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July 18th
Walking through the streets of Monaco made Max realise just how little he and Lando had. All he saw was luxury, after luxury, after luxury. The opulence was nauseating.
While Max was out hunting people and Lando was practically selling his body just to make enough to pay their lovely old landlady the money to stay in their tiny flat for another month, these people were buying yachts, Richard Mille watches, holiday homes, expensive cars. In another life, that would be Max and Lando.
But, it wasn’t, and never would be.
He wasn’t with Lando at that moment, no, he was with Lando’s colleague Daniel. Daniel was probably Max’s best friend. They’d just dropped Lando off at his dance class, all expenses paid for by their bosses.
Lando and Daniel were dancers for Club Papaya. Max worked there too, just… underneath it.
Andrea had Max trapped, Zak had Lando trapped.
All Max wanted to do was get Lando out, but he couldn’t even get himself out. It was his fault they were stuck, anyway. It had been his idea to try and steal Zak’s watch. Then he’d been ‘in debt’ for unsuccessfully stealing something. Andrea had Max doing his dirty work.
Despite this, spending almost every day together since Max turned eighteen (Lando was sixteen) had been one of the best things to ever happen in Max’s life. They were just as close, if not closer three years later.
Daniel was re-enacting an interaction he’d had with a client earlier that day, making Max giggle so much his eyes were nearly shut. As Daniel was leaving the woman’s house, she’d pretended to trip, hurling herself at Daniel in the doorway.
“But, right, she hadn’t realised just how much distance was between us and had to keep fake falling until she reached me!” He laughed heartily as they reached the door to the coffee shop.
Max, still looking back at Daniel, reached for the door handle only for his hand to come into contact with someone’s drinks. Max, who was utterly mortified, whipped his head around to look at where his hand had frozen after hitting the cups. He followed the spillage up the person’s sleeve, some of it having landed on the torso of a light blue sweatshirt, all the way up to the person’s outraged face.
The person’s stunning face.
The man had scruffy brown hair that probably needed a cut, it was obscuring his eyebrows. But even without seeing that part of his face, he could tell just how proportioned they would be. This guy was nothing short of angelic, even with pure rage twisting his features into something cold.
He had the beginnings of a mustache and a beard that only covered his chin, it was barely more than stubble. His long lashes framed green eyes that had a hint of amber around the irises and Max realised he was staring.
“Uh…” He said. Utter genius, really, pure intellect.
“Salop!” The Monegasque screeched. “Tu es un imbecile!”
“Uhh…” Max wracked his brain for his limited French. “Désolé?”
“Anglais.” The guy scoffed. “Of course.”
“Actually, no, I’m Dutch.”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to point out because the man in front of Max puffed up like an angry cat. “Does not change the fact that you made me spill my coffee.” He hissed.
Max rolled his eyes. “Come on, there are worse things that could happen.” He didn’t like these kinds of people. They were stuck up, conceited, selfish, rich. They didn’t know the true hardships of life, the-
“What’s going on?” Someone asked, someone British, someone Lando knew. Someone who got on Max’s last nerve. Albeit fondly. Ish.
“George. This idiot made me spill my cappuccino. And Lando’s iced-vanilla-caramel monstrosity that the barista judged me for.”
“Charles,” George rested a gentle hand on Charles’ shoulder as he spoke, holding his own coffee in the other, “this is Daniel, you’ll be dancing with him at Papaya.” Max blanched, Daniel choked on his breath behind him “And this ‘idiot’ is Max Verstappen. Lando’s Max.”
Those emerald eyes were back on him, no less furious. This was the dancer from Lando’s class who was looking for another club to work at. The one who was coming to their club.
Charles looked him over once, barely hiding his disgusted curl of a lip. “And Lando thought I would like him?” He asked George, in complete and utter disbelief, as he gestured vaguely at Max.
Max bristled immediately. “Well, you’re quick to judge,” he scoffed, crossing his arms. He watched as Charles turned back to him slowly, as if he didn’t expect Max to stick up for himself.
“Don’t feel like I need any more to go off,” he snarked.
Max barked a laugh, he could feel Daniel and George exchanging looks and shifting uncomfortably. “You’re that self-absorbed?”
Charles made an offended noise and that was when George decided he’d had enough.
“Come on, Charles, or we’ll be late. You know how Lando gets when we’re not there, he doesn’t know anyone else in the class.” He attempted to tug Charles away, he was successful, but not before Charles tipped some of his drink onto Max’s shoes and trousers. He yelped as the hot liquid - not boiling, but close - seeped into the bottom of his trousers and through the mesh of his worn-out trainers.
“You asshole!” Max yelled. “You better fucking watch yourself, mate!”
Charles didn't spare him another glance which only succeeded in making Max angrier.
Before Max could go after him, Daniel’s hand made its home in the middle of his chest, halting him before he could do something irrational like trip him, or hit him, or kiss him.
“Max,” Daniel chastised immediately.
“What!?” He cried. That… pompous, rich, asshole started it and Daniel was telling him off? “You cannot be serious.” He bristled, shoulders coming up defensively. “He poured his drink over my shoes.” He could feel the uncomfortable warmth and the squelch of both his socks and the soles of his trainers between his toes.
Daniel winced. “Yeah, he did do that. But-”
“Don’t you dare defend him,” Max hissed, pointing an accusing finger in his friend’s face. “I’m going home to change my fucking shoes.” He stalked off, squelching quietly with each step.
“Do you want me to get you a RedBull?” Daniel called after him.
“Yes!” Max yelled back. “Please,” he added. “Thank you.” His tone was clipped and he could feel himself vibrating in anger.
Who did that guy think he was? All sharp cheekbones, rich rudeness, and probably a God complex. Look at him! There was no way the guy didn’t have one. He was genuinely descended from Aphrodite, easy. But all that was ruined by his insufferable spoiltness.
He was probably completely out of touch with everything. How Lando liked him, Max would never understand. He probably only danced because he liked the attention it would garner him. He’d probably never had to work a day in his life. He probably had rich parents. Probably an only child. Oh, he was definitely an only child. Imagine — all his parents’ Monegasque wealth focused solely on Charles.
Max’s annoyance grew into something bigger. It was just unfair.
He, Lando, Daniel, Seb, Lewis, hell, even George - (mostly) everyone in that godforsaken club - they all worked their asses off to survive. They were stuck with these two assholes for directors, all focused on the ‘family’ agenda when none of them were related! Half of them dated each other behind their two bosses' backs, for Christ’s sake! And then this rich, snooty… just… selfish prick (anger was clouding his creativity, that was the best he could do,) comes along and messes with the perfect balance Max’s life had.
Well. It wouldn’t really affect him that immediately. He could easily avoid the brunet, just find out from Lando or Daniel when he was dancing and only go upstairs when he wasn’t. But still! Even knowing he was there would mess with Max’s routine. It would add unnecessary anger and tension and annoyance to a job that already made him angry and tense and annoyed.
Having stewed in his anger for probably far too long, he’d finally made it back to his and Lando’s flat, some dodgy part of Monaco that all the wealthy people and tourists avoided because it was too… common. It was still probably somehow equivalent to the nicest part of London or New York. Okay, that was a massive stretch.
He stomped angrily up the stairs, too vibrate-y to stay still in the lift. They lived on the third floor so it wasn’t too far to climb. He got to his front door and wrenched his keys out of his pocket, struggling to get it into the lock.
He had to stop and take a deep breath to regulate himself again. He couldn’t believe he was this riled up. After his steadying breath, he tried the lock again. It was old and definitely needed to be changed. He had to jiggle the key and pull it backwards until it caught and turned.
He shut the door behind him a little too harshly, making their key rack jangle. Max glanced over and saw Lando had forgotten his keys again. Max sighed, picking them up and putting them into his pocket. He’d have to take them to Lando because they wouldn’t cross paths at all until after Lando’s shift at Papaya. Max would like to be at home and asleep before that ended at four in the morning.
He stalked into the main bit of the flat, taking his shoes and socks off as he went, cringing at the sticky cappuccino footprints he left on their tacky linoleum floor. Stupid fake wooden floorboards. He sighed at himself. He shouldn’t have done that because now he was going to have to mop where he’d stood. He stopped, putting his shoes back on but leaving the socks off. It made him cringe again.
He sighed heavily. He was just going to blame Charles for this inconvenience, too. Perfect.
He got his only other pair of trainers, found some clean socks, washed his feet, washed the floor, and headed out again. Just as he was shutting the door, he heard his doorbell buzz. Daniel. He walked back in, pressing the button that unlocked the door downstairs for the Aussie. He knew the code to get in but the lazy bastard never used it.
He walked down the stairs, seeing Daniel chatting to Max’s old landlady who’d come downstairs for her post. “Salut, Madame Rousseau,” Max greeted softly, his anger having deflated slightly. Emphasis on slightly.
“Salut, petit,” she greeted softly, pulling Max down to give him two pecks on each cheek.
He smiled at her apologetically, taking his RedBull from Daniel. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat, we have to go and see Lando before work, he forgot his keys again,” he chuckled, shaking his head fondly.
“Oh, that boy,” she hummed, her own fondness clear in her eyes as they twinkled. “The amount of times he’s ended up at my door for the spare key, just to stay for a cup of tea and a pastry.”
Max’s eyes crinkled and he heard Daniel laugh too. “I don’t think you’d appreciate that at four in the morning,” he joked and she shook her head with a laugh.
“Au revoir, Madame.” Daniel waved, Max mirroring him as they walked to the exit.
“Your accent is getting better, Mr. Ricciardo!” She teased, waving too.
“I try!” He blew her a kiss and Max rolled his eyes.
“Do you have to flirt with my seventy-year-old landlady?” He grumbled, though it wasn’t heated.
“You never know, she might lower your rent.” He shrugged. Max looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.
He just took a sip of his RedBull in resignation.
Daniel continued to chatter away as they walked towards Lando’s dance class, Max’s anger had fizzled out and he’d forgotten he was about to see Charles again.
The lady at the front desk greeted them with a smile and Max jangled Lando’s keys, they had way too many obnoxious keyrings. He had a miniature lego F1 car that he’d superglued together and attached to a keyring, some sort of tiny stuffed koala, glittery stars, a chain that had an obnoxiously fake gold ‘L’, and some other keyring that had some smiling flowers. All that for two keys. One for their front door, and one for his locker in the club.
The lady just chuckled. “They’re in studio six.” She waved them through.
Lando forgetting his keys was common enough that the front desk lady now knew Max simply from the amount of times he had to bring them.
The carpet in the corridor was worn and almost threadbare down the middle, there were pictures up on walls ranging from kids to teenagers competing, there was a trophy case at the end of the hall, almost overflowing with people’s successes.
They walked down to the studio with the number six on the door and knocked. They heard the music playing and looked at each other. Daniel just shrugged before opening the door.
Heads turned and the instructor turned the music off. He looked confused as he took in Daniel, not recognising him, but when he saw Max, his posture eased.
“Oh, Max.” He chuckled. “Hi. Everything okay?”
Max just held up Lando’s keys again in explanation. “Yep, all good, Theo.” He smiled. He scanned the room for Lando and jangled his keys at him when they made eye contact, the young man came bouncing over like an excited puppy.
“Thanks, Maxie.” He beamed. “Hi, Danny. You dancing later?” Max distantly heard Theo tell everyone to take five and have a drink. Lando jerked his head, inviting them in. Daniel followed like he belonged there, Max just felt awkward. Here he was, in a room full of lithe, strong people who were wearing baggy trousers and either cropped tops or tank tops or both. Max stuck to the edges, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror-covered wall opposite them.
“Yep.” Daniel popped the ‘p’. “Though I got a client so I’m dancing the early slot.”
Max frowned. Daniel knew Max hated what he did, Max had made it clear how dangerous it was, but he supported his friend anyway.
Lando pouted, directed at both Max and Daniel. “Are you positive I can’t get into it, too? I’m sure-”
“No way,” Max snapped.
Lando sighed. “But, Max-”
“Don’t ‘but, Max’ me,” he said firmly. “I’m not letting you do that to yourself just so we can have a little bit more money.”
“It’d be a lot more money,” Lando huffed, crossing his arms.
Max felt his exasperation rise. “Lando, I’m not having another conversation about you prostituting yourself in your fucking dance class,” he said slowly, making sure Lando heard him. The dancer merely glared right back at him, utterly unperturbed.
“I’d make loads of money, I’m sure!”
“I don’t care, Lando!”
“But, Max-” He whined and Max groaned, turning away from Lando. He immediately wished he hadn’t though, because his eyes met the judgy ones of Charles from where he was sat with George.
“What are you looking at?” He snapped and Charles merely rolled his eyes.
“You making a fool of yourself.” He raised an eyebrow at Max.
“Oh, would you fucking-”
“Max,” Daniel chastised. Again. Max took a deep breath in through his nose.
Lando’s grin turned evil. “Oh, yeah,” he began conversationally, “you bumped into Charles and George this morning, didn’t you? Literally,” he teased.
“Fuck off. Shouldn’t you be getting back to dancing, now?”
Max watched as Lando checked his wrist, covered in ratty old bracelets that were nothing more than braided bits of thread, he had a blue and an orange one that was matching with Max. No watch in sight.
“Nope. Got about two more minutes,” he guessed.
“Don’t be a prat.”
“Hey!”
Daniel cleared his throat. “So, you got any good new routines you’ve been working on?” He asked, changing the subject successfully because Lando lit up.
“Yes! Charles and I have been working on one, it’s really hot,” he beamed. “Cause he got a place in Papaya after the whole Nico and Lewis drama because Nico refused to dance if there was even the slightest chance of Lewis being there-”
Max slapped a hand over Lando’s mouth pointedly. “Mate.” Lando licked him and Max recoiled with a loud sound of pure disgust. “You dog!”
Lando stuck his tongue out defiantly. “Don’t degrade me, Max, it turns me on,” he joked.
“Ha!” Max laughed loudly. “We both know you have a massive praise kin-”
“Not so loud, you knob!”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
August 11th
Charles hated Max Verstappen. He was rude, blunt, obnoxious, he had some sort of saviour complex, and he was overprotective when it came to Lando. So much so, it was overbearing and off-putting.
Lando could barely flirt with a customer without Max’s eyes on him. Charles would know, he’d been Lando’s shadow while the younger man showed him the ropes for a couple weeks. Max was bartending that day and his eyes found Lando like a heat-seeking missile every time he laughed at a customer’s joke. How Lando wasn’t completely furious, Charles could never know.
He made sure Max saw the pure disdain on his face whenever they made eye contact and he adored the way Max flushed with anger each and every time.
Charles and Lando had perfected their routine and would be performing it tonight for the first time. It would also be Charles’ first time on stage for Papaya, something he was buzzing in anticipation for.
Lando had gone off with a customer, leaving Charles to flirt by himself for a bit. There was an older woman, clearly incredibly rich. She had the uncanny look of anyone with too much botox and filler, her hair dyed and roots slightly grown out. She was decked out in pearls and gold and had a perfectly manicured hand resting on Charles’ forearm. Charles made an effort to joke with her, to give her his complete undivided attention. Hopefully she’d stick around and tip him well.
He needed it.
Charles was looking after his younger brother, Arthur, on his own, the money his maman, papa, and Lorenzo had left for them was running out. Lorenzo and their maman had had to leave the country after their papa’s death, that was almost a year ago. Turns out their family was connected to the wrong people and the only person stood in the way was Herve. When he was gone? Well, Charles was left with Arthur so they could both finish their education. Apparently they’d be completely left alone as they had nothing to do with it. Lorenzo hadn’t told Charles anything except for his bank details. His maman hadn’t been much more help.
They weren’t the wealthiest Monaco family to begin with, and now after all this? Charles would go hungry most nights, just so he was sure Arthur had enough to eat.
Maybe that was what irked him the most about Max. The way the Dutchman had just assumed he wanted a little bit of extra money to spend on designer products instead of enough money to feed both him and Arthur until they were both full.
“How old do you think I am?” The woman asked, her accent was thick and clearly not Monaco, Italian most likely.
“Hmm, cheri, I would guess… late twenties?” Charles tilted his head, smiling warmly at the lady.
“Ah! You flatter me, young man,” she giggled, shaking her head and making her gold and pearl earrings catch the light.
“No?” Charles feigned shock. “Early thirties?”
Charles could feel Max’s eyes on him, the anger and annoyance making his gaze feel hot on the side of Charles’ face.
The woman shook her head again, flashing a smile with too-white teeth.
“Mais non! C’est pas vrai!” Charles gasped. “There is no way you are older than that.”
“Let me tell you a secret, amore.” She leant in, Charles copying her. “I am early fifties.”
It's obvious. Is what Charles wanted to say. It’s in your hands, cheri. No amount of botox in your face can hide the wrinkles on your hands. But he didn’t, obviously.
“Well, let me tell you a well known fact,” he grinned, letting his nose scrunch up slightly like he’d seen Lando do, “I would never have guessed.”
They continued talking for a while until eventually the lady sighed and said she had to leave. She kissed both of Charles’ cheeks, the scent of her too-strong perfume was making Charles nauseous. She patted his cheek and reached into her purse - Gucci. She pulled out her wallet - Chanel - and handed Charles four notes. Four fifty euro notes.
Charles stared at her in shock, wide eyed and probably blushing at the unexpected gesture.
“For you, amore. Go to buy yourself something nice.” She winked at him but Charles simply couldn’t respond. His face was slack with shock. He never made anything close to this at his old club in Nice.
“I- thank you,” Charles stuttered, absolutely gobsmacked. He’d never have even dreamed of making this much at once. He kissed the woman on the cheek, making her laugh, and then she left. He’d be able to give Arthur some money to buy a better laptop for his studies, now.
He stayed barside for a bit, staring at the money in his hands.
“How much did she give you?” Max stopped in front of him, a towel thrown over his shoulder as he re-racked the glasses in front of Charles. Even Max’s presence didn’t sour his floaty good mood.
“Two hundred,” he breathed in awe. He looked up at Max in time to see his face morph into annoyance. “What, Verstappen?” Charles challenged him, having none of Max’s negativity.
“Don’t fucking call me that.” The Dutchman bristled. “Plus, the money could’ve gone to someone who actually needed it.” He shrugged like a petulant child, angering Charles before walking off like a complete coward.
Who the hell did Max think he was?
All Charles could feel was the pure rage bubbling up inside him, his fists clenched, crinkling the notes in his hands as he watched Max grin easily at a customer. It wasn’t his real grin, no that was more annoying. It only really came out around Lando and Daniel, and made his cheeks bunch up, and his eyes crinkle, and why did Charles know that?
He gritted his teeth and felt his nostrils flare, the line of his shoulders tensing. He was about to leap over the bar and hit Max square over the jaw when Alex placed a tequila shot in front of him, a lime and some salt next to it.
“Soothes the murderous tendencies,” he joked, winking. Charles felt his blazing fury die down to more of a controlled fire as he looked between the alcohol and the bartender.
“Merci, Alex,” he sighed, putting the salt on the back of his hand, licking it, taking the shot, and then biting the lime. “Thank you.”
“Any time.” He took the tray back, and nodded over Charles’ shoulder. “Lando’s coming back.”
“I’m not staying here,” Charles stated bluntly, glaring so obviously at Max’s back it made Alex laugh, “we’ll go mingle.”
“Stay safe.” Alex nodded to him and Charles nodded back.
“Charlie! How’d it go with that lady?” Lando asked immediately. “I would’ve come back, but you were holding your own just fine.”
Charles smirked, holding up the notes for Lando to see. “Two hundred euros, Lando.” He felt his mouth stretch into a wide grin as Lando jumped up and down excitedly.
“I’m so proud! I feel like a mother watching her child graduate!” He laughed, grabbing Charles’ hand. “Come on, let’s put it in your locker!”
Charles watched as Lando bounded over to their dressing rooms in the corner of the club, following a little slower as he admired the childish joy. He guessed he could understand Max’s need to protect Lando, but he didn’t get the babying. It was off-putting.
Lando waited for him at the door, wide-eyed. “I saw you and Max talking,” he said, tilting his head like a curious puppy. He blinked up at Charles who felt like those greenish-blue eyes were delving deep into his soul and pulling out all his secrets one by one like pulling hair from a drain.
“Yes. He is infuriating.” Charles frowned, feeling his brows crease.
Lando snorted. “I really think you two will get along, you just need to actually speak to each other.”
“I will never like him, Lando.”
“I think you will, you have a similar sense of humour,” he chattered away as they got to Charles’ new locker. “What did you call the coffee thing again? ‘The Inchident’?”
“Yes, it was just an inchident, a lack of judgement on my part because I lost half my coffee,” Lando barked a laugh, and Charles felt a grin tug at his lips despite his feelings towards the person they were talking about. “He deserved it, my coffee and I did not.”
Lando closed his eyes as he laughed breathily. “Can you at least try and get along? For the sake of my sanity?”
Charles pursed his lips, turning and busying himself with putting the money into the locker. “I guess I’ll try.” Charles heard Lando inhale sharply next to him and he quickly added, “but Lando, he is insufferable, I genuinely cannot be around him without him managing to annoy me. I will try, cheri, for you, but I cannot promise you anything.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask for,” the Briton snarked, earning himself a sharp look from Charles.
“Yeah, it is, you brat,” Charles huffed, cuffing Lando around the ear, earning himself an indignant squawk.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
November 13th
“Charlie!” Lando called, already hammered and it wasn’t even midnight yet. The younger man was celebrating his twentieth birthday and was clearly having the time of his life. He draped himself over Charles, sticky and sweaty. Charles couldn’t find it in himself to mind too much, given he probably wasn’t far off the same. “Why can’t you and Max just get along?” He whined, making Charles roll his eyes.
“Ask him, he is the problem,” he grunted, shifting Lando until he was positioned more comfortably against Charles, the younger man ran his fingers through Charles’ hair who smiled down gently at the brunet. “He is difficult, and annoying.”
“Lando.” Speak of the devil, Charles thought. Max came up to them, standing in front of Charles with a glass of what he guessed must be lemonade. “Drink this.” Max’s voice was hard, like he was demanding it.
Charles felt Lando lift his head, huffing and reaching out for the glass. “No,” Charles stopped him, squeezing him slightly, “do you want to drink that, or are you having fun?”
Lando went limp against Charles again. “‘M havin’ fun,” he mumbled.
“See, Max? He’s fine, fuck off.” Charles looked up from Lando’s sweaty curls to see Max’s narrowed eyes. The annoyance blatantly on his face ignited some kind of primal joy in Charles and he smirked up at the Dutchman.
“You don’t know what’s best for him.”
“Neither do you! I trust him, if he says he’s fine, then he’s fine.”
“You don’t know him, then!” Max’s face was becoming a delightful pink.
Charles felt himself bristle. “I have known him for six months!”
“Okay, and?” Max spat, his brows furrowed in agitation. “I have known him for six years!”
“Mon Dieu, you are so pedantic-!”
“Ay!” Someone snapped. “Stop arguing when Lando is between you,” it was Carlos, “you are ruining his buzz.”
Charles felt a wave of guilt wash over him and he looked down at Lando who was squirming out of his arms to hop over to Carlos. He took the Spaniard’s outstretched hand and let himself be led away from Max and Charles.
“Wow, look at you go. You’re ruining his birthday because you don’t know how to not be an overbearing asshole,” Charles hissed as he shoved past Max, making sure their shoulders collided and Max staggered.
“I’m ruining his birthday!?” Max cried and Charles could practically feel the indignation radiating from the man tailing him as he stalked over to the back exit to get out of the club, pulling out a pack of cigarettes as he went. He shoved past groups of people, sometimes moving them into Max’s path because the man was still following him, like, hello? Obsessed much?
Charles ignored him as Max continued to rant at him, even through the main part of the club. When the cool metal of the door handle was beneath Charles’ palm, he opened the door and made sure it shut in Max’s face.
“Rude?” Is the first thing Charles hears as he flicks his shitty old lighter, trying to get a flame to light the end of his cigarette. “Those are bad for you, you know.”
Charles shot him a seething look, he inhaled deeply and relished the dry burn in his lungs, exhaling it at Max who waved it away from him as Charles began to speak. “You are so stuck up. You think everyone is beneath you, don’t you?” He felt the snarl pull at the corner of his lips a little.
Max barked a laugh, his voice cracking slightly. “Oh my god, you’re one to talk!” Charles let out an undignified sound that he will forever deny, flicking the ash off his cigarette in agitation and taking another drag before holding it as Max continued to get progressively louder. “Mr. Monaco. You’re just a pretentious asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone!”
“Not better than everyone, just better than you.” Charles blew the smoke deliberately into Max’s face this time as he spoke.
“You’re fucking lying! I actually cannot believe you! You waltz into anywhere and you just- would you fucking quit that!?”
Safe to say, Charles found riling Max up pretty entertaining. He didn’t quite understand why Max was so pressed about the smoke but he couldn’t really care.
“Quit what?” His enjoyment was sure to be clear in his smile as he inhaled and exhaled in Max’s face again.
That seemed to have been Max’s last straw as he grabbed Charles by the collar of his shirt and shoved him back against the wall.
“Don’t play dumb.”
Charles just narrowed his eyes, letting his lips part as he lifted the cigarette and… did it again.
Max retaliated by shoving him against the wall again, his forearm across Charles’ collarbone.
“Fuck you. Stop it.”
Charles merely felt himself grin, his amusement making his chest warm as he tried to hold back his laugh. He went to lift his hand again but Max caught his wrist, pinning it to the wall by his face.
Charles felt his smile falter, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“Stop it,” Max growled in his face, getting way too close for Charles’ comfort.
All semblance of enjoyment drained from Charles as if a plug had been pulled. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure where he stood. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Suddenly, his breath was hitching and he was looking at Max’s lips.
The very things he was staring at parted with a soft inhale and Charles flicked his eyes back up to meet Max’s, very aware of the fact the Dutchman was still pinning him to a wall.
The blond’s eyes were narrowed, brows pulled together as he studied Charles’ face in slight confusion. Charles licked his lips and swallowed, watching as Max’s eyes followed his tongue.
The air between them was electric.
There was some kind of heat, a different heat to the angry one that usually followed Max around when he interacted with Charles. This one felt heavier, like the air before a lightning strike.
“Max-” Charles breathed, but he barely had time for it to escape him before Max’s lips were covering his own.
Charles made a muffled noise of surprise at the contact, his eyes wide and lips not reciprocating.
His surprise had clearly translated to Max as him not wanting it, which he didn’t! Well… he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about taking Max apart slowly with only his mouth, not letting him finish in punishment for his rudeness. But that was besides the point. He wanted to kiss Max, but he didn’t want to kiss Max.
Max flew backwards as if he’d been electrocuted, basically jumping to the other side of the alleyway. Charles watched his hand shake as it lifted and pressed against his lips. “Shit…” he muttered, “I-I… shit. Forget- uh, forget that-”
Charles didn’t let him finish this time, discarding his burnt out and forgotten cigarette, taking two big strides until he reached Max, a third step to push Max back against the wall. His hands were holding Max’s collar and he relished in the startled flush that was pinkening Max’s cheeks.
“Charles… what are you-?”
“Shut up,” he muttered, pressing himself up against Max and planting his lips on the plush ones that had captured his own moments ago.
Charles felt Max sigh against him, feeling his hands grasp at Charles’ waist with a wide, desperate grip as they parted their lips in synch.
Max tasted like the bitter gin and tonics he insisted were good, but were definitely not. They were fighting for dominance over the kiss, neither of them wanting to give in to the other. Charles pulled Max off the wall before slamming him against it again, making the other man gasp. Max being caught off guard was Charles’ perfect chance to gain control and he did.
He practically crushed Max’s velvet tongue with his own, relishing the soft sound that escaped the man in front of him. It was so unlike Max, so unlike anything Charles would ever expect from him that he felt a bolt of heat shoot down his spine. He needed to hear it again.
Charles’ efforts doubled, he introduced Max to his teeth, biting and tugging at Max’s lower lip before soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue. The sudden change in sensation made Max breathe out a shaky sound that was almost a whimper and suddenly Charles was on fire.
There was something about the challenge of wrenching these delicate sounds from such a rough man that Charles knew he would very easily get addicted to. Arguably, he already was, which was highly unfortunate and utterly infuriating.
He detached from Max, pulling away to briefly heave some deep breaths. His eyes stayed stuck on the older man’s lips.
They were shiny with spit and kiss-swollen, his bottom lip more so from Charles’ eager teeth. Max’s lips were parted as he panted desperately and before he could say anything, Charles dropped his head to the crook of Max’s neck and pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of his skin. Max’s answering gasp made arousal pool in Charles’ lower abdomen and he pressed his hips against Max’s. The blond’s hands dropped to Charles’ hips and pulled him harder against himself, making Charles groan against Max’s throat as the Dutchman slipped a leg between his and pressed up.
He licked up the front of Max’s neck to recapture his lips as Max had taken it upon himself to guide Charles’ hips in an infuriatingly slow, but overwhelmingly good grind. He gasped when one of Max’s hands moved to cup his ass, helping to control his movements. He felt himself throb in his jeans, his hips stuttering with each pass over Max’s strong thigh. With Charles overwhelmed and his mind briefly fogged by bliss, Max moved with unfair strength and flipped them, Charles tried not to miss Max’s hand on his ass as he was pressed against the wall again.
How had Charles let him get the upper hand of the situation? He had to get some control back, it was a necessity for his pride.
Max’s hand had gravitated up to rest loosely on his throat, his thumb against Charles’ pulse that he knew was racing.
“Fuck you,” He hissed, but he sounded wrecked to his own ears and it only made Max smirk.
“I’d bet you’d like me to fuck you, wouldn’t you?” Max’s tone could only be described as a purr. He was clearly pleased with himself and Charles couldn’t have that.
He let his hand drop between them, cupping Max and giving him a teasing squeeze. Max’s mouth dropped open and he groaned, eyes fluttering. Charles matched his tone, “you really believe I’d let you do that? I’d have you panting beneath me in seconds.” There was no resistance as he leaned forwards and whispered his next words in Max’s ear, “you wanna know how I’d do it?” He nipped Max’s earlobe, “I’d take you apart, slowly, you wouldn’t be allowed to touch me or yourself. I’d pin you to the bed, use my hand to get you fully hard, then I’d tease the tip of your dick with my mouth, waiting until you start writhing, and begging - ‘please, Charles, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, just give me your mouth’.” He both felt and heard Max’s shudder, the way his breath caught in his chest as Charles whined in his ear. A satisfied smirk took over his entire face as he felt Max’s hips buck against his hand.
“And after you’ve begged, and begged, and begged,” he continued, beginning to palm Max over his trousers, “I’ll give in. I'll suck you off until you’re moaning my name like it’s the only word you know.” He leaned down and sucked lightly just beneath Max’s jawline, not hard enough to leave a lasting mark, but enough for Max’s body to jolt against him once more. “And then, when you’re so, so close…” he let his breath hitch mockingly, “I’ll pull off and…” he licked the shell of Max’s ear, relishing the shudder, “I’ll stop.”
Max’s reaction was palpable. His entire body stiffened, an indignant, strangled, half-moan escaped his throat and made Charles grin with pure, unfiltered glee.
“I’ll stop,” he repeated as if it was the simplest thing in the world, pulling his hand off Max’s clothed dick to emphasise his words. “I’ll leave you tied there because you’re big enough and bad enough to get yourself out of it.” His voice was low, a seductive rasp that Charles knew worked on everyone. He was having the time of his life. Getting these reactions from Max was proving even better than making him angry, and Charles loved it.
Max had made an almost mournful sound at the loss of contact and his hand tightened on Charles’ throat. “You wouldn’t-”
“Oh, I would.” Charles didn’t even let him finish his sentence. “And you’d love it. You’d come back, just begging for more, wouldn’t you?” He grinned devilishly, adoring the way Max had come undone just with a few words.
“I would not!”
“Then why follow me out here?”
Charles watched his face drop. Max gritted his teeth and tightened the hand around Charles’ neck once, an intimidation tactic that didn’t work.
Max shoved him back against the wall and let go as if he’d just realised who he had been with for the past twenty minutes.
“Don’t,” he began lamely, pointing a shaking finger at Charles, and he knew he couldn’t keep the smug grin off his face because Max just looked angrier, “don’t come near me,” he growled, flushing with humiliation. Charles, however, noted that it did nothing to reduce his hard-on.
He raised an eyebrow at Max’s retreating form. “You don’t want that,” he called after him, slightly disappointed when Max gave him no reaction at all.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
December 31st – January 1st
They didn’t talk.
Not even a mention of it.
Max was glad. He didn’t have to relive the humiliation of how much he enjoyed that moment.
It was easy to go back to hating Charles, something they’d both known for months by now. It was normal, expected.
Nobody around them would guess what they’d done together.
Christ, Max needed to get a grip. All they did was make out - passionately, admittedly - in an alleyway when they were both intoxicated. It didn’t mean anything.
It definitely didn’t mean anything, even though at least twice between then and tonight, New Year’s Eve, Max had taken that memory to bed with him. It was always followed by a rush of frustration at how weak he was being, how easily he’d let the Monegasque trickle into his thoughts.
That wasn’t even the worst part. Max couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to get Charles beneath him, to get back at him for that night in the alleyway.
He found himself zoning out, getting himself a punch to the stomach and letting out a grunt.
“Come on, Max! Why are you so in your head?” Carlos teased, hopping backwards and out of Max’s range as he swung once more.
“I’m not,” he growled indignantly, advancing on his friend.
Carlos snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”
Max raised his fists as Carlos mirrored him, reaching out and Carlos merely pushed his gloves to the side and blocked him.
“Okay, cabrón, stop,” Carlos laughed. “What’s got you so riled up?”
Max sighed, letting his fists drop to his sides. “Leclerc,” he admitted, almost shamefully. “He’s in my head, Carlos, he’s infuriating.”
“How so?” Carlos took off his gloves and gestured to the punching bag in the corner of the underground training room.
Max watched as he dropped his gloves against the wall and held the bag for Max.
He sighed, dropping his head. He didn’t want to talk about it because what if he let something slip about the alleyway? He rolled his shoulders back and raised his gloved fists in front of his face.
The thud from the first punch was borderline therapeutic.
“Well, for one, when we first met I accidentally spilled his coffee and from then on he decided I was the scum of the earth,” he scoffed, his hits landing hard in a steady rhythm.
“You aren’t much better.”
“Shut up, I tried to apologise but he was having none of it.” Thud, thud, thud. “He was acting as if I’d shat in his Gucci bag. Spoilt, rich bastard.”
Max emphasised the last three words with the hardest hits he could, making Carlos grunt with the brunt of holding the bag steady.
“And now, every interaction we have he looks at me like I’m some dog shit that’s in his way.” Max changed the angle so he was hitting some low hooks against the bag. “He doesn’t know what a day of actual hardship looks like.”
Max’s chest was heaving by the end of it, his fists clenching in his gloves.
“Max, can I be honest?” Carlos started, Max shrugged because he knew Carlos would anyway. “You should talk to each other.” Max opened his mouth to protest and the Spaniard put a hand up to silence him. “He’s a funny guy, Max. You'd get along if you spent five minutes actually listening to each others’ stories.”
That night, they’d all reconvened in the club above to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Lando and Charles were the last dancing act before the countdown and they’d just finished. Max wanted to hug Lando close, wrap his jacket over his friend’s shoulders. Mostly because now that he wasn’t dancing, the tiny shorts and no top would leave him vulnerable to the sixty year old men Max had seen drooling over him up on stage.
He and Charles were waving at the crowd, Charles’ arm around Lando’s shoulders as people continued to throw money onto the stage for them. Lando spotted him, Carlos, and Jenson watching and clapping from the bar and his waving became enthusiastic, a real grin split his lips and showed off his gap. Max watched from the corner of his eye as Carlos blew him a kiss and Lando pretended to pocket it.
There was still half an hour until midnight, but it gave the DJ a chance to build up the energy, and for the projector to be sorted out with a video of the countdown.
Lando jumped off the side of the stage and came straight for their group, barely acknowledging the people who touched his chest to try and get a moment of his attention as he skirted the edges of the crowd.
Max opened his arms for Lando to hug him and the younger man fell into his embrace easily. “You did so well,” he complimented, pulling back so the other two could hug Lando as well.
“Yeah?” He asked, looking up at the three assassins. “Me and Charles have been working on that one for a while, it took us ages to figure out how I should grind on him to get the best crowd reaction,” he stated simply and Jenson choked on nothing next to Max.
Max’s shoulders had tensed when Lando brought Charles up and Carlos gave him a look, which Max pointedly ignored.
Soon enough, they had almost their entire group split between the bar and the dance floor. Lando had come off the dance floor for the first time in fifteen minutes to get a drink and he stood chatting animatedly to Max about something or other.
“And then Daniel came over and suddenly this guy wanted both of us to give him a dance and- is that Charles and Carlos?” He was staring out into the main body of the club, his mouth ajar and brows pinched in confusion as he stared at their friends.
Max followed his line of sight and what he saw made his blood boil. For Lando, obviously.
Charles and Carlos were pressed close, Charles speaking directly into Carlos’ ear as he held Carlos’ shoulder. The Spaniard’s hand, however, was threaded in Leclerc’s hair.
Lando’s eyes were wide, the look on his face dissolving into pure hurt. He was barely blinking, watching as the two laughed with each other.
Max knew of Lando’s crush on Carlos, everyone knew of Lando’s crush on Carlos except for Carlos. How that was possible, Max didn’t know. It wasn’t as if his roommate was very subtle. He admired Carlos very openly, making any and every excuse to talk to him with stars in his eyes.
Max had offered many times to intervene but Lando had threatened castration without anaesthetic.
What he meant was, Charles also knew of Lando’s crush on Carlos and still did this. It made Max feel righteous in his hatred. Who would do such a thing to Lando of all people?
“Oh, Lando…” Max murmured, pulling his friend in close. He could feel Lando’s chest heaving with each deep breath he took, could see the way he couldn’t take his eyes off the two of them.
“I’m gonna…” He trailed off, pulling away from Max and wiping harshly at his face. Max could only describe Lando’s exit as him bolting. He left Max’s side quicker than the Dutchman could grab for him. Max watched with a cold hopelessness filling his chest that quickly turned into a simmering rage.
He stormed onto the centre dancefloor, straight to the two of them. He grabbed Carlos by the shoulder and yanked him away from Charles and Max gave the Monegasque his most withering glare. It seemed to have some effect, he saw Charles’ eyes flicker over his face and his stomach twisted with sick satisfaction.
He rounded on Carlos. “What are you doing?”
“What?” Carlos asked dumbly, Max had never wanted to hit his friend over the head with his own gun so much before.
“Are you actually stupid?” He practically cried. He wanted to rip his own hair out at his sheer ignorance. Surely someone would notice if they had a person as sweet as Lando absolutely besotted with them? The naïvety was jarring, honestly. “Why are you doing this to Lando?”
“Max, I’m so confused,” Carlos said, waving his hands in front of him. “Do you think that he likes me too, is that what this is?”
“Do I think-!?” Max had to bite his knuckle to muffle his frustrated groan. “Go and find him. He walked off towards the dancer rooms. Have a mature conversation, maybe it will finally work out. Just Carlos-“ Max looked up at him seriously, “please for the love of everything good, be nice to him?”
Max could almost physically see the determination in Carlos’ eyes and he hoped he hadn’t given too much of Lando’s feelings away. Carlos walked off, a new objective in mind which made his strides bigger with renewed vigour.
Max then whirled on Charles.
“What the fuck were you doing?” He demanded immediately, grabbing the monégasque by the arm and dragging him… was he going out to the back alley? Where they made the worst mistake of their lives and made out against a brick wall? Shit, he was, wasn’t he?
“What do you mean, what was I doing?” Charles parroted mockingly, Max had to clench his jaw to avoid swinging an already clenched fist.
“You know how Lando feels about Carlos, why were you dancing with him like that? Do you understand how you’ve made Lando feel?”
Max did revel in how Charles actually looked guilty, he swallowed thickly and Max couldn’t help but track the way his Adam’s apple dipped and raised.
“I…”
“No, you know what?” Max pushed him back against the wall, suddenly realising he’d never let go of Charles’ arm in the first place. “You made him feel like shit,” Max hissed. He couldn’t seem to help the way he just kept getting closer, it was like Charles was a magnet and Max kept trying to run from him, but he had the opposite pole attached to his back and kept getting dragged right back to him. “You made him think that one of his good friends would go after the guy he’s fancied for two years, Charles. That’s really shitty of you.”
Charles’ face dropped quicker than a lead balloon. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would come across-“
“Well, it fucking did, alright?” Max snarled. “So you better have a really good reason otherwise I don’t see why I shouldn’t break your face.”
Charles’ nostrils flared in indignation, though Max could tell his anger was dampened by guilt. “I was trying to get Carlos to see that Lando liked him, I-“
“Oh, sure you were.” Max rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Max, I was.” Charles furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes. “We were talking about relationships, and Carlos was saying how he was looking for another and I said that it might be closer than he thought. He thought I meant myself and tried to shut me down gently, but I was laughing at him and told him to consider Lando. He didn’t believe me, said Lando wouldn’t be crazy enough to like him in that way, I told him he was wrong and he said to prove it.
“We were joking around about how Lando and I dance because he suggested that maybe Lando liked me, and that was just before you stormed over.” Max could tell Charles was almost pleading with him, begging Max to believe him. “I promise, I would never do something like that to Lando.”
Max just stared.
He wasn’t sure what to do, because against his best wishes — he believed Charles.
He really did, the kind of guilt that was obvious on his face was practically impossible to fake.
Max searched his eyes, his infuriating, pretty green eyes, for any sign of deception.
He found none.
All he found was earnest, honest guilt, and that was difficult for Max’s brain to process — it didn’t fit the narrative he carried for the brunet, didn’t work with the image he had.
But what did fit Max’s new narrative, after the last time they were in this alley, was how Charles couldn’t seem to help the way his eyes just kept flicking down to Max’s lips.
It was enough confirmation that the Monegasque had been thinking about that night two months ago just as often as he had. There was some kind of relieved satisfaction about it, that Max wasn’t crazy, and he wasn’t completely in the wrong when it came to his thoughts.
Max allowed the hand that was on Charles’ bicep to lift up until he had one hand splayed over Charles’ collarbone.
The air between them suddenly felt incredibly full, charged with the friction of their wandering gazes. Max hated the way his own lips parted in response to the way Charles’ eyes were locked on his mouth.
Before he could do anything about it, Charles had launched forwards and slotted his mouth against Max’s.
There was a certain desperation in the action, as if Charles had been holding back for the two months since the first time Max had stormed off.
His lips were just how Max remembered, warm and soft and the epitome of kryptonite.
He changed his grip so he was cupping Charles’ jaw while his other hand drifted down to slide around his waist and pull him flush against Max’s body.
Charles was toned from relentless hours dancing and his lithe, flexible form practically molded wherever Max wanted him.
His tongue was equally as hot and velvet-smooth as Max remembered as he laved his own over it. He knew the action was claiming, he was expecting a retaliation of some sort but he didn’t get that.
Instead, what he got was possibly even more precious.
He got Charles, open and willing, his hands tugging desperately at Max’s hair as he took his time tasting every inch of Charles’ mouth.
He relished the soft cut off noises Charles let slip from the depths of his being that truly exposed his desire. Max was slowly becoming addicted.
“Max…”
Shit, Max could go insane. How could someone sound like that? So needy, perfect, desperate, willing, and annoyed, all at once?
“Charles,” he murmured, pulling away no more than a hair’s width. He let his lips ghost over the other man’s, let him feel the agonising almost of Max’s lips.
“Fucking- fuck you,” the brunet sighed. There didn’t seem to be even an ounce of the cloying, suffocating, angry heat there had been, simply the borderline painfully desperate and wanton attempt to seduce. Charles’ eyes said it all. The way he looked up at Max even though they are the same height, the… yeah, Max was sure, the pure lust was a blazing inferno behind Charles’ eyes.
“Mm, no,” Max decided, shaking his head. “Not good enough,” he tutted, taking the chance and sliding his hand into Charles’ hair, gripping it and giving it a tug backwards. “Tell me what you want. I want you to beg me for it.”
Charles hissed at the sting, glaring ferociously at Max. “No,” he growled through gritted teeth.
Max’s annoyance flared and he clenched his teeth. He had to push through every single fiber of want in his body to pull away from Charles completely. “Fine, then,” he sighed, exaggerating his disappointment. “If I don’t know what you want, I can’t do anything for you.” He shrugged simply, turning around and beginning to walk back to the club.
It was borderline painful, leaving Charles against that wall, hair ruffled, clothes askew, lips swollen. But he had to. He had to test Charles, to see how willing he was to cave, to give in to Max’s instruction.
There was a warm hand on his wrist.
“Wait,” he murmured softly, Max turning with an intrigued sound at the back of his throat. Charles had his head bowed, not looking at Max at all but his grip was firm and unyielding. “Don’t… don’t go.”
Max’s chest was warm. He didn’t want to analyse the feeling, but he let himself acknowledge it wasn’t just triumph.
“Oh? You want me to stay?” He teased. He knew there was a downright devilish smirk on his face, and Charles was sufficiently irritated. He looked up at Max, an angry glint in his eyes.
“Fuck you,” the monegasque hissed, tugging Max back towards him by the wrist before he continued to pull Max by the belt loops of his jeans.
“Shit,” Max murmured, he had to admit that that was hot.
“Fucking kiss me, you asshole.” Max’s heart stuttered. Charles was staring at his lips, his chin tilted slightly towards his chest.
Max decided to push his luck a little further, it seemed Charles was desperate enough for it. “Say please.” The Dutchman watched in pure joy as Charles struggled with his dignity. His jaw was clenched so tightly, Max was worried for his teeth. He grasped Charles’ chin, slightly squishing his face and made him make eye contact with Max. “Say it,” he demanded.
Charles’ eyes flashed, he pulled Max flush against him. “Please, Max,” he whispered, barely there.
Max hummed appreciatively, tracing Charles’ full bottom lip with his thumb. He pulled it down to reveal the row of Charles’ straight white bottom teeth. “You really want it?” He asked, voice low and rough. Charles was a picture in front of him, cheeks flushed, brows pinched in annoyance, Max’s hand covering the lower part of his face.
“Yes.” The admission was gentle, shy, almost embarrassed. It was like Charles didn’t want to want Max, but he did anyway. Max could relate, he felt very conflicted. He really didn’t like Charles, the man grated on basically all of his nerves and infuriated him to no end.
But, the way Charles was looking at him sent a shot of pure arousal shooting down his spine, making his stomach swoop, making him throb in his jeans.
Max didn’t torture them both any longer, putting them out of their misery and kissing Charles again.
Charles tasted of cherry, vodka, and something slightly sour. Max’s grip shifted from the brunet’s jaw to the back of his head, gripping his hair just as Carlos had.
Max let his teeth pull at Charles’ lower lip, his anger flaring at the reminder of what the Monegasque had done not even ten minutes earlier. “Who d’you prefer tugging on your hair, hm? Me or Carlos?” He challenged, letting his lips ghost over Charles’. “Me? Someone you hate? Or Carlos? The guy one of your friends has liked for years?” Max tightened his grip and revelled in the sweet little noise Charles made.
Charles’ mouth opened, maybe to answer, but Max didn’t want one. It would only complicate things if they started choosing each other.
Before Charles could say a thing, Max sucked a lovebite beneath Charles’ ear, earning himself a shaky groan.
“I want you to apologise to Lando, Carlos will explain, but I want you to apologise as well,” he demanded, his breath stirring the slightly too long hairs by Charles’ temple.
“I will,” he nodded, almost frantically. “I will, I promise.”
Gods, did he look amazing when he listened to Max. “Good,” he praised gently, rewarding Charles with a grind of his hips that made them both let out soft little noises of pleasure.
“Let me…” Charles breathed, seemingly trying to squirm from Max’s grip.
“No.”
Charles froze, annoyance and confusion painting his pretty face. “No?” He echoed.
“You can get off like this, can’t you?” Max teased him, slotting a leg between Charles’ and pressing up — mirroring the last time they were in this alleyway. “You were close last time, weren’t you?”
Max’s testing seemed to switch something in Charles and suddenly he was much less pliant, much less willing to take what Max was willing to give.
Charles reached for Max’s belt buckle, and Max opened his mouth to complain, berate, tell him off, but the brunet had closed the distance and sealed Max’s lips with his own.
He will deny for the rest of time how he melted into Charles’ kiss, completely blind to any other sensations. It wasn’t until Charles’ fingers touched his dick — cold in comparison to the pure heat Max knew was radiating from his core — that he realised what was happening.
His hips twitched towards the grip and he let out a breathy moan. His forehead fell to rest against Charles’ and his breath shuddered in and out of him.
“You were close last time, too,” Charles said slowly, his voice velvet-smooth and rich like dark chocolate.
This was the first time they were acknowledging anything had happened at all, and it sent a thrill through Max’s veins.
Charles gave him a teasing pump, the drag of his callouses over Max’s silky smooth skin was a stark contrast, a slight dry burn as there was no lube.
“Charles,” Max sighed, feeling him grind against Max’s thigh. “We’re in public,” he reminded.
“So?”
Max let his eyes flutter back open to see the daring glint of Charles’ eye, waiting for him to chicken out.
Max was having none of it. “So you better stay quiet, I remember you can be quite loud when someone touches you right.”
Max gasped at the defiant squeeze his dick got in retaliation, the air punched out of him. Max bit back a whine when Charles’ hand travelled lower to cup Max’s balls.
Max used the brief distraction and ultimately decided that he was going to do what he did last time and control Charles’ movements by his hips.
He let his hands fall down to the dancer’s hips, up and under the shirt he’d hastily thrown on after coming off the dance floor to feel the leather of his shorts.
“Come on, schat, you know you need it,” he coaxed, flexing his thigh and pressing it up against Charles’ core. He was rewarded with a groan and Charles’ face seeking refuge in the crook of his neck.
“Max, I-” Charles panted. “Bathroom.”
Max raised an eyebrow one hand going around to cup the other man’s ass. “Oh? You need it that bad?”
Charles straightened up, taking his hand out of Max’s pants and trousers. He let his head thump back against the wall and fixed Max with a look.
“I think you do, chéri, I could feel you throbbing in my hand.” Charles smirked, though some of its effect was lost by just how blown his pupils were. “If we go to the bathroom, I could suck you off.”
Max swallowed, he felt himself throb where Charles was now redoing the button of his trousers, his belt clinking in the tense silence. The air between them was charged like a lightning storm. Max wasn't sure if he should trust Charles would even let him finish, not after his words two months ago in this very alley.
Max opened his mouth to respond after Charles had tucked him away, but the door opened and they both froze.
Max immediately grabbed Charles by the collar again, putting distance between their bodies but keeping his face close.
His eyes begged Charles to play along in the half darkness of the alley, the only source of light being a motion sensing fixture just above the door. “I can’t believe you would-”
“Max? You out here, mate? You need-” Daniel came out from behind the open door, looking to the left and seeing Max and Charles.
Max shoved himself away from Charles, hoping the fact he’d changed their positions made it less incriminating than it had been before.
“Uh…” Daniel said dumbly, his eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped, and his hand hovering in midair. “Sorry for interrupting?” He half-asked.
Max rubbed a hand down his face, his annoyance at being completely cockblocked by his best friend hopefully coming across as annoyance at Charles.
“You didn’t interrupt anything, just me telling Charles off for making Lando feel like shit.” He sent the Monegasque a glare, noting he was still pressed up against the wall and still looked flushed. His brows furrowed in brief worry at just leaving Charles in such a state, he wasn’t that much of an asshole, but his words seemed to jolt him into the present.
“I’ve told you what happened, and I’ll tell Lando exactly the same thing. It’s just a misunderstanding.” He pushed off the wall and stalked up to Max. He got a nose full of Charles’ cologne and it smelled a lot like the cheap one Lando gets in Nice.
“Still doesn’t excuse-”
“About!” Daniel shouted over them both, wincing at his own volume when the two of them turned their glares to Daniel. “About that,” he continued, utterly unperturbed, “Carlos and Lando are dancing together. Like dancing dancing together.”
Max felt his eyes bug out of his head. “Holy shit! You’re lying!” He laughed, joyous.
“Not at all! I came to find you to show you.” Daniel clapped his hands dramatically and spread them wide, palms and face up to the sky as he cheered, “two years in the making! Fucking finally!”
There was a gentle huffing laughter to Max’s left, and he realised it was Charles. He hated how his heart stuttered at the noise and he watched Charles’ eyes crinkle in amusement. Charles’ laugh was so… Charles. Max didn’t know what to do with this revelation.
They went back inside and Max drank and drank until the countdown fifteen minutes later. He had to bury the softness he felt for Charles, get rid of the image of him looking at Max all doe-eyed alone on that wall after Max had switched up.
Alex giving him concerned looks was enough of a sign he should slow down, and before he knew it, it was time for the countdown.
Their group all piled onto the dance floor, George hanging back at the bar to kiss Alex at midnight. All romantic and over the bar, or whatever.
Max was swaying slightly, his words slurred and everything was hilarious. The world was slightly softer, his thoughts more sluggish and almost nonexistent.
Daniel had a secure arm around his shoulder, Carlos to his right, as they all counted down to midnight.
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
Max’s eyes scanned their gathered group of friends. He loved them all, got along with everyone — bar Charles, obviously. That didn’t seem to deter Max’s heart from beating faster every time he so much as glimpsed the brunet, though. He stood on the other side of Carlos.
“Seven!”
Max’s gaze seemed to be superglued to Charles’ side profile.
“Six!”
Charles turned to look at him.
“Five!”
Max swallowed thickly, feeling his lips part slightly as Charles held his gaze.
“Four!”
His heart was beating a thousand miles an hour, the back of his neck heating under the sheer intensity of the green eyes trained on him.
“Three!”
Charles’ eyes dipped to look at Max’s lips, and he licked them — just to give Charles something to watch.
“Two!”
Carlos moved from between them, shooting across the group. Someone jostled Charles so he ended up staggering closer to Max, closer together than they’ve ever been around other people.
“One!”
Max and Charles both leaned in closer at the same time before Daniel pulled him back and shook him, screeching laughter in his ear.
“Happy New Year!” Everyone yelled in tandem, Carlos and Lando kissing in the middle of their friends. Max cheered drunkenly, unable to hear himself over the music and everyone else.
When he looked back over to his right, Charles was gone.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
March 23rd
Max was chilling on the sofa, and no he was not sulking over the fact he and Charles hadn’t talked about it again.
Max had been prepared, he’d been so ready to have the ‘do you want to just hookup and then get over it’ talk. But then Charles had sneered at him, turned his nose up, turned away, and ignored Max completely.
“Fine, then. Fuck him,” Max murmured to the still air of his empty flat.
He had a late start that day and he was so incredibly bored. Lando’d gone to his dance class, Daniel was at a client’s house, Carlos was running errands for Andrea, and Max was bored.
He checked the time. Ten past five. He had twenty minutes to kill, lest he be early.
He switched his television on. He was logged into all of Carlos’ family’s stuff. He and Lando had their Prime Video, their Netflix, their Disney+... it pays to have rich friends sometimes.
He scrolled through Netflix for all of… two minutes before ultimately deciding on being early to work.
The walk was serene, as always. He detoured by the docks, looking at all the yachts, yearning for a life so carefree, with so much disposable income.
He was, admittedly, lost in his thoughts. Thinking of Charles of all people. For gods’ sakes, he needed to get the Monegasque out of his head.
He scoffed lightly to himself and kicked a small rock along the pavement.
As he had already done for the past… three months, he replayed how Charles had felt beneath him — pliant, wanting, needy.
It was everything Max wanted and more.
Because Charles didn’t give up power without a fight, he kept it if he could, if he’d managed to overpower Max like he had that first time back in November.
It was a game of tug of war and Max was loving it.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, keeping to the left with his gaze trained on his feet.
He turned the corner of the street the club was on when someone barged into him, shoulder checking him.
He whirled around, brows furrowed, spine tense. “Hey-” he began, only to cut his complaint short.
He knew that silhouette.
That close-cropped hair, the line of his shoulders, even the way he walked — Max knew it.
He’d memorised that same gait so he’d know when the man was walking down the corridor so he would be seen doing something useful, like practicing fighting or studying.
He knew those clenched fists. He’d seen them flying at his face before.
It was his father.
Max froze, the effect immediate and all-encompassing.
What’s he doing here? Max wondered, his heart plummeting through his feet.
Jos had no domain in Monaco, why was he here?
More importantly, how did he know Max was here?
Max tried to take a deep breath, but his thoughts and anxieties were louder than his basic bodily needs.
If Jos had managed to trace Max a couple countries away, would he be able to trace Max’s mum? His sister?
Max pressed a hand to his chest and kept walking towards the back alley of the club.
What if Jos had already found his only other family?
What if he’d killed them?
Max needed to send his mum and sister a message. Check they were still alive.
Shit, he’d been so preoccupied with everything — work, Charles — that he’d forgotten.
What if they were dead?
Max couldn’t breathe.
His chest was heaving, the backs of his eyes burned with the effort of simply trying not to cry.
He staggered partially down the alleyway, tipping his head back in a vain attempt at opening his airways.
He kept the one hand pressed to his sternum, trying to ground himself in the feeling of his racing heartbeat. It wasn’t working.
He pressed the other to the cold brick wall of the alleyway, resting his forehead on his knuckles.
It was still too much.
Why was his father here? What did he want? Was it just to torment Max, or did he have ulterior motives?
Fuck, Max couldnt breathe.
He tried to think of what Daniel had taught him years ago, some sort of breathing technique, but his mind was just clouded with ‘why was he here? What did he want?’
“Max?”
His head whipped towards the noise, his heart stuttering as he saw, “Charles,”
It was choked, almost desperate and pleading, and against his will — Max’s eyes filled with tears.
He tried to blink them away, but they only rolled down his cheeks in fat rivulets that exposed his stress.
“Shit, Max, breathe, yeah?” Charles rushed up to him, his hands hovering a few centimetres from Max’s face. He stared desperately up at the Monegasque, the guy he wasn’t so sure he actually did dislike anymore.
“Can’t.” He shook his head, only serving to send more tears streaming down his face.
“Okay,” Charles muttered, seemingly to himself. “Let’s go further in, yeah? To our spot.”
Our spot. The words bounced around Max’s skull like a padel ball. The place that was slightly around the corner, just out of view of the street and the backdoor to the club.
Max nodded blindly, his brain still a blacked-out mess.
Charles took that as an invitation and grabbed Max’s hand, tugging him gently towards the deeper part of the alley.
“Okay, Max, I want you to focus on my breathing, yeah? Can you do that for me?”
Charles’ words barely made it through to him. He nodded, anyway, but it seemed like Charles saw right through it.
“Max,” he scolded, though it was more like he was cataloguing Max’s tells, to be able to recognise when this was happening again .
It was enough to set Max off almost completely. He dragged in a sharp, ragged breath, something that didn’t feel fulfilling — just enough to keep him upright, nothing more and nothing less.
Charles’ eyes were panicked, unsure. It made Max more uneasy, if he was being honest, because he was in no state to gauge what could happen. There seemed to be a war brewing in Charles’ eyes, two unnamed things clashing in a beautiful sea of green. “Come here.”
Max couldn’t help but obey. He needed something.
Charles gently pulled Max towards himself by a grip on the Dutchman’s biceps.
He pulled Max down into an embrace where his face was tucked into Charles’ neck, Max’s lips right by his pulse point.
Max wrapped his arms tightly around Charles’ middle, clutching the back of his jacket.
He smelled familiar. Like cigarette smoke, light milky coffee, and something else — something musky, slightly sweaty that was just unapologetically Charles.
Never in his life would Max admit it was incredibly comforting.
Charles ran a hand through Max’s hair, the other wrapping around his upper back.
“Breathe, Max,” Charles murmured straight into his ear. “Match me.”
Max nodded shakily, still rubbing his knuckles into his sternum, like he was trying to physically push air into his lungs through his skin.
“Max,” Charles said firmly, somehow his voice was making it through the cottony mess of static that was currently overtaking Max’s brain. Max felt Charles pick up his hand, the one on his chest, and place it on the Monegasque’s heart.
Max’s eyes flew open, and he raised his head to look into those green depths. They held so much care, and worry, and Max realised that for once — for the first time — it was directed at him.
Charles was blinking at him, one hand holding Max’s to his chest, and the other brushed the strands of hair from Max’s sweaty forehead. He then dropped his hand to Max’s cheek, pulling him in close so they could rest their foreheads together.
“Breathe.”
Charles’ voice was like a beacon, the light in the dark that was leading him home. Max’s chest heaved and shuddered with every stuttering breath he took.
Finally, he had control back.
Finally, he could think.
Finally, he could breathe.
His shoulders dropped as he took full deep breaths, looking up at the darkening evening sky.
“Fuck,” he cursed and closed his eyes, unconsciously holding Charles’ wrist by his jaw and flexing his fingers against the brunet’s chest.
Max was thankful for the silence Charles gave him, letting him get his bearings back. As he did so, he felt a thumb swiping over his jawline and he couldn’t help the way his pulse skipped a beat.
“Do you want to tell me why I just helped you through a panic attack?” Charles inquired softly and Max’s heart dropped. “You don’t have to, obviously, if it’s really personal, I just…” he trailed off with an awkward laugh that Max hated himself for finding endearing.
“Nah, no… I…” Max sighed, dropping his head to Charles’ shoulder to just breathe in his smell for a few beats. “It’s my dad,” he finally whispered, Charles’ shoulders tightened beneath Max’s face and he couldn’t help but press his lips to the skin at the base of Charles’ neck. “He should be in the Netherlands. But he’s here. I don’t know how he found me,” he whispered into the warmth, feeling Charles’ hand slide around and hold him gently by the back of the neck. “I don’t want him to find Lando, too,” he confessed.
“Is he a… bad man?” Charles asked softly, clearly not wanting to pry, but remaining curious.
“Lando hasn’t told you?” Max asked in surprise, lifting his head once more and seeing Charles’ guilty face. “Lando has told you.”
Charles made a face. “Yeah.”
Max sighed, albeit slightly fondly. “Jesus, someone needs to staple his mouth shut or something.”
Charles snorted, pulling Max back in for another hug. “I’m sorry your dad is shitty to you.” Max heard him, he heard the disappointment for him, the sadness he didn’t have a good relationship with his father.
“Well. I’m used to it,” Max huffed, wrapping his arms around Charles’ middle. “What’s your dad like?” He asked, giving one of Charles’ hips a squeeze.
Instead of the squirm Max expected in response to his fingers, Charles stiffened up completely, his breath hitching. Max pulled back enough to see Charles had a faraway, grief-stricken look on his face. Max’s heart sank.
Charles cleared his throat, blinking rapidly and licking his lips. “My uh-... hm. My dad passed away two and a half years ago.”
“Oh, Charles…”
“No. No, I don’t want your pity.” He shook his head. “I still have my younger brother, and I have this job to support us and send him to university so he doesn’t end up like me and our older brother. Lorenzo was involved with some… sketchy stuff, owed the wrong people too much money. My maman and Lolo had to flee the country once my father died.
“Arthur and I weren’t involved, though, so we didn’t have to go as well. But they can’t send us any money because of… well, you know.” Charles tightened his grip on Max’s hair. His heart did a totally normal flutter about that.
“I didn’t know,” Max sighed guiltily, pulling back and holding Charles by the waist. “God, I called you a rich pretentious asshole, and you’re-”
“A broke stripper?” Charles huffed, zero amusement in his tone. He shrugged, “it’s okay. I thought you were incredibly controlling and a little bit insane until Lando told me that you two are basically the only family you have left seeing as neither of you can contact your parents or siblings.”
Max sighed heavily through his nose. He missed his mum, he missed Victoria. Jos was the one who drove them away.
Jos was the one who kept Max against his will.
“We even?” Max asked, a slight smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” Charles murmured softly, folding Max back into another embrace. “We’re even.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
April 5th
Charles couldn’t get Max out of his head.
Jesus, was it infuriating.
Or at least, it used to be.
The way Max had clung to Charles almost two weeks ago, desperately trying to breathe, needing Charles to talk him down… seeing him so vulnerable had honestly changed something in Charles’ opinion of him.
His main grievance was Max’s almost controlling behaviour with Lando, who was his own person and could stop it if he wanted, but Charles could now tell that it came from a place of stress, and care, and worry, and fear of losing what little he had left.
Charles also didn’t want to think about what Max’s upbringing had been like if his reaction to just seeing his father was that severe.
Charles felt a presence behind him, tattooed hands ghosting over his hips and before he knew it, he was being tugged into the bathroom he was standing by.
“I’m sorry, I can’t be in here, I’m working,” Charles apologised, looking up at the man in the mirror. He had dark hair, tattoos up his neck onto his face, and he looked big. Big arms, big shoulders, dangerous.
Just as Charles was turning to face the man, a harsh punch made contact with his abdomen.
Charles gasped and fell to his knees at the man’s feet, looking up at him, frozen in terror. His breath was successfully knocked out of him, his next inhale stuttering and useless. His heart rate spiked, his eyes were wide, his jaw clenched, and he didn’t dare take his eyes off the man.
“So. Charlie," he began, grabbing Charles by the chin harshly. “What does the name Lorenzo mean to you?”
Charles’ heart dropped. He kept his face as neutral as he could while gasping for breath, realising this guy was fishing for information.
“I don’t know a Lorenzo,” he said smoothly, his voice coming out a lot steadier than he felt.
The guy’s eyes flashed with anger and Charles knew he was in deep shit.
He bent down, got all up close in Charles’ face, his hot breath contrasting with the pure ice of Charles’ veins. “Don’t lie, Charles Leclerc.”
Oh, fuck. How the hell did this guy know his name?
Charles didn’t have time to think anything else, he launched upwards, adrenaline pulsing hot through his bloodstream, melting the previous ice. His forehead came into contact with the guy’s nose with a sickening crack! and Charles was released.
He scrambled backwards frantically, not truly feeling what he knew was to be a killer headache tomorrow. He turned so he could clamber to his feet and rush out the door.
His head whipped frantically from side to side, scanning for any of the bodyguards that were on duty that night. He looked for Kimi, or Jenson, Fernando, anyone.
He found Max.
“Max!” Charles yelled, running towards him and grabbing his arm, getting his attention.
Max turned towards him, immediately holding Charles by the biceps. It was Max’s sturdiness and stability that made Charles realise he was trembling, and oh… was he crying, too?
“Charlie? What’s wrong? Who hurt you?” He demanded immediately, Charles could only inhale deeply and point at the door to the bathroom.
Max glanced over just as the guy slammed the door open and sprinted for the exit, having taken off his shirt to attempt to staunch the blood flowing freely from his nose.
“Fucker.” Max growled, launching after him as the guy disappeared out the door.
“Max,” Charles called weakly, almost a sob, somehow heard over the music. He knew the guy would just disappear in the dark streets. He knew Max was three seconds too far behind to actually catch him. And he knew, devastatingly, that he needed Max to stay with him. “Please, I-” his breath hitched, he couldn’t finish his sentence. He screwed his eyes shut against the obnoxious red and pink lights of the club.
Before he knew it, there were hands on either side of his face, grounding him.
“Breathe, Charles,” Max murmured by his ear, an inverted version of two weeks ago.
Charles did just that. He let his eyes close again against the bright strobe lights and took a moment to ground himself.
Charles felt Max’s hands leave his face, but before he could complain, Max had grabbed his hand and was gently tugging Charles towards the back door.
“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” Max yelled over the deafening music.
Charles could feel his mind racing.
How had they found him? Does that mean they’re getting close to Lolo and his maman?
Were they going to target Arthur next?
Charles tightened his grip on Max’s hand as his heart squeezed. His breath sped up.
What if they knew where he and Arthur lived? Were they targeting Arthur today as well? Or would they target him in the next few days?
“Charlie.” Max held his arms open. Charles blinked, looking around at the alleyway. He’d barely acknowledged they’d made it to their spot. Normally he didn’t like it when people called him his stage name, but hearing it from Max’s mouth was… nice. It felt more like a nickname coming from him, an endearment almost.
Max raised his eyebrows and that was enough for Charles to crumple forwards and into Max’s chest.
The Dutchman closed his arms tightly around Charles, one hand cradling the back of his head, and the other slowly rubbing up and down his spine. The skin to skin contact of Max’s biceps and forearms and Charles’ bare back was soothing. He could feel the corded strength that was being nothing but soft with him.
Some of the tension bled from Charles’ shoulders as he let Max’s smell wash over him. He could smell the same cheap deodorant that Lando used, something similar to gunpowder, and just Max.
“What happened? Who was that guy?” Max asked gently.
Charles shrugged with a sigh. “No idea. But…” he paused, hesitating, “remember I told you about my brother?”
“Mhm?”
Charles scrunched his nose and leaned further into the warmth of Max. “That guy asked about him. He must’ve been from the gang Lorenzo owed money.”
He felt Max stiffen. “Gang?”
Charles huffed. “Yeah, Max, gang. And don’t play dumb, or scared, I know Papaya is a front, too.”
Max blanched. His next breath was stuttery, and he stumbled over his words. “What? No, no. Charles, that’s crazy. The club isn’t a front,” he laughed awkwardly, “why would you think that?”
Charles gave him a look. “Seriously? Where does the second locked door in the storage room behind the bar lead to?” He challenged. “You’re supposedly broke, but I don’t see you bartending or bodyguard-ing every single night. Same goes with the other bodyguards, a normal contract doesn’t let you periodically leave for two to three weeks at a time almost every month.”
Max had pulled back during Charles’ speech, watching him with shining eyes that were wholeheartedly impressed.
“I don’t know much else, simply that. Lando wouldn’t do anything except confirm my theory,” Charles huffed.
“Shit,” Max laughed. “At least that means I don’t have to make up a reason for this, then.”
Charles frowned. “What do you mean?” He watched Max sigh and drop his head. It made Charles nervous. “Max?”
Max let out another heavy sigh, the sound of someone carrying so much and being asked to carry more.
“I have to go and infiltrate another gang,” he confessed.
“What?” Charles breathed. He stared at Max in complete surprise, his hands tightening where they rested on Max’s forearms.
“And I need someone to stay with Lando, keep him from burning down the flat, you know?” Max was clearly trying to keep the light in his voice.
Charles shook his head. “No, Max, what do you mean-”
“After seeing my dad,” Max began, looking away, “Stella wants me to find out why he’s here. He’s made no contact with us, so he must have made contact with our enemies. One of whom runs out of Monaco too.” Charles felt Max messing with one of the necklaces that hung from Charles’ neck. He’d stolen it years ago, one of his first successful pickpockets from a rich client back in Nice.
“So, they’re sending you to… what? Infiltrate them?” Charles couldn’t believe it, his grip became bruising and he pulled Max closer. “Max, that’s going to take months!”
“I know,” he sighed.
“It could get you killed!”
“I know.”
“Then why-”
Oh.
Oh.
Max didn’t have a choice. Of course he wouldn’t have a choice.
“Oh,” Charles whispered, his grip going slack but he still held on tightly.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Max…”
Charles pulled him into a hug. The tension didn’t bleed from either of them this time.
“Of course I’ll stay with Lando,” Charles murmured. “But, my brother will have to as well until he goes to university in seven months.”
Max nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. Probably safer, too, given what happened tonight. Probably a good idea to change addresses.”
That gave Charles some pause. He was talking as if he was going soon, but that would be a bit insane… wouldn’t it?
“When are you… are you moving?” Charles questioned, his heart beating faster.
Max nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I'm going in a week.”
Charles’ heart dropped. “A week? You- what?”
“It’s been in motion since I saw my father two weeks ago. I’ve already got another job lined up, in a restaurant. I have a small flatshare with someone I’ve never met on the other side of the city. I’m moving in with him in a week.”
Charles’ grip tightened on Max again. “But…” he searched for the least condemning words possible. “But that’s not… it’s not fair,” he whispered, looking up at Max with shiny eyes. He didn’t get to just disappear like that, not after-
It hurt. Like, physically. Why was the thought of Max leaving hurting physically?
Sure, he saw Max basically every day, and he liked testing him, pushing him until he snapped at Charles.
He liked their dynamic, he’d never had such consequenceless fun with someone before. He liked Max’s lips, the way he wouldn’t give in and bend under Charles’ will easily, the way he dished it out just as Charles did.
He actually… actually, he liked Max. Charles Leclerc liked Max Verstappen.
“You don’t get to-” his breath hitched and he swallowed thickly. “You don’t get to just leave.”
Max’s eyes were soft as he looked at Charles. “I have to. I’m sorry.”
The corners of Charles’ eyes burned. Over the ten months he’d known Max, the Dutchman had become a staple in his life.
Yeah, he was an annoying, infuriating, enraging constant, but somewhere between the passionate, drunken kisses and Max’s panic attack a couple weeks before, the irritation had turned to fondness.
Now, being faced with Max’s departure, Charles thought back. How he’d started looking for Max when he entered the club, how he’d felt being left against the wall back in November, and again on New Year’s Eve, and then they’d almost kissed in front of their entire group of friends at midnight…
Charles didn’t hate Max anymore.
He thought back to every time the thought of Max made his heart beat faster. Back then, he’d thought it was anger. But now… now he thinks it might be something else.
The realisation made his heart skip a beat and he took deep breaths.
“Charles?” Max questioned, tilting his head to try and catch his gaze.
Charles wasn’t entirely sure what possessed him. Desperation, maybe. But he took Max’s face in his hands, and pulled their lips together.
Max made a soft noise of confusion before his entire body went lax and he wrapped Charles up in his arms once more.
His arms were warm, and strong, and they wrapped around Charles’ middle like vines. Max’s hands splayed large and searing on Charles’ lower back and between his shoulder blades.
Max was pulling him closer, closer, closer. Close enough that there was zero space between them.
Charles let his lips part, allowed Max in. There was no fight for dominance, not this time. Because this time, it wasn’t about drunken lust.
It was a confession.
Charles pulled away enough to whisper, “I don’t think I hate you anymore, Max,” before dipping back down to press chaste kisses to Max’s lips.
“I don’t…” Charles kissed him again, “think I hate you, either.” Max caught him and licked into Charles’ mouth, a steady push and pull, an equal give and take. “I actually think I quite like you,” he whispered.
Charles shook his head. “You’re being cruel, Max,” he matched the pitch of the other man’s voice.
“I’m telling you the truth,” he argued.
“And that’s the cruelest part. You’re going, for who knows how long, and you won’t be able to communicate with any of us otherwise it’ll give you away.” Charles’ eyes flicked between Max’s, seeing the guilt, the hurt, the desire, the sadness. “Come back. And tell me the truth again when you do.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
May 16th
It had been a month since Max left.
He and Arthur were settled in Max’s room in Max and Lando’s flat. They hadn’t been bothered by anyone asking about Lorenzo since.
Carlos told Charles they had their first update from Max.
He’s befriended two people, one hates The Bulls and works for their boss, the other is the man Max lives with who dances for the club that’s the cover for the gang, similar to Papaya.
Max was safe so far, that was all Carlos could tell him.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
June 18th
Carlos told Charles that Max was still safe, he was finally integrated into the gang thanks to the people he’d befriended.
He was walking through Monaco, along the hairpin by the tunnel.
He would’ve sworn he’d just seen Max.
He couldn’t go to him, he’d blow Max’s cover.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
July 20th
No news other than Max was safe.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
August 18th
No news other than Max was safe.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
September 19th
No news, Max was safe.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
October 16th
It was Charles’ birthday. There was a small bouquet of flowers at the door for him in the morning.
There was a card attached and Charles carried it into the kitchen.
“Lando?” He called from the main bit of the flat. “Where are your vases? Someone’s got me flowers.”
He set the bunch down on the kitchen table, and opened the card.
Happy birthday, Charles. It’s still the truth, was written on the inside and he gasped.
Max.
There was no name, but it couldn’t be anyone else.
Charles’ heart hurt. Distance really did make the heart grow fonder, except by now — almost seven months later — it was painful. He didn’t think he just liked Max anymore.
He needed Max to come home because he hadn’t said it back.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
October 23rd
Charles was beginning to find it hard to get up. Arthur and Lando had slowly become the only reasons he’s able to function.
It was all beginning to blur — the dancing, the waiting, all of it.
If someone had told him, a year ago, that Charles would be actively yearning for Max Verstappen, he would’ve told them to go and be tested for psychosis.
The ten minute walk to the club felt like years. His shoes were made of lead, his heart the same. He was exhausted by stress, they hadn’t heard from Max for a week, his last bit of communication had been Charles’ birthday flowers and card. And that was seven days ago.
If they didn’t hear from him in the next two days? Well…
Charles didn’t want to think about it.
That morning, fate thought she was funny. Charles had woken up feeling warm, and soft, and cared for with Max’s name on the tip of his tongue, tasting like a fresh, buttery, still-warm pastries. Reality was cruel and crushing.
Charles entered the club through the back door as always, avoiding looking at his and Max’s ‘spot’, as always.
The atmosphere in the club was different, more buzzy, Charles sensed the shift immediately.
The air in the entire place felt lighter, joyous, and relieved.
He heard Lando, his laughter half-choked in the way only tears clogged your throat. Charles didn’t want to hope.
He felt it bloom in his chest like a stubborn spring flower anyway.
“What’s going on?” He asked immediately, stepping past the main stage to see a group of people crowded at the bar.
Lewis was the first person to notice him, given he was on the edge of the group. “Charles!” He called, beckoning him over. “Guess who’s back.”
The cluster of his friends parted and Charles immediately stuttered to a halt.
His breathing faltered as he took in who was before him.
Max.
Max was back. Max was alive. Max was safe again, he was close again.
Not only that, but Charles caught sight of the man standing next to Max.
He was relatively tall, blondish hair, blue eyes, and an angular face.
“Pierre?” Charles choked out.
“Calamar,” Pierre breathed, rushing forwards and crashing into Charles in a hug.
Charles was so stunned. He hadn’t seen Pierre in years. He’d gotten mixed up with the wrong people, similar to Lorenzo. Last time they spoke, Pierre was being sent to work for some club in Milan to begin to repay his debts.
“Holy shit,” Charles whispered, his own arms wrapping around Pierre in a similar desperation. They’d been so close as kids, then they were separated right before the worst things in Charles’ life had happened…
Pierre pulled away much too soon for Charles’ liking. “We’ll catch up properly. Soon. I promise, okay? But, until then, someone else has missed you, too.” Pierre stepped to the side, giving Charles the full view of Max in all his glory.
Much to his displeasure, Charles felt himself begin to get choked up. The backs of his eyes went hot, and something was stuck in the back of his throat.
Max looked so tired.
There were bags beneath his eyes, and Charles was positive one of them was actually a black eye, his lip was split along with his eyebrow. His cheek was a mottled purple and green, also with a scab that suggested a clean cut with some kind of ring.
He barely even realised he was stumbling forwards until his hands were hovering just shy of Max’s body.
The Dutchman blinked once before his composure seemed to crumble. He tipped forwards into Charles like a chopped down tree, heavy and inevitable.
His arms were a vice around Charles’ middle, grasping at his t-shirt like an anchor in a storm. “Charlie,” Max breathed into the soft skin of his neck as if the simple word were sacred.
Charles wrapped his arms around Max’s shoulders, one hand weaving into his hair and just holding.
The relief Charles felt threatened to wash him off his feet, making his fingers tingle and his heart speed up. It was overwhelming, and beautiful, and warm, and perfect.
“Maxie,” Charles choked. “My Max. You’re back.”
“I am, Cha.” He felt Max nod against his throat.
The hug was bone-crushing — tight, desperate, and comforting.
It was just them. Just this warmth. Just this hug. Just the feeling of having Max back in his arms.
He ignored the confused looks their friends were sending them, ignored Lando’s smug yet fond grin, ignored Carlos’ gentle, knowing eyes.
It was only him and Max.
And hopefully, it will stay that way.