Chapter Text
The room was a garage, but not the kind Max was used to. Not the heated, busy, mechanical kind of a race garage. Or luxurious like any property he owned, the difference was obvious; it's hidden.
In the middle of it sat a kart.
Max stopped.
Charles did not speak immediately. He seemed content to let him think about it first.
Max took a few steps closer, his expression changing before he could stop it.
The kart was old, but not abandoned. It looked repaired.
The seat still looked small. The frame was compact and unmistakable. It looked like something with history in it. Something that had once been fast in a very small, very serious way.
Max looked back at Charles. “Is it yours?”
Charles leaned one shoulder lightly against the doorframe. “It was.”
Max only looked at him patiently, waiting for a more contextual answer.
Charles’s expression was almost unreadable, but not quite. There was something softer underneath it now, something quieter. “Before I dropped out.”
Max turned back to the kart, he remembered Hamilton's words. He crashed. There was a fire and it made him drop out.
Max stayed still for a second, then stepped closer to it. “May I?” he glanced at Charles.
Charles nodded at him, “Of course” Max's hand hovered over the kart, observing it.
“I heard,” He hesitated for second, not wanting to cross a sensitive subject, “...there was an accident.”
Charles rubbed the side of his temple, “Yeah,” it came too quickly to be casual.
Max glanced up, “...I'm sorry about that.”
Charles gave him a small smile, “It was a long time ago. Even the press got over it by now.”
“Who cares about the press?” he scoffed, growing bolder, “I know the feelings that racing brings once you get in a car. I've always chased it since I rode my first one. You have the right to be angry for leaving that early” he immediately got surprised by how he placed his own words.
“Did we... race together?” Max asked, because if he doesn't remember, then Charles sure doesn't.
Charles looked at him for a second. “...Yeah,” He paused. “Quite a bit.”
Max frowned faintly, “I don’t remember.”
Charles smiled to himself, “You were always looking straight ahead.”
Max frowned. “That's... kind of necessary?”
“For racing.” Charles nodded, “Not always for everything else.”
Max looked up. He did not know why the words landed the way they did. It was something about the room. Something about the kart Charles showed him. Something about Charles standing there looking too carefully at him, like he knew exactly what he had brought him here to feel and was patient enough to wait for it.
There's something wrong here, he just didn't know what yet.
Max looked down at the kart again. A memory tried to rise and did not quite make it. Not a picture. Not even a full thought.
Just the shape of a feeling. Speed. Dust. And young smiling eyes. Something half-lost and almost there. He gritted his teeth. He fucking hated that.
He frowned a little, because it was easier than admitting he was suddenly aware of the missing space where a memory should have been.
Charles noticed, of course. He always seemed to notice.
Max’s hand went to the back of his neck. “I really don’t remember.” he didn't know what else to say.
Charles didn't look offended. If anything, he looked strangely fond. “I know. It's alright.”
Charles said it like a man who accepted it ages ago. The sentence felt heavy in Max's chest. He felt himself almost arrogant for forgetting.
Oh awesome Max, he thinks you're an asshole now, he thought.
“Were we close?” he asked, trying to fill a gap.
Charles gave him a mysterious smile, “Not really. Not in the way you think”
That explained nothing, if anything it made him more confused. Max's look was slow and uncertain in a way he would have hated if anyone else had seen it.
“I wanted to be.”
The words came so quietly after a beat, Max almost thought he'd imagined them, but they were real, and from what he knows the prince isn't really the ironic type, which for Max – was worse.
“Why show me this?” he demanded instead, pointing at the kart accusingly, he needs to come out of here knowing something.
“Because you didn't look really comfortable up there,” he shrugged softly, “and that you might've wanted to see something familiar, in the middle of an unfamiliar evening.”
Max swallowed whatever he was going to say next. The room shrunk around them. Charles's words were unfortunately as true as the book. The whole evening was unfamiliar, it was everything he isn't and everything poeple wanted him to become. Be famous, be social, be active, be loved, be a winner.
But he only knew how to be a winner, never managed what else that came with it.
For once, Max did not quite know what to do with that, “It's not that unfamiliar, I've been through alot of private dinners. I just don't like the crowd that comes with it.” he said, distancing himself once more, because he knows how much Charles's words hit home, but will never admit it.
“I understand,” Charles was already walking to another door in the garage, opening it, the keycard glinted this time from the open light.
Max caught the keycard for only a heartbeat and could've sworn it looked exactly like the one sitting on his nightstand back home.
“There's also our normal garage. No karts this time” Charles's voice snapped him out of his stare.
“Oh.”
He stepped inside cautious, then immediately forgot whatever he expected in this garage. It was massive, more polished and beauty of a cars.
There were more than six Ferraris, every generation wearing a different colour. A few Maybachs and one racing car – he'll ask about that racing car later.
“What kind of relationship do you have with Ferrari exactly?” Max teased, “Not favoring them over your princess I hope?”
Charles let out a stiff laugh, looking almost hurt by the question, “Don't have a princess. You read those articles?”
Max frowned lightly, Charles probably thought that he believes about a princess from some media corner, “No. I don't read gossip. I was only joking” He clarified out of respect, remembering that Charles is not just Charles.
“I own Ferrari, that's why.”
Max blinked at him, “You own one of their real-estates?”
Charles smiled wickedly, “No. I own Ferrari. All of it. I'm the owner since 2015.”
Max locked his jaw before it could actually fall open, “Oh” that's all he could manage.
2015. It probably means that the prince was still a teenager. Charles owned Ferrari when he was fifteen, if he is doing the math correctly. Max mentally gulped. This is growing more interesting and confusing by the second.
Charles giggled, noticing his thinking expression. “Do you have it by inheritance or dealership?”
“No, I um” Charles trailed off, His eyes seemed to be drifting somewhere years away. “I inherited it, in a way... when my godfather died in one of their racing cars”
Max breathed slower now, but Charles didn't stop at that, he continued, “The halo didn't exist yet, as you would know... that's why he didn't survive his crash, there was no halo.”
“I was not a driver, I couldn't continue what he started. So I bought Ferrari, just to fill the void inside of me.” He went quiet, then added, “If you understand.”
“I do” Max said quicky, like he just wants it out there.
He felt something moving inside him, the prince trusted him enough to talk about something like this. He felt protective in a way. As in he should keep this talk under lock and key and let no one through.
Max connected the dots afterwards, on which driver was he talking about. He remembers the older drivers made honor speeches on his anniversary.
“I'm very sorry–” he started.
“It's not your fault. You asked me how I own it, I told you” He shrugged.
Max noticed that Charles tried to stay unfazed, but from Max's own experience, when it comes to family – no one should act unfazed, no matter how much he himself acts unfazed.
“No really, I only want to say – even if I don't know you that well” he paused. “That you didn't deserve that.” he said, shaking his head.
“It was Jules bianchi, right?” He asked, slowly. A tone he just discovered he had in him.
Charles's neck almost ticked at the mention of his name. “Yes”
“He was a brilliant driver.”
He paused.
“I didn't know him because I was young at the time, but everyone said he was a kind man.”
Charles was smiling now, which confusedly made Max feel a little prideful, he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
“He was.”
Max wanted to say something. But he was hesitant, not knowing if he should due to alot of reasons. But then the memory of Charles taking him away from a room he was anxious in, flicked through his mind. And not to mention he was also standing somewhere he never should've ended up, with a prince he didn't know what he was doing with, so perhaps for the time being... fuck it.
Max rubbed the back of his neck. “For what it's worth...”
Charles looked at him.
“I think you would've been fast.”
Charles raised his eyebrows in amusement, “Fast?”
“Yeah,” Max shrugged, “...Probably would've been a pain in my arse.”
“Careful how you talk to me, Verstappen” Charles said, in mock-warning, pointing an elegant finger.
Max pulled his arms up in surrender. “Apologies, my prince. I was just trying to make you smile.” A sarcastic smile sat bright and easy on his face.
Charles scoffed, trying to hide a smile that's fighting to break free. “That's your version of a compliment?”
A Cheshire cat grin slowly formed on his face, “Maybe”
“Well. No one can make me smile,” Tongue so mean as he said it, which made Max more motivated to be as insufferable as he can on him.
He loves talking to people as mean as him.
Charles immediately pulled a smile of mockery that matured down to a smaller one afterwards. A smile Max never saw on the prince, it's wasn't the one he used in public, nor the one he saw on him when talking on that yacht, if he can even remember.
It was real.
Almost nice from Max's opinion. Max's smile spread wider without even realizing. The prince showed him his real smile.
The next couple of minutes, Charles showed him around. Max circled a certain Ferrari. It was a Laferrari, black and sleek, “You have the coolest collection I've ever seen” he was openly impressed. Truly uncaring how he sounds like.
Max looked back at Charles, who had an expression that he couldn't identify. Probably because Max acted like a kid in a toy store. Surly not looking at him like that.
As a short time passed, the excitement thinned without warning. Something old stirred beneath his skin. There were too many red cars around him, and Charles's stare was burning the back of his neck. His breathe came out heavier than before.
He cleared his throat, regaining his usual state, “We should go back” said Max, stiffened now.
Charles tilted his head, “Hey. Is something wrong?” he said, slowly approaching him.
Max looked up to see Charles with the softest concern painted on his face. There it was again, that look. Max was beginning to doubt everything that happened today.
Charles stepped closer, Their eyes met. He tried schooling the emotions behind his eyes, but too late. Max regrettably caught them.
“Why did you actually bring me here, Charles?” Max asked again, sharp and weary this time. Charles's name came out of him for the first time, like a warning.
Charles raised a soft brow, looking at him for a minute too long, “I think you've already figured it out,”
His voice was lower than before. Warm like a steeping cup of tea, which could be poisonous.
It wasn't the voice the prince used in public, the one that was polished and still. The perfect image of composure.
I don't know you yet, and your its driver aren't you.
Max understood it all now. It ran down his body like a cold shower.
The special treatment, the story about his godfather, the kart, the patience when he was mumbling stupid things while drunk, and bringing him here. Away from the crowd, away from his team, from everyone.
Charles stepped forward, but Max stepped back, Charles took another step, so he stepped back again. Then realized his back was now against a car.
He shot Charles a look that makes people shit their pants around him, but Charles met it without flinching, he instead came closer, leaving no room between them.
Sober now, Max still didn't move, he felt Charles's breath hit his face, his chest tightening at the tension of their two almost clinging bodies.
“What do you think you're doing?” It slipped out of him, probably harsher that intented. Possibly mean or worse, vulnerable.
Charles's smile flashed in the dark, “What do you think?”
“I think I know what this is, Charles.” His voice came out quieter than intended. “And if I'm right... you should pick someone else.”
That got Charles's full attention. He brought his hands up slowly to cup Max's face, tender but determined, like he expected Max to pull away at any second, like he expected the moment to disappear beneath his fingertips and holding it tight so it won't.
“I don't want to pick someone else” he said, his gaze unbearably gentle against Max's frigid one.
Max was getting overwhelmed by the touch. His breathing stuttered, and he's certain Charles noticed.
“Can I kiss you? I want to.”
Max froze for a split-second, like getting mentally struck by a lightening bolt, his eyes widened. it came out of Charles so simple, as if he was asking for directions from Max.
“We shouldn't” he said roughly, shaking his head.
You're a prince and I'm not, he thought. I can't, please stop looking at me like that.
Charles drifted closer anyway, they're lips brushing now. Max went rigid, because he felt it was the only way to make his body not give in.
The hunger he'd spent years pretending didn't exist unfurled inside him, the ache he tried to outrun when feeling this kind of intimacy with someone was growing flesh and bones.
Charles was touching his chest now, then his hands slipped slowly up to his neck before settling against his jaw, thumb stroking absent-mindedly.
Max’s lips fell open when Charles tipped his chin up, eyes going half-lidded. Max only realized his hands had found Charles's waist when his fingers tightened around it.
“We shouldn't what?” Charles whispered, words dissolving against Max's lips. Breath hot and sweet.
“Come on, you're already halfway there. Just give in” Charles tugged at his belt. Max's eyes went down to Charles' lips, he was smirking. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Max looked up at Charles one last time. He should've stepped away. He should've remembered who Charles was. He should've remembered who he was.
Instead, he closed his eyes.
His grip tightened almost imperceptibly at Charles's waist.
He felt Charles's lips trailing down his neck, and began to plant small wet kisses there.
“You know, yesterday” Charles muttered, against his neck, “You looked so pretty and you had no idea... When you asked me what did I want from you when I tried to kiss you, we were rudely interrupted” Charles stopped and dragged his lips slowly up to Max's ear, “now I can tell you... I want you.”
The sentence struck dangerously fast in his mind, like a dry knife.
God, He was so stupid, he was suspicious and confused over the prince, thinking he's talking to him because he wants to assassinate him so the Monegasque driver on the grid can win or something like that. Max treated this like some case to be cracked, when all this time Charles was trying to pull him into a very different door than the ones he suspected.
Charles rubbed his earlobe gently, before kissing it, which drove Max to the end, he finally pushed him away, not hard but enough to see his face.
“No, I shouldn't– we shouldn't. This isn't...” He hated how he stammered, he hated how he much this made him feel, he hated that his legs aren't walking to the exit.
“Shhh. It's okay, Bien-aimé” Max almost hissed at the nickname, like an angry cat, “you're already halfway there. Come on” Charles said, the desperation in his voice visible now, he tugged on his belt on last time.
He came closer again, Max's palm was still on his chest, still has the power to push him. But this time didn't. Max looked at Charles now, his lips were wet from the kisses he gave him. He also looked like he had all the stamina in the world to wait for Max's permission.
Max let out a long sigh, Charles was close again, smiling against his lips, like he knew if he waited patiently enough – Max will kiss him first.
And Max – with every surrendered bone in his body – did.
His hand reached for Charles's face and finally crushed their lips together.
Max strides the three steps it takes to push him closer, switching their places till Charles back was the one against the car.
When Max kissed him, he found it: the taste of wanton, sweeter than any fruit, hidden between Charles’s lips and coiled around his tongue. He pushes in, plunders his mouth and licks across his teeth, lets out a groan like he’s dying.
Which made Charles kiss back harder, scratching at his face, his scalp, his shoulders. Stings skin with his nails where Max is sure that'll leave a mark.
Every elder’s syrupy tale, every historical account, every lewd paperback corny romance novel that describes the first kiss between anybody – even if the kiss was between strangers – could never compare to the reality of it.
Max feels birthed anew in the prince's mouth rebuilt in splendour. Charles was clinging on him, desperate for him, for every part of them to mold together until there is no beginning or end to untangle.
“Max!” Charles gasped. He moaned his name again and again till Max noticed that he's hard now.
They're hands were all over eachother now, touching, groping, and scratching. Hot skin that felt borrowed from the sun from the amount of heat that pulsed from it.
They broke the kiss after what seemed to be hours. Max pulled back to look at his face, he made a wet shiny mess on Charles's lips that was hung open, and his cheeks were flushed. He felt his body heat up more from the view.
Charles closed his eyes and took a steadying breath
before opening them again.
They’re all pupil, nothing but a sliver of green outlining the edges.
They were full of hunger and greed, Max didn't know what to do about that except kiss him again, and again.
Charles pulled him closer, and wrapped his arms around him, the push was gentle and slow that Max almost melted from it. It was... Intimate.
He caught Charles's tie between his fingers, “Can I loosen this?” Max asked, against his neck.
Charles nodded and Max loosened it instantly, opening a few buttons as well, Charles did the same for him, Max didn't mind. He started licking and nibbling on Charles's neck, trying to find the spot, he sucked until he heard Charles's gasp, fingers digging deeper.
“Bite,” he demanded.
So Max bit. Not hard to mark but enough for his pleasure.
“More, please” Charles sighed, desperately.
“No need to say please, my prince. I'll give you whatever you want” He began to bite again and again, till there was small scattered bites all over Charles's chest, where it would be easily hidden.
Max's hand trailed dangerously low, but Charles caught it, “And where do you think you're going with that hand?”
“To touch you” He whispered back, certain as hell.
Charles faced him now, and spoke against his lips, “And how do you want to do that exactly?”
Max looked deep into Charles's eyes, dark, challenging and full of desire, but Max smiled, He expected nothing less. Charles is a prince after all. He was showered with everything he asked for since birth, Max could only give more.
“Want to put my fingers inside you, and make you cum from it, and when I do that,” he paused to give him a slow wet kiss, “I'm gonna taste you”
Charles froze for a full second, before breaking into a smile, “Well then, wanna do it someplace more comfortable?”
Max grinned widely, and nodded.
They both tried to fix themselves before getting out of the garage, but Max wouldn't stop kissing Charles whom was trying to button up his shirt,
it resulted in Charles giving him a playful clout on the ear to wake him up from his trance, which made Max biting and amused to see more of that attitude.
Charles led him towards a few hidden corners, then a clear staircase, which they both tried to walk up nonchalantly but failed and broke into a run.
Charles showed him in a room at the end of the staircase, He opened a low orange light, then walked up to where Max was standing and kissed him senseless.
Max broke the kiss and kneeled down, he took both Charles's legs to wrap him around his waist and stood, then connected their lips again. He stumbled until they both fell into the bed, he heard Charles laugh so prettily, which made him unintentionally smile. A smile that no one should know about.
Charles took off Max's shirt with enough force, that he heard the fabric getting torn. Max was panting now, movements fast and rushing, so Charles stopped him with a firm, “Max”
Charles ran a finger down Max’s chest with an infuriating calm, “Don't rush me, I don't like rush, I took you away from that dinner because you wanted to leave so much, we're not there anymore. We're in my room now, so my way. Don't. Rush. Me.”
Max’s breath came fast now, his control unravelling thread by thread as Charles shifted beneath him with the confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect he had.
His mouth ghosted over Max’s collarbone, teeth grazing the skin, not biting, not yet. “So be a good boy now,” he whispered. “Worship me.”
The words landed like a lightning strike, sharp, bright, and intoxicating, snapping something
in Max’s chest.
Max swallowed hard, tension vibrating in his muscles. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
Charles only grinned, wild and beautiful in the low light. “Then die.”
Max tightly gripped Charles’s waist, the toned muscle burned his fingers. He impatiently
flung Charles's trousers down to his ankles as he unwrapped Charles like a present.
“That's more like it,” Charles smirks, impressed by his movement.
He spread the prince's legs wide, the heavy, luscious scent of Charles’s was in his nostrils, he smelled clean with a hint of vanilla. Max almost died.
Max blinked at the
sight unravelling in front of him, Charles wasn't as big as Max but almost his size, veiny and cut.
“You are so wet.”
His Adam’s apple popped as he swallowed hard.
“That is because of you, Mon chéri,” Charles teases, his eyes foggy with need and desire. “You
better be responsible for the trouble you made.”
“You smell so fucking good,” Max said as he bobbed his head down, gently brushing across Charles’s inner thighs with his lips,
then moved his mouth straight onto his hard cock which was calling for attention.
Charles whimpered, his body tightened, shocked by the sudden pleasure, a whine escaped unexpectedly, his whole body arched against Max.
“Ah.. I didn’t... I didn't say you can…” Charles yelped, but Max didn’t let him finish his words.
He sucked him hard, hollowing his cheeks, then slid his hot tongue down to savour every inch of Charles’s shaft. Charles’s hands yanked, helplessly pulling on Max’s soft strands, his body trembling uncontrollably due to the immense pleasure.
Charles’s hands grabbed onto the back of Max’s head to lock him to his cock while rolling his
hips onto Max’s face, trying to seek more pleasure by himself.
His move encouraged Max as
he began to suck him more passionately, drawing circles on Charles's tip with his tongue then rolling his mouth down again teasingly, taking him all in his mouth.
He pulled away for a second, which made the prince whine, Max took both of his finger and placed them in his mouth coating them with saliva, and making eye contact with Charles as he did it, then slowly sliding one into Charles.
“Putain… God, Maxie…Bien-aimé”
The words tumbled from Charles’ lips, raw and breathless, as waves of pleasure overwhelmed the last threads of his composure. His head tipped back, lashes fluttering, and a soft gasp escaped him.
Max felt as if they're feelings were merged at the moment, for he too felt every nerve in his body lit up with the heat of Charles's skin and smell and touch, fucking everything literally. He had an angel on the bed. Or that's what he thinks for now.
Every language Charles knew abandoned him, leaving only Max’s name on his tongue. Max slipped in another
finger, moving his wrist frantically, throbbing hard into his leaking cock.
Max was starving for the touch, he touched Charles everywhere, looking like was going to cum just from that, Charles noticed and smiled down at him, “Aww baby, ain't never felt no real touch before?” he said.
“Ain't never felt a touch this good” Max corrected him, he saw tears of pleasure running down Charles' face as he went on with a faster pace.
“Je t'aime tellement, tu n'as aucune idée, tu m'épouseras, je te garderai pour toujours. Tu verras,” Charles gasped, under his ragged breath.
With one loud and final gasp, Charles’s inner walls clenched tightly around Max’s fingers, it could almost snap off from the tightness.
His head lolled to the side, eyes glassy with tears, his body arching and trembling uncontrollably, mind wiped blank from the overwhelming pleasure.
Max knew that Charles had come hard, just from his fingers and tongue alone.
Max lifted his head, chest heaving, cum dripping down his face and neck like he’d been caught in a
rainstorm. His skin gleamed under the soft lighting—wet, flushed, feral.
Charles lay beneath him, legs trembling, lips parted, body glowing with post-orgasmic sheen. Some sense had returned to Charles's eyes.
Max dropped besides him, jaw and fingers spent, he licked a few drops of the cum clean from his fingers and mouth before giving Charles a kiss.
“What does it mean?” Max asked a minute later, when he regained his awareness, “what you said in french? Mine isn't that good.”
Charles looked up, eyes manic and wide it made Max slightly confused, “I said, you looked so fucking hot like that” he said simply, instantly relaxing his eyes to normal.
Max slightly smiled, he had a feeling it meant something else, but alas teased. “Glad you like me then, my prince”
Charles sighed into Max's chest, “Let me” he said, hoarsely.
Max knew what Charles was referring to as he saw where his hand was rubbing, fingers on his zipper now. But he stopped him, “I don't expect anything in return. It's not some favor” he said, “And you're tired” he observed.
“I'm not retuning any favors. I want to do it.” He said, but Max's eyes were still soft determined, “So you don't want?”
“Oh trust me, I want” Max smirked, giving him a kiss on his cheek, “but maybe another time,” then one on his neck, “Another day. For now just sleep.” then the last one on his lips.
Charles looked down again at Max's bludge, but Max pulled his face up by the chin, “Eye up here, Schatje”
Charles's eyes softened, then to his surprise Charles confidently rested his full weight on Max. “You'll stay.”
“I can't”
“No, stay” he insisted, “We won't be bothered. The whole wing is mine anyway, no one comes up unless I call.”
It was hard for Max to think about it when Charles's body was against his, his perfume all over him – Max couldn't help but sniff everytime he's near his neck, or possibly could be his natural scent, he won't be surprised if the prince smells naturally like heaven – So he nodded.
A couple of minutes passed and Charles fell asleep soundly on Max.
°______°
Max guessed it was well past midnight by now. He couldn't check the time anyway since Charles was sleeping on his watch arm.
He turned the light off a couple of minutes ago, and rested a hand behind his head, body relaxed and humming in chilled dancing rhythms. He was calmer than he ever was. It made him slightly panic at first but then eventually got over it.
He was looking up at the russet ceiling, lost in thoughts, his hand found Charles' soft locks and began to gently play with them. He looked down at him, and slightly grinned.
He wanted to move so he could pick his shirt off the floor, he was almost freezing.
He tried to move Charles quietly, easing him to the other side of the bed, supporting his head as though it might shatter.
A necklace slipped loose from Charles's collar as Max let go. It clinked against the pillow. Charles shifted. Max went still, held his breath, and waited until the prince settled again.
He leaned in to read it normally. Last night his vision had been too wrecked too see it. Now the dark was too thick, but the room sat high enough that moonlight cut clean through the window, clear enough to see.
His breath caught. His heart lurched violently against his ribs as he read it over and over.
C.L. With the same red lettering he always anonymously received.
It can't be. He flinched twice, perhaps his eyes are doing it again, getting drunk without his permission. But they weren't. Charles is a prince. Princes didn't stalk people. Surely not, Max knew Charles's full name. He read it on the name card earlier, still, that doesn't make him, that C.L.
But his inner voice wouldn't stop tugging at him, Look around. See if there's something like what was sent to you, it might be him.
He didn't want to. If he was wrong, he'd have invaded through the privacy of a man who'd trusted him with his body, who'd slept against him safely.
But Max wasn't that noble.
He got up despite his legs disagreeing with him. His nerves frayed with every step, his chest drawing tighter. There was a desk and two wooden bookshelves in the room. He checked books cover to cover. Fanned through the pages. Nothing. His grip on his own sanity loosened the longer he searched.
It's not him, he was certain now.
But twenty minutes into searching, he despitefully found a journal. On its cover, hand-carved into the leather: My Max.
He opened it—and nearly dropped it from his hands, Only Charles sleeping a few feet behind him kept him from doing so.
The first page was about Max. The second too. Notes on his karting races. Observations. Handwritten annotations. Photographs of thirteen-year-old Max tucked between the pages and some even were personal pictures. And that was only just the first few pages.
He couldn't tear his eyes away. Max felt his blood boiling, as he saw Charles's initials signed meticulously now. It was everywhere. After every page, was a sign that he has written those, a sign that he made those.
There were compliments, too much about him. They were too specific and horrifyingly too nice, too claiming, no one ever said stuff like that about.
He didn't read them, he only saw fragments of each note, he didn't have the self-control to stay calm if he read them, but his eyes stopped at one that was unbearably longer than the rest. Longer than it should be.
Singapore Grand Prix, 2016
He thinks winning is the closest he'll ever get to being chosen, especially in this picture.
Maybe one day, he'll wake up besides me, and he'll know that I had chosen him unconditionally,
and not for some wooden and golden trophies,
I'll fucking love him, till every bone in his body loves mine back more.
With our wedding rings bumping together when we intertwine our hands.
Every princess that they tried to shove in my face will see him as the one that I chose.
Not them.
I'll kiss him in front of them all, proving that I'm his, as he has always been mine.
He'll marry me. He'll propose to me.
We could have the wedding in Netherlands. Or Italy, but his hometown is better, I don't want it in Monaco anyhow.
I just need to grasp patience for once.
Max closed his eyes shut, his breathing stuttered and his whole ribcage along with it. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the journal so tight, that the paper was tearing apart beneath his hands, proof that it's fragile and old, and confidently loud in everything written down on it. Full of invasive obsession and words that looked like they were mentally smiling at him.
His body wasn't buckling to fall, instead it was rigid and hard as iron, he wanted to scream, he wanted to die, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to run till he sees the edge of the world and wouldn't mind if he jumped from it, he wanted to burn this room, this journal, as if it'll help burn the memory that happened in this very space, that was freshly haunting his mind, that it'll help him forget the wolf under a sheep's clothing that was sleeping peacefully on the bed, forget his touch, his giggle, his bites, his scent – a scent that everytime he bit Max it would invade his nostrils, a sweetness mixed sweat that made Max unrealistically, and profoundly dizzy.
But he didn't do any of that, instead he looked back at Charles, eyes all white and no pupil, wide and shockingly full of betrayal and rage. Or something far more intense because after all what did he expect from a perfect stranger, Trust?
For the first time in years, his intuition failed him. Now he's here in this situation, realizing when he layed on that bed a couple of minutes ago, playing gently with Charles's hair – that he likes him, and that shan't be, he needed to find a way, just like he always does, and bury this feeling, he cannot deal with this, if it was anyone else he would've been in prison by now sentenced with ten years for convicted murder. But no, it just had to be him. He wanted to bite the energy that was swarming around him clean off, it was this divine intensity that had the embodiment of an invisible thread wrapped clumsily around his fingertips, a thread pulling him to the other end of it's own. Charles's.
He flipped to the back of the cover with outmost force now. A familiar red lettering gleamed beneath the moonlight. It frightened him now.
Charles Marc-Hervé Perceval Leclerc.
C.M.L. He remembers.
He wanted to throw up. Everything made too much sense. He knew who C.L. was now. He wanted to know since the start, but coming to it now, he wishes he never did.
Especially after a night like this, a night he wanted to reject and stay at home, a night he didn't expect to have with this man – but despite every reason he shouldn't have, he did it anyways, and it turned out to be a set up all this time, or at least that's what he thinks.
Max closed it, can't bring himself to continue, but then hesitated next to the shelves. He's got another idea.
Driven by his anger, he walked towards the nightstand – stomach twisting by the second as Charles's sleeping figure was closer to his sight – and left the journal open deliberately, on the exact page he stopped in. On the exact words he read. He didn't care if it was brazen, because what is – was Charles luring him in this way.
It was as if Charles built the whole room over a night, just to get him inside of it, in this godforsaken guilt-driven sweetly pleasuring of a room. A room that would make his father drag him to church and lock him there for days if he was five years younger and still lives with him, A space that was filled with their skin and the pleasure it committed, also with evidence that he had Max under a microscope, and Max didn't even know, having the prince in his mouth, and his noises in his ear.
It was already marked. Everything was. The bites, the hickeys, the cum he swallowed, the DNA between their tongues, they're bodies got introduced already. They both marked eachother.
But regardless of the facts, Internally, Every bone, every nerve ending, every blood drop that his heart beated through his body in all his living years, was screaming violently at his face.
Get out of here.
Get out of Monaco.
Leave. Leave and forget all that happened here.
Externally, he walked soundlessly to the door. Trying to turn everything he felt into something cold enough to survive.
And left.