Chapter 1: Meet and Greet
Chapter Text
The night club was dark, the strobe lights and green lasers bouncing off the walls the only illumination in the venue, other than the emergency lights on the walls. Everything from the ground to the glasses on the bar top was vibrating slightly from a combination of the deep bass booming from the DJ booth and the mass of people stomping on the dance floor. It gave the whole place the kind of anonymity that Charles craved, a chance to be just another body in a sea of people.
As the DJ dropped another beat and the music reverberated in his bones, Charles’ eyes roamed around the room, his tongue chasing the little straw in his glass before he managed to close his lips around it. He slowly sipped his drink while bobbing his head to the music, watching the undulating bodies jealously.
The indecent dancing going on was Charles’ favorite kind and he, sadly, rarely got to indulge in it. The last time he’d tried, Andrea had stormed into the middle of the dance floor and ripped the guy off him while Alessandro manhandled Charles out the back door of the club despite his very loud, very angry protests. He’d then endured a twenty-minute lecture from Andrea about how it was inappropriate for a prince of Monaco to be grinding up against someone in the middle of a crowded club.
His security detail could be so fucking annoying sometimes. He never got to have any fun.
Craning his neck and using the wrung of the barstool as a steppingstone, Charles stood up and looked over the dancing swarm, grinning when he spotted Sebastian with a couple of British airmen. His squadron leader’s hands were waving around wildly and Charles snorted when he recognized a particular gesture, knowing immediately that Seb was describing their aerial mission over Poland last year when they’d run into a hostile near the border and had chased it off.
He watched, amused, as Sebastian’s drink nearly splashed out of the glass as he threw his head back in laughter. Charles knew from past experience that a couple more drinks and his superior officer would be crossing the threshold from tipsy to drunk. And then Charles would have to make the difficult decision to either sacrifice his own fun to help the man back to the hotel or let him deal with the consequences of his actions.
Sadly, Charles owed Sebastian too much to ever leave him hanging like that.
“Here you go, sweetie,” someone behind him said, and Charles turned around to look at the bartender as she placed another Moscow mule in front of him.
Charles stared at the drink suspiciously for a moment before he looked back at the bartender. “I didn’t order that.”
She smiled slyly. “I know. But he did,” she said, pointing to the other end of the bar.
Charles leaned over to follow the direction of her finger and promptly choked on his spit, nearly braining himself on the wooden bartop when he realized who the woman was gesturing to.
There, not four meters from him, was Max fucking Verstappen.
Charles flushed from head to toe as Max smiled at him and raised his bottle of beer. Ignoring the glass by his elbow, Charles raised his own half-finished drink, mirroring the gesture and winking at him before he took a small sip through the straw. He spluttered into the drink when Max winked back and then started to make his way to him. Quickly, Charles dabbed his chin with a napkin and schooled his face into one of quiet confidence.
This was no big deal. He could be normal about this. He refused to be that person who couldn’t handle talking to their crush. Never mind that he’d never met the Formula 1 World Champion in person or that this particular crush had been going on since he’d first seen a skinny Max on the top step of the podium in Brazil.
The DJ dropped the beat just as Max reached him, and Charles wasn’t sure if the goosebumps on his skin were because of the shift in the music or the shift in the air as the Dutchman leaned on the bar a few centimeters from him, his beer clinking softly against the wood. He was dressed in what appeared to be his usual clubbing outfit, if social media was to be believed: a black shirt and those dreaded skinny jeans. Though, Charles noted with relief, there was no sign of a cap anywhere.
“Hi. I’m Max,” he said, extending his hand.
His accent was as cute in person as it was on television.
Non, Charles. Don’t be weird. Focus.
“Hi,” he replied, grasping Max’s hand and desperately trying not to automatically catalogue everything about it. “I’m Charles.”
“Charles,” Max mused, repeating his name like he was testing it out on his tongue. “That’s a beautiful accent. Are you French?”
Charles bristled. “French? French?”
Max leaned back slightly at his outburst and Charles forced himself to take a deep calming breath.
Okay. So, Max clearly had no idea who he was. That… Charles could work with that.
“No. I am not French,” he spit out despite his best intention not to get defensive about it. Oh well, Charles would never apologize for this; it was, after all, a point of pride. “I am Monégasque.”
“Oh!” Max perked up, his smile wide. “I live in Monaco. Where about are you from?”
“Um… Actually, I do live in France now, most of the time,” Charles replied sheepishly.
Max chortled softly. “Must be tough, living behind enemy lines.”
A small giggle escaped him before Charles could stop it, and Max beamed at the noise. “It is not so bad,” Charles said, shrugging and twirling the small straw in his drink. “At least the food is good.”
“That’s true, I suppose,” Max mused. “I am not that big of a fan. I am Dutch, you see, so I usually find French food to be too pretentious.”
“Oh, no! The best kind is the simple fare, like the salami and brie sandwich from the boulangerie near my house.”
“Hmm,” Max hummed. “Yes, I’m sure all those salamis are quite filling,” he commented teasingly. “Especially the fresh thick ones,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and deliberately roving his eyes over Charles’ body, clicking his tongue appreciatively.
Gasping softly, Charles stared at Max and barked out a startled laugh at the double entendre, lightly swatting the blond on the bicep. “You did not just mean what I think you did!”
“What? Do you not like salami?” Max asked innocently but with a devilish smile. “I think they’re pretty good. One of my favorite types of meat. But maybe you prefer some nice, warm, gooey brie?”
“Stop!” Charles wheezed, his hand covering his mouth to muffle his giggles.
“Or maybe it is like you said, the best kind is perhaps a little bit of both sandwiched between a crispy baguette?”
“Mon Dieu!” Charles exclaimed, trying desperately not to blush. “You are absolutely filthy.”
Tipping his head back to take a swing of his beer, Max grinned around the bottle, looking at Charles through his lashes. Charles followed the movement, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, his eyes staring at Max’s Adam’s apple. He desperately wanted to bite it.
“You haven’t answered my question, though,” Max pointed out, nudging his beer bottle against Charles’ glass.
Shaking his head to dispel the thought, Charles couldn’t help but be impressed at the absolute confidence of this man. It was incredibly hot.
He hummed, poking at the melting ice in his empty glass. “Salami is much better than brie,” he replied, winking at Max.
“Well, that’s lucky for me that we both enjoy the same,” Max murmured, reaching over to brush his fingers against the collar of Charles’ black shirt.
Inhaling sharply and trying hard not to shiver as fingers teased over his skin, Charles glanced over Max’s shoulder at Andrea who had started to walk toward them. With his free hand, Charles made a sharp, two-fingered gesture at him, ordering his head of security to stay back. He started lightly when Max’s fingers gently brushed over a nipple, his large hand trailing down the front of his shirt, and his eyes snapped back to look into an intense blue gaze.
“This is a very nice shirt,” Max said, his fingers still brushing over the fabric.
It was one of his favorite shirts when he went out, a black shirt with holes in a symmetrical pattern that left just enough to the imagination without being indecent if he was photographed by paparazzi. Charles smiled coyly and grabbed Max’s wandering hand, twisting their fingers together and slowly pulling the hand off him.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “It is disappointing that I cannot repay the compliment.”
The loud, surprised cackling from Max made Charles preen. He’d only ever heard this laugh when watching edits of his streams, and he couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pride that he’d managed to tease it from him multiple times now.
“So,” Max said, leaning slightly closer, an elbow resting on the bar. “Did I get your drink order wrong?”
“What?” Charles asked, bewildered by the non sequitur.
Max nodded toward the untouched drink on the bar. “Your drink is empty, but you haven’t once looked at the one I ordered for you. If you want something else, I’d be happy to pay for it.”
“Oh, uh, no. I mean, I’m sure it’s fine. I just, um, I think I am done drinking for the night.”
“A responsible drinker. That’s refreshing. Are you here alone, Charles?”
I can be normal about this, Charles thought dazedly, automatically trying to take a sip of said empty drink and inhaling nothing but air.
Now that Max was so much closer, his spicy cologne wafted around Charles, making him a little dizzy with how good it smelled. Surreptitiously, he glanced toward where he’d last seen Sebastian but belatedly realized that Max had followed his gaze. He panicked when Max frowned at him and started to straighten up, the playfulness in his eyes dimming.
“Oh, I’m sorry if I—”
“No!” Before he could even think about it, Charles reached out and gripped Max’s forearm tightly. “No,” repeated, softer this time. “I’m here with friends.”
Max tensed and looked at him for a few moments before he slowly relaxed back against the bar. “Just friends?” he asked, that playful glint slowly returning to his eyes.
“Yes. Well, coworkers who also happen to be friends,” Charles said, his hand slipping from Max’s forearm to rest on the counter, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“And they just abandoned someone as pretty as you in this shark infested club?” Max tutted, his pinky slowly nudging Charles’ own before his fingers brushed over Charles’ bare forearms and glided over the cuff of his rolled up sleeve.
“Are you one of those sharks, Max?” Charles asked, trying not to shiver at the touch.
Max’s smile morphed into a predatory grin and he leaned over until his lips were practically brushing the outer shell of Charles’ ear. “Would you like me to be?”
Inhaling deeply, Charles couldn’t stop his shudder this time as hot breath brushed over his skin, and he stopped breathing altogether when the fingers glided over his exposed collarbones. The intensity of Max’s stare made Charles feel wanted in a way he’d rarely experienced, and a hot flash of arousal shot through him like lightning.
“Yes,” he rasped, and Max’s wicked smile made Charles weak in the knees.
“Dance with me?” Max asked, an odd mix of hopefulness and cockiness in his voice.
There was really only ever going to be one answer to that question. “Yes.”
Max grinned triumphantly and took a couple steps back, pulling Charles along to the dance floor. There was a low thrum of panic echoing in the back of Charles’ head telling him that his pathetic dance moves would somehow jeopardize his one, golden opportunity to be with Max fucking Verstappen. But he decided to ignore it in favor of watching the muscles of Max’s back ripple under his shirt as Charles followed behind.
Once they reached the dance floor, Max twirled him around until they were face to face, both hands resting on his waist. Feeling uncharacteristically like a pre-teen at their first school dance, Charles shyly put his hands on Max’s shoulders and let him take the lead. The Dutchman swayed them to the beat, his hands gently guiding Charles’ body along.
But even with his guidance, Charles felt stiff and uncomfortable, his eyes locked on the floor while he tried his best not to step on Max or anyone else’s feet. This was entirely too reminiscent of the time his parents had forced him to learn ballroom dancing, which he’d managed after years of lessons, but just barely.
“Hey,” Max said softly, his lips brushing the shell of Charles’ ear.
Charles snapped his head up and froze in place, wincing slightly when Max’s foot stepped on the outside of his sneakers. “Sorry,” Charles apologized, shuffling slightly backward.
“No, that’s okay,” Max reassured him, but Charles could see the mirth in his eyes. “Just… Stop thinking about it.” One of the hands on Charles’ waist squeezed him lightly.
“I suck at dancing,” he laughed self-deprecatingly. “I always look ridiculous.”
“That’s literally impossible,” Max said bluntly. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Charles flushed from head to toe, his chest feeling tight and warm at the compliment. He knew he was good looking—had had more than one partner tell him he was the hottest person they’d ever slept with—but it felt different coming from Max. It felt sincere, like he wasn’t just saying it to get into Charles’ pants, but because, to him, that was just a fact.
“Come on, relax for me,” Max murmured. “Just move your hips, like this,” he instructed, big hands sliding down to the top of Charles’ hips and swaying them to the music.
Charles stared at their feet as Max moved them from side to side, his hands still rocking Charles’ hips. An amused huff was the only warning Charles got before the Dutchman grabbed one the hands resting on Max’s shoulders and twirled him around, snapping him out into the dance floor before he reeled him back in.
A small, surprised sound escaped his lips when Charles found his back leaning against Max’s chest, arm now crossed over his waist. Max rocked them from side to side a couple of times, his face so close Charles could feel his breaths against his nape. And then the room spun again, Max twirling him and bringing him back to his original position, fingers twisting around Charles’ and bringing his hand between their chests.
Mind still reeling at what’d just happened, Charles stared dumbfounded at Max’s amused expression.
“Just focus on me. Who cares if we look silly. They all do,” the blond said, jerking his head toward the group of people next to them who were jumping around, their arms waving above their heads as they bellowed the lyrics to the song. “Come on, Charles, have some fun.”
“Yeah, okay,” Charles replied bashfully, biting his lower lip when Max smiled beatifically at him.
From there, it was a swirl of colors and laughter and silly, flirty touches. Charles followed Max’s lead, one of his hands on Charles’ hips while the other slowly migrated to Charles’ waist. Taking advantage of that, Charles looped his arms around Max’s neck, occasionally brushing his fingers over the short hairs at his nape.
As he got more comfortable and stopped worrying about the people around them, Charles moved closer until his cheek rested on Max’s shoulder, his nose nearly brushing the hollow of the man's throat. He inhaled deeply and held the scent of Max’s cologne in his lungs for as long as he could before he exhaled softly.
Max’s hands slowly glided to his hips and then back up, worming their way under his shirt. The brunette shivered, Max’s warm hands pressing into his skin and bringing them even closer until they were chest to chest, their hips neatly slotting together.
“Okay?” Max asked softly, and Charles nodded, his face practically hidden in Max’s neck.
Max rocked them gently, the glide of their hips a teasing pressure on Charles’ groin, and he bit his lower lip to stop himself from making any noises. Gathering his courage, Charles pecked Max’s throat, a small smile crossing his lips when Max’s fingers spasmed on his back and he tilted his head just slightly to give him more room.
Gladly accepting the silent invitation, Charles pressed closer and softly kissed Max’s skin, humming appreciatively at the salty taste that lingered there. He trailed a few light kisses up and down his neck, amazed at the absolute brick wall of muscle under his mouth. Max pressed his hands harder into his back, and Charles groaned faintly when his nails scratched his skin.
“Charles,” Max breathed softly, and the Monégasque suppressed the smugness rising in his chest at having Max utter his name like some sort of prayer.
Unable to resist the temptation, Charles tentatively licked the skin beneath his lips but stopped when Max tensed under him. He started to pull back but stopped when Max pulled him back in.
“Max? What is it?” Charles asked hesitantly, inhaling sharply when Max’s hands slid down to his ass.
“Don’t stop,” Max replied, grabbing a handful of Charles’ cheeks and squeezed.
The pressure made Charles rise slightly on his toes and he quickly glanced to the side to see Andrea already moving toward them again, his eyes fixed on where Max was groping him. With one hand, he signaled for Andrea to stay where he was and glared at him for good measure. There was no way he was going to let his head of security cockblock him tonight.
Once he was sure the Italian had heeded his order, he resumed his slow exploration of Max’s neck. When he reached the spot just under his jaw, he added just a hint of teeth and grinned when Max shivered. Utterly distracted by the shaky exhales coming from the driver, Charles failed to notice that one of Max’s hands had wandered back up, and he gasped when it closed around his hair and firmly pulled him back.
He had just enough time to get a glimpse of Max’s eyes, the pupils blown wide and the iris dark blue like a stormy ocean, before the Dutchman crashed their lips together. His mouth immediately opened under Max’s, and he groaned into the kiss at the first hint of his tongue, melting into Max and gripping the back of his head to bring them closer.
Over and over, Max kissed him: soft kitten kisses on the corner of his mouth; deep, hungry kisses that stole Charles’ breath away; wet, messy kisses with their tongues clashing against each other. Charles’ heart rate matched the pulsing beat of the music while they made out in the middle of the packed dance floor, his body instinctively following the movements of Max’s hips as they continued to sway.
Charles lost track of time, his mind too focused on chasing after Max to pay attention to his surroundings.
A small whimper escaped him when the driver slowly pulled back, only to be replaced with a sharp gasp when he latched onto Charles’ neck. Instinctively, the brunette tilted his head and groaned when Max's teeth lightly grazed the sensitive spot under his jaw, his hips reflexively grinding into Max’s to relieve the mounting pressure in his groin.
Between his time in the Armée de l’Air as a fighter pilot and his duties as one of the princes of Monaco, Charles was rarely caught off guard or fazed by unexpected situations. But even he had to admit that there was something utterly fantastical about finding himself making out with his celebrity crush in the middle of a packed club somewhere in downtown London.
Closing his eyes against the dizzying feeling of being surrounded by Max, Charles pulled the blond off him and leaned forward so he could rest his forehead on Max’s shoulder, his breath hitching in his chest.
“Hey,” Max whispered, warm breath tickling over Charles’ forehead and making him shiver. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Charles replied hoarsely, his throat dry and his heart squeezing in his chest as Max nuzzled his hairline and pressed a soft kiss against his temple.
The strobe lights and thumping music made everything feel untethered from reality, and Charles concentrated instead on Max’s rapid breathing and thrumming heartbeat. The Red Bull driver pulled him closer, like he was trying to make himself a home inside Charles’ skin, and the thought of it made him feel hot and needy.
The whiplash between Max trying to devour him one second and sweetly holding him the next was driving Charles crazy. It just made him want more. It made him crave more.
“I want you,” he murmured, the words escaping his mouth before he could stop them.
Max pulled just slightly away, but before Charles could panic one of his big hands cupped Charles’ jaw until he was looking him. “You what?”
Flushing bright red, Charles tried to turn his face away but Max didn’t let him, both of his hands now holding him still, thumbs running over the apple of his cheeks. The stare made something warm and gooey pool in the pit of his stomach, and Charles bit his lip nervously, sweat gathering at his hairline and slowly trickling down the side of his face.
He could do this. He could be brave and tell Max exactly what he wanted. After all, what did he have to lose?
“I want you to fuck me,” Charles said, his voice firm and resolute in his desire.
“Shit,” Max growled, the hands on his cheeks tightening slightly. “Really?”
Charles nodded, green eyes blazing as he stared into Max’s blue ones. And when Max bit his lip, his gaze roaming over Charles’ face like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, Charles surged forward, mouth crashing into Max’s. This time, Charles took control of the kiss, teeth biting into a plush lower lip and tongue licking into Max’s mouth until they were both panting.
As he pulled away, Charles couldn’t help flicking his tongue at Max’s lip freckle and smiled at the small groan from Max.
“Does that answer your question?” Charles asked smugly.
“Yeah, okay,” Max said breathlessly. “My place or yours?”
Charles bit his lip and flushed when he thought about the opulent hotel room waiting for him, as well as the security detail waiting outside the club and back at the hotel. Fuck, he was going to have to talk Andrea into letting him do this.
“Yours. But I need to let my friends know where I’m going. Where are you staying?”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Overprotective, much, are they?” he asked, one hand pushing Charles’ sweaty hair off his forehead and bringing him in for another breath-stealing kiss.
Charles let him, opening his mouth instantly and groaning at the feel of Max’s tongue. He inhaled shakily when Max pulled back and fought the instinct to follow his mouth to kiss him again.
Focus Charles. This is like any other mission. Focus.
“Yeah,” he panted and took a small step back. “Something like that.”
Max hummed, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “I’m staying at the Ritz.”
Oh! Charles grinned widely at that. If Max was staying at the same hotel, that would make it much easier to convince Andrea to let him do this. It’s not like it would inconvenience his security detail; the hotel had already been cleared and half of them were already there anyway. Plus, Charles wasn't going off with some random person—this was Max Verstappen. He wasn’t going to have to worry about the driver ratting him out to the press.
Charles leaned in and kissed Max lightly. “Great. I’ll let them know. Where should I meet you?”
“I’ll go get my car. Meet me by the valet stand?”
Charles nodded and started to walk to where he’d last seen Andrea, but grunted when a hand closed over his wrist and pulled him back around. He gasped in surprise, lips parting when Max crashed their lips together, his tongue hot and wet in the prince's mouth. Charles closed his fists in his shirt and hung on for dear life, his hips moving of their own volition as the fire in his belly spread. It ended as fast as it had started, Max gently pushing him back and taking a couple steps away from him.
“Just making sure you don’t change your mind,” he said, winking at Charles and then shouldering his way through the crowd.
Charles stood frozen for a few more seconds, puffing heavily, before he pivoted and squeezed himself between the crush of bodies on the dance floor, making his way to Andrea as quickly as possible. Because if his head of security didn’t let him go through with this, he’d need to figure out a way to lose him in the crowd. He’d gladly risk the wrath of his parents when they eventually found out he’d snuck out and ditched his security for a chance at spending the night with Max.
Because he would do it. This was Max Verstappen. No one who knew him would fault him for this lapse in judgment.
“Hi, Andrea,” he said sweetly when he finally reached the man. He batted his eyes at him and forced himself to smile innocently.
“Hello, You Serene Highness,” the Italian replied, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at his charge.
“So, I met Max Verstappen.”
Andrea stared at him impassively.
“Thanks for not interfering while we were… dancing.”
“Is that what the kids call that these days?”
Charles squirmed a little. Andrea had been his head of security since he was thirteen, and he’d gotten Charles out of innumerable situations, bearing witness to his lowest of lows and his highest of highs. More often than not, Charles had no shame left to feel when it came to the man seeing him in compromising positions.
But this time felt different, and Charles could feel himself flushing at the dig.
“Um,” Charles mumbled, embarrassed. “So, Max asked me to go back with him. To his hotel. Together.”
One singular and perfectly styled eyebrow went up.
“He’s staying at the Ritz. That's—Since it’s the same hotel as mine, it should be pretty easy, right? We can,” the second eyebrow went up, “you can coordinate with the team, right?”
Andrea stared at him silently, his steely brown eyes sweeping over Charles and stopping at his neck. He narrowed his gaze and Charles slapped a hand over where Max had been sucking, wincing at the slight ache.
“If I say no, you’ll just sneak out behind my back and do it anyway,” Andrea said, and Charles noted with dismay that it wasn't even a question.
Was he really that's transparent?
“What?” he scoffed weakly, forcing himself to look his head of security directly in the eyes. “I would never. I know better than to try and—”
“Charles.”
Charles snapped his mouth shut. He shuffled from side to side and looked away.
Andrea sighed exasperatedly. “I already radioed the team to let them know to be ready to move out.”
Charles flushed so red he thought he’d spontaneously caught on fire. Yes, apparently he was that transparent.
“This at least makes it easier, and I can tell them to stand down,” Andrea continued, clearly enjoying watching Charles squirm in embarrassment. “I’ll be in the car following you, and I’ll post a couple of guards near the door while you’re in there. I don’t need to remind you of the protocol, yes?”
“I remember,” Charles choked out, praying for this torture to end.
Andrea smiled knowingly. “Go. Tell Sebastian the wonderful news. I'll see you later.”
“Thanks, Andrea,” Charles said, smiling so wide he thought his face would split open.
“Use a condom!” Andrea shouted after him as he started to make his way to Sebastian and the Brits.
“Ew, don’t be gross!” he yelled back and ran off before he could hear Andrea’s response.
Walking around the perimeter of the club, he craned his neck, looking for Seb and their British counterparts and hoping they weren't on the dance floor. He sighed in relief when he spotted them in a corner and sprinted the rest of the way, skidding to a halt right in front of his squadron leader with a shit eating grin.
Sebastian took one look at him and rolled his eyes. “We got here two hours ago. You cannot not possibly have already picked up someone.”
Charles smiled so widely his cheeks hurt.
“Did you at least get his name this time?” Sebastian asked and Jacob and Elliot wolf whistled.
Charles bit his lip, hesitant to say. Sebastian and his whole unit knew about his crush on Max since he literally never shut up about it, even during the off season. And while he was forever grateful that they were so accepting of him, he knew that he’d never hear the end of it if they knew he was about to have a one-stand with the F1 champion.
“Wait,” Elliot said, looking over at the dance floor. “Are you going to go fuck that guy you were dancing with? He was pretty good looking.”
“Oh?” Sebastian asked. “What guy? When was this?”
“You were in the bathroom. Charlie here was practically having sex with him on the dance floor.”
“Oh my God, Elliot!” Charles cried, punching the airman in the shoulder. “I was not.”
Sebastian leered at Charles. “And what did this good-looking man look like?”
“Actually, he looked a lot like Max Verstappen,” Jacob mused. “The F1 driver. I don't know if you watch that.”
Sebastian’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his receding hairline and Charles silently prayed that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
“I know who that is,” the German said, eyes locked on Charles.
“But that’s ridiculous,” Jacob scoffed, not noticing the sudden tension between Charles and Seb. “What the fuck would Max Verstappen be doing in London in the middle of January?”
Sebastian stared at Charles, who, for his part, refused to look up.
“Anyway, I’m gonna go,” Charles finally managed to squeak out and Sebastian grinned slyly. Charles shrunk a little at the look. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, Sebastian. Thanks for the night out, boys,” Charles said to Elliot and Jacob, giving each of them a one-armed hug and a pat on the back. “It’s always a pleasure doing these training missions with you.”
“Have fun, Perceval,” Elliot teased, winking at him.
“Yes, Percy,” Sebastian drawled, and Charles immediately regretted looking his way. “Have fun.”
Charles started walking backward and gave Sebastian the middle finger before he turned around and sprinted to the exit, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the German wasn’t following him. As he made his way toward the entrance, he saw Alessandro by the door and clapped him on the shoulder, grabbing his jacket from him and exiting the club. Pausing at the threshold, he breathed in the cold night air, shivering at the drying sweat on his skin.
He glanced around and whistled softly when he spotted Max leaning against a black Mercedes-AMG GT 4-door. “Damn, Max,” he said, reverently running his hands over the hood of the car. “Is this yours?”
With a flourish, the blond opened the passenger door for him and gestures him in. “No, it’s a rental.”
Smiling devilishly, Charles ignore the invitation and instead bracketed him against the car. “Does this mean we can have some fun in it and get it dirty?”
Max stared at Charles hungrily for a second, like he was debating whether to kiss him, before he placed a hand on Charles’ hip and spun them around, gently guiding Charles into the car. He leaned over once the Monégasque was seated and turned his face toward him so he could kiss him, his tongue gliding over Charles’ lips once before he pulled away.
“No. I don’t want to pay extra for the cleaning.”
Charles snorted and bit back his retort that Max was a millionaire and could afford the cleaning fee. If Max hadn't recognized him, Charles didn’t want the man to know that he knew who he was.
He didn’t want him to think that he was only sleeping with him for the fame of saying that he’d fucked the reigning Formula 1 World Champion. If this was going to be his one and only chance to sleep with Max Verstappen, the man of his literal dreams, then Charles was not going to risk fucking this up for himself.
Max slid into his seat effortlessly and Charles immediately placed a hand on his thigh and squeezed. As the blond navigated them through London’s busy streets, Charles slowly and methodically slid his hand higher, his bitten nails scratching lightly at the fabric of his pants. Max’s breath stuttered when Charles nestled his hand in the crease of his inner thigh, and he grinned when a large hand closed over his and pushed it back down toward his knee. He tried to slide it back up, but Max tightened his grip and glared at him.
Giggling quietly, Charles left his hand where it was, fingers slowly tapping against the muscle, his lips twitching in amusement every time Max’s thigh flexed under it. It was a fantastic ego boost to know that Charles could rile up even F1’s sexiest driver with just a touch of his hand. By the time they got to the hotel, Max was definitely half-hard and Charles couldn’t stop staring at his outline.
“Hey.” Max’s voice snapped Charles out of it, and he tore his gaze away. “You gonna get out or…”
Beyond the windshield, the lights of the hotel entrance cast a soft glow against the façade of the building. A soft click startled him and Charles glanced over to see a valet holding Max’s door open, the man’s eyes wide as he stared at them.
Charles hoped to God that it was because he was an F1 fan and he had recognized Max. Charles, as royalty of another country, tended to fly under the radar in England where they really only cared about their own royal family, if at all.
Scrambling out of the car, the prince spotted Andrea making his way into the hotel while Ale loitered near the entrance, his sharp blue eyes glancing at Charles briefly before roving over the area, assessing it for any threats. Charles rounded the car quickly and followed Max into the lobby, his fingers brushing Max’s with every swing of their arms, until they reached the elevator. As the doors closed in front of them, Charles caught Ale’s wink and grin, and flushed a bright red.
“Hey,” Max said, bumping their shoulders together. “All good?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Charles asked, confused.
“If you changed your mind—”
“What?” Charles balked. “Why would I have—what makes you think I changed my mind?”
Max shrugged and, for the first time since he’d looked at Charles from across the bar, he looked… vulnerable. Uncertain. Almost shy. It was mindboggling to Charles that Max Verstappen of all people could look like that, but Charles knew better than most that famous people, even F1 World Champions, could be brought down by self-doubt and insecurities.
That just wouldn’t do.
That just wouldn’t do at all.
Charles crowded Max against the elevator mirror, framed his face with both hands, and kissed him. He started out slow, his tongue flicking out to coax Max’s soft lips open. As soon they parted, Charles dove in, tasting the gin tonic that still lingered on the breath as he slid his tongue over the driver’s teeth and the roof of his mouth.
He pressed closer, his hands sliding from his cheeks to the back of his head to thread his fingers in his hair. Max groaned into the kiss and opened his mouth wider, his tongue pushing against Charles’, his breaths short and loud in the enclosed space. Charles let his full weight press Max into the wall, moaning softly when the Dutchman grabbed a handful of his ass.
The ding of the elevator door opening snapped him back to reality and Charles pulled back slightly, chest heaving, and smiling smugly at Max’s disheveled state. He leaned in and gave the blond one last kiss before exiting the elevator.
“Still think I’ve changed my mind?” he asked, one hand extended toward the Dutchman.
Max licked his lips and grinned wildly, accepting Charles’ proffered hand and pulling the prince behind him as they ran toward his room, the carpet muffling their footsteps.
The locked door rattled behind him when the blond pushed Charles against it and kissed him, tongue and teeth driving Charles crazy. Smirking into the kiss, the brunette snaked a hand into Max’s back pocket and pulled out the room key, tapping his prize gently against Max’s forehead until he pulled off.
Max blinked at the card owlishly before a small, amused smirk pulled at his lips. “Eager, are we?”
“Yes,” Charles replied bluntly, green eyes dark with desire.
He couldn’t help the smug feeling at the way Max’s pupils dilated and his chest hitched.
They stumbled into the room, Max’s big hands immediately pushing Charles’ jacket off his shoulders and worming their way under his shirt. The prince raised his arms obediently when Max tugged his shirt up and off him, and he immediately went for the man’s jeans, snapping the buttons open and pushing them down while Max pulled off his own shirt.
“Beautiful,” Charles purred, looking at Max’s half-hard erection and the wet patch at the top of his underwear.
He wrapped a hand around it and squeezed it gently, enjoying Max's soft gasp and the dusting of pink blooming across his cheeks. Glancing up through his lashes, Charles’ lips stretched into a lascivious smile as he ran his thumb over the head. Slowly, he walked backwards, pulling Max along by his elastic band until his knees hit the bed. Letting him go, the Monégasque pulled off his underwear and spun the driver around, pushing him down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Slowly, he bent over and pulled Max’s legs apart so he could kneel between them.
Goosebumps erupted over Max’s skin as Charles ran his fingers up his leg, leaning forward to trail a series of kisses over the sensitive skin of the blond’s inner thigh. He nuzzled into the crease, Max’s musky scent overwhelming in the best way, and turned his head so he could lick the shaft from base to head before taking it into his mouth.
The sounds Max made when he slid down his cock drove Charles crazy and he wished, for one insane second, that he could bite Max’s neck and tease his nipples all while sucking his cock. Slowly, he swirled his tongue and bobbed his head a little, never pulling out more than halfway before he slid back down, sucking and licking thoroughly until Max was dripping wet.
Wrapping his hand around the base, Charles breathed through his nose and slid down, stopping when Max’s cock nudged the back of his throat. He kept it there for a few seconds while he worked at relaxing his throat and then slid him past his gag reflex.
“Ah! Charles!” Max groaned, knuckles turning white with how tightly he was gripping the sheets.
A shiver ran down Charles’s back at the sound and he glanced up at Max through his lashes. The intensity of the driver’s stare shot heat straight to his cock, spurring him on to take a little more of Max and sucked deeply. The loud gasp and moan from above him had him preening, and he closed his eyes in anticipation when he felt a broad hand resting on his head. But then Max didn’t do anything, and Charles frowned a little, slowly pulling off with a small pop.
“You can pull on my hair,” he said hoarsely. “I like it.”
“Fuck!” Max cried and tightened his hold on Charles’ scalp when the brunette went down on him again, taking him in until his lips brushed his pubic hair.
A pleasant, tingling sensation bloomed in Charles’ brain at the weight of Max on his tongue and the width of him down his throat, making him a little dizzy. He held his breath and swallowed around Max, enjoying the man's tiny pants and whines while he lightly pulled on Charles’ hair. The feeling sent a shiver down his spine and he moaned, sucking a little harder when Max did it again, scratching blunt nails against his scalp.
They fell into a rhythm, Charles taking Max down until his lips rested against his pelvis, hands spasming where they rested on Max’s thick thighs and only pulling back when he ran out of breath.
And then, Max’s breathing hitched and Charles looked up through his lashes, admiring the width of his neck as he threw his head back and let out a long, lewd moan. Charles pulled back a little until just the head of Max’s dick was in his mouth and grinned around it when Max bucked his hips up.
“Shit, sorry,” Max gasped, clearly trying to get himself under control.
The thought of Max losing control like that was so hot that Charles had to let go of him so he could rest his forehead against Max’s thigh, one of his hands pressing down on his own still clothed cock to alleviate the building ache. He moaned loudly, sucking on the soft inner skin of the thick thigh. A hand brushed his sweaty hair back and gently gripped the back of his head, pulling him off and forcing his head back.
The hungry expression in Max’s eyes lit a fire in Charles’ belly.
“I want you to fuck me,” Charles rasped, sitting up on his knees, his hands running over Max’s thighs and gripping them tightly as he stared into stormy blue eyes.
“Fuck, come here,” Max ordered, pulling on the prince’s forearms until he was standing between his knees, hands resting on the waistband of is jeans. “Get these off. Come on,”
With trembling hands, Charles fumbled with the buttons and zipper, hissing when the fabric dragged against his sensitive cock. He toed off his shoes and managed to get his jeans off without falling on his ass, and then froze at the sight of Max kneeling on the bed, his ass on full display while he reached over to grab the lube and condom from the nightstand.
Putain. Non, Charles. Focus.
He hastily folded his clothes and put them on a chair, scrambling onto the bed just as Max flipped around so he was lying on his back. Straddling his lap, Charles leaned over and kissed him thoroughly, groaning at the feeling of their erections sliding against each other.
“Shit, you’re so pretty,” Max murmured against his lips and Charles gasped when a large hand closed over his cock, pumping it once before the thumb swiped over the head, gathering the precum there and popping it in the blond’s mouth.
Growling at the sight, he kissed Max deeply, his tongue licking into the hot mouth, chasing after his own taste. Broad hands rested on his thighs, fingers curling into the muscle as Charles kissed and licked his way down the blond’s jaw to the junction of his neck and shoulder. He sucked and bit on the sensitive skin until Max started to rock his hips, their cocks rubbing together between their bellies.
The spastic clenches of Max’s hands around his thighs spurred him on and Charles kissed his broad chest until he reached the hollow of his throat. He delighted in the softs gasps spilling from the man’s mouth, nibbling at the sensitive flesh and ground their erections together.
The broad hands on his thighs twitched and trailed up toward his ass, but Charles stopped them in their tracks. With a firm grip on Max’s wrists, he slowly pulled the hands off him and down by the Dutchman’s head.
“Stay,” Charles ordered, pressing down.
Max blinked at him owlishly for a second before a slow, amused grin pulled across his lips. “Stay?”
“Don’t move,” Charles asserted again, weight pressing down on Max’s wrists as blue eyes crinkled at the corners.
Max huffed softly. “So, what? I’m not allowed to touch you?”
“I want you to just lie there and look pretty,” Charles teased, his breath ghosting over swollen lips.
Once he was satisfied that the driver wouldn’t move, the Monégasque reached for the lube resting by the pillow and sat back, popping the bottle open and rubbing some on his index. He sat up a little and reached back, wet finger tracing his hole. Breathing deeply, he slowly pressed the pad of his finger against his sphincter until he breached it, his eyes locked onto Max’s.
Slowly, Charles pushed in, pausing occasionally to breathe and get used to the stretch. Tiny huffs of air escaped him as he slowly pumped his finger in and out until he was knuckles deep. His abs tightened, heat pooling in his stomach at the dark, hungry look in Max’s blue eyes.
His ass clenched involuntarily around his finger and he groaned softly, eyelids fluttering a few times. With hurried, jerky movements, Charles pulled his finger out and fumbled with the lube bottle, his wet and sweaty hands unable to grip it properly.
“Need some help?” Max asked.
Charles bristled at the amused little smirk still firmly plastered on his face. “Non,” he snapped. “I can do it on my own, thank you very much,” he huffed haughtily, and gasped when the bottle nearly slipped from his hands again.
“Of course you can,” Max drawled and swung his arms back behind his head.
Glaring at his condescending pompous attitude, Charles angrily squirted a generous dollop on his fingers and hastily shoved two fingers into himself. He stopped immediately, whimpering at the burn and clenching his eyes shut in discomfort.
“Hey, hey,” Max murmured, hands gently squeezing and rubbing Charles’ thighs. “Slow down. Don’t hurt yourself.”
Charles nodded silently, panting through the pain.
“Charlie, hey, look at me babe,” Max encouraged him.
Charles flushed at the endearment and blinked his eyes open, tears and sweat trailing down his cheeks.
“You okay?”
“Y-yes,” he croaked, breathing deeply and forcing himself to relax around his fingers.
“Good. That’s good,” Max murmured, rising on an elbow so he could gently wipe away a tear with his thumb. “Now, why don’t you slow down a bit and give me a show?” he said huskily, lying back down and leisurely put his arms back behind his head.
The heat of his finger lingered on Charles’ cheek and seemed to radiate down to his chest, causing his skin to flush a vivid red. Feeling almost shy under Max’s gaze, the brunette inhaled deeply and reinserted a single digit into his passage, slowly moving it until he had relaxed again. When he felt ready, he added a second finger and groaned at the feeling, pumping faster and deeper, rocking back until he was two knuckles deep.
“God, look at you,” Max groaned, biceps flexing, his hands clenching to stop himself from reaching out. “You’re so fucking greedy for it. Can you find your prostate?”
Nodding slowly, Charles curled his fingers up, changing the angle with every thrust until he cried out and tensed when he hit the spot.
“Ah! Fuck. Max,” Charles keened, precum dripping onto Max’s stomach.
“Fuck, schatje. So sexy for me,” Max groaned, his hips thrusting up and his erection brushing against Charles’ stomach. “Flushed red and desperate for cock. Do your fingers feel good?”
Charles shivered at the words and nodded jerkily, his hands still moving, every thrust brushing against the sweet spot deep within him and punching small, breathy huffs from him. “Y-yeah. So good,” he mumbled, eyelids fluttering closed.
“Add another finger, Charles. Come on, finger yourself open for me. Show me how much you want me,” Max growled.
Chest hitching erratically, Charles slowly added a third finger, keening softly at the burn of the stretch. “Aah” Charles cried, his voice cracking and his back arching when he rocked back onto himself.
His neck muscles strained as he threw his head back, his breaths harsh and loud in the otherwise silent room. He closed his eyes and grunted softly, chasing the building pressure deep in his groin. He curled his fingers every time he bottomed out, slowly spreading them to scissor himself open.
“Look at me,” Max said, and Charles grunted softly, his eyes opening a sliver to gaze at Max dazedly. “What do you need, Charles?”
Breath stuttering in his chest, Charles whined and panted softly as fingers grazed his prostate over and over. “You,” he finally managed to say hoarsely. “I need you in me. Fuck, Max, please. Need—Ah!”
A small, high-pitched whine cut him off and the Monégasque bit his bottom lip while he shuddered above Max. A large hand on his wrist gently pulled his hand out from where it was buried and Charles keened softly at the loss, instantly missing the feeling of fullness from his fingers.
With his fingers still wrapped around the brunette's wrist, Max tapped the condom in his other hand against Charles’ lips. “Open up.”
Charles did as he was told and made a soft, questioning noise when the blond rested the edge of the condom against his lower lip.
“Let’s put that mouth to good use again. Bite down.”
Charles gingerly took the edge of the wrapper between his teeth and smothered down a whine when Max pulled to rip it open.
“Good boy,” the driver praised and Charles couldn’t help the whine that escaped him, his arousal flashing white-hot at the words. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Max mused, a small grin slowly spreading over his lips. “Help me with the condom.”
“Do I have to do everything for you?” Charles complained and jolted when Max slapped his ass, cheeks flushing when his hole fluttered around nothing.
Max raised an eyebrow and Charles blushed harder, his teeth nibbling on his lower lip as he grabbed the condom from Max’s hand and rolled it down his length. Max moved slightly, his knees bending and his hands gliding to Charles’ hip, but Charles locked his thighs around Max and pulled his hands off him and back down on the bed with a huff.
“I said, stay,” Charles said, and Max watched with wide blue eyes as the prince raised himself up and reached back to grab the base of the blond’s cock.
“Oh,” he panted, his voice high and thin. “You gonna ride me, Charlie?”
Charles nodded silently, green eyes locked on the hand wrapped around Max’s length, slowly guiding it toward his entrance, a look of deep concentration on his face.
“Yeah. Good boy. Come on, schatje,” Max gasped as Charles slowly lowered himself, pausing when the head breached him.
He hovered over Max for a few seconds, panting harshly while his walls stretched around him, the width of him slightly bigger than Charles' fingers.
“Shit, Charles. You feel so good. So tight,” Max groaned, Charles’ thighs shaking and his hole quivering around Max as he got used to him.
Charles breathed deeply, eyes locked onto Max’s own as he bore down, his hips rocking shallowly as he slowly descended until he was fully seated on Max's cock. Chest rising and falling rapidly, the brunette relished in the fullness of Max’s length in him. It had been so long, his schedule too hectic to find the time to indulge in this, and he’d missed it.
Slowly, he started to move, rocking his hips until Max’s length slid in and out of him easily. Leaning back slightly, he grabbed his ankles for support and threw his head back, gasping loudly when it changed the angle just enough for Max’s cock to press against his prostate.
“God, Charles, if only you could see yourself,” Max groaned.
“Max,” he panted breathlessly, bolts of pleasure zipping up and down his spine whenever he got the angle right and Max’s erection brushed against his sweet spot.
“What is it, babe?”
Charles moaned and ground hard against Max’s hips. “Touch me.”
“Touch you?” Max asked teasingly. “You told me to stay.”
“Max. Please,” Charles whined loudly, starting to bounce on Max’s cock.
“No.”
“Max,” Charles keened. “Please. I need you to—Please. Touch me.”
Max hummed and grinned wolfishly. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he said, gripping Charles’ waist hard enough to bruise and slowly guiding him up until only the head of his cock was in Charles’ hole before letting him slide back down.
“Ah, there!” Charles cried out when Max shifted his hip slightly, the new angle causing the head of his erection to hit the Monégasque’s prostate every time. “Right there, Max. Keep going.”
His own cock slapped against his stomach and left a trail of precum as Charles rode Max’s manhood, tiny little noises escaping him while his thighs trembled uncontrollably.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” Charles groaned, the pressure in his groin building.
“Yeah?” Max asked hoarsely. “You like riding my cock, Charlie?”
“Ah!” Charles cried out when Max shoved him down onto his cock a little harder and held him there, his hip rotating under Charles so he ground into Charles’ prostate. “Oh, fuck. Max! Touch me. Please touch me.”
“I am touching you,” Max teased, his hands tightening on Charles’ waist.
“No,” the prince whined, trying to move, but Max held him firmly in place. “My cock. Please touch my cock.”
“Hmm,” Max hummed thoughtfully, one hand trailing down to the crease of Charles’ thigh. “No.”
Before Charles could say anything, Max’s hands slid to his ass and dug into the soft flesh, once again pulling the Monégasque up on his knees until only the very tip of his erection was still inside. Charles tipped forward slightly, his hands tightening around his ankles to keep him from crashing face first into Max. And then the Dutchman started to move, his hips snapping up almost violently as he drove his cock deep into Charles.
The brunette cried in surprise before he moaned loudly, eyes squeezed shut as Max’s balls slapped against his ass with every thrust and his own dick bobbed wildly in front of him, precum dripping all over Max’s stomach. He tried to suppress his moans, but with every thrust Max hit his prostate head on and Charles only got louder.
“Ah! Putain!” he yelled, arms and thighs shaking, desperately trying to hold still and let Max fuck into him.
“You like that?” Max panted and Charles moaned louder. “Can you come just from this, schatje?”
Charles keened loudly, his hole tightening around Max at the question, his skin feeling hot and tight.
Max gripped his ass tighter, his fingers bracketing his own erection as it pistoned in and out of Charles. “Look at me, Charles,” he ordered.
Panting loudly at the command, Charles forced his eyes open to look at Max. “Ah! Please, please Max, please!”
Max slammed him down into his cock at the same time that he thrust up, his head grinding mercilessly into Charles’ prostate while one hand wrapped around the throbbing cock, pumping it lazily. “Like this?”
“Aah!” Charles wailed, his ass clenching tightly around Max while he leaked all over Max’s hand. “More, please, I can't—” he pleaded brokenly, voice thin and raspy.
Max swiped his thumb over the head and twisted his hand around it a couple of times, and Charles cried out as the orgasm crashed over him like a tsunami. He threw his head back, his whole body shaking from the force of the pleasure ricocheting through him. His hips stuttered a couple more times as he slowly came down from the high and slumped down onto Max, too spent to hold himself up or to care about the cum trapped between their bellies.
Closing his eyes, he clenched his hands in the bedsheet by Max’s head and let the man use him, gasping softly into the driver’s skin and whining continuously from the oversensitivity while Max pumped into him, his hands gripping Charles’ hips to keep him still. Charles rubbed his nose against Max’s collarbone and sucked on the skin there, his brain mush from his climax. He moaned when Max’s hips jerked and he forced himself up so he could kiss Max sloppily just as he thrust into him one final time.
The Dutchman groaned into his mouth, his fingers tightening on Charles’ ass when the prince clenched around Max to try to prolong his orgasm. He whined softly in discomfort when the blond slowly slid out of him, and mourned the fact he couldn’t feel Max’s cum dripping from his hole. He sighed softly, resting his temple against Max’s and tightening his rim a couple of times, already wishing he could take Max’s cock again.
Smiling, he kissed Max gently, his tongue tracing his lips until he let him in. Charles sighed into the kiss, fingers carding through Max’s scalp until he cradled the back of his head. Max slowly ran his hands over Charles’ back and pecked his lips one last time before he gently rolled them over so Charles was sprawled out on bed.
“Stay there. Let me clean you up,” he murmured against Charles’ lips before he rolled off the bed and peeled off the condom.
Charles hummed happily, ogling Max’s ass as the man made his way to the bathroom. Closing his eyes to bask in the warm afterglow of a great orgasm, he lifted his arms over his head and stretched like a cat, his back arching and his feet digging into the soft bedsheets. As much as he enjoyed living on base and away from the insanity of palace life, he really missed his silk sheets. This was what he enjoyed the most when on leave; the small luxuries that he had, for most part, left behind the day he’d joined the Armee de l’Air.
The bed dipped next to him and he blinked his eyes open, smiling dopily at Max. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, fingers sliding through Max’s messy hair and pulling it lightly.
Max laughed, the sound pure and full of mirth, as he leaned over and kissed Charles, the hand cradling Charles’ face spanning almost the full width of his jaw. “You’re sappy,” he teased.
Charles shrugged. “Just telling the truth.”
Max shook his head, slowly dragging the warm cloth over Charles’s belly and penis, wiping off most of the cum. He folded it over and patted Charles’ hip. “Roll over.”
Charles groaned and flung his arm across his body, trying to use the momentum to twist onto his side. He huffed in frustration when he barely moved and looked at Max pathetically. The Dutchman snorted and shook his head at the pitiful display before him, pushing Charles onto his side so he could roll the rest of the way onto his stomach. Grumbling, Charles parted his legs and sighed when Max wiped between his cheeks.
He loved sex, truly, but the feeling of dried lube and cum was definitely the worst.
Thank God Max was a real gentleman, Charles thought dreamily, humming and wiggling around the bed, his arms hugging the pillow beneath him.
He felt the mattress dip as Max got back into bed and blindly reached for him.
“Cuddle,” he demanded, arm still flailing around.
“Oh,” Max said, so softly that Charles almost missed it. “You’re staying?”
Charles blinked a couple of times, repalying that sentence in his head, and scrambled onto his elbows, head whipping around until he was staring at Max. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn't—I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“No! No!” Max said, hands grabbing onto Charles’ forearms. “I was just surprised. I’m not… Sorry, I’m not used to one-night stands wanting to stay.”
Charles tried not to let his heart break.
“I can…” Charles started, making to get up, but Max tightened his hands on him.
“Stay.”
Charles stared at him, green eyes wide and hopeful, teeth biting his lower lip nervously. “Are you su—”
“Please,” Max said resolutely.
Charles smiled and relaxed, lying back on the bed and turning on his side so he could make grabby hands at Max. The Dutchman grinned at the childish display and laid down next to Charles, one arm slipping around the prince’s back as the brunette snuggled up to him, his head resting on Max’s shoulder and his short hair tickling Max’s jaw. He turned his head slightly and kissed the skin beneath him once, sighing softly and closing his eyes.
He knew this was only for one night, but he’d be damned if he didn’t get the most out of it while he could.
Chapter 2: Lunch Is Served
Summary:
The day after the night before...
Notes:
Thank you so much for all the love for chapter 1!! Enjoy chapter 2! As usual, feel free to scream at me on my Tumblr
Chapter Text
Charles woke up surrounded by warmth, his head resting on something much firmer than his hotel pillows. He scrunched his nose, a little disgusted at the feeling of something flaky and dried on his stomach and inner thighs, and groaned softly when every single muscle in his body protested his movements. Wow, he hadn’t been this sore since basic training.
Blinking his eyes open, he frowned a little at the sight of pale skin and hard pecs in front of him. The memory of the night before slammed into him like a freight train.
Max.
And some of the best fucking sex in his life.
No wonder he was so sore, he hadn’t been railed like that in… Probably ever. Charles smiled dopily when he thought back to last night, riding Max, the burn in his thighs while the man held him still and plowed into him.
Maybe he could kiss Max awake and they could do it again? Maybe this time Charles could be on his knees, face shoved into the mattress, Max plundering him from behind and pounding into his prostate over and over again.
He could feel his morning wood stirring with interest as he imagined it and he bit his lip, breathing speeding up just at the thought of Max fucking him again. Maybe he could have this just one more time before he had to leave? Maybe he could—
A familiar chime snapped him out of his fantasy and he groaned, silently cursing whoever was messaging him. There was another chime and Max made a tiny little noise of displeasure. Charles held his breath, relaxing only when Max settled back down. Slowly extricating himself from the bed, he padded over to his jeans and grabbed his phone, swiping it open.
Joris
Where are you?
You’re going to be late.
Charles frowned and glanced at the time on his phone, eyes widening when he realized it was already nine o’clock. Shit. He had a meeting with the Queen at eleven and then lunch with Edward.
Bordel de merde. [Fucking hell]
Quickly throwing on his clothes, he paused for a moment, staring at Max sprawled out on bed, mouth half open, snoring softly. He bit his lip, debating whether he should wake him up or leave his phone number, but shook his head at the absurdity of the thought. Charles had gone into this knowing that it would be just for one night, and Max had done nothing to make him think otherwise; to the contrary, he’d made it perfectly clear that he also saw Charles as a one-night stand.
And that was fine.
That was more than fine.
Charles knew that anything more was completely unrealistic. Max’s schedule was hectic, and even though he’d come out as bisexual several years ago, he still got plenty of hate and push-back from the fans, the FIA, and the more homophobic countries he had to race in.
And Charles…
Well, he knew that being associated with a royal came at the cost of a complete loss of privacy that most people couldn’t tolerate. Especially someone like Max who hated dealing with the media and tried his best to keep his private life private. Being with Charles would only destroy the little amount of privacy he’d managed to retain, and would ultimately only lead to Max resenting him.
Charles stared at the blond wistfully for a few more seconds before he shook his head and unlocked his phone to let his PA know he was coming.
No, it was better if he left it at this: a wonderful, unforgettable night he would always cherish and think back on fondly during lonely nights.
He was almost at the door when he stopped, teeth worrying his bottom lip when a thought struck him. He glanced over his shoulder to the sight of Max half-naked under the blankets, and just about held back a whimper at the erotic image. Before he could talk himself out of it, he walked back to the bed and swiped his camera open.
Please forgive me, Max.
Angling the shot, Charles took a picture of the blond from the waist up, the bedsheets pooling at his waist just peeking at the corner of the photograph. The portrait mode blurred out the background, leaving Max looking ethereal in the soft morning light filtering through the window treatment.
He cringed a little, staring at the picture, his finger hovering over the delete button. He shouldn’t have taken it. This was such a violation of Max’s privacy. He shouldn’t keep it.
But it wasn’t like he’d ever share it with anyone. It would just live in a locked folder on his phone for him to look at when he eventually came to wonder if the whole night hadn’t just been some sort of fevered dream.
Charles looked at Max’s sleeping form for a few more seconds and locked his phone, sliding it in his back pocket and slipping out the door, slowly closing it behind him. He looked to the left and smiled at Marco, who raised an eyebrow at him. Charles rolled his eyes and walked past the agent to the elevator.
Stepping into the lift, Charles leaned against the mirror and refused to look at his own reflection. He stuffed his hand inside his pockets and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and sighing softly. A small cough had him peering at Marco with one eye.
“What?” he asked when the man remained silent.
Marco's lips twitched up and Charles tensed. He knew that smile. Before he could stop himself, he slapped a hand at the base of his neck and flushed when the agent chuckled and touched a spot further up on his own neck.
“Shit,” Charles said, his fingers trailing up his throat until he felt the unmistakable throb of a bruise.
“Should we be concerned about vampires, Your Serene Highness?” he asked, clearly holding back his laughter.
Charles glowered at him and the taller man mimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key.
Charles hummed warningly and stalked out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened, beelining to his suite and ignoring the amused smirk from another agent posted outside his room. Once inside, he sighed in relief and leaned his head back against the closed door.
“You’re late.”
“Fuck!” Charles yelled, jumping about a meter and whirling around, hand on his chest in a futile attempt to calm his heart. “Shit. Joris. What the fuck are you doing in my room.”
Sitting on one of the high wing chairs in the living area was his PA, already dressed impeccably in his suit, with a black portfolio opened on the side table next to him. Charles could tell the exact moment Joris saw his hickeys because he went from looking mildly annoyed to downright murderous.
“What. The fuck. Is that?”
“Um,” Charles started and stopped when Joris raised his index finger.
“No. Forget I asked. You have twenty minutes to shower and do whatever you can to cover those up before your breakfast gets here.”
Silently and sheepishly, Charles grabbed his dark grey slacks and blue button-down shirt from the closet and made his way to the bathroom.
He tried his hardest not to think about his time with Max, but he gave up when he popped a boner just thinking about the way the blond had manhandled him and held him still while he thrust into him. He jacked off to the memory, biting his lips so hard when he came that he nearly drew blood.
Standing at the vanity after he was done showering, he wiped off the condescension on the mirror and stared at his reflection, both impressed and horrified at Max’s handiwork. This wasn't the most amount of hickeys he'd ever had, but those had been easily concealed.
These… There were only three of them, but Max had clearly gone for quality over quantity. Thankfully, Charles could partially hide two of them with his button down, but the third…
Sighing in dismay, he grabbed the foundation cream from his bag and got to work. There was no way the cheap make-up he’d brought with him would fully cover them up, but he could try. He dabbed the foundation a couple of times, frowning at how cakey it looked, and made a mental note to bring his more expensive stuff from now on. Even so, it did a good enough job. The bruises looked noticeably lighter, and although Charles could still clearly see them, he hoped others wouldn’t notice them.
Well, Edward probably would. The teasing was going to be incredibly annoying and embarrassing come lunch time.
Once he was dressed, he looked himself over, turning his head to one side and then the other to make sure he hadn’t missed a bruise, and stepped back into the room. Joris had placed his breakfast tray on the table and was flipping through his tablet, checking something against the portfolio next to it. Charles took a seat across from him, squirming a little at the ache in his ass.
“So, who was he? Did you at least get an address this time so we can send him an NDA?”
Charles felt his cheeks heating up but he refused to answer, instead buttering up his subpar British croissant and taking a bite, grimacing slightly at the rubbery texture.
Joris looked up at his silence and narrowed his eyes. “Charles.”
The prince hummed questioningly while he prepared his tea with his free hand, taking another bite of the wanna-be croissant.
Joris put down his tablet and held his hands together tightly in front of his face, his forefingers touching his bottom lip. “Charles,” he said pleadingly.
“What?” Charles asked innocently, his mouth full.
“At the very least tell me his name.” The brunette blushed hotly and mumbled through the food in his mouth. Joris glared at him. “Charles,” he commanded. “I need to know how much damage control we’ll need to do.”
Charles groaned and let his half-eaten croissant-shaped bread drop back on his plate. “None,” he finally said, staring at the table.
“You know that’s not how this works. You know you can’t trust this person not to rat you out for their 15-minutes of fame and 50,000 euros.”
“I can with this one,” Charles said stubbornly, picking up his cup of tea and holding it tightly in his hands.
“Charles, come on. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”
“You won’t have to.”
“Charles, please.”
The prince frowned at the dark liquid and sighed loudly, putting it back on the table so he could fiddle with his rings. “It was Max, okay?” Charles said softly.
Joris blinked. “Max who?”
Charles blushed a bright red and hid his face behind his hands, his elbows resting on the table.
“Max who?” Joris insisted.
“Verstappen,” he mumbled. The sound of the tablet hitting the ground told him Joris had heard him loud and clear.
There was a beat of silence and then, “You’re shitting me.”
Charles leaned back in the chair and groaned, his voice muffled behind his hands.
“Holy fuck,” Joris breathed. “You’re serious. You slept with Max Verstappen!?”
“Shh!” Charles hissed, lunging at Joris and slapping a hand over his mouth. “Don’t shout!”
Joris pushed his hand away. “Oh please, who’s going to hear me beside your security detail? Who I’m sure they already know, anyway. Max Verstappen!”
Charles couldn’t help the pleased, dreamy smile stretching across his face. “Yeah…”
“Wow. Fuck. How did that happen? Wait, what is he even doing in London?” Joris asked, leaning back against his chair.
Charles shrugged. “No idea, I didn’t ask. But he was at the club last night. We flirted and then, you know,” Charles said, waving his hand around his head.
“How was it?” Joris excitedly. “Everything you ever imagined?”
Charles blushed furiously at the question, his fingers playing with the handle of the teacup. Joris aww’ed at him and he kicked his PA in the shin, making him laugh and kick him right back in retaliation. They were silent for a few seconds before Joris nudged Charles with his foot until he looked at him.
“I’m happy for you,” he said sincerely. Charles bit his lower lip and looked away. “Hey, I’m serious. I know we like to tease you about your crush, but I’m really happy this happened for you. Are you going to see him again?”
“No,” Charles mumbled despondently.
“What? Why not?” Joris asked, bewildered.
Charles shrugged. “You know how it is.”
His PA frowned at him. “This is not some random guy you picked up at the bar to scratch an itch. This is Max Verstappen.”
“I know.”
“Charles.”
“I know, Joris!” Charles exploded, startling the other man. He took a deep, calming breath, frowning at the remnants of his breakfast. “It wouldn’t work out anyway. You know that.”
Joris looked at him silently for a moment before he sighed deeply. “Well, I’m glad you got to have at least one night with him.” There was a beat of silence before Joris leaned forward, grinning mischievously. “So… What did he think about sleeping with one of the Princes of Monaco?”
“Umm…” Charles hedged and refused to make eye contact.
Joris stared at him, waiting, and then his mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.” Charles cleared his throat and picked up his tea, taking a sip of the lukewarm beverage instead of answering. “He didn’t recognize you?!”
“Well, it’s not like I’m much in the public eye nowadays,” Charles said, shrugging lightly.
“Charles! You are second in the line of succession to the throne. In the Principality where he lives! He should know who you are!” Joris cried, clearly indignant on behalf of his charge.
“To be fair, I don’t think he’d recognize any of the members of the Dutch royal family if he saw them at a bar, and he’s met them.”
Joris rolled his eyes and poked Charles’ shoulder. “Finish your food. We gotta get going if we’re going to make it to Buckingham Palace on time.”
Charles sighed and did as he was told.
By the time Charles was escorted out of the State Rooms and back to his waiting car, he was more than ready to have an epic bitchfest with Edward about his grandmother. He wasn’t used to dealing with overt, casual homophobic rhetoric spouted directly at him anymore, and every time he had to meet with the Queen of England, he was violently reminded why he preferred dog fighting over the deserts of Afghanistan over dealing with royal families and their bigoted mindsets.
He would forever be grateful to his family and his squadron for their easy acceptance and unwavering support of his sexuality. Unfortunately, that just meant that he constantly forgot that most people in his social class not only didn't accept him for who he was, but actually took great joy in belittling him.
Huffing, he wrenched the car door open and threw himself into the backseat, slamming it shut as hard as possible, the car shaking from the force of it. Joris looked up from his tablet with both eyebrows raised and his mouth set in a hard line.
“What did she say this time?”
Charles growled deep in his throat and gnashed his teeth all the while pulling his dark blue tie loose and testily undoing the button of his dark grey suit jacket. Joris nudged his arm with his elbow.
“The usual,” he bit off.
“Disgrace to the throne? Shame upon the family name?” Charles nodded curtly. “Did she bring up the kids again?”
“Oh, that was the first thing she brought up. ‘It’s so sad, Charles, that you will never know the joys of fatherhood. And your poor mother! So very disappointing for a mum to know that her children will never give her grandchildren or know the wonders of parenthood.’ Thank fuck the Prince Consort wasn’t there, or else I would have had to deal with him calling me a faggot to my face again. Fuck! I’m so glad I wasn’t born in this family.”
“Don’t tell Prince Edward that,” Joris warned him, and Charles sighed.
“He knows how I feel.”
“That may be, but there’s no need to rub it in his face that your family is a million times better than his.”
Charles chuckled softly and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cold window. He wished he had time to swing by Monaco to see his family on his way back to the base, but it just wasn't feasible with his schedule. He just really missed his parents right now, and he could really use a hug from his maman, especially after having endured Queen Charlotte for the last hour.
As they made their way through traffic and toward Kensington Palace, Charles’ thoughts once again drifted back to Max. He wondered what the Dutchman was doing now, whether he was disappointed that Charles had left before he’d woken up, or if he’d been glad that they hadn’t had to go through awkward goodbyes. He was still sore everywhere from yesterday, the ache a constant reminder of how Max’s hands had gripped his waist, how they’d spanned the width of his ass cheeks and held him still while they fucked. He flushed at the memory, squirming slightly in the seat and feeling sweat start to form at the back of his neck.
A sharp whack on his arm snapped him out of it and he turned to glare at Joris.
“Stop that,” his PA hissed at him, brown eyes blazing. “So help me God if you get hard in this car—”
“Oh my God, shut up!” Charles hissed back, hitting Joris in the arm and shoving him against the door.
“I’m not the one imagining Max Verstappen fu—”
“Non!” Charles yelled, his hand smacking over Joris’ mouth to muffle the rest of his sentence.
Joris yanked his arm down and smirked evilly at him. “Then stop thinking about it.”
The car slowed when they reached the gates of Kensington Palace and Charles crossed his arms, glaring at his PA. “You’re an asshole.”
“How rude. You should be thanking me instead of insulting me, otherwise you’d have arrived at your lunch date with a hardon. Prince Edward would have never let you live it down.”
Charles remained silent for a beat before he huffed in annoyance. “I hate you,” he said instead of acknowledging the truth of the matter.
“You love me, and you’d be lost without me. Have fun on your date.”
“Fuck you,” Charles griped, opening the car door as soon as they’d stopped in front of the Palace entrance.
“Unlikely since I look nothing like Max Verstappen.”
Charles slammed the door closed to the sound of Joris’ cackling laughter, stomping his way up the steps and breathing in deeply before he entered the Palace. He was going to have a good time with his friend and forget about the godawful tea he’d had with his grandmother and Joris’ endless teasing. It would just be two old friends shooting the shit and talking about how much they hated their work. And unlike Joris, Edward would actually agree with everything he said instead of nodding disinterestedly and then telling him to suck it up.
His PA was truly the worst. Charles didn’t know why or how he put up with him.
A footman greeted him at the entrance, and he silently followed him up the grand staircase to the second floor, and down the winding corridors. He’d been to Kensington Palace enough times by now that he could probably find his way to the sunroom, where Edward liked to set up lunch when he had friends visiting, but he wouldn’t bet on it. This place was a maze, and Charles wouldn’t be surprised if one of the many closets lining the halls contained the skeletal remains of those who’d gotten lost trying to find their way in or out of the residence.
They stopped in front of a door that looked exactly like all the others and waited until Edward called them in. Charles nodded his head to the footman in thanks and stepped in, his eyes glancing over to the row of windows where the dining table was set up with crockery shining in the sun.
On the other side of the room were a couple of couches facing each other, separated by a wooden coffee table with an exquisitely intricate pattern, as well as a couple of chaise lounges on either side of one couch. On the opposite wall to the windows was a wall of books, some of which Charles knew were older than his grandmother, having browsed them late at night when he’d stayed over at the Palace and couldn’t sleep.
“Charles!” a voice exclaimed from the back of the room.
Charles looked over to the elegant desk situated there, smiling when he spotted Edward rising from the leather chair.
“Eddie!” he called out, meeting him by the couches and huffing slightly when the blond prince pulled Charles into a hug.
“My oh my, don’t you look dashing in your suit,” Edward teased as he held Charles at arm’s length. “Blue really does suit you,” he said, adjusting Charles’ tie and fixing his collar.
Charles rolled his eyes and batted his hands away. “This is the suit I always wear when I visit the Queen. It’s the only piece of clothing she’s never criticized me for.”
“Hm,” the prince hummed, a devious little smile pulling at his lips. “Yes, she is an old coot. But you look exceptionally good today. Very handsome.”
Charles eyed him warily. “What’s going on?”
“Whatever do you mean?” he asked airily, but Charles knew better.
“You’re up to something. I can tell.”
“Oh, you’re no fun!” he pouted, hitting Charles lightly on the shoulder. “Fine. I have a little surprise for you.”
“What? What kind of surprise?” Charles asked with trepidation.
The last time Edward had had a surprise for him, he’d snuck a male stripper into the Palace in the guise of a belated 18th birthday present for Charles. To say the experience had been humiliating would be a vast understatement.
“You’ll see. Sit, sit! Tell me everything!” he exclaimed, pulling Charles onto the couch and sitting in the chaise next to him. “How was tea with Gran?”
Charles grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. “Guess.”
Edward winced. “Ah. Still a tad homophobic?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid it’s rather impossible to change her mind about anything, especially when it comes to the ‘evils of homosexuality,’” he said, air quotes and all. “Lizzy and I have been trying, but, well,” he shrugged.
“I just wish—”
The sound of the door opening interrupted him, and Charles turned around to look over the back of the couch, expecting to see the caterers coming in with lunch. Instead, he watched, gobsmacked, as Max Verstappen walked into the room, his eyes looking down at his hands thoughtfully. He was wearing a black jacket and slacks with a beige knit shirt, the collar resting just at the base of his throat. Charles could see a very faint mark just under his jaw and he flushed when he remembered sucking at that spot while dancing with Max at the club.
He whirled back towards Edwards, cheeks a furious red and his green eyes blazing with anger.
“Qu’est c’qu’il fout ici?[What the fuck is he doing here?]” he whispered furiously.
“C’est ta surprise, [It's your surprise]” Edward said in his terrible accent, a shit-eating grin pulling at his lips.
“T’es dingue? T’as perdu la tête? Tu veux m’tué ?” [Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind? You want to kill me?]
“Bah. Sois pas si dramatique, [Don't be so dramatic]” the other man said dismissively, standing up and making his way to the Dutchman. “Max! Look who arrived while you were in the loo! My dear friend I was telling you about.”
“Um…”
Charles surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder and his breath stuck in his throat when he noticed Max’s wide blue eyes staring at him in surprise and panic.
Charles could hardly breathe.
Edward grabbed Max’s arm and pulled him toward the couch, forcing him to sit so close to Charles that their shoulders brushed with the slightest movement. From here, Charles could smell Max’s cologne, the same one he’d worn at the club last night. Somehow, he managed to blush even redder when he was assaulted by the memory of Max glued to his back, his mouth sucking greedily on Charles’ neck.
Charles was going to die.
“Charles, you know Max Verstappen of course, the F1 driver,” Edward introduced him, an evil, amused glint shining in his eyes. “And Max, this is Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, one of the crown princes of Monaco.”
Max choked on air, staring at Charles like he’d grown ten extra heads, his blue eyes widening and his jaw dropping. Charles couldn’t help staring at the little freckle on his upper lip, the same one he’d been licking not 24 hours ago.
Max made a tiny little strangled sound high in his throat and Charles watched, fascinated, as the Dutchman slowly became as red as a tomato. That was about when Charles realized the man's eyes were trained on Charles’ throat, right where Charles knew was the one visible hickey Max had worked into his neck.
Charles was going to combust into flames.
A small cough startled him and Charles whipped his head toward Edward, who looked both incredibly pleased with himself but also slightly bewildered.
Enculé. [Asshole]
Gathering the last remaining shreds of his dignity, Charles pasted on his best PR smile and extended his hand toward Max. “Hello, Mr. Verstappen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Max glanced at Edward quickly and inhaled deeply, pasting on the same kind of smile Charles had seen from him when speaking to the media. “A pleasure, um… Your Highness…?” he said, his voice lilting a little higher on the title, a clear sign that he was unsure of Charles’ proper address.
The Monégasque’s grip on his hand tightened and he shook his head. “Non, none of that. Charles, please. I insist.”
Not that the thought of Max calling him Your Serene Highness while he fucked him slow and deep wasn’t an appealing image… But now was definitely not the time to be having these fantasies. Later, when he was alone in his room, he’d revisit the idea.
“Then, please, call me Max,” the blond said, his thumb caressing Charles’ hand for one quick second before he let go.
Charles cleared his throat softly and looked away, glancing over at Edward who had the audacity to wink at him. If looks could kill, the spare to the British throne would be dead, and Charles would be hanged for murder. Instead, he had to settle for glaring at him and imagining his hands wringing Edward’s neck.
“How… Um,” Max started, voice strained, and Charles looked back at him and his blazing cheeks. “How do you know Edward?”
“Oh, we’re childhood friends,” Charles answered, infinitely grateful to Max for starting the conversation. “We, uh, bonded I guess is the right term, over being the spares for our respective lines of succession. What, uh,” Charles licked his lips nervously and tried to ignore the way Max tracked the movement with his eyes. “What about you? How do you know Eddie?”
“Max and I met a few times during the Silverstone Grand Prix,” Edward chimed in, leaning back on the couch and threading his fingers together, resting them on his crossed knee. “And then again when I visited Milton Keynes a couple of times. Charles is a big fan,” he told Max, smiling conspiratorially.
“You like Formula 1?” Max asked excitedly.
Forget simply killing Edward; Charles was going to dismember him and throw the pieces in the Thames. “Ye–yeah. I watch it when I can.”
“Oh… I guess being a prince doesn’t leave you with a lot of free time to watch the races,” Max mused softly.
“Oh no,” Edward chimed in before Charles could say anything. “He’s being entirely too bashful. He watches every race. Sometimes, if the race is especially exciting or heinous, I will get walls of texts explaining in excruciating detail the whys and hows of it. Thankfully I only get those on special occasions, isn’t that right Charles?”
It was like watching a trainwreck in slow motion, except that it was his life and dignity that were going up in flames, Edward laying bare all of Charles’ secrets. He snuck a glance over at the driver and was mortified when he caught Max staring at him with wide eyes. Sweat pooled around his collar and he leaned over to grab his water, taking a sip in a poor attempt to cool himself off.
“Although, I must say that sometimes his rants are delayed by a day or two, military schedule being what it is. Can’t always get Sunday off. Isn’t that right, Charles?” Edward mused, a small little smile playing on his lips.
“You’re in the military?” Max squeaked, making Charles wince a little at the surprise in his voice.
“He flies fighter jets,” Edward continued, very much aware of what he was doing while staring at the two of them from across the coffee table.
Forget dismemberment. Charles was going to set fire to Kensington Palace with Edward still in it.
“Fighter jets?” Max spluttered, his eyes bugging out.
“It’s not that big a deal,” Charles demurred.
“Not that big a deal?” Edward exclaimed. “Don’t listen to him, Max. He’s much too modest. I’ve attended his aerial shows. He’s very impressive.”
“Not as impressive as winning three World Championships in a row,” Charles argued, and immediately wanted to eat his own tongue at Max’s shocked look.
“You know how many championships I’ve won?” he asked, clearly overwhelmed at the revelation.
“I told you. Big fan,” Edward said, getting up to direct the catering staff that had slipped in without Charles noticing. “Both yours and Ferrari’s.”
“Eddie!” Charles exclaimed despairingly.
“Wow, how does that work during the season?” Max asked, a pleased little grin spreading across his lips along with that familiar teasing glint shining in his eyes.
“I’m never happy,” Charles deadpanned before he could stop himself, biting his lips to keep his smile at bay when Max laughed loudly.
“Come, come,” Edward urged, pulling back a chair and waving them to the dining table. “Let’s sit and eat before the food goes cold.”
The amused look Max shot him at Edward’s antics had Charles suppressing a snort. He couldn’t help marveling at the blond’s ability to put him at ease with just a glance.
The two of them migrated to the table and Charles grimaced when he sat, fidgeting a little when the ache in his ass flared up from the lack of cushioning on the wooden chair. A large hand on his thigh stopped him cold.
Glancing down, he stared at Max’s hand resting on his leg, his thumb slowly drawing soothing circles over his pants. His breath caught in throat, heat spreading from that point to his belly, and he fidgeted slightly, his skin tingling. But as soon as he moved, Max snatched his hand away, as if he’d been burned. Charles forced himself not to sigh in disappointment.
“Sorry,” Max mumbled, his hands now playing with the cutlery.
Charles cleared his throat softly. “No, it’s okay.”
“Are you… okay?” Charles glanced sideways at the whispered question, confused. “Sitting. Because of… you know,” Max continued, the apple of his cheeks a soft pink.
Charles flushed when he realized what Max was implying, and the fact that the Dutchman would know exactly why he was uncomfortable. He stopped himself from making any kind of noise and instead nodded his head in response, staring at his lap as he spread the napkin over it.
He could do this; he could be normal about this.
No biggie.
Charles' resolve crumbled almost immediately when he finally understood Edward’s deranged plan. His friend had known about Charles’ crush on Max for years, had even tried to get him to attend a Grand Prix several times so he could introduce them, but Charles had refused—too shy and awkward about meeting the driver. And now that he’d tricked the two of them into the same room, the British royal was clearly determined to play Charles’ wingman, whether Charles wanted it or not.
It was with silent horror that Charles watched his friend proceed to hijack the conversation. He sounded like an auctioneer trying to sell Charles, hyping up his accomplishments in the most cringe-inducing monologue, listing his resume like that would somehow convince Max to bid on him. No stone was left unturned, from his master’s degree in aerodynamics engineering, to his two deployments in Afghanistan, and even how he’d dressed up as Spiderman one year for Halloween and gone to the children’s hospital wing to cheer them up.
The entire thing put a bad taste in his mouth and made Charles feel used and humiliated. The more he talked, the more uncomfortable the prince felt, his shoulders hunching up to his ears and his cheeks flushing in shame.
The Monégasque tried to interject and to steer the conversation back to Max, asking him about the upcoming season and what he thought of Red Bull’s chances of winning another constructors’, but Edward somehow always brought it back to Charles and his accolades. If he thought this was the way to get them together, he was sorely mistaken.
Charles knew for a fact that none of those things would impress the Dutchman. After all, they’d never impressed anyone before; why would Max be any different?
And then, while the caterers were replacing their empty dessert plates with tea, Edward smirked at him. Charles paused, his cup halfway to his mouth, and instantly knew that he was going to hate whatever came out of his friend’s mouth next.
“So, Charlie, any news on the dating front? Did you finally find someone or are you still living that bachelor life?” he asked casually, picking up his own saucer and sipping his tea with an air of tranquility, brown eyes staring at Charles smugly.
He hated being right.
“No,” he said, slowly placing his untouched tea on the table and bringing his hands to rest on his thighs so he could grip his pants in an attempt to stop them from shaking.
He didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Max.
“This man,” Edward clucked softly, shaking his head and leaning toward the Dutchman conspiratorially. “You’d think he was allergic to relationships with how many hook-ups he’s had, but I know for a fact that he’s a romantic.”
“Edward,” Charles said warningly.
“I think he gives up too quickly,” he speculated, having clearly decided to ignore Charles’ wants and just forge ahead with his plan. “You’re never going to find someone to settle down with by being a philanderer, Charles. You must be more discerning when you pick up a bloke.”
Charles quickly glanced at Max, cringing slightly at the pursed look on the driver’s face. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Oh, come on. We’re among friends here, right Max?”
“Um…” Max said hesitantly, blue eyes widening in surprise at being included. “I mean…”
“See? Come now. Who was your last shag? Tell us about him.”
Charles flushed bright red and forced himself not to look at Max. From the corner of his eye he could see Max fidgeting uncomfortably. “Fuck off, Edward.”
“Ooo! Touchy. This is going to be juicy, Max. He only gets defensive when he really likes the bloke,” Edward divulged gleefully. “Tell us about him so we can help you figure out how to ask him out. Get you out of your rut.”
“I am not in a rut.”
Edward waved dismissively. “Aren’t you bored of one-night stands? When was the last time you were even in a relationship?”
“Edward. Drop it,” Charles said coldly.
Edward hummed softly, his gaze far away. The Monégasque glared at the British prince, his patience wearing thin.
This was long past the point of humiliating.
The way this conversation was going, Max was going to think Charles was a slut who spread his legs for anyone. And while it was true that he enjoyed sex, the Monégasque had standards. So what if he had a hard time trusting anyone enough to let them see the vulnerable parts of him? There was nothing wrong with enjoying himself while protecting the squishy bits of his heart. Nothing.
“Oh my God,” Edward whispered incredulously, looking at Charles disbelieving. “Was it Jean-Baptiste?”
Charles froze at the name, cold sweat breaking all over his skin.
“That can’t be. That was a million years ago. Charles! You must have dated someone else after him.”
Charles pressed his lips together so tightly they turned white.
Edward gasped. “No. You cannot tell me that the orgy was so mind-blowing that you decided to never settle down and just, like, shag your way through life.”
“Fuck you, Edward,” Charles growled, fuming. “There was no orgy and you know that.”
He tried to control his fury and glanced sideways when he felt the tablecloth rustling slightly. Max was looking at him, cerulean eyes wide and shocked, cheeks drained of color in what Charles could only assume to be horror at the thought that he’d bedded a whore.
“Oh, stop lying about it Charles. I saw the pictures in that tabloid—”
“That’s rich, coming from you. How’s Annie? Is she still your dirty little side piece? I’ve seen the pictures,” Charles snarled, ripping the napkin off his lap and slamming it down on the table. “Because obviously tabloids never lie. I’ll see myself out.”
Turning to Max, Charles mustered a smile and moved to place his hand on top of the blond’s, stopping himself at the last second. Instead, he inclined his head politely, forcing himself to meet Max’s startled gaze.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Max. Truly,” Charles emphasized, hoping Max understood the meaning behind his words. “Unfortunately, I have to get going.”
“Charles!” Edward exclaimed, rising along with the Monégasque.
Max stared at him bewilderedly and Charles wished, for one painful second, that they were alone so he could explain that he hadn’t just slept with him because he was Max Verstappen, Formula 1 World Champion, but because he was special. That he hadn’t been just another one-night stand, but that, for once, Charles had desperately wished he could have stayed come morning.
He wished they were alone so Charles could lean over and kiss him.
Just one more time.
Just one last time.
But the sound of Edward’s heavy breathing reminded him of where he was and, instead, he marched out of the room, never looking back despite Max’s gaze burning a hole in the back of his head. He made it a few steps outside the door before Edward’s hand on his elbow stopped him in his tracks and whirled him around to face his seething friend.
“What the fuck was that, Charles? Do you realize how humiliating that was for me?” Edward yelled, his face an ugly, blotchy red.
“Oh! Was it as humiliating as you calling me a whore in front of Max fucking Verstappen?” Charles yelled back.
Edward gawked at Charles and took a step back like Charles had physically slapped him. “I—I did not—”
“It was heavily implied, Edward,” Charles hissed, eyes blazing.
“That was not—”
“Not only did you lie and tell Max fucking Verstappen that I took part in an orgy, but you basically said that I liked getting railed by multiple people so much that I decided to never be in another relationship so I could whore myself out!” he screamed, face nearly purple with rage.
There was a deafening silence between them, only broken by Charles’ heavy, hitched breathing as he tried to calm down.
“I don’t know what you were hoping to accomplish today, but if it was to humiliate me in front of a man I’ve liked and admired for close to a decade, then mission fucking accomplished.”
“Charles…” Edward whispered, horror slowly spreading over his face.
Charles wiped his palm over his cheek, annoyed at himself for crying over this. “Shut up. I don’t know what you thought you’d accomplish from organizing this stupid lunch, but I hope you’re happy with the results.”
“Charles, that’s not fair. I just wanted you two to finally meet so you could—”
“So I could what, Eddie?” Charles screamed, temper once again flaring hot, his tears falling faster. “Do you think this is some sort of romantic comedy where you’d arrange our meet-cute and he’d fall madly in love with me after just one meeting? That we’d somehow live happily ever after?” Charles scoffed. “He’s an F1 driver, Eddie, and I’m one of the goddamn princes of Monaco and in the military. In what world could that possibly work out?”
“Charles, come on. Don’t be like that,” Edward pleaded, but stopped when Charles glared at him.
“Don’t bother to call me, Edward. I don’t want to hear from you for a long time.”
Charles turned around and stalked down the corridor, one of the footmen hurrying after him to lead him back to the front door. He stood ramrod straight while he waited for his car to come around, and flung the door open before it had fully stopped, shutting it closed behind him with so much force that the car swayed.
“Can we leave?” he asked without looking at Joris.
There was a moment of silence before Joris leaned over and said to the driver, “To the hotel, please.”
“No,” Charles snapped and took a deep breath to try and calm down. This wasn’t Joris’ fault and it wasn’t fair to take it out on him. “Can we go home?”
“You mean to Saint-Dizier?” Joris asked, confused.
“No. Yes,” Charles amended almost instantly; asking to go to Saint-Dizier now instead of tomorrow was already a stretch, but asking to go to Monaco was lunacy.
“I… No, Charles. We’re scheduled to fly out tomorrow with Sebastian.”
“I know when we’re supposed to fly out. I want to know if we can go now,” Charles bit out, gesturing in a wide arc to encompass not just Joris and himself but also his security detail trailing in the car behind them.
Joris narrowed his eyes at him and pursed his lips. “Please take us to the hotel,” he repeated to the driver, his eyes studying Charles intently.
The prince huffed and threw himself back into the seat, arms crossed over his chest and eyes glued to the window. He refused to look at Joris the entire ride back, instead watching the scenery pass them by and trying his best to forget about the lunch and the utter humiliation he’d been put through.
The ride felt interminable, and he all but jumped out of the car as soon as they stopped in front of the hotel. He would have kept going all the way back to his room if Ale hadn’t grabbed his arm and stopped him mid-stride.
“Let go,” he said, glaring at his bodyguard when he failed to dislodge his grip.
“Sorry, Your Serene Highness, but Andrea ordered me to accompany you to your room,” Alessandro explained.
Charles bristled silently but acquiesced to his guard’s request. He followed Ale to the elevator, Joris a few steps behind him, and then to his room where Andrea was already waiting. Charles threw himself on the sofa while Joris and his head of security whispered furiously to each other, occasionally glancing his way. Deciding he’d rather sulk than answer whatever questions they had, Charles turned on the television, found a football game, and turned up the volume until he drowned them out.
Petty? Absolutely. Did he care? Not one bit.
He glanced over when he heard the door close and frowned when he realized Joris had left him alone with Andrea. Fuck.
“So,” his head of security said, coming around the couch and sitting down next to him. “Want to tell me what happened?”
Charles stared at the television and turned up the volume in-lieu of responding. Before he could react, Andrea snatched the remote from his hands and turned off the TV, tossing the remote somewhere behind them so Charles couldn’t grab it. Turning toward Charles, he crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. Charles mimicked him, determined to out-silence him.
Andrea sighed. Charles smirked triumphantly.
“Seriously Charles, what happened?” Andrea asked worriedly; Charles nearly felt bad about his attitude.
“Nothing.”
Andrea tsked. “I know that’s not true.”
“Why? Because Joris said some bullshit about me slamming car doors and not wanting to talk to him?”
Charles gnashed his teeth at the pitying look from Andrea and stopped himself from throwing a temper tantrum like a toddler.
“Because you asked to leave without Sebastian.” Charles froze for a second before he looked down, annoyed that he was so obvious. “So? What happened?” Andrea pushed again.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Charles murmured, finger picking at the skin around his thumb.
“Is it going to cause an international incident between England and Monaco?”
Charles snorted and rolled his eyes at Andrea. “No. It’s… It’s personal, between Edward and me.”
Andrea hummed. “So, His Royal Arseness did something stupid again?”
Andrea’s favorite nickname for Edward always made him chuckle, even though he was aware that it was incredibly disrespectful and that he shouldn’t encourage him to talk about a member of a royal family like that.
“He meant well, I think, but… Yeah. He said some things…” Charles paused to swallow around the knot in his throat, the mortification flaring back to life. “It was stupid,” he mumbled.
Glancing up, he saw Andrea studying him intently before he shook his head. “We just want to help you, Charles. That’s what we’re here for.”
“I think I’m going to take a nap,” the brunette said, getting up from the couch and snagging his pajamas from the foot of the bed.
“Charles—”
“Could you wake me up a couple of hours before dinner?” he asked Andrea from the threshold of the bathroom.
The Italian regarded him silently for a few seconds before he nodded his head. Smiling blandly, Charles closed the bathroom door and sagged against it. Looking at himself in the mirror, his eyes zeroed in on the hickey and he lightly brushed his fingers over it. He wished the bruise would last forever so he could always have a physical reminder of his one perfect night with Max.
But like all things, this too would fade.
Chapter 3: Catch Me A Catch
Summary:
Following the disastrous lunch date, Charles goes back to base to lick his wounds and put the whole thing behind him. A difficult thing to do when he's surrounded by a bunch of fly boys hungry for gossip about their "local celebrity" getting it on with his long-time crush.
Notes:
Just a quick reminder that this follows the 2024 season! And also that I am not and have never been in the military, much less an air force. Sorry if I get things totally wrong!
Chapter Text
The next morning Charles pretended everything was fine, outright refusing to engage with Andrea or Joris whenever they tried to bring up the lunch. He packed, ate his breakfast, and made little to no conversation on the way to the airport where they met up with Sebastian for their flight back to Saint-Dizier.
He strapped himself down next to the Major, Joris a couple of rows behind them absorbed in his latest murder mystery podcast, while Andrea and the rest of his security detail were further back playing a card game that Charles strongly suspected was Go Fish. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, Charles stared at the little icon next to Edward’s name indicating that he had several unread texts from his counterpart. His finger hovered over their chat, teeth pulling at his lower lip.
Did he even care what the man had to say?
“Is that a text from the Prince Edward?” Sebastian asked incredulously. “As in, His Royal Highness, Prince Edward Albert George Mountbatten-Windsor, Duke of Sussex?”
Charles startled at the unexpected question, his finger sliding over the touchscreen and accidentally opening the chat. Sebastian leaned over his shoulder and read it before the prince could lock his phone, whistling slowly.
“What the fuck, Bee!” Charles chided, the device held protectively against his chest. “That’s private! And how do you even know his full name?”
“I know your full name, don’t I? Also, that’s on you. You should know better than to be reading private conversations next to your nosy squadron leader. So, why is the Duke of Sussex apologizing?”
“I should—what?” Charles screeched, and clamped his hands over his mouth when he felt everyone’s eyes on him. “You’re the one reading people’s private texts without permission! You’re so fucking shameless,” he hissed, glaring at his superior officer.
“Yes, I just said that. So? Duke of Sussex?” Sebastian prodded and Charles felt the familiar urge to throttle him.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied curtly.
Sebastian hummed thoughtfully and focused his steely blue eyes on Charles. Gulping and pointedly looking away, Charles fiddled with his phone, stealing glances at Sebastian and squirming slightly every time he met his unflinching stare. Determined to keep his secrets to himself, Charles breathed deeply and forced himself not to react to the Major’s intimidation tactics.
“All right. I won’t ask you about Prince Edward.”
Charles sighed in relief.
“How was your night with Max Verstappen?” he asked instead.
Charles lost his grip on his phone, tried to make a grab for it, and helplessly watched it tumble to the floor. His anger, frustration, and humiliation from yesterday’s lunch came roaring back, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and shuddered from the effort not to cry. He felt Sebastian move around next to him and flinched slightly when a small hand gripped his shoulder tightly, the older man leaning into his space.
“Hey, what’s wrong, Percy? Was the sex that terrible?” he asked quietly, and Charles couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the question.
“No,” he rasped.
“Well, that’s good. Otherwise, it would be really hard for me to tease you about it.”
Charles shook his head and bit back a sob. “Please don’t,” he whispered tightly.
“What happened? Was he an asshole to you when he realized you’re royalty?” he asked with a joking lilt to his voice, his hand coming up to pull gently at the back of Charles’ sweatshirt.
Charles made a tiny, pathetic little noise, and flipped his hoodie up as far down his face as it would go. Next to him, Sebastian went rigid.
“Perceval? Was he an asshole to you? Did he hurt you?” He sounded so serious that Charles knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he answered positively Max would disappear under mysterious circumstances never to be found again.
“No,” he managed to croak.
Sebastian stayed silent, softly petting the outside of Charles’ hoodie and squeezing his neck through the thick fabric. Angrily, he wiped away the couple of tears that had fallen loose and sheepishly accepted the tissue Sebastian waved in his face. Once he’d gotten himself under control, he sat back and harshly scrubbed his hands over his cheeks.
Sighing deeply, he looked down at the phone Sebastian held out to him and took it, the dark screen mocking him. Glancing sideways at the Major’s worried expression, he made up his mind and turned it on, entering his pin and pulling up his chat with Edward. He turned his phone slightly toward Sebastian in silent invitation.
👑HRH Eddie👑
Charles, come on.
I’m sorry about Max.
I didn’t mean to insinuate anything about you or your sex life. I was just trying to make you sound impressive and experienced. I know how much he means to you, and I just wanted to give you two the chance to meet.
I’m sorry I cocked it all up.
Please say something.
Sebastian’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Max was at the lunch?”
Charles nodded, teeth gnawing on his lower lip worriedly.
“And you, what? Walked in the room and he was just standing there?”
“No. Well, sort of. He was in the restroom when I arrived, and then he walked in and we both…” A loud sigh. “It was so fucking awkward, Bee,” Charles lamented, flushing at the memory.
Sebastian chuckled softly and Charles elbowed him lightly in reprimand. “Sorry, go on.”
Charles shrunk a little on himself, looking down at his phone and twirling it around.
“Oh, come on, Percy. You got there, he walked in, you were both super awkward, and then what?”
“He just… Edward basically shoved him next to me and he just… Urgh, he smelled so good,” Charles whined in despair.
“Edward smelled good?” Sebastian asked, utterly baffled.
“What? No! Max! Keep up, Bee,” Charles berated him, ignoring Sebastian’s eyeroll. “And Edward started saying all these things about me to try and impress Max or something, but it was so fucking embarrassing because we…” Charles bit his lip and gestured with his hands awkwardly. “You know.”
“Fucked like wild rabbits the night before?”
Charles blushed and rolled his eyes at the man. “You truly have a way with words.”
Sebastian grinned. “Thank you, I try. So, Prince Edward was trying to be your wingman? Play you up?”
“I guess, yeah. Except that it was creepy as fuck and he just sounded like some snake oil salesman. I felt like one of those archeological items at a fancy auction. Not to mention that he just made me sound conceited and—” Charles grit his teeth, not remotely ready to relive that nightmare.
Sebastian waited for a beat and then hummed softly. “And how did Max react?”
“I dunno,” Charles shrugged. “He was… mostly quiet. Edward barely let us get a word in. He was surprised I knew he had won three championships.”
“You told him you’re a fan?” Sebastian asked, surprised.
Charles crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Edward told him. And that I was a tifoso.”
Sebastian laughed loudly. “How did he take that?”
“Made fun of me a little bit,” Charles admitted with a small smile. “When we did manage to talk without Edward’s incessant prattling, it honestly felt like he was flirting with me.”
“Aw, Percy,” Sebastian teased lightly, nudging Charles with his elbow repeatedly. “Your crush was flirting with you!”
Charles sighed and leaned back against the headrest. “Except that it doesn’t matter because Edward ruined it.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“He did. Max is going to think I’m this vain, arrogant slut and he’ll never—”
“Whoa! Dramatic, much? Why in the world would he think that?”
“Because.”
“Because… why?”
“He…” Charles hunched as far down in the seat as he could, tears stinging his eyes. “Edward said some stuff. Said I was—”
Charles cut himself off, swallowing the lump in his throat. He glanced over at Sebastian when the older man squeezed his shoulder, and looked back down at his phone, fiddling with it, his mind replaying the utter humiliation from yesterday in vivid detail.
“I stormed off after that. Told Edward he was an asshole. He tried to talk to me, but I told him to fuck off.”
Sebastian pursed his lips. “I’m sorry, Percy.”
“It’s not like Max and I would have worked out, anyway. Our schedules are totally incompatible. And, you know, dating me sucks.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes at the self-deprecation but chose to ignore it, nodding toward the phone instead. “Are you going to answer him?”
Charles looked down at the texts and shrugged. “Maybe. Eventually. I don’t really feel like dealing with him right now.”
“Okay.” There was a second of silence and then, “And what about Max?”
“What about him?”
“Well, now that you’ve been formally introduced, are you going to reach out to him?”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Charles asked, perplexed.
“Yes, but nothing you said makes me think he wouldn’t want to talk to you. You said he was flirting with you during lunch.”
“Before Edward practically called me a whore!” Charles exclaimed and shrunk in on himself again when he realized how loud he was being.
“Well, you stormed off in a hissy fit before he could say anything. How do you know he wouldn’t have told Edward to fuck off?”
Charles opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he glowered at Sebastian. “I’m not going there.”
“Going where?” the German asked innocently.
“I’m not going to pretend I have a shot with Max. He’s busy and he hates being in the spotlight, and I’m busy and all I do is attract the spotlight. It’s best to just… let it be what it was: a fantastic one-night stand and nothing more.”
Sebastian scoffed. “All right. But I’m warning you right now that if you start sighing at your phone like a damn princess, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“I won’t,” Charles grumbled. Sebastian hummed skeptically and Charles glared at him. “I won’t!”
Charles stared at his phone and sighed dreamily when the camera zoomed in on Max’s eyes where he sat in his car, waiting for the green light at the end of the pitlane. Daniel Ricciardo had posted the fastest lap in Q2, and as Q3 got underway, Charles’ heart was beating so fast he thought he was going to be sick. He wanted Daniel and Ferrari to get this first pole of the season so badly, but the car seemed to be having trouble warming up the tires over one lap. At this rate, Max might be the one to take P1. Charles didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about it.
Fuck his life. Why couldn’t Max just drive for Ferrari and take him out of his misery?
As the lap times tumbled down, his breath caught in his chest when he realized that Daniel had missed out on pole by over 2-tenths of a second, not an insignificant margin considering how close the rest of the field was to one another. At least the Ferrari driver would start in P2, and hopefully this year the car would be good enough to win some races.
Although Charles could admit, if only to himself, that he would be a little sad not to see Max’s wide and happy smile up on that top step. But no, he’d had more than enough of those last year. It was time he remembered how to share the spotlight, preferably with Daniel in his rightful place as the winner.
Charles enjoyed the view of Max getting out of the car, his fist pumping in the air once, before he hopped down and started removing his racing gear. When he pulled off his balaclava, Charles had a visceral flashback to Max lying on the hotel bed while Charles rode him, his dirty blond hair dark with sweat and sticking up wildly. He gulped audibly and shifted a little in his chair, desperately trying to get rid of the mental image.
His hand traced over his neck where the hickeys had been and he sighed sadly, wishing he had more than just his memory of that night and one illicit photograph.
A knock at his office door brought him out of his melancholy and he looked up, smiling when he spotted Holmes, one of his newest pilots, leaning against the door frame.
“Hi Captain,” the Second Lieutenant said cheerfully. “You got a second?”
Charles glanced down at his phone and Max’s frozen smiling face before he turned it off. “Sure, Sherlock. How can I help?”
The airman wandered into his tiny office and sat across from his overflowing desk. “I haven’t gotten my reimbursement for last month’s trip to Bordeaux.”
Groaning, Charles jiggled his mouse to wake up his screen and pulled up the interagency website. “Did Bugs fill out the form?”
Holmes shrugged. “No idea.”
“Okay, I’ll figure it out. I think he was out on leave last week, so there’ve been some delays with that.”
“Thanks, Captain,” Holmes said.
Charles nodded absentmindedly, clicking around the website, and glanced over, confused, when the airman didn’t get up. “Was there something else?”
“I heard Ferrari did well during pre-season testing.”
Charles’ eyes narrowed at the non-sequitur. No one else in his squadron gave a shit about Formula 1, and they only followed the season’s highlights insofar as to make fun of him whenever he crashed out because of Ferrari—which was always and a lot. So the fact Holmes was spontaneously bringing up the topic before the first race of season put Charles on immediate alert.
“Yeah, it went pretty well,” he said cautiously.
“Although the bookies still have Max as the favorite to win the championship.”
“Yes,” Charles replied slowly, trying to figure out Holmes’ angle.
“Do you have any predictions? You think what’s his face, the Ferrari driver you like, has a shot at it this year?”
Charles looked at him suspiciously for a moment. “I suppose if the car is good, Ricciardo might be able to challenge Max,” he finally replied.
“That should make the season way more interesting than last year, right? You think Max feels ready for the challenge?”
“Why the sudden interest in Formula 1?”
Holmes shrugged. “No reason. We just know how much you love it and we thought it might be nice if we finally took an interest in it.”
We. Interesting.
Just from that one word, Charles knew the airman was here on some kind of reconnaissance mission on behalf of the squadron. After all, there was a reason Holmes had earned the call sign of Sherlock other than his last name. In the short time he’d been here, he had become their default intel-gatherer. He was incredibly charming with a deceptively slim build and big baby blue eyes that invited trust and deflected suspicion. And he was especially good at sussing out the latest gossip on base.
Charles had used him on several occasions to weasel out information from people, usually Sebastian, so he knew how effective the man could be. But he’d never been on the receiving end of the equation, and he had to admit that he was not enjoying the experience.
Charles hummed. “And you want to know if I think Max feels ready for a title fight. What makes you think I would know how the man feels?”
“I mean, you did meet him in London when you were there for that joint training, no?” he asked, smiling disarmingly.
Charles froze, mind racing a million miles an hour, worst-case scenarios playing through his head. How the fuck did Holmes know that? Did Sebastian tell him? No, he wouldn’t do that. Did someone film them at the club and post it online? And if so, did Holmes find out by accident or had Charles been recognized?
Neither Joris nor Silvia had called him to yell at him about his indiscretion or to berate him for his stupidity, so if it was an online video then it hadn’t gone viral yet.
With a herculean effort, Charles pushed down his panic and forced himself to remain calm. “Who told you?” he asked sternly, his voice betraying nothing of his inner turmoil.
“Thanks for confirming that for me,” the man said, grinning from ear to ear.
Fuck. That little shit.
“Answer the question, Sherlock. How did you find out?”
“I heard you left the club with him,” Holmes went on, fishing for more information.
Shit. Shit, fuck, merde, fils de pute. [shit, son of a bitch]
“Second Lieutenant Holmes. Who. Told you,” Charles growled.
The man’s face turned bone white when he finally clued in that Charles didn’t care for his attitude and was not amused by his evasive answers.
“Um… The whole squadron knows,” he responded unhelpfully.
“How?” Charles bit out, his patience and nerves wearing thin.
“One of the Brits on your mission. The team set up a group chat with a couple of them so we could keep tabs on you and Major Vettel, and one of them said he saw you dancing with Verstappen and that you left with him.”
Charles sagged in relief for just a second, thanking God and whatever other diety that somehow they hadn’t been outed. There was no denying that it had been incredibly stupid and reckless of him to make-out with Max in the middle of a packed dance floor, and then again outside the club before getting into his car. It truly was nothing short of a miracle that pictures and videos of them hadn’t been plastered all over the internet.
But his respite was short-lived when it dawned on him that although the world might still be in the dark about them, his squadron knew they'd not only met, but that he’d left the club with him. And although Sebastian was still the only one who officially knew they’d fucked, and he trusted the German to keep that to himself, the problem was that he was surrounded by incredibly smart people with terrific deductive reasoning skills. No one needed to tell them that Charles had had sex with Max—they’d figured that out all on their own.
Which was why Sherlock was in his office right now—to get confirmation.
Fuck his life.
“Are you all right, sir?” Holmes asked warily.
“I’m fine,” Charles said harshly, refusing to feel bad when Holmes flinched at his tone. He needed to nip this in the bud or his men would never leave him alone. “Tell the squadron to mind their own fucking business.”
Holmes nodded jerkily, hastily getting up to leave. But he stopped halfway to the door and pivoted around, hands behind his back and feet shoulder width apart, standing at attention in front of Charles.
“What is it, Second Lieutenant?” Charles sighed when it became clear that the airman was waiting to be addressed and wouldn’t leave even if Charles ignored him and made him stand there all day.
“I just wanted to say, sir, on behalf of the squadron, that we’re all very happy for you. That you finally got to meet him in person. We know how much you—”
“Choose your next few words very carefully, Second Lieutenant Holmes.”
Holmes paused momentarily, eyes quickly glancing at Charles before once again looking straight ahead, head held high. But Charles could see his lips twitching at the corners. “We know how much you admire him, sir.”
Charles glared at him and made him sweat it out for a few minutes, waiting to see if he decided to be a smartass or if he knew to quit while he was ahead. When the younger man remained at attention, Charles smiled slightly. He really did have the best squad on base. Even if they were a bunch of busy bodies.
“You’re dismissed, Sherlock,” he finally said, waving the man toward the door.
“Yes, sir. Bye, sir!” Holmes called out, walking off and finally leaving Charles alone in his tiny office.
The Monégasque waited until he was sure no one else was lurking nearby before he crossed his arms over his desk and hid his face into his elbows, his scream muffled into the fabric of his fatigues.
Putain. The last thing he needed was the squadron cooing at him and making kissy faces every time he brought up Max or F1. Unfortunately, this was the inevitable reality Charles now lived in and there was nothing he could do about it.
Might as well accept his fate and indulge himself by finishing Max’s interview and then going through his social media to see if he could find any other pictures of the Dutchman.
After all, there were no more secrets left to hide.
The next day, much to his chagrin, Charles was scheduled to be in the simulator all day, both to practice his own maneuvers and to instruct the junior officers. It meant that he wouldn’t get home in time to watch the race and he’d have to wait until that evening to watch the replay.
When he finally stumbled home at 2000 hours, he found Joris pulling out a lasagna from the oven. One sniff and the prince instantly knew his PA had ordered it from Charles’ favorite restaurant.
“Oh, thank fuck. I’m starving,” Charles exclaimed, rushing into the kitchen.
A fork conveniently lay on the counter and he grabbed it, going for the piping hot food straight from the dishware. He yelped and hissed when Andrea smacked his hand with the back of a wooden spoon.
“That is highly unbecoming behavior of a Monégasque prince. You are not some sort of stray animal that has been starved for days. Sit,” he ordered, pointing toward the dining table, “and wait.”
Charles gaped at him for a moment, debating the pros and cons of responding to such blatant disrespect, but decided he was more hungry than offended. Sulking, he sat at one of the placemats and waited for Joris to place the dish down before scooping a heaping slice onto his plate. He devoured it in a few bites and immediately went for a second serving.
Andrea stared at him in horror. “Charles!”
“What?” he asked, his mouth full.
“If your mother could see you now…” Joris shook his head in disappointment.
“I told you, I’m hungry.”
“I know for a fact you weren’t raised by wolves,” his bodyguard admonished, making Charles roll his eyes. “Did the cantina run out of food?”
“No,” Charles said sheepishly. “I skipped lunch because Winchester was having trouble with a combat maneuver and he kept failing to recover after a roll.”
Andrea and Joris both stared at him disapprovingly, and Charles huffed at their overprotectiveness. The two men were constantly ganging up on him, mothering him like he wasn’t a grown ass 26-year-old who could take care of himself. Well, to be fair, he barely could, but he made do when push came to shove.
Deciding he probably shouldn’t push his luck, Charles shut his mouth and sat up properly to finish his meal.
Not long after they were done, Joris took his leave, and Charles barely waited for Andrea to go to his room before he bolted for the couch. He turned on the race on the television and booted up Multiviewer on his computer, Max and Daniel’s onboards on one side of the screen and the live timing on the other.
The race was pure agony to watch.
Anxiety and hope warred in his chest until Max finally crossed the checkered flag in P1. As he watched the podium presentation, Charles tried to figure out how he felt about it. Daniel had done an amazing job finishing P4 after whatever the fuck had happened to his brakes, but it wasn’t exactly the start to the season Charles had been hoping for. Although, he supposed Ferrari did get a podium even if it was, once again, the wrong driver.
And Max… Max looked resplendent up on that podium, drenched in champagne, practically glimmering under the bright lights.
A ping from his phone distracted him from the scene, wondering who was messaging him at this time of night. He rolled his eyes when he saw it was Sebastian.
🐝Buzz Buzz 🐝
Have you watched it yet?
Percy ⚔️
Yes
🐝Buzz Buzz 🐝
Am I congratulating you or giving you my condolences?
Percy ⚔️
Fuck you
🐝Buzz Buzz 🐝
I’m going to assume that means Max won again
You should message him, wish him congratulations
Let him know you’ve been thinking of him 🍆
Percy ⚔️
BEE! What the fuck is wrong with you!?
Absolutely not!
🐝Buzz Buzz 🐝
[image sent]
[image sent]
[image sent]
Percy ⚔️
Why the fuck are you sending me unsolicited pictures of Max?
🐝Buzz Buzz 🐝
Because you won’t ask him yourself
You’re welcome
Charles stared at his phone, his cheeks flaming hot.
In the first picture, Max’s hair was sticking up every which way, sweat dotting his hairline and slowly dripping down his jaw as he gripped his balaclava. The second picture was Max on the podium, head turned away from Checo’s champagne spray. And the last picture featured Max sitting in his cockpit with his helmet on, his blue eyes looking intensely at the camera beyond the blurred-out halo.
There was nothing explicit about the picture, but something about his gaze had Charles squirming in his sofa, his jeans feeling a little tighter than they’d been a couple minutes earlier.
Fuck, he really needed to get it together.
Nope.
Impossible.
It was race day in Jeddah, and as he scrolled through his burner account on social media, Charles realized that he could not, in fact, get it together.
Red Bull’s decision to use white fireproofs this year was just patently unfair and would be his undoing.
How was Charles supposed to be normal about this?
The white fabric hugged every curve of Max’s broad frame and left very little to the imagination. Especially to Charles, who had had the pleasure and privilege of experiencing the sight and feel of Max’s naked chest in person while riding his cock. Charles bit his lip and held back a groan at the picture of Max pulling the top of his fireproofs away from his abs so he could spray some water on himself to cool off. The sliver of visible skin was tantalizing and Charles wanted to run his tongue over it, see if Max still tasted salty and clean like he remembered.
The sound of fingers snapping next his ear startled him and he fumbled his phone, wincing when it crashed on the floor. He looked up and cringed at Sebastian’s unamused expression.
“Hi Bee,” he said, trying to pretend like he hadn't been about to pop a boner while looking at perfectly innocent pictures of Max Verstappen.
“You’re still in your civies,” Sebastian said disapprovingly.
“I, uh, I was just getting to that,” Charles replied sheepishly.
“Uh huh.”
Before Charles could move, Sebastian bent over and swiped Charles’ phone off the floor.
“Hey!” Charles exclaimed, lunging forward to try snatching it back.
Sebastian evaded his attempts and pushed Charles back against the lockers. “So you weren’t busy drooling over pictures of Max Verstappen in the middle of the locker room.”
“What? No!” Charles denied, trying and failing to suppress his blush.
“Oh, that’s interesting. Because this,” Sebastian turned the phone around, “looks to me an awful lot like Max Verstappen in his race suit.”
“How—?” Charles stared, perplexed, at the fact that his phone screen had neither shattered nor locked when it’d fallen. “Give that back.”
“Get dressed,” he ordered. “You have a debrief in 10 minutes and I don’t want to have to write you up for tardiness. Besides, what would the junior officers say if they found out their captain was late because he was too busy drooling over his childhood crush instead of doing something about it?”
“Bee!” Charles cried, cheeks turning an unattractive shade of crimson in his embarrassment. “I can’t!”
Sebastian shook his head. “You can, but you won’t. You finally have the chance to do something about this, and instead you’re being a fucking coward,” Sebastian pushed back, disappointment clear in his eyes.
Charles snatched his phone back and stuffed it in his bag. With angry, jerky movements, he undressed and put on his fatigues. “There, happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Sebastian deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest. He glanced down at his watch and looked back at Charles. “Five minutes.”
Charles glared at Sebastian before he hustled out the door.
The next several hours were spent in one meeting after the next. The first one was with his flight officers to go over their latest simulations and discuss what needed to improve before they executed their mid-air refueling maneuver in a few weeks. The next one was with his ground crew to address some communication issues that had come up in their last mission. And finally he and Sebastian met with the base commander to discuss the results of the joint training mission in England.
It wasn’t until several hours later, when he was walking back to his office, that he realized he’d left his phone in his backpack. Sighing, he trudged back to the locker room to get it before resigning himself to several more hours of paperwork until he got to go home to watch the race.
Once at his locker, he rummaged in the front pocket of his backpack and frowned when he didn’t find his phone. Snatching the bag off the shelf, he frowned harder when he finally found it in the second zipper area along with his power bars. Had he really been so flustered at being caught staring at Max’s post-quali pictures that he’d put it in the wrong compartment?
Huffing in annoyance, Charles grabbed the phone and walked back to his office where he proceeded to spend the rest of the day writing reports and referring half of the junior officers to their higher-ups for disciplinary action.
To be young and stupid, Charles thought jealously, finishing up his tasks for the day.
By the time he made it home it was nearing 2200 hours and the race had finished a while ago. He beelined straight to the shower before shuffling his way to his kitchen, grabbing some leftover pasta and popping the container in the microwave, too tired to bother with a real plate.
Food in hand, he trudged back to his room, not in the mood to have Andrea yell at him that the television was too loud, and plopped down on his bed. Heart pounding wildly, he started the race. He found himself on the edge of his seat, praying for Daniel to overtake Max only to then start praying that he’d manage to at least hold on to P3. He glanced down at the timing sheet every few minutes, impressed at how well Ollie was doing, before he refocused his attention on the battle at the front.
When the race finally finished, Max had crossed the checkered flag first, a little over 13 seconds ahead of Checo and 18 seconds ahead of Daniel. He cursed softly when he realized that Daniel hadn’t managed to stay within 5 seconds of the Mexican to nab that P2, grumbling that this was going to be 2023 all over again. He sat through the podium, his eyes glued on Max’s fingers as he waved to the crowd below, wishing he could lick the champagne off them.
Turning the television off, he grabbed his phone and scrolled through social media, looking through the pre- and post-race pictures. He was giggling at the video of Ollie’s father looking like he was about to have a heart attack when he saw it. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, just a picture of Max sitting in his cockpit, helmet on with his gloves resting on the car. But there was something about his stare, blue eyes glinting intensely and looking determined as he stared at a point beyond the camera. It made Charles shift on the bed, his dick slowly standing at attention the longer he looked at it.
He imagined that he was in that garage and that Max was looking at him, undressing him with his eyes like he’d done that night when he’d approached him at the bar. Before he could talk himself out of it, Charles slipped his hand into his sweats and squeezed his hardening shaft, groaning at the heat and pressure. Without looking away from his phone, he patted around his nightstand until he found his lube and smiled.
“Shit,” he hissed, easing himself out of his sweats and slathering on some lube, sighing softly when his hand glided over his hard-on.
He stared at the photo, imagination running wild. From his cockpit, Max beckoned him forward until he stood next to the car, the driver standing up and leaning toward him. One hand rested on the halo for support and the other reached down until he palmed Charles through his clothes. He bit his lip, fantasizing about Max’s hand snaking into his pants and pumping him in the middle of the garage.
He gasped at the idea of the two of them, alone where anyone could see them, while Max furiously brought him to the edge before the cameras caught sight of them. He whined softly, moaning at the thought of Max letting go only to put on his gloves, the rough texture both heaven and hell on his sensitive cock. Charles mewled and gasped with every stroke, thinking about the rough pad of Max’s gloved thumb swirling over his cockhead.
He came all over himself, biting off a cry at the idea of his cum all over Max’s glove, strands of it slowly dripping over the Red Bull logo and leaving visibly white streaks across the navy fabric.
“Fuck,” Charles panted, leaning back against his headboard and staring at his ceiling. “God, you’re so pathetic,” he whispered to himself.
Grabbing some tissues, he cleaned himself up and tucked himself back into his sweats. He turned off the lights and shuffled under the bedsheets, wrapping them tightly around himself and pretending they were Max’s arm hugging him closely. Staring into the darkness, his heart aching from want, he repeated to himself all of the reasons why it would be a desperately stupid idea to message Max and tell him he missed him.
Charles absentmindedly reached for his phone when he heard the soft chime of a notification alert, his concentration still mostly on the weather reports for their mission in a couple of days. Eyes glued to the numbers on the page, he blindly turned on his screen, wondering if the predicted crosswinds would force them to postpone the training.
Although, it would be good practice for the pilots to do a mid-air refueling in less-than-ideal circumstances. They had enough experience that maybe it was time to challenge them a little, and they had practiced this scenario in the simulator this week.
It wasn’t until he toggled down his notifications and glanced down, thumb hovering over the clear button, that he realized why his phone had pinged.
Max was live streaming.
Fuck.
Charles looked up at his open office door and back down at his phone, biting his lip and wondering if he dared to turn on the stream. He hadn’t had a chance to watch Max’s live stream in months—they usually coincided with Charles’ work or when he was already asleep. But it was late, nearly 2100 hours, and his little corner of the base was blessedly empty.
He could tune in while he continued to work. It wouldn't be that distracting…
Before he could talk himself out of it, Charles opened the app and plugged his phone in, waiting for the feed to load. He then pulled up the ground crew’s newest assessment and checked their reports to make sure everything was ready for their mission. Flipping to the next page, he made a mental note to sit down with his men in the morning to make sure they didn’t have any questions.
Crane’s barking laughter caught his attention and he glanced over briefly before doing a double take and grabbing his phone. Max was sprawled back on his chair, his shorts riding high on his thighs and exposing the thick meat of his muscles while his hands held onto the back of the headrest, the position showing off his bulging biceps.
Charles’ mouth went dry, his mind diving headfirst into the gutter as he imagined himself sitting on Max’s lap and warming his cock while he streamed.
Holy shit, get it together, Charles, he thought wildly, fidgeting in his chair.
His breath caught in his throat when Max’s tongue poked out and he smiled widely, laughing at something from the chat. Charles’ brain officially short‑circuited at the sight of Max’s grin, his eyes catching on the little freckle at the corner of his lips. He whimpered softly and clutched his phone tightly, willing his semi to calm the fuck down.
He lost track of time, his brain too busy cataloging every little shift in Max’s expression and body language, his heart squeezing in his chest at his carefree expression and laughter. At some point the cats wandered into the room and Max started playing with them, chuckling softly when one of them took a swipe at him, and grinning widely when he picked up Sassy to show her off to the camera.
Charles wasn’t really paying attention to what Max was saying, too focused on the crinkles around his eyes to care about whatever inane story he was telling. One cheek rested on his fist, his whole being focused on the way cerulean-blue eyes shone with mirth. And then his phone almost went flying from his hands when a sharp knock on his doorframe startled him and he nearly jumped a foot in the air. He looked up and sat up straight when he saw Sebastian at the door, looking at him with narrowed icy-blue eyes.
“Bee!” he exclaimed, scrambling with the phone to try and turn it off. He accidentally turned up the volume.
Sebastian took three steps into the room and snatched the phone from his hand. “Is that Max Verstappen?”
“No!” Charles cried, too slow to stop the German.
He tried to get his device back, but the man stepped back and held it above his head.
“Perceval! You’re supposed to be double checking the mission parameters,” the Major admonished him.
Charles flushed at the rebuke. “I was!”
“All right, then. Where’s your report?” Sebastian asked, arms crossing over his chest.
“I—” Charles started, flustered, and glanced at his computer briefly before he looked back at Sebastian. “I was working—”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow and Charles flushed brighter. He flipped the phone around and, in the silence of the room, both men heard Max laughing through the speakers. Sebastian watched the stream stonily, eyebrows slowly twisting into a scowl. Charles looked on with trepidation, sweat beading on the nape of his neck.
“Captain.” Charles cringed at the clear reprimand in the use of his rank. “That report is mission critical.”
“Yes, sir,” Charles murmured.
“It’s due tonight, and instead of working on it you’re watching a live stream.”
“I… Yes, sir,” Charles said, thoroughly chastised.
“I’m keeping this until you’re done,” Sebastian said, shaking the phone between his fingers. “Come by my office with your report when you’re done and we’ll swap.”
“Yes, sir,” Charles agreed despondently and watched morosely as Sebastian walked away, his phone tucked into his superior’s pocket.
Sighing, the Monégasque went back to work, listlessly writing out a detailed memo of his conclusions. Once he was done, he double-checked all the information and sent it off to Sebastian and the rest of the squadron. He leaned back in the chair and groaned when his back popped.
Glancing at the clock on his monitor, Charles cursed at the time. How was it really almost midnight already? Was Sebastian even still in his office?
Logging off his computer, he gathered all his belongings and made his way to the Major’s office. Thankfully, his door was open and Charles could see light spilling onto the hallway. Peeking his head around the doorframe, he spied Sebastian reclining in his chair, feet up on his desk while he scrolled through his phone.
Just to be an ass and pay back the favor, Charles kicked the doorframe a couple of times and smirked when the Major jumped, his feet clattering to the floor to avoid falling off the chair.
“Fuck! The hell?” he exclaimed.
“Whatcha doin’?” Charles asked playfully, grinning when the man glared at him.
“Waiting for you to be done with your goddamn report so I can go home.”
“That’s on you. You could have left me with my phone and gone home hours ago.”
“If I had, you’d still be staring at it instead of being done. Here,” he said, reaching across the desk and throwing Charles’ phone at him.
Reflexes kicking in, Charles lunged to catch the device. “Bee! What the fuck!”
“What? You caught it, didn’t you?”
“I hate you,” Charles grumbled, stuffing the phone in his pocket.
“Don’t let me catch you slacking off again.”
Charles pursed his lips but nodded in acknowledgement, turning around to leave.
“Have you messaged Max yet?”
“Oh my God!” the prince exclaimed, pivoting back around to face Sebastian. He grabbed onto the top of the chair in front of the desk and leaned forward. “It’s been months. Why do you keep asking me this?”
“Because you’re being an idiot.”
“Leave it alone. It’s none of your fucking business.”
Sebastian shrugged. “All right. It’s just that it sounded like he was really into you.”
“I mean it, Bee. Drop it.”
Sighing, the German nodded. “Okay, Percy. It’s just… I just want you to be happy.”
“I—” Charles bit his lip and looked down at his hands. “It’s complicated."
"You're making it way more complicated than it has to be. But who knows, maybe he’ll get tired of waiting for you and text you instead.”
Charles scoffed. “He doesn’t even have my number. I never gave it to him.”
“There’s always social media.”
“Be serious,” Charles scolded. “The Palace would never tell me if he tried to message my public account. And even if I messaged him, he’d just think I was a fake.”
“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” the blond said teasingly.
Charles rolled his eyes and pushed off the chair. “Sure. Whatever you say. Good night, Bee.”
“Nighty night, Percy!”
Charles shook his head, determined to ignore his superior officer. He made his way to his car and drove off, the black SUV of his security detail following behind. Sometimes he wondered if the benzene from the jet fuel was affecting Sebastian’s frontal lobe cortex. The idea that Max would respond to any sort of text from Charles was preposterous. There was just no way anything like that could happen.
There wasn’t any point in even trying.
It was just dumb.
Right?
Chapter 4: You've Got Mail
Summary:
It wasn’t often that Max was caught off-guard or left speechless, but watching Charles storm out of the room after perfunctorily wishing him good-bye somehow managed to accomplish both simultaneously. The Dutchman sat frozen, his mind wiped clean while he stared at the now empty seat next to him.
“Charles!” Edward yelled, his chair tipping over as he rushed after his counterpart.
And then Max was alone with only the clatter of the chair for company.
Notes:
I was a little afraid I'd be late posting this cause I had a planned surgery last Wednesday but I am recovering pretty well, so here we are!
TW: Minor assault, vulgar discussion about sex
Chapter Text
It wasn’t often that Max was caught off-guard or left speechless, but watching Charles storm out of the room after perfunctorily wishing him good-bye somehow managed to accomplish both simultaneously. The Dutchman sat frozen, his mind wiped clean while he stared at the now empty seat next to him.
“Charles!” Edward yelled, his chair tipping over as he rushed after his counterpart.
And then Max was alone with only the clatter of the chair for company.
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he fidgeted with the napkin on his lap, not sure what to do now. Should he stay here in the hopes that Edward would convince Charles to come back? Should he follow them out?
He pursed his lips thinking about the labyrinth that was Kensington Palace. There was no way he’d be able to find his way around the place. And even if he could, he had a feeling that the footmen milling about would stop him from getting anywhere near to the two princes.
Fuck.
Princes.
Charles was a prince. And not just any prince—as if that were possible, as if a person could just be royalty—but Monaco’s prince.
It wasn’t really a surprise to Max that he hadn’t put two and two together. After all, he was notoriously bad at remembering the names and faces of the rich and famous, even the occasional royals that he met on random Grand Prix weekends. Case in point, he’d only finally remembered Edward after their fourth meeting and only because he had invited Max to look at his private car collection.
Even so, he should’ve recognized Charles.
The entire country had gone insane the day the Palace had announced that Prince Charles had been accepted into the joint French-Monégasque Armée de l’Air. His picture had been plastered on every news outlet, and it was all anyone in the Principality had talked about—for better or worse. Even Max hadn’t been able to entirely avoid seeing Charles in his shiny new uniform as he spoke to the press after the announcement.
But he wasn’t like George, who made it his hobby to keep tabs on the world’s royals. The only time he ever bothered to pay attention to the Monégasque ruling family was during the Monaco GP, and even then he’d only really cared last year when he’d won the race and been invited to attend the winner’s gala.
And Charles had most definitely not been in attendance. He’d have remembered that.
He hoped.
Loud voices from just outside the room caught his attention and Max slowly walked to the door, trying to make out the words. He stopped just behind the doorway when he realized that it was Charles and Edward shouting at each other, and flinched at the coldness in Charles’ voice as he caught the tail end of their argument.
“—He’s an F1 driver, Eddie, and I’m one of the goddamn princes of Monaco and in the military. In what world would that possibly work out?” Charles asked, voice dark and angry.
“Charles, come on. Don’t be like that.”
Max swayed from side to side, suddenly dizzy.
“Don’t bother to call me, Edward. I don’t want to hear from you for a long time.”
Max swallowed the lump in his throat, Charles’ receding footsteps echoing on the marble floor. He felt like an idiot. He’d really thought he and Charles had clicked, both last night and today, that maybe this was a sign from the universe that he should suck it up and ask the Monégasque for his number.
But the way he’d been speaking just now, voice frosty, like he didn’t think Max was worth the effort… Maybe Max had been wrong. Maybe he’d only seen what he’d wanted to see and they’d never been on the same page after all.
The sound of footsteps snapped him out of it and Max winced at the look on Edward’s pale face when he stopped in front of Max.
“How—” the prince started and stopped, the hand gripping the door frame turning white. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough,” Max growled, his anger sparking, humiliation burning in his chest. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Planning what?” Edward asked, genuinely confused.
“This… This ambush.”
“Ambush?” the prince exclaimed, offended at the word. “I planned no such thing!”
“No? So I just happened to miss the text where you told me that the second prince of Monaco would also be here?”
“I… No. He—”
“You didn’t think maybe I’d want to know that there was going to be another royal lunching with us? That maybe I would have appreciated a heads up?”
“No! That’s not it at all!” Edward yelled, frustrated at Max’s accusations.
“Because from where I’m standing, you orchestrated this whole thing just to humiliate me.”
“What? No!” the man cried, distraught.
Max raised an incredulous eyebrow.
Edward sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s just… Every time I’ve tried to arrange a meeting, Charles was always ‘busy,’” the prince scoffed, the air quotes clearly showing what he thought about his counterpart’s justifications.
“You say that like he was lying to you.”
“Of course he was lying! He was just using his military duties as a pretext!”
“A pretext for what?”
“For bailing on me! He’s so fucking stubborn and stupid,” Edward grumbled, rolling his eyes dramatically.
“Then maybe you should have respected that. Because from what I heard just now, he didn’t sound like he was happy to see me here,” Max said, disappointment and confusion making his chest feel tight.
“That’s not true,” Edward sighed exasperatedly. “He’s a huge fan, you heard him. Not to mention he’s got the biggest cru—” Edward clamped his lips tight, the color draining from his face. He cleared his throat softly. “He’s always wanted to meet you,” he murmured.
“Even if that were true, why the subterfuge?”
“I just…” The prince pursed his lips tightly together and inhaled deeply. Eyes closing, he sagged against the doorframe. “I’m sorry. You’re right,” he said softly, looking at Max imploringly. “I should have told you about him, at the very least. But I wasn’t sure he was going to come and I didn’t want to disappoint you if he didn’t show.”
Max sighed deeply and shook his head. “I think I better go,” he said, stepping around the prince and nodding to the footman waiting outside the room, following the man down the hall.
“Max, wait. Please,” Edward pleaded, trailing after him.
Max stopped despite his better judgment and let the prince catch up. He stared at him silently, waiting for him to say his piece.
“That…” He sighed deeply, both hands scrubbing over his face. “I really cocked that up. I’m sorry. I was just trying to—”
“It doesn't matter.”
An uncomfortable silence hung between them, Edward’s gaze burning a hole on the priceless marble floor of Kensington Palace while Max waited to see if the prince had anything else to say.
“I need to get back to Milton Keynes,” the driver finally muttered when the silence had dragged on long enough.
“Yes. All right. Thanks for coming, I guess. Even if it did turn into a spectacular disaster.”
Max hummed noncommittedly.
“You know, if you want, I can always give you his number,” Edward offered lamely.
“No,” Max said softly. “If he didn’t want to give it to me, then I shouldn’t have it.”
Edward sighed in frustration but didn’t say anything else.
“I’ll see you in Silverstone,” Max said, waiting only long enough for the prince to nod his head in acknowledgement before he continued to follow the footman down the stairs.
He reached the foyer just in time to glimpse a black car peeling away, but by the time he reached the door it was long gone.
Another missed opportunity.
The drive back to Milton Keynes was spent in silence, Max’s thoughts a jumbled mess that he didn’t even try to sort through as drove on auto-pilot. He mostly ignored the endless messages from Daniel and Lando asking him how the lunch was, only sending them a quick voice note that he was busy after Daniel had tried calling him for the third time.
The sun had set by the time he made it back to his apartment, and he stumbled his way to his bedroom in the dark, too emotionally drained to bother turning on the light. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed, curling up on his side so he could stare at the streetlight spilling in from the open curtains.
Now that he was in a safe space, his body started to shake and tears formed in his eyes, the pent-up stress and emotions from the day bubbling to the surface and finally coming loose.
There had been a moment that morning, when he’d first woken up and before he’d realized that Charles had already left, that he’d planned on asking the brunette for his number.
Nothing like some good old fashioned eavesdropping to bring you back down to Earth, Max thought dejectedly.
He tried to be angry at Edward for putting him in this position, but he couldn’t really muster the energy. It’s not like the man could have known that he and Charles had met the night before and had fallen into bed together.
Burying his face in his pillow, Max curled up tightly and screamed into it, wishing he could rid himself of the pain in his chest when he thought about last night. If he’d known who Charles was, would he have had the guts to approach him? Would he have taken him back to his room? Would he have been… gentler?
He blushed and squirmed in shame when he remembered how he’d manhandled the prince, making Charles ride him and refusing to touch him until the Monégasque had been teetering on the edge of orgasm. And then how he’d fucked into him, fast and deep, battering his prostate until he’d come with just the slightest of touches.
Jesus fucking Christ. And then he’d continued to fuck Charles while he lay boneless on top of him.
Godverdomme.
Listening to Edward list the Monégasque’s accomplishments during the lunch was probably the hottest thing Max had ever heard. But it also made him realize that Charles was so utterly out of his league it was kind of laughable.
It doesn’t make sense, Max thought, memories of the night before playing in his head of how sweet and charming Charles had been at the bar, how he’d been so willing and eager to be with him and to let Max fuck him. If he’d known who Max was since the start then why…?
Holy fuck.
Charles had known who Max was from the start.
Did that mean…? Max frowned slightly. Did that mean he’d just been a convenient fuck? Another celebrity Charles could use to scratch an itch because he’d known Max would be discreet? He felt slightly nauseous at the thought, but the image of Charles’ angry face right before he stormed off gave him pause.
Charles had been genuinely upset when Edward had implied that he slept around. So that had to mean that Charles… what? That he was particular about the people he had sex with? And if that were the case, then did that mean that he’d wanted to sleep with him before Max had ever put the moves on him? Did Charles… like him…?
Max smushed his face into his pillow and screamed in frustration. That had to be the single stupidest thought he had ever had. Why the fuck would someone like Charles, who could literally have anyone he wanted, like him? He groaned at the knot forming in his chest and the nausea churning in his stomach. This had to be the most confused he had ever felt after a one-night stand.
Charles had made it perfectly clear what he thought of the two of them—they would never work out. And Max could hardly fault him for thinking that.
He’d just have to put this whole thing behind him and do what he did best: focus on his racing and forget that the last 24 hours had ever happened.
Max stared at his phone, teeth gnawing on his lower lips, his finger hovering over the trash icon. He’d been browsing through his gallery, looking for a picture of a Buckingham Palace horse to send to Victoria, when he’d stumbled on the picture of Charles he had taken before he’d fallen asleep that night. The Monégasque was facing Max, face relaxed in sleep, long dark lashes fanning over his cheekbones and mouth slightly parted. His short hair was a wild mess over the pillows and, just barely visible on his neck, was the start of a hickey, the bruise so recent that it was still that darkening red.
Max had forgotten about the photo and now he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He’d been resolute when he’d woken up the morning after the lunch that he would put Charles out of his mind and just focus on his driving. But staring at this picture viscerally reminded him of all the feelings from that night: how much fun he’d had, how great the sex had been, and how completely at ease Charles had made him feel.
His finger curled back into his hand and he dropped the phone on the table. Groaning, Max hid his face in his elbow and berated himself for being so weak. Charles was all the way back in France by now, busy doing whatever it was that fighter pilots did and most definitely not thinking about him at all. He had to let this go. He couldn’t let thoughts of smooth perfect skin and soft pleading whines distract him.
Nodding to himself, Max decided that he’d wallowed enough. That ship had sailed, and it was time that he refocused on the upcoming season. He had a championship to defend.
Sadly, his newfound resolve only lasted until the next day.
Milling around the factory with nothing to do until his next meeting had left him with too much time to think, and the soft song coming from one of the offices down the hall had reminded him of the club and of the way Charles had moved on the dance floor, his arms looped around Max’s neck and soft lips grazing over his skin. The thoughts had swirled wildly in his head until he’d felt so desperate for the Monégasque that, before he knew it, he’d pulled up his private Instagram account and had typed in Charles’ name.
And there, in a little bubble with the Monégasque royal family coat of arms, was the prince’s official social media account. Before he could talk himself out of it, Max had clicked on it and started scrolling through the posts.
He clicked on one at random and flushed when a video of Charles lounging on a bench, legs splayed wide while he undid the top part of his fatigues, started playing. His heart sped up at the indecent pose, eyes glued on the video for longer than he cared to admit before he managed to scroll past it. The next post had him flushing even redder—an image of Charles in his flightgear and standing in front of the back of a fighter jet.
Fuck. Max had seen the man naked and in the throes of an orgasm. A picture of him in his flightsuit should not be making his pants feel this tight. He clicked out of the page when he heard his name being called.
He swore that was the last time.
Unfortunately, over the next week, it became a pastime.
Max would start the day determined not to think about Charles, and he’d manage fine until he suddenly found himself with some downtime between meetings or simulator sessions. And then, like an addict, he was back to scrolling through the prince’s social media pages. Sometimes he was good and only looked at posts of various aerial maneuvers, like Charles barrel rolling or flying in formation. But most times he got lost in pictures of Charles’ smiling face, his dimples cutting deep lines across his cheekbones.
Those pictures were a torment. Max couldn’t help but wish he could trace his fingers over the prince's sharp nose and kiss his way across his jaw. They reminded him of how the brunette had looked sitting astride his thighs, head thrown back and flushed with pleasure. One particular picture of Charles with his top off and his fatigues hanging from his hips had forced Max into the nearest bathroom, hand pressed against his erection while he tried to think unsexy thoughts.
By the end of the week he’d accepted he was fucked. He had scrolled all the way through Charles’ various social media accounts, saving several photos to a locked folder along the way. Whatever he’d been feeling at the start of this had slowly morphed into what Max could only quantify as, well, a crush.
The more he learned about him, the harder it was not to fall for the Monégasque. Not only was he clearly dedicated to his military service, but, peppered among the pictures of Charles at the base and in the air, were also posts of him raising money for charity, visiting children in the hospital dressed up like various comic book characters, and helping in soup kitchens.
And none of the posts had seemed gimmicky, either. In every single one of them, Charles had been smiling, his entire being focused on whoever he was speaking to, be they a child showing him the proper way to thwip his webs or another volunteer. Max felt a little crazy and a lot stalkerish staring at the pictures.
THWACK
The force of a ball smacking straight into his stomach had the blond doubling over and gasping in pain, the wind knocked out of him. His knees buckled and he crashed onto the synthetic material of the court, wheezing pathetically. Several hands were suddenly on him, keeping him upright, and he groaned when voices kept asking him if he was okay.
Of course he wasn’t okay! Were they stupid?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to catch his breath and shrugged off the hands holding on to him.
“Get off,” he mumbled, and sprawled out on his back as soon as they let go. “Ow. Fuck.”
“What the fuck was that, Max?”
Groaning, the driver threw his forearms over his eyes to avoid answering the question. A light nudge against his ribs forced him to open one eye so he could glare at whoever was poking him.
“Stop that, Daniel,” he ordered and tried to squirm away from the foot when Daniel poked him again.
“Get up,” the Australian ordered.
Max glared at him silently for a second before he hid his face back into his elbow. “No,” he replied, voice muffled.
A racket started to poke him in the other leg. “Max. Max. Max,” Lando whined annoyingly. “Get up. Get up. Get up.”
“Fuck off!” Max roared, hand swinging at Lando’s shin and missing him by a few centimeters when the Brit jumped out of the way.
“C’mon mate. You okay?” Lando asked, crouching back next to him, padel racket resting on the ground to help him balance.
Moaning, Max rolled over on his side and sat up, one arm loosely hugging his middle. He breathed in deeply, testing his lungs, and was pleased when he only coughed a little. Pulling his knees up, he rested his sweaty forehead on them and closed his eyes again.
“Hey, Max, come on. You’re freaking me out a little,” Daniel said from his other side, warm hand resting on his shoulder.
“I’m okay.”
“Sure you are. Let’s get you up and over to Rupert so he can make sure you haven’t broken a rib or something.”
“I’m fine, Daniel,” Max assured, though he still let the older driver pull him up and drag him off the court to where his trainer was waiting.
“All right Max, lift up your shirt. Let me see the bruise,” Rupert said while he rummaged around the sports bag, pulling out a spray can.
Shaking it, his trainer applied the cold spray on Max's stomach where a lovely, livid bruise was slowly forming. Sighing softly as the cooling agent numbed the area, he let go of his shirt and tugged it back into place.
Looking at his watch and then glancing at Max, Rupert hummed thoughtfully. “Better call it quits for today. Don’t want any more injuries so close to the start of the season.”
“I don’t know,” Lando said teasingly. “Might finally give everyone else a chance at the championship.”
“As if any of you could beat me,” Max grumbled.
“All right, settle down,” Rupert chuckled, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, Max. Make sure you ice that bruise, yeah? I won’t take it easy on you just because you’re sore.”
Max scoffed and waved at his trainer. “You got it. I’ll see you later.”
With a wave of his own, Rupert made his way off the court and toward the locker room. Max counted to five before Daniel rounded on him, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Okay, Verstappen. Spill,” the Australian demanded. “What’s got you so distracted that you zoned out in the middle of padel?”
There were only two ways about this. The first was for Max to play dumb and avoid the question. Unfortunately, he knew from personal experience that this would only encourage Daniel to keep harassing him until he caved. The second, less painful way, was for Max to accept his fate and just tell his friend the truth.
After weeks of useless, silent pining, Max just didn’t have it in him to put up a fight.
“Charles,” he muttered, collapsing on the bleachers and hiding his face in embarrassment.
There was a second of silence before Lando squeaked an incredulous, “Charles? Did you just say Charles?”
Max groaned and curled over his knees, nodding just once.
“As in the Charles you fucked that one night in London weeks ago?” Lando continued, baffled.
“Is there some other Charles I’ve told you about, Lando?” Max asked acerbically.
Brown eyes widened in shock and Lando reared back slightly at the harsh tone. “Well, no, but you never talked about him again after you bragged about your, and I quote, epic banging.”
The reminder of the utterly crude texts he’d exchanged with Lando and Daniel about his night with Charles made Max want to curl up into a little ball on the ground and die of shame. He’d been so proud of himself that morning, so fucking smug that he’d pulled the hottest guy he’d ever seen in his life, that he’d spent most of the morning boasting about it to his friends in explicit details.
“Don’t be a dick, Lando,” Daniel admonished.
This was why Daniel was Max’s favorite.
“Can’t you see the man is clearly suffering from withdrawal after that wild and passionate night?”
Max took it back—he hated Daniel.
“Fuck off,” he grumbled, giving the older man the middle finger. “I am not in withdrawal.”
“So you're not jacking off to the memories of your one-night stand instead of finding someone new.”
“Oh, fuck you, you jackass. That’s not why I’m mop—” Shit. Too late, Max realized his mistake.
“Moping?” Daniel asked, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Did you just say moping? Aw, look Lando, Maxie misses his fuck buddy.”
“Can’t be a fuck buddy if he’s only seen him once,” Lando pointed out sagely.
Daniel shrugged. “Well, what else would I call him? He fucked him once, didn’t get his number, didn’t get a last name, and he has no idea who he is.”
Max absentmindedly bit his lower lip at Daniel’s points, only two of which were correct now, and tried to conceal the flush creeping up his face. The loud and dramatic gasp told him he’d failed miserably, and Max grunted when the Australian threw himself onto the bleacher and collided into him.
“Maxie! You found out who your mystery lover was?” Daniel exclaimed excitedly, one arm wrapping around Max’s shoulder.
Another gasp preceded more rattling, and Lando threw himself unceremoniously on the other side, shaking Max rapidly. The Dutchman tried to get away from his two friends but the hands on him tightened and kept him where he was.
“How did you find out?” Lando asked enthusiastically. “And more importantly, who is he?”
Pursing his lips in annoyance, Max debated what and how much to tell them. While he loved them both, they were the biggest fucking gossips, only rivaled by Pierre Gasly, and he didn’t want this thing he’d had with Charles to make the rounds of the paddock. But, at the same time, the Dutchman felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t get everything off his chest.
“Max, come on man,” Lando whined, practically draping himself over his friend when the blond didn’t respond immediately. “Don’t leave us hanging.”
Frowning, Max pushed Lando off him and sat up. He glanced around the court, noting how a couple of people were looking their way, and pursed his lip, uncomfortable saying anything where they could be overheard.
Daniel watched him silently and hummed thoughtfully. “Let’s go to the sauna.”
“Oh. That’s actually… Yeah,” Max agreed, once again thankful for Daniel’s perceptiveness.
“What? No. I hate the sauna. Just tell us,” Lando grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Max glared at him fiercely, and Lando deflated immediately. “On second thought, yay. I love the sauna.”
They made their way back to the changing rooms, Max a few paces behind, anxiety swirling wildly in the pit of his stomach. He stayed quiet while the three of them changed out of their clothes and grabbed the complimentary towels, silently rehearsing what he was going to tell them and preparing himself for the endless teasing he'd have to endure.
At least it would be friendly fire; if word ever got out to the press, he wasn’t sure what the reaction would be—either to him or Charles. In his last few weeks stalking through the prince’s social media, Max had stumbled onto several less than flattering tabloids about the man. Most of them were from his late teens before he’d joined the military, but he still occasionally made the headlines as one of the less sensational stories in an edition.
They ranged in flavor, from benign to outright toxic homophobic garbage, but all of them, without fail, had something to do with Charles’ sex life. The friendlier tabloids—like there were such a thing—tended to only post paparazzi pictures of Charles and whoever he was with, speculating on their relationship and how long they might have been dating. But the nastier ones liked to paint Charles as a whore who’d spread his legs for anyone.
Max had been sickened to see that this particular flavor of horrid stories dated back to when Charles had first come out as a teenager. It seemed like back then, the tabloids’ favorite depiction of Charles was one of partying hard and sleeping around. Max had felt physically ill when he’d come across the first article that mentioned Charles being part of an orgy, the prince's fury at Edward still crystal clear in Max’s mind even after all these months.
But those rumors had finally been put to rest after a couple of years. Nowadays, it seemed like the tabloids’ favorite articles were those that accused the prince of engaging in sexual favors in exchange for state secrets from various politicians. Just as vicious, but with a fun extra-disgusting twist.
“Here we go,” Daniel said, opening the door to the sauna and startling Max out of his reverie.
Hot steam washed over them, and the blond breathed in the heavy air, letting it fill his lungs and clear his mind. As usual, it felt suffocating and he hated it, the room a reminder of the grueling training he had to endure for Singapore and Qatar. But Daniel was right that this was their best bet for some privacy, so he sucked it up and went in first.
He sprawled out on one of the lower benches, his head thrown back and elbows resting on the raised platform behind him, his towel riding high on his thighs. Daniel sat next to him, Lando’s footfalls making tiny little splats as he climbed up to sit behind Max. There was a moment of quiet between them, the three of them settling down, and Max held his breath, waiting to see which of his friends would breach the topic first.
“Okay, now that we’re in this gross ass room, will you finally tell us who Charles is?” Lando asked, annoyed.
Psyching himself up, Max slowly breathed in the warm air and held it in for a few seconds, before slowly exhaling.
Okay. I can do this. Just rip off the band-aid.
“Charles Leclerc,” he said, pleased with how steady his voice came out.
Twin looks of confusion greeted his statement.
“Are we… supposed to know who that is?” Lando asked hesitatingly when Max didn't say anything else.
Hoping that he could pass off his flush as overheating, Max forced his face to stay neutral as he side-eyed the Brit. Lando visibly bristled at his look and crossed his arms over his chest defensively.
“What?” he asked acidly, glaring back at Max.
Max raised an eyebrow just to see Lando squirm.
“Huh,” Daniel said softly next to him. “Leclerc…”
Daniel hummed softly, brown eyes staring at a spot in the middle distance. Behind him, Lando shifted again, and Max reached back and slapped his shin when the younger man started poking him with his toe.
“Lando,” Max said warningly.
“Who’s Charles Leclerc?” Lando asked, poking him again.
“I swear to God, if you poke me one more time I’ll—”
“Oh my God!” Daniel suddenly exclaimed, causing the other two drivers to jump and turn to look at him. “Oh my God! Please tell me you did not have sex with the prince of Monaco!”
Max’s grip on Lando’s ankle tightened, causing Lando to jerk his foot in surprise and accidentally kick Max in the ribs.
“Fuck, Lando!” Max griped but froze at the look on his friend’s face.
“You did not,” Lando whispered, staring at Max with wide, incredulous eyes.
“Max, you dog!” Daniel laughed, slapping Max’s bicep before he gripped his shoulder and shook him. “Holy fuck! How did you even land him?”
“Wait. Stop,” Lando pleaded. “You… Wait. Isn’t Charles the one who joined the military?”
Max nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“What the fuck was he even doing in London? Wait, no,” Daniel corrected himself before Max could even admit that he didn’t know what Charles had been doing there. “How did you not recognize him?”
“Oh, please, like Max could tell one famous person from another. The better question is how did you recognize him?” Lando interjected.
“I…” Max licked his lips—the moment of truth. “You know that lunch I went to the day after?”
“With Prince Edward, ye—No,” Daniel breathed disbelievingly.
Max cringed slightly. “Prince Edward, um, also invited Charles.”
“Oh my God,” Lando whispered, horrified. “Please don’t tell me you, like, walked in and he was, like, there.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you,” Max deadpanned.
Lando gasped. “Holy fuck. And you had just—did you exaggerate about what you did the night before?”
“Not really,” Max cringed.
Daniel let out a high-pitched cackle at that and doubled over, one forearm resting on the bench, his back shaking uncontrollably. Max squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for death. Behind him, Lando was making tiny little wheezing noises, his foot constantly nudging Max in the back.
“Stop. Stop,” Lando gasped. “Did he—Oh my God! Did he know who you were?”
Max grit his teeth and gave a single nod.
Lando guffawed, doubling over and holding his stomach, desperately trying to breathe between bouts of laughter. Max stared at him annoyed and slapped his leg, irritated at his hysterics. When that did nothing to deter the Brit's ridiculous attitude, Max looked to Daniel for support but groaned when he saw the man biting his lower lip with tears of laughter in his eyes.
“Not you too.”
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said, a couple of soft giggles escaping him despite his best efforts. “It’s just… Come on, mate. He’s the prince of Monaco. You’re an F1 World Champion. Of course he knew who you were.”
“Oh,” Max said softly. When he put it like that… “Yeah, I guess.”
“Wait, wait,” Lando said, finally catching his breath. “Isn’t Charles the gay one?”
The phrasing sent a sharp, white hot stab of anger through Max, something akin to protectiveness prickling under his skin. He pursed his lips to stop himself from saying something he might regret.
“Considering he had sex with Max, I would hope he’s at least bisexual,” Daniel remarked casually.
“I think I saw an old tabloid rag about him last year,” Lando mused, slumping back and splaying his legs.
“Since when do you read tabloids?” Daniel asked skeptically.
“George sent me a link. I can't remember why,” he shrugged. “It was something about an ex-boyfriend accusing Charles of sleeping around while they’d been together. Said he threw a hissy fit when the ex broke up with him. No surprise there,” he scoffed.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Max asked, trying to keep his anger in check.
“I mean, he’s one of those pompous royal prats, right? I bet he thinks he’s God’s gift to gay men and that it gives him the right to treat all his partners like dirt. And he did walk out on you and then crash your lunch with Edward.”
“What the fuck?” Max asked incredulously.
“Obviously he’s a prick and you’re better off without him. Who does that anyway?”
Max ground his teeth, his annoyance at Lando growing. Next to him, Daniel shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two drivers nervously. The steam of the sauna felt heavy in the Dutchman's lungs, the silence between them suffocating.
And then Lando snapped his fingers, exclaiming, “Oh! And he also said that one time he walked in on Charles having an orgy! Talk about being into some kinky shit,” the brunette said, his whole face scrunching in disgust. “I hope you used a condom. Who knows what kind of STDs that man is carrying.”
“Lando,” Daniel said warningly. “You know you can't trust those articles. They're all trash.”
“They always have some kernel of truth. Besides, royals are all cunts who can’t keep it in their pants.”
“Know many royals, do you?” Max growled, his patience wearing thin.
“I mean, McLaren is partially sponsored by one, so yeah. And they're real dicks.”
“Charles isn't like that,” Max retorted defensively.
“Oh, come on Max,” Lando scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You slept with the man once and talked to him for, what? Two hours? You have no idea what he's like.”
“And you haven't even met him,” Max ground out.
“Well, according to his ex, he's a total slut who likes to keep his ass ready for anyone,” Lando shrugged, one hand whipping off the sweat on his brow.
“Lando,” Max barked out, horrified at the casual maliciousness of the comment.
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” Daniel asked placatingly, his gaze snapping between his friends.
“Well, if that list of partners his ex-boyfriend shared is even ten percent true, then this little prince gets passed around a lot.”
Red coated his vision, and the next thing Max knew Lando was sprawled on his back, one hand cradling his face while wide, frightened eyes stared at the Dutchman towering over him. His chest heaved unevenly, the knuckles of his clenched right fist stinging from the punch to Lando's face.
“Shut the fuck up,” Max growled dangerously, his body trembling with repressed anger.
“What the—”
“I said, shut the fuck up!” Max seethed, cutting off Lando before he could say anything else. “I won't just sit here and listen to you spout this kind of disgusting bullshit about someone you don't even know.”
“You hit me,” the Brit whispered incredulously. Slowly, he touched the corner of his lip and then stared at the blood staining his fingers. “I'm… I'm bleeding?”
“Max,” Daniel scowled, his hand halfway to Max's shoulder, but stopping when the Dutchman sidestepped him. “You can't just go around hitting people.”
“I can if they're being bigoted assholes.” Max glared at Lando until the younger man shrunk in on himself.
“That's not fair!” Lando whined.
Sighing audibly, the Australian crouched by Lando and took his chin between two fingers, lifting his head up so he could take a better look. “Apologize,” Daniel ordered, looking up at Max.
Max glared daggers at the older driver, his lips downturned and eyes furrowed into a deep scowl. “No.”
“Max,” Daniel said disapprovingly. “I thought you were past this.”
“And I can't believe you're taking his side!” Max yelled angrily.
“I'm not, but he also didn’t just punch someone!” Daniel exploded, his patience snapping in the face of Max's hostility.
“Fuck you, Daniel.”
Before either driver could react to his outburst, Max turned around and barged out of the sauna. He quickly and angrily got dressed and stormed out of the facility.
By the time he made it home, he had several texts and missed calls from Daniel, but none from Lando. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise; after all, the younger man was notorious for failing to accept responsibility for his actions. And sure, maybe Max shouldn’t have let his temper get the best of him and punched the guy, but the Brit shouldn’t have been so utterly vile.
Max refused to let him off the hook this time. Unless Lando apologized for what he’d said, then Max had nothing to say to him.
With his mind made up, Max spent the rest of the off-season shuttling between Milton Keynes and Monaco, as well as dodging Daniel’s calls and texts. When the first media day finally rolled around and Lando still hadn’t said anything to him, Max purposely sat down next to the Brit at the presser and raised an eyebrow at him, scoffing and shaking his head when the other driver avoided his gaze.
It didn’t escape Max’s notice that Lando spent the entire press conference shifting from side to side, staring either at his lap or out at the press pool. Max knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help the tiny little grin at the other driver’s clear misery. But he also didn’t stick around once the conference was done. He didn’t have the patience for Lando’s brand of waffling. If he wanted to patch things up between them, the younger man would have to put on his big boy pants and come find Max.
Ultimately, it took until the drivers’ parade for Lando to make his move, although Max was disappointed that he’d enlisted Daniel to be his middleman.The Dutchman was on his way to the truck when his friend called out to him. He waited for the Australian to catch up, and as they boarded, he noticed Lando already leaning against the railing, staring at them.
“How are you?” Daniel asked, his gaze flitting from Max to Lando.
“Fine,” the blond responded, taking a sip of his water. “You?”
“Yeah, great,” Daniel said distractedly, staring at Lando meaningfully over Max's shoulder.
Max took another sip of his water, refusing to fill the ensuing silence. When it seemed like all the eyebrow gymnastics in the world wouldn’t get Lando to come over, Daniel sighed and shook his head exasperatedly.
“Listen Max, about Lando—” The older man finally said, and Max promptly turned away to make his way toward Alonso.
“Max,” Daniel hissed, one hand snapping out to grab onto his elbow.
Max shook him off and glared at him. “If Lando has something to say to me, he can do it himself.”
“You’re not making it easy. Every time he comes near you, you glare at him and then walk away before he even manages to open his mouth.”
“Oh, come on,” Max scoffed, crossing his arms. “He hasn’t even tried.”
“He tried before and after media day, but you avoided him, and he tried again this morning, but you didn’t even acknowledge him.”
Max pressed his lips together and stared at Daniel for a second before he turned around so he could glare at a nervous looking Lando.
“Well?” Max directed at the younger driver. Lando shifted from side to side but stayed silent. Max scoffed. “Right. Great talk.”
“Oh, come on!” Lando finally exploded and Max raised his eyebrows at him. “I didn’t even do anything wrong! You’re the one who—”
“Lando,” Daniel hissed, cutting him off before he could run his mouth again.
The clacking of his teeth as he snapped his mouth shut was clearly audible and Max forced himself to remain impassive. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited. From the corner of his eyes, Max saw the F1 TV crew making their way toward the back of the truck and he looked at Lando expectantly.
“Urgh, fine!” the younger man grumbled, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m sorry. There. Happy?”
“No,” Max replied.
“What? Why the fuck not? I apologized!”
“For what?” Max asked.
“For… you know,” Lando mumbled, one hand waving vaguely in the air.
“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”
“You’re such a fucking prick. I’m sorry for what I said about Charles,” he griped, purposely drawing out Charles’ name.
“Lando, stop that,” Daniel admonished softly, elbowing the younger man. “You’re being a dick.”
Lando sighed explosively and dropped his arms to his side. “Fine. I’m sorry I said those things about Charles. It was… It was really shitty of me. Especially because I know how much tabloids suck and that they lie all the time.”
Max stared at the younger driver silently, enjoying the sight of Lando squirming uncomfortably. Just before it seemed like the other man would snap at him, Max reached out and slapped his bicep. “Thanks. I’d apologize about your face, but you deserved it.”
With that, he pivoted around and smiled at the interviewer, enjoying the sounds of Lando’s indignant splutter behind him while he answered her questions about his race pace.
He spent the rest of the weekend riding that high, screaming into his radio when he won the race and throwing himself into his mechanics’ arms as soon as he got out of the car. The fact that Lando ended in P8 was a nice bonus, although he secretly wished he’d ended lower; just because he’d accepted Lando’s apology didn’t mean that he was ready to forgive him, and Max was nothing if not a petty, petty man.
The next week was equally exhilarating. Another pole and another win to add to his tally, as well as another 1-2 for the team. The car was a rocket, just as fast as its predecessor, and Max was already dreaming of lifting that WDC trophy in the air come the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony.
And if he spent his nights flicking through Charles’ socials and lurking around his fan accounts, that was between him and whatever spy agency might be monitoring his phone.
Coming into Australia, there was a feeling of inevitability. Free practice was good, the team completing their program and the car once again feeling like it had the pace to be at the head of the pack. The Ferraris would be a problem, Daniel looking fast in his car if the telemetry from FP2 was anything to go by.
But when he pulled up to parc fermé after qualifying P1, it was Carlos parking next to him in P2, Daniel somehow only managing P5 despite the fact that he had been the faster Ferrari all weekend. It left a sour taste in his mouth, but Max pulled on his best PR smile for the Spaniard, congratulating him even though he thought it was the wrong Ferrari starting next to him on the front row.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in strategy meetings before he was ordered back to his hotel to sleep Max, not to play video games.
Throwing his backpack onto the chair and turning on his portable sim, he scoffed as he made himself comfortable. The team could bitch all they wanted, but sim racing helped him decompress, so if he wanted to stream a little before going to bed, then he damn well would and there was nothing they could do about it. Plus, sim racing around Albert Park would be infinitely more useful than, say, obsessively checking a certain Monégasque prince’s social media accounts for updates.
By the time the race rolled around, Max felt like he could drive it with his eyes closed. The weather was perfect, the car felt great—if a little unstable at times—and the strategy was solid. There was no way he wouldn’t be adding another notch to his tally once he crossed the checkered flag.
Except that, almost right away, the feeling in the car started to go and by the time he’d finished the opening lap he’d lost the car completely, watching almost helplessly as Sainz overtook him into turn 9.
“I just lost the car. Really weird,” he reported, GP’s acknowledgment almost background noise while he thought about how he could regain his position.
Except that a lap later, he could feel something was wrong, the car acting stranger than it should be in the turbulent, dirty air of the Ferrari ahead of him. And then he saw it in his rearview mirror, a plume of smoke billowing from his rear right tire.
“Ah, smoke. Blue smoke,” he said, pulling over to the side and slowing down, trying to regain control of the car.
And then things went from bad to worse.
“On fire. Fire. Brake, brake. My brake,” he said in quick succession, swinging off the racing line and forcing himself to remain calm and get to the pit entrance safely.
“Yeah. Box Max, box,” GP said in his ear, and Max thanked God that he was on the right part of the track to get back in immediately.
The plume of black smoke as he crawled into the pitlane was concerning and a push on the brake confirmed his worst fear. “Yeah, I can’t brake. Get the fire extinguisher ready. Fire.”
“Yep. Understood, Max.”
By some miracle, he got to his marks and watched the marshals rush over and start to put out the fire, the smoke surrounding him and nearly blinding him.
“Can I get out?”
“Switch off, Max. Yeah.”
Without wasting another second, he turned off the engine, pulled off the steering wheel and jumped out. After he handed it over to one of his mechanics, he lingered by the entrance of the garage, watching his pit crew and the marshals swarm around the car, fire extinguishers going off occasionally until they had the flames under control. He huffed out an annoyed breath, watching the smoking aftermath for a couple more seconds before shaking his head in dismay and making his way back into the garage.
Just as Max pulled off his helmet and HANS, movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he waited for GP to sidle up next to him before continuing toward his driver’s room.
“What happened?”
“The brake stuck on,” GP replied, sighing in frustration.
Max paused and stared at him. “What? What do you mean, it stuck on? Why?”
His race engineer shrugged. “We’ll have to send the parts to the factory and Brembo. See if they can figure it out. But everything seemed fine when we were setting up the car on the grid, so I’m not really sure.”
That wasn’t very encouraging; though, two years without a mechanical DNF was a hell of a streak. It was a pity it had to happen so early in the season when they were still figuring out the car.
“All right. I’ll get changed and go do post-race interviews. Do you need me for anything after?”
“Not unless you want to help us pack up the garage,” GP grinned and Max laughed.
“Last time I tried to help, you guys nearly threw a wrench at my head. No thanks. Let Christian know I’ll be in my driver’s room until the end of the race in case you need me, but otherwise I’ll head out right after.”
“Sounds good. See you later, Max.”
“Bye, GP,” Max waved him off, finally free to get back to his driver’s room.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, he leaned back to rest against it. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, taking a second to enjoy the moment of quiet despite his disappointment. It was always frustrating to end the weekend like this, but now he had two weeks to regroup. And the next race was Suzuka, one of his all-time favorites.
A knock at his door shattered his peace and he groaned softly, calling out to whomever it was to give him a second so he could change. He got dressed quickly, briefly checking his phone to let his family know he was okay, before steeling himself to face the press. And then he was off, Gemma by his side as they made their way to the press pen.
It wasn’t until hours later, when he was finally back at his hotel, that Max got around to reading the rest of his messages. He replied to a few friends, ignored Jos’ rant, and then switched over to his chat with Andrew, his social media handler, who always sent him some of the nicer messages from his fans. He smiled warmly at their support and encouragement, but paused at the last texts from Andrew from just a few minutes ago.
Andrew
Weird question. But do you happen to know Charles Leclerc?
You know.
The Prince of Monaco?
The fuck? He broke out in a cold sweat, his heart beating wildly in his chest.
Max
Yes. Why?
Dots appeared and disappeared repeatedly until finally the next message came through, nearly giving Max a heart attack.
Andrew
Well, fuck. He’s been DM’ing your public account since pre-season testing.
I thought they were fake at first, but now I think they’re legit.
Here
A series of screenshots loaded in the chat. Max could scarcely breathe.
Percy_Was_Inverted
Hey Max, this is Charles Leclerc, from lunch with Prince Edward. I’m sorry about the way I ran out without getting your contact. I know you likely get hundreds of DMs from fans on your public account, but hopefully you’ll see mine. I wanted to tell you that it was great to meet you, and I hope we can chat sometime. Please feel free to message me back on this account. It’s my private one.
Percy_Was_Inverted
Hey Max. Sorry I’m a little late, but congratulations on winning the first race of the season! I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be cheering for you, and I hope you do well this year.
Percy_Was_Inverted
Congratulations on another win! Also, I loved seeing your stream today. Simply lovely to see you in something other than fireproofs and team gear. Can’t wait for the next one 😜
Max nearly combusted when he read the last text, his entire face flaming red. Charles had gone out of his way to message him after that disastrous lunch. And he’d kept texting him despite the lack of response from Max.
He was cheering for him even though he was a tifoso.
He had watched one of his streams.
He knew his catch phrase.
Max was going to die.
Max
And you think these are legit?
Andrew
Honestly? I didn’t at first, but now I’m thinking they might be. You want me to follow him back? See if he has any pictures on the account to confirm?
There was a chance this was a hoax, that someone was impersonating Charles to try and get their 15-minutes of fame if Max’s public account followed them back. Except that he hadn’t told anyone but Daniel and Lando about the lunch with Prince Edward. And no one knew that Charles had stormed out of the room but him, Edward, and a handful of Kensington Palace staff.
There was no way this was someone impersonating Charles. They knew too much. It had to be him.
And Max would be a fucking idiot if he let this slip through his fingers.
Max
No. Don’t worry about it. I’ll DM him back.
Andrew
Are you sure? What if it’s a fake?
Max
I got it.
Andrew
All right, man. Good luck.
Max sighed and bit his lower lip nervously, logging into his public account and staring at the text chain from Charles. He took a minute to look at them, absorbing the fact that they were real and marveling at how different it felt to see them for himself instead of as screenshots.
Okay. This was his opening gambit. He could be cool and sleek. He could be flirty and charming. He got this.
A minute later, he swiped back to his WhatsApp and opened up his conversation with Daniel.
Max
HELP!
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