Two years ago, Lewis would never have done what he was about to do. Frankly, one year ago he wouldn’t have. But this year, everything feels just a little bit different. See, he’s always liked Max. Always liked sharing podiums with the kid, the guy, the dude. They joked a lot in press conferences, shook each other’s hands with wins, Lewis loved it when Max shat on Nico, stuff like that. For some reason, it’s just easy with Max. The guy likes talking with his hands, is passionate about the sport, focused. Lewis admires that.
Lewis didn’t like it when Max’s car was suddenly so good he could beat Lewis’ arse.
But even that, as his father said: all is fair in love and war.
He just needed a cool down moment from it. Maybe a reassurance that it wasn’t personal, that their rivalry was respectful, that every possible grudge or whatever was created by the media and not on their own merit. That some of it was for entertainment, for the sake of it.
Lewis’ car is absolute shit in 2022. And slightly better, though nowhere near good enough, in 2023. Max and he are less on each other’s lips, less focused on each other, the media isn’t too busy with it. Sure, they have moments on track that make Lewis think Max is still trying to prove himself. Maybe defeating him once in battle wasn’t enough. He’s okay with that though – he can set on track aside to make way for a little joke on the podium, a hug, even.
So it’s why Lewis gets this idea in his head and shoots his shot, he’s desperate after all. It’s a Sunday evening, winter break. He knows, though social media, that Max isn’t on vacation. He can tell, because Max hasn’t posted anything in ages, so usually that means he’s just in his home doing whatever. And his home is in Monaco, and that’s where Lewis is too.
Like the universe is giving him a hint.
He had an appointment scheduled with one of the many brands he works with. It’s a fancy dinner, where he’s invited as ambassador, as a thank you for his loyalty. He had everything arranged, his friend was gonna pick Roscoe up to take care for the little man, let Roscoe stay at this friend’s for a night so Lewis had nothing to worry about.
But, as life goes, the friend called in sick. It’s five days before the dinner. Lewis thought he had the time to arrange a dogsitter, another friend maybe. Unfortunately, all Lewis’ friends just seem miraculously busy. Even vague acquaintances he’d entrust Roscoe to, are busy. Even fucking Valtteri No-Plans-I-Want-To-Relax Bottas was busy.
Lewis is at the end of his tether as he lists everyone in Monaco who he would mildly trust with his precious dog.
He takes a breath, opening a Whatsapp chat with Max Verstappen thinking, here goes nothing.
Hey, I know this is kind of a weird question,
but could you dogsit Roscoe next Friday for a few hours?
I’m out until around midnight & my other friends are out :(.
[Lewis 12:45]
I’ll ensure he’s had food, been walked, etc.
You just have to sit with him so he isn’t alone.
You can watch Netflix or whatever.
He’s just bad about being alone.
[Lewis 12:46]
I’ll make sure the fridge is filled for you.
If you need anything, just let me know.
[Lewis 12:49]
Would this be okay? You’d help me a lot. [Lewis 12:52]
He didn’t mean to quadruple text, and he cringes as he looks at it. He sighs, could’ve made this one message. He just needs to be sure that this isn’t too much of a burden for Max. He’ll do anything to make sure someone can dogsit Roscoe. He can’t get out of this appointment!
Lewis throws his phone to the other side of the couch. No use in worrying about the four text messages and how desperate he sounds now. All he can do is wait. He makes himself some easy lunch, smiles as he looks at the dog that makes his life a lot more fun, but also fucking inconvenient sometimes, and grabs the leash for said dog to take a walk. In the back of his mind, he’s working on a plan… plan J at this point. Another option, if not Max. He knows Angela would always help him out, but he doesn’t want to only bother her for these types of things. It’s been too long since they hung out, and Lewis should invite her over for dinner or something before asking her to do a task. She’s more to him than a dogsitter, she’s a true friend.
He hadn’t brought his phone with him for his walk, partly to focus fully on Roscoe and partly because he knows he’ll just keep checking the damn thing.
When he returns, his phone is lit with several unimportant messages.
And one that stands out.
[Max Verstappen 15:34] oh yeah sure, no big.
Lewis lets out a relieved sigh. He chuckles at his own anxiety, of course this would be easy with Max. Max is laid back like that. He doesn’t think all too much about potential undertones or whatever. If he can help, he’ll help.
You’re doing me such a huge favour Thank you so much, man [Lewis 15:45]
Just on this side of cringe, Lewis thinks. But Max has to know he appreciates it, has to know he’s desperate. Doesn’t have to know Lewis is swirling around his room and smiling over it, though.
[Max Verstappen 15:47] Sure! Next friday right? What time?
Yes! I’ll text you the deets. [Lewis 15:47]
Deets, Lewis thinks. Unbelievable. He does text Max the deets, his address, the time he’ll be gone for sure, the things to do when Roscoe is annoying, where a plastic bag lays in case he needs to go out after all. He asks Max if there’s anything he needs, what he’ll drink and what his favorite snacks are. Max replies, easy as he is, that he’ll eat anything.
—
Max is three minutes late, Lewis is nervous. What if he doesn’t show up? What if he said sure, as a joke, but he’s just taking a piss?
Lewis takes a steadying breath, might have to call Angela after all. He straightens his suit, maybe he can get away with a short visit? Roscoe can be alone for three hours. He’ll just pop in, show his face, oh no - family emergency! And leave. All this worrying for nothing.
The doorbell rings, Lewis doesn’t even hear it the first time. He’s back in the bathroom, looking in the mirror. His hair looks good, suit is in check, nice shoes. He’s not the star of the show anyway, who will miss him?
He walks back to the living room, grabs his phone and is about to send Max a sarcastic thanks, really when he sees he’s already missed a call from the man in question.
Lewis checks his apartment’s camera, Max is right there! His fingers shake as he buzzes Max in, shooting him a quick, sorry, didn’t hear you instead.
He opens the door for Max and watches him as he leaves the elevator. It’s surreal, this feeling. Max, his toughest rival to date, right here in his apartment. He’s wearing a cosy-looking sweater with a Red Bull logo on it, and some navy sweatpants. He has a backpack on his back. In one hand, he holds a sixpack of Red Bull cans. The other hand, he extends as he goes for a bro-hug. He’s moving closer to Lewis. Lewis doesn’t even have the time to think, a handshake, really? Before he’s reeled in and their chests are touching. Max moves back in the same breath as that he moved closer. Lewis clears his throat, blinking. He scans Max, who looks at him like he’s coming over every Friday to dogsit Roscoe.
“Hey man,” says Max, running his free hand through his hair. Lewis sees how it’s messy, no gel or anything in it. It’s longer than he last remembered Max to have and it suits the guy really well. It looks super soft too, but Lewis files his curiosity away for another time.
“Hey,” Lewis says, then looks at the Red Bull cans, “You could’ve said you wanted that.” He doesn’t know why he feels… disappointed? That maybe Max assumed he wouldn’t want to buy a competitor’s energy drink for him? Muttering, he adds, “I’ve no shame in buying it, if that’s what you think.”
“Oh no, not at all,” Max smiles, shaking the sixpack a bit, “I get a free life-time supply. I’d never ask anyone to buy Red Bull for me.” He chuckles, “Don’t even buy it myself.”
“Oh,” Lewis takes an almost relieving breath, reminding himself that these things are just easy with Max, “Okay, good then.”
He gestures Max into his apartment, where Roscoe yawns and slowly gets out of his basket. The dog makes his way to Max, and before Lewis realises it, Max has already crouched down to greet Roscoe.
“Hello there buddy,” Max says, placing down the cans to scratch Roscoe behind his ear. Roscoe fully turns his face to Max to welcome the scratches and Lewis wonders how Max knows that that spot is the spot for the bulldog.
Lewis smiles softly. He’s endeared with how Max familiarises himself with his dog, how well he fits here. His hair looks so soft, his sweater looks so soft… he just looks soft, and Lewis is not entirely sure what to do with the information.
Before Lewis can think about it too hard, his phone rings. He picks up – it’s the cab, waiting for him downstairs. Max looks at him while he answers the phone call, standing up and waiting for him to finish.
“I’ve got to go,” Lewis says, “I wrote a note for you with stuff for Netflix or whatever you want to watch, the wifi password and everything. You can eat anything from the fridge or the cupboard, uhm..” He thinks for a second, “Yeah, if you need me, I'll keep an eye on my phone so you can always text or call. I’m a bit less than an hour away from here.” Lewis straightens his suit, pocketing his phone, “Again, I’m so grateful, I don't know how I would've solved this without you.”
“It’s all good,” Says Max, placing the Red Bulls on the floor next to the couch. He takes off his backpack and opens the zipper to reveal a steering wheel and his laptop, “I’d be doing nothing in my own house, and now I’ve got the cutest company.” Roscoe is curiously sniffing the cans he just placed on the ground, Max lets him but tells him, “Not for you, buddy, you got delicious water, I’m sure.”
“Yeah,” Lewis clears his throat, “In the kitchen, you traitor!”
Max laughs, a soft giggle for which he covers his mouth. Then his eyes widen, “Go, you! They’re waiting for you.”
“Yeah, shoot,” Lewis looks around the living room to see if he has everything, “Okay, I’ll text you when I come home!”
“Have fun or good luck!” Max waves him out.
Lewis takes a steadying breath in the elevator. Max is alone in his house, but not a single part of his body worries about it. Max is good with animals, or at least with Roscoe. He’s brought his own stuff to keep himself busy and he’s just so easy about it all. He vows to himself that he isn’t gonna worry about Max, just focus on this evening, and he’ll see about it all when he returns.
In the meantime, he just shouldn’t think too much about how cute Max looked and how much it affected Lewis.
—
After a nice night of good food and mandatory networking, Lewis comes home. About halfway through the night he realised that he hadn’t checked his phone at all. He anxiously checked the thread with Max, only to see that he’d sent a few photos of Roscoe on the couch, watching Max’s iRacing car in the pitlane, Roscoe by Max’s feet, asleep, and Roscoe drinking his water. The last photo had an accompanying message that read: don’t worry, it’s not Red Bull! Or is it…? And Lewis chuckled, sending back, if he gets sick, I'm forwarding the vet bills to you. Max responded with a photo of Roscoe’s bowl under the tap with streaming water.
Lewis did a quick reread of their chatstring from tonight. Max had kept him up to date roughly every two hours, with a photo of the dog and some where he was half visible. The chat had gone silent about an hour ago, and Max hadn’t opened Lewis’ message about him coming home.
He walks through the hallway and searches for his keys, then tries to open the door as silently as possible, not wanting to wake Roscoe.
What he didn’t expect was that Max himself had fallen asleep as well.
Lewis sees the tv on low volume, the laptop closed and the steering wheel on top of it. Max is laying on the couch, hair messier than when he just took off his helmet and balaclava, and Roscoe snoring on his chest.
As he walks closer to the couch, Roscoe wakes slowly. He must’ve heard or smelled his owner somehow. Roscoe blinks lazily as he looks up at Lewis. Lewis shushes him, taking out his phone to snap a picture of his dog and the cutest dogsitter ever. Just something to remind himself in the future that this really happened.
He lets Max sleep, so he walks over to his bedroom to prepare for his shower. He busies himself with his hair, taking out some of the elastic and clips and letting his braids fall free. As he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom, he sees movement in his peripheral vision. He walks over to the couch to see if Max woke up.
Max rubs his eyes as he chuckles, “Oh, you’re back! Good night?”
“Hey,” Lewis smiles, “Yeah, thanks for everything.” He really can’t help himself saying it again and again.
Max mirrors his smile, pointing at Lewis’ suit, “Look good.”
“Oh, thank you!” He’s wearing a relatively simple suit, one that hugs his waist but has loose fitting, almost baggy, pants. It’s not as brightly coloured as he wears to the paddock these days, he didn’t want to steal the show.
He looks at Max, messy hair and all. Lewis bites his lip, “You look adorable.”
“Ad-adorable…?” Max chuckles softly, sleepily, but Lewis nods seriously, “O-oh, uhm, thank you.”
Lewis smiles, reaching out to ruffle Max’s messy hair. He moved slowly, so Max could always move away if it was too much. But Max is like a cat, sometimes, and leaned toward Lewis’ hand as he played with his hair, “Stop wearing caps.”
“Hmm–” Max says, almost purrs, “For you, maybe.” And it’s just on this side of a joke that Lewis doesn’t know if he should take it seriously. He keeps massaging Max’s scalp though, since the younger just closed his eyes, fully embracing this touch.
Max opens his eyes then, and moves away just a bit so he can look at Lewis better, “Hey, on a night of weird requests,” He looks at Roscoe on his chest – who’d gone back to fallen asleep, a silent green flag from him to Lewis – and then back at Lewis, “Can I stay on the couch? I’m way too lazy to go back home.”
“Oh,” Says Lewis, who absolutely did not expect that from his former rival, “I called a cab as I left the venue.” Lewis bites his cheek, suddenly very unsure if that was the right call.
“I mean–” Max says, limbs slowly coming alive as if he’s gonna get up from the couch.
“You can stay, yeah, you can stay, no worries.” Lewis moves his arms out as if to push Max back into place, where he laid so calmly and peacefully. “I’ll cancel the cab.”
He walks to grab his phone, shooting the cabbie a quick message and getting an even quicker confirmation that his request is cancelled. As soon as he can, he walks back to Max, who looks up at him with a touch of wonder in his eyes, and a soft blush on his cheeks. Easy, Lewis reminds himself. “Cancelled!” He smiles, then scratches behind his ear, “You know, I’d let you take my bed, for what you’ve done for me tonight.” He thinks about his house in England, which has a guest room. This one doesn’t, since he actually only uses it for short stays and visits. It’s not his main residence.
“Nah, man,” Max smiles, playfully slapping Lewis’ arm, “You must’ve had a busy night. You need the rest.”
Lewis shoots his shot, “Awh, don’t wanna stay in my bed without me? Need a cuddle buddy, you?” He waves at Roscoe on Max’s chest.
Max smiles, all eye wrinkles and teeth on display, “Fuck you, I’m a great cuddler.” He rubs on Roscoe’s back by means of emphasis.
“Is this a request?” Lewis raises an eyebrow, “A challenge?”
Lewis doesn’t miss how Max bites his lip, briefly. Max scans between Lewis’ eyes and Lewis thinks this might just be one step too far, a bit too serious in a game of banter, but then Max rasps out, almost not to be heard over Roscoe’s snoring – and Lewis’ own heartbeat – “Try me.”
Lewis licks his lips, then smiles brightly, “Race you to the bed?”
“Unfair!” Max protests, wildly gesturing at Roscoe – who is only now opening his eyes – “I’ve a 100 kilo dog on my chest.”
“Don’t fatshame my dog!” Lewis laughs, thinking that Max could easily lift a 100 kilo’s, especially considering that Roscoe is maybe a quarter of that.
“Show me your muscles and get him off me.” Max says, opening his arms as if to add he’s all yours, eyes trained on Lewis’.
“Awh, anything for you, babe,” Lewis jokes, but he hopes his blush isn’t visible in the dim light of his living room. He rolls up his sleeves – unnecessary, yes, but when Max asks it like that, he’s gotta give him a little show – and walks to the other side of the couch, leaning over Max to grab Roscoe by his sides. He holds the dog up and close to him. Roscoe sleepily protests being taken away from his warm and cosy spot, but snores on when Lewis places him in his basket. If he stood up forcing his ass out a little bit – he is a showman after all – then that’s no one but Max and his business.
When he looks back at Max on the couch, who lays propped up on his elbows, he sees that Max was already looking at him, eyes focused. He seems to be contemplating something. This is, after all, quite a tipping point in their bond. Lewis doesn’t miss how Max’s Adam’s apple bobs.
Lewis bites his lip for a brief moment, then starts taking off his waistcoat. He announces, “I’m gonna hop in the shower just quickly, I smell like cheap perfume.” He looks at Max, “The bedroom’s over there, see you in a few.”
Before he can get the blood to rise to his cheeks, he steps away and into the bathroom. Here, he makes quick work of his suit before he hops in a very cold shower. He takes several steadying breaths as he rinses himself from the dinner party. He just can’t seem to wash away that faint feeling of him developing a crush. He can’t seem to wash away the blush on his cheeks and his chest. He can’t seem to get his heartbeat to calm the fuck down. How did this change so suddenly, Lewis wonders. He’s quite sure he would’ve never thought of Max this way had he not stayed over to dogsit Roscoe. Or, is that not true? Is the fact they shared so many podiums and press conferences one of the many reasons that they just gravitate toward each other? The fact that they can joke with each other, that Max makes Lewis feel comfortable just one reason why Lewis messaged Max in the first place?
Lewis washes his face and shakes his head to himself. Too much thinking, at this hour. He should just go to sleep and talk about this with Max tomorrow.
Satisfied with that decision, Lewis dries himself off and wraps a towel around his waist. He, of course, didn’t think to grab a clean boxer before showering. He blindly walks to his bedroom, opening a closet and grabbing underwear. In his peripheral vision, he sees Max leaning against a wall and scrolling on his phone. Lewis puts on the underwear under the towel, then discards the towel. He sees that Max’s scrolling has halted, he’s just laser focused on Lewis now.
Lewis doesn’t know what to do with that.
Max shakes himself out of his focus, placing his phone on a side table. He shrugs off his sweater. As he folds it, he asks, “Which side do you sleep on? I’m indifferent, but I know some people always sleep on the right or left side. I didn’t want you to have to sleep on the, uh, wrong side, I guess. In your own bed.”
Lewis smiles, he didn’t expect that, Max thought this through while Lewis had showered. He jokes, “Roscoe usually lays on the bed so I sleep wherever there’s… space.”
Max chuckles in response, “Should I grab him then?”
Lewis shakes his head, “No, he’s fine in his own basket now.” It might just play one too many heartstrings when Lewis would wake up with Max and Roscoe in his bed. That is way too domestic for Lewis’ fragile heart to handle. “I sleep whichever is closest to the door, so… this one.”
Max nods, then follows Lewis under the sheets. Lewis makes a mental note of how Max kept his T-shirt on – which follows a quick internal debate of whether or not he should grab a T-shirt as well, but that’d also be weird because he just laid down and then he concludes that Max doesn’t seem to mind and also this is his own fucking apartment, he should do whatever he wants. Max, as if he’s done it many times before, rolls around the bed and ends up laying on his stomach, arms under his pillow and head sort of facing Lewis.
“G’night, man,” Lewis says, because that’s, like, the normal thing to do, right?
“Truste- uh, night,” Max mumbles, eyes already closed and it seems he’s about three quarters on his way to dreamland.
Lewis watches how Max just turned off a button and fell asleep. He’s thinking all sorts of thoughts right now – about how it’s so weird to have a colleague like Max right beside him, in his bed. How this should be so intimate, but yet it feels familiar. How Lewis was so nervous to ask Max, and now all of it is just so easy. How Lewis, before tonight, thought he’d just be asking a favour, but now he’s having some pretty life-changing thoughts about everything. Himself, his colleague. Are they friends? Are they… crushes? Does Lewis now have a crush on him, is he certain of that? Or is this an instance of sudden proximity that got him spiralling, and that when he’ll see Max on track again, all will be back to normal as if this never happened?
He yawns, nodding to his body as if it won an argument. He should go to sleep, yeah. Think about all this when Max is out of his house, and then have a conversation with him about it another time. He looks at the soothing rise and fall of Max’s back and shoulders. Lewis copies the breathing, and before he knows it, he’s in dreamland as well.
–
By the total absence of sounds, Lewis guesses it’s still somewhere in the night. He looks around to see just a sliver of moonlight on his bedsheets. He’d turned his back to Max as he slept, but now he turns around, somehow curious to see if Max is still there.
He is. Asleep and well.
Max had shifted from laying on his back, to laying on his side, still facing Lewis.
Lewis watches him for a moment, head empty of thoughts but heart beating fast. He bites his lip and his arm is moving before he knows it. He’s just unable to resist the urge of touching Max, of tracing a line over his face.
But then Max rumbles in his sleep.
Lewis retracts his hand. What was he even thinking?
Max turns around to lay on his stomach again. Still facing Lewis.
Lewis takes a deep, slightly shuddering, breath. He should go back to sleep as well.
–
It’s somewhere in the morning now, as Lewis wakes again. It takes him a second to open his eyes and get all of his senses to send things to his brain to decipher.
For one, he’s not laying on his pillow, but his head is on Max’s chest. For two, his arms are around Max’s sides, hugging him close. For three, but less important, his feet are no longer under the cover. That’s cold.
He’s facing away from Max – thank God – so he can take a minute to think about how to address this. Moving, now, only would wake the younger. Moving would also mean getting out of this annoyingly comfortable position. Fuck, Lewis thinks, this is nice.
Suddenly, he also feels how one of Max’s hands is rubbing over Lewis’ shoulder, some of the skin exposed from the sheets. The movement is soothing, calming, and Lewis almost finds himself matching his breathing to the up and down strokes. Lewis thinks, fuck it, and takes a moment to just appreciate this position, appreciate the touches and the intimacy of it all.
He could get used to this.
But he shouldn’t. So he turns his head around. He sees how Max was looking at his phone, but then puts the device away the moment he sees Lewis is awake. His smile is soft and welcoming, there’s a blush on his cheek, he hasn’t stopped rubbing Lewis’ shoulder.
“M sorry,” mumbles Lewis, “Didn’t mean to use you as a pillow.” He chuckles after he says it. He feels less nervous about the whole mortifying ordeal of falling for your rival. Maybe the massage is helping. He shouldn’t do this, though, so he starts to move away.
“I don’t mind,” Max says, using his arm to keep Lewis in his place, “Stay.”
Lewis does, unable to help himself. Ratio versus feelings and all that, he goes for feelings – tentatively – for once. “Time’s it?” He asks, because changing the subject is easier than shifting to the other side of the tipping point. Before this all gets too deep and too irreversible. He likes this, the edge. No unwritten rules, everything is new, but nothing’s changed yet. Nothing all too big. They can always brush it off, in the future.
“Round eleven,” Max says, arm moving up to scratch Lewis’ scalp – which is, like, an immediate button to shut down all of Lewis’ internal debate and have him so ruined and like putty in Max’s hands – “Wanna get some lunch, or do you want to sleep a bit longer?” The question sounds like they’ve got this ritual of waking up together, like they’ve done it a million times before. It feels so goddamn familiar, even though it’s all so new.
It’s just so fucking easy.
Lewis decides he’s allowed to have this, for now at least.
“Hmm,” He hums, “Five more minutes.”
Max chuckles, removing a pillow from behind him to lay back down. He seems careful, not wanting to disturb Lewis from where he’s laying all so perfectly. “Okay, five more minutes.”