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George knew Max didn’t love him. If it wasn’t clear from the dozens of times Max had spewed harsh words or biting insults at or about him, the quick and silent getaway in the early hours of the morning after yet another mistake of a night inviting the Dutchman into his bed during a race weekend proved that. The way he would wait until he thought George was asleep to make his exit, without even so much as a thank you for the incredible sex they’d just had, followed by the absolute refusal to discuss it in the days that followed was the clearest sign that Max only saw their habit as one thing - a form of stress relief after a difficult race or a way of burning off extra energy after one of his many wins.
And yet, during their late night trysts, Max could be sweet and loving when he wanted to be - especially when he knew George needed that after a bad qualifying session or race. He would hold the other man close to him, calling him beautiful and promising him the world.
He could also be strict and controlling - but only on nights when he knew George could handle it, or when he knew George was purposefully acting like a brat to get a rise out of him.
For better or worse, Max could read George like no one else ever had. George couldn’t help but imagine what their life would be like if Max allowed that ability to extend beyond their nights spent together.
He couldn’t help but imagine how Max might care for him on nights where sex wasn’t on the table. The few times George had turned him down, typically due to the emotional exhaustion of a disastrous race, Max had simply held his eye for a moment before turning and stalking away without as much as a single word. George tried to decipher if what he'd seen in the other man’s gaze was disappointment or actual genuine concern. He wondered if a version of Max that actually loved him would’ve been willing to care for him, to hold him, as he spiraled over every agonizing detail of his racecraft. Instead, on those nights, he sat alone in his hotel room suffocating under the dense steam of a hot shower or (if his hotel room had a balcony) allowing himself the comfort of a rare, but necessary cigarette as he stared out at the expanse of whatever city he’d found himself in that week.
Max was the only person who knew about his bad habit. He’d stumbled upon George in the alley behind the team motorhomes while trying to avoid the media, working through his second cigarette of the day after an unexpected exit in Q2. Instead of lecturing George on the inherent dangers of being a professional athlete who smokes, he had simply grabbed George by the wrist and taken a drag from the thing himself.
Max knew about a lot of George’s worst habits.
He even knew about George’s strict rituals when it came to his eating habits, about the calorie counting and the food and exercise journal he kept in a note on his phone. He’d seen George enter his phone password enough times for the Brit to not be entirely surprised when he got out of the shower to find Max scrolling through the various apps on his phone. He wasn’t sure what the other man had been looking for exactly but as he sat heavily on the bed next to him, he watched Max swipe out of the notes app without saying anything.
He never voiced any genuine concern over George’s calorie intake - knew that the Mercedes driver had a whole team of trainers and nutritionists who already did that for him - but that didn’t prevent him from occasionally showing up to their rendezvous with a protein bar or a sugary drink, forcing George to work it down before they did what they were really there for. Wanting to please the other man, George did as he was told even if he knew that extra calories weren’t exactly a part of his allotted diet plan.
George knew about Max’s bad habits too. He’d observed the state of the other man’s nailbeds on the weekends where things in the Red Bull weren’t looking quite right, had watched the other boy gnaw at the skin around them enough times to know he wasn’t impervious to the nerves of a race weekend in the way he liked to present to the media.
He’d seen the way Max seemed to punish himself after races that didn’t go his way due to his own rare error. It was on those rare occasions where Max gave George control, falling to his knees in front of the other boy with his head down, waiting for George to give him a command or punishment.
He’d felt the raging anger in Max’s movements on nights when he felt like races had gotten away from him at the fault of someone else - especially after races where that someone was George himself. He was less careful with George on those nights - always with the other man’s consent - but the minute the yes left his lips, Max was like a feral animal. He left marks all over the other man’s sternum, and edged George over and over, until he was begging Max for release - retaining every semblance of control he could on days where he felt his race was no longer under his control.
Ultimately, however, it was just about sex.
No matter how well they knew each other, it was never supposed to be about anything more than that.
It was George’s fault he couldn’t follow the one boundary they seemed to have set in place.
Because he loved Max. He was sure of that.
And he was also sure that Max would never love him back.
And while it sometimes hurt to think about, for the most part George was okay with that.
--
Their affair continued for nearly two years. It all came to a head in Qatar.
After Baku the previous year, they’d had a rare but necessary conversation about their arrangement. George hadn’t appreciated being called a “dickhead” on live television, and while Max refused to outright apologize for the comment, he had admitted it wasn’t right of him to do that in front of cameras. After that, they’d agreed that any racing incidents they had going forward should be worked out in a hotel room afterwards rather than in front of the media.
When he heard Max’s comments in the post-race conference in Qatar, George was furious.
He’d thought they worked out their differences the previous night. Max had honestly been pretty pissed off after their visit to the stewards, maybe angrier than George had ever seen him during the time they’d been hooking up. He took his frustrations out on George, and the British man let him - knowing that the Dutchman needed to control George in a way he hadn’t been able to do in the steward’s room. His comment about crashing into George, about putting his head through a wall, had come during the heat of the moment - whispered in his ear in a way that had George moaning and his eyes rolling back in his head.
So to hear Max the following day say he had lost all respect for George - when they had agreed to keep their business behind closed doors, to not escalate anything in front of the media - was infuriating. And then to keep going later in the week by calling him “two-faced” on Dutch TV, as if the comment wouldn’t be translated and splashed over every F1 news site immediately. George didn’t find that fair.
George figured if Max wanted to break their agreement, there was nothing stopping him from doing the same.
Did he go too far? Perhaps.
But George stood by what he said.
Max was a bully.
That was undeniable.
Max did sometimes think he existed above the rules of the sport. God knows George had seen him rant about “unfair” penalties enough times to know that.
He probably shouldn’t have mentioned the “head in the wall” comment, but he’d been mad, and if Max wanted to make things personal, that had been the most personal thing George could come up with.
--
George and Max didn’t speak at all during the winter break. George had avoided him during Abu Dhabi, not eager to actually acknowledge that they’d both probably sabotaged whatever good had come from the arrangement they’d kept for the last two years. Max didn’t seem all that eager to engage with him either, to be fair, with each man content to stay in their own friend circles as Max celebrated his fourth championship title and George supported Lewis through his final race with Mercedes.
Part of George felt mournful about missing out on congratulating Max on his newest championship title, reminiscing on the nights they’d had celebrating his victories in 2022 and 2023.
The only major interaction between the two of them in Abu Dhabi came at the post-season driver’s dinner. While Lewis didn’t know the full details of George and Max’s history, George had said enough for the other man to fill in the blanks about why he was so angry with the whole situation. That didn’t prevent the soon-to-be-Ferrari driver from practically begging George to attend the driver’s dinner - promising to keep him away from the Dutchman.
George got there late, in an attempt to make sure he didn’t end up having to engage in small talk with Max while they were waiting for the others to arrive. When he arrived, he slowly made his rounds chatting with the friends he hadn’t managed to ask about winter break plans yet, pointedly avoiding the end of the table where Max, Lando and a couple of the rookies sat waiting for the dinner to begin.
As people began to settle more in their chairs, George quickly realized that the only spot left at the table was in fact next to the Dutchman. He could see the little beady eyes of the boys who sat around Max almost waiting for him to realize his only option was to engage with the other man - ready for the drama to continue unfolding.
George was going to be the bigger man, and just put up with it - try his best to engage with the younger drivers and avoid Max as much as he could, but as he approached, he finally was forced to meet eyes with his foe.
Max smirked at him, clearly aware of George’s dilemma and feeling smug about the forced interaction.
“We’ve got a place right here for you Georgie,” he said, patting the chair directly next to him.
George felt rage spark at the look on the other man’s face and words.
Without a word to any of the men on that side of the table, he simply grabbed the chair from under Max’s grasp and carried it to the other side of the table, forcing Lewis to scoot over to make space between himself and Oscar. His teammate did so without a word, and George silently thanked him for not making the situation more awkward than it already felt. He could see the other side of the table laughing about some comment Max had made, and George felt his heart clench at the idea that they were probably laughing about how pathetic he looked, refusing to sit with them.
He did his best to shake it off and enjoy his last night with his friends before holiday festivities began. George refused to think about the number of times he found himself staring at the Dutchman throughout the night however. Luckily no one else seemed to notice.
--
It had never been typical for the two men to see each other regularly when they were back in Monaco, especially during the winter break where they were each often in other countries celebrating the holidays with family or partying with friends while they weren’t mid-season.
But it wasn’t like they never got together during that time. Before Qatar, texting Max whenever he was in the mood for a hookup had been easy for George. They would meet up in the one of their apartments and spend a night (or occasionally a whole weekend) fucking like rabbits to get it out of their systems, only to not speak for weeks after the encounter. But they couldn’t go too long without something from the other.
The two months between the end of the season and the start of pre-season training and media was the longest George could remember not seeing Max since they’d begun their arrangement. They didn’t hook up. They didn’t text. They didn’t even meet up for padel with their shared friends, like was pretty typical of breaks like these. George didn’t hear from Max, and he had no plans to extend any kind of olive branch towards the other man after what he’d done at the end of the season.
Two months wasn’t long enough for George to stop thinking about Max calling him two-faced. It had hurt to hear him say something so callous, knowing that Max was one of very few people he’d actually felt he could be truthful with. Max was generally a no-nonsense kind of guy and he could often tell when George was holding back or hiding something, so there had never really been a reason to lie to the other man - not about things that mattered.
But apparently Max hadn’t understood that George’s forthcomingness and honesty wasn’t earned by just anybody - that Max had proven himself to George enough times to earn the intimacy of knowing George without his typical mask. George had thought the other man knew him, but after Qatar, it became clear to George that perhaps the fantasy he’d built in his head about their relationship had grown further from reality than he thought. Maybe Max didn’t really know him at all.
It made George feel stupid for expecting anything more from Max than just a good fuck. It’s not like the Dutchman had ever promised him anything more than that. He’d been explicit in his expectation that the relationship wouldn’t be anything beyond a bedroom door, and George - like the idiot he’d always been - had ignored this.He’d let his brain trick into thinking the relationship could be something more than that one day, and now that it was clear that it was over, George was left mourning something he never really had to begin with. His rage at Max’s comments and the sadness he felt at this realization left him sinking in a pit of dark melancholy for most of the winter break.
It was pretty clear that Max wasn’t all that fussed with making contact with George either if their empty text string meant anything - the flirty pre-quali text from Qatar with Max’s room number taunting George every time he found himself wanting to hear from the other man. Through social media, George had seen paparazzi photos of him on his yacht somewhere off the coast of Italy, surrounded by beautiful men and women who probably offered more than George ever could to a man like Max Verstappen - and without all the extra baggage too.
When he’d met up with Alex, Lando and Oscar for a padel match, the older Maclaren driver had droned on and on about the various nights he’d spent out in the clubs of Monaco with Max and Carlos, watching how easy it was for Max to pull women by just a mere mention of the world titles he held. It made George feel hollow, hearing just how easy it was for Max to just move onto the next piece of tail that threw themselves at him without even a consideration of George and the two years they’d spent together - or at least, nearly together. George certainly hadn’t been with anyone else during that time. He’d assumed, or at least hoped, that Max was the same. Now, he wasn’t so sure. It left him feeling more frustrated and resentful than ever.
It was not an easy break for George. His mental health was a mess. Despite him being in training for the next season, his eating habits grew to the worst that they had been since he was in the junior categories of racing. He ate the absolute minimum calories that his trainer suggested, sometimes not even meeting the goal, and spent more and more time in the gym - more as a distraction than any real attempt to improve his strength for the upcoming season. His “rare” cigarette break had turned into an almost daily habit, usually late into the night on his balcony when sleep failed to find him.
He thought he must’ve done a pretty good job hiding how much he was actually struggling, as no one in his life approached him with any concerns about his narrowing frame or the dark bags under his eyes. But frankly, George was pretty happy to be left alone in his sulking. He sometimes thought he saw some semblance of concern in Lando or Alex’s eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and they never vocalized anything.
In the last weeks of the break, George tried his best to break out of whatever spell Max had put him under. He tried using Grindr to find hookups, but after the sixth unsolicited dickpic without so much as a “hello” message, he’d given up that venture. He tried going out to parties and clubs with Lando or Lewis to find a connection elsewhere but never found anyone who ignited any kind of sparks that had been so easy to find with Max.
By the end of February, one fact became increasingly clear to George.
He was still deeply and desperately in love with Max Verstappen. And he didn’t know what he was supposed to do about that.
--
Pre-season preparations brought with them questions from journalists about George and Max’s relationship, or in the eyes of the media - their beef, and whether or not they had mended fences.
George was honest to the media. He acknowledged that they hadn’t spoken, and that he wasn’t interested in speaking with the other man. He just wanted to focus on himself and his own racing for the 2025 season.
To George’s surprise, Max seemed more interested in pretending like the beef had already been resolved, or had never even happened - claiming that he was on good terms with George or cracking jokes about the whole situation. George was not impressed, and he made that quite clear to Max in the few times the other man had tried to approach or engage with him - shooting him glares (or increasingly tight smiles if they were in front of cameras) or straight up ignoring him if he could.
During media day at F1 headquarters, as George was alone in the men’s restroom washing his hands, Max had tried to corner him, stepping into the room and blocking the door behind him in an attempt to force George to talk with him. They made eye contact in the mirror.
“George, come on man. It’s been months. Don’t you think this whole act is all a little ridiculous?”
George scoffed into the mirror, and didn’t say anything. Just shook his head and looked back down at his hands to get the last bits of soap off.
Max kept going. “I mean, we’re both adults here. This petty fight really isn’t necessary. Let’s squash it. Then we can go back to things the way they used to be-”
George stuck his hands under the hand dryer, the sound like a jet engine immediately drowning out whatever Max was trying to say to him.
Just as he was about to push his hands out from under it, he felt a hand on his shoulder. George lurched backwards against the sink like he’d been burnt. The familiar grip of Max’s hand felt hot in a way that had George considering that maybe he had been.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” George spit out, the words dripping with venom. He shoved past the other man and escaped the bathroom before he could get another word out. It took him 10 minutes hiding in a dark corner at the end of the hallway to get the panic to settle in his lungs and return to his media duties.
Max didn’t approach him the rest of the day, and George did his best to ignore the other man outright. But out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the concerned glances the Dutchman kept throwing his way - like this was the first time since Qatar that he’d had to consider that maybe George wasn’t ready to move past everything that had happened.
During pre-season testing in Bahrain, he did his best to continue to avoid Max. Luckily Mercedes kept him and Kimi pretty isolated in their own garage. And having a new rookie with him to help guide through his first pre-season experience was a welcome distraction.
During the few occasions where drivers did get together, and George ended up a circles with Max and others, he was able to make polite, albeit stilted conversation with the Dutchman - usually about nothing more substantial than how the car was feeling or if he was prepared for the season.
Max tried to crack jokes a couple of times, but even that stopped after the first few attempts when he failed to earn as much as a smile out of the British man.
George’s heart ached to watch the man’s clear disappointment at the weird new boundary that now existed between them, but for the sake of his continued efforts to get over his own feelings, George tried his best not to dwell on that ache.
Max didn’t try to corner him again, not like he had during that preliminary media day in the bathroom. Only once, at the end of the group photo call, did he make any attempt to interact one-on-one with George. This time, he didn’t block George’s escape route. Just simply approached him with a serious but open expression on his face. George didn’t allow him to get a word out.
“Max, can we not right now? I’m not in the mood for whatever it is that you want.”
“I just want to talk.”
“And I’m not interested, okay? Surely you can respect that.”
Max looked like he wanted to argue, but he seemed to bite his tongue, nodding at George and stepping away from the other man.
George watched him retreat back to the circle of rookies he’d initially come over from, and tried to ignore the feeling of anxiety the distance between them gave him.
--
Max didn’t try to approach him about the situation again for a few weeks. Numerous race weekends passed where the interactions between George and him remained polite yet reserved, with George still feeling defensive and Max clearly not wanting to step on his toes too much.
They shared a podium in Australia, and ended up in press conferences together a few times at the start of the season. In front of the media, Max kept up the narrative that their relationship was fine, and that there was no lasting animosity between them. George was too exhausted to even try and deny his claims - usually just giving a tight smile or nod to the claims without adding his own two cents.
The start of the season gave him enough distractions to where the dynamic between the Dutchman and himself wasn’t even his largest concern anymore. The car wasn’t what they had hoped it would be for 2025, struggling in the heat of the majority of the circuits they visited and barely keeping George on or near the podium, much less keeping up with the speed of the Mclarens.
George knew Toto wasn’t happy with his performance, hoping for a stronger start from the Brit now that he was the primary driver for the team. George thought 3 podiums in the first five races was pretty decent, especially considering the electronics issues they’d experienced in Bahrain. But Toto wanted a win from him, obviously frustrated with the continued dominance of the Mclarens and Max in the Red Bull, and didn’t seem to share George’s optimism about the trophies he’d collected thus far in the season.
Kimi had had a great start to the season - especially considering his inexperience - and while George was very proud of the rookie, he also felt a bit jealous watching Toto’s interactions with the younger boy. It was clear to him that even without Lewis on the team, George was never going to be Toto’s favorite. And he wasn’t exactly mad about it - after all, he knew Toto saw Kimi as the future of Mercedes long before the teen had even been in serious contention for a seat on the team - but it was still frustrating to still feel underappreciated after the years of loyalty he’d displayed to Mercedes and personally to Toto.
In an attempt to appease the team principal, George did whatever he personally could to improve his race performance independent from the car. His rules around food became even stricter than they had during the winter break. That had been more about lack of appetite. Now it was more about George finding control anywhere he could. He couldn’t control his feelings for Max. He couldn’t control the car’s ability to function properly in desert races. He couldn’t control the expectations being placed on him by the team. But he could control his own personal performance, and that started with a strict diet and workout plan - perhaps even stricter than his trainers thought necessary.
George still ate whatever the team chose for him for breakfasts and lunches in the paddock - knowing he would still need enough fuel to keep him going during races and the steamed salmon or grilled chicken with salad that was typical of his weekend meals was a necessary and inoffensive addition to his diet. But there were other places he could make better choices. He stopped snacking on anything that didn’t grow directly on a plant. He forced himself to develop a taste for tea and coffee without any milk or sugar. He began dumping out the sugary energy drinks supplied to him by the team and filling the cans with water to walk around with. During the weeks when he wasn’t around the paddock, he forced himself to live off of fruit, greens and small pieces of lightly seasoned protein that his trainer had left in his freezer to be used as needed. When he went out to dinner or drinks with his friends, he didn’t let himself indulge anymore. No carbonara at his favorite restaurant in Monaco. No espresso martinis for dessert as a special treat, in the way he might have in the past. He used cigarettes or sugar-free gum to ward off the cravings he had for higher indulgence foods.
The other drivers mocked him for his anal food tendencies, but all of them knew the pressures placed on them to maintain a certain weight. And George was taller than most, so the pressure on him was even more restrictive. He tried not to think too much about the concerned glances that Max kept throwing at his barely touched plate during the driver’s dinner at the opening of the season, or the frown on his face when George turned down the glass of wine offered to him and instead asked for another glass of water.
George also increased the frequency and intensity of his workouts. The hotel gym had become a comfort to him, opting out of a relaxed night in his bed watching whatever garbage reality television that Alex had gotten him into recently and instead fitting in an additional spin session on a bike or some cardio on the treadmill - anything to keep him from thinking about the anxieties of the season.
It was after one of these late night workouts - an hour spent cycling with a self-help podcast blasting in his ears encouraging him to “embrace the realities of failure” or whatever - that his next major interaction with Max occurred. George was exhausted after the workout, and even though he’d already taken a shower in an attempt to cool down, he still felt sweaty and disgusting in the aftermath. The joints in his legs and his core ached, knowing they had been overworked after multiple high-intensity workouts in a singular day alongside a race.
Jeddah was a late race. George hadn’t gotten out of the paddock til after midnight. And despite his exhaustion after such a disappointing finish (at least in Toto’s eyes), he felt like he needed some way to expel the excess frustration. Typically, that would’ve been a perfect example of a time to find Max and ask after his plans for the rest of night. But seeing as that was no longer an option, an hour-long workout of another kind had to do.
It was 2am when the knock sounded on George’s hotel room door. He had only just stepped out of the shower, and was wrapped in only a towel around his waist. He wasn’t sure who would be knocking on his door at such a late hour, and was hesitant to open it - praying it wasn’t some crazy fan who’d managed to figure out where he was staying. But looking through the peephole, he only saw the features of a familiar Dutch driver.
Sighing to himself, he flung open the door, prepared to tell the other man to fuck right off.
“You’re ridiculous you know that! What part of ‘I don't want to talk’ do you not understand?”
Max didn’t reply. His jaw hung open, staring just below George’s face with an alarmed look. George looked down, suddenly remembering his complete lack of proper clothing attire.
For the sake of not giving anyone who happened to wander by an undignified glimpse at his mostly naked body, George (against his better judgement) ushered Max inside the hotel room. He rushed to his suitcase, grabbing the sweats he had planned to wear to bed and a worn t-shirt that dated back to his Williams days.
He gestured to Max to wait where he was by the door, before disappearing into the bathroom to get dressed.
Escaping the still steamy bathroom, George noticed Max had moved from the entry way over to the large windows that overlooked the racetrack they had faced off on just hours before. He didn’t turn around to look at George as he emerged from the bathroom.
“Why are you here? You know it’s past 2 in the morning right?”
Max still didn’t turn. “And yet, here you are - still awake.”
“You had no way of knowing I would be,” George countered.
“Of course I did.”
George snorted, disbelieving. “Oh yeah, and why’s that?”
“Because I know you,” Maxed stated simply.
“You know me?” George repeated incredulously.
“I know you always have more energy than you know what to do with after a bad race.”
“I was P5 today. Most people wouldn’t consider that a bad race.”
“You would.”
George didn’t have a response to that. Max continued.
“I watched your post-race interviews. You were practically vibrating with frustration, no matter what you said to the cameras. There was no way you were going to sleep easy after today.”
“Well that energy has been burned off, and now I actually do want to sleep. So if you could kindly leave-”
“How?”
“Excuse me?” George was confused by the question.
“How did you burn it off?”
Then George understood. Max was trying to figure out if he had been fucking somebody else.
“Is that why you came here? To see if I had found someone else to work out my frustrations with?”
Max finally turned around. He at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed.
“No, George… that’s not-”
“Because for your information, the answer is no. I just got back from the gym if you must know. Better than getting involved in anything with anyone else, after how everything went the last time.”
George knew he sounded bratty. But he was angry at Max for thinking it was any of business what George got up to outside of races after everything he’d done.
Max looked surprised by the outburst.
“You did a workout? Right after you went racing in the desert for two hours?”
George just shrugged. “It was necessary.”
“I don’t think any of your workouts are necessary.”
George was incredulous again. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Max sighed and gave him a concerned look.
“You look thin, George.”
George was infuriated.
“YOU don’t get to say that to me. Don’t show up here and pretend like you actually give a shit about me. I’m not gonna start sleeping with you again, so you might as well give up now. It’s done. You fucked up by calling me two-faced to the whole world, as if you aren’t one of the only people in the world that I’ve actually shown my real self to. You don’t have to pretend to care about me now!”
Max looked taken aback.
“That isn’t why I’m here, George.”
“Then why ARE you here? Other than to tell me about my terrible race or my terrible sleep schedule, or my terrible, thin body? Why the fuck did you show up at my door tonight?” George said, volume reaching a volume that his hotel neighbors probably wouldn’t appreciate.
“Because… because I need to talk to the director of the GPDA.”
That threw George off balance, not at all what he was expecting to hear from the other man.
“What?”
“I have concerns that I wanted to make known.”
“And you thought 2am after a race was the best time to do so? You couldn’t wait until a more appropriate time?” George argued.
“Now seemed like as good a time as any. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and well… I knew you’d be awake.” Max admitted.
George pushed back. “What about Carlos? You could’ve talked to him. He’s your friend after all.”
“He and Charles are already on a flight back to Monaco.”
“This better not be some ploy to get me to talk to you again. Because, I’m serious Max. I’m done with whatever the fuck we had going last year. I’m not sleeping with you again!”
Max put his hands up in surrender.
“I swear, it’s all racing related.”
George paused for a moment - trying to get his thoughts in order - because sighing in defeat. He motioned to the sitting area in the corner of the room, asking Max to sit down while he went to grab his laptop to write down whatever Max wanted to report. After all, he was a director of the GPDA. It was his job to know the concerns of every driver, whether he respected them as people or not.
George sat down across from the other man, making sure to leave at least a foot of space between both sets of legs. Once he had his notes opened, he nodded at Max that he could begin.
The other man took a moment to find his words, but after a brief moment began speaking. The basis of his concern stemmed from a conversation he’d been forced to have with the president of the FIA in the direct aftermath of the race in Jeddah - before he’d even made it up to the podium. The man had wanted to make sure that Max wouldn’t say anything “inflammatory” against the FIA in retaliation for the penalty he received at the start of the race which helped Oscar get past him to take the lead of the race. But in doing so, had spewed lightly-veiled threats against Max, and Red Bull as a whole if he didn’t cooperate in interviews and media.
“I know it sounds like I’m being petty, like I just can’t accept the penalty they gave, but that isn’t it. I honestly don’t care about the way the race went. Obviously it sucks to lose, but it's more than that. Its just that this, along with the swearing ban, and every other fucking time him and his FIA assholes told us off for trying to defend ourselves and our racing… it just rubs me the wrong way. I mean, I’m a four-time world champion. If I can’t speak out against them, then what chance do all the rookies and younger veterans have in defending themselves against the arbitrary rules that dickhead has put in place? I just… I don’t want him to feel like he can just talk to drivers like that and expect that we will just take his word as law.”
George thought it was pretty honorable of Max to care about the younger drivers on the grid as much as he did. He knew from brief conversations they’d had in the late night glow of post-race sex that Max had wished more older drivers had made an effort with him when he was just coming into the sport. George had seen the memes of Max being the ‘Mother Hen’ to the handful of rookie drivers that populated the grid this season, and even had to put up with Kimi going on and on about the stories and advice that Max had given to him after a rough race in Bahrain.
“Look, I don’t know if the GPDA can do anything about this. But I figured it's better for me to report it than to not. I’m old enough and wealthy enough to defend myself from the likes of the FIA. I’m one of the biggest faces in the sport right now, and I know how to use that to my advantage. But I just don’t want the younger guys to be manipulated the same ways I was as a rookie. I want to make sure they are protected,” Max rubbed at the back of neck, a nervous tick he’d had as long as George had known him. “Does that make sense?”
George considered the sincerity in Max’s face for a moment before answering. “Of course it does. I worry about the rookies as well - especially now that I have Kimi to consider. I’m sorry that he thought he could bully you into obeying him. It's definitely concerning and I’ll make sure to add it to the agenda for our next director’s meeting so we can talk through if there's anything we can do to protect the younger drivers.”
Max let out a sigh of relief, his hand dropping from his neck.
“Thank you, George. Thanks for hearing me out.”
“You’re welcome Max. I know that we aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now, but I take my responsibility to protect all drivers seriously,” George replied with a small comforting smile, “and that still includes you.”
Max took a moment to look at the other man, a shimmer in his eyes that George wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before, before making to stand up.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair so you can sleep. Sorry for the late night interruption. I really do appreciate you being willing to listen to what I had to say.”
“No problem, Max. Thanks for bringing it to my attention.” George stood to follow Max to the door.
A few steps away from the door, Max stopped and turned towards him.
“I just wanted to say that I really am sorry for how everything went down. I know you don’t want to hear it, so I won’t say anything more. But if you ever are willing to talk, I’m here. I don’t want things to keep getting worse between us. I just want us to be friends.”
George didn’t have an answer to that, and Max didn’t really seem in search of one. After a moment of silence, he turned back towards the door.
George followed him to close the door as he crossed the threshold into the hallway. Before he could do so, however, Max turned and spoke one final time.
“And take care of yourself, George. I wasn’t making fun of you when I said you looked thin.”
George felt the scowl return to his face, but he didn’t get a chance to tell the other man off again before he turned and disappeared down the hallway.
Closing the door, George sunk against the wood, letting out a deep breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.
It said a lot about Max that he cared enough for the wellbeing of the rookies that he’d come to George about the situation with MBS. George hated when the FIA treated drivers like they had no autonomy within the organization. He’d had enough meetings with their representatives and with MBS himself to know how little they actually cared for the people who made them so much money.
It was kind of Max to bring his concerns to the GPDA when he could’ve easily just ignored the organization's attempted manipulations and moved on with his day, and George couldn’t help but admire that in the other man.
A lot of things could be said about Max, and his attitude in racing, but he was never afraid to speak his mind. That was for sure. And George had always appreciated that in the other man. There was never any bullshit with Max. He made his feelings clear, and didn’t have time for other people’s bullshit either. George had certainly tried his best to emulate that during his tenure in Formula 1, but never to the success that the Dutchman could.
It was probably one of the things that George loved most about Max, at least before Max had been so honest about his true feelings about George in front of a camera. He’d always pushed for George to be honest with him, calling the Brit out on his bullshit excuses for a rough race or his extreme reasoning for intensifying his strict diet and exercise routine. He’d tried to do the same tonight, but George didn’t want to trust his words anymore. Didn’t want to give him any more ammunition to turn around and deliver to the media.
But part of George ached to accept the care the other man had offered him, even if it would have forced him to admit his own shortcomings. Part of him ached to forgive the other man, who had been trying so hard to force a conversation about the whole thing, just so they could go back to how things were before. He ached for Max like he’d never ached for anything else. So if one thing was clear after the other man’s visit, it was that George had made absolutely no progress in getting over him. He was still deeply in love with Max Verstappen.
--
Things weren’t back to normal after that night. But things were certainly a little less strained between the two men. George still didn’t trust Max fully, generally trying to stay out of his way when it came to racing-related stuff. But they were able to have more one-on-one interactions before and during drivers parades, and George started actually engaging in Max’s attempts at banter during press conferences and fanstages.
George had tried not to let Max’s words that night in Jeddah get to him - more out of stubbornness than anything - but he had semi-unconsciously started cutting out his midnight workouts, instead allowing himself the nights relaxing in bed to work off his post-race energy. His diet probably still wouldn’t be up to Max’s standards, but the eliminated strain from the feud with Max left him feeling a little less in need of something to control.
By the time Monaco rolled around, things were mostly okay between George and the Dutchman. He still wouldn’t have called them friends, but they were able to exist in each other’s company without a fight breaking out or George feeling too insulted by the mere presence of the other man. They’d even managed to handle a couple games of padel together, alongside Lando and Alex of course, without any drama. Like always, George - being the best of the four at padel - and Max - being the worst - were paired up against the other two. After so many years working as a pair in the game, they worked pretty effectively (even when George got frustrated with Max’s truly atrocious serve). Max had gotten in the habit of bringing protein bars for everyone after a match - something he’d never done before and George knew was mainly meant to benefit him. George found himself accepting them, despite his brain’s temptation to reject the extra calories - a part of his internal desire to please the Dutchman by accepting his small offer. The content smile he saw on Max’s face whenever he bit into a bar was well worth it to George.
The race in Monaco had gone about as well as George expected after his disaster of a qualifying. Nobody on the grid seemed very happy with their race, except of course Lando, and it was pretty clear that the forced two-stop strategy had done nothing to clear up the shortcomings of the historic street track. After the race, most of the media’s questions focused on how the track might be improved in the future and George found himself joking with Max about the use of water guns and Mario-Cart style bananas to make the race more exciting. It felt like old times, like the tension between the two men had completely melted away, much to the joy of fans if twitter was anything to go by.
It was in that moment that George knew he was ready to talk to Max, like really talk to the other man. He wanted things to be normal again - maybe without the extra benefits they’d indulged in before - but he at least wanted them to be friends again. He wanted it to feel this easy between them all the time.
George hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Max directly after that. By the time George was finished with all of his duties, and had begun walking over towards the Red Bull motorhome, Max had already left for the day. Clearly, the Red Bull debrief hadn’t been as long as the Mercedes one. George had gotten a dressing down from Toto about the Williams incident during the race, and while George knew he should be focusing more on that, all he could think about was Max.
When he met up with Alex to share their promised dinner, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Max. He could tell Alex knew George was distracted, but he was nice enough not to ask. When they’d checked the drivers group chat to see what kinds of celebrations Lando had in mind to champion his win in Monaco, he’d seen messages about going out to one of the local clubs, about a VIP section promised to them, and each message had been liked by Max. George knew he’d found his opportunity.
The club was packed when he and Alex arrived. The music was booming and the energy in the space was more lively than George had seen in a while - clearly excited about Lando’s win. As they wound their way through the crowd towards the VIP section, George’s nerves were all over the place. He didn’t know how he was going to get a minute alone in a place like this with Max, and he feared it might be his only chance before the next race weekend. He didn’t want to go into another race as enemies.
When they got to VIP, most of the other drivers were there. Even the ones who didn’t usually enjoy the party scene - Oscar and Nico mostly - had made an effort to come out to celebrate Lando. George and Alex found the day’s victor sitting on one of the couches near the back chatting excitedly with Carlos and Max, a drink in each hand. When he saw the other two men approaching, he’d flung himself off the sofa, wrapping his hands around both of their shoulders. George flinched when he felt a splash from one of his drinks hit the back of his neck and start dripping down into his shirt. He could tell from Alex’s face that he hadn’t fared much better.
“Oh my god, hiiiiiiiii! Thanks for coming guys! Means so much that you’re here!” Lando slurred out.
George wasn’t sure how long Lando had been at the club, but he knew he’d come directly from the Prince’s party if the tuxedo pants and sweat-stained collared shirt told him anything. And he was very drunk. That much was clear.
Lando was a touchy drunk, even touchier than he was on a normal day-to-day basis, and it was pretty clear how gone he was by his refusal to give George and Alex even a little bit of personal space.
Luckily Carlos saved the day, gently pulling Lando back towards him. “Alright cabrón, why don’t we find you some water?”
Lando pouted, but reluctantly allowed Carlos to drag him away towards the bar area.
Max leaned forward to pour glasses of champagne for both George and Alex, which each man greedily accepted. They both made to sit on the sofa with him, but as Alex moved to sit on Max’s left, Gabi slid in (seemingly from nowhere) to claim the spot of Max’s left, leaving George without a seat. Gabi immediately dragged Max into conversation about some gaming thing that George couldn’t really understand. Alex got dragged into whatever argument Fernando and Oscar had been having behind the couch, leaving George unsure of where to go. He wandered a bit, but most other drivers were either in conversation with their significant others - which George didn’t really want to interrupt - or out on the dance floor enjoying the atmosphere of the club. George could see Lando and Carlos had made their way out there, so clearly the Spaniard had not had too much success in sobering up the younger Brit. For a while George just stood at the edge of the VIP section, watching the partygoers enjoy themselves. He’d finished his champagne pretty quickly and was just debating whether he should get himself another drink or simply make his way home when he felt another person’s presence beside him.
“Do you have any cigarettes on you?” Max’s voice rang out as he tried to be heard over the booming bass of the song.
George did have a pack on him. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket.
“Can I bum one?”
George nodded, making to open the pack and offer one to the other man. Max just shook his head, lightly grabbing George’s elbow and motioning to the french doors that led to the VIP balcony.
“Share one with me?”
George followed him out. For once, the balcony wasn’t packed with people. Probably because the VIP section was reserved for the drivers tonight, and most of them didn’t smoke. George and Max weren’t supposed to either. But every driver had their vices. A few vaguely familiar friends of Lando were hovering over to one side, clearly finishing up sharing a cigarette. They disappeared back inside only a moment after George and Max had stepped outside.
The balcony was George’s favorite part of this club, a cool and much quieter relief from the club atmosphere on nights when he wasn’t in the mood for a party but felt obligated to join his friends.
Despite Max's request to share, George shook two cigarettes out of the box, reaching into his jeans pocket to find his lighter. He lit Max’s first before lighting his own.
He watched Max take a deep drag before blowing the smoke out his nose, like he was some kind of dragon. George laughed at the image, and Max smirked - clearly pleased by George’s reaction.
George took a drag of his own cigarette, the nicotine helping to relax his own nerves about his proximity to the other man.
Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, just enjoying their vices in peace after a long and exhausting day. Below them the streets of Monaco glittered from the high of another successful Grand Prix day. It still wasn’t as electric as Charles’ win the previous year - the hometown hero bringing out a Monegasque pride that George had never witnessed before. The city had been lit up with celebrations for days.
He found himself smiling at the memory of that week.
Max must have seen the smile, as he gave George a weird look, breaking the silence with a questioning “What?”
“What’s it like to win Monaco?”
Max looked confused, but he answered honestly.
“It was one of the more memorable wins, I guess. It's fun to win with so many family and friends there, and you feel a weird sense of accomplishment winning at such a historic venue I suppose.”
“I think it’d be a really cool one to win.”
Max’s eyes softened.
“You’ll get your chance.”
George huffed out a soft, but disbelieving laugh before turning back towards looking at the street below and taking another drag.
Max didn’t say anything else and they fell back into a soft silence.
For a few more minutes, neither of them said anything, but George knew he needed to capitalize on their moment alone. He was the next person to break the silence.
George cleared his throat. “I’m ready.”
Max looked at him confused. “What?”
“I’m ready to talk about it.”
A shadow fell over Max’s face as he realized what George was talking about.
“Here?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I mean, it’s not exactly private.”
George thought for a moment.
“Ok, then let's go to my place. But no funny business. I’m still not fucking you again.”
Max chuckled at that. “Don’t worry, princess. I heard you loud and clear the last time. I just want to clear the air between us.”
The two men made their way back into the club, congratulating Lando one more time and saying their goodbyes to the other drivers present. A very drunk Lando barely acknowledged their farewell, but the less drunk Alex Albon - who had seemingly drawn the short straw to make sure the shorter man made it home alright - had shot George a loaded smirk when he realized the Brit and Dutchman were in fact leaving the club together. George had done his best not to roll his eyes.
The distance between the club and George’s flat wasn’t far enough to warrant ordering an Uber, so Max and George walked along side by side, enjoying the fresh air of the temperate Monaco night. There weren’t many people on the streets as they made their way off the main roads, luckily, and those that were must have been locals because they paid little attention to the two Formula 1 drivers. There was a palpable tension between Max and himself, but neither man commented on it. Every couple of minutes, their shoulders would bump into each other as they walked. Neither of them made any move to prevent it, and George found himself longing for the warmth of the simple touch again and again.
As they made their way into George’s building and took the elevator up to his unit in the highrise, George couldn’t help but think about the last time Max had been in his apartment. It had been a weekend during the summer break spent holed up together, mostly trading their time between exploring new kinks and playing Mario Kart on George’s Xbox. Max had cooked for them, revealing to George just how culinarily savvy the other man secretly was. George had enjoyed every meal without a second thought about the calorie count or the way it would fit into his diet plan. They worked out together in George’s home gym and traded off time spent on George’s at-home sim in an attempt to best each other’s lap times. It was the closest George had ever gotten to feeling like the thing with Max was more than just a casual hook-up. It had felt so natural - the domesticity of it all.
George wondered if Max was thinking about the same thing as he unlocked his front door and ushered the other man into his place.
George didn’t need to give the other man a tour. He knew his way around already, which was made clear by the way he glided into the living room and immediately took up residence on his couch.
George fidgeted, nervous now that they’d actually made it to the point where they’d have to actually talk.
“Do you want some tea? I’m gonna make some tea,” George started to ramble, making his way towards the coffee bar where his electric kettle lived. “I have lots of different kinds, so whatever you want - chamomile, mint, lemon, or if you want something caffeinated, I have lots of options for that too-”
“George,” Max interrupted. “Relax. It’s just me.”
That didn’t make George feel better.
He continued puttering around the tea bar, heating the water and making a cup of tea for each of them. Chamomile for himself and peppermint for Max. His hands shook more than normal as he poured the water into each mug.
Max made no move to get up from his place on the sofa, clearly uninterested in putting himself between the Brit and his tea agenda. He waited patiently for George to finish and bring both mugs over to the coffee table, looking up at him with a slightly amused expression.
George didn’t sit down immediately.
“Is the temperature okay in here? I can turn it down if you’re too warm, or we can open the balcony doors, whatever you want-” George went to move towards the thermostat, but as he turned, he felt Max’s hand grip his elbow. He turned back to look at the man.
“George, sit down please.”
George sat down.
Max looked pleased with himself at seeing George follow his order without question. He placed a hand on George’s knee, probably in an attempt to ground the other man.
“Now, can you please chill out. This doesn’t need to be something stressful. It’s just a long-needed conversation between the two of us. That’s all. If you’re not ready for that, I can leave and we can do this another time. There’s no pressure to do it right now.”
George felt embarrassed at having to be coddled like a child. “Sorry, sorry… I’ll chill out now. We can talk. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
George nodded.
“Do you want to start? I think it might be better if you led this conversation?” Max added.
George thought for a moment, before deciding what he wanted to say first.
“I guess we should start with what happened last year. I was hurt… after Qatar, by the things you said to the press. I don’t expect you to understand, but it didn’t exactly feel good to have you slander me to the press just because I won against you in the stewards room.”
“The stewards were wrong.” Max said, like the blatant fact cleared him of all wrong-doing.
“That’s not the point, Max.” George replied. “The point is that we agreed, after Baku, that we wouldn’t do the press game again. We agreed that we’d work it out - just you and me. And I thought that’s what we did. That night in Qatar, I let you take whatever you needed from me to get past it. And you still took it to the press. You escalated it for no reason.”
“People asked about the penalty. I needed to give them some kind of answer.”
“And that gave you the right to call me two-faced to the entire world, to say that I’m a completely different person behind the camera just because I fought fairly for a penalty that you deserved?”
“That’s debatable.”
“The penalty isn’t the point! The point is that you knew what you were doing by escalating the situation, and you didn’t for a moment consider how your comments would reflect on me.”
Max frowned. “Because your comments were so tame? Calling me a villain in front of the world. Like you didn’t use my words from bed that night to make me out to be some violent criminal? I haven’t been able to escape those words since they left your mouth.”
George felt himself getting more worked up. He never understood how Max could be so caring and reliable one moment, and then be so nonchalant and unfussed in another. It was so frustrating. Geroge tried to keep his voice level, but he could feel his heart beating faster in his chest.
“I just wanted things like that to stay between us. You can’t just insult me in front of the whole world and not expect me to be upset about it, Max! You can’t make things personal, and not expect me to react.”
Max remained annoyingly calm. “I never meant for things to get personal, George.”
“But they did, Max! They did. I understand answering questions when the press ask you about penalties and stuff. I can’t blame you for airing your frustration to the media about things that affect your race negatively! But you didn’t need to attack my character because you didn’t agree with the FIA’s decision. You know me better than to think I wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to improve my chances of win. I fully expected you would do the same! But you don’t get to make me out to be some untrustworthy disrespectful clown just because you’re mad that the stewards sided with me.”
“George, no one takes any of this stuff seriously-”
George exploded. “Maybe for you! Maybe for the great Max Verstappen, none of this makes a dent in the legacy you’ve already built for yourself. If anything, maybe the words I said about you make your ruthless image even more powerful! But not all of us are you Max. Some of us are still struggling to prove that we belong here in the first place.”
“Of course you belong-”
“Not according to most of the internet! Not according to pretty much every journalist who’d rather see Lando or Charles or Oscar take you on in a championship battle than even give me the time of day! Not according to Toto, who’d rather entertain the idea of signing another better driver like you than giving me a chance to actually show what I can do in a good car! You don’t understand any of this, Max! You’ve been Red Bull’s golden boy since they signed you. Everyone loves you on and off the grid! Even the ones that say they hate you have to respect you for your racecraft. I have none of that! None. And it’s fucking exhausting to continually have to prove myself time and time again, just to have it completely disregarded because something more interesting happens in a race that I just happened to win or because another driver wants to make disparaging comments about me to the press.”
George was out of breath by the time his outburst finished. He could feel tears building up on his waterline, threatening to fall at any moment. He hated that any time he was upset, his body defaulted to tears. He felt utterly pathetic.
Max looked astonished, like he didn’t know what to do with anything George had said.
When he realized George was done speaking, he tentatively reached his hand out to grasp George’s - squeezing in an attempt to calm the other boy down.
“I’m so sorry, George.”
The tears fell. A loud sob emerged from George’s mouth, as he completely lost it. All of the emotions he’d been trying to suppress for months finally finding their escape at the sound of Max’s apology.
He felt Max wrap his arms about him, shushing gently in his year in an attempt to calm him down.
George cried and cried, an ugly series of sobs that left him gasping for breath he couldn’t seem to find. Max just squeezed him tighter.
He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, curled together, but eventually George’s sobs calmed down to sniffles and he was able to take deeper breaths to slow down his racing heart. Max never let him go.
“I’m really sorry, George.” Max whispered into George’s hair, where his head was curled into Max’s chest. “I didn’t realize how much what I said would affect you. I didn’t realize how much pressure you were under. I’m really sorry, my darling.”
“I’m sorry, too.” George whispered back. “I said all those terrible things about you because I wanted to hurt you. I don’t think you’re a villain, I swear. I was just really mad at you, and I didn’t think about what I was saying. I was just trying to defend myself, and I ended up being really terrible in the process. I’m really ashamed of myself.” George could feel the tears starting up again.
Max shushed him, gently rocking the two of them together.
“You have nothing to feel shame for, George. I provoked you.”
“And I should’ve realized that escalating the situation wasn’t the correct way to fix things. This whole mess is my fault. Everything is my fault.” George countered. “I wouldn’t even let you apologize when you tried to. Too stuck up my own ass to even give you the chance.”
Max didn’t respond for a moment, but George felt his embrace tighten even more.
For a few moments, there was silence between the two of them.
Eventually they had to let go of one another, with George pulling back to wipe the tear tracks from what he knew must have a very red face. He felt awkward now that he had stopped crying.
“Sorry about that. I hate how easy it is for me to cry. It’s so pathetic. I’m fine now.”
“George…”
“Anyways, now that that’s out of the way, do you want to do something? I’m still not going to have sex with you, but we could play Mario Kart or something, or if you’re hungry, I should still have some popsicles in the back of my freezer from the last time you were here?” George looked at Max expectantly, but was surprised to find a look of genuine concern on the other man’s face.
“What?” George questioned.
“Are you okay?” Max said, bluntly.
“Max, I just said I’m fine now. It was just a stupid moment of weakness. I’m back in control now.”
“So that’s what it's about then?”
“Max, what-”
“I know you haven’t been okay since everything happened, George. Hell, you weren’t even okay before. You don’t have to lie to me.”
And there it was. The elephant in the room that had been there for years, hanging around George like a lead balloon, that Max had always noticed, but had been nice enough never to talk about.
“We don’t have to talk about that Max. I’m fine.”
“So you admit there is something to talk about.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re skinny, George. Skinnier than I’ve ever seen you. You’ve had these perpetual heavy bags under your eyes since the start of the season, and I already know you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”
“Taking care of myself? That’s ridiculous! I eat well, I work out-”
“You eat the right things, but you don’t eat enough of it. You work out more than any trainer would recommend for someone in our line of work. You push yourself too hard, George, and it makes me worried about you.”
“It’s fine. I need to be better in every aspect of my racing, and that means finding improvement in every little thing I can. Diet and exercise is a big part of that - something I have easy control over.”
“There’s that word again!”
“What?”
““Control is what you’re looking for, not performance.”
“That’s not-”
“You said it yourself, George! You can’t use these things to punish yourself for things that are actually out of your control.”
“Max, I’m fine.”
“No you’re not. And you haven’t been for a long time. And I don’t want to be one of the things responsible for you hurting anymore. I just want to help.”
George wanted to push back. He wanted to keep denying what Max was saying. But no words seemed to come to his tongue. Instead he let the tension fall from his shoulders, let out a big sigh and turned away from the other man, making his way out onto the balcony with the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket already in hand.
His hands shook as he struggled to get one out of the box and light it. He heard Max moving around behind him, listening to tell-tale sounds of the Dutchman joining him in the nighttime air. Max didn’t speak as he slowly made his way to stand next to the other man. He gently grabbed the lighter from George’s nervous fingers and lit the stick for him, watching George greedily suck in the nicotine he hoped would calm his anxieties.
They stood in the silence of the night, starting down at the lights of the city below them. Distantly, George could still hear the celebrations for Lando floating from the downtown area of Monaco. He knew Max was waiting for his cue for how their conversation would continue. He knew that if he continued to dismiss Max’s concerns, the Dutchman would likely respect that and let them move on from it - at least for the night - but he also didn’t want to let Max down. He couldn’t fault Max for bringing it up out of concern. He was right, after all. George wasn’t alright. He hadn’t been in a long while.
“It started when I was a kid - the food stuff. I had a lot of pressure on me from my dad, and then from sponsors, and eventually from Toto, and I needed some way to feel like I was at least trying to meet their expectations. You know I was tall for our age group, and I remember watching races when I was a kid and hearing all about weight limits and how a lighter car meant a faster car, and I just thought if I could lose all the excess weight I had from being a regular pre-teen, I could go faster, do better… make everyone proud of me. It wasn’t that intense at first. It was actually pretty healthy. I stopped eating junk food, and snacking all the time. I started running and working out a lot more in an attempt to be as fit as I could be. My mum was happy to make healthy snacks for race weekends, rather than just relying on my dad to pick up crisps from the local petrol station. As I moved up in the rankings, I think I subconsciously decided it had to be down to my new diet and exercise routine, rather than my experience or personal skill level, so it only continued to get less and less healthy.”
Max interrupted to clarify. “This is when we were karting together, yes?”
“It started then, yeah. Got worse the older we got though. When I got into the formula series and moved out on my own, it got exponentially bad. Every second that I wasn’t in a car was spent training or planning out my calorie count for the week. It was dangerous, how hard I was pushing myself. I think Alex’s mom might have caught on to what I was doing, because she would invite me over for dinner a lot. I never wanted her to think I was ungrateful, so I didn’t feel I could refuse. I think she just wanted to make sure I was eating something, when I didn’t have anyone else looking after me.”
“I’m glad you had someone looking out for you,” Max said, with a sad smile on his face..
“Eventually as I got better and made my way into higher ranked, more experienced teams, I had trainers who helped guide me into healthier habits. I trusted them to know what was best for me as someone who was aiming for Formula One, and I was with those teams so often, I didn’t even have the chance to try to let my bad habits impact my daily routine. I ate what the team gave me and exercised on their schedule, with the promise that it would get me where I wanted to go.”
“When I got signed to the Mercedes driver academy in 2016, things escalated a bit more. Toto gave me a lot of hard goals that I needed to complete if I expected him to secure me a seat in F1. I had to win GP3 and F2. Which I managed to do, but only at the expense of my health. That was probably the worst it's ever gotten. I was so thin, and utterly exhausted all of the time. I would get out of training sessions with my team, and go home to an empty apartment and work out even more, until I felt like I was going to collapse. I would skip breakfasts and dinners, and rely on the one meal a day I got from the team, thinking that would be enough to fuel me through a race weekend. I was utterly miserable, but I was winning, and around that time that was all that mattered to me. I needed to prove myself to Toto, and the only way to do that was to win.”
“Eventually - about halfway through our F2 season - Alex sat me down and told me I had to stop. And he helped me a lot to realize that I was doing more harm than good by mistreating my body. He helped convince me that the way I ate or exercised wasn’t the thing keeping me in the lead. It was my skill as a driver.”
Max gently grabbed George’s bicep and gave it a light squeeze before letting go. “He was right, you know? You were amazing in those series. I kept up with you even after I was in Formula 1, and you were fantastic.”
“Yeah… I owe a lot to Alex and his family. They’ve helped me get through some of the worst periods of my life.”
“Then I owe a lot to them too.” Max added, simply.
George didn’t really know how to respond to that, so he just kept going.
“Ever since then, I’ve been a lot better about food and exercise. At least until this season… I haven’t been 100% about it, still have tough weekends that leave me grasping for elements of control that I can’t find elsewhere. I still have a tendency to track my calorie count and I’m still not a big fan of snacking on sugary junk food. But I try to trust my trainers, and not to punish myself for things that are out of my control.”
“But this season, things changed?” Max reasoned.
“I mean, yeah… and it’s not even your fault, so don’t go thinking that it was. It’s just… things felt more out of control than normal. Toto didn’t like the bad press I got from our spat last year, and the team has felt more uncertain without Lewis around. I feel responsible for making sure Kimi is adjusting well to the team, and I obviously haven’t been certain about where you and I stood with one another, so I just started to kind of spiral. Things started to get better after Jeddah, when I felt like things between you and I might actually recover to something resembling friendship. I at least stopped working out behind my trainer’s back. But things at the team are still kind of a mess, and I know Toto is still disappointed in my performance so it’s been hard to keep everything together. It's hard to not be tempted to keep controlling every little element of my life outside of the car.”
“And the cigarettes?” Max gestured to the half-finished stick in George’s hand. “Are they part of it too?”
George huffed out a breathy sigh. “It might sound counterintuitive. Being so obsessed with performance and health and all that, and still smoking these little death sticks… but I guess it's my own little treat to myself. No calories, helps with hunger pains, and offers a little source of comfort during my worst days. I started that habit when I was in the GP3 series. It used to just be once in a while, after a really bad race. I could go for six months only having to buy one pack. But I guess, the older I get, the more I reach for these every time I need comfort. This is already the fifth pack I’ve bought since the start of the season.”
“What do your trainers say about it?”
George shook his head. “Either they don’t know or they pretend they don’t. I’ve found plenty of places on the paddock to sneak away and have a quick smoke. But I’m sure I’ve come into debrief meetings smelling of smoke enough times for them to have figured it out.”
Max looked at the lit cigarette still sitting between George’s fingers like he wanted to grab it and throw it away.
“I didn’t realize how much I’ve helped you hurt yourself.”
George rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Don’t worry. I did that all on my own.”
“Still… I’m really sorry George. I know I keep saying it. But I mean it.”
“It’s not your fault that I’m emotionally unstable, Max. The bullshit you pulled in Qatar last year certainly didn’t help. But my inner turmoil originated way before our shared stupidity.”
Max didn’t respond for a while. Both men turned back to look back at the lit up city below them.
After a few minutes, the Dutchman broke the silence.
“Are we okay now? Are we back to normal?”
“As normal as we can be.”
“I really am sorry, George.”
“And I appreciate that. I’m still not gonna fuck you though.” George said with a joking smile on his face.
Max burst out laughing, clearly surprised by the response. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“You missed my ass that much?” George teased.
He expected a sarcastic retort from the other man.
Instead, Max just looked at him with a genuine gleam in his eyes and said “Yeah, I do.”
George tried not to focus on what the double meaning in that could be. He brought his cigarette back up to his lips and let the smoke invade his lungs to push down his own temptations.
--
It only took one week to challenge the fragile nature of their newly established trust. Barcelona had been a tough race for both men, leaving them both desperate by the last stint. Max’s team had fucked his tire strategy before the safety car restart and George had been left frustrated by Charles’ new-found race pace after a subpar qualifying.
He could admit (to no one but himself) that his late brake attempt to capitalize on Charles pass, which had pushed Max off track, probably hadn’t been his cleanest move for a position. He frankly understood Max’s frustration with the instruction to give the place back - but he would never have expected it to end in Max ramming into the side of him after making to let him pass on the entrance to turn 5.
Initially George hadn’t even been angry - too flabbergasted by the idiocy of the move to even consider it in the context of everything else that had happened between them in the months leading up to it. But as he finished the race, and the reality of what had just happened settled in, he grew increasingly frustrated by the incident.
Max got a ten second penalty for the collision - and in George’s eyes, he got off easy for the recklessness he’d displayed in purposefully crashing into a competitor.
When the media asked George about it, he took the diplomatic approach of someone who had spent years as director of the GPDA, focusing not on his own race but on the effect that Max’s actions would have with influencing younger drivers and kids watching to think that was an okay thing to do.
Max had traded back remarks in response, dismissing George’s concerns with a comment about “tissues” that online fans seemed to find hilarious - unfortunately prompting new memes to be made out of George and his concern for younger audiences.
Luckily the commentators seemed to agree with George that the move was reckless and unnecessary, but that didn’t stop everyone online from acting like George was being overdramatic about the severity of the incident.
George hadn’t expected to hear directly from Max. After all, he himself had told the media he didn’t feel a need to apologize for his behavior.
So when Max showed up at his hotel room door less than 20 minutes after George had made it back from the paddock, he was surprised to say the least. He was just settling into bed with a rare sugary soda - an attempt to eliminate the headache he’d had since the mediafire storm he’d had to deal with post-race - when a knock sounded from his door.
George had assumed it would be Kimi or Alex - looking for a distraction after what had been a disastrous race for both of them. Instead, Max stood sheepishly on the other side of the door. George was tempted to slam the door in his face, but curiosity got the better of him.
“What the hell could you possibly want after everything that happened today?”
“Can I please come in?”
“Why would I want you to do that?”
Max sighed. “George please - I’m here to apologize.”
“Are you sure about that? You seemed pretty reluctant earlier today?” George argued back.
“Look, just let me explain. Can you please just let me in?”
George huffed in annoyance, but let the other man through before closing the door behind him. Under his breath he muttered, “At least you didn’t barge in at 2am this time.”
It was clear that Max had heard him, if the way his shoulders tensed at the comment said anything. He made his way to George’s bed, sitting on the edge of it. George stayed on the other side of the room, leaning on the desk. Max looked nervous where he sat, like he was expecting George to blow up on him at any moment. George still wasn’t 100% sure he wouldn’t.
“Look, George… I’m… I’m really sorry about how everything went down today. I shouldn’t have run into you and I shouldn’t have talked back at you in the press after the fact. I promised you I understood your perspective after Qatar last year and that I wouldn’t act like that again, but I fucked up today. I broke that promise, and I’m really fucking sorry that I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”
“So you’re sorry that the comments you made were aired on television, but you still agree with the sentiment behind them?”
“George, that isn’t the point-”
“It kind of is though. I don’t want to fix things between us if you secretly think I’m some two-faced crybaby. I don’t want you to waste your time dealing with someone that you can’t respect.”
“That isn’t what I think Geo-”
But George kept talking.
‘I mean, you came to me a month ago claiming to be worried about the “safety of younger racers” and then you pull shit like this and make it hard to believe that was ever a priority for you to begin with. Teaching them to disobey their team and crash into their opponents whenever they’re frustrated with their race certainly doesn’t help anyone!”
“I know, okay. I know I fucked up. I’m a fucking hypocrite - I know I am. But I really want to fix this. I don’t want this to be like Qatar. I don’t want you to go back to hating me!”
“Why? You want me to accept yet another apology, just for you to turn around and do the same thing again during the next race weekend. Sorry, Max, but that just doesn’t sound very enjoyable to me.”
“Look, I know I can be a real asshole, okay. And honestly, I can’t even promise you that something like this won’t happen again. I get mad, and I open my mouth and say the stupidest most regretful bullshit without even thinking twice. I hate being this way! I hate that I hurt people without trying. I hate how hard it is for me to just apologize. I hate how much my stupid father rubbed off on me, and how now I do the same fucked up shit to other people that he would do to me! I hate it! I hate that I’m morphing into another version of him! - I just… I don’t know how else to be. I want you to be able to trust me, but honestly, I don’t even know if I deserve it. I just can’t let you go again. Please, George.”
George could hear the desperation in Max’s voice, and see it on his face. To his surprise, he could even see tears start to bubble up on the waterline of the other man’s eyes. Max didn’t let them fall, but George couldn’t remember seeing Max cry since they were young kids in karting. He’d always envied the other man’s ability to stay composed in a way he couldn’t when he was upset. And now, here Max was, begging for his trust with tears in his eyes.
George made a choice.
He approached the other man slowly. Max watched him warily, clearly uncertain of George’s intentions. The Brit sat down next to the other man, reaching out a hand to stroke Max’s face. Although clearly surprised by the contact, George felt Max lean into his touch, accepting the offer of comfort. His eyes closed, as he finally let the tears spill over.
“I do trust you, Max. No matter how hard you make it sometimes, I do trust you. And you aren’t becoming your father. This conversation would look very different if you were, trust me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
George gently tugged the other man forward allowing Max’s face to bury itself in his chest, feeling the dutchman’s arms find their grip on his back. Max clung to him like he was afraid George would all of sudden disappear.
“I know you are, darling. And I accept your apology. But going forward, we need to make sure that when we have moments like this, where something happens on track or we have a disagreement, that we work it out together. I don’t want us to keep having the same conversations over and over. If you want me to trust you, I at least need your assurance that in future, we can handle these problems with just you and me.”
He felt Max nod from where his face was still pressed into him, but the other man didn’t speak.
George continued.
“I don’t want to hate you, Max. I never have and I never will. If anything, before Qatar, it was probably the opposite…”
Max let out a confused whimper.
“I think I was starting to fall in love with you, Max.”
Max leaned back slightly to look at George, but didn’t remove his arms from the other man. He had a skeptical look on his face, which had George tensing in preparation for rejection.
“You loved me?”
George bit his lip and nodded before speaking. “I know I wasn’t supposed to. I know the deal was that it was just sex, but I couldn’t help myself. I fell for you anyways. I think that’s why it hurt so much to hear you speak so negatively about me to the press. Gave me a wake up call for just how much more invested I was in our relationship than you were.”
Max shook his head.
“That isn’t true.”
“It isn’t?”
Max moved his hands to grip George’s face.
“No. I loved you too. I still do. Never stopped.”
George scoffed, disbelieving. “You sure didn’t show it. Nearly every time we fucked, especially on race weekends, it felt like you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
“I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t think I deserved to love you. Not to mention, my dad would have handed my ass to me if I’d been caught sleeping over in your room.”
“Why keep sleeping with me at all, then?”
“Because I couldn’t not be with you. I couldn’t have you be so near me and not take what I could get.”
“You seemed to have an easy enough time of it over the winter break…”
“Huh?”
“I was wasting away in my apartment, waiting by the phone for you to text me any semblance of an apology. Yet every time I saw Lando, he seemed to have a new story about how much fun you were having without me. I saw the pictures,” George admitted.
“I was trying to fill a void. I missed you so much, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t sleep with any of those people. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It just felt wrong. I’m sorry it took me so long to reach out, okay. I was a coward. I didn’t want to admit that I fucked it all up, and I ended up making it worse anyway.”
“You didn’t sleep with any of them?”
Max shook his head. “No. I haven’t slept with anyone other than you since we started this. Not sure I’d even know what to do if I tried.”
“Oh is that a performance issue, or…?” George joked in an attempt to break the still-present tension in the room.
Max gave George a gentle wack on the shoulder, but let out a small chuckle. “I’m like 5 months older than you, you dickhead.”
George smiled back, realizing how much he genuinely missed their banter.
After a moment, Max’s grin dropped again, replaced with a more nervous hint of a smile.
“You know, I meant what I said. I have no idea what I’d do if I had to try with someone else. I genuinely think you might have ruined me for anyone else.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I love you, George. And I understand if you’re not ready to hear that. I’m not trying to force anything on you. I just… I needed you to know. I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”
George leaned towards the other man, taking Max’s hand in his own.
“I can’t say it back just yet. I’ve spent so long trying to get over you, and honestly I’m not sure I’m ready to give my heart to you so fully again, not just yet. But, I want to try again. I don’t want to give up on us. And I want us to do this together.”
George let their lips meet in an albeit brief, but firm kiss.
The pair laid back on the bed in silence, wrapped up in one another for a long while, pressing occasional kisses to each other’s mouths and enjoying the company of the other without feeling a need to speak any further.
Just as George could feel his eyes about to close, sleep threatening to overcome him before he even had the chance to turn the lights off, he heard a muffled question emerge from the other man. George looked down at where Max’s head rested against his left pec.
“What did you say, darling?”
Max looked up at him, with a suddenly nervous look on his face.
“Can I take you on a date?”
George couldn’t help but be a little surprised, even after the admission of love. Max had never offered to take him out before.
“You wanna take me on a date?”
“Did you not think that was where this was headed when I confessed my love to you.”
“You’ve never wanted to before.”
“Oh believe me, I wanted to.”
“You know a date usually happens in public right?”
“Yeah of course, you dick. I’m not that inept at dating, you know.”
“People will see us. People will talk.”
“Let them. I’m tired of being afraid of us. I want to date you, and eventually I want the world to know you’re mine.”
George let that sink in. It was more than he could’ve ever imagined, and it was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. Wine and dine me Max Verstappen. But just know… I’m not a cheap date.”
The beaming smile he received from Max was worth more than anything else in the world to George.
--
The week between Barcelona and Canada was a busy one and the two men only really had one day to enjoy each other’s company before they would be expected to make the trek across the Atlantic. Max insisted they use their only day to go on their date.
The date was nothing like George had ever experienced. Max had taken George out on his boat for the afternoon, and they’d stayed floating on the ocean long after the sun had gone down and stars began to shine bright above them.
They’d used his jet skis and flyboards to entertain themselves during the daytime, before settling into a more relaxed state once it started to get dark. Max had his private chef cook George's favorite foods and make him his favorite cocktails. They’d watched an old race from before either of them had been in F1 on the projector screen Max had installed on the main deck of his yacht. It was a perfect day for George, not just because of all of the small things Max did to make it feel special, but simply because for the first time in months, he got a whole day with Max to himself - a day where he didn’t even have to pretend he wasn’t deeply in love with the other man. He could kiss him outside of sex all he wanted. He could cuddle up next to him on the sofa without fear of rejection. It was everything he’d ever wanted.
They still didn’t have sex yet. Max didn’t push the idea even once, clearly waiting for George to be the one to initiate it. If he was being completely honest, George did want to. He really did. After a romantic day on the boat together, George was horny. When Max dropped him off at his building at the end of the day, George was incredibly tempted to invite the other man up. But he resisted temptation, knowing that if he gave in, he’d regret it even more if things went south at the next race weekend. He simply allowed Max to kiss him one last time before pulling away to make his way up to his apartment.
They didn’t fly to Canada together. George had promised Kimi he’d fly with him on Toto’s jet, the younger boy too nervous to fly alone with the team principal for the first time as Valterri had plans to fly on Fernando’s plane. It turned out that Kimi wouldn’t have been alone as Lewis also chose to join them in the end, but George was sure flying with a 7-time world champion was not any less intimidating to the young driver than flying alone with Toto would have been. So he didn’t regret having to reject Max’s generous offer to fly with him and Lando to Montreal. Max did offer to accommodate both him and Kimi on the flight back if they wanted, so George had that to look forward to if the race went okay.
The weekend started off just okay. Through media day and the three free practices, he didn’t see much of Max. They didn’t spend their nights together, both choosing to stay as late as possible in the paddock with their teams, focused on eking out as much performance out of their cars as they could. After FP2, George did get a surprise, albeit brief visit to his driver’s room from the other man who was wanting to congratulate him on topping the practice session. He had also brought George a can of some random Canadian soda that he’d never heard of before - claiming Lance had said he had to try it. George saw right through the other man’s intentions - knowing Max was being conscious of George’s calorie intake once again - but he accepted the drink without comment. He downed the whole thing during the ten minutes they spent curled up in each other on the small sofa in George’s driver room before Max had to leave again.
Over the course of the weekend, the car felt slightly better than it had on any of the other warmer tracks they’d been driving on recently. The cooler temps allowed the car to showcase its full power and allowed George to feel more in control than he had in Barcelona or Monaco. Mclaren's lack of clear dominance around the track only helped grow his confidence in his own car. Going into Qualifying, he felt pretty confident he could at least earn himself a position that would secure him a podium, if not the win itself.
But Max was quick as well. The Red Bull had seemed to settle a bit after its tempestuous behavior in the previous race, and Max seemed stronger on the tires than he had in weeks. To top it off, George knew he couldn’t count Kimi out - especially not after Miami. The eighteen-year old may have been young, but what he lacked in experience, he was filled with an eagerness to keep up with George and fulfill the expectations that Toto had placed on him. The fact that he’d had three not great races in a row meant he was even more desperate for a positive result. So George knew Quali wouldn’t be a walk in the park, even with the Mclarens not in top form.
In Q1, Lando placed at the top of the leaderboard - a fact that had George a little stressed, knowing that if it meant the Mclaren had finally found pace, he didn’t stand a chance at pole. But he kept pushing, and felt his adrenaline spike when he found himself at the top at the end of Q2. It was the most anxiety-inducing Q3 of his life, but the minute he started the lap and got through the first two corners, he knew it was going to be a good one. The car felt great. It was smooth and the rhythm of the car’s movement was exactly what George had been wanting after weeks of struggling with it.
Securing pole position felt electric. Finally being able to celebrate something with his team that promised an actual chance at a race win was something that George didn’t want to admit he’d been craving for months. And to see Toto finally content with both him and Kimi for their mega qualifying session was just the icing on the cake.
Having Max by his side in P2, and seeing the glimmer of excitement in the Dutchman’s own eyes - whether from his own performance or from George’s - was everything to the Brit and he couldn’t stop smiling at the other man. From the corner of his eye, he could see the knowing look and small smirk that Oscar kept shooting them as he watched the two men interact with each other. George chose to ignore it, though he knew it was only a matter of time before one Mclaren boy shared his suspicions with the other and he’d be bombarded with texts from Lando about him and Max. With all luck, hopefully Lando’s slightly disappointing qualifying would delay that conversation until after the race weekend.
After they were done doing all their post-qualifying media responsibilities, and he had finished with his team debrief, George made his way back to his hotel room to shower and figure out his dinner plans. He’d only just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist when he heard a knock on his door. He was not even slightly surprised to find Max Verstappen waiting on the other side, a small duffle swung over his left shoulder and a can of Red Bull in his hand.
A smile was spread across his face as the door swung open, but it quickly melted into a shameless look of lust as his eyes scanned George’s half-naked body.
George smirked at the reaction.
“Wow…I’m getting dejavu from Jeddah. I hope you’re not here for the director of GPDA this time.”
Max’s mouth snapped closed, realizing he’d been caught. He recovered quickly, though.
“Yeah, actually… I’m here to report some inappropriate behavior from one of the other drivers. He keeps answering his door while half-naked. It’s really distracting…” Max smirked.
George rolled his eyes, and stepped aside to let the other man enter the hotel room.
As George closed the door, Max spun around, the smile stretching back across his face.
“Hello schat,” he said, leaning forward to kiss George. “I missed you.”
“You saw me like three hours ago?”
“Longest three hours of my life.”
“You’re being sappy.”
“We’re finally dating - I’m allowed to be sappy.”
George laughed, but nodded his head in agreement. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”
“Come - I want to hold you.” Max said, grabbing Geroge’s hand and dragging him towards the bed. George had to grab his towel to keep it from falling completely.
“Can I put some clothes on first?”
Max looked like he’d rather George do anything other than that, but reluctantly he let George’s hand go and motioned towards George’s luggage.
George quickly pulled out a soft pair of sweats and an old Mercedes t-shirt from one of the side pockets of his bag. For a moment he considered taking the clothes into the bathroom to change, but he quickly disregarded that - considering a much more fun option.
Without checking to see if the other man was paying attention, George dropped his towel with his backside on full display to the Dutchman. The sharp intake of breath he heard behind him told George that he had Max’s full attention. He slowly slipped on the sweats, doing the best he could to put on a show - despite his awkward and lanky limbs. He made to put on the shirt, when another idea popped into his head.
“You know, if I win tomorrow, maybe I’ll let you fuck me again,” George teased, turning around as he slipped on the tee.
Max, who had been in the middle of taking a drink from his red bull can, nearly did a spit take. He had clearly not been expecting that out of George’s mouth. George laughed at him, and kept talking as he recovered.
“That is as long as you play fair. I want you to race me hard. No dumb incidents like last week, but a clean fair fight between you and me. If you give me that, I’ll give you what you’ve so clearly been wanting for months.”
Max looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“George, you know I don’t expect anything. We’ve been dating less than a week. You can take all the time you need before we jump back in bed.”
“Are you saying you don’t want it?” George questioned, already knowing the answer but giving into the temptation to continue teasing the Dutchman.
Max shook his head violently, replying in earnest. “Of course I do. But I just don’t want you to feel obligated now that we’re officially together.”
George rolled his eyes and moved across the room to straddle the other man where he was sitting against the headboard of the bed. He heard another sharp intake of breath leave the driver. Max’s hands instinctively found their way up to George’s hips. George leaned down to whisper in Max’s ear.
“I promise that I want this. I want you. I never stopped. And if I win tomorrow, I want my reward.”
“What kind of reward?”
“Whatever I want. Whatever I’m in the mood for.”
“And if I race you hard and I win?”
“Then I’ll ride you even harder.”
Max let out a moan that was edging on a whimper beneath him.
“George…. You can’t do this to me.”
“Hmmm… what am I doing?” George teased.
“George….” Max whined.
George kept his volume low and hovered his lips over Max’s own. “Patience, my darling.”
He rolled off the other man, landing on his side of the bed with a giggle.
Max looked distraught at the loss of physical contact, and George could see where he was hard in his jeans. He didn’t acknowledge it to the other man.
“Now - go shower. You’re not sleeping in my bed tonight smelling like sweat and gasoline.”
--
As George made his way across the finish line - the deep sense of accomplishment was accompanied by an excitement for what would come after the weekend was over. Standing on the podium with not only Max, but also Kimi was more than George could have ever hoped for.
He was so proud of the younger Mercedes driver for the accomplishment, and to share that with Max - who he knew had also developed a close bond with the Italian - was incredibly special to George.
Everything about the win was near perfect - even if he knew that once again the biggest headline coming out of his race win would be the drama between only drivers rather than his own accomplishment. He was so excited, he couldn’t even drag himself to care about that.
The post-race celebrations and podium flew by, but George tried his best to memorize every moment - from Kimi’s overjoyed expression, to the cheers he received from his team and the larger crowd, and especially the look of absolute pride on Max’s face when they shook hands after the race. Max’s insistence on absolutely drenching him in champagne, only added to the memorability of the moment.
After all of their media was finished for the day, and all three men were done with their debrief, they made their way back to the nearby airport where Max’s jet awaited them. Oscar and Lando met them in the hangar, clearly having already moved past any lingering tension from the crash during the race much to George’s surprise.
The five men piled onto Max’s jet along with the other members of Max’s personal team and some other RedBull team members.
About an hour into the flight, most of the passengers had settled into their seats. Most of Max’s team were either sleeping off the exhaustion of the race weekend or plugged into headphones that kept them from having to listen to the ongoing game of UNO happening in the lounge section of the plane.
George and Max sat next to each other, with Kimi settled in the seat closest to them. Oscar and Lando said across from them, currently fighting over Oscar’s decision to use yet another skip on the other papaya boy.
“Is this revenge for earlier today? I told you I didn’t mean to crash into you!”
Oscar burst out laughing, clearly in disbelief that Lando would bring that up in relation to a simple card game.
“Lando, we talked about this. It was an accident. I wasn’t gonna pass Kimi here whether you hit me or not,” the Australian said, gesturing to the younger boy sitting to his left. Kimi looked incredibly pleased by the comment - especially considering it came from the current championship leader.
“Then why won’t you let me win,” Lando whined. George didn’t know how Oscar put up with it, but he was glad his long-time friend had someone like the aussie to put up with his bullshit.
“When have I ever let you win? Without team orders that is.”
In a petty move, Lando stuck his tongue out at Oscar. “I’m gonna text Andrea and tell him to order you to let me win this game.”
Oscar giggled. “Good luck with that, Lan.”
“My god, just make out already,” Max interrupted, exasperated by the petty argument.
Oscar turned even brighter red than he normally was and Lando turned his glare towards the Dutchman. “Speak for yourself, mate.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t comment on me and Osc when you and Georgie are practically sitting on top of one another right now. If anyone looks like they’re gonna make out, it's you.” Lando smirked.
George felt a deep flush fall over his face, and moved to scoot slightly farther away from the other man. Max kept a tight grip on his waist however, and prevented him from going anywhere.
“Lucky for Georgie, I’m not afraid to give him what he wants.” Max said dangerously, before leaning over to capture George’s lips in a passionate kiss. George’s brain went completely blank for a few moments, his lips reacting on pure instinct, before he remembered exactly where they were.
“Max -” George protested fondly, pushing back on the other man’s chest to break the kiss before it went too far. “Not in front of our friends.”
When he turned back to the rest of the group, Lando looked absolutely dumbfounded. Oscar had a smirk on his face, like all of his suspicions had finally been confirmed. Surprisingly, Kimi looked entirely unfazed by the kiss.
“Wait, what the fuck?” Lando questioned. “What the fuck was that?”
“That, my dear Lando,” Max replied, “was me kissing my boyfriend.”
“You’re together?”
“Yes.”
“How long has this been going on?” Lando demanded.
“Come on, Lando. You sound like a jealous ex or disapproving father.”
Out of the blue, Kimi chimed in. “A while. They’ve been together a while.”
“Excuse me - we have not. It’s only been a week since we officially got together,” George protested.
Kimi’s reply surprised him even more. “And all those late night hotel visits were completely platonic, I guess.”
George felt his face redden even deeper. He felt Max laughing to his left, which earned him an annoyed elbow to the ribs from the Brit.
“How the hell do you know about those?”
“George, you do realize Mercedes almost always books us rooms in the same hallway. I’ve seen him come in and out. I might be young, but I’m not too young to not put two and two together. Plus you guys flirt, like all the time.”
“We weren’t even fucking in those instances. Hell, one of them, we were speaking about GDPA business.”
“What about other instances?” Lando asked, curiously - a smirk spreading across his face.
George didn’t wanna give him any kind of answer to such a personal question, but Max didn’t seem to have any kind of hesitation.
“We’ve been fucking on and off since 2022.”
George smacked his hand against the other man this time, letting out an exasperated “Max!”
Lando’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve been fucking for three years, and neither of you ever told me!”
“And you didn’t wanna believe me months ago, when I said I thought they were together. I told you so.” Oscar said.
Lando glared at him and let out a huff, clearly not appreciating the comment. Oscar gave him a sympathetic pat on the back in support, as Lando leaned into the contact.
George knew whatever he and Max had going on was complicated, but he thought he’d probably never understand the full extent of the relationship between the two papaya boys. Just thinking about it gave him a headache.
“We are very happy for you both. Right, Lando?” Oscar said, pointedly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Lando said dismissively. “Still annoyed that neither of you told me, but I guess I can forgive you. Just don’t make me see anything that would ruin my innocence. I respect you both too much to wanna see any of that.”
Max laughed. “Your innocence? What innocence.”
Lando dropped his jaw in mock offense, bringing a hand up to his chest. “Excuse me, I’m very innocent.”
“Lando, everyone here has seen you in the club - well except for Kimi. Nothing about that is innocent.”
Lando’s face dropped into a pout.
“Oscah, they’re being rude,” he whined, leaning back against the Aussie’s shoulder.
Oscar patted his head patronizingly. “I think you’ll live,” he said, clearly amused by Lando’s behavior.
Lando did not look amused, and sunk deeper into the other boy’s side.
As if on cue with the end of the conversation, George felt himself yawn. It had been a long day and the high of excitement he’d gotten after his win had finally started to come down.
“Well, I’m going to go lay down in the bed at the back and try to get some sleep.” George declared, hoping Max would follow suit.
“Why do you get to use the bed?” Lando whined.
George raised his eyebrows at the other man. “Maybe because I’m dating the owner of this plane, that’s why.”
“Not fair… I had a crash today - I should get to lay down on a nice cozy bed!”
“Well, get your own four-time world champion with a private plane and maybe you can use one in the future.”
Lando’s pout became even more exaggerated as he looked up at Oscar expectantly. “Osc, will you buy me a plane if you win the title?”
“You make more money than me, Lando,” Oscar said simply.
Lando considered that for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders, letting out a huff. “You guys are all so lame. Can’t believe none of you will buy me a plane.”
Max laughed at the other man. “Oscar’s right. Buy one yourself.”
“But George didn’t have to.”
“Ok then his original point stands. Find yourself a man with a plane.”
“Oscahhhhhh… please?”
“No- I’m not buying you a plane.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please…”
George scoffed at the whole interaction. They were such an odd pair.
He shook his head at Kimi at the ridiculousness unfolding before them.
“As I said, I’m going to have a lie down. Are you joining me?” George said pointedly at the Dutchman.
Max nodded, grabbing George’s hand and almost dragging him towards the bedroom at the back of the plane.
Lando called after them. “I’m serious about the PDA! I don’t wanna hear any noise coming from back there that I can’t unhear! I might not be innocent, but Kimi doesn’t deserve that shit.”
--
George and Max didn’t fuck on the plane. George was serious when we said he wanted to get some rest. Sure, they may have spent a bit (a lot) of time making out, but eventually George found himself curled up next to the other man, his head resting on Max’s shoulder and his eyes slipping closed to enjoy a much-deserved nap.
They awoke to a knock at the door, with Oscar alerting them to the news that they would be landing in 20 minutes. They dragged themselves out of the bedroom, knowing Max’s staff would come back to make the bed behind them, and returned to their seats to buckle up in anticipation of the landing. Kimi was passed out in his seat, so as George walked past, he gently shook his teammate to warn him of the landing.
Once the plane was on the ground and had taxied, George and Max didn’t stick around long after saying their goodbyes to the other drivers. George had hitched a ride with Toto to the airport on the way to Canada, so he was happy to play passenger princess to his boyfriend.
It took them less than half an hour to get to Max’s place from the small airport they landed in just outside of Nice. It was the middle of the night so there was next to no traffic to contend with on the dark of the motorway. George was tempted to fall back to sleep, but he stayed awake, gripping Max’s hand where it rested on top of his leg. They’d never really done this before, but it felt so natural to George - like he should’ve been doing it for years.
As they rolled up into Max’s garage and parked his SUV between two of his much fancier cars, George was suddenly happy they had chosen to go to Max’s place. The massive salary the Dutchman was making after four world titles provided him much more flexibility than George in finding a place in Monaco that offered both space and security. Max’s multi-floor apartment in the hills was much more private than George’s harbor adjacent highrise apartment.
As they made their way into the home, George admired the way the large windows and balcony overlooked the city below - the same way he always did when he had visited before. Max puttered over to the kitchen, putting on the electric kettle that George was pretty sure he only bought to appease the Brit after one two many complaints during late night visits to the Dutchman’s home. Neither of them spoke as George made himself comfortable on Max’s large sectional, and started up some music from the bluetooth speaker system the other man had set up as part of his media center.
He could hear Max puttering around in the kitchen, and before long, the Dutchman reappeared in his sightlines impressively balancing two mugs of tea and a small plate of chocolate truffles in his hand. George helped grab one of the mugs so Max could settle himself on the couch next to him.
He offered George some of the truffles, and the Mercedes driver gladly accepted, trying to genuinely enjoy the sweet treat without thinking too much about the nutritional impact on his closely regulated diet.
Knowing his tea would be too warm to drink immediately, George placed his mug on the coffee table and instead nuzzled himself into Max’s side - his long limbs curling up under him on the sofa to try and find a comfortable position. Max moved his arm to make room for the Brit beneath it.
Once George was settled, the two men sat in relative silence, just enjoying each other’s company, the soothing music George had put on in the background, and the slowness of life outside the walls of an F1 paddock.
Once George had finished most of his tea and all of the truffles were gone from the plate, Max finally spoke.
“I’m really proud of you, you know?”
George hummed but didn’t say any words in reply.
“That really was a phenomenal race that you drove. I’m really glad I could be on the podium with you.”
George turned his head upwards to look at the other man, feeling warm at the deep sincerity he could see in Max’s eyes.
“I love you, schat.”
“I love you too, Max.” George leaned up, placing a heavy kiss on the other man’s lips, before leaning back and doing his best attempt of putting on bedroom eyes.
“Now, I think it’s time I cash in on my prize.”
Max’s eyes darkened. “Anything for you, George.”