He’s feeling restless, legs shaking, feet tapping on the floor. He shifts in his seat, puts his foot up his knee and swirls his ankle around. Frankly, he wants to get out of here. He got on the podium of today’s race on full merit of his own and missed complete support of his team. He wants to head into debrief, all but scold them for how they had ruined his chances of winning. He won’t, because Lewis Hamilton was raised a polite man and would never scold his colleagues. Well, once he’s out of the car at least. He doesn’t hide his dissatisfaction of his team in his answers to the journalists. Yes, he think he could have won, or at least had a decent shot of challenging Max, if it wasn’t for his team’s fuck ups. He doesn’t let his frustration show too much, he’ll do that in debrief.
He’s zoning out of this press conference, not paying attention unless his name is mentioned, thinking about how he can bring his displeasure with his team’s performance today without demotivating anyone.
So, yeah, his leg’s a bit shaky. Sue him, he’s got raging adhd and a lot on his mind right now. He’s barely even aware of how he’s shaking his foot so violently that it might almost get thrown out of his ankle’s bones any moment now. He’s so in his head, he barely knows what his body is doing, until –
A soft, gentle and incredibly careful hand is suddenly on Lewis’ ankle. He stops shaking immediately and looks at who the hand belongs to: Max smiles at him. Lewis blinks a few times, trying to register what is happening. He feels like he’s really here now, on the couch, in the middle of the press conference, with Max’s hand on his ankle. His mind quiets down, his thoughts silent and all he sees is Max’s goddamn gentle smile and his lips whispering, ‘Stop that, it is bad for your foot’. And just like that, his hand is gone, his face is away from Lewis’ and turned to Tom, or whoever asked a question, again and all Lewis can think of is… thank you?
Lewis takes a deep breath, hears a voice saying “question for Lewis, please” and his fingers curl around the microphone, ready to answer.
The rest of the press conference goes easier than the start. He still feels like he wants to get out as soon as he can, trapped in a place he doesn’t want to be, but his body is a whole lot calmer than before.
And all that because of Max fucking Verstappen.
Lewis doesn’t wait until Tom Clarkson is done wrapping up the press conference to leave the room. He heads out of there and goes straight to the hospitality. This race has a whole lot of notes from him to his team, and they’re not gonna like hearing ‘em.
It was quite alright, actually, the debrief session. His team wasn’t happy with how they did things and Toto said they might even look into getting better at the pit stops, Lewis calls that a win. The disqualification was unfortunate, and Lewis just barely manages to hide his frustration with this team. The inside of his cheek is ruined, but his team is motivated to work harder and keep going. He’s aiming for the long run here, and that seems to be working.
He’s still in his head about it all though, can’t wrap his mind around certain things. But those are things he needs to think of later, when he’s had his fresh night of sleep and an ungodly-early morning run. The outside air helps him clear the headache that was growing a little bit, he hopes it’s just enough to keep it away for tonight. He’s so in his head, feet taking him where he needs to go, that he doesn’t hear the footsteps getting closer to him.
Suddenly a hand wraps around his elbow, halting him in his tracks. Lewis turns around and meets Max’s eyes. His face is still wearing its muscles in the gentle look Lewis had seen in the press conference. While it is not a look that he hasn’t seen before, it always startles him in a way. It’s not the Max he knows, the Max who is aggressive and rough, and yet it suits him. Lewis likes this face on Max a lot better, he thinks he should smooth the harsh lines on Max’s forehead out more often, when he sees them.
“I did not mean to scare you,” Max starts, “I just wanted to ask if it was okay of me to put my hand on your foot? I saw it shaking in the corner of my eye and it distracted me. And then you left the press conference so quickly… I just did not mean to be rude.”
Lewis brain short-circuits. The gentle look on Max’s face was one thing, but the gentleness in his words and his carefulness with how he approaches Lewis is another. This seems to be a whole other man than the one who was yelling and swearing about his brakes, just a few hours earlier. Lewis blinks a few times, trying to process it all, then says, “Yeah, it was okay.”
Max nods, fingers slipping away from Lewis’ elbow, as if he’s had his answer and is ready to go.
But– that’s not what Lewis wants, he realises suddenly. His body was more in tune with his mind than it had ever been before. He tells Max as much: “It helped ground me, actually. I was in my head too much.”
“That’s okay, we all have that sometimes.” Max’s face brightens a bit, “Happy to help. Also happy you didn’t dislocate your ankle, although that would have made for a surprising press conference.”
Lewis giggles, this idiot noodle three-time champion supposed rival-of-a-lifetime of his always knows how to make Lewis giggle. And then Max giggles alongside him, and they’re both idiots, legends of the sport, giggling together.
It helps him, relieves his headache more than the polluted air around any race track ever could. Max’s hand is still on Lewis’ elbow and he looks at it for a second, then whispers – more to himself than ever for Max to hear – “I like you touching me.”
He almost immediately regrets saying it, because Max gets out of his giggles and into a shocked, almost frozen state, and Lewis doesn’t like that. Then Lewis realises what he just said, how it may sound, and he says – or, well, stutters like a child with a crush – “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, like, ask those things of you. Or – It’s just, I get jittery sometimes. It’s – Like I barely even feel it, but it helps shake the adrenaline out after a race and–”
And then his body gets thrown around, almost, as his shoulder blades hit the hard brick wall and Max’s hands are now on his sides and, in complete contrast to the sudden display of strength, his voice is still so fucking gentle when he says, “It is okay, stop jittering.”
Lewis gulps, what the fuck is happening? He isn’t even, like, annoyed that he just got shoved against the wall by Max Verstappen. He isn’t even thinking about anything, really. He’s just got his heartbeat through the roof as he looks at Max’s messy hair and sweet smile and he feels his warm hands and his peppermint breath and –
He doesn’t even know what his own hands are doing until he sees them moving up to cradle Max’s face and pull him closer. He doesn’t know what he’s doing until Max’s lips are on his and he kisses him.
Max freezes in his hold, a few fingers digging in his skin, his face not moving.
Fuck, Lewis thinks, what the fuck have I done? He almost shoves Max’s face away from him and says, “I’m sorry – oh god, I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just don’t know what came over me here. This was highly unprofessional of me, please can we pretend–”
“No,” Max simply says, he moves closer to Lewis, eyes on Lewis’ lips. Then he’s so close, they’re almost kissing. Lewis can feel the ghost of his breath, can almost taste that peppermint. Max whispers, “Is this okay?”
Lewis nods, angling his neck just a bit so they can slot together better, but instead Max moves just a few centimetres back with a raised eyebrow. He swipes his thumb over Lewis’ ribs to which Lewis gasps and lets out a shaky breath.
He nods again, and this time also vocalises it: “Yes, this is okay.” He feels calm now, some butterflies in his stomach calming down as he can focus on his feelings, on his senses, on Max.
Max nods before he moves closer again, kissing him.
Lewis feels like he’s never had a breath of oxygen in his life, and suddenly he’s got it all. Max’s hands are just on this side of rough on Lewis’ sides, exactly how he likes it. His own hands cradle Max’s face with confidence now, holding him into place, or angling him better. The kiss is everything Lewis ever wanted and more, Max is perfectly taller than him, and his tongue is dancing in Lewis’ mouth and Lewis loves it. He can’t get enough of it. He’s so focused on this kiss, on his senses – his mind is blissfully empty, just this vague chant of Max’s name over and over again. Lewis tangles his fingers into the soft strand of Max’s hair, loving the feel of it.
Max’s hand skims over Lewis’ sides, to his back, ghosting over Lewis’ ass (Lewis wouldn’t have minded Max grabbing a handful, but okay) before he gets to Lewis’ thigh and moves it up just this bit. Lewis follows, gets his leg wrapped around Max’s waist and it’s so good. They are so close to each other now. Lewis has felt Max’s body against his before, when they had their typical one armed bro hugs, but he’s never paid attention to it. He feels that soft layer of fat against his own hard muscles. He wants to get even closer not, physically, to crawl in between their own bodies and get squished in the middle, to feel every inch of skin against his, to feel the bump of the smallest birthmark he knows Max is full of. And just keep kissing and kissing, till he’s all out of breath and then some.
God he wants to fuck Max’s brains out now. He’s never thought like that of Max before, but he just feels so calm. So himself. He doesn't understand what Max does to him, but then again, he never really understood the guy. Maybe it’s time he starts learning.
Max breaks the kiss, gasps a soft breath, before he trails his path to Lewis’ jawline. Lewis looks up at the night’s sky, the stars greeting him back. He is so out of his mind for doing this, but he wants nothing else. It’s unlike him, really, to be so selfish and take what he wants, but Max is here giving him everything and for one moment, Lewis just thinks that he isn’t being selfish. That it’s okay to ask for what he wants.
Max’s trail is headed toward his neck, his soft five o’clock shadow dragging over Lewis’ sensitive skin and he’s so out of his mind and here for this. Max licks exactly over Lewis’ pulse point and it drags a moan out of him Lewis barely even recognises as his own. He feels Max’s smile against his neck and then Max kisses him again, there, and Lewis rolls his eyes in the back of his head. Max knows Lewis’ body almost better than he knows it himself, and it makes Lewis wonder if Max had been paying the attention to him that Lewis now realises he wasn’t. Maybe this night is the start of something new, something other than a new chance at fighting on track again. Something he can feel himself looking forward to more and more, even though the moment hasn’t ended yet.
Speaking of– wasn’t he getting somewhere?
Just in the moment that he rolls his hips against Max’s, his fucking phone rings. Lewis doesn’t even hear it, doesn’t feel the vibrations of it. But he does feel Max moving back, kissing his lips once, and just pointing out, “Your phone is ringing.”
Lewis blinks a few times, broken out of his haze of pure pleasure, and clears his throat. His leg is still wrapped around Max’s waist – and he likes that Max is still so close to him – when he gets his phone out of its pocket. He just misses the phone call that abruptly ruined his high. He sees several messages on his screen of his colleague, the one with whom he was going to drive back to his hotel. He tells Max exactly this: “It’s my colleague, I’d drive back with him.”
Max nods, gently puts down Lewis’ leg from where it was around his waist, and says, “That’s okay, I will see you next weekend then?”
Lewis nods automatically, still reading the messages. He only vaguely registers how Max is slipping through his fingers like water. How he had everything, a mere second ago, and now he’s about to have nothing.
Just before Max is out of reach, he grabs Max’s hand and says, “You going back alone?” He makes no effort to hide the urgency, maybe a bit desperate, maybe a bit horny, in his voice.
Max shakes his head, “I am driving with some colleagues, too.”
Lewis gulps, shoots his shot. He’s gotten way more of this night than he ever thought he would. Than he ever thought he wanted, really.
“Wanna grab a cab and get back together?”
Max’s face shows his surprise, a touch of pink on his cheeks. Then his shoulders relax and he smiles, “I would like that.”
And Lewis smiles back.