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Max let’s out a muffled groan into the pillow when he feels Charles shifting around in the bed next to him. It’s way too much movement for what feels like the crack of dawn.
“Sto’ fidgeting.” He grumbles, it comes out a lot less authoritative than he wanted, sleep still heavy in his body, the hangover creeping in.
Charles huffs from beside him and Max can picture the pout on his face. “I can’t find my phone.” Charles whines, because yes as much as Charles likes to argue he doesn’t whine, he does.
Max keeps his eyes shut, unrealistically hoping that if he doesn’t open them he’ll be able to get back to sleep and stop the worst of his hangover.
That hope is blown into pieces when he feels the bed shift and then the sun blast through the window as Charles puts the blinds up.
“What the fuck.” Max mutters, rolling over in the bed and half-opening his eyes, the scowl he’s trying to shoot at Charles not doing anything to deter his boyfriend from clumsily walking around the room, shaking his clothes out from the floor.
When Charles comes back over to the bed and starts pulling the duvet off, hands searching everywhere, Max decides enough is enough.
He pushes himself up into a sitting position and sneaks his hands around Charles’ waist, dragging him over as his boyfriend yelps.
“Max, I need to find my phone.” Charles whines, trying to slip off his lap. Max holds him tighter, letting one hand slide up to cup Charles’ cheek and pulling Charles’ head down to kiss him, “You woke me up. You better make it worth it.” He murmurs against Charles’ lips.
Charles shivers, his lips sliding across Max’s, nibbling on them until Max opens his mouth and their tongues lick against each other.
Max’s palms squeeze against Charles’ hip bones, securing him in place, and travel steadily down Charles’ legs to circle his ankles, Charles pulls back, breathing heavily.
Max can see the slight tremor in Charles’ hands right before he reaches out to cup Max’s face and his fingers curve delicately over the hinge of Max’s jaw, thumb passing over Max’s cheekbones with small, tender strokes, holding him like he’s precious.
Charles’ mouth moves to meet his, and he loses himself to trading slow, syrupy kisses that make him dizzy.
By the time Charles pulls back again, Max’s lips are plump and pulsing with a dull ache, and when Charles taps against them, they part on instinct, wrapping loosely around Charles’ fingers so his tongue has space to lap at them.
Charles coaxes out of Max’s mouth with a pop, and shuffles down slightly, deftly spreading Max’s ass cheeks, nudging up against Max’s tender hole, giving a series of tight, wet rubs over the swollen area.
Charles dips down to apply steady pressure to the puffy skin of Max’s hole, and tests his slim, long finger tips against the entrance, idling with spearing them inside. “You’re still loose.” Charles says, deep and satisfied, and Max shudders at the memory of Charles’ cock making room for itself in his body, relentless, friction-hot thrusting stretching his rim to the limit. Charles had won the race yesterday. It was his reward. Max’s too.
Charles opens Max the rest of the way up with dirty, dragging scrapes inside him, and he helps Max sink onto him, brows scrunching and thumbs rubbing soothing circles around Max’s hip bones.
“Merde, you’re perfect.” Charles breathes out, eyes trained on the place his dick is disappearing into Max’s body, and Max blushes under the full force of his focus.
Charles’ cock is hot and stiff, stuffed tight in Max’s hole, and almost suffocating in its hardness, and Max whines when it settles completely inside him.
He lets his ass twitch on it, head of his dick going red, and rides Charles with close, grinding rolls of his hips, anchored by Charles’ firm fingers on his waist, guiding his movements until he loosens up enough to take the largest part of Charles’ cock without meeting resistance.
Charles’ hands start roaming his sides, thighs flexing underneath him to match Max’s rhythm, and Max throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut and moans spilling from his throat as he bounces himself on Charles’ cock.
They lay there, flat, and sweaty. Max’s lids flutter, and he blinks, slow, and then fast, breath shallowing at the sight of Charles’ soft, open face, pink dusting over his cheekbones. Green peeks up at Max from under fair lashes, and then Charles starts tracing over Max’s chest, lips curving sweetly up.
Max buries his face in the warm bend of Charles’ neck, gasping across his skin. “Charles,” he slurs, fingers gripping weakly at Charles’ hair and hole clamping down tight.
Charles hauls him up higher on his hips, angle sending his dick drilling impossibly deep into Max’s ass, and he chokes on a moan as Charles pulls him in close, arms wrapping around Max’s body.
“Max,” Charles murmurs, muffled by the wet kisses he peppers into Max’s sweat-slicked skin. “Je t'aime. Je t'aime.” His hand splays possessively at the base of Max’s neck while he massages at Max’s rim. “Forever.”
Charles worms in a finger alongside his dick, groaning softly when Max keens, and he takes his other hand, and starts moving his fingertips carefully on Max’s back.
Max’s teeth scrape across the firm muscle of Charles’ shoulder, and wet, shuddery puffs of air push past his open mouth. His throbbing cock can’t hold out any longer.
He clutches at Charles, throat thick with tenderness and terror, and he gasps, “I love you.” into Charles’ neck, face hot, semen slipping out of his cock. Charles groans, dick jerking inside Max’s body.
“Fuck,” Charles says, tight and ragged. He tilts his chin down, and plants a quick, clumsy kiss into Max’s hair, dragging himself off Max’s body and collapsing next to him.
Max bathes in the afterglow, the sun creeping through the window and warming his leg. The sounds of their heavy breathing slowly bringing him back to the living.
The bed shifts and he turns his head to find Charles’ bright eyes on him, swollen lips pulled loose in a soft smile just for him.
Max lifts his arm and drops it across the sheet between their bodies, catching Charles’ hand and squeezing. “I love you, Charlie.”
Charles’ smile envelopes his face, he doesn’t say it back, just squeezes Max hand and Max knows what he means.
“We should shower.” He announces when his brain is no longer muddled and heavy with the image of Charles’ face as he gave into his orgasm.
Charles rolls over to him, their bodies meshing together and the cum that had been on Max’s stomach spreading over their torsos. “I need to find my phone.” Charles is whining again, and Max sighs, fondly rolling his eyes, and shoving his boyfriend off him.
“Let me get something to clean us up with and then we’ll look.” He heaves himself off the bed, lips twitching at Charles’ naked body on the bed, mouth pouting up at him, “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the idiot that’s lost it. It’s probably just in your pocket.”
He doesn’t hang around to listen to Charles’ grumbled response that he’s already looked there, moving to the en-suite and wetting a damp cloth. He drags it in circular motions across his skin, wiping away the stickiness, walking back out of the bathroom and over to Charles, who despite his whinging hasn’t made an effort to move and look for his phone.
“You’re looking skinny.” He observes quietly as he slides the cloth over Charles’ stomach, his ribs pointing through his skin in his relaxed position.
The season is almost over, him and Charles switching top spots of the championship every other weekend. It’s been hell, arguments and silent treatments.
For the first time ever Max doesn’t actually care who wins it, he just wants it to be over so they can get back to normal.
Charles pushes the cloth away, sitting up in the bed on a glare. “Just help me find my phone.” He grumbles, slipping off the bed and starting to look through the clothes on the floor again.
Max sighs, throwing the cloth into their washing basket and picking up his own phone from the bedside table. “I’ll ring it for you. Just know if you haven’t changed my ringtone from Pass the Dutchie like I asked then you’ll regret it.” He warns evenly, holding back a smirk when Charles grins, because Charles thinks he’s fucking hilarious.
Max frowns when he turns his phone on and the lock screen lights up to tens of notifications, missed calls, whatsapps, texts. “What the fuck?” He marvels, unlocking his phone, not reading any of the messages and going straight to the one from his sister, the panic growing in his stomach.
Have you seen it?
I’m so sorry Maxy. I love you and Charles.
He frowns harder, ignoring Charles’ questioning about what he’s looking at and clicks off her message, deviating to Lando’s that is a link.
When he opens it, he almost drops his phone.
He immediately knows what it is.
Formula 1 stars in gay sex tape scandal!
Tuesday 16th September, 2023
Just when we thought the championship fight between Formula 1’s golden boys, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc, couldn’t get any more intense, a sex tape emerges, exposing their gay relationship. The video, allegedly taken from Verstappen’s own phone, is explicitly pornographic. Details that follow are not advised for viewers under the age of 18…
The video is four minutes and eighteen seconds long. Max remembers exactly how it goes: the images were seared onto his memory long before he had to deal with each frame being ‘conclusively analysed’ by idiots on the internet.
The camera work is shaky and one-handed, but manages mostly to centre on Charles’ face as he sucks Max’s cock, with Max’s filthy running commentary all too audible: how fucking pretty he is, how good he looks sucking his dick, how he’d fuck Charles’ mouth all day if he could, how much he wants to mess him up and come all over him, and, most embarrassing of all, how much he loves him.
Thankfully for the world’s collective sanity, viewers are spared the sight of Max licking his own cum off Charles’ face.
“Max,” Charles cries, moving over to him in a hurry.
Max hasn’t said a word in the last five minutes, too busy watching the video. It’s no longer something he’ll cherish, something that he’ll use to get himself off with when Charles isn’t around. It’s something completely different now. The media have turned it into something it isn’t. The comments are vile, the kind of stuff no one would ever say to their faces, only hiding away typing furiously onto their keyboards.
Charles looks over his shoulder and Max can hear the breath leaving his boyfriend’s lungs as he takes in the video on the screen, the headline.
“How the fuck has this happened?” He all but whispers, not trusting himself to talk any louder.
His entire world feels like it’s crashing around him.
He looks to Charles helplessly, ice running through his veins when he sees that underneath the anguish and mortification on his boyfriend’s face, there’s guilt too. “What did you do, Charles?” His voice is eerily quiet, terse and cold, unlike how it ever is when he’s talking to Charles.
“My phones gone,” Charles gulps, looking down at the floor, “The video…it was on my phone. I - I must have lost it last night.”
Max exhales slowly, clenching his fist at his side. They’d recorded that video almost a year ago, it was supposed to just be a bit of fun. Charles had made him send it to him so he could keep it. Max had no reason to argue at the time.
That was until Charles’ watch was stolen. He’d told Charles to delete the video off his phone after that, not wanting to take the risk that it might be stolen one day too. Charles promised him he would and Max had gone to sleep that night peacefully, knowing the video was already wiped from his own.
When has Charles ever listened to a thing he’s said though? Charles is the most stubborn person he knows, always thinking he knows better. Some might say stupid at times. Max would say pretty fucking stupid at times.
The anger is burning in him, swirling around in his belly. He turns on Charles, crowding him until his boyfriend’s back hits against the wall. They’re naked, bodies still flushed from sex. “How could you be so fucking stupid, Charles?!”
Charles’ eyes narrow and his arms reach out to shove at Max. Max is expecting it and he grabs them, clutching Charles’ slim arms and pushing them back into his chest, holding him against the wall. “It’s not my fault! I meant to delete it but I must have forgot! Someone stole my phone and leaked it! How was I supposed to know that would happen?!”
“How could you not expect something like that?!” He roars, letting go of Charles’ arms and stepping back, ragging a hand through his hair.
He’s never felt so exposed, so vulnerable.
It’s not Charles’ fault, the sane part of him knows that.
He’s just so angry.
So angry that someone invaded their privacy like that, that they’ve taken a private video of two people and spread it around the internet. That people have seen Charles in a way that’s only for his eyes. That people are making a mockery of their love.
His phone starts vibrating and Christian’s name pops up on the screen along with a photo of them after Max’s first championship.
He exhales, hesitating between throwing his phone at the wall and leaving the country, to answering it and dealing with the shit show that is his life now.
He glances at Charles who is watching him carefully, teeth chewing on his bottom lip, eyes wet with unshed tears.
This isn’t just about him, it’s about Charles too, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets anyone say a thing about his boyfriend. His boyfriend who is a fucking idiot sometimes but is still the fucking embodiment of light.
Sliding his thumb across the screen, he answers the call, placing it on speaker.
“I assume that you’ve seen it.” Christian’s tone is clipped. Max can imagine him running his hand through his hair in exasperation.
Max doesn’t respond, just waits for the onslaught of shouts, Christian screaming at him for being so stupid, so careless. Or even worse, the eerily quiet disappointed tone barely above a whisper, the one he’d used with Max after his and Daniel’s collision in 2018.
“I’m so sorry, Max. Are you okay?”
And that, that is the last straw. Christian’s kind, concerned words send him over the edge and he sobs, turning away from Charles who’s watching him in panic.
“No,” He croaks, “Who the fuck has done this?! When I find them I’ll kill them! They had no fucking right!”
Christian sighs down the phone. “Max, it’s going to be okay. We’re already looking into how it got leaked and to get it taken down, someone must have had access to one of your phones.”
“Charles’ phone was stolen last night.” Max confesses quietly, void of the accusation that had been in his voice earlier as he sits down on the edge of the bed, holding out his arm for Charles. “That’s how it got leaked.” He finishes, wrapping his arm tightly around Charles’ shoulders when he perches down next to him, the warmth of Charles’ body up his side the only thing keeping him from losing it.
Christian curses down the phone. “Is Charles with you now?” He asks then chuckles dryly to himself, “Of course he is, when are you two not together? Okay, Charles, I’m sorry this happened, but boys we need to think about our next move here.”
Max can feel Charles tense beside him and he strokes his fingers down his boyfriend’s arm, focussing on the feel of Charles’ soft skin. “What move? We’re fucked, Christian.”
“We made a plan in case you two were ever outed, Max. You were both there. I’ve spoken to Fred. We can get through this.”
The plan – little more than a carefully worded press release – goes back to when Christian walked in on them in Max’s drivers room back in 2019. They were on the precipice of becoming seriously big deals in the sport, and the prospect of getting outed escalated dangerously.
They’ve talked about it, from time to time – actually coming out, sitting down and doing a joint interview with someone like Natalie Pinkham, but that’s the closest they have ever come to that plan.
Of course, the plan was made with rather tamer issues in mind than a graphic sex tape being leaked to the likes of The Sun.
“Okay,” Charles says quietly. He sounds like he’s trying very hard to regulate his breathing. “Okay. So what do we do? Admit it’s us and do an interview?”
Max has to bark a laugh at that because how Charles is even considering the idea that people might believe it isn’t them is beyond him.
“Yes, an interview potentially, or maybe just a post from your instagram accounts, the teams will follow up with a post too. This could be good, boys. I know it might not feel it at the moment but you won’t have to hide anymore. You can become ambassadors. You’ll be the first openly out drivers in the history of the sport. You can change the face of it forever.”
Max shakes his head even though Christian can’t see him. “I don’t want to be the fucking poster child for gay F1 drivers,” Max spits, “I just want to be able to fucking love my boyfriend the same way every other fucking driver loves their girlfriend.”
“Max,” Christian starts, obviously thinking better of it and clearing his throat, “Right, leave this to us, okay? You two are on lockdown. Stay off your phones, stay inside. I’ll speak to you when we’ve come up with something. I’m really sorry this happened to you both.”
Max ends the call and immediately goes back to his home screen, opening up Twitter and scrolling through all the tweets calling him and Charles every slur under the sun.
Charles makes a hurt noise and he locks it, not wanting his boyfriend to read any of the careless words being thrown at them.
“I’m really sorry, Max.” Charles whispers. Max winces, throwing his phone behind him on the bed and pulling Charles into his arms. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. I’m sorry I got so angry at you. This isn’t your fault.”
Charles’ hands claw into his back, short finger nails digging into his shoulders. “I was stupid. I should have deleted it.”
“No,” Max whispers into Charles’ hair, “No, that was a private video that you had on your phone. No one else had any right to see it and definitely not to share it.”
He kisses Charles quickly, then rearranges them, pressing their foreheads together until he loses focus and can’t meet Charles’ searching eyes.
Charles says, “I love you.”
He reaches up to rest a hand on the back of Charles’ neck, thumb rubbing soothingly in the soft skin behind his ear. Charles noses closer, until they’re cheek to cheek and breathing in synchrony.
“Come here,” Max mumbles. He sinks onto his back on the bed, pulling Charles down to lie on top of him. The hand on Charles’ neck slips down to his back, to work gently up and down his spine.
“I love you,” Max says, “Whatever happens.”
Max blinks his eyes open as they adjust to the light. He’s too warm, skin feeling sticky and sweaty. Charles is burrowed into his side, snoozing restlessly.
They must have fallen asleep he realises belatedly. He lies there and lets the morning wash over him.
For Max, it’s easy to love Charles.
It’s easy when Charles wakes him up in the morning with messy hair and half lidded eyes, expression fond and heartwarming in a way that builds a warmth in Max’s chest.
The touches that seem so simple yet set Max on fire, smile permanently etched on his face. On Charles’.
It’s easy after Max wins a race. The orange army scream and Max feels nine years old again, adrenaline taking him over until he can barely feel.
Charles will walk over to him after the podium, teeth visible in a wide grin, engulfing Max with open arms. Max is bigger than Charles, always has been, and they fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, Charles safely tucked under his arm.
It’s easy when they’ve grown up together, climbing the ranks, the almost Hollywood rivalry following them since they were prepubescent boys.
Their seemingly opposite personalities drawing in fans of all ages, and invigorating the love for Formula 1 all over again, bringing in a new generation.
It’s easy when they're constantly being linked together: Max and Charles, Verstappen and Leclerc, the famed rivalry that will span decades. It’s easy when Charles is there every step of the way– the good, the bad, the ugly.
It’s easy when they spend their winter breaks together, hidden away in a villa on some discrete island. When the pressure of the sport isn’t on their shoulders and they can just enjoy the other.
There’s no question as to how easy it is for Max to love Charles. It’s there, it’s been there, and it will always be there, no matter how many championships or wins are under their belts.
It’s so easy now, looking back, as he and Charles share an apartment all these years later. It was always so obvious, so apparent, Max isn’t sure why it took so long.
But in retrospect, Max knows that, in the moment, it was not always easy to love Charles.
Not when they were both too young and immature to put anything above racing, when incidents on the race left them reeling at the other.
Not when Max shrivelled under the pressure that was being the youngest ever Formula 1 driver, when his dad had the highest of expectations, on and off the track. Not when millions of fans were watching him, watching his every move, just waiting for him to fail. By the time he was 18, he felt like he could barely breathe.
It wasn’t easy when Charles’ championship hopes started to fall out from under him, the team screwing up almost every race, the car falling behind in development. The nights when Max tried to comfort his boyfriend but Charles looked at him and saw the person getting everything he wanted.
Now, he lies next to Charles, eyes dancing between the view of Monaco from the window to the left of their bed, to the naked back of Charles’ body, face buried into his pillow.
Of light reflecting off of the buildings surrounding their own, gleaming into their room, onto Charles’ shoulder and up to his jaw. He looks so beautiful, like this.
It’s times like these, still and raw, that Max cherishes the most, and that he questions how he got so lucky. He gets to have this. To have Charles.
And God, he hates that there are people that will despise him for it. That there are people who could see them together, carelessly young, happy, in love, the world beneath their feet, and say they’re disgusting, immoral.
How could anyone ever look Charles in the face, his beautiful boyfriend’s face, with his soft green eyes, dimples, and boyish grin, and tell him he can’t love Max.
How could anyone look Max in the face and tell him he can’t love Charles, when it felt like he only started really living for Charles.
He lets himself drift off to sleep again. He’s exhausted without actually having done anything. The emotions, the stress has worn down on him.
When he wakes up again Charles is leaning against the headboard, legs spread out in front of him. He’s pulled a pair of boxers and a t-shirt on and is poking away on Max’s phone.
Max doesn’t have it in him to moan at Charles for being on his phone, it’s not like there’s anything on there he doesn’t want him to see. It’s not like they have an ounce of privacy left after this.
Charles looks up at him when he shifts on the bed and instead of the normal smile he’d usually get, there’s a frown on his boyfriend’s face, a wrinkle between his eyebrows that only appears when he’s not happy with something.
“You okay, baby?” He questions sleepily, knowing it’s a ridiculous question because how can Charles be okay after the morning they had. He stretches his arms above his head on a groan, and pushes himself off the bed, moving on autopilot to the drawers and slipping on a pair of boxers.
“The teams have posted something,” Charles says quietly, holding out the phone to him, Max leans forward and squints to read the Instagram post on the official Redbull Racing account.
It’s a picture of him and Charles on the podium last year. Austria, he realises. They’re laughing at each other, spraying champagne from the bottle like it’s a water pistol.
It has come to our attention that last night an intimate video of our driver, Max Verstappen, and Ferrari’s Charles Leclerc, was posted on social media without their consent. We are deeply concerned that this has happened and that our driver’s privacy was violated like this. At Redbull we pride ourselves on our belief that everyone should have the right to love who they choose. Love is love, and no one should be discriminated against because of their sexual orientation. We stand in support of Max and Charles and ask that their privacy be respected.
Max snorts, “It sounds like it was written by AI but at least they haven’t hung me out to dry.”
“People have commented saying we shouldn’t be allowed to race anymore.” Charles says, pulling the phone back and scrolling down it again.
“I don’t give a shit what they’re saying. They can say whatever the fuck they want.” Max hisses, narrowing his eyes on Charles, “Do you honestly care what they’re saying? They don’t know us.”
Charles huffs out a breath, throwing the phone down beside him in what Max would very much describe as a tantrum. “I care because this is my career, Max!”
Max gawks at him. “It’s mine too!”
“Yes but you’re a two time world champion -“
Max snorts, pulling a t-shirt over his head. “Shut up, Charles. What the fuck does that have to do with anything,”
When he can see Charles again he’s scowling. “It has everything to do with it! You’ve already proved yourself! No one will give a shit if you’re gay! I haven’t! What if people start to think I’m not racing hard enough because of my feelings for you? What if they think I’m deliberately letting you win?”
Max rolls his eyes. “Like anyone would think you’d let me win because I suck your dick.”
“Whatever, you’re not even listening to me.” Charles hisses, shoving himself up from the bed. Max grabs his wrist on a sigh, and pulls them both back down, “I’m sorry. I am listening,” He murmurs, arranging Charles at his side, “I understand what you’re saying. I know it might be easier for me but it’s still hard. I just wish none of it mattered. It fucking shouldn’t.”
“I know,” Charles murmurs into his shoulder, “It does matter though. I think - I - maybe we should say something, you know?”
Max frowns, sitting back slightly to look Charles in the eye. “What do you mean? Our teams have said something. We don’t have to say a fucking thing if we don’t want to.”
“Maybe we could help some kids,” Charles says quietly, “Maybe there’s some gay kids in karting that will finally feel like they belong.”
Max doesn’t say anything as Charles’ words echo around his brain.
He thinks of himself at fourteen, of how much he hated himself when he couldn’t look away from Charles at the kart track, at how disgusted he was when he used to lie awake at night hard over the image of Charles’ face in his head.
The way his dad used to scoff at the TV whenever there was a gay character on the screen and then turned it off, muttering to Max about how they shouldn’t advertise that way of life.
It would have made a difference if there was even one openly gay Formula 1 driver, let alone two star drivers. It would have made it easier to breathe. He wouldn’t have overthought every single thing he said, or worried he was standing in a way that made him look gay.
“Okay.”
Verstappen and Leclerc in shock sexuality, relationship announcement
Thursday 18th September, 2023
Mere days after a sex tape starring the two Formula 1 drivers was leaked online, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc have shocked national sporting media with the revelation that they are in a long-term relationship.
In a pre-recorded interview with Sky Sport’s Natalie Pinkham, Verstappen and Leclerc stated that they were in a “long-term, committed romantic relationship,” – rumoured to predate Leclerc’s arrival in the sport – and that they were “tired of hiding who they are.”
“We love each other,” An exclusive clip shows Verstappen saying, “In this era, being gay and in a same-sex relationship cannot be allowed to be an impediment to a sporting career.”
In a deliberate echo of the motto of the FIA’s push for inclusivity in the sport last year, Leclerc ended the interview with a solemn, “If you can race then you should be accepted for who you are. We can race.”
The interview came days after a video emerged that was alleged to be a sex tape involving the two F1 stars.
The video was passed anonymously to The Sun tabloid paper. One source close to the paper claimed that the video was acquired directly from Leclerc’s personal phone.
The Sun have issued no comment on the provenance of the video, but Paul Cambria, Redbull’s legal representative is already believed to be exploring a civil case against both the paper and the anonymous source for invasion of privacy.
The FIA was quick to support Verstappen and Leclerc’s announcement. “We were aware of Max and Charles’ situation,” FIA President, Mohammed Ben Sulayem, told interviewers. “We knew that it was not an issue, whether they wanted to come out publicly or not. We were happy either way, and we are now glad to say that we absolutely support them.”
They become the first Formula 1 drivers to come out in the history of the sport. The two young extraordinaries are being praised by commentators and fans alike for their announcement that has sparked a conversation within the sport over how inclusive it really is and what more can be done.
“Did you hear what Charles said in his pre-race interview?” Lando appears out of nowhere at his side. Max stops walking, turning to his friend with dread. What the fuck has Charles said now?
His face must give away the fact he has no idea what’s been said because Lando sighs, pulling out his phone and tapping away at it, then shoving it into Max’s hands.
Max frowns, pressing play on the video circulating around Twitter despite it only being posted 28 minutes ago.
“Charles, the reaction to yours and Max’s announcement has been overwhelmingly positive. Can you confirm that you and Max have been together for the entirety of your Formula 1 career?”
Charles blushes in front of the camera, his fingers coming up to tug at the collar of his Ferrari shirt. “We have been together since we were 18, yes, but back then we were very young and our relationship was not what it is now.”
“You’ve proven that your relationship has no impact on your racing ability. Will we be hearing any wedding bells in the near future?”
Charles laughs slightly, it’s nervous, not his real laugh. “Maybe. We’ve been together so long without Max asking that I might have to get down on one knee myself.”
“Dude, he wants to marry you!” Lando all but screams in his ear. Max shoves the phone back into Lando’s hand and stalks off to the Ferrari garage.
Max finds Charles at the back of the garage, he’s standing with Fred, who is making all the right fatherly noises, one hand resting on Charles’ shoulder.
“Charlie,” Max calls.
They both stop, and Charles pivots awkwardly on one foot, not looking at Max.
“I’ll let you two sort this out,” Fred says quietly. “Then we’ll have look at the tyre degradation again, okay?” He pats Charles on the shoulder and – if Max isn’t going completely insane, which, admittedly, is a distinct possibility after the last week they’ve had – winks.
There is a long silence
“Were you serious?” Max blurts out.
“About what?” Charles asks innocently, and Max just about manages not to shove him up against the wall and kiss the life out of him.
“Charlie, look at me,” Max says. There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice.
“I - It was a joke, okay,” Charles rushes out, eyes still downcast. “It doesn’t matter. Forget about it.”
“It’s gonna be pretty hard to forget about when it’ll be doing the rounds on social media for the next month and I’ll be asked about it in every God damn interview.“ Max says. It comes out harsher than he meant and Charles flinches a little.
He puts his hands on Charles’ shoulders, forcing him to look up. “Were you serious?”
Charles’ eyes are so green, Max thinks hysterically.
Green like the leaves on the best days of summer, when it’s warm and humid, mosquitoes in the air and friends all around.
The corner of his mouth twitches nervously.
“Yeah,” Charles says, shakily. He runs a hand through his hair. “Of course I was serious.”
Max gapes at him. “You - what?”
It’s the answer Max wanted – of course it is – but that doesn’t mean he knows how to react to it any better. The hesitation must be too long though, because Charles sweeps Max’s hands off his shoulders. An unhappy fist clenches closed involuntarily.
“Forget about it,” Charles says hoarsely. “Pretend it never happened. Along with the rest of this whole shitty week.”
“No, Charlie, please,” Max says. He grabs at Charles’ wrist as he turns away, tugging him back around and pulling him flush against him.
“For fuck’s sake, stay still and listen to me for a minute,” Max says into Charles’ hair. “I… I should have said something before now. I didn’t realise you were waiting.”
Charles snorts. His nose is pressed into the fabric of Max’s team shirt and there’s a suspicious dampness growing against Max’s back that he’s going to diplomatically ignore for the moment.
“It’s not like,” Charles starts. He pulls back a bit until his voice is no longer muffled by fabric. “I wasn’t looking for some big gesture. I just…” He shrugs. “Some confirmation might have been nice.”
Max runs a hand up Charles’ back, just like he’s done everyday, curled together, waiting until the media stormed passed.
“I didn’t know,” Max says quietly, “I’m sorry. You know I love you.”
After a minute, Charles says, “It’s okay. I should be used to you being an idiot by now.”
“Hey,” Max says reproachfully. He pokes Charles in the side until a watery giggle emerges from the vicinity of Max’s collarbone. “So,” he says, “You wanna do it?”
Charles stills in his arms. “What?”
“Get married, Leclerc.”
Charles steps back half a foot and regards Max with wide eyes. “What the fuck, Max?! You can’t just steal it from me!”
Max rolls his eyes because really, of course Charles would be focussing on that, of course his overly competitive boyfriend is more concerned about who got to ask the God damn question.
Max fucking loves him more than anything.
“It’s not a competition.” He retorts dryly, “So, will you marry me?”
“Wow, this is really romantic, Max. It’s the kind of proposal I dreamed of since I was a child.” Charles’ tone is dripping with sarcasm but Max can see the light in his eyes, the grin tugging at his lips. This boy loves him.
Max’s fingers move to Charles’ ribs, prodding at the place he knows will make his boyfriend giggle like a little kid. “Brat. I won’t stop until you say yes.” He warns, tugging Charles closer when he tries to squirm away.
“Yes!” Charles cries with breathless giggles. Max stops, pulling back slightly and smiling down at him. “Really? I was only joking. I don’t expect you just to say yes. We’ve got time.”
Charles rolls his eyes, “Of course I’ll marry you, Max Verstappen.” He grumbles, burying his face back in the curve of Max’s neck.
@maxverstappen1
Thank you for all your supportive messages. Charles and I really appreciate it. Of course I beat Charles to putting a ring on it.
[Image: Charles, grinning at the camera, while Max kisses his cheek. Charles’ arm is around Max’s shoulder; Max’s arm is around Charles’ waist. Charles is wearing a chain with an engagement ring hanging off.]