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It was the Las Vegas grand prix, so late at night it was almost morning and for once Max wasn't celebrating anything big. 3rd place wasn't bad, but this time last year he was celebrating his fourth championship. And now he was sat in some bar, no team around drinking awful rainbow shots that George claimed were blue raspberry flavoured vodka, celebrating George. 2nd Las Vegas win, 4th win of the season.
Max was psyching himself up to down another repulsive shot, George was two ahead of him talking like the world would end if he so much as stopped for a moment to breathe. As he brought the shot up to his lips George turned to him, sitting up straight eyes widening like he'd just remembered he'd left the curling iron on.
“We should get married” George announced like it was bloody obvious because what else were they to do. His words just full of drunken conviction and earnest enthusiasm, like he genuinely was excited by the prospect of marrying him.
Max thought he was an idiot. A drunk and too pretty for his own good kind of moron, who was staring down at him with those wide blue eyes, red rimmed lids just serving to bring out the blue that were nearly eclipsed by the black of his blown out pupils when their eyes met. His smile widened and for a moment Max thought what could go wrong? If George kept smiling like that then clearly nothing.
He opened his mouth to say fuck it but his throat caught, the taste of blue raspberry flavoured vodka reminding him so much could go wrong. Max was impulsive sometimes but George was taking the cake with this one. His face scrunched up, jaw tight as he rolled his eyes.
“Youre a fucking idiot, no” Max huffed lips pulled into a snarl that only seemed to amuse George a little more. He threw back his own bright teal blue shot with a chuckle and set the glass down pulling off a ring from his hand, one of the many he adorned his long bony fingers with ever since Lewis had said he had perfect hands for ring stacking. This was just a random cigar band he wore on his pinky. He turned to Max and for a moment he thought George would actually get down on one knee.
Instead he took Max's hand, held it in his and said “Max, will you do me the honour and marry me so that we can get a divorce and be actual divorced parents to our shared rookie Andrea?”
Max felt like he'd been kicked. face falling, his shocked expression morphing into a grimace, lips curled in a rather ugly snarl. Because was that meant to be funny? Sure, the joke was funny. That they squabbled like a divorced couple coparenting their kid but like that was a joke. He was a bit pissed off that George would go through all the trouble of marrying him, just to divorce him.
If George had just left it at them making the joke they'd gotten back together, Max would shrug and go fuck it for the lore, to add an extra few paragraphs to his Wikipedia page. What was the point in getting married just to get divorced? Except what could George want from him besides the obvious.
“Youre tryna steal my yacht aren't you?” Max huffed, tugging his hand back and crossing it against his chest other held over it protectively. Max just knew it had to be that. Sure George had been gifted his very own yacht a few months back but everyone knew George had been eyeing up his boat, he'd once asked about the model and everything.
Max just knew George was just looking for the opportunity to get his hands on it, somewhere fancier for him to stretch out shirtless and wet for his slutty selfies. Max saw that yacht picture arms outstretched behind him, head tilted back, chest glistening. He saw right through George sometimes but this was just blatant.
George laughed easily, head tilted to the side as he looked at him like he was mad. Maybe he was because despite the fact George might just be after his yacht and that he planned to divorce him in a few short weeks once they returned to Monaco —divorcing him over the holidays, with Christmas right around the corner. Cold even for George— he was considering it.
He leaned back in his chair and reached for one of the discarded shots, throwing it back with a grimace. It tasted bloody awful but the way his head fuzzed up a bit more made his shoulders relax just a little.
“Swear it, in the divorce you can keep all your stuff, I keep mine you keep yours and we go our separate ways and everything is all dandy” George offered sweetly, palm held up as an offer for Max to return his own into it. Ring still clutched between his fingers, just waiting to be slipped onto Max's. Max had never imagined a ring on his finger, neither a wedding ring or an engagement ring. The cigar band was pretty enough if it was a wedding ring but he was a little bummed there were no diamonds on it. Was he not worth a diamond ring? He'd negotiate for one. In the morning after their shotgun wedding when George was sober. He'd steal the Ipad off his bedside table and go to one of those overpriced jewellery websites and find something suitably big and suitably expensive.
“No divorce” Max murmured surprising himself a little. Maybe he was drunker than he thought, or maybe neither of them were really that drunk despite the fact they'd been doing shots together —more so playing with shot glasses and sat at a table together— the podium champagne had probably gone to his head as well.
“Huh” George hummed looking equally shocked, mouth slightly parted.
“Year, trial period, then we'll divorce” Max offered, putting his palm in George's much larger and awfully warm hand. George looked at him a moment, eyes full of curiosity and confusion before he shrugged and slipped the cigar band onto Max's ring finger. Despite being a ring George wore on his pinky that fitted him quietly snuggly, on Max it had a bit of wiggle slipping a bit on his knuckle.
“Always thought you'd wear the ring” Max admitted as he admired his finger, fixing the ring a little to fit against the webbed skin. He caught the tail-end of rolled eyes as George snorted. He looked smug as hell, arms crossed over his chest sat slouched in the wooden chair, hair ran through and tossed. cheeks twinged a light pink, maybe from the alcohol maybe because they were engaged and he was happy. Or maybe Max was just happy, weirdly content. He was getting married.
Even if it was to George Russell, in Vegas. But Max had won his fourth championship in Vegas and George had the longest and the only Vegas win streak so like this place was pretty special. Wasn't Qatar or Barcelona or Canada. But it would do.
“Why because you thought I'd be the wife?” George snickered and Max nodded
“Yeah, you'd look good in a dress” he admitted, why would he lie? Max had seen fan art of it, George in a pretty wedding dress, didn't look too bad. He had the legs and the ass for one, sadly not the tits but Max had never been much of a boob man anyway.
“You really do always say what you're thinking, don't you?” George teased as he pulled out his phone unlocking it with a swipe of his finger and a smile at the screen. Like face id wouldn't recognize him without his trademark charming grin. A moment , after a bright screen was being thrust in his face and Max was squinting at the confirmation message.
“Whats that?” he asked, pushing George's phone away from his face and squinting at the small fuzzy letters. Head slightly swaying.
“An uber, to the chapel. No Elvis sorry” George explained, pushing to his feet and slipping his phone back into his pocket, hand held out to help Max up himself.
“Oh then I'm calling it off, we need Elvis” Max teased as he placed his hand back into Georges letting the other pull him up, their feet intertwined, chests nearly pressed together as George looked down at him.
“Why don't we just bring Carlos, I think he could pass” George snickered, he wasn't wrong a little hair spray and a white suit jacket and Max wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
“Well if we bring Carlos we have to bring charles” Max laughed as Georges face filled with horror.
“Then we might as well invite everyone” he argued, Max knew where he was coming from. Charles had never kept a secret longer than five minutes and that was just because his phone had been dead and he hadn't had anyone to convince to lend him one. He'd ended up texting it to the group chat through his Nintendo switch.
“Yeah bad idea” Max conceded. The press would know before the rings went on, they'd probably be swarmed outside before Max could get down the aisle.
“Think you'll live without Elvis?” George asked suddenly very serious as though this was an actual concern and maybe if Max said no he really needed Elvis George would go hunting down the city and find him one just so he'd have what he wanted. It was that thought that told Max he might be an idiot but well he could have made a lot worse of a choice of husband.
“Yes, I really don't need Elvis,” Max promised, letting George guide him outside to get in their uber. It was bright outside, the sun was starting to rise and sure it might not be a sunset but it was close enough to ride off into.
The chapel was oddly enough quite nice. Not as fancy as he expected George would have at his actual wedding and certainly never where Max imagined getting married. He wandered down the aisle collapsing to sit in one of the pews as George sorted out the paperwork. He looked down at his phone, clutched tightly in his hand and considered messaging his sister.
He didn't know what he'd say but he did know he'd never live it down. Getting married to his rival in Vegas? Yeah he's officially lost his mind. So he kept his phone facing the floor and peered over his shoulder to where George was leaning against the tall desk. Chatting amicably with the lady as she printed out their marriage certificate and license.
She was smiling at George so sweetly, like George wasn't just a drunk idiot making one stupid life altering mistake. Except they weren't actually that drunk. Surprisingly sober, and George was charming and convincing when he wanted to be. So lovers they were, not rivals for now. Lovers, boyfriends who'd been together a few years, who couldn't be married where they lived so had come to Vegas to tie the knot. A compelling story that Max hadn't the heart to correct.
In about ten minutes though they would be husbands, and in a year's time maybe even ex husbands. Max thought with enough perseverance he could convince George to stick around a little longer. If anyone had asked Max a year ago how long a marriage between him and George would last he'd say five minutes maximum. Couldn't imagine even pretending to be married to the man, bitter at being so obvious. George didn't know him and yet he'd read him to filth with a surprising accuracy; it was like he'd reached right under Max's skin and read allowed the ugly truths he'd buried deep down.
They were too alike for their own good, max knew they were one bad race away from the divorced jokes being a reality, because they were hard headed and stubborn and spiteful. And full of envy and pride. One bad race seemed pretty damn close for Max's liking.
He turned in his seat, eyes narrowed as he looked at the small altar at the front. The flower arch that would curl over their heads. One bad race. Today was almost one bad race, a long battle of trying to get the overtake done. Failing time and time again until one lock up had come a little too close and Max hadn't just lost out on the win he lost out on standing down at Georges right in second place.
The answer seemed pretty easy, scarily so. He'd retire before it got that far. He'd retire before that one bad race could catch up to them. He could retire from f1 to race in gt3 full time. Maybe he'd do Le Mans with Fernando. Or who knows? Maybe he'd go full wag mode. Show up to every race and sit in the Mercedes garage watching the race and have his face cut to every other minute for commentators to Yap about it.
“Ready to get this show on the road” George asked, appearing behind him head dropped down, lips tracing across his neck and Max sighed a small thrill rolling down his spine as he nodded, turning and holding out his hand. George smiled and took it, pulling him to his feet, fingers interlaced.
The altar was larger than it looked tall enough it curved over George's head, and for a moment it felt kind of like the center of the universe. Quiet and peaceful and easy. George was wearing white. His too small white button up tucked into white trousers. Max was wearing all black, his skinny jeans and black Henley.
“Youre wearing white” Max teased as he rocked onto his toes pressing the quickest and briefest kiss to Georges lips.
“Yes” George nodded, looking down at his outfit slightly confused. Max reached out curling his finger around the belt loop of George's trousers.
“Youre the bride” he whispered teasingly and Georges sigh was so unamused Max couldn't help but laugh.
“Do you want to say vows?” the officiant asked, looking between them and George smiled but shook his head, teeth nipping on his teeth.
“I vow to let you use my yacht as much as you want as long as you don't steal it?” Max joked and George nodded slightly teary eyed but brimming with excitement. Max kind of wanted him to cry a little. He'd cried at every raving milestone of his, marriage seemed like a suitable milestone to get a bit teary over.
“I vow not to steal your yacht, but the cats I will steal” George conceded, and it sounded quite domestic. If you were none the wiser George had never met his cats.
“You can have sassy” Max offered, as he reached down and pulled a simple gold band off George's finger and held it in his palm.
“Ah she loves me better anyway” George whispered as he slipped the cigar band off his finger and Max already mourned the weight of it. He blinked away the weird mistiness in his eyes turning to look at the officiant. Her soft warm smile dul of joy and happiness for them. For what she assumed was a genuine couple in love and not two shams.
“George, do you take Max Emillian Verstappen to be your lawfully wedded husband?” she asked softly and George turned to him eyes focused as he nodded.
“Yes”
“Do you promise to love and to cherish him, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, for better and for worse, so long as you both shall live?” Max felt breathless as he waited, he knew George would say yeah but god damn that sounded a little serious. Kind of like marriage. Which wasn't not a harmless little joke.
“I do” George said smiling easily, like this was so easy.
“Max, do you take George William Russell to be your lawfully—”
“Yes” Max said before shed even gotten through the first letter.
“To be your lawfully wedded husband, do you promise to love and to cherish him, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, for better and for worse, so long as you both shall live?” she asked and Max didn't hesitate.
“I really fucking do” Max admitted. That sounded pretty nice.
“Language” George teased as he leaned in noses pressed together.
“Sorry” Max whispered though he didn't feel particularly sorry.
“By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I pronounce you husband and husband, you may now kiss” Max had leaned in before she’d said power lips sealed over Georges hands reached up to wrap around Georges neck. He pulled back a second later laughing loudly.
“Holy shit were married, Kimi is gonna be so mad we didn't invite him”