MONZA GRAND PRIX
SUNDAY
RACE DAY
Leaving his hotel in the morning had been an event of itself. Crowds adorned the entrance, shouting blessings at the Ferrari drivers as they made their way to the car to take them to the track. Police had to manage the crowds to clear a path for them. Despite Carlos sitting next to him, he couldn't shake the weight of the people's hope resting solely on his shoulders. The older man had been a great teammate, receiving his fair share of adoration from the fans, but it was Charles who had been crowned as the chosen one destined to lead them to victory. With each passing year, his dream slipped further from his grasp, and he couldn't shake the fear that others were losing faith in him. Still, their unwavering passion and belief fueled his determination. If winning at Monza was the linchpin to maintaining their trust in his championship prospects, then he was resolved to pour his heart and soul into this, leaving no stone unturned in pursuit of victory.
As they stepped into the paddock, the air crackled with anticipation, camera flashes igniting the atmosphere. Amidst the frenzy, they graciously paused, their strides interrupted by brief encounters with fans fighting for a glimpse of them.
As Carlos subtly distanced himself, a flicker of apprehension danced across the man's features. Sensing something amiss, he scanned the surroundings until his gaze met those captivating blue eyes he had pondered upon the week prior. A grin erupted across his face, a candid moment captured by the ever-watchful lenses of the cameras. Stepping toward his rival, Charles extended his hand, initiating a handshake that effortlessly evolved into a brief embrace. In a hushed tone, he conveyed his anticipation for later. With a playful wink, Charles disengaged and hastened to catch up with Carlos, disappearing into the confines of the Ferrari garage to prepare for the impending briefing.
During the briefing, the drivers were afforded the opportunity to voice their concerns and offer suggestions regarding the track. Predictably, the chicane and its impact on qualifying emerged as a recurrent topic of discussion. Yet, true to form, few issues were addressed to the favor of the drivers, unless advocated by esteemed figures such as Hamilton or Max, who, on this occasion, chose to stay silent.
After the briefing was over, Max headed straight to the bathroom. To his luck, when Formula One drivers went into the shared bathrooms of the paddock people respectfully waited for them to leave before going in. Therefore, once the door was closed behind him, he knew no one but another driver would come barging in. Hoping the brunette would show up as they had planned,.
Knowing there was no time to waste, Charles had set out to the restroom. The young man maintained an air of composure as he stepped into the restroom, his senses keenly attuned to any signs of other drivers nearby. Ensuring that the coast was clear, he quietly pushed open the door to the third stall, swiftly slipping inside and securing the lock behind him without delay.
"I missed you," he confessed, closing the distance between himself and Max, the confines of the stall barely providing enough space for the two of them. The briefing had dragged on, feeling torturous, but perhaps it was simply his anticipation of this moment that made time crawl by. Each passing minute had been a test of patience as he yearned for their reunion.
Embracing Max with a fervent grip, the man held on tightly, acutely aware of the fleeting nature of their stolen moments together. Max had become an indispensable presence in his life, an addiction he couldn't bear to be without for too long. The thought of being separated from him sent waves of withdrawal coursing through him, compelling him to make every second count.
Looking up into Max's eyes with a bashful smile, Charles leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to his lips, savoring the connection between them. He maintained his hold on Max, unwilling to let go, knowing that their time together was precious and fleeting.
Running his hand through Max's hair, Charles pulled him closer, yearning for a closeness that felt impossible to attain. Despite their proximity, he longed to be even closer, as if their bodies could merge into one. With each passing second, the intensity of his desire only grew, leaving Charles desperate for more of Max's touch, more of his presence, and more of the overwhelming passion that consumed them both.
Max lifted the hem of Charles' red shirt, his touch tracing the contours of his defined abs while his tongue explored his mouth. "What will it take for me to keep you from challenging me for that first place on the track?" he whispered teasingly, his lips trailing along Charles' jawline, igniting a trail of fiery kisses along his skin.
"I'm not sure if there's anything, but what you're doing now is a great start," Charles teased back, leaning his head against the stall door, giving the man instant access to him. Everything outside of the stall didn't exist for a moment, which was a very dangerous game to play but with the warmth of Max's mouth traveling down his skin he couldn't be blamed for tossing everything else away.
"This feels familiar, doesn't it?" Charles referred back to their first encounter and how coincidentally enough, it had begun in a similar location. "Except now I can really tell you how badly I need you," he whispered, waiting for Max to detach himself from his neck before he could connect their mouths again, lifting the other man's shirt and digging his nails into his back - desperate to leave a reminder of himself that no one would see.
"How much time?" Charles asked, kissing off the sweat that was beginning to form on Max's neck from the close contact and small space.
Max chuckled at the brunette's question, knowing that their desires often spoke louder than their common senses. Tilting his neck to the side to allow Charles full access to his skin, the blonde licked his lips, swollen by the intensity of the kiss, "I think it has been too long already," Max whispered, leaning his face into the other man's as to kiss the side of his cheek, quickly reaching for his lips again. "Anyways, if we go any further I'm going to get hard." he added, parting away from the Ferrari driver's lips.
"I'm going to catch a flight to Monaco today after the race," he informed him, his hands still grasping onto the skin of his waist, memorizing the feeling of his warmth beneath his fingers, "let me go to your place, I'll meet you there."
"First place today gets a wish!" He smirked, leaving another kiss against his face before he finally pulled away, putting some distance between their bodies. "Good luck, pretty boy," he said, playfully palming the brunette's ass before he unlocked the door of the stall behind him.
"Wait here for a second. I'll see you on track," he said, holding the door open.
As Max moved to pull away, Charles whined and pouted, clinging to his arm and stealing another quick kiss, the riskiest yet given that their stall was open. But the thrill of the moment flooded Charles with adrenaline, fueling his determination to finish the race as quickly as possible. He yearned not only for the trophy but also for the chance to claim the coveted wish that awaited the winner.
Starting behind Max Verstappen was never a good omen. While some might see it as an easy chance to overtake at the beginning of the race, being behind Max presented a different challenge altogether. Charles knew he couldn't rely on the usual opportunistic maneuvers. Instead, he had to match Max's pace, sticking to his tail and preventing the gap between them from widening too much.
With any other driver, Charles would exercise patience, waiting for a slip-up to capitalize on. But with Max, he needed to be sharper, quicker, and more daring. It was a daunting task, but as the lights went out to signal the start of the race, Charles rose to the challenge.
The sight of the opposing car within view was a small victory in itself, signaling that Ferrari had the pace to keep up with the competition. However, Charles knew that maintaining this pace wouldn't guarantee an easy race. One wrong move on his part could spell disaster, causing him to lose sight of Max's car and to shatter any hopes of victory along with it. The pressure was on, and every maneuver had to be executed with precision and care.
No race was as exhilarating as one where the fight for first place was neck and neck, and with that thought in mind, the two rivals had delivered an unforgettable spectacle for the audience. It was a heart-stopping scene for their respective teams, as every move on the track held the potential to sway the outcome.
As they approached the final straight, tension hung thick in the air. Charles seized the opportunity, activating his DRS system and closing the gap between himself and Max. In a breathtaking moment, he surged ahead, crossing the finish line first and clinching victory in the race.
The race itself ended as one of the most memorable Monza races in the past few years. The dream outcome of most of the fans that colored the grandstands in red came true when after a long battle, the red car with the number sixteen crossed the finish line only two milliseconds before the Red Bull behind it.
"WE DID IT. WE DID IT- OH MY GOD! THAT WAS FIRST PLACE OH MY- GUYS AMAZING JOB! I- I CAN'T BELIEVE IT GUYS I REALLY CAN'T-"
Charles' radio call was broadcasted to the world as soon as his car crossed that finish line, and the crowds were louder than Charles could ever remember, swearing he would hear them over his engine. Tears of excitement welled up in his eyes, a dangerous act considering his car wasn't parked but there was no holding back the sense of disbelief that flowed through him. A home Grand Prix was a win that nothing could amount to.
With the car parked, Max was the first person to come up to him, shaking his hand before he'd even stepped out of the car. Charles wanted to share his excitement, wishing that he could crash into his arms and express his overwhelming joy.
As swiftly as he had arrived, Charles soon lost sight of Max, his team swiftly replacing him and crowding around him in celebration.
"The Chosen One." That's who Charles was to the people, and for the first time in his life, he felt a glimpse of what it would be like to be worthy of the title.
"Kid, you did it!" it wasn't clear who had shouted it but many statements of the same nature followed soon after, members of the team in tears and unable to wipe the smiles off their faces; if a home race brought these emotions out of them, he could only imagine what they would think of him if he gave them the championship they desperately dreamed of.
Charles was the last to make it to the cool down room, crowds adorning him and fighting for glimpses of him and a second of his time but in the room, some of the shock wore off and gave him a moment to process.
"Unbelievable," Lewis Hamilton congratulated the Ferrari driver, a handshake and half-hug following after.
"Unbelievable is correct, I don't think I have wrapped my head around it," he laughed nervously, accepting his first place cap and placing it over his head before taking a seat in between the two men. His eyes shifted towards Max and his smile softened, "I don't think we've raced like that for a long time," he commented, hoping to catch his attention. "You should have seen how nervous I got during the straight, I felt that I was pushing my car so much that I owed it apologies," he joked but was cut short as the podium ceremony was ready to commence.
Once on the podium and with formalities out of the way, the champagne shower was nothing but a party amongst the drivers, especially Charles and Max. The Red Bull driver excitedly poured champagne on Charles as if he was the only one on the podium with him. The excitement of the two drivers was electrifying, almost as if they had both won the race.
The spotlight was on their chemistry, one that was rarely seen on rivals but flourished in between them. Some claimed it was because of years racing together, others claimed it was because Charles was't a real threat to Max. But none would truly come to learn the real reason behind the smiles that enlightened their faces on that podium.
Once out of the public eye, Max congratulated Charles again, joking that next time he wouldn't make it so easy for him. He chuckled, continuing to elaborate on their rivalry before they would both respectively be pulled by their teams to celebrate each of their positions.
The afterparty was a grand affair, even by Charles' standards. Excitement permeated every corner, with people clamoring to share congratulatory shots with him. Charles found it difficult to refuse, his face aglow with the effects of the alcohol. He was the center of attention, and the significance of this particular win was not lost on anyone, least of all him. The celebration was a testament to the magnitude of his achievement, and Charles reveled in the joy that surrounded him.
Amidst the chaotic revelry, Charles found himself swept up in a whirlwind of activity. One moment, he was engaged in lively conversation with Pierre, and the next, he was being pulled by the DJ to the center of attention, with cheers erupting all around him. As the dizziness began to set in, he was guided outside the sprawling house and towards a secluded area by the back porch.
"Max," was the first word out of his mouth, turning to face the person pulling him out, only to be met with disappointment.
Lando Norris had pulled him, his expression betraying no particular emotion except perhaps a hint of discontent. "Nope, not your loverboy. Guess again," he lightly mocked. All things considered, it was fortunate that it was the McLaren driver standing before him; someone who wouldn't question him asking for Max.
"Lando," he replied, the fresh air helping him get rid of the queasiness caused by the alcohol but doing little to nothing in sobering him up. His mind, hijacked by the thought of Max, made no attempts to figure out why Lando of all people would pull him aside. "I'm going to go home and if they ask please tell them I'm having my actual celebration," he whispered to the shorter man and looked around in an attempt to find the best way to exit.
"How do you do it?" Lando asked after watching Charles stumble, an accusatory tone in his voice that caused Charles to look at him in pure confusion.
"Do what?" he asked innocently, reaching for his phone and texting Max that he was leaving the party earlier in hopes of spending time together. The lack of attention from Charles was beginning to bother Lando but the man wasn't sober and there wasn't much he could do about it.
"How do you have him losing races on your behalf and not feel an ounce of guilt?" The accusation was a serious one and Charles, who was practically incapable of anger, came close to it.
"You should know better than to think Max would let me win-" he began but was interrupted by Lando ridiculing him.
"And there's my answer, you play innocent," he took a step back and looked Charles over, understanding that he was a pretty boy but not seeing the extent of his appeal.
Carlos had been messaging Lando back and forth, trying to make plans for the night, which had caused the shorter driver to focus on Charles, unable to shake the memory of his last conversation with Carlos.
"Let's get you home," Lando said, using the excuse to end up in the same hotel as Carlos.
Dragging an already drunk Charles out the party, Lando managed to wave a few goodbyes to other drivers who were celebrating at the party before he pushed Charles into the passenger's seat.
Once Lando was settled in the driver's seat, he saw the perfect opportunity to question and provoke the Ferrari driver without the chance of him leaving, not until they reached the hotel.
"I won't tell anyone," Lando spoke, a seriousness creeping into his voice. "What are you doing to get Max to be all over you?" He side-eyed Charles, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.
"What am I doing?" Charles questioned, only half paying attention to Lando as he focused on messaging Max, ensuring him that he was on his way and that Lando, despite acting weird, was getting him home safely. "I'm not doing anything," he said with a slight shrug, glancing at Lando and realizing the seriousness of his question. "I kiss him a lot," his drunken mind spilled out, struggling to discern what it could be that endeared him to Max. "I play with his hair, I think he likes that, but I never pull it because he doesn't like that as much... not that you ever would."
The mere thought of Lando being near Max in any romantic sense caused Charles to recoil, his eyebrows furrowing. "Don't touch him at all, actually, please," he added quickly. But then, faced with the reality that he didn't actually know what it was that made Max like him back, Charles felt a wave of frustration wash over him. "I don't know," he admitted, giving up on trying to answer just in time for Lando to utter another absurd statement.
"I know you kissed Carlos," Lando frowned, the words hesitating as if the subject still stung. "Does Max know that?"
"Max doesn't know that because it didn't happen," Charles clarified, finally setting his phone down and looking at Lando with a mixture of confusion and frustration. "He tried to kiss me, and I backed away. It was weird, and he hasn't tried since then. I think he was just lonely or something, but he's not my type," he admitted, his tone tinged with discomfort.
"Did he tell you we kissed?" Charles asked, rolling down his window slightly at a red light and immediately texting Max again, as if the man needed a play-by-play of his entire night.
"No," Lando shrugged, scratching his nose. "He didn't tell me much, actually. But I wasn't going to ask him, so I asked you," he added, his anxiety growing as he wondered whether Carlos would even want to spend the night with him upon his arrival.
"I guess maybe if I acted all innocent like you do..." Lando paused, considering the possibility of adopting a different approach with Carlos. However, the idea of faking his persona seemed too far-fetched.
"Lando, you shouldn't have to act in any way for anybody," Charles continued, wanting to offer some advice. "You and Carlos are much closer than me and him will ever be. On camera, it's one thing, but outside of it, we don't interact as much as you may think," he said with a shrug, hoping to alleviate any concerns Lando had.
"Do you think Max will keep fucking you? Now that you're winning," Lando asked, his words carrying a tinge of bitterness.
The mention of Max tensed Charles up again, his insecurities regarding winning resurfacing momentarily. However, he quickly composed himself, not wanting to let his unease show. He and Max were in a good place, and Max had reassured him that those concepts weren't true—he chose to believe that. Today, Max had been the first to congratulate him and spray him with champagne, and if there was one thing Charles was certain of, it was that Max wouldn't fake his feelings.
"If you sleep over on our floor, you might find out," Charles insinuated, deflecting Lando's question as he was still trying to convince himself of the answer. With one last text before reaching the hotel, Charles got out of the car, eager for his reunion with Max.
—
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