It wasn't always that the teams chose to celebrate their wins, after all it'd be draining to celebrate every weekend, especially for Red Bull. However, since England was the team's home base, it seemed fit to celebrate together with factory workers who usually didn't get the chance to party with the rest of the team.
In the historic surroundings of a castle in Northampton owned by one of the main Red Bull sponsors, the after party party venue unfolded, setting the stage for a lavish celebration attended by some of the Formula 1 teams. The castle, adorned with centuries-old architecture, became the backdrop for a crowded after party.
The clinking of champagne glasses resonated through the halls as the air buzzed with excitement and in one corner, a DJ set the tone for the evening, playing a fusion of electronic beats and classics that got the public dancing.
After lots of drinking, leaving many of the team members completely drunk, Max found himself managing to sneak out through the upper corridors of the castle, dragging Charles along with him like a teenage boy in love.
"Come, before Daniel notices we are gone." The man shouted over the music, laughing and spilling his rum coke over the expensive carpets wherever he walked.
Suddenly, as he climbed up the stairs, the blonde noticed Lando hanging at one of the corners, his pace slowing down just enough for the other driver to notice their presence. "Landoo!" Max called, letting go of Charles in an attempt to sound casual.
"Hey," The brunette turned around, greeting the two. "What are you guys going to do upstairs?" The brunette asked, insinuating.
"Wouldn't you like to know..." Max teased, leaning against the stair's rail.
"I'm not doing anything, I could join." Lando shrugged, half joking when he spoke.
"It's okay, I don't need any help," Charles interrupted. There was no malice in his tone, and it wasn't that he had anything against Lando, but he wasn't in the mood for sharing. The fact that Max had shown up last time with the McLaren driver was making him question whether he would have been tempted by the offer if Charles hadn't been so quick to decline it.
"It's just a private conversation," Charles added, a lot shyer and his cheeks turning a red color, wishing he hadn't spoken so suddenly and had just joked back instead but knowing he didn't want to take the chance of joking so much that he did end up tagging along.
"Yeah, privately sucking that dick." Lando joked, motioning an imaginary dick sucking motion as to tease the Ferrari driver.
In return, Max pushed him playfully, sending the Mclaren driver a couple steps down the stairs before he could halt his downfall.
"What? I'm not lying." Lando shouted out, trying to climb back up the stairs.
"Go find one to suck on." Max shouted back drunkenly, starting to climb back up the stairs.
"I have! But your pretty princess seems to have his attention and everyone else's at the moment!" Lando began, following him up the stairs.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Max laughed off, pushing Charles to go up in front of him, placing himself in between the two.
"What? You think he doesn't fuck him too? Are you fucking stupid?" Lando persisted, his shouts muffled by the loud music.
"I think you should go back home." Max frowned as he looked down at Lando who finally reached the final level of the stairs.
"I do what I want!" Lando hiccuped and stumbled back, giving away the amount of drinks in his body. In a sudden move, Lando reached out for Charles, tugging into the fabric of his sweatshirt as if he wanted to drag him down onto the stairs with him.
Before Lando could say anything, Max broke his grip from Charles, pushing him away. Lando stumbled a couple steps back onto the stairs, holding onto the railing for support before he regained his ability to speak. "This is a joke," he scoffed, lifting his gaze. Recomposing himself, Lando slowly stepped up the stairs, trying to close in the distance between him and Charles despite the presence of Max. "Are you a driver or a fucking whore? Pick one." he snapped.
A nerve had clearly been struck however and Lando's anger was directed straight at Charles- ignoring Max's presence.
"Ironic of you to ask me that," Charles muttered under his breath as Lando was ready to walk away from him, causing him to turn back around.
"What are you implying?" Up close Charles could smell the alcohol lingering on Lando's breath and although he'd had his own fair share of drinks, he was nowhere near this level.
"Nothing," the Ferrari driver said, ready to be done with this but the other driver had very different ideas.
"You find it ironic if I call you a whore?" Lando said amusedly, a smile now on his face but clearly pissed off. In a move that he would have never made sober, Lando took Charles' face into his hand, his fingers digging into his skin harsher than the boy would have liked.
"I wonder how you manage to sit after taking so much dick." He cursed, almost spitting onto the driver's face. "At least I wasn't fucking around for favors from high places." Lando said, switching his gaze to Max only to see a fist incoming in his direction like a bullet, landing directly against his face.
The Mclaren driver was thrown out of balance and against the railing, the pressure against his stomach sending most of the drinks he had consumed out of his mouth and into whoever was standing at the bottom side of the staircase.
Cleaning his mouth, Lando coughed as he turned around to face an enraged Max Verstappen towering over him from the upper level of the stairs. "Talk to me in a couple months when fun wears off and he throws you away for something better," he directed his word to Charles, reaching out for his own bruised cheekbone.
"Get the fuck out of this party," Max demanded, grabbing the driver's shirt, "you're embarrassing yourself." He spoke angrily, dragging him down the set of staircases until he found the end of it.
To his surprise, waiting at the end of the staircase was none other than Lando's teammate, Oscar. He seemed like he didn't have a single drop of alcohol in his body, out of all of them he was the most composed. He had watched the whole show. Maybe he had intended to approach them but after watching the fight unfold he chose to stay behind.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Max shouted, his voice barely making it over the music as he aggressively tossed Lando away.
Lando seemed to light up at the sight of Oscar, but before he even approached him, he turned one last time to face Max. Lando wrapped his arm around the blond's neck, and in a brief second before he was pushed away, he whispered into his ear, "Carlos told me he wants to fuck Charles."
After being abruptly pushed away, Lando landed against Oscar, who kept the older driver from stumbling down. "And I told him to go for it, he is easy!" The British driver shouted.
With a shy smile of reassurance and maybe embarrassment towards Max, Oscar chose to take Lando away, grabbing both of his shoulders as he dragged him away from the scene.
"Are you okay?" Max said once he finally reached Charles again, his fist tightening closed as he tried to keep his hands from reaching to his face as he observed the red marks of Lando's tight grip still imprinted on the Ferrari driver's cheeks.
Temporarily unable to speak, Charles gave Max a small nod as his jaw clenched and he did his best to hold back tears, hating that they ran into Lando which turned their fun rendezvous into the mess that just transpired.
"I'm not with you for any favors," his voice was shaky but there was a desperation in it to prove himself to Max, embarrassed by all the words the younger man had thrown around and sitting with the realization that it was how he saw him. The Mclaren driver was under the impression that he was with Max for the quick pleasure and that he'd be tossed aside sooner or later but he didn't know about the way that being near Max made his heart skip a beat without needing a single touch. As for the favors, Charles had never asked for them. Max had been kind enough to offer him advice and have the Ferrari mole removed and while it may display some sort of favoritism, no lines were crossed.
With the music still blaring downstairs and everyone blissfully unaware of the dramatic events that had unfolded, Charles knew no one would notice if they were gone for a little longer. He wished so badly that he could crash into Max, wanting to be in his arms, but they were too out in the open for that to be a possibility.
"Can we still go upstairs?" he asked, his green eyes avoiding the blue ones at all costs. A feeling of shame rushed through him, not wanting to see if Max would be looking at him any differently now. He no longer wanted privacy for the reasons he had wanted it fifteen minutes ago; now he just needed to be away from everything that wasn't Max.
Max nodded quietly, maintaining a discreet body language as he signaled with a nod for them to go back up the stairs. They kept their distance until they found their way to the additional set of stairs that led to the third floor. It was clear there wouldn't be anyone but them in that secluded space.
The walk through the second floor hallway and the staircase was enough to cool down the anger and nerves that had piled up in the blond. Enough for him to almost race up the second set of stairs, the music fading into the background until it was barely possible to hear anything but soft muffled noises.
Once on the top floor, Max ran through the empty isles with a newfound sense of freedom and privacy. In his drunkenness, the child in him flourished.
The Red Bull driver ran back to Charles, wrapping his arm around his hips and lifting him just enough to twirl him before letting him down again. "You did it!" he exclaimed with a smile, reaching out for Charles's hand as he began dragging him further into the labyrinth of hallways and doors.
"I couldn't believe it when I saw you there," he said excitedly. "I know you're good, but damn!" he shouted out, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "Should I be afraid you're going to steal my title?"
The man's infectious excitement overshadowed the earlier anxiety. Charles had been worried that any bad thing about him would always be believed, feeling that it was easy to assume the worst of him but as Max shouted out praises, it showed that it was all in his own head.
"I don't know how I did it!" Charles confessed with giddy laughter filling the corridors. "I had tunnel vision, and the only thing that mattered was passing the car right in front of me. Before I knew it, I'd successfully overtaken all but two," he exclaimed.
Max's presence eased Charles's anxieties, making him want to live up to the potential that Max saw in him and that he knew he possessed but sometimes forgot of. As he looked into Max's blue eyes, his heart swelled in ways it never had before.
Realizing the depth of his feelings, Charles released Max's face but kept the smile on his face. Finding a compact room, Charles walked backwards as he dragged the Red Bull driver with him, his smile and the glimmer in his eyes keeping the man from hopefully questioning and simply following along.
"Are you afraid of me?" Charles asked as the door closed behind them, his voice now a whisper. "If I did take the championship from you," he began his hypothetical question, intertwining their hands for added intimacy, "would you hate me?"
There was an obvious sense that Max didn't take any of Charles's questions seriously or take a moment to ponder them. The Dutch took them as lightly as if someone had asked him whether he believed in the existence of dragons. There was no part of him that truly believed he could be in danger of losing his championship.
"Afraid of you?" he laughed, leaning into the brunette to place a kiss on his cheek. "Oh, yeah you're so scary, I'm so scared!" He said sarcastically and chuckled as he showered the other driver with drunk kisses.
"Maybe next year. I think now it's a little bit too late." He smiled, assuming the other driver had been joking as well. "Unless you're planning on winning every single race from now on."
"What if I did..?" Charles asked, welcoming Max's kisses and keeping a softer smile on his face despite feeling somber at the man's initial reaction. "Humor me," he pushed the hypothetical situation further but wrapped his arms around the man's neck, refusing to have any space between them.
Max chuckled at Charles, letting his laughter linger until he realized the brunette did not laugh along with him. Was he being serious about this?
The Red Bull driver pulled away, the smile on his face, despite less prominent, did not fade away as he looked at him. "If you did..." Max repeated in a whisper, grabbing the driver's waist as he then pushed him into one of the book shelves in the room.
"I guess I'd have to find a new job," the blonde joked again, his hands climbing into the other man's shirt, sending shivers through Charles with his cold fingers. Leaning into his neck, Max pressed a kiss against it, the warmth of their bodies together building a growing tension between the two.
"Maybe I could start a knitting career," the blonde spoke, revealing how he didn't take any of the brunette's words seriously, or at least he didn't want to. Max used jokes as a way to avoid serious answers, to sidestep contemplating challenging situations, ones he refused to believe in. In his world, magical creatures and miracle wins were nothing but a fictional narrative.
"But would you no longer like me?" Charles insisted as he realized the Redbull driver had no intention of seeing it as a possibility.
Max's kisses faded away when he heard the brunette asked the question — would you no longer like me?
Max had never truly acknowledged liking Charles, at least not outwardly. Of course, actions spoke louder than words, at least that's what the Ferrari driver had picked up on. But the fact that Max liked Charles was uncharted territory for himself. To acknowledge that what they had was more than just sex, more than fun and games, was something that could possibly change their whole dynamic. It was a vulnerability that Max did not know how to deal with.
"Like you?" Max frowned, slowly leaning his face away from the other driver's neck, leaving the ghost of his presence behind him. In recoil, he sighed, eyeing down the brunette as he removed his hands from him to place them against the shelf behind the brunette.
"I don't..." Max mumbled, stopping his own words from leaving his mouth — he can't lie.
Reaching out for Charles' shirt again, the blonde tugged onto the hem of its fabric. "I don't think we should be worrying about things that are not going to happen," he said, his hand slowly climbing further into Charles's waist.
"I wouldn't hate you, if that's what you're wondering," Max said, trying to crawl back into the Ferrari driver's soft side. "I could never hate you," he whispered, pressing a kiss against his cheek.
With the benefit of a doubt, Charles placed his hand on Max's arm and kept him from going further up his shirt but made no effort to push him away, still wanting him desperately but unable to focus on anything aside from his avoidant nature.
Their nights together had surpassed the simple sexual nature a while ago and with the potential threat of a championship soon on his hands, even if it was the following year, Charles questioned whether his winning would be enough to pull Max away from his grasp. The blond had comforted him a multitude of times, kissed him with a gentleness that didn't happen between people who only wanted sex from each other, and even now had defended him from Lando as if it had been his job to do so.
Charles had Max on his mind consistently and it would be a lie to say that he didn't think of a life in which they'd be able to go on a date and intertwine their hands publicly, exploring what their relationship could become. The boy had feelings that went beyond sex and the possibility of no longer having Max one day was one he was too afraid to even consider.
"I don't want things to change between us for the worst," Charles confessed, his green eyes still gently glazed with the effects of alcohol but also with the threat of potential tears. "I really like you, Max," his voice was soft but confident, his feelings having grown for the man at a rate he couldn't have predicted. Being with him was what Charles looked forward to the most.
Charles brought his hand up to cup one side of Max's face, knowing that he had already broken the invisible barrier between them that they had been using to convince themselves that there was nothing remarkable between them. "I really like you," there was a pause, and the brunette took a step closer while still being trapped between Max's body and the bookcase. "I like you in a way I've never been able to like any of my girlfriends, and in a way that scares me but also makes me excited. I know we had an agreement and that you don't think I'll win anytime soon, but if I do, would you still like me back, or would you leave?"
Max seemed frozen in the moment as Charles went on to confess that he liked him. He barely even blinked as he stared into Charles's large green eyes that glittered with tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.
"We can't," Max stuttered, stepping away from Charles's reach, losing any contact they once had. "I can't—" The blond faltered with an awkward smile, his gaze diverting from Charles's as he stepped further into the dim-lit room.
"Why would you say that?" he frowned, tilting his head back up in pride, his posture immediately correcting himself as he dared to face the Ferrari driver again.
"It shouldn't matter; we are not going to have a relationship, and you're not winning." Max said, maintaining the distance between the two in a desperate attempt to rebuild the line Charles had dared to cross. "I will win this season, Charles," Max spoke, his tone serious and stern, a direct contrast to the sweet words he had whispered previously. "And many more seasons to come after that." He clenched his jaw, as if a switch had been turned on inside him, an inbuilt reaction his brain had to strong feelings, to things he couldn't control.
"Don't ruin this," he whispered, tenderness and urgency echoing from his mouth as he furrowed his eyebrows, those words coming out as an escape from his sudden cold facade.
Charles's heart twisted with every word that the blond spat at him. Every word that Max had previously comforted him with, telling Charles that he believed he was talented now held no truth to them— as the idea of him winning was so far out of reach in Max's world that it was not even worth contemplating.
Even as the man begged him not to ruin what they had by talking, Charles felt used, as if his feelings were being exploited against him. His own emotions were on the line, and Max didn't reciprocate them, but it didn't stop the man from using a soft tone in an attempt to lure him back into their arrangement. Tears had fallen without the brunette's awareness, only noticing once the wetness had stained his cheeks.
"I have my answer Max," he whispered, the pain in his voice clear. Hesitantly, Charles had no choice but to turn his head away, unable to face the man any longer— scared that he would see straight through him and discover that there had never been any signs of feelings on his end and that the boy had simply projected his own into thinking it was reciprocal.
"You won't still like me because you don't even like me now," there was a hiccup and Charles had never felt weaker, the impact of Max's words having put him in more harm than any crash he had ever suffered. Refusing to meet the blue eyes, Charles stepped away from him and once he found himself back in the empty corridor, his sobs began to echo.
Max stepped out into the corridor, an unconscious part of him urging to chase the Ferrari driver, to stop him before he was too far gone. But he couldn't find any words to say that would truly fix anything between them; he couldn't say what Charles wanted to hear.
The separation between heart and mind became ever so prominent at that moment. Max felt his heart pounding, trying to rip its way out of his chest to chase Charles down that corridor. Yet, his mind and self-control kept his feet glued to the ground. The learned habit of not letting his emotions control him was like a cage.
It was only when Charles disappeared from his view that Max finally moved, re-joining the party that had anxiously awaited for his return. There, he caught no sight of Charles, it was only later in the evening that he finally saw a driver again — Lando.
In his drunken glory, the British driver sat on the entrance as the party died down, most people way too drunk to even recognize his face.
With the same amount of drinks still lingering in his system, Max took a seat beside the Mclaren driver. Silence pondering between the two before Max broke it, twirling a glass of whiskey in his hand.
"Where's Oscar?" he asked.
"He left a while ago." Lando answered, nonchalant. "Tried to take me with him but I refused to."
"Right." Max commented, taking a sip of the drink.
"Where's Charles?" Lando asked, curious.
"I wouldn't know." Max shrugged, lifting the glass against the light.
"I thought you two were gonna have a private conversation." Lando chuckled, the mockery in his tone coming out less aggressive than before. He sounded tired.
"We did," he answered, setting the glass down onto the floor. "And then he left."
Lando flicked his eyebrow, looking down onto the floor as he waited for a couple to pass by then before speaking again.
"Sorry about earlier," Lando looked back at Max. "Sometimes I end up letting myself think me and Carlos are more than just fucking, and he just always ends up reminding me of what it really is, one way or another," he confessed, assuming that was the same thing Max was going through. "I guess sometimes it pisses me off, but I never get angry at him really. I don't want to push him away."
Max looked at him, noticing the sad expression on the driver's face. "Do you like him?"
Lando looked back at Max, a bit of shock in his eyes. It seemed like, much like with Max, it was a bit hard for Lando to truly admit to those words. "Maybe," he paused. "I don't know. But I guess it's just me being stupid. I just wanted him to feel the same."
"What makes you think he doesn't?" Max asked.
"Why would he want to be with someone else if he did?" The brunette's voice faltered, it seemed that the subject brought back strong emotions.
"Liking anyone, especially another driver, is a pain in the ass," Lando confessed, trying to keep tears from rolling down his cheeks. "Do you like him?"
"Who?" Max asked.
"Charles" Lando answered.
"I do," Max confessed, grabbing the glass of whiskey in order to finish the drink. "But does it matter? Lando, do you want a piece of advice? I haven't won three championships letting my feelings get the best of me. It's one or the other."
"You wouldn't care if Charles started fucking Carlos, then?" Lando said, trying to debate, an attempt at validating his own feelings.
Max's silence was enough of an answer for Lando. The brunette smiled with the knowledge he had just acquired by piecing together subtle hints from Max.
"You don't fool me, you're no better than me." Lando whispered. "He's using you, you know it, and you're letting him."
"He's not using me." Max debated angrily.
"You'll see, and then I'll get to say I told you!"
—
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