F1 Oneshots

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Yawning, Max traipsed down the stairs in the hotel and to the dining room for breakfast. It was very evident from the dark bags under his eyes that he did not get very much sleep at all. He collapsed at one of the tables and dropped his head down onto the surface with a groan.

“Sleep well?” Alex asked, even though it was evident that he hadn't.

“No,” Max groaned, “the people in the room next to me were being really loud.”

“With what?” George asked, and Max hadn't even noticed that he was there, “fucking?”

“Yeah, they were at it for so long.”

“Know who it was?” Lando asked. Again Max hadn't noticed that he was there either. It spoke volumes as to how tired Max was. Usually he was very observant.

“No,” Max grumbled, clutching at his head as the bright light made his sleep deprived brain spin.

“Which room was it?” Charles asked. Jesus fucking christ, how many people were at the table? Max lifted his head up ever so slightly. A lot was the answer to his question. Somehow, he had managed to choose the busiest table to sit at. That was just his luck.

“On the left I think, but I wasn't paying that much attention. Was too busy trying to sleep.”

Thankfully for Max, that seemed to be the end of the interrogation as he heard someone take the final empty seat at the table, next to him. There was the smell of pine and eucalyptus leaves, coming from whoever had sat down next to him. It smelled nice. Max made a mental note to ask who it was, what body wash they used as he wanted to get some for himself.

A general chat broke out amongst the table, as Max decided to go and get some coffee. It might make him feel more human. As he got up, Max noticed that it was Oscar who had sat down next to him and was now eating some scrambled egg, the wave of hair falling across the front of his face.

When Max was walking back to the table, now far more awake as he had chugged a load of coffee, he noticed that Oscar wasn't sitting properly. He had one foot under himself as if to alleviate the pressure on his backside. As if it was sore. Like he had been fucked. Like he had been fucked last night. Max was sure that he had hit the nail on the head.

But he wasn't about to ask Oscar in front of everyone. Not when he didn't even know if Oscar liked guys. He might not. It could just be an injury from the car. Thinking about it, it probably was as Max was well aware of the porpoising problems that the Mclaren had been having during the previous race weekend. Lando had complained about it enough to him. Speaking of which, Max noticed that Lando was sitting in a similar way to Oscar, so it was probably just the car.

Max slid back down into his seat, and started eating the breakfast that he'd gotten. As he noticed more things, Max realised that he wasn't the only one who looked like death. George's hair was all messed up, Charles had a bruise on his arm, Alex was dropping off to sleep in his porridge, Lando had red, tired eyes, and Oscar, well, he always looks tired. It was interesting.

Soon, one of their trainers walked over to the table and let them know that they needed to head off to the track. Oscar started heading off first with Charles then rushing to catch up with him. It came to no surprise that George and Alex set off together, but then Logan went and joined that duo, slotting right in the middle of them both. Finally Max himself walked alongside Lando.

“So have you really no idea who's in that room next to you?” Lando asked once the others were out of earshot.

“Nope, and there was nothing to really identify them either. But, I do think that it's at least one driver,” Max replied thoughtfully.