covered in you ✨

Max’s thumb scrolls mindlessly through Instagram. He isn’t even paying attention to the individual posts, or to what happens on his screen; it’s more of a way to keep himself busy. He’s far too exhausted to pay attention to the way the colourful pixels merge together to form a photo, a meme, a video, anything. He’s just waiting, more or less, until he can go home.

It has been a tiring day of training: racing the track over and over again, with different settings and tires, to generate as much data as possible. The weather was shitty, his focus had been amped up, and he was seven Red Bulls in before even stepping into the car.

His high has come down, and his energy level is below zero.

He had walked up to his little room, practically jumped out of his racing suit and into some sweatpants and a black hoodie straight from his suitcase. He let himself fall onto the couch, got comfortable on his side, and hugged his legs close.

Distantly, he notices how warm and soft the sweater is. It’s nice on his skin, warms him up rather fast, and does absolutely nothing to keep him awake. He finds no issue in the idea of falling asleep in this hoodie any second now. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he has to stay up, because he’ll receive the data reports in a bit, and his taxi leaves when the team’s done here for today. Taking even a short, twenty-minute nap will fuck up his mind and get him feeling floaty and high. He doesn’t want that, so he blinks with determination, and keeps his eyes trained on his phone.

The door swings open, and Max looks up. His teammate Sergio Perez walks into his room, placing a piece of paper on his desk.

Max is used to the way Sergio has never been introduced to the concept of knocking before entering, but it has taken some time to adjust to the shamelessness with which his Mexican colleague wanders in and out of rooms. Max used to think, ‘dude, ever heard of knocking?’ but he knows Sergio means well, and usually is in and out before Max even notices. It’s adorable, in a way, that he’s feeling this comfortable around Max to just hop into his room without care. Sergio seems to find his place more and more in the Red Bull area, and Max is happy to see him feel relaxed and welcomed.

Max rolls onto his chest, eyes back to whatever is on his phone.

In his peripheral vision, he sees how Sergio freezes on his way out. Max cocks his head to the side, silently asking, ‘what’s up?’

“Soooo… how long have you and Lewis been together?”

Max frowns as he looks up at him. He’s too sleepy to let the words dawn on him, he just responds, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Sergio scratches his Adam's apple, “How long have you and Lewis been sleeping together?”

Max blinks a few times, what the fuck is happening? Lewis and he aren’t public about their relationship — frankly, they’re very private about their relationship. Max hasn’t told anyone about the two of them since it’s all in a very experimental phase. They went out for drinks once in Monaco, and everything derailed from there. It was a rollercoaster of emotions, sex, pet names, more sex, and conversations about how to work as rivals but live as lovers. They’ve discussed time after time again how they would tell no one about it, not yet at least, because it’s all very fragile and new and—

Well, they just don’t know where this will end, so they’re taking things step by step.

Slowly, Max responds, “Why… Why do you think Lewis and I are even close?”

Sergio smiles dryly, pointing at Max’s hoodie, “That’s a Mercedes hoodie. A Lewis Hamilton-special.”

Max looks down at his chest. There’s a small patch right below his collarbones, the size of his thumb, with a Mercedes AMG Petronas Motorsport logo. He sits up and positions himself in front of the mirror. He looks through the mirror at his back and sees, in big, bold, green letters HAMILTON, with below it an even bigger 44 in white. He’s gonna be so fucked if anyone in the Red Bull office sees him like this.

...though he can’t help but think he looks so good in Lewis’ clothes.

“Fuck,” He mutters, and he hopes Sergio will think it’s a ‘fuck-I-didn’t-mean-to-wear-this-to-work-fuck’ and not a ‘fuck-this-looks-good-Lewis-has-to-see-this-fuck’.

✗✗✗

Lewis looks so good getting out of his running outfit, all sweaty and tired but oh-so-good-looking. Max doesn’t even wait for him to finish showering, instead choosing to join him. “You want to do this tonight?” Lewis asks him, making sure they both were on the same page. They are careful during race weekends, not wanting their personal life interfering with their professional life, but it was time for an exception.

“I’d like to,” he admits, still shy about saying it out loud, but he knows that it is better than saying something vague. “Maybe not too rough, I’d like to be able to sit tomorrow for practice, but you know I’d like....”

He doesn’t finish his sentence but he does take a step closer.

Lewis just looks at him with an encouraging smile, “Yes, go on sweetheart, tell me.”

That doesn’t help with Max’s bashfulness. “I’d like to suck you off,” he finally blurts out, “And maybe you could eat me out.”

Their skin is touching, the water makes it feel more intimate than naked on naked skin already does. “Here or on the bed?” Lewis’ hands rub the shampoo into his hair and Max lets himself enjoy the sensation. The hands travel down to his neck and lightly massage the skin there.

“The bed,” Max barely holds in a moan, completely relaxed by Lewis’ touch. “I’d like to fully enjoy this shower with you.” It helps after such a stressful day to be able to touch his lover, to drown in each other’s presence and pleasure...

—

Max is still half asleep when he feels the blankets shift and the touch of skin disappear. It takes him longer than usual to realize what’s going on - Lewis is getting out of bed and he probably should too.

Normally, he’s the type to go to sleep at ten and wake up at seven on the dot, but Lewis had been so attractive yesterday that he didn’t even mind staying up later.

Now though, he only regrets the fact that he didn’t start his pursuit earlier, because the lack of sleep was going to be a bitch to deal with. “Do you have to go so early?” he whines, completely unashamed of his behaviour. He likes his morning cuddles, okay?

“It’s eight o’clock, if I come in any later people are going to start a search party for me,” Lewis reasons and Max hates how right he is. Lewis gets closer and surprises him with a few kisses on his cheek, probably avoiding any possible morning breath.

“Mhm,” he groans, “I’ll get up too. Don’t be too fast, I want to eat breakfast with you.”

Lewis is in the kitchen before Max is out of bed so he hurries, wincing at how cold his apartment is. Lord knows why his heater isn’t on. Max rubs the sleep out of his eyes and shuffles into some jeans and wonders once more how the cold can get into everything.

The sweater he finds though, it’s soft and warm and it feels like he won the jackpot with it. It even reminds him of Lewis’ hugs and that’s kind of amazing. It’s even better because it hides the bruises and the love bites. Showing them off might be an option for him, one day. Not yet.

When Max walks to the kitchen he passes a mirror and takes a second to watch himself. Not necessarily to check his appearance but more to see if it gives the same feeling to the outside as it gives him inside. It only gives him Mercedes though, because the logo on the sweater isn’t hard to miss and Max wonders how he did so in the first place.

So he goes back to the bedroom and takes it off. It feels bad to keep it at home, somehow afraid someone’ll randomly open his closet and find it, so Max makes his decision and stuffs it in his already packed back for this race weekend. This time Max makes sure it’s his own sweater. It doesn’t feel the same somehow, but it will have to do. He can get some warmth from Lewis directly.

Lewis already opened a can of Monster and wordlessly gave it to Max. Max mutters his thanks and refuses to give in to his desire to sit on Lewis’ lap. If he does so he’ll never move and they actually have to practice today, no matter how unattractive that sounds. Instead, Max sits down next to Lewis — wincing at how sensitive his skin is due to all Lewis’ marks — and lets himself sag against his lover.

“You’re going to do amazing,” Max manages to say, more awake than before, “Just remember that I’m proud of you.”

Max can feel Lewis smile and he lets himself enjoy the moment. “Thank you,” Lewis replies with another kiss, “Just as I’m proud of you.” He watches how Lewis cleans up his stuff and Max wonders how he got so lucky with this man.

“Wait—” Max says before drinking from the can, smelling the drink, “Is this—” he looks at the wrapping, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Lewis follows Max’s gaze and looks at the can, “Oh, c’mon, there’s no one here, you can drink a non-Red Bull energy drink!”

“No- No, it’s not that—”

“What, Max?” Lewis sounds like he’d roll his eyes. He didn’t, but it looks like he had to fight the urge.

“Monster is,” Max taps a finger to his nose, how is he gonna put this delicately… “Really disgusting.”

“What?”

“Have you ever tried this stuff?” Max asks, handing the can to Lewis.

“N-Not this one…”

“Try.”

“Hmm,” Lewis shakes his head, “I don’t drink—”

“Just a sip, okay? For me?”

Max’s heart clenches only momentarily at the fact that Lewis takes the can from his hand and tries a sip. His face transforms as if he’s just eaten a very, very sour lemon.

“Yeah,” Lewis chuckles, “That’s terrible.”

Max laughs with him, “Told you!”

“This is why you can never work for Mercedes,” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss Max on his jawline after putting the can at a safe distance from the two of them, as if its mere presence is an insult to the two gentlemen with taste.

“Red Bull is in my DNA, baby!” Max says, and presses a kiss to Lewis’ nose, and then his mouth.

“Sure, sure,” Lewis says, and he laughs more than kisses against Max’s mouth.

✗✗✗

Max blurts out, “I was drunk!”

Sergio blinks, eyebrows knitting together, and worry washes over his face, “Did he fuck you while you were drunk? Do I need to talk to him—”

“No!” Max stops him before he forms the wrong conclusions. He’s touched that Sergio would protect Max like that, but it’s not at all necessary. God, if Sergio saw his chest and thighs, he’d think Max was attacked by a gang of bloodthirsty dogs, “No, I got drunk—uhm, with Daniel and the others, and the idiots didn’t stop me from buying Mercedes merch when I complained about not having— uhm— having enough comfy hoodies.”

That sounds quite convincing, Max hopes. He grimaces as he watches the wheels in Sergio’s brain work to take this information in and weigh whether or not he believes it.

In the end, Sergio raises his eyebrow again, “So when sober-you got it in the mail, you didn’t think about returning it?”

“Mercedes has a ridiculous return policy, m’kay. Way too much work,” Max huffs. He hugs the black fabric close to his skin, “And they’re comfortable, okay. Leave me alone.”

“Alright,” Sergio says, raising his hands, “Don’t let Christian catch you like that.”

He makes a motion with his fingers in front of his lips, and Max smiles, watching as Sergio zips his lips closed and throws the metaphorical key in the distance.

“Thanks, Checo.”

Sergio winks and closes the door.

Max sighs deeply, relieved. He thinks, that went well. He looks around his room and searches for a hoodie, a t-shirt, just anything with a big Red Bull logo on it. He finds one and places it in his lap, but before taking the Hamilton sweater off, he smiles in the mirror.

He fishes out his phone and turns his back to the mirror, taking a picture of himself in Lewis’ sweater and sending it to Lewis, “Think I had a mix-up this morning. These are insanely comfortable, so this one is mine now.”

Lewis sends back a 😳-emoji, and Max bites his lip. This is gonna be a fun night for them.

Max’s fingers fly over his console. It’s late - Tuesday night, almost Wednesday - but he still has some frustrations left. The weekend had not gone how he wanted it, and while he was usually able to shake off the words easier, it was taking a bit longer this time. It might have something to do with how people portrayed him as unworthy of Lewis. Absolute bullshit, he knows, especially since Lewis showed him how much he is loved yesterday.

Something about it leaves him on edge.

A round of Call of Duty should cure that. Talking with Lewis about the problem might too, but he knows he’s more accepting of this kind of conversation when he is mostly clean of his frustrations. So he logs into his gaming account, in a call with Gianni and Chris, and feels very happy they aren’t streaming right now so he doesn’t have to watch his words. Both of his friends have their cameras on, as they always do, more out of habit than anything. Max rarely puts his own camera on, most of the time because he forgets about it, but right now also because he knows he looks like shit. There are bags under his eyes, his hair hasn’t been combed through, and he’s in desperate need of a shower but far too lazy to take one.

Max carries some annoyance from the race over to the game, and the way Gianni is losing does nothing to get rid of his frustration.

“Gianni, what the fuck are you doing?!” Max exclaims, because Gianni’s moves aren’t making sense at all.

“Better than you were doing this weekend, that’s for sure,” Gianni replies easily, huffing a laugh.

Max opens his mouth to retort something smart but can’t think of anything, so he awkwardly closes it again. He grunts and then just mutters, “Doesn’t change your inability to win a game for once.”

It doesn’t hold the bite he wants it to have but it will do, he supposes.

Gianni doesn’t even pay attention to his reply, but Chris sees his chance. “Did the race damage your ego so much that you need to think of a reply for a solid minute, only for it to be that weak? Are you sure you don’t want another check-up with the medical centre, mate?”

It’s teasing, but Max can hear the concerned tone hidden in it. For all that he has been frustrated all day, he really is surrounded by people that care about him. Maybe he needs to tone down his angry pity party a bit.

He doesn’t want it to go too seriously though since he’s already done with his own mood. “What, are you two teaming up against me today? Have I not suffered through enough Mercedes’ moves yet, these past few days?” He chuckles to keep it light for his friends, but the words hold more meaning than he would ever admit to.

“Now that you mention it,” Gianni is suddenly back in the conversation, “You’re getting killed right now. Mercedes 1-2 confirmed, no?”

Gianni is right though. Max is getting absolutely slaughtered after being too distracted by the whole race weekend discussion, and there is nothing he can do about it. He doesn’t know whether to bash his head on his desk or laugh about how ridiculous this is.

It’s truly a blessing that they aren’t streaming tonight so he can turn on his camera without caring that his hair looks unbrushed and his skin is breaking out.

“One more mention of Mercedes beating me and I’ll block all of you,” He threateningly points a finger at the camera, half laughing because really, this was exactly what he needed.

Gianni nor Chris laugh with him though, and he’s confused by how shocked the both of them look. Instead, he adds, “I know I look bad but it can’t be that bad, right?”

“Oh no,” Chris starts, sounding like he just found the world’s biggest treasure chest, smirk growing and growing, “You look amazing in that limited edition hoodie from the Tommy Hilfiger and Lewis Hamilton collab.”

Gianni seems like he’s lagging a bit but the Cheshire grin that appears on his face almost scares Max. “That’s the limited edition one? Max, do you own limited edition Hamilton merch? Most of the real fans didn’t even get their hands on it!”

“What,” he manages to say, but one glance at his choice of hoodie confirms that his friends are right. For once. That doesn’t mean Max has to admit it. “No,” he denies with a straight face, “It’s just a Dutch tie-dye sweater. National colors, remember?”

Chris is the smart one between the three of them and Max really regrets turning his camera on. “British national colors, you mean?” Max swears that Chris thickens his own British accent a tad for dramatic effect.

“The British aren’t the only ones with the red, white and blue,” he mumbles as a last try, but he’s too distracted trying to remember how he got into it in the first place.

✗✗✗

“Lay down for me, pretty boy. I want to see you,” Lewis whispers, hands on Max’s hips as Max lets himself fall onto the bed. He is sore all over, bruised up by the crash. But he is good-spirited, biting his lip, feeling himself grow harder and harder under Lewis’ gaze.

Lewis’ hands travel up to Max’s cheek, cupping his face before kissing him on his lips. He says, “If it hurts or becomes uncomfortable, you let me know, okay? Tonight’s about you.”

“Lewis—” Max sighs, looking up at the ceiling. Lewis’ loving gaze alone is too much to handle; he feels crushed under the weight of it. Lewis’ fingers are careful, trailing silk-like touches over every curve and edge of Max’s body, touching his skin everywhere, but not where it is needed.

Max is hard in no time.

“Tell me if it gets too much, okay? I don’t want to hurt you—you’re still sore.” Lewis kisses his way over Max’s chest, humming appreciatively whilst avoiding every bruise.

“I will, I will, please—”

Lewis looks up, nothing but adoration in his sparkling eyes, “Please what?”

“Your mouth— your hands— just— just—” Max squeezes his eyes shut. Lewis is touching him everywhere, but it feels like he wasn’t there, like he isn’t touching Max at all. Or at least, not touching him enough.

“I’m getting there, babe. Patience is a virtue,” Lewis’ nose diamond dances as he smiles brightly. Max wants to retort about this absolutely not being a time for Lewis to be a brat, but then Lewis lowers his head and kisses Max’s hipbone, his groin, the base of his dick, and all words die in Max’s throat. One of his hands flies to Lewis’ hair, clutching the cornrows like it is his lifeline, and his other hand grips the headboard.

Lewis licks a stripe up Max’s length, and kisses the head softly, “You look gorgeous like this.”

“Hnnr!”

“Breathe, darling,” Lewis places a hand on Max’s chest, waiting to feel Max inhale and exhale steadily. “Good, good, keep that up, love.”

Satisfied with Max’s breathing, Lewis goes back to work. Max is leaking steadily, the head of his dick an angry red, begging for attention. Lewis places one last kiss on Max’s thigh before taking the head of Max’s dick in his mouth. Max’s back arches, his grip on Lewis’ hair tightens, and he moans Lewis’ name.

Lewis gives him possibly the slowest blowjob Max has ever received, but he has a special way of keeping Max on the constant edge of coming, of something more. Max tries his best to breathe steadily, but anytime Lewis swipes his tongue under Max’s head, he sucks in an expectant breath.

“Please—” Max begs, but he can’t even form a follow-up sentence.

“I should keep you like this for hours,” Lewis muses, “So gorgeous and ready for me.” Something mischievous glitters in his eyes, “But you’re such a good boy, you deserve to come, don’t you?”

“Yes, please—”

“Okay, sweetheart. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Max rests one hand over his eyes, overwhelmed with the love Lewis gives him. It is too much, suddenly. His chest is tight, his heart clenches, his body frozen as it slowly opens up for Lewis’ love. Bit by bit, patient and slow. Not too much at once, for over-exposure might be too much. Lewis is so strong, and he feels everything the same way. Max is slower when it comes to these emotions. He takes his time, lets the feeling seep in bit by bit, ensures he has control over the small pieces before he can control the feeling as a whole. He worries it might consume him otherwise, and he fears nothing more than losing control and letting himself drown in something that isn’t his.

Lewis is different — he is certain, confident. He knows what he wants and has no shame asking for it, or even demanding it. It is unusual for Max, but ever so welcome now that he understands it. Now that he lets himself get bits of pieces of it, control it, and open himself up for more.

“Babe, show me your eyes, you know I love them so much, don’t hide from me,” Lewis’ voice is soft and patient, and Max lets him take his hand from his face. “There we go, look at you.”

Lewis cups Max’s cheek and kisses him, a little bit of his love bleeding from his mouth to curl around every one of Max’s senses, and Max lets himself sink into his warmth, just this once, just a little bit, before he desires control again. But he trusts Lewis, he trusts him with his heart and his soul. He trusts Lewis will take care of him, will hold him like he’s made of crystal so that none of his bruises worsen, and trusts that Lewis will get him to the high he seeks when he closes his mouth around Max again.

✗✗✗

“Max? Hey Max, are you still there?” Gianni’s voice brings him out of his memory.

“Hm, yeah?”

“You know that no matter where you got that sweater we would still love you?” Chris adds. Max is this close to rolling his eyes because he hates the whole ‘Oh you’re gay but we still love you’ scenario, but Chris’ tone doesn’t completely fit it. Nor has he actually admitted to getting it from Lewis….

“Yeah,” Gianni chimes in, “We will still love you even if you stay up ‘til midnight just to get your hands on some sweet Hamilton merch, just don’t let Christian know, okay?

“Noted,” he chuckles, happy that it went this way. Happy for the way that he could imagine Lewis embracing him through his hoodie. If Max closes his eyes he could feel Lewis give him little kisses, the way his lover loves to do.

“Max, I’m only going to revive you once more. If you’re going to daydream about buying more Lewis merch you should just tell us so we can give up on you,” Gianni tells him, and Max actually feels a blush creep up on him.

“Who said anything about daydreaming about buying his merch,” he jokes.

Max assumes the conversation is over with that last comment and actually moves his mouse again so his PC wakes up from the sleep modus. The Call of Duty screen loads again and he’s glad when it doesn’t take too long.

His phone vibrates not too much later and then the screen lights up from a Snapchat notification.

Lewis <3

Gotta keep myself busy with you gone. Still gaming?
(16:01)

Snapchat

From Lewis <3

Lewis wouldn’t send him nudes, would he? But the idea of Lewis getting himself off because he’s alone, since Max is gaming, has him on edge. He’s unlocking his phone before he can waste another second, not caring about the fight they were in.

“Max, what are you doing?!” Chris exclaims, “You can’t just ditch us for whatever you just received.”

“Just give me a second, I have to see if Lewis sent me—” but he catches himself halfway, shocked by how ready he was to explain his eagerness and expose himself along the way.

“What? The pre-order link for his new merch?”

“Are you ever going to forget about it?”

“Never.”

But the reply is lost on Max. Because it’s a mirror selfie of a sweaty Lewis Hamilton looking delicious. The irony is not lost on Max though, so he opens their conversation. He doesn’t have to think long about what to send him.

I think I got the sweater you seem to be missing.
(16:02)

Lewis must be on the phone too because he gets an instant reply.

I’m at the gym, I think I can go without it.
(16:02)

Shirtless at the gym?
(16:02)

Max bites his lip, sparing a glance at his screen but not taking in what image the pixels form, or how his character is standing still as green smog comes closer and closer. Distantly, he knows his character will get killed from the poison if he keeps standing there, but instead of doing anything about it, he looks back at his phone and adds, I should leave more marks to show you’re off the market. That one on your hip seems to be fading.

Lewis types back, and Max uses one of his fingers to move his character out of the smog. He’s in plain view of everyone and anyone, so one doesn’t need to be a sniper hidden away on a roof to shoot him through the head. They could literally walk up behind him and he’d do nothing to defend himself.

He ignores the cries of help from his teammates.

Oh darling, there’d be no one out here that I'd want.
As if I’d want anyone but you.
(16:03)

It’s super sweet, suddenly, and Max’s heart clenches. He smiles at his screen and feels a blush on his cheeks. good!!!! He sends back. He tries to keep his lovestruck heart a bit quiet, before he sounds overly enthusiastic. They’re not even Anything, yet. They haven’t had that talk. But it’s okay, one thing at a time.

“Max, I swear to god, put Tinder down and help us out,” Chris whines.

“Who the fuck said anything about Tinder? I can get by without that— that app made for desperate singles.” He chuckles, and adds, “Dunno about Gianni tho.”

“Hey!”

“Who else are you flirting with, then?” Chris, just like Max, ignores Gianni completely.

“Leave me and my love life to myself, thanks bud,” Max snaps, maybe a bit too harsh, but then again, Lewis is typing and he’s far too curious to see what he’ll send.

His phone vibrates again.

Also this is a private room, no need to get possessive, baby boy.
(16:05)

Max bites his lip.

hm maybe i’ll come with you next time

and show u some real exercise.
(16:05)

Lewis’ response is there in no time; Before you sext me, don’t you have a game to play? You might as well have joined me otherwise.
(16:06)

Fair! Okay I'm getting killed.
I’ll suck you off when you come back
bc ur hot when ur all sweaty.
(16:07)

Lewis just sends a pic of his sweaty chest, one hand holding a dumbbell, his muscles tense and on display. Max thinks about getting those guns around his throat all the way through the Call of Duty game.

The situation is getting messy, this Max knows. He’s had two slip-ups right now with the whole Lewis-situation, and there are several things he can do.

For one, he could stop wearing Lewis’ clothes.

He snorts at the idea, there’s no way he’ll stop wearing Lewis’ clothes! They’re super comfortable, they smell like Lewis, they— well, Max just really likes stealing anything that is Lewis and making it his own. The run-in with his teammate had him rethink this all. After all, there’s something else than just wearing your lover’s clothes, when said lover is also your biggest rival and the rival of your workplace. He has to be more careful when it comes to Mercedes clothes, or clothes that Lewis has been seen in.

The two of them had talked about going public about their whole relationship, which would be option two. It’s all a bit fragile, and they’re still in the very early stages of it all. The media around Formula One loves any gossip they can get, and Max is arguably one of the most private people on the grid — with one of the most open people by his side — so he’s not very fond of going public already.

✗✗✗

“I just don’t want any backlash,” Max reasons, sitting beside Lewis on the couch whilst slurping noodles from his take out Thai dinner. “Plus, if we were to, I don't know, take a break or whatever, everything is suddenly everyone’s business. If there’s one thing I want is just to enjoy you however I want without other people’s involvement.”

“I’m not worried about the backlash,” Lewis chuckles darkly, “I’ve gotten that my entire life.”

Max nods, face sad.

“Hey,” Lewis says, putting a hand on Max’s knee, “We got this, okay?”

Max takes a deep breath and stretches out, “Maybe we should wait till the end of the season, see if we get through this, and then decide on something to do. I’m just-” He waves his hands, “Not in the mood for the press.”

“Are you ever?”

“Absolutely not,” Max grins, and Lewis smiles with him.

“They do make very high-quality pictures, maybe we can find something to put on our wall.”

“Hmm, maybe one day we’ll just put on a little gay show where I’ll carry you through the entire paddock and give you kisses the entire time. See what they’ll say.”

“Don’t daydream too much, I might just ask you to do that.”

Max smiles brightly, he puts his container away and rests his head in Lewis’ lap. Softly he repeats Lewis’ words, more as a reminder to himself than anything, ‘we got this.’

✗✗✗

Max sighs as he remembers. His fingers itch with the need to tell anyone, but his dad just sent him a message about how Lewis should’ve been disqualified after Silverstone, his mother sent him a thank god you’re okay and his sister sent him a heart and a lion emoji.

They don’t seem exactly open to the idea of a relationship with his rival.

He scrolls through Instagram, trying to keep his mind off the races and off the incident and off the World Championship.

Daniel posted a picture, something about wine. Max feels like a cartoon light bulb just lit up beside his head, as he closes the app to call his friend.

There’s something special about the friendship Daniel and Max have held during Max’s career. Despite Daniel leaving Max’s side at Red Bull, the two have always been close. They got along easily, Daniel made Max’s first years a lot easier, pleasant, funny, and Max is eternally grateful for the sunshine that Daniel has in his body and shares with the world.

Daniel picks up rather quickly, “Sup Max!”

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” Max feels a slight shake in his voice as he asks, cutting straight to the core of his issue, better ripping the bandaid off soon.

“Yes, of course, do I need to sit down for this?” Daniel catches Max’s serious tone and shuffles around some before sitting down, not waiting for Max’s answer.

“You can keep a secret, right? For me?” Max scratches his jaw, more to keep his hand busy than because it itched.

“Yep! I’m a vault, baby!” Daniel’s audible smile makes it a bit easier for Max to have this conversation. He rolls his shoulders and thinks, now or never.

“Okay, so, don’t tell anyone, but,” He takes a deep breath, “Lewis and I slept together.” He says it in one breath, quickly, almost as if it was one word, LewisandIsleptogether.

“What.” Daniel states, and it’s not because he didn’t understand Max. His voice dropped an octave or two.

Max bites his lip, shifting in his seat, “Yeah…”

“Lewis as in Lewis Hamilton-Lewis?” Daniel asks as if his mind is shifting gears and not yet connecting all the dots.

“...Yeah.” Max says, patiently waiting until Daniel’s brain comes back online.

“Well,” Daniel says, after an excruciating pause, “Was it nice? Do you regret it, or?”

“No, no, it was good—” Max hurries to clarify, “Uhm, maybe we—uhm.” Max runs a hand through his hair, god, how do you tell someone that you slept with a mutual friend and are maybe easing into a steady relationship, “Maybe we slept together more— uhm, more than once.”

“Max.”

“Yeah, so…” Max takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, he doesn’t want to say the L-word just yet so instead he goes, “There’s something between us.”

“You’re in love,” Daniel translates.

Thanks, Dan. That's what Max was trying to avoid. He takes a sip of water, “Well… yeah.”

His heartbeat picks up. He is in love with Lewis, he realises. Well, he’s known for quite some time now, but this is the first time he admitted it to himself and someone else.

He hears Daniel shift, “I’m happy for you!” And he says it with such delight, that— well, Max didn’t expect that. He had expected all sorts of reactions, varying from how could you to there’s no fucking way and the disgust nor the pity was something he could stomach. Love doesn’t choose based on career or looks, it chooses blindly, something with smiles and touches and hugs that make Max feel weak in his knees.

This genuine delight has him smiling brightly, but he tries to brush it off, “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime, but—” Daniel must frown, Max reckons, “That’s gotta be tough in this world, huh.”

“Tell me about it,” Max sighs, to which Daniel chuckles softly, “So I want you to know, but, you know, no one else.”

“Awh I’m flattered,” Daniel says.

Max laughs, leave it to Daniel to make any situation more bearable, he thinks. He could hop on a plane and fly over to wherever the man is to just give him a hug, thank him for this conversation alone. It makes him feel a bit less weird, because — well, who the fuck falls in love with their biggest rival, right? But maybe it isn’t all that weird, maybe they just found each other in unfortunate circumstances, but if they can pull themselves through this, they can only become stronger from here.

Daniel asks tentatively, “No one knows, huh? Not even Christian?”

“Definitely not Christian,” Max laughs in horror at the mere idea of telling his boss that he’s dating his biggest rival, and with that, Christian’s biggest rival.

“Very clear,” Daniel laughs with him.

“Thanks again, Daniel. You’re the best.”

“Of course,” Daniel says confidently.

Max smiles as he says, “Oh, and I told Checo you got drunk-me to buy Mercedes merch, instead of admitting I stole Lewis’ hoodie. Thanks for everything! Bye!”

“Excuse me, what-”

Max hangs up quickly, chuckling. He knows Daniel would have no issue lying with him to protect him, but still, this way is much, much funnier.

His phone is silent for a few minutes, and Max thinks that that’ll be that, and he moves to the kitchen to grab himself a smoothie Brad made this morning.

Then his phone buzzes.

And again.

And again.

Max walks to where he dropped his phone, and scrolls through the messages he’s gotten from Daniel. He whistles at the speed with which Daniel is typing because the messages come after each other at lightspeed.

You wore MERCEDES MERCH TO THE GARAGE?
(14:55)

Are you DUMB????????
(14:55)

People have seen you in Mercedes clothes???
(14:55)

Max!!!!!
(14:56)

Max, are you SURE that Christian doesn’t know???
(14:56)

Max!!!
(14:56)

Daniel
Missed call

Max pick up your goddamned phone this ISN’T OKAY
(14:57)

It remains silent for a handful of seconds before he gets Daniel’s last message;

I HAVE TO GO NOW, but this iSN’T OVER!
(14:58)

Max figures he’ll answer his friend later. He’s grateful this all went very well, and he’s especially grateful he hung up in time.

The first time he wakes up is together with Lewis. His lover is obviously trying to get out as silently as possible but Max will always notice when Lewis leaves him. Usually, he is the one with a pretty neat sleeping schedule but yesterday exhausted him, so he was worthy of a few more minutes right?

So when Lewis kisses him, morning breath and all, he just smiles with his eyes barely open. The bed is still warm, Lewis usually running hotter than Max does and he treasures it.

“Is it okay if I sleep a few more minutes?” he asks, or at least he likes to think he asked because he isn’t even sure of how audible it exactly was. Lewis must have understood his intentions though, “Of course. I’ll start with breakfast.”

The second time he wakes up, he clearly is in a better state of mind. It might have not been that long but it was what he needed to have a clearer start of the day. Because after those fifteen minutes — a quick glance on the clock told him — he feels way more capable of facing the day.

This new sense of clarity also tells him two things.

Lewis has to be making breakfast from heaven because that smells amazing. His stomach makes a sound that’s almost inhuman and while he’s still reluctant to leave the warmth, his hunger is winning.

The second realisation comes when he’s about to open the door of the bedroom, only wearing boxers, when he hears a voice that’s not just that of Lewis. “Wh—what are you doing here?” Brad asks, obviously confused. If it had been any other moment he would’ve found it funny how much Lewis can surprise someone.

“The same thing as you, obviously. Bringing Max breakfast,” Lewis explains. There is no way this will end without awkwardness or oversharing if he doesn’t interfere. It’s then that he’s glad he’s more awake than the first time because he almost walked into Brad and Lewis wearing only boxers. That would’ve made it worse.

While it would not be anything new for Lewis, it’s not the way he wants to greet Brad, out of all people. It’s not like he can act like this never happened and he never has to see Brad again. No, Brad will be breathing down his neck every session.

Max hates himself for not doing his laundry on time. Something please, something not too obnoxious, Red Bull logo-ed or dirty. He’d take anything at this point to prevent that conversation from even happening. It doesn’t matter if it could end well, it will be a mess.

The next thing he hears stops him though — he can’t believe this is really happening.

“And you don’t need to be worried about the food, I know how you trainers want us. I made sure he has been getting enough protein.” The double entendre isn’t lost on Max, but it clearly is on Brad. That, or he ignores any possible idea of Max getting some and Max would forever be grateful if that would be the truth.

“It’s fucking eight in the morning, I’m seeing Lewis Hamilton half-naked in Max’s home. Forget the food, why are you acting like this is a regular thing?”

“Because it is.”

He picks up the sleep shirt he hopes doesn’t smell too strongly of sex and a pair of pants that look like he somewhat anticipated. Not that anything is going to be able to save them from the embarrassment anymore.

C’mon Max, nothing to be ashamed of. Just a lot of embarrassment. Time to get his shit together and own up to it. Because Lewis is worth it. This is nothing to hide, just something they don't want to be public yet. So maybe no confirming or denying anything.

Max opening the door must have interrupted whatever Brad is about to reply because now he’s stuck with his trainer’s gaze stuck on him. It’s unnerving, knowing that Brad might know what’s really going on with them. Because he doesn’t know how Brad would react, but most of all, because he doesn’t know the impact.

However, Lewis is faster than Brad when it comes to any reaction. “You’re getting spoiled Max! You have two men getting breakfast for you,” his lover says as if Brad isn’t still standing there like a gaping fish.

“That’s….” he hesitates for a bit, “Nice. I guess. Thank you.”

What? What does one say in situations like these. Scolding Lewis for being a cheeky lil’ shit in front of Brad isn’t going to go unnoticed either.

“It seems like there is only one man biting you like he’s a vampire craving blood though.”

“What.”

“Max, you’re looking like someone mauled you.”

He looks for surfaces to find his own reflection on and somehow still manages to be surprised when he sees all the dark red hickeys, rougher teeth marks and some unclassified bruises all over his neck, easily visible since he has the first two buttons of the shirt unbuttoned.

Max catches Lewis biting his lip and looking away, probably hiding a smug smile. Lewis knows exactly what he did and he’s enjoying it. He flushes, remembering what happened to make him look like this. Not the time to get hard. Not the time.

✗✗✗

Their line between work and anything personal is strict but just as blurry. Max and Lewis take it more seriously than other couples. It’s necessary when they’re risking their lives every day, live for the job and are each other’s biggest rivals at the same time. So, to avoid unnecessary tension and fights, they try their hardest to keep those two worlds separated.

There is one tiny little thing that’s preventing Max from doing so right now. Max is horny. Like the really hot-and-bothered kind of horny that he couldn’t do anything about alone. Well, technically he could but why would he when he has a perfectly hot and sexy boyfriend sitting in his living room?

Lewis might be in a call with Tommy Hilfiger, but as long as he doesn’t overhear anything it should be fine, right…?

Max peers in the living room to see Lewis calling with his headphones in. Great, at least he doesn’t hear anything from the brand’s side.

Just to clarify, Max does not sneak around in his own apartment. If he walks a little bit softer than usual, he doesn’t want to disturb Lewis’ call, okay? But he takes pleasure in how Lewis is visibly startled when he settles down on the ground in between his legs. Max can’t stop the satisfied grin from spreading over his face, especially when Lewis raises an eyebrow, silently asking what he’s up to.

Max just waves it away, trying to make Lewis believe that there is nothing special to see and that he should just go back to his call, but it’s obvious Lewis doesn’t believe him. He bites his lip to prevent himself from doing something stupid like giggling and tries to calm down a bit while Lewis tries to pick up his conversation again.

He tunes out whatever Lewis says, not really interested in the fashion industry as a whole. Instead, he imagines what he could do right now… Open up Lewis’ jeans and suck him off, unbutton his own jeans so he can jerk off while Lewis watches or. Or he could just tease Lewis until he’s done with the call.

Nothing extreme because Max doesn’t actually want to interrupt Lewis’ work. Yes, he’d love Lewis to just hang up on Tommy Hilfiger —whether it’s the guy himself or an assistant, Max doesn’t know or care— and fuck him, but Lewis leaves him to his official talks too, so he has to respect Lewis’ to keep the universe balanced.

Lewis could continue with a little teasing though. So Max hopes his hands aren’t too cold, and if they are he’s sure they would warm up fast enough. He shuffles a bit closer to Lewis and slips his hands under the designer sweater Lewis is wearing. Lewis runs warm and Max loves the contrast between his cold hands and Lewis’ warm abs.

He looks up, loving how Lewis is taking in every move he makes. Max wants to say something teasing, something smart, but the way Lewis’ eyes keep moving makes it obvious that he’s trying to keep up with whatever gets said through the phone. Max won’t make it too hard for his lover.

So he doesn’t make any dirty comment, instead, he just glides his hands from the happy trail to the sixpack and up to Lewis’ pecs. Gotcha, he thinks and then he starts teasing Lewis’ nipples. Max notices how Lewis stutters, how he has to start the sentence again.

Heh, mission accomplished.

Max continues his teasing a bit more, gives both nipples equal attention and shuffles closer because of the idea of getting his mouth on them… He can’t get Lewis out of the hoodie but nobody said he couldn’t push it up and get into it.

Lewis must sense his need to create chaos because he takes both of his hands and stops any movement Max had planned. “Can you wait one minute? I need to do something real quick,” Lewis says to the mic that’s part of his earbuds, “Yeah? Thank you, you’re amazing.”

Max assumes Lewis paused the call and can’t help but grin when his lover’s eyes focus on him. “What?” Lewis prompts, “Are you happy you finally have my undivided attention? Was that what you were waiting for, teasing me for? Being a little attention whore?”

The words don’t hurt at all. Max doubts Lewis would ever say something that would truly hurt, even if it was for a kinky purpose. No, they discussed this before and all of this is within the safe territory.

“Well,” Max was still grinning, way too happy, “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Depends on what your goal was. Go undress and wait in the bedroom like you should. I’m going to finish this call first. Do not even think about touching yourself in the meantime, I’ll know if you do.”

The wait for Lewis feels long. Probably way longer than it was, though the lack of a clock makes it impossible for Max to know if he’s just imagining things or if it’s the truth. There is something powerful about undressing and waiting for Lewis, even though it might seem like Lewis is the one with more power in the scene. It’s hard to explain but he never feels powerless.

Moments like these give him the time to regain himself. To thoroughly feel everything that’s going on in his mind and his body. He gets lost in his thoughts and only notices it when Lewis startles him out of it.

“Daydreaming, darling?” Lewis asks, but the tone tells Max he shouldn’t answer just yet. “That’s the kind of focus I would love to have during my work calls. Something seems to keep preventing that from happening though.”

Max never said he will listen to that tone, though. “What could that be,” Max muses, smiling at Lewis’ raised eyebrow. Lord, Lewis looks so handsome like this.

“Wonder what it could be, indeed,” Lewis echos before coming closer.

Oh, Max is in for it. Lewis' eyes tell him enough, no actual words needed. “I do wonder though, would you be able to concentrate that good when I tell you not to come? It would be only one task, but I doubt you can hold up.”

The protest leaves him before he can stop it. Of course he can handle it, he has done so before, but at the same time it feels like a trap because he actually wants to come. “Tell me, don’t come at all until I tell you to do so? Or coming over and over again until your beautiful face is all red and you might even be crying, pretty tears decorating you,” Lewis goes on about the image and Max’ breath hitches at the description.

“I’m going to fuck you so good anyways, that’s not going to change,” Lewis adds, “So tell me, since you were being bratty, what’s it going to be?”

He likes to think that he’s able to read Lewis quite well but at this moment he has no idea what the right answer would be. If he should even answer at all or if he should just let Lewis choose.

Max feels like being greedy, knowing how good it feels to come over and over again under Lewis’ hands. But he also knows that it will be much, way too much. And he was being bratty before so maybe he should be good and choose his punishment…

“Only once,” Max says. But if he was being bratty anyways he might as well continue, right? “Since that might be all you can take tonight.”

“I was about to comment on how good you were but I’m glad I didn’t,” Lewis tells him. “On your hands and knees now. Absolutely no orgasm until I say you can come.”

He doesn’t even think about talking back again, the edge to Lewis’ voice says enough. While he feels powerful, it’s vulnerable, all naked on his hands and knees while Lewis is observing him, fully clothed. Sometimes this is exactly what they need.

Max imagines all the things Lewis could do tonight, that idea combined with the anticipation has his cock flushed red against his stomach. He hasn’t touched himself, not even once, and Lewis' lack of attention to his cock makes him wish for any touch.

Lewis’ tongue on his hole stops his musings though. Because Lewis is warm and wet and damn, it feels so good. Max loves the feeling of Lewis’ hands on his ass, spreading him. It feels grounding and reminds him of how Lewis is there for him, even if he can’t see him.

It’s the only thing Lewis does. His tongue moves around the rim, making different patterns and every single one of it goes straight to Max’ cock. It’s now angry red and Max is whining, “Lewis, touch me, please.”

Lewis doesn’t change anything and the intense feeling and at the same time neglect of his cock are so overwhelming at the same time that he isn’t sure he even asked loud enough. So he tries again, “Lewis, my cock please, or if I can—”.

Not the right thing to ask, it seems because Lewis stops every action. “No, you can’t. You already had your fun touching me, you’re not going to touch yourself too. I’m the only one touching your cock tonight,” Lewis tells him.

Max is about to say something back, not even something sassy but Lewis might have had enough of it. He lets himself be shoved down, ass up in the air and face down into the sheets. “Okay?” Lewis asks, making sure they didn’t cross any lines.

“Do you think you could shove me down if I didn’t want it?”

“Definitely okay, thank you.”

It’s not just Lewis’ tongue now. Max feels how Lewis’ fingers are teasing his hole and he can’t help but clench around it. It’s now that he notices how much he wants it, even if his original intention had been to be the one teasing Lewis.

Once again all sensation leaves him and he can’t help but whine. He isn’t close to his orgasm yet but this build-up isn’t easy to take either. “Can’t you just get on with it for once?” he whines but the sound of a cap opening shuts him up easily enough.

Lewis spanks Max’s ass once, and it shuts Max up immediately. He bites his lip, hard enough to break skin, and braces himself for another slap.

It takes too long though, everything is too much and takes too long yet there isn’t enough at all. Max is writhing against the sheets before he knows it and the relief feels amazing. His hips stutter and only make the sensation better.

He bites his teeth together to stop the sounds but his moans come through anyways, the sensation too much to stop enjoying it. Lewis slaps his skin again, “You just never listen, can you?” but there is nothing strict or condescending about it. Lewis actually sounds like there is a smile on his face and Max gets the strange idea that he’s being appreciated at that moment, with his ass red from Lewis’ handprints.

“As little as possible,” he says, sex fading to the background when genuine happiness comes through. “I’d still like to see you try to teach me.”

“Of course, I never said I would back down.”

Max feels Lewis wrap an arm around his waist and his ass gets hoisted up again, preventing him from any kind of release. Lewis’ finger finally enters him completely and he groans at the sensation.

It’s so filling yet still not enough after so much teasing, after all the anticipation. But Lewis is the one giving so he takes anything and everything and keeps on taking. A second finger gives him the stretch he has been longing for, the real preparation for what he has been waiting for.

Lewis knows how to move them, knows exactly what he’s doing to Max. “Come on, be good for me,” Lewis comments as Max buries his head in the sheet in an attempt to bury the starving sounds that almost seem inhuman, “Let me hear you.”

He sees stars when Lewis curls his fingers and finally hits his prostate. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling of Lewis finally entering him, causing him to release all the build-up tension the moment Lewis properly bottoms out.

“Fuck, Lewis!”

✗✗✗

“Max, you’re going to have to choose a breakfast,” Lewis proposes and breakfast is kind of the last thing on his mind, but it’ll have to do.

“Luxury problems,” Brad grumbles but it has a teasing tone and Max feels like he might not really have to worry too much. Brad is a friend but he’s Red Bull more in the way that Sergio is, so it feels different to have this part of him exposed to him.

He can worry about everything else later though. Max has a breakfast to enjoy. “Sorry Brad, I’m going with Lewis’ today,” he says and then makes a quick decision, “Lewis, do you mind going back to bed first? I’ll be with you in a minute. Brad, a bit of your time please?”

“Of course,” both of them answer at the same time, which makes them look at each other for another moment.

“Now, please.”

Lewis pinches his side but Max just yelps at that, ready to give him payback, but then remembers just exactly what is happening. Max smiles though, noticing how Lewis tried to release some of the tension he had.

Next issue at hand.

“So,” Max tries, having no clue just how to handle this yet. “You saw that.”

“Yeah,” Brad adds, “That’s kind of the point. Since when has this been going on, Max? Who else knows?”

He’s somewhat taken aback by the rapid firing of questions. Max had expected a lot but not this and it must show on his face because Brad stops as soon as he starts. “Please just tell me he treats you well because those bruises look kind of bad.”

Oh.

Oh.

Brad is not going into how-to-save-my-racers-reputation-and-marketability modus, no. Max has read it completely wrong, Brad was worried about the bruises. He might have not wanted to show it with Lewis still there, afraid of doing more damage than good.

“He, uh— he actually does. Treat me really well.” Max shifts in his seat, feeling some of the bruises and slaps from last night burn his skin. He refrains from hissing, though barely.

It’s crazy that he thought about talking about everything but this when he first entered the room. “And I don’t think anybody knows outright? No wait,” he corrects himself, “Daniel knows, I told him. Checo and the Redline-guys might have suspicions. And honestly, we don’t exactly have a start date. We just... became.”

Max doesn’t know what he is expecting from Brad, but his heart is thundering in his chest at all the admissions. It could go so wrong from now on but the world hasn’t exploded yet, so, that’s something.

“Then it’s good. I can see that you already had your workout, want to reschedule?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Please, that would be nice.”

“I’m not bringing breakfast again.”

This shouldn’t be happening as often as it does.

Really, it’s easily preventable and it shouldn’t even be an issue in the first place.

But Max is Max, and Max is an idiot, someone who’d rather have five minutes extra sleep and then rush to the paddock instead of setting his alarm a bit earlier and giving himself some time.

This is how he finds himself, exhausted on a bone-deep level, having grabbed the first shirt he got his hands on, walking over the paddock. There’s some soft murmur around him, and he’s pretty sure people’s eyes are lingering on him longer than they normally would. But then again, people always murmur about this or that around him and he never pays attention to them. He makes a beeline for the Red Bull garage, aiming straight for his little resting room before he drowns himself in another race weekend.

Faith has it that word’s gotten around about Max’s arrival — as it always has, Max sees no difference — but he reckons something must be incredibly wrong with him, when he spots none other than the big boss Christian Horner standing at the entrance of the Red Bull garage, arms crossed, watching down on Max as Max rushes up the stairs. He grabs Max by his arm and drags him inside. Max frowns, “Wh—what?” because this is not how he’s normally greeted.

“Am I late?” Max asks, it wouldn’t be a surprise to him, given this morning’s events, “Did I miss something important?” But Christian keeps shooting him these looks that tell him it’s best to shut up until Christian can say his piece.

They end up in a corner of the garage, no other Red Bull colleagues to pass by and disturb them. Christian lets go of Max’s arm and Max waits until his boss says anything.

“Care to explain…” Christian moves his hand to gesture at Max’s chest area, “That?”

Max raises an eyebrow, hand shooting up to his neck — are any of his hickey’s visible? He thinks back to last night, and tries to remember if Lewis left any visible marks on his neck. He’s pretty sure they were careful for that sort of stuff, especially on the day before a race weekend starts. Though it wouldn’t surprise him if something slipped — if either of them accidentally left a mark slightly too high up the other’s skin.

“No, not your neck, idiot,” Somehow, despite the insult, Max feels relieved. Christian sighs deeply and all of Max’s hairs stand up, “Care to explain why you’re wearing competitors' merchandise?”

Max looks down at his shirt, it’s just a black shirt? He frowns, “Well, I’m not wearing red.”

“No, you’re not wearing red indeed.” Christian crosses his arms, “You’re wearing Mercedes black, Max.”

“Wait, what?” Max looks over his shoulder, but sees nothing but black fabric. He feels a finger on his chest, and looks at where Christian’s pointing — a thumb-sized Mercedes logo is patched on his chest, with the words AMG Petronas Motorsport beside it. Max is stunned, he was certain that he was more careful, and that this time he didn’t wear something that originally belonged to Lewis’ closet. He was wrong.

✗✗✗

There is something rousing Max from his sleep. He knows it’s way too early to be up yet, so he tries to close his eyes again. He needs all the sleep he can get and unless it’s his alarm, he’s going to ignore everything right now.

It seems to work for five seconds until it happens again and Max slowly becomes aware of the hand going through his hair. A sensation that feels so good, he can’t hate it, even though it’s waking him up.

That feeling, those fingers, they remind him of home. Of late afternoons spent in Lewis’ embrace, watching shows he doesn’t really care about but still watches since Lewis likes them so much.

It’s Lewis.

As much as he wants to go back under again, to close himself off from the world, he can’t. Even if he could, Lewis is worth waking up at the worst times for. Max just accepts his fate as constantly lacking sleep.

“Come on, love.”

Max is finally able to make out the words. He relishes the rough edge that sticks to Lewis’ morning voice. He’s basking in all of this. How Max wishes they could have this every day, but clarity comes to him more and more now that he’s waking up. He’s slowly getting aware of things outside of Lewis’ hands caressing him and the breath tickling the skin of his neck.

Like how Lewis is still inside of him.

How they must have slept like this, completely spent after yesterday’s debauchery. It should have been uncomfortable, maybe a bit dirty even, but it doesn’t feel like any of that. Max slept undisturbed and has never felt more loved than now.

“Why did you wake me up?” he asks when he finally manages to find his voice, rubbing his eyes. Max looks for something that can give him a sense of time but there is nothing that he can get to without having to get out of Lewis’ embrace.

“You were sleeping so good, love,” Lewis mutters, “Probably dreaming about something even better because I woke up to you clenching around me. Imagine my surprise when you were totally unaware of the sinful teasing you were doing to me.”

Oh. That explains a lot. It also explains why Lewis feels stiffer in him than Max remembers him being. “Got you hard again?”

“Oh, you know you did.”

Lewis trusts once, like he’s testing something. They weren’t the best picture of well maintained hygiene after yesterday but Max can’t find it in himself to care. “If we are fucking again I at least want to see your face,” he demands.

It’s what he has been missing. Sleeping like this feels good, amazing even but there is something off about not being able to look his lover in the face. Max closes his eyes while Lewis slips out of him but then turns around, grinning when he’s suddenly face to face with Lewis. This is better.

“You better make it up to me after waking me up so early,” Max tells him but he can’t help but realize that these are the moments that make him undeniably happy. So he follows his heart, his instincts, and kisses Lewis before the older can do anything else. Max doesn’t say it but he hopes Lewis knows what he’s trying to do, trying to say.

“I know, Max. Me too.”

Lewis doesn’t leave him any space to say anything because Max is getting thoroughly kissed again, fingers searching grip in Lewis’ unbraided hair, relishing the hold they have on each other.

He’s still loose from the night before and even more since Lewis stayed in him so there is barely any stretching. Max is so much more sensitive than usual. It’s as if every move is felt more than usual, as if this night made his body memorize the feeling of Lewis’ cock in him and now it’s much more than he’s used to.

It’s slow and unhurried. It’s sex without focusing on getting off or chasing that high. Instead Max keeps getting lost in Lewis’ eyes. Lewis keeps kissing him but each time they break away from each other Max refocuses on Lewis.

They come embarrassingly fast, as if it was their first time, but Max doesn’t mind. Not at all. He feels good in a way that tells him that orgasm wasn’t just a physical reaction to Lewis.

“I’m getting something to clean you up, okay?”

Max nods, still out of it. He knows he will appreciate it in a few hours. Lewis’ touch is gentle, his hands warm but smelling fresh. He gasps when the washcloth grazes his sensitive skin — it’s warm and so soft that it doesn’t irritate. An even softer towel dries him and Max can already feel himself dozing off.

He tries to wait though, until Max feels Lewis’ familiar weight settle next to him. Only then it’s complete. It’s like a star shot to sleep. Max settles himself against Lewis’ chest and falls asleep to the sound of his lover’s heartbeat.

✗✗✗

Christian walks away from him, only to return seconds later with a familiar dark blue Red Bull polo in his hands. His fist clutches it tightly, and Max would be surprised if there wasn’t some type of sneer coming his way. Max takes it, but he can’t fight the blush on his cheeks. He feels so embarrassed! First Sergio, then his friends, then his performance coach... and now his fucking boss?

“Sorry for the mess,” Max says, whilst taking off his black shirt and putting the Red Bull polo back on. “I— uh, I didn’t check what I put on…”

“Save me that — why do you even own a Mercedes shirt?” Christian seems really mad, and Max can’t really blame him. He must’ve gotten a near heart attack when he saw his most prominent driver, who has a contract for another few years, walk around in a T-shirt of their biggest rival. Max can’t even begin to imagine the amount of explanation he’s gonna have to do for the press, there must've been photographers around to capture this moment.

“It was a joke gift from Daniel,” Max stutters out, it seems like a reasonable excuse, and, hey, Daniel kinda said he’d be in for this lie before. Surely it must work again.

Christian huffs and shakes his head, “The meeting’s starting, tell me the truth later.”

Max frowns, offended, “That is the truth?”

“Talk to me later when you can tell me the actual truth, Max. You’re as transparent as glass.” And for some reason, Christian sounds fond, like he can see the humour in this situation.

Maybe telling him that he’s sleeping with the biggest rival is a bridge too far, but, who knows! He might as well be super supportive.

Max rolls his eyes, “Whatever you say, dad.” and he hears Christian’s laugh all the way to the meeting room.

“Hamilton’s in front of you, gap is half a second,” Gianpiero’s voice comes through the board radio and sounds louder than Max’s engine does. Max is filled to the brim with adrenaline and the desire to win, “Push, push, nearly there.”

Max smirks below his helmet as he tries his mother fucking best to push and push and fight for the win. It’s the second to last lap of this race, and the entire race went splendidly. The strategy was amazing, they decided very early on for a two-stopper and it really worked. There’s a beautiful purple clock beside his name, and everyone at home knows he has the fastest lap. Now if only he could win this one too.

✗✗✗

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Max whisper-shouts.

“I can. Better watch which fantasies you're sharing with me next time,” Lewis jokes, not even bothering to whisper. The chance that someone is going to walk into them is nil, even if they are in the middle of a race weekend. The rulebook only mentions that the mechanics have to follow the FIA emplaced curfew. It’s not stated anywhere that it’s forbidden for the drivers themselves to be in the garage.

And even though they’re almost secure of their safety, Max is on edge. There is a silent promise of hot touches, of breathy whispers and a coming undone that he yearns for. Max is already stiff in his pants as he watches Lewis unlock his side of the garage. It has something that reminds him of his younger years when any promise could get him on edge. The only difference is that it’s Lewis now and Max can trust him to go through with any promise.

The door finally unlocks and Max is somewhat amazed by the hidden secrets that the black screens of the computers hold. Logic tells him that all the important information isn’t in there, probably just on a USB stick one of the higher-ups keep with them but it’s so symbolic.

While the information might not be there, the car surely is. Lewis turns on a small light and if Max had been a funny man, he would’ve made a joke about the perfect romantic atmosphere. Max isn’t funny though. He’s only hard and horny and getting slightly impatient.

Lewis’ voice is low when he asks, “What do you think?”

It’s a loaded question, Max thinks, so many ways he could go with it. He decides to go the cheeky way, feeling like it’s the way to lift some of the tension from Lewis. Even right now, with the promise of sex, it’s not totally possible to ignore what this weekend’s race could bring them.

“Perfect place to suck you off,” he decides to go with.

“Good to know that it passed your standards.”

“Need to know if Mercedes has been giving you what you deserve so you can get that win,” Max says while he walks around the car. There still is a black cloth over it, probably protecting it from the dust, but Max can imagine how it’s under there. All perfect for Lewis. He leans down to touch, but a hand stops him.

“No touching the goods,” Lewis tells him. Max watches how his lover comes closer, mesmerized by how the low lights illuminate his entire being. God, they should cast him as a heavenly creature for a film. Lewis is certainly made for it.

Their closeness causes him to get closer and closer to their car and he’s almost leaning on it, but Lewis turns them around. “Your hands are always touching things they shouldn’t. My car, your cock, presents I prepare. Seems like I have to do something about it,” Lewis wonders aloud.

Max just stares at him while Lewis caresses his face, big and slightly rough hands sliding down his neck until they slide down his back and pull Max closer to Lewis. “Touching so much, when you should be asking permission first.”

There is a whine and it takes Max a second to register that it’s him, it’s his voice making the whines. Lewis might be a tiny bit smaller than he is but he’s built strong, all hard muscles and Max’ cock is starting to painfully strain against his jeans. “Please Lewis,” he asks, “Can I please—”

“What? Touch?” Lewis interrupts him, “No, you won’t.”

Max feels how Lewis can hold his wrists with one hand only and is then suddenly overly aware of the feeling of the soft rope getting wrapped around them. Just like they talked about before, so it shouldn’t be a surprise, but it still is.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s good,” Max decides, “Tight but not too tight, don’t think it will hurt.”

“Good, tell me at any time if it does. This isn’t the time for you to get the skin on your wrists injured.” There is something about the way Lewis talks during scenes that make Max fall yet keeps him grounded at the same time. It’s his safety net and also exactly the reason why he needs one.

Lewis doesn’t say anything next, neither does he. Any idea of possibly being cheeky is gone, his hands bound on his back leaving him feeling more vulnerable than ever. Then Lewis’ hands are on him, on his ass, his thighs and on his zipper and his cock finally being freed from his jeans is such a relief that Max moans. “So excited at the idea alone,” Lewis comments.

Max eagerly nods. “Can you do something about it?”

Lewis hums and Max thinks it might really be his lucky day when he feels Lewis’ thumb stroking his cock, awakening the fire within him that never truly died. “Can I, can I...” Lewis wonders. “There are a lot of things I can do. I can win my 100th race tomorrow, either of us could become world champion, I could jerk you off or I could have you on your knees, have your pretty face suck me off.”

It’s reality mixed with fantasies, truth mixed with almost seemingly impossible, unattainable desires and dreams and Max wishes Lewis would never stop talking, but his longing for his touch is even stronger.

“Everything,” he begs, “Anything you’d give me. Please, Lewis.”

Lewis’ touch leaves his cock and it’s cold and hot and too much of too little. Max just watches how Lewis settles down on the W12, the black fabric under him gives it a royal feeling. As if Lewis is a king who just sat down on his throne. Max has many thoughts on what he would be in that universe, but in this world Lewis makes the decision for him.

“On your knees, Max. Today please.”

Max does as he’s asked, still slightly in awe. Lewis doesn’t ask him to undo his jeans, something Max is grateful for with his hands bound. Instead, it’s almost like Max gets a show, hypnotized by the way Lewis pulls down his jeans. But where he expected another layer, maybe some classy briefs, there’s only naked, flushed skin and he can do nothing but stare at how hard Lewis is already.

“You’re-” Max stumbles over his own words, “No underwear?” He swallows audibly.

It comes out more pathetic than he wants it to be, but he doesn’t ponder too long over it. Lewis’ words most definitely won’t let him. “I knew your mouth was going to keep me warm so why would I?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Max bites his lip to prevent himself from falling apart already. It’s Lewis’ dick on face-level, it’s sitting in between Lewis’ legs, it’s the smell, it’s the feeling of cold concrete through his jeans and it’s his dick getting sensitive from the fabric his own underwear is made out of.

“Can I then?” Max asks, “Can I please suck you off?”

“So pretty,” Lewis tells him instead, “Asking for permission. You would’ve used your hands if they weren’t bound, hm? Go on then, only use your lips. No touching and you’re definitely not getting off.”

It’s all Max needs to shuffle closer, finally get on with it but just when they were about to touch, Lewis stops him. There is a more serious look on his face so Max knows not to try anything. “Your hands are bound and your mouth is going to be occupied. If you want to pause or stop at any time, see if you can say your safewords. If you can’t, use your knee to kick me, okay?”

Max can’t even stop himself but his mind makes up an imaginary video of how it would look if he does and it’s pretty funny, but that’s fast gone when Lewis taps his chin. “Show me you understand.”

“Green for continue, yellow for pause and if needed discuss and red for full stop,” Max recounts their safewords. Then Max pauses but Lewis has an understanding look on his face and it’s safe. So Max balances his weight on one knee and uses the other to kick against Lewis’ lower leg. It has to look stupid with his hands bound behind his back but Lewis makes no comments.

“Thank you,” Lewis says instead. Max will never be entirely sure why Lewis tends to thank him after going through their safety measures, but Max might ask one day. “Now you may go on.”

Max takes the tip of Lewis’ cock in his mouth and lets himself close his eyes for a few seconds. Just to take in everything, the feeling of his bound hands, the heavy weight of Lewis’ cock and the slightly salty taste that’s ready there.

He goes on to take Lewis deeper. Not yet as deep as he can — just deeper. Lewis seems to appreciate it and Max loves how one of Lewis’ hands settles in his hair. “Go on, love, feeling so good already,” Lewis praises him, “Maybe another day I’ll stay like this for as long as you can handle it.”

Due to tomorrow’s race, Max can’t deepthroat him, but the urge is going to keep increasing if Lewis won’t stop making such amazing promises. For once he wishes he didn’t have a job that required him to talk a lot. But right now it shouldn't be about him. Max goes back to just the tip and licks it a few teasing times, loving how Lewis seems to be more on edge than he showed before.

It goes straight to Max’s own dick too, the awareness that Lewis wants this just as bad but he keeps himself busy with Lewis’ cock. Max would love to have his hands now so he could use them to make up for the length that he can’t take now without deepthroating.

“So hungry for it, such a good look for you, sucking my cock,” Lewis keeps praising him and Max has to look up. He makes eye contact for a few seconds and Lewis gives it all. “Needed my eyes for a while, hm? If you weren’t sucking my cock so good you could’ve told me about all the things you wanted. Probably an orgasm too, hm?”

The teasing is a lot combined with all that Max is feeling and he feels tears build up in his eyes. “Max, if you need a break you can stop now and tell me what you need,” Lewis tells him but Max just sucks harder instead, both as a ‘thanks for the opportunity’ and to tell Lewis that he definitely doesn’t need it.

“So good, listening to me when I ask you questions,” Lewis praises more and Max wants to tell him that it’s Lewis being Lewis that makes him want to listen. “Such pretty eyes, all teary and for me. Imagine how you would look blindfolded, what do you think about that? Sucking my cock without being able to see what you’re doing?”

They talked about this before, but this is a second check in. For Lewis to know if Max still feels the same way about it. So when Max doesn’t do anything that might tell Lewis otherwise, he can see Lewis get the fabric.

“Here we go,” Lewis comments and Max realizes even more how much he loves it when Lewis is talkative. The fabric doesn’t let light through either so it’s completely blocking his sight. “Completely depending on me now.”

It’s a power trip, a big one to give this all up to Lewis.

It’s amazing.

If someone were to open the door and stay to watch, Max would have no idea. Only Lewis would be able to see, able to tell Max. Tell him how there is a mechanic, maybe a new one, there to see how Max is sucking off his championship rival against his race winning car. Would see how submissive Max is for Lewis, how much of a cockslut he is. Maybe the mechanic would run but maybe Lewis would ignore him and give him the show. Max’ cock twitches and he whines.

Lewis takes Max’ chin in his hand and guides him closer again, silently urging to take more. Max needs a few seconds to find his balance like this, unable to see just where he’s going and no hands to stabilize himself. But Lewis is good at this, knows just what Max needs without his own ability to watch.

So Max goes on, takes him deeper, as deep as he can with tomorrow in mind, and enjoys the sounds that leaves Lewis’ lips, the soft praises and the stuttered exclamations. It’s stronger breaths, slight shaking in the leg and the stronger pull on his hair that tells Max that Lewis is close.

Max hollows his cheeks, still careful of his teeth but determined to get Lewis off. The salty taste on his tongue seems to increase and it tells him he’s doing it right, if Lewis’ words and praises weren’t enough to do so yet.

“Swallow or on your face?” Lewis suddenly demands, breathless. Max isn’t completely there anymore. “Max, if you want to swallow you can stay like this, if you rather not you can go down and let it make your face even prettier.”

It finally dawns on him after the second explanation and he lets Lewis slip out of his mouth, catching his breath. “Want you,” he tries, his voice raspy, “Want you to come on my face, please, Lewis.”

Lewis is coming the second Max finishes his sentence and Max is somewhat glad he’s still blindfolded. This way he can enjoy the feeling of Lewis’ cum landing on his skin without worrying about his eyes. Max can’t explain what it does to him, he just knows that some of this feeling goes straight for his cock. He can use his words now though.

“Want to come, please,” Max asks, “Lewis I need it.”

“Do you, now.” Lewis is still breathless but seems to have recovered a bit. “How bad do you need it?”

“I’ve been hard since we came here,” Max admits and he wishes he could see Lewis’ face just so he could know what his lover is thinking. Yet not being able to do so only makes Max harder, wishing Lewis would just do something.

And when Lewis does, it’s almost too much immediately. Max must be missing a lot on what Lewis is doing but there is suddenly pressure against his dick, the friction of his underwear against his dick making him so aware of what he has been wanting.

It must be Lewis' leg and lord Max doesn’t know whether he should get mad that Lewis just won’t use his hands or be surprised that it’s so hot. Max doesn’t think too much about it though, just leaves it for later because he wants to come so badly and Lewis finally gives him something to work with.

Max moves his hips experimentally at first, trying to get used to the movement blindfolded and hands still tied. He only needs a few moves to start focusing on his own pleasure instead and he’s so, so aware of how close he’s already. His unzipped jeans are annoying but this is all the space Lewis gave him, so Max is pathetically humping Lewis’ leg with his dick not even uncovered.

“Shouldn’t you tell me something?” Lewis asks suddenly.

Max moans instead of answering, drowning too much in his own pleasure. He’s close, so close and Max can’t stop chasing after his own orgasm. It’s the wrong thing to do though, because right before Max gets his bliss everything is gone once again.

“Why,” Max manages to ask, “Why did you move?”

“Oh, now you can talk?” Lewis says with an edge to his tone and fuck! Max wants to see Lewis’ face, wants to see the look in his eyes and the way his lips twist and —

“Blindfold,” Max begs, “Take it off please, need to see you, need to see.”

“Just like you need to come?”

But Lewis seems to have heard his request this time. Max thinks he’s going to undo the blindfold but instead he’s pushed back. His legs are uncomfortable and he’s still blindfolded and can’t see how deep he has to go before he hits the floor, but Lewis hands are strongly on his shoulders.

“Lay down, then I’ll take it off,” Lewis decides. It feels like ages and Max considers using yellow but then there are Lewis’ hands and it’s relief and fuck Lewis’ face tells him so much. Max’ face must be an open book for Lewis, for his lover smirks. “Seems like you finally understand, huh? So eager for relief that you forgot all your manners and didn’t even thank me for lending you a hand.”

“You didn’t, though.”

It’s out before Max can stop himself and the quirk of Lewis’ eyebrow makes him wish he had a filter for once. “I didn’t do what? And I want a proper answer.”

“You didn’t lend me a hand, technically.”

Lewis just hums, “Cheeky, but you’re right, I’ll give you that.”

Max watches and watches and is so glad that he can again. Lewis crouches by his side and Max gasps when Lewis pushes his underwear down and finally engulfs his dick. His warm hand feels like fire compared to the cold concrete he’s laying on and Max can’t stop any of the whines or the moans when Lewis actually moves his hands.

“So desperate, humping my leg as if it’s the only thing that could get you off. But you’re only going to come by my hand tonight,” Lewis comments.

“Thank you,” Max doesn’t forget his manners this time. He’s pathetically close already, “Thank you, thank you, thankyou—Lewis, sir, oh my god!”

It’s white for a second. He must have blacked out but when Max opens his eyes again he’s treated to the sight of Lewis licking the come of his hand. “Holy fuck,” Max says.

“Don’t think I can enter this garage again without thinking of you laying here, all blissed out,” Lewis tells him and Max is this close to begging him to stop talking because he thinks he won’t survive another orgasm this fast. Instead Max keeps watching, still on the cold concrete, how Lewis takes each finger separately in his mouth.

“Get up, I don’t want you to get cold or hurt your back. And I should untie you.”

“Please.”

✗✗✗

Lewis is faster. He’s got DRS from some of the cars at the back of the grid and graciously uses it to get over the last straight. Max misses out by a hair, despite having DRS from Lewis’ car.

The chequered flag falls, and Max slows his car down once he passes the finish line.

Gianpiero calls over the board radio, voice calm as ever, “That’s second place! Awesome drive, mate. A win just wasn’t made for us this weekend.”

“Aaaahh,” Max yells, voice still a bit ruined but he manages. The three cough drops he got this morning helped a lot, “The car was great and the strategy was amazing. We couldn’t get any better, but we’ll be stronger next time. Thanks all!”

“Enjoy the podium with your boy,” Gianpiero says, and despite the static Max can hear the smirk he has in his voice. Telling Gianpiero about his relationship with Lewis was probably one of the smartest things he’s done. He was nothing but supportive, understood the struggles it must bring, but he can also see how there was nothing that could make Max back down from the… well, the love that he and Lewis have for each other. It’s challenging, but that makes it exciting too.

Gianpiero had told him it was best to tell Christian too, and despite the conversation being tough, Gianpiero was by his side the entire time. In the end, Christian nodded and understood it all. Maybe he didn’t necessarily accept it, he also didn’t seem to want Max to break up with Lewis. It was a tough pill to swallow — especially for someone like Christian, who has wanted to beat Mercedes and thereby Lewis in their long-time reign of the World Championship for years. Max understands it, and he is more than happy to see that Christian is trying his best to be supportive of the two of them.

“Don’t get too clingy!” Gianpiero adds.

“It’s his hundredth win!” Max cheers, suddenly realising, then he adds a softer, “He deserves it.” For a second he contemplates adding, ‘watch me make out with him on the podium!’ just to be a little shit, but then—

“Boys,” Christian interrupts the two of them, “You’re getting broadcasted.”

Max immediately bites his tongue. For someone who wants to keep his relationship very private, maybe telling the world that his biggest rival deserves this win was a bridge too far.

He still thinks about a day where he can go ahead and kiss his lover on the podium, despite their results, but he figures there’s better ways to tell the world that he’s in love with sir Lewis Hamilton.

They’ll figure out a way to go public, they’ll have to, no matter how much Max dreads it.

They had decided to head to the grid together. Naturally, they would separate right before they came into view, but it felt good relishing those moments and daydreaming of heading to the grid together-together and not letting go of the other’s hand before they would hold their passes against the scanner to enter the paddock.

Max is tying his shoes, bags by his feet, ready to head to work. Lewis walks behind the couch Max sits on, stops right behind his boyfriend and puts his hands on Max’s shoulders. He presses his thumbs into Max’s shoulders and kisses the crown of his head, “You ready, babe?”

Max hums his response, biting his lip to refrain from moaning at the touch.

“C’mon,” Lewis says, hands dancing to Max’s hair and softly scratching his scalp, “Let’s go.”

Lewis moves away from Max, and Max stands up. He looks at his boyfriend, who is already walking out the door. Lewis is wearing a bright blue sweater and he looks adorably soft in it. For a second, Max just thinks of running his hands over Lewis’ skin and under this sweater, falling asleep cuddled up on the couch together, but then he stops dead in his tracks.

“Lewis—'' Max starts, and Lewis turns with his body to Max.

Max was right, the bright blue sweater Lewis is wearing is not just any sweater. It’s a Max Verstappen sweater, with a white outline of Max’s MV enormous on Lewis’ chest. Lewis looks hella good in it —it awakens a possessive twinge in Max’s body, something that screams he is mine— but that aside, they are headed to the grid. Max himself has made the mistake of wearing Lewis’ clothes where he shouldn’t have before, and he doesn’t want to put the love of his life through the same troubles.

“Lewis, Lewis, no, wait—” Max reaches out to hold Lewis’ arm and stop him, “That’s my—”

“Yeah,” Lewis smiles softly, “That’s the point.” And he pulls Max close and kisses him, kisses him passionately, every ounce of his love dripping from his tongue and over to Max, for Max to feel the lengths of which Lewis would go to show how much he loves him. Max opens himself up to receive every bit of love, no longer desiring to keep control. He trusts Lewis with his entire being, loves him with all he knows, so he lets Lewis’ love bleed over through his mouth into Max’s body. Lewis gently presses Max against the wall, and moves his lips over Max’s jawline to his neck, sucking a hickey high on his skin. Max groans, weak against anything Lewis does to him. His entire body turns to jelly when Lewis touches him, and his kisses and hickeys render Max’s mind silent.

“It’s time we tell everyone,” Lewis says, running his thumb over the hickey he left on Max’s neck, appreciating his work.

✗✗✗

“God, I’d love to just— kiss you on the podium once.” Max fishes a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl and munches on them happily. He’s watching a film with Lewis, the bowl is in between them and he’s slumped against Lewis. Lewis was drawing circles on Max’s upper arm, but stopped. Max looks up, small frown on his face.

“We could,” Lewis muses, and it takes Max a second to even register that he said something in the first place. Lewis meets Max’s eyes, “We could just do that, you know?”

Max takes a deep breath and shoves the fantasy of kissing Lewis on the podium away. It would mean going public, and while he doesn’t care much for the opinion of strangers, he wants to protect Lewis from whatever response they might get. Lewis, and himself, because once they go public it means that a lot more people will want to know every last fucking detail of their relationship and he really just wants to enjoy Lewis the way he wants to, and not feel the constant hot breath of press and colleagues and family down his neck.

“I just really don’t want people meddling with us,” Max says, sighing deeply. He looks back at the tv-screen but Lewis has paused the film.

“I know, but if that’s what’s stopping you— well, I think we’re stronger than that.” Lewis places a soft kiss on Max’s crown but still doesn’t turn the film back on.

Max sits up straight and turns his body to Lewis, “I know. It’s just tough, with the media blowing up this rivalry too, and all…”

Lewis cups Max’s face and runs his thumb over Max’s cheekbone, “It’s okay, I’m patient. I’ll wait ‘till you’re ready.”

It’s not just for me, Max thinks, but then thanks Lewis anyways. The film starts playing, and Max crawls back into that warm spot on Lewis’ side.

✗

“It’s pretty funny that you want to keep us a secret and then wander on the paddock in my clothes.”

“They’re comfy, okay! And I was super tired, I don’t check what I wear every morning.” Max smiles brightly, spoon swirling in his yoghurt bowl.

“You look very good in them,” Lewis mutters.

Max throws one of his legs in Lewis’ lap, “Hmm do I, do I…” Max smirks.

“Yeah, though you’re free to wear anything without a Mercedes logo as well,” Lewis finds Max’s foot and uses his hand to massage him.

“What if I would just walk around in your orange fit? The one you wore for me in Zandvoort?” Max shoots a shy glance up in Lewis’ direction, only to find Lewis looking at him already.

“You could,” Lewis muses, voice a bit strained, “You’d look very good in it.”

Max licks his lips, “You didn’t exactly go unnoticed, though.”

“You wanna stay in the shadows?”

“Eh, you know the cameras are… a part of the job, for me. I’m not made for them the same way you are.” Max shifts a little in his seat. The idea is very hot, the execution a little less.

Lewis squeezes Max’s foot, “It’s okay, darling. Just— you know, you’re always welcome to wear whatever you want from me.”

Max smiles, “Yeah, I’d say the same but—”

“All the love in my heart, but I own a white shirt and jeans too,” Lewis chuckles, “No one would be able to tell the difference.”

“I would,” Max hums, “And I would possibly not survive a press day if you wore my shirt.”

“I haven’t exactly been focused either, with you walking around in my clothes.”

“I’ve never been able to wear them long enough—”

“One day,” Lewis muses, “One day you can wear that Tommy sweater you like so much on the paddock and no one will bat an eye.”

Max smiles, one day.

✗

“It’s no one’s business who I sleep with or fall in love with!” Max yells, hands forming fists, nails digging into his own skin,

“I know!” Lewis says, voice gentler than Max’s own, “I’m just saying I’m glad Christian and GP received the news so well, and I think they’re far scarier to face than any media company you’ll run into.” Lewis walks closer to Max and puts tentative hands on his shoulders.

Max closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “I just don’t want anyone to say anything bad about you. You’re getting so much bullshit on your plate already, I— I don’t want to be the cause of more of that.”

“I’m stronger than that. C’mon, pretty boy,” Lewis kisses Max’s forehead, “We are stronger than that. We should kill them with our happiness.”

Despite himself, Max smiles, then immediately rolls his lips under his teeth, “I just hate the publicity and everything, you know.”

“Would we be doing anything differently if our relationship was public?” Lewis asks, hands moving from Max’s shoulders to cup his face.

“Well, yeah. I’d take you on dates, we could go out for dinner, go jet skiing together,” Max looks at his feet as he says, “We wouldn’t have to separate when we head into the paddock, we could just keep holding hands, Roscoe by my side, and all.”

“Do you want any of that?”

Max finds it hard to discern the tone in Lewis’ voice. He doesn’t seem wishful, or mournful, or— well, he sounds incredibly neutral, so Max guesses he can best answer honestly. He looks into Lewis’ eyes and whispers, “There’s nothing more that I want than all of that.”

“Then we should definitely kill them with our happiness. Deflect whatever idea they might have about us with little—” Lewis kisses Max on his nose, “—kisses—” and on his cheek, “—anytime they see us—” He bites Max’s bottom lip, to which Max whines, “—and anytime they don’t.”

✗✗✗

Lewis walks out of their shared hotel room and heads to the paddock. The hotel is close to the grid, and Lewis runs out ahead of Max, giggling the entire way and looking back occasionally.

He had brought Roscoe with him to the weekend, and Max had to pay attention to the old dog. He let Lewis take this head start, mentally trying to keep his mind away from the disasters it leads to.

And, look, Max isn’t necessarily a pessimist. He’s pragmatic, more than anything. He just weighs the risks of situations like this. Sometimes he has to think fast, but choices like Lewis is making right now, take time. Lewis is confident, and optimistic, so maybe Max should take some of that faith and follow him along. He holds his pass against the scanner and runs onto the grid, Roscoe following him by his feet, as he searches for Lewis.

He isn’t hard to find. Aside from the bright blue sweater, there’s press all around him. Many people are taking photos, microphones are shoved in his face, and he’s smiling brightly as he answers some of the questions thrown at him.

Jack Plooij, the Dutch interviewer from Ziggo Sport, runs to Max when he is spotted. Some of the photographers turn their bodies toward Max as well, and Max swallows hard as the last moment to prepare himself.

“Is it true?” Jack asks, and Max scratches self-consciously on the hickey Lewis left seconds ago.

“Uhm, well, depends on what you’re referring to,” Max responds cheekily, winking at the camera. He walks to Lewis, reaching out to put a hand on his lover’s shoulder.

Max has no idea what Lewis’ plan is, but he guesses the best idea is to just roll with whatever.

“Hey,” Lewis says softly. He turns back to the many cameras trained on him and calmly informs them, “I get you must have questions, and I’m sure most of them will get answered. But for now, I have to go to my garage, and I’m sure you—” he turns to Max, “Have to go to yours.”

Max is still a little stunned by everything, so he just nods curtly and smiles. Lewis smiles back at him, and somehow Max feels comforted, as if he just told him, I’m proud of you, baby.

They both wiggle their way out of the circle of journalists and photographers and head to their respective garages. In his peripheral vision, Max could see an unimpressed Toto Wolff with crossed arms, shaking his head at Lewis’ fashion choices, but he also saw Lewis’ bright smile. Max figures Lewis had received some comments from Toto about his outfits before, so what’s one more, right?

Christian sighs deeply, though with a small smile on his face, when Max enters the garage.

“Thanks for the head’s up,” Christian scoffs, but there was no real bite to it.

“Well,” Max says, scratching the hickey again, “I didn’t really know he was planning this either.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but, uhm,” Max shrugs a little helplessly, “I guess we had to pull off the bandaid sooner or later anyways.”

“Yeah, fair.”

“Enough about your love life,” Gianpiero hops in, “We have a race to prepare for.”

Max smiles gratefully, “Yeah, let’s go, boys!”

✗ ✗ ♡ ✗ ✗

“Today went well,” Max says, reaching out to tangle his fingers with Lewis’ as they head off the paddock. Roscoe walks lazily beside Lewis, and Max can’t help but feel like they’ve got their own lil’ family.

“I think so,” Lewis says, he steals a look in Max’s direction, and Max is too late to catch him, but there’s something dark in his gaze. “Seb gave me this lil’ rainbow flag he brought to Hungary. He said he didn’t get to use it then, but that it’d be better in my hands.”

“That’s adorable.”

“I’m sure he muttered something about your age.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta keep you young,” Max smiles, and places a soft kiss to Lewis’ shoulder before fetching his pass and checking out of the paddock, effectively closing off the day.

“I was wondering,” Lewis says, and when he looks at Max again, Max sees that dark glance and sends a spike of heat to his belly instantaneously, “Do you happen to have one of my sweaters around?”

Max bites his lip, “I keep, uh, that black one with the big 44 on the back? I keep that one with me a lot, it’s insanely soft.”

“It is.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, you look insanely good in that one,” Lewis bumps his shoulder with Max’s, “Would love to fuck you in it.”

Max chokes for a second, coughing, and then tries to recover from the sudden switch in the conversation. He looks at Lewis, and his face hasn’t changed one bit. He’s smirking confidently and that dark glance has deepened. He’s looking at Max like he’s planning to devour him, and honestly, if they weren’t outside, Max would sink to his knees immediately.

“I, uhm,” Max takes a deep breath, voice a little strained, “I think that’s a great idea.”

[BREAKING NEWS] Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen announce…. relationship?

Written by an unpaid intern

The Formula One world just got shaken up by the current championship contestants. Hamilton and Verstappen cause an influx of articles inspired by interviews, overtakes and ‘mind games’ on any regular day but this weekend’s press day got everyone focused on something completely different.

Hamilton uses his Thursdays to experiment with new outfits but today he showed up in a Max Verstappen hoodie and immediately got cornered by reporters. “It’s as if you never saw a man in Formula One merch,” was his only response to the influx of questions surrounding this interesting fashion choice, “Max does it every weekend and I love it.”

Verstappen arrived only minutes later with Hamilton’s loved dog in tow and an obviously fresh love bite on his neck. The Ziggo reporters were the only ones who managed to speak to him. To the question if ‘it’ was true he only answered, “Depends on what you’re referring to.”

Because at that moment Hamilton came in to save his supposed lover from the hungry press. The current world champion, who has his fair share of press experience, directed everyone away from Verstappen and referred to the official press conferences. Neither of them were available for questions after that but we managed to get an exclusive insight from teambosses Horner and Wolff.

“Lewis gave me a heads up about the merch,” Wolff admitted, “He already won the championship seven times. I think we can trust him to know what’s good for him and what’s not.”

Horner had quite a different experience. “Max might forget that I’m getting older because at one point this is gonna be bad for my health. It’s okay though because they can keep their garages and races separated from their personal life.”

Neither drivers nor team principals explicitly mentioned them being in a relationship but today’s revelations can’t be taken in any other way, can they?

TOP COMMENTS

@4433IsMyReligion Good for them.

@ChampionshipLeaderVerstappen What do you mean good for them? They should be focusing on the championship!!!

@4433IsMyReligion They’re professionals, they can get laid while winning championships. Unlike you.

@RedBullInMyVeins Bottas and Checo next?

@ImInMercedesCarBroomBroom they both have wives, idiot

@RedBullInMyVeins so, like, a double date then?