection against his stomach. A single bead of precome slides slowly and obscenely down the underside. He leans in, hands spreading Charles’ thighs wider and promising delicious pressure. The first slow lick from base to tip rips a shuddering exhale from Charles’ chest.
“That’s it” Charles whispers, his head tipping back “Like that, again”
Max obeys, slower this time, savouring every tremor and twitch that runs through Charles’ body. When he reaches the head, he flicks his tongue side to side teasingly as he watches another fat drop of precome well up and spill over.
“Look how good you’re making me feel” Charles breathes, smiling down at him like Max is something sacred. Max laughs, in awe and disbelief at the opportunity to serve someone as perfect as Charles. It was like a prize, being able to make Charles feel good.
He starts with gentle, soft suction, his tongue pressing under Charles’ head as his cheeks hollow. Charles’s hips jerk, his breath stuttering his words.
“G-god, yes… You can take more, I know you can”
Max takes the challenge, sinking lower inch by inch and letting Charles fill his mouth and throat. The weight is perfect and overwhelming. Max’s eyes close at the sound of Charles talking him through it. Despite never being something he considered before, something about Charles’ demands leaves him desperately obedient. He pulls back, hollows his cheeks again and takes him deeper on the second pass. Charles’ moan is long, filthy and unravelling.
Max adds his hand, stroking what his mouth can’t reach. He slicks everything with spit, the sounds wet and obscene, making Charles’ thighs shake. Max moans against him, his hands slowly finding their way to Charles’ base to apply tender pressure.
“Fuck you are unreal” Charles pants, making Max moan in response as if to say ‘thank you’. “Use your hand for me, just like that, oh merde”
Max whines at the sound of Charles’ mother tongue as he presses his eyes tighter, his cock threatening to come untouched.
“Eyes up here Max” Charles manages to say while panting “I want you to see how good you make me feel”
Max looks up through his lashes. Charles is staring down at him like he’s some divine being, whether that is holy or unholy, Max isn’t sure. Charles’ lips are parted, his cheeks glittering with tears of overstimulation. Max is sure he is in heaven, overdosed on power and pleasure. Charles’s cock was a hedonistic paradise. Max picks up the pace as Charles’ composure fractures, his whimpers and broken French curses, the desperate clutch of fingers in Max’s hair.
“Max” He cries out in a sob “Fuck me, please”
Max pulls off slowly, his lips swollen, and a grin spreads across his face in dark triumph. He rises and scoops Charles’ thighs, pushing him back to the centre of the bed. Charles spread instantly, offering everything. Max crawls over him, claiming one last bruising kiss before he brings two fingers to Charles’ mouth. Charles sucks them in greedily, choking just enough to make his eyes water again. Max watches, transfixed, before drawing them out and sliding lower.
He circles Charles’ rim once, twice… teasing and watching his hips chase the touch. One finger sinks in to the knuckle, Charles’s back arches with a whiny, desperate sound spilling from his lips. Max crooks it, finding the spot instantly, and Charles keens in response. A second finger joins, stretching and curling while Charles writhes, his cock leaking steadily onto his stomach and hands gripping the sheets.
“God Max I’m ready, please” Charles begs, propping himself up lightly to meet Max’s gaze “I’m yours, use me”
Max’s eyes darken as he removes his fingers from Charles. He fists his own cock and coats himself in the precome mess Charles made of him. He braces one hand beside Charles’ head, the other guiding himself to Charles’ slick, open hole.
“Say it again” Max growls, his heavy breath flowing over Charles.
Charles’s hand claws at Max’s shoulder as his nails bite
“I’m yours. Fuck me please i’m yours, i’m yours i’m yo-”
Max pushes in, a slow, relentless slide with no pause until he is completely buried. Charles’ eyes roll back, his mouth open in a silent scream that tells Max neither of them will last long. The heat is as devastating as Charles imagined, velvet and tight, clenching around Max as if it were forged for him alone. Max’s head drops down, and the sweat drips off his hair onto Charles’ chest. Charles’ legs lock around his waist, heels digging in and dragging him deeper.
“Fuck, you feel… my god, Charles” Max's voice cracks.
He pulls out slowly and slams back in hard, repeating. Again. Again. Again. The rhythm is brutal, the headboard slamming against the wall in time with Charles’ moans. A symphony of the creaky bed, slaps of skin, whimpers, moans and heavy breathing.
Charles’ fingers leave their mark, clawing at Max’s back.
“Harder” Charles sobs “Show me… what it means.. oh… my god.. to be yours”
Max hikes his legs higher, nearly folding him in half, and gives him everything. Deep, punishing thrusts that turn Charles’ pleas into loud cries that he has to muffle with his hand. Loving red blooms where hips meet thighs, stinging with every contact. Max wraps a hand around Charles’s cock, stroking in brutal tandem. Charles’ eyes start to cross, dazed and wrecked as Max indulges him fully.
“Come for me” Max rasps “Let me see how good you feel”
Max watches as Charles breaks, coming with a strangled cry and stripes of white painting his chest, throat and Max’s fist. The clench of Charles’ body drags Max over instantly, as he buries himself deep and spills, pulsing hot and almost endless as he moans Charles’ name again and again. Max is sure he is seeing stars, as they both collapse, trembling and fused by sweat and come. Max stays inside, face buried in Charles’ neck, breathing him in like oxygen. Charles’ arms wrap around him immediately, fingers stroking through his damp hair.
“Colour?” Charles whispers, his voice sounding as though he’s been sedated with how dazed he is.
Max laughs, breathless and ruined.
“I don’t even know what colours are anymore, or maybe I am seeing new colours. I’m whatever colour happy is. What’s my name again?”
Charles hums, smiling at Max’s goofy response and stifling a laugh. Max lies for a moment until his world stops spinning enough to remove himself. He presses a kiss to Charles's chest over his heart, knowing his name still lingers beneath the skin, even without the shirt.
Morning After
Charles POV
Charles wakes to sunlight slicing through half-closed curtains and the steady weight of Max’s arm locked around his waist. His body aches in the best way, his muscles tender and skin burning from the marks Max left. He knows that was a terrible idea, both of them conveniently having hickeys at the same time, but Charles hopes Max didn’t go overboard enough that something couldn’t be covered. He feels small and cherished, wrapped in Max’s protective embrace.
Max sleeps like the dead, not stirring at all when Charles carefully reaches for his phone on the nightstand. He scrolls idly, nothing particularly urgent standing out until the calendar alert slides down from the top of the screen.
Christian Horner has invited you to a meeting - 8:30am Tuesday.
Charles’ stomach drops, his heart sinking with it.
Horner doesn’t schedule meetings, Kaia does. He also never schedules anything short notice, not without asking first. For him to demand a meeting the moment Charles lands back in Milton Keynes is strange to say the least, especially since Charles doesn’t usually work Tuesdays. Charles locks the phone and sets it face-down, staring at the ceiling. Max shifts behind him, his arm tightening reflexively, pulling Charles closer even in sleep.
He hopes it’s nothing
But he knows it’s something.
Chapter 13: Seems as though i've lost again, a story told ad nauseam
Summary:
He can’t shake the thoughts gnawing at him.
He might be the worst thing that has happened to Charles
And Red Bull might not care about him at all.
OR: Horner is a cunt
Notes:
Hiiiiiii!
Did you miss me? I hope so bc I missed you!
I finished my degree (yippeeee) but I am also planning a wedding (also yippee) so time is there but also not there? Anyway! I am not the happiest with this chapter but boy do I have plans. I don't know if you'll be happy with said plans but oh well!I hope you had a sweet treat today!
Chapter title inspired by Drag Path by Twenty One Pilots
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
With Monday came bliss.
They flew home together the way they always did. Max settled into his seat with quiet excitement, the kind he only showed around Charles. Charles braced himself for another round of ‘Max asks 150 questions’. Somehow, he never ran out of things to ask. By hour 10, they cuddled up in the plane's bedroom. Charles lay sprawled half across Max’s chest, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Max’s fingers played lazily with Charles’ hair, twirling strands, combing through, occasionally pausing like he was deep in thought. It was peaceful. Charles didn’t question Max’s silence; he had learned that when Max is thinking it was best to let him wander until he landed somewhere.
“What’s your mum like?” Max asks suddenly
Charles smiles to himself at Max’s curiosity, surprisingly happy it’s something deeper than “what is your favourite pasta shape” or “which dinosaur would you revive if you could”.
“She’s the best” he answers easily “and a hairdresser. It’s been shit not having her here to cut my hair”
Max chuckles, soft and low but enough to make Charles’ head bob against his chest.
“Remember that day I called you in Monaco? You were talking to someone in French. I couldn’t understand a thing. Were you talking to her?”
Charles pauses, his eyes drifting up toward the ceiling as he searched his memory.
“Probably? Or my brother. I left him pretty abruptly to talk to you”
“You have a brother?” Max tilted his head down to look at Charles as if he needed confirmation “How many?”
“Two. One older, one younger. And before you ask, yes, they are also great. They’d all really like you”
Charles angles up just enough to look at Max, who was already smiling. It was Charles’ favourite kind of smile, the one where his eyes crinkle, and his mouth goes wide and genuine.
“Do they know about me?”
“You’re Max Verstappen” Charles teases, his eyes playfully rolling “Of course they know about you”
“No” Max replies quietly “I meant do they know about… us?”
“Oh, no, they don’t” Charles replies before hurriedly backtracking “Not because I don’t want them to, but confidentiality is a thing. They know I work for Red Bull, they know I travel with the team. That’s about it”
“Makes sense” Max nods, but Charles could hear the flicker of disappointment underneath as if Max hoped for a better answer.
Silence settled between them again, not tense, but full and comforting. Charles could feel Max’s heartbeat under his ear, steady and grounding but quickening in pace. Charles finds himself thinking about Max’s family and his past that Charles has only glimpsed. For a moment, he suddenly regrets sharing anything about his own, not out of shame but because Max’s past was heavier, messier, and nothing like the warmth Charles had grown up with. He knows it’s silly, and Max isn’t one to envy like that, but the pain sits low and humming. It doesn’t take long for Max to break the silence, disrupting Charles’ train of thought.
“Were you close with your dad?” He asks softly
Charles blinks. It’s not like the question hurt, but it tugged something deep, of course. He locks his phone and sets it aside, leaning into the gentle pull of Max’s fingers in his hair.
“Yeah, very. He was my best friend”
Max nods against the pillow as Charles traces shapes against his skin, Max’s heartbeat still quick in pace. Charles can’t help but find it sweet that he is nervous to ask.
“He got you into Formula 1, right?”
“Yup. He watched every race, every qualifying. Probably every free practice” Charles laughs “It was our thing. He would be so excited about where I ended up. Job-wise and… relationship-wise wise”
“Relationship?” Max teased, his tone exaggerated “Have I been promoted from an interest?”
Charles laughs and pushes himself onto his elbows so he can look at Max. Max’s hands slip down from his hair to play with Charles’ rings, twisting them gently as if keeping himself grounded. Charles has learned quickly that touch is Max’s love language, always needing proximity whenever possible.
Charles’ heart picks up the pace to match Max’s. He’s thought about this, too much probably. Max had shown up for him every way that mattered. He cared, fiercely, even when Charles didn’t deserve it. Yet, Max’s question brought an undeniable wave of anxiety over him. Not like Charles has ever let anxiety impact him too much. He knows to be anxious about something usually means it holds some sort of importance to you, and he knows Max is important to him. Yeah, commitment meant risk. It meant more potential for hurt, but pretending they weren’t already there felt stupid.
He was tired of being stupid.
“Yes, Max.” Charles swallows “If that wasn’t abundantly clear”
Charles tries to act nonchalant, despite his heart threatening to jump out of his throat and land on Max’s chest.
“Which means I’m what?” Max grins
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Maybe”
Charles rolls his eyes, fighting a smile.
“Boyfriend” He says “You’re my boyfriend. I thought you might’ve caught that after the many times I’ve said I’m yours”
“Ah, like music to my ears hearing you say it” Max replies warmly
He leans in for a kiss, one that is slow and lazy but sweet. Max’s hand slid behind Charles’ neck, pulling him close before settling him back onto his chest.
“So your family would like me?” Max murmurs
Charles laughs at the insecurity in his tone and the absurdity that anyone would ever not like him.
“How could they not? Especially if they saw the you that I see, who is undeniably charming”
Max tightens his hold around Charles in response to his praise, enveloping Charles in warmth.
“But they also know what I’m like on track”
“and as long as you don’t do that in person, they’ll love you as much as I-” Charles’ breath catches, his heart stopping in his chest at the near slip of tongue. “…love your company”
Charles’ cheeks warm at the slip, one that he isn’t sure where it came from. Despite being a lot of things, smooth is not one of them. Max let it slide, but Charles knows he has probably stored it away for later interrogation.
“Maybe I could meet them when the season is over if you're going back to Monaco?”
“Yeah, I will be, would you like to?”
“Of course, I’ll be in Monaco anyway”
“We will have to be careful” Charles warns “I know my family won’t say anything, but we need to make it look like we met naturally. For my own dignity.”
“Well, I probably won’t be your client by then, right?”
Charles softens, touched Max even remembered the agreement, let alone took it seriously.
“Right, but even a past client doesn’t sit right with me. We met naturally, deal?”
“Deal”
Max puckers his lips dramatically, beckoning Charles with obnoxious smooching sounds until Charles gives in and kisses him. The flight home was smooth, and Charles followed Max back to his apartment instead of going back to his own. Exhaustion wins quickly, as they both fall asleep tangled together, wrapped around each other as if their bodies couldn’t bear an inch of space.
With Tuesday came chaos.
Charles’ mind was a minefield by the time he stepped into Red Bull HQ. He treads carefully, knowing the moment he spirals, he will likely implode. He dressed sharper than usual, a black blazer adorning his shoulders with a crisp shirt, his hair freshly tamed. He left Max’s absurdly early to make himself presentable, not like it would change anything. His heart pounded too close to his throat, and he was thankful for his blazer for blocking the stress sweat forming under his arms despite the cold British air.
Kaia greeted him with a soft smile that only made him more on edge. Something flickered in her eyes, sympathy maybe. Charles isn’t sure, but it bordered on sadness or warning. She gestures him toward Christian’s office.
Charles walks the hallway, feeling like every step tightens a vice around his skull. He takes a deep breath, trying to remember that everything happens for a reason. He just hopes this is a good reason and a good outcome.
He knocks at the door, and Christian calls him in promptly.
Horner sits at his desk. He doesn’t meet Charles’ gaze, instead continuing to type on his laptop. He doesn’t smile, not more than a lazy attempt at a slight raise of the corner of his lips. He couldn’t even fake polite. Charles swallows, not like Horner would notice.
“Charles, thank you for meeting at short notice”
“No problem” Charles replies cautiously as he takes a seat “Though I am a bit confused”
“I imagine so” Christian says blandly “This was time sensitive”
With every vague and dry response, Charles’ heart pumps quicker. It spreads the anger throughout his body, his fists tightening between the desk enough to make his knuckles ache. He wonders how Max has dealt with Horner as long as he has, but knows it’s more tolerating than anything. Charles doesn’t respond to Horner; instead, he stares until Horner gives him the respect to look up from his laptop screen. He finishes his typing, looking up at Charles blankly.
“You have been a fantastic asset to the team, Charles. Max has improved beyond expectations. Truly, thank you”
Charles doesn’t let his body relax at Horner’s praise, choosing to stay on red alert. He saw it as a trap disguised as generosity. His thoughts swirl in confusion, overthinking every negative possibility. Regardless, he gives Horner a warm smile regardless of the guard he keeps up.
“It is my pleasure, Christian. This job is beyond rewarding. I love what I do and I appreciate the part you played in getting me here. As much as I am appreciative, this doesn’t really seem time sensitive and with all due respect, that could have been an email”
Christian laughs before shifting in his seat. He sighs as he brings both hands to the table and clasps them together.
“Yes, well. We have loved having you. However, we no longer see a need for your services”
Charles is sure his world is tilting, the walls of Christians office distorting as they close in around him. The dizziness is intense, almost like his head is too heavy for his body. The anger bubbles in his blood, making him unable to contain his reaction.
“I’m sorry?” Charles asks in disbelief “You just said I was doing fantastic”
“You have, and because of that, the job is done. Max is performing again. Staff are stable and say nothing but great things. Quite a few of your clients have naturally concluded thanks to your efforts. Therefore, Red Bull believes the need for a psychologist is no longer present”
Charles furrows his brows in confusion as he crosses his arms.
“So just to summarise, I am being fired… for doing my job well?” Charles asks incredulously
“Not fired” Christian corrects smugly “Your contract just won’t be renewed, effective immediately. We will pay out the rest of your contracted time, of course”
Christian slides the contract toward Charles, his finger tapping a particular clause.
“I will remind you, you are not to contact any staff or drivers after today. You may cease your care with them personally with a member of legal present”
“Absolutely not” Charles sharply snaps “You are violating confidentiality. I will end care without legal in the room. They will need referrals.”
“If clients consent to legal presence, then legal will join you. This is not negotiable” Christian affirms “If they decline, then that is their right”
“You realise this looks far worse than just letting me end the episode of care on my own right?” Charles hisses “This makes it look like I’ve done something wrong. This could damage my reputation”
“We need to ensure you do not disclose information about this conversation or defame Red Bull” Christian replies calmly
“My god! Christian! Why would I do that? I’ve done nothing but do my job well and get results. Please, just let me end with dignity”
Christian stares for a moment, unblinking. Charles inhales deeply, exhaling through his nose loudly in an attempt not to lose his shit.
“Unfortunately Charles, I will not be changing my decision”
Charles’ jaw clenches as he shakes his head in disbelief. The room falls silent for a moment as Charles racks his brain for any other way to fight. The lightbulb flicks on over his head, not the best idea, but one infinitely better than Christian’s.
“ I will write individual letters then” Charles says tightly. “You and legal can approve. I will send them myself from my Red Bull email, so you can verify nothing has changed. I will clear my room immediately.”
“If that is what you prefer, you may do so. If staff is to ask me about your sudden leaving, I will do you the favour of stating it was due to unavoidable personal circumstances”
Charles scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“So kind of you” He mutters “while you completely fuck me sideways”
Horner’s jaw tenses at Charles’ sudden lack of respect, but Charles doesn’t care. Every bit of decorum has left his body, replaced with unbridled anger.
“I will reiterate, you are not to contact our drivers or staff after today. Including Max. I know he’s fond of you, but you are legally obligated not to respond”
Charles’ blood turns molten as Horner stands and continues.
“We thank you for everything you have done. We have valued your time with Red Bull Racing. I will expect those emails to be completed by the end of business today”
Horner extends his hand to shake Charles’, which Charles ignores. He walks past him, every fibre of his being screaming to punch him in the face. His sensible brain stops him, begging him to be professional, while his heart chooses violence of a different kind.
“Christian, you are such a cunt” Charles laughs in anger and disbelief as he slams the door behind him, walking out before he can be stopped. He clears his office in frantic, shaky bursts. Security watches like he was a threat, making Charles scoff at Horner’s pathetic order. He thanks his past self for being too lazy to decorate, only requiring two trips to his car. Leaving the laptop Red Bull provided him behind, he takes one last look at his office before shutting the door behind him and closing the chapter with it.
The weight of what happened starts to sit heavily in his stomach, as nausea fills Charles. He walks past Kaia, shooting her a sympathetic look and stopping in his tracks. He glances at the security guard who watches from down the hall.
“All the best, Kaia”
“A pleasure knowing you” She gets up from her desk and goes to hug Charles. She whispers in his ear, knowing they are being watched “I’m so sorry.”
Charles manages a smile as he walks out of Red Bull HQ for the last time, reaching his parking space and slumping into his car. The tears start to brim as he shuts the door, and he starts to breathe deeply as he wills the vomit to stay in his stomach.
It stays down for the trip, but not at home. He cries as he releases into the bathroom, his mind focused on what this means for him and Max. Horner was so firm about not contacting Max, and that thought plagues his mind. Charles wonders if he knew anything, whether that was him hinting or if he was just being an asshole. He cleans himself up as his mind spirals, thinking about how this will impact Max. Somehow, he couldn’t think about his reputation or his career; all he could think about and fear was Max reading his letter in Red Bull HQ. He forecasts Max’s anger and hurt, his inevitable explosion.
Max POV
Max walks out of the team meeting feeling steady, something that he wouldn’t have believed a few months back. He would think you’re lying, or stupid at the very least. The strategy is logical. Charles is his. The car feels alive again. They are dating. His team is listening. He fucked Charles. The last fact still sends a shock through his body when he thinks about it.
Life is good.
Really good.
Gemma falls into step beside him as he checks his phone, and a small involuntary smile blooms the second he sees Charles’ name. It’s impossible to suppress.
That’s until he actually reads the message.
The smile evaporates as he furrows his brows. Max stops mid-stride, his thumb already flying to open his inbox. A knot forms in his stomach as the list refreshes and the subject title winds him like a punch to the gut.
“End of Episode of Care Letter”
Max freezes. Gemma shoots him a confused look as she nearly bumps into him.
“Max? What’s up?”
He doesn’t answer. He is already opening the attachment as he tries to walk blindly until he is forced to stop again. His breath lodges somewhere between his throat and ribs.
Dear Max,
Due to unavoidable personal circumstances, I have had to leave Red Bull Racing. This means our time in sessions has come to an early end. Usually, this would be in the form of a final session and with far more notice; however, this was unviable due to my circumstances. I am very sorry that you cannot be afforded this, and I hope you may continue to engage in therapeutic intervention in the future. I have attached a list of reputable psychologists in the area for future referral should you wish.
I appreciate your engagement in our sessions and trusting me with your story. It was a pleasure and a privilege to work with you. I hope you can utilise the skills learned, most of which should be in your email inbox.
All the best,
Charles Leclerc.
He reads.
He re-reads.
Everything inside of him turns sharp as his exterior hardens. By the time he reaches the signature, his mouth is hanging open. There is no fucking way Charles left on his own accord. Not without telling Max. Fury washes over him as his blood starts to boil.
He spins around, stalking back toward the corridor where Horner disappeared. Gemma trails behind with a rising note of panic in her voice.
“Max? You need to attend this shoot, we have rescheduled twice-”
“Not now” Max interrupts abruptly, tunnel visioning on confronting Horner
“Yes, now!” Gemma raises her voice, her pace quickening to a run so she can step in front of him “What has gotten into you? You just flipped like a switch!”
Max stops with an expression carved from stone, trying to control his breathing.
“Why the fuck did I just get an email that Charles is no longer with Red Bull?”
Gemma blinks back at him, confusion evident on her face.
“From what I know, something happened in his life, and he needed to quit” She shrugs, trying to lighten it “We can find you another psychologist, it’s no biggie”
“Oh get fucked” He snaps, stepping around her to continue on his rampage.
Gemma grabs his arm, forcing him to turn and face her.
“Max. Snap out of it” She says firmly “I know Charles helped you a lot, but who are you to stop him leaving when he obviously has shit going on?”
Max’s chest rises and falls with heavy breath as he shoots daggers at Gemma. He wants to scream and tell her Charles is fine, in fact he is happy! He would not walk away from him again… but saying that would open a door that he cannot afford her to look through. So he clenches his jaw until it aches.
“Whatever. This is fucking stupid”
He storms toward the shoot again. Gemma sighs in exhaustion as she follows behind him. He sits stiffly through the shoot, ignoring pose directions and refusing to force even a pretend smile. His hands stay balled in fists, and everyone knows to keep their distance. The day passes painfully slow, and his mind stays unrelenting. He texts Charles when he had a spare second, the only thing keeping him from detonating.
Max listens, barely. Purely out of care for Charles and fears of making it all worse. On the outside, he is a picture of rage. His shoulders tense, his mouth set in a straight line. Everyone knows not to fuck with him. On the inside, he unravels. Knowing how terrified Charles was of this exact outcome is unbearable, and now it’s a reality… and Max isn’t there to help him.
And that is something Max can’t take.
He leaves early, brushing off another obligation with a curt reschedule. His team doesn’t argue. One look at him and no one wants to push their luck. He drives to his home, already instructing Charles to be there. Of course, he drives much too fast, thinking about a hurt Charles Leclerc and all the ways he could ruin Horner for inflicting the hurt. He forces himself not to text Charles again, or to call Horner and threaten his life. He forces himself to breathe, something that Charles would be proud of, even though it hardly works.
By the time he reaches his home, his nerves are buzzing. Fear and anger collide in his chest, so every breath feels pressured. He unlocks the door and steps inside to find Charles on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. Charles looks up and forces a small smile. Max feels his body relax slightly for the first time since opening that email.
“What the fuck is going on?” Max asks, not angrily but scared. His bag hits the floor, forgotten as he crosses the room. Charles lifts his legs to make space, then drapes them over Max’s thighs once he sits. Max rests a hand on Charles’ calf, thumb moving gently while his eyes search Charles’ face for answers.
“I was too good at my job, apparently. Or, in the wise and ever insightful words of Christian Horner: ‘Red Bull has no need for a psychologist at present’” Charles lifts his fingers in exaggerated quotation marks, mocking Horner’s accent. He shakes his head as he looks up at the ceiling, refusing to look at Max.
“What? Are you joking?”
“Nope. They said you’re performing again, and because a lot of the staff did not need as many sessions anymore, I was no longer needed. So they just fired me” Charles huffs a disbelieving laugh, his fingers tapping nervously against his chest.
Max’s jaw tightens, tongue pressed hard to the roof of his mouth. It’s ridiculous. Absurd. Beyond infuriating. They forced him into therapy and feigned it’s out of concern for him, but gutted it the moment it served its purpose. He had told Horner how much the sessions… how much Charles… had helped him, and this is what they did. It makes him feel sick.
The thought he had pushed away for months resurfaces. It was food for thought that became poisonous. Maybe Red Bull doesn’t have his best interests at heart. Maybe they never did. They bank on Max’s undying loyalty, on his willingness to take whatever they give him.
“Fuck him” Max mutters “Come to the races anyway. Who gives a fuck. I will get you a pass and-”
“Stop” Charles interrupts sternly. His fingers going still.
“I can just say I hired you personally. What’s wrong with th-”
“Stop. Max. My god” Charles sits up, legs folding beneath him. Max mourns the sudden absence of his warmth. “He made it very, very clear that I can’t contact you anymore. Especially you. Actually, I signed a clause when I started about no contact with drivers after my contract ended. He made that very clear too”
Max’s heart stutters, and cold envelops him like ice sliding down his spine. The implication of Charles’ words makes him straighten, rigid.
Horner knows more than they thought.
Max isn’t naïve; he knew suspicion was inevitable after Horner found out about Max funding Charles’ travel. Not like Charles ever knew that, and maybe he should have. Max remembers the meeting with Horner vividly, the day after the team dinner in Austin, when Charles stupidly, kindly thanked Horner for Red Bull funding him. The meeting went terribly; Max was never a good liar. He tried to claim he only paid because he felt guilty for making Charles travel. Horner didn’t buy a word of it, but he didn’t argue. Thinking back to his behaviour when Charles left, the way he crumbled and rebuilt the moment Charles returned, of course Horner would notice. It’s obvious now. Too obvious.
Guilt crashes through Max so violently that he feels the colour drain from his face. Horner brought down the gavel, but Max gave him the evidence to do so. It was his carelessness and his inability to hide how much Charles meant to him. That’s why Charles lost the job he loved, because of him. Max’s thoughts unravel and tangle themselves into knots.
“I’m not leaving, in case you’re worried” Charles softly says
Which Max was.
Very much so.
But even the reassurance wasn’t enough to soothe the panic in his chest. Not while he was hiding so much from the one person he could not bear to lose. Not again.
“We just need to be careful, okay? Actually careful this time. I don’t know what Horner knows, but he reiterated that I can’t talk to you so many times it felt…weird”
Max breaks, his chest collapses forward as he covers his face with his hands.
“I paid for everything” Max blurts in confession “Your travel, hotel, food… everything. It wasn’t Red Bull. Horner only approved the jet but said you had to cover the rest, and I knew you wouldn’t come, so I got Kaia to route the invoice to me. I lied. To you and him. At that dinner, you said that fucking thing to Horner about thanking Red Bull for funding you to be there and he realised you weren’t paying your own way and he confronted me and yes, it was stupid and unethical but I just wanted you to be-”
“Max” Charles interrupts gently to stop his spiral. He slides closer and pulls Max’s hands away from his face. He’s smiling, actually smiling. Max feels his brain short-circuit.
“It’s okay. Yes, it was stupid and unethical” Charles laughs softly “but it’s okay.”
“You don’t hate me? I’m the reason you lost your job, and Horner is suspicious”
“I don’t think I could ever hate you” Charles says assuredly “and honestly? I am kind of relieved to know why he was suspicious. I was going insane trying to figure it out. I even wondered if he bugged the rooms, watched us… Yeah, I was borderline psychotic”
Max laughs weakly, and Charles joins him. Max wraps an arm around him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“Besides” Charles grins, mischief flashing as he looks up at Max “Horner is a cunt. I told him that. To his face”
“You WHAT?” Max gawks, his mouth open wide as he cackles in response.
“I did! I turned around dramatically and called him a cunt! It felt amazing, but do you see now why I can’t just stroll around Red Bull hospitality anymore? I am probably blacklisted from the entire paddock”
The guilt weighs heavier, with Max knowing how much Formula 1 meant to Charles and his father. The thought of taking that from him makes Max feel sick, like a part of him is dying.
“Can you at least travel with me?” Max asks quietly, fingers playing with Charles’ rings. “No paddock, fine. I just can’t be away from you that long”
“No, that’s so risky. Fans track your flights, the hotels are the same, paparazzi…”
“No paparazzi on the tarmac. I’ll make sure of it. We will leave separately. Different hotel. We can plan everything, please just try… please”
“And when I leave the hotel and run into someone from Red Bull?”
“Las Vegas is a big place, and since when do they have the time to go out and explore?”
“Max..”
“Charles…”
They both stare at each other in a standoff, both as stubborn as the other. Max is unyielding. The thought of leaving Charles alone in miserable England, jobless and sad, makes him want to explode. Max turns his body to face Charles, his hand cupping the side of Charles’ face, thumb brushing his cheekbone.
“I finally have you. I want you as close to me as possible at all times. I’ve given my whole life to racing, but it’s not forever. I’m not letting it get in the way of my life. Please… I will be so careful”
Charles’ eyes soften as his cheeks flush red. He climbs into Max’s lap, looping his arms around his neck.
“Why do we keep doing undeniably risky things? You’d think we have some sort of stress kink”
“So… is that a yes?” Max’s eyes gleam
“Yes” Charles breathes in fake exasperation, kissing Max tenderly “But your plan sucks. We are doing it my way”
They spend hours finding Charles a separate flight to Las Vegas, which Max hates but accepts because it is safer. They book Charles a hotel nearby. Charles complains that it’s too fancy, too expensive and overall too much, which Max ignores and clicks ‘book’ anyway. Max relentlessly begs him to attend one of the days from the stands. Charles refuses until he concedes on one condition.
“I go in McLaren merch”
“Absolutely fucking not”
“I cannot go in Red Bull merch! I will wear sunnies and a hat, no one could know it’s me”
“Charles, you will be in a crowd of thousands of people; no one will know regardless”
“I am wearing my McLaren merch”
Max groans dramatically and pushes his tongue to his cheeks in frustration.
“Fine. Whatever gets you to the fucking race, but you’re changing the minute you’re at the hotel”
They know this won't last forever, the secret worldwide rendezvous, but they decide it's worth the shot for now. Later, Charles debriefs about his entire meeting with Horner, which only sinks the guilt deeper into Max’s stomach. Charles makes him swear not to retaliate, which Max agrees to begrudgingly. It didn’t mean he couldn’t make his life a living hell. Max knows Charles is miserable but putting on a brave facade for him. As much as he appreciates it, knowing he would be at Horner's door if he asked him too, he wishes Charles would just have it at him. Release his anger and sadness that he caused. He doesn't, he just forgives. It's something Max isn't used to.
They put on a movie and Charles falls asleep against him despite being the one who wanted to watch the movie in the first place. Max carries him to bed and lies beside him, eyes wide open in the dark. He can’t shake the thoughts gnawing at him.
He might be the worst thing that has happened to Charles and Red Bull might not care about him at all.
Notes:
Sorry c:
I love angst
xx
Chapter 14: I can't be the kiss that you don't need, the lie between your teeth
Summary:
When the tears finally spill, silently betraying him, he lets them fall onto the pillow. Helplessly watching his life fall apart at the seams while he lies in the arms of the first person he has ever truly loved.
Or: Risks become reality, and Charles is a huge hypocrite.
Notes:
Hey hi hello!
Remember when I said you would hate me? Ha... ha... aaa
Anyway! I reckon I have about 2 more chapters left before I am done, but I say that tentatively because I also sometimes write like a fucking maniac. Like today, this chapter is too fuckin long but I am too lazy to split into two :)In case you wanna yell at me elsewhere, my twitter (never calling it X) is @verstappw1n
As always, thank you for your comments!! I love them so much and they make my day even when I am ruining yours.Hope you're taking care of yourself! xx
Chapter title inspired by the cut that always bleeds by Conan Gray
Chapter Text
Charles slumps in the uncomfortable airport terminal chairs, the plastic digging into his spine as the speaker above him crackles to life with yet another delay. His flight, originally meant to have him touch down in Vegas mid-morning, is now landing somewhere toward the end of free practice two. The announcement echoes through the bustling terminal, and frustrated sighs follow around him. He never meant to get used to the private jet life, but he did. Not the luxury of it, but the ease and simplicity of being shepherded place to place without thinking. Now, with his legs stretched on top of his suitcase, hoodie pulled over his hair, he feels startlingly mortal again. Reduced to a number on a boarding pass and subject to indefinite waiting time.
Missing free practice doesn’t bother him; it means there is less chance of run-ins with everyone busy and tucked away in the paddock. It’s the waiting that bothers him. Thoughts seep through every crack of silence from the music in his ears. Thoughts he has been running from, or distracting himself from, sleeping beside Max and being next to him at all costs to avoid them.
Not that he would ever confide any of this to Max. The weight of unemployment sits like a stone on his sternum, pressing down and making it hard to pull in a full breath. His mind goes on the attack when given silence, gnawing on his confidence with slow, methodical precision. Too many what ifs, could have beens and should haves.
Psychology was always Charles’ calling, the way racing is Max’s. People told him he was calm under pressure, gentle, steady. Every aptitude test nudged him toward a career as a nurse or doctor, but that never quite fit. It wasn’t until his first appointment, when his father was first diagnosed, that he understood. The room held his grief without collapsing under him, and he walked out feeling like a version of himself he could manage, one that was lighter but still realistic. That was the moment he knew no other career stood a chance.
The degree nearly broke him. It demanded everything. Time, sleep, money… four years of constant high achievement on top of late shifts that kept him barely afloat. Living on pot noodles and cheap coffee in a damp apartment where the wallpaper peeled if you decided to breathe too hard. Then two years of unpaid placements, no social life, burnout so thick he barely got out of bed in the morning. But if Charles is anything, he is stubborn. His mother calls that passion, his father would say it’s an unwillingness to give up, but Charles knows he is stubborn. His mother did everything she could for him, helping with rent during exam periods where Charles couldn’t work, coming to visit him and spending the entire time making him enough food to last him months. She told everyone she knew how proud she was, previously to Charles’ embarrassment, but now to his pride.
If he could go back and tell that younger version of himself, the one likely studying on the bus to his night shift, that he’d lose his job but gain someone to care for… his younger self would punch him in the face. Probably twice. Maybe three times.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t get another job. He could. He would… but the thought of job prospects contacting Red Bull for more information, considering how they ended on the worst of terms, makes Charles want to set himself alight. It was frustrating, having such a good opportunity that would have looked fantastic on his resume, now something he considers erasing from his portfolio entirely in fear. Sitting still made it worse, made him feel empty. The fact that those years of studying and barely making it out were being used for nothing was enough to send him mad.
His phone buzzes against his thigh as his screen glows with a text from his mother, asking if he is at the race already. He feels the blood drain from his face. Shame curls up in his stomach as he lies, telling her that he is and is busy working. He ends the conversation quickly.
It all just felt so hopeless. It was too much, too heavy, too close to slipping through his fingers, except for one thing. Max.
His thoughts shift in that direction without permission. Max’s eyelashes brushing his cheek late at night, and gentle good morning kisses early morning. The way he pokes his tongue out in concentration when trying to beat Charles at FIFA, or how he leaps off the couch mimicking ridiculous goal celebrations. Memories of Max’s hands leaving trails of evidence for Charles to discover later, tender reminders of where his heart lies. His lips, where they travel and the euphoria that comes with them. The progress Max has made, once emotionally unaware and unwilling now attuned and willing to trial openness. Charles thinks of his own progress too, at the hands of Max. Once allergic to being cared for, and now allowing moments for Max to peek inside and fix what’s broken.
He feels selfish for ever thinking Max wasn’t worth the sacrifices. He knows he can hold both truths at once: the ache of loss and the sweetness of love, but sometimes they feel impossible to balance.
The flight is long and dull. Clouds slide past him like slow waves. Not that he could enjoy it with his mind keeping him prisoner to his thoughts.
Love used to be a word stored away under lock and key. It was unavailable to him, by his own choice. He knows he cares for Max, undeniably and fiercely. He wants to protect him, show him that love isn’t something earned through pain, that he wasn’t born to bleed and apologise to those who cut him. It’s why Charles kept his thoughts within, knowing how quickly Max blames himself and how deeply the guilt runs. Charles wants to shield him, give him space to breathe and stay focused on his passion without worrying, knowing he will always have warmth to come home to. He knows Max is worth it all, the hurt and the happiness. He wants the best for him, but is that Charles? Is it fair for Max to have and hold a husk of the man he fell for?
The idea of becoming the secret travelling boyfriend on Max’s dime makes his skin crawl. The whole concept was demeaning. He hates it, despises it even. The secrecy is parasitic, eroding his identity and eating away at him slowly, agonisingly. He doesn’t want to hide, not when he knows Max’s body better than he knows his own reflection. He can’t pretend to just be strangers when he could recite the pitch of his moans and tell you exactly how to incite them. He wants to broadcast it to the world, proclaim to everyone he passes in the street that yes, this is his beautiful boyfriend. It felt like regressing to the closet. Charles had been out for years, and it felt demoralising to hide it all, even if it was to both of their benefit.
He can’t help but see himself resigned to the future where he is nothing but the man trailing behind Max. Following Max like a lost puppy, with no ambitions or interests of his own. Of course, he would be living the good life. There are obvious positives to dating someone as famous as Max. But was it worth it? To have no substance other than dating someone who does? Is to love in secret even loving at all?
But he wanted this, right?
He wanted Max, so he must want this.
Charles repeats the thought incessantly until it loses meaning.
When he arrives at the hotel, it is as extravagant as it looked online. It was excessive, far too nice for him. A long plush couch frames the living area next to the small kitchenette and bar, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that look over a moody Las Vegas city. Charles drops his bags in the bedroom before returning to the living room and starting the replay for free practice.
Electricity shoots through Charles as he hears the soft knock at the door, opening it to see Max, bright-eyed and grinning, holding a bag of food like some divine offering.
“Hungry?”
“Unbelievably” Charles breathes, relief washing through him as he drags him inside and kisses him tenderly. Despite being off the plane for a while, only now did he feel like his feet were firmly grounded. Every thought from prior dissolves, like everything just clicked back into place, and he regained a pulse he didn’t realise he lost.
He watches Max unpack the food on the coffee table with delicate care, and his heart tightens when Max’s eyes glitter as he spots the paused replay.
“You were about to catch up?”
“Mmhm” Charles mumbles around the first bite of his burger “But I’ll change it, of course. I doubt that’s fun for you”
“No no! I’ll watch with you” Max says, sitting cross-legged beside him, already excited “I’ll commentate my point of view”
And he does. He rambles through the entire session, explaining technicalities that Charles doesn’t understand, throwing insults whenever Horner appears on the screen, and grumbling about the tension in the garage. Whenever Max does something impressive, which is often, he rewinds, slows the replay and details every nuance with animated gestures.
Charles watches him in quiet awe. Pride and privilege fill him as he watches him gush about his passions. He smiles, eyes fluttering at Max as his heart swells at the thought of being able to do this forever. He clung to every word, falling more with every syllable. He sinks into Max’s side once they finish eating, craving his touch.
“So basically, the car looks good” Charles murmurs
“Yeah, it is” Max kisses his forehead, smiling against his skin “I think this weekend is going to be good, even better knowing you’ll be there”
Charles shifts, rising to his knees and swinging them over Max’s lap, straddling him in one fluid motion. He kisses Max deeper. His fingers slide into Max’s hair slowly, his nails deliberately scraping lightly against his scalp. Max hums into his mouth, a low, hungry sound that fuels Charles’ endeavours. His hands clamp down on Charles’ hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise and stilling the roll Charles is already trying to start. Max pulls back, breath ragged against Charles’ lips.
“You are going to be the death of me”
Charles smiles, his mouth leaving loving kisses on his neck
“You can’t just nerd out about how you drove like a man possessed by the F1 gods and expect me not to want you inside of me”
Max laughs and shakes his head at Charles. His hand comes up to Charles’ face and holds it tenderly in apology.
“No sex before race weekends” Max replies, his voice rough with want but also stubborn in principle “Golden rule”
Charles rocks forward anyway, as much as the iron grip on his hips will allow, feeling Max already hard and straining beneath him.
“Oh come on” he breathes, lips brushing Max’s ear “Releasing the pressure helps, you know it does”
Max’s groan is tortured at Charles’ touch, but his resolve remains “I can’t risk any muscle soreness”
Charles leans in, teeth grazing the shell of Max’s ear as his chest rests on top of Max’s.
“Let me risk it” He whispers in a desperate attempt to feel Max inside of him in any capacity “At least use my mouth”
Max throws his head back, his grin sharp and helpless at Charles’ filthy words.
“Yeah” He rasps “I think that would be fine”
Charles’ eyes flash bright as he dives back in, kissing Max deep and dirty as his fingers curl lightly around the sides of Max’s throat. He presses just enough pressure to make Max’s breath hitch hard, a moan tearing loudly out of Max’s chest. Charles smiles against his lips, filing that reaction away for later use.
He slides off Max’s lap slowly, kissing a burning path down his neck, hard enough to sting but careful not to leave marks that cameras will catch, as much as he desperately wants to. Max yanks his own shirt off in one impatient motion; Charles follows, fabric hitting the floor. On his knees, Charles’ tongue mouths down Max’s chest, flicking over a nipple, teeth grazing just enough to make Max’s hips jerk and earning a sharp intake of breath.
“I’ve got to… fuck” Max tries, voice cracking as Charles hooks his fingers into his waistbands and drags sweats and briefs down in one swift pull. Max’s cock springs free, flushed and leaking “I’ve got to get back to the hotel soon, they’ve got me on watch”
“Lucky them” Charles jokes, wrapping a hand around Max’s length, stroking once slowly and possessively “If only they could watch this, hm?”
Max’s cheeks burn crimson, and Charles drinks it in loving how easily words alone can unravel him.
“So you want me to go fast?” Charles asks, his voice like velvet as his lips tease the slick head of Max’s cock “Just like you did this afternoon, Maxie?”
Max’s hand fists Charles’ hair tightly “Mhm” He manages, strained “Just like I do, baby”
Charles can’t help but gulp at Max’s nickname, looking up at him in desire. All teasing falls away, replaced by raw, aching need. He wants nothing more than to wreck Max completely.
He doesn’t wait, taking him down in one smooth, wet slide, spit coating Max as he pulls back to the tip with a soft, filthy sound. Then down again, each bob fast, deep and relentless. The room fills with obscene wet noises, Max moaning in tandem with Charles’ pace and the light creak of the couch beneath them.
“G-Good job baby” Max gasps, his voice shredded “Just.. god.. just like that for me”
Charles hums around him, the vibration ripping another moan out of Max. He sets a brutal pace, his hand and mouth in perfect unison. He hollows his cheeks, swallowing Max down until his nose brushes skin. Max’s grip turns punishing in painful pleasure, fucking Charles’ mouth in short, sharp thrusts.
Charles pulls off for one gasping breath, spit stringing from his lips to Max’s cock, eyes watering. He looks at Max’s eyes and watches him melt before Max guides him back down, deep. Charles chokes, throat fluttering, and Max groans as if Charles’ throat was heaven itself before dragging him back up to look at him.
“You love being wet and dirty, don’t you?” Max rasps
Charles can only nod, tears spilling over, desperate. Max tilts his chin up and wipes the mess from Charles’ lips with his thumb, then pushes two fingers into his mouth. Charles sucks eagerly, tongue swirling.
“Answer me” Max demands, his voice low and lethal.
Charles lets the fingers slip free with a wet pop “I love it” he says with a wrecked, radiant smile
Max’s pupils swallow the last of the blue.
He forces him back down, to Charles’ delight, and takes over completely. His hips snap up as his hands control every bob of Charles’ head. Charles moans around him, tears streaking his cheeks, watching Max’s thighs tremble, and his abs clench. Max’s control splinters as he fights the urge to close his eyes, preferring to watch Charles in his glory.
“Oh my god Charlie” Max’s voice cracks, throwing his head back in pleasure “baby… I’m.. going”
He tries to pull off, but Charles resists, hollowing his cheeks harder, eyes locked upward in a clear, desperate plea. Max’s legs lock tight around him, his body seizing as he comes with a strangled shout, hot and thick down Charles’ throat.
Charles swallows every drop, slowly milking him through it with slow, deliberate pulls. He pulls off just enough to open his mouth, tongue out to prove there was nothing left of Max’s undoing. Max stares, his chest heaving. His hands cup Charles’ jaw and drag him up, kissing him slowly, deep and tender, while he tastes himself on Charles’ tongue.
“God I love” Max starts, voice raw, then catching himself “that. The way you do that”
Charles hears everything Max doesn’t say. He smiles against Max’s lips in soft acknowledgment.
Max’s wrist lifts lazily, the face of his watch catching the low light of the TV. He squints and then breaks into a slow, wicked grin.
“Fuck it” he murmurs, voice still rough from his climactic high “I’ve got time”
Before Charles can process the words, Max is on his feet, hauling Charles up with him. One strong arm bands around his waist, sliding down to palm his ass possessively as he walks them forward, straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Vegas chaos.
Charles’ breath fogs the glass the second Max presses him to it, his chest winces against the cool pane with his palms flattening instinctively. The city sprawls beneath them, headlights streaking, signs pulsing, a million lights that suddenly feel like a million eyes. Max undoes Charles’ zipper from behind, kissing his shoulder as he does, and pulls down his boxers and jeans. Charles gasps at the relief, arching his back so his ass rests against Max’s own length. Max pushes against him, his breath hot against Charles’ ear.
“Look at them” Max whispers, his lips brushing the lobe “Every single person down there should be jealous. They’ll never know how fucking gorgeous you look like this”
Charles shivers as Max gently slaps the inner of Charles’ thigh for him to spread his legs.
“Look at me” Max demands. Charles puts his cheek against the cool glass as Max brings his hand in front of Charles’ mouth.
“Spit”
And Charles does, once, twice, until Max takes away his hand, grabbing Charles's hair with his other and forcing him to look forward once again. Charles’ breath trembles as Max’s slick fingers circle his rim before pushing in without warning. Charles’ forehead thumps against the glass with a satisfied moan.
“Oh my g-”
“Let them see what’s mine” Max breathes, curling his fingers close and deliberate, hitting the spot until Charles’ knees buckle “Let the whole fucking city see how pretty you are when you fall apart for me”
Max spits into his other hand and reaches his other hand around Charles’ cock, using the product of Charles’ leaking tip to cover the rest. He starts a to stroke in perfect unison with the fingers fucking into him as Charles’ reflection stares back at him in the glass, his lips parted, eyes blown, and chest flushed red. Completely, utterly, irrevocably wrecked in the best possible way.
“M-Max”
Max finds a healing mark on Charles’ neck, one left from the other week, his teeth grazing against it. “So many people would kill for the chance, but only I get to ruin you. Only I get to watch you like this while my name is on your tongue”
Charles sobs in pleasure, his hips rocking helplessly between Max’s hands. The fingers inside him twist and spread him wider, and Charles can feel how open he is as another finger enters.
“Look at yourself baby” Max says, pressing closer and letting Charles feel how hard he already is again “Look how fucking beautiful you are. All mine. God, I wish they could all know that”
Charles’ reflection blurs with tears of overstimulation as Max mercilessly speeds up around his cock and inside of him. The city lights smear into streaks of colours.
“Come for me” Max whispers, his lips against the hinge of Charles’ jaw, his voice reverent “All for me, forever for me”
Charles breaks with a cry that echoes off the glass, coming hard over Max’s fist and the hotel glass. His body shakes as Max works him through it, fingers stroking gently now and drawing out every drip until Charles is limp and gasping.
Max turns him carefully, pressing his back against the window just long enough to kiss him tenderly, swallowing the little whimper Charles couldn’t hold back. He gently places his forehead against Charles’, sadness flashing over his face
“I have to go” Max says quietly, thick with regret “I’ll see you after qualifying tomorrow”
Charles doesn’t have the energy to protest, instead pressing one last kiss and letting it linger. He peels himself off the glass as Max jogs to the bathroom and quickly cleans himself off, coming back with a damp towel for Charles to do the same. Max looks at him as he gets dressed, frowning overtly at Charles standing alone, naked and cleaning himself off. He puts on his last shoe and blows Charles a kiss as he walks out of the hotel.
Charles cleans the window and himself before he rearranges the couch cushions to how they previously were. He changes into a new pair of boxers and sinks into bed. The sheets are cool against his overheated skin as he pulls the duvet up. His body aches, sated and utterly claimed, but the loneliness looms over him as one line replays.
All mine, god I wish they could all know that
As if they ever will.
Qualifying
Charles is curled up in the corner of his hotel room’s couch, wrapped like a burrito in a soft blanket with a coffee between both hands. The rain lashes against the windows in relentless sheets, the sky exploding with the kind of storm he thought he had left behind in England. He watches it with fear blooming inside, praying Max gets through qualifying safely.
A shiver moves through him, unsure if it was from the thought of Max crashing or the chill in the air. He sighs as he extracts himself from the blanket cocoon and searches for a jumper he knows he packed. As he passes the entryway, something else catches his eye.
Hanging neatly on the hook by the door is a black hoodie with the signature lion logo stitched over the chest. Charles snorts under his breath, still finding it ridiculous that a multimillionaire Formula 1 driver lives in his own merch like some overgrown teenage YouTuber. He laughs even harder at the thought of Max realising, probably mid garage, that he forgot it. He grabs the hoodie off the hook like gravity pulled him there, slipping it on and tugging the hood up while he unashamedly drinks in Max’s scent. It’s enough to settle the ache behind his ribs, threatening to show itself.
He sinks back onto the couch and reassumes his cocoon as the broadcast cuts to the garage feed, and Charles is sure his lungs forgot how to function. Max is a storm himself, his jaw tight and eyes narrowed. He radiates cold, controlled fury, an assassin ready to unleash. His presence swallows the entire garage, and everyone walks around him like he’s a live wire.
Charles feels the hoodie swallow him whole, heat rising on the back of his neck. He misses it, the intensity of Max’s glare and his dangerous confidence. He misses that feeling every session of Max trying to intimidate him into leaving, and failing. Miserably. He revels in the look Max gets when he climbs into the car, like he is seconds away from tearing the track apart with nothing but willpower and talent. As his mechanic leans in to secure the belts, Max doesn’t look at the camera, or anyone for that matter, he is laser focused, furious and unfairly, stupidly hot.
Charles audibly whines, as he covers the red cheeks of his face from gushing over the man on the screen as if it wasn’t his boyfriend.
His boyfriend.
He can’t help but laugh as he topples over in happiness, the hoodie swallowing his frame as he kicks his feet a little. An involuntary wave of happiness drowns him. He feels insane, the constant mood changes from debilitating loneliness and despair to complete elation and overwhelming lust.
The broadcast cuts away and gives him a moment to breathe, or at least try to. Any other day he would be embarrassed at how little it takes to make Charles turn into a teenage girl fangirling over him, but not today. Today it was inevitable.
Qualifying was volatile. The rain pours, making it extremely hard to get valid laps in without breaching track limits. Charles watches with his knees hugged to his chest, scared to move. By Q3, Max is the fastest. Drivers cross the line one after another, none of them touching his time.
And then Lando pips him by three hundredths in an insanely fast lap, despite a mistake at the end.
Charles dramatically collapses backward, groaning in frustration despite P2 being objectively brilliant. His mouth drops as Max’s radio plays, dripping with casual arrogance that makes Charles desperately wish to be on his knees again in front of him.
Charles’ brain turns to static, lasting through the post-qualifying media. Max’s face is as sharp as it was in the garage, giving short answers where the journalists don’t dare push him for more. He watches until the interviews end, cutting back to the studio before switching the TV off and grabbing his book. Not that he will be able to read a single sentence as his body waits in anticipation for Max’s text to say he is on the way.
Minutes stretch, then hours. Charles’ eyes grow heavy. He fights to keep them open, telling himself not to sleep, but he does anyway, drifting in and out. When his phone eventually buzzes, he snatches it up so quickly he nearly drops it.
Charles’ chest tightens in the familiar coil of anxiety winding itself sharply around him. Of course, Red Bull has him locked down. Of course they do. They always have, they always will. And Charles? Charles is the one thing they’d slam the door on without hesitation. Maybe Max would too, given the choice of another championship or his secret lover.
It’s another subtle reminder that Charles, above everything else, is a liability. Someone their golden boy needs to be kept far away from. He is sure they don’t know he is here, but it’s the principle of it all. They will always come first, as much as Max denies that.
He forces a breath in, then out. It tastes bitter. The room around him suddenly feels entirely too big and quiet. Max’s hoodie hangs heavy on his frame, but the comfort it gave earlier is fading into something closer to impending grief.
He presses his head into the pillow and frowns at the ceiling, already sensing the night ahead. A night of thoughts he can’t stop, that dig under his skin and drag up every insecurity he desperately tried to bury. It’s almost pathetic how Max is the only anchor he has, how dependent he has become.
But he won’t tell Max that, because what good would it do? No point in having Max shoulder weight that isn’t his own to carry. So Charles types back before tucking himself in for the night, hoping his heart and brain stop unravelling.
Race Day
Charles smiles as his Uber rolls to a stop outside the circuit, excitement building in his chest under the glittering Las Vegas Strip lights. The air hums with neon and noise, overwhelming and electrifying all at once. He steps out and is immediately met with towering banners of Max draped across the trackside buildings. Max in Red Bull blue, grinning the world-champion smile with a confidence that comes so naturally to him.
Pride blooms warmly beneath his ribs, so much it nearly hurts. It’s suffocating, but in a way joy can be when it’s too big for one body to hold.
Charles dons his McLaren T-shirt as promised, the bold black 81 on the back feeling heavier than the fabric. A costume, almost. He adjusts it as he blends into the crowd, heading towards the grandstands at the start-finish straight. The ticket price makes his stomach twist, but he murmurs a quiet thank you to Max for buying them, even if Max will never hear it.
When he gets to his seat, the lights of the circuit stretching in front of him rush him with nostalgia so strong that his eyes sting. He remembers the Monaco Grand Prix from his friend’s apartment balcony, the engines rattling the glass and the feeling of magic.
He thinks back to his first race with his Dad. It cost him a fortune then, too, but it meant everything. They both wore Ferrari red, and Charles is sure his Dad looked happier than he had ever seen him. He held Charles high above the crowd, both of them screaming with joy when the scarlet car crossed the line in first. It was one of Charles’ happiest memories, a faraway one.
Now, Charles sits alone in a sea of strangers, but he doesn’t feel lonely. Almost like he was permitted to by an anonymous presence, Charles relaxes and lets himself cheer loudly and unrestrained, just like the boy he once was
Max roars past, and Charles erupts in cheer, jumping to his feet. The little boy beside him giggles, tugging at his shirt.
“That was Red Bull, not McLaren”
“You’re right! I like them both” Charles laughs
“But you don’t yell for McLaren” He looks at him confused, before he starts yelling for the Mercedes that flies by.
Charles smiles, realising that he probably isn’t a McLaren fan anymore.
The race becomes a nail-biting blur. Max’s car begins to struggle in the final laps while Lando’s pace surges. Charles finds himself whispering prayers he hasn’t said since he was young, willing Max’s car to last. When he crosses the line for the last lap, Charles and the little boy beside him scream together, the boy copying Charles’ intensity like it’s a game. Charles mutters under his breath through every turn, as Max defends viciously against Lando’s DRS. When Max finally takes the chequered flag, Charles leaps in pure, unfiltered joy. The boy high-fives him with the solemnity of a shared victory.
As Max appears on the giant screen for his interview, Charles stares up at him, breath caught. The words are lost to the crowd noise, or maybe Charles isn’t even listening. He is too busy drinking in the sight of Max, sweaty, glowing and triumphant. His.
But when Max climbs the podium and lifts the trophy, the rush of pride cracks. Something cold sinks into his stomach. Charles watches Max’s joy from a distance, the celebration, the anthem, the champagne, and feels the isolation creep in. It’s like he is watching from a window, an outsider peering in. He misses being close enough to hear the champagne hit the ground. He misses being allowed to be part of his happiness. He misses belonging.
Suddenly, the day feels too sweet and too painful. He stands, waving goodbye to his tiny companion and slips out of the grandstand. The rain outside is soft, falling on his hair as Charles searches for an Uber pick-up spot. The melancholy spreads quickly, like cracks through glass.
What if this is the best it gets? Watching from the sidelines, loving quietly, cheering to the void, hiding the best part of his life behind his teeth while he watches the best part of Max’s through a screen. He doesn’t need to be known, he doesn’t care about being shown off… but god, it hurts. Missing big moments, dimming his joy and swallowing his pride to pretend that he is unaffected.
On the drive back to his hotel, Charles’ phone buzzes.
Charles lets out a groan and thumps his head lightly against the seat. Of all nights, this is the one where he needs Max most, just a moment in his arms to pull him out of his spiral. And Max would do so, in a heartbeat. But that’s the problem.
His thumb hesitates before hitting send, but he forces it.
Back in his hotel room, he showers and collapses into bed. Las Vegas buzzes faintly outside his windows, but not enough to drown the loneliness creeping into his bones. He was scared of this, of needing someone so badly that life was impossible without them. He had been alone for so long that loneliness became normal, comfortable even. Now, after tasting what it’s like to feel whole, the emptiness feels unbearable. The dependency was embarrassing and scary, as he clings to Max’s hoodie for any sort of comfort to get him through the night. He wore it so much that it doesn’t really smell like him anymore. Exhaustion wins, eventually.
Hours later, heavy stumbling and the sound of doors closing wake him.
“Fuck did I wake you?” Max slurs, wrestling with his jeans “My feet feel like cement”
Charles rubs his eyes, sleep clinging to his voice
“It’s okay, did you have fun?”
“Yeah, drank too much” Max grins crookedly, somehow managing to change clothes while swaying on the spot.
“I can tell” Charles smiles as he watches Max try, and fail, to take off his socks gracefully
“Did you have fun today? Glad you’re not wearing that ugly fucking shirt”
Charles snorts at the bluntness as Max finally crawls under the duvet, gathering Charles into his arms on instinct. Charles melts instantly, his entire body softening against him
“I did” He murmurs. He tells him about the kid next to him, and how his heart almost dove onto the track when Lando started catching up. “Did you set your alarm?”
There is no reply, but soft snoring. Charles huffs a laugh and tucks in closer, finally safe enough to sleep.
When morning comes, Max is still clinging to him. Charles strokes his hair, presses a kiss to his forehead and glances at the time before jolting upright.
“Max. Max…” He shakes gently, barely causing a stir “MAX!!!”
Max shoots awake, bleary and confused.
“What? What time is it?” He croaks out, his head too heavy to be lifted.
“It’s 10. Your plane leaves in an hour”
Max stares blankly, processing and seeing if Charles is serious.
“And you didn’t wake me?!”
“You didn’t set an alarm?! Are you crazy?”
“I was drunk, why would you trust me!!”
Despite Max’s panic, Charles can’t help but laugh as Max stumbles out of bed and scrambles into last night’s clothes. He downs the water beside Charles’ bed, holding his sore head with his other hand. He steals a long goodbye kiss.
He dashes toward the door, and Charles notices the pile of clothes abandoned on the floor.
“You don’t want your clothes?”
“They were yours!” Max yells back with a grin, sticking his head back through the doorway again “Nice jumper by the way, suits you”
With a wink, he is gone.
Charles squints at the pile, realising Max is right. They’re sharing clothes like it’s second nature now. The thought tugs a small smile from him, but it fades quickly. The static begins to crawl back into his mind, fuzzing the edges.
He’ll change his mind
He’ll find someone easier.
Someone who doesn’t overthink and is willing to leave everything behind
You’re just weighing him down
Or maybe he is weighing you down
Charles forces himself to shake off the thoughts as he showers, packs his bag and prepares for another long flight, alone with nothing but his thoughts for company.
England
Charles’ lips curve, the message lighting him up from within, one of the first real smiles he has had since being back in England. He hasn’t seen Max since Las Vegas. Red Bull had pulled him to Milton Keynes before he even touched tarmac. The distance had been awful, making tonight feel like elation. Charles tries to fix his mood, making his favourite soup and watching trashy reality TV to distract his brain. It helps enough; he was happy to be home again, and the domesticity felt good. He loved caring for Max.
He stirs the pot, blowing lightly on the spoon before tasting. It was perfect, and his chest swells with relief. Max always loved his cooking, always making him feel like he was serving Michelin-star quality instead of something thrown together in a tiny, shitty kitchen with a barely working stove.
He sets the table as nice as he can with $10 plates and dented cutlery, a candle flickering in the middle like it’s a special occasion, which maybe it was. It’s nothing like the luxury Max is used to, but Max never treated it as less. He always looked at Charles’ dinners like they were gifts.
The thought alone gets Charles dancing quietly in the kitchen, no music playing, just the faint hum of relief that, for once, his brain is not attacking him because soon Max will be here. The one person who holds him together without needing to try.
The knock on the door comes earlier than expected. Charles practically skips, smile stretching wide.
“Hello my gorgeous race winn-… oh my god”
Charles’ eyes widen in horror, a much smaller figure than he expected standing in front of him.
“Gemma?”
“Charles” She stares, her mouth pursed and voice flat “May I come in?”
He steps aside automatically as his ears ring. His heartbeat pounds hard enough to bruise. He feels like he is walking underwater as she sits on the couch and places an envelope on the table.
“It’s nice seeing you” He manages “I was sad not to say goodbye”
“I wish I could say I am coming under better circumstances” She replies, unlocking her phone “So how long?”
“How long had I been planning to quit?” Charles plays dumb
Gemma’s eyes narrow, making Charles’ blood run cold.
“How long have you been seeing Max?”
Charles’ heart stops entirely, and his throat closes. It’s as if the universe has reached out with an unkind hand and pressed pause on everything steady inside of him. His ribs pierce his lungs, palms sweating as heat crawls up his neck.
“I- Our uh… I think our first session was just before Baku, why?”
“Charles” Her tone sharpens “How long have you been seeing Max romantically?”
Tears brim in his eyes, his vision blurring as he stares directly at Gemma. His body shakes with a fear he can’t swallow.
“I am not seeing Max romantically. I have no idea why you think that. I haven’t seen him since our last session as per my contract”
Gemma sighs, reaching for the envelope on the table and opening it. She chucks down 4 photos on the table, and Charles can feel his breakfast come back up. The photos were clear, close and undeniable. Max’s hand on his face, Charles’ shirt balled in his fist. Lips against his lips, his neck. Charles’s hand lingering against his bulging front. Max’s hand dragging a very giddy Charles inside, overnight bag on his shoulder. The world tilts violently, as Charles runs his mind thinking about how stupid he was to trust that Max living in a gated community was enough to protect him from prying eyes.
“H-how? Who?” Charles’ lip quivers, unable to finish his sentence.
“An online motorsport columnist was approached anonymously with these photos. They paid a very high price, they want to publish them” She places her phone on the table with the voice memo app open and pressing record “Which they will, unless I can do anything to stop it. Now, I need you to tell me everything, from the beginning, for me to have any chance of fixing this”
And so he does.
He blurts the truth in embarrassing detail as Gemma stares, visibly disappointed. The sessions, the plane, the pool. How it started with stolen glances, his laugh, his hands, his body, his soul. He explains how he resisted, how Max initiated, and how he tried to quit before anything happened. Worst of all, he explains the many intimate nights, where they were, when it happened, and how Charles didn’t regret a thing. Not one.
Tears fall silently onto his jeans, but he feels nothing. Numbness is the only thing.
“So” Gemma says slowly “It’s official? You are dating?”
“It’s official” Charles continues, playing with the cuff of his sleeve. As if not to make it worse, realising it’s Max’s.
“You understand the repercussions of this, I assume” Her voice was iron, no empathy coming through “If this gets out, Max is outed, and you are the psychologist who fucked his client”
“I know” Charles stares at Gemma, whispering shakily “trust me”
Gemma softens for a moment, likely in pity. The first human-like thing she had done since walking through the door.
“I know he cares about you. I know you didn’t coerce him or anything. It was obvious he was smitten over you, and he made this decision on his own accord… but fucking hell, Charles what were you thinking? I wish I could say I’m happy for you both, I really do, but…”
“How do I fix this?” Charles interrupts, swallowing a sob.
“I don’t know” She rubs her brow “Professionally, the best option is not best for Max emotionally”
“What are you going to do?”
“Red Bull will have to pay off the journalist. Big money. NDA. Delete the photos. I can frame it as a drunk one-night stand with some random guy. This has happened before, Max got in serious trouble, but he survived. I think I can manage it.”
Air hits Charles’ starved lungs in relief.
“So it can be fixed”
“I think so” She pauses “But if they catch you again, the one-night stand explanation won’t hold, and this won’t be salvageable. Horner was already suspicious, you know. Max’s reliance on you drove him mad”
“I know. I could tell when he fired me”
Gemma looks at him, genuinely startled “He fired you?”
Charles nods, looking back down at the photos ruining his life. Gemma exhales before restarting
“Look, I am not reporting you. I am not telling you to break up with Max” Gemma clicks her fingers to get Charles’ attention, looking sharply in his bloodshot eyes “But let me be very clear. If anything else comes out, I will not hesitate to ruin your life in order to protect Max’s. Red Bull will come at you with everything”
“I know”
“No, you don’t” Her voice shakes “You have no idea, Charles. For now, do not tell Max about this. He is still pissed you’re fired and will do something in impulsive defiance. I will tell him after Abu Dhabi”
Her phone buzzes, she stands and straightens her skirt before walking to the door. Charles stays seated, eyes trained on the table.
“Lay low Charles, and think about what is more important to you”
She walks out without a goodbye, and Charles curls up on the couch, tucking his face into his knees. Finally, the sobs break free, and everything pours out of him at once. His breath stutters as he grabs his phone with trembling fingers, calling the one person he can.
“Maman” He chokes out as she answers “Maman, I messed everything up j’ai tout gâché”
An hour or so later, Max arrives. Charles forces a smile that feels like it cuts his skin. He gets through dinner, quiet but nodding in all the right places as Max talks about his day. Max notices, of course he notices, pausing every few minutes to prod and ask what’s wrong. Their knees brush under the small table, watching Charles too closely.
Charles manages a believable lie about Vegas weather, jet lag, and maybe being sick. It’s an easy lie, one that Max seems to accept on the surface. He still insists on staying the night, brushing off every gentle push for him to go home.
While Max showers, Charles shreds the photos Gemma left behind, which he hid under the mattress, putting them straight in his outdoor recycling bin. He looks around, paranoid, hoodie over his head. Max calls for Charles to join him, but instead he crawls into bed. Max eventually joins and curls around him. Usually enough to make him melt, Charles stays completely still, afraid even breathing would give him away. He knows he is a massive hypocrite; he spent weeks getting Max to trust him, teaching him it’s safe to feel. Yet here he is, suffering alone. When the tears finally spill, silently betraying him, he lets them fall onto the pillow. Helplessly watching his life fall apart at the seams while he lies in the arms of the first person he has ever truly loved.
Pages Navigation
Aku22 on Chapter 1 Sun 21 Sep 2025 12:12AM UTC
Comment Actions
M_exet on Chapter 1 Sun 21 Sep 2025 01:00AM UTC
Comment Actions
Lover_of_Violets on Chapter 1 Tue 30 Sep 2025 08:26AM UTC
Comment Actions
I_DID_SOMETHING_BAD on Chapter 1 Tue 02 Dec 2025 01:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
Something_witty_here on Chapter 1 Sun 07 Dec 2025 01:08AM UTC
Comment Actions
BlaBlaBerry557 on Chapter 2 Sun 21 Sep 2025 08:27AM UTC
Comment Actions
sillygoosemax on Chapter 2 Sun 21 Sep 2025 01:44PM UTC
Comment Actions
aotvfilm on Chapter 2 Sun 21 Sep 2025 09:17AM UTC
Comment Actions
sillygoosemax on Chapter 2 Sun 21 Sep 2025 01:44PM UTC
Comment Actions
Aelinashryverhavilliard on Chapter 2 Mon 22 Sep 2025 09:26AM UTC
Comment Actions
M_exet on Chapter 2 Mon 22 Sep 2025 09:58PM UTC
Comment Actions
Unknown_creates on Chapter 2 Tue 23 Sep 2025 04:10PM UTC
Comment Actions
Lover_of_Violets on Chapter 2 Tue 30 Sep 2025 09:51AM UTC
Comment Actions
Fantasy_bookwyrm on Chapter 2 Fri 10 Oct 2025 04:23PM UTC
Comment Actions
I_DID_SOMETHING_BAD on Chapter 2 Tue 02 Dec 2025 02:02PM UTC
Comment Actions
CL16forwdc on Chapter 3 Wed 24 Sep 2025 06:44AM UTC
Comment Actions
BlaBlaBerry557 on Chapter 3 Wed 24 Sep 2025 08:38AM UTC
Comment Actions
Artemessi on Chapter 3 Wed 24 Sep 2025 08:47AM UTC
Comment Actions
Usedtobetam on Chapter 3 Wed 24 Sep 2025 04:15PM UTC
Comment Actions
sillygoosemax on Chapter 3 Sat 27 Sep 2025 08:55AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aku22 on Chapter 3 Wed 24 Sep 2025 05:15PM UTC
Comment Actions
itsgoingdutchin2021 (soclosebutyetsofar) on Chapter 3 Wed 24 Sep 2025 06:03PM UTC
Comment Actions
sillygoosemax on Chapter 3 Sat 27 Sep 2025 08:55AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aelinashryverhavilliard on Chapter 3 Sun 28 Sep 2025 08:20AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation