Lewis was worried after the race — yeah, he was glad he won the Silverstone Grand Prix of 2021, his 99th win in his own country, but he couldn’t stop worrying for Max’s wellbeing. He, despite probably not being allowed to, decided to take his matters into his own hands and visit Max at the first opportunity he’d have, to check up on him. He’d never done such a thing before — swung by Max in private after a race, or just at all. They’ve only talked to each other through iMessage or when they shared a podium. But Lewis felt like he had to, he needed to check up on the guy, especially after having heard that he had gone to the hospital.
It is past eleven pm when Lewis heads to Max’s place.
He knocks on the door, hearing a hesitant "Yeah?" from the other side. Lewis responds, "Hi, Max, Lewis here, just… um, wanted to check on you."
"Come in."
Lewis takes a deep breath and opens the door, closing it behind him and standing awkwardly in the room he’s never been in before. He takes Max in — his rival is wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants, sitting on the chair with his phone in his left hand, locked and closed off. He looks at Lewis as if he’s expecting something, and his face radiates everything but welcoming energy. Lewis shifts from one foot to the other, choosing his words carefully, "I wanted to check if you were okay, it was a pretty heavy crash."
"I’m fine."
Lewis blinks, expecting more but also not surprised this short, curt comment is all he would get. He takes a deep breath and nods, "Well, I’m glad."
"Gratz on the win, by the way." Max says, but his eyes are cold and his tone is neutral. He says it more as a formality than a genuine comment.
Lewis smiles, "Thank you, it’s nice winning at home." His smile falls, "Felt a bit weird, though."
"Yeah, sure."
"I’m really glad you’re okay, Max. I swear," Lewis says, hoping to get through Max’s thick head. Look, the situation was unfortunate and he never meant for it to be like this, he’s gotten his penalty fair and square and managed to get first anyways. What’s he gonna do, not win while he could?
And to Max, truly Lewis had hoped the situation was different — drivers that crash and have to go to the hospital for it… it’s always terrible and extremely worrying. But there’s not much he can do other than wish him well and be glad he’s feeling better, is there?
Lewis scratches behind his ear, there’s not much more coming out of Max, a conversation is near impossible. Lewis can’t really blame him. He did what he thought he could do, so he makes a move to get back out of the room. Max rises at the same time as when Lewis spins to head out.
Now or never, Lewis thinks, and he grabs Max’s wrist in a moment of vulnerable sincerity, "I’m genuinely sorry for what happened, man."
"Sure," Max responds saltily, and Lewis can feel his breath on his own skin, "Tell that to the British flag, Sir Lewis Hamilton."
That stings.
"Hey, I won that race, I fought for it." The grip Lewis has on Max’s wrist gets tighter, and Max doesn’t move away from it. He merely knits his eyebrows together and shakes his head, laughing a very hollow laugh.
"After getting me hospitalised."
Lewis clenches his jaw and drags Max closer to him, they’re almost chest-to-chest, and Lewis has to crane his neck to even meet Max’s eyes. They’re so close, they’re exchanging oxygen. Lewis can count all the lashes on Max’s eyes, those wonderful dark lashes in stark contrast with his pale skin and bright green eyes. If situations were different, Lewis could see himself falling for someone like Max — someone who challenges him in his day to day life, never a dull moment, and yet they are more often than not on the same wavelength.
Right now is one of the moments when they’re not on the same wavelength, and Lewis wishes he could just push a button and they’d be back to whatever flow they had found themselves in before. That vibe of mutual respect, teasing, making fun of journalists, congratulating each other after a race despite the results. That vibe that had Lewis thinking of Max more and more despite not asking for it — dangerous territory, really. Thinking of kissing your rival and wondering what his hands would feel like on your hips.
And here he’s doing it again, and maybe that’s why his eyes had fallen to Max’s lips, and he’s suddenly hyper fixated on the way they softly shine in the dim light of the room, wet from Max’s tongue sweeping over it. He’s extremely aware of his own hand still on Max’s wrist, his skin is warm and soft, and Lewis can’t find it in himself to let go.
It seems like time stands still, as the two of them just look at each other. There’s an underlying tension of disagreement, of frustration, from both of them. But whatever flow they were in before this all went down hasn’t been clogged down the drain that easily. Maybe they were on the road to something beautiful, and there’s just a little crack in the plan, but it’s not gone. It’s still there, lingering ever so strongly.
When anyone asks Lewis, he’ll say Max bent down and kissed him, but really, they meet in the middle.
The kiss is everything but loving — it’s desperate, frustrated, impatient, messy. Max’s hand finds Lewis’ jawline, and cups him, keeping him close. His teeth are painful behind the thin layer of skin, and yet Lewis thinks he deserves the rough treatment. He kisses back, just as enthusiastically and messily as Max kisses him. He had silently expected their first kiss to be more tentative, insecure, but in reality, Max is pushing Lewis against the wall, kissing his lips time after time again, urging his tongue inside Lewis’ mouth and Lewis lets him taste every last inch.
Max moves away from Lewis’ mouth, to head to his jawline, his neck. He claims the skin nastily — biting and sucking to leave marks, and Lewis opens his neck for him. The grip he had on Max’s wrist falters, and he moves along to help Max out when he gets his hands on the hem of Lewis’ t-shirt and rips it from his jeans. Max is rough as he rips at the clothing, uncaring for the fabric as long as it’s off. Lewis stands naked in Max’s hold, and he finds a small part of him hoping Max will check him out, will look at his body and touch all the places he’s never touched before. But instead Max goes back to claiming Lewis’ neck, biting at the skin while his fingers dig into his sides. Maybe he doesn’t deserve the praise, maybe he doesn’t deserve it yet.
Lewis is super careful, bending himself flexibly like water, moving along to the aggressive wind that is Max Verstappen. He’s happy to have Max in this haze, and worries that any movement might snap him out of it. He carefully cups Max’s neck, and Max grunts against his skin. He seems sore from the bruises from the crash, and Lewis whispers a, "Sorry." Max merely moves up and captures Lewis’ lips in another rough kiss in response.
Max spins Lewis around and presses him against the wall instead, and Lewis mourns the idea that he can’t touch Max easily anymore. Max resumes his kisses on Lewis’ neck, while he grabs onto Lewis’ hips tightly. The hold he has alone will leave bruises, Lewis is sure of it. He can’t wait, though. He can’t wait to look in the mirror later and see his skin tainted by Max’s traces. He wants to see where Max had touched him, where Max had been. He wants to be able to press these bruises as if they were buttons to his memories, providing him a small glimpse of what happened and what is happening right now, to experience it again, and again, until the bruises fade and he’ll wish for another chance, another moment where Max can renew them, can claim Lewis’ skin as his own.
Lewis vows to let Max do anything to him.
His shirt is long gone, and he’s relishing in the feeling of Max’s teeth and lips on him. Max finds a way to bite in between his shoulder blades, and he brushes his clothed bulge in between Lewis’ asscheeks. "Fuck!" Lewis groans, he feels like he’s never felt this desperate before — he wants nothing more than Max to keep doing what it is he’s doing, to take selfishly so Lewis can only hope to be filled and then allowed to come.
Max doesn’t respond, he only squeezes Lewis’ ass and spreads his cheeks.
For a second nothing happens at all, and Lewis holds his breath — waiting, anticipating, hoping.
Then he feels Max’s finger in between his cheeks, cold and wet with saliva. Max wastes no time getting Lewis adjusted or ready, he just inserts his finger inside of Lewis, and pays no attention to Lewis' response.
Lewis can only moan, and push his hips back. His head is empty save for every voice in his mind chanting more, more, more. Lewis hears how Max uses his left hand to unzip his jeans. He struggles, doing something like that with his non-dominant hand, but he seems too stubborn to get his right hand out of Lewis. Lewis wonders faintly if Max wants him too badly, if Max worries that if he stops touching Lewis, Lewis will snap out of this haze and not want him anymore.
Suddenly Lewis feels Max pushing the head of his dick against Lewis’ ass, and he pauses briefly. His voice is rough as he asks, "You sure?"
Lewis' heart clenches. How can he not be sure? He’s come so far, he’s naked in front of Max, hasn’t even had the luxury of seeing Max naked, and can only think he wants nothing else but Max’s hands on his skin, Max’s teeth biting him, and Max’s breath warm behind his ear.
"Please — just’"
"I don’t have anything." Max states, voice steadier than a second ago.
Lewis feels his heart clench tighter — Max went all the way here impulsively and wonders now if he’s gotten too far, if he needs things for safety and against possible consequences and- god, Lewis thinks he might actually fall for this boy now. He can’t form a response, a lump in his throat is too big, and his mouth suddenly dry. He worries if he talks, he’ll do something embarrassing like cry. Instead, he simply pushes his hips back against the wet, leaking head of Max’s dick, silently asking, begging, for more.
Max merely huffs a dark laugh, "Okay," and then he presses himself inside Lewis, slowly, carefully. More careful than any of his movements before have been, as if there’s more to this than just hate sex. As if there’s more to this than tensions running high. As if there’s been something that’s finally making Max burst at the seams and let go.
Because he’s going so slowly, it takes him a serious amount of time to bottom out. Lewis waits patiently, feeling how Max’s dick is splitting him open. Max’s got a very long dick, longer than Lewis, but thinner too. He fills Lewis in a way Lewis had never been filled before, his heart still tight, and the heat in his belly ever so present. He barely even gazes at his own dick, because he knows this is not about him. He focuses on Max instead, and moans very lowly.
One of Max's hands comes around Lewis’ waist, keeping him close, so that Lewis’ back is against Max’s chest.
Max bites down on Lewis' neck, just below his ear. There’s no way his racing suit or any shirt he owns will cover this up, but neither man cares about anyone seeing this.
Lewis cherishes the idea that others might see him wearing hickey’s, and wonders what the world’ll think, if everyone knew he got fucked to another universe by his rival. He lets his head fall back onto Max’s shoulder. His own knuckles are white against the wall as they cling to whatever leverage they can find. He rolls his hips impatiently, telling Max to move, to take him, to take what he wants. Lewis can handle it, he will.
Max presses a hand over Lewis’ on the wall, pinning him in place. It’s the closest to emotional intimacy they ever had, and Lewis can only hope they’ll grow from this moment on. Max’s hand is big against his own, a stark contrast in skin color. Lewis spreads his fingers to let Max’s fall in between his own, and Max curls his fingers around Lewis’.
They’d look so pretty holding hands, Lewis thinks, then pushes the thought down immediately.
Max rolls his hips, and Lewis groans out a low, "Max, yes, please," and Max takes that as encouragement to fuck him properly — sliding his dick in and out of Lewis’ hole like he owns it. He regains all of his force from before, his carelessness and selfishness find ways back into his veins as he fucks Lewis roughly, impatiently. He has zero remorse as he takes, and takes, and takes — all of his frustration bleeding into his thrusts. He fucks selfishly; uncaring of Lewis’ high, his abandoned dick between the wall and Lewis’ belly, even as the sounds of Lewis’ dick slapping against his belly is faintly audible for both of them. He’s leaking all over his own belly, probably leaving stains against the wall. There’s a tight clench in his lower abdomen, a heat getting close to its peak.
"Max," Lewis moans, head thrown back onto Max’s shoulder, his hair undoubtedly tickling the skin there.
"Coming already?" Max groans low, voice still that roughly as before. Lewis revels in the idea that he is the cause of his hoarse voice, that it was their making out, that it was these moans. Max continues, "Didn’t even touch you. Someone just needs to put you in your place and you’re begging for it. pathetic."
And with that, Lewis comes.
Lewis clenches down on Max’s cock, and Max’s cock on Lewis’ hip becomes painfully bruising, even worse than it was before. Max’s fingertips are white as they dig into the skin.
Max feels his own heat simmering in his belly, and he grunts, pressing in deep as Lewis clenches down harder than before.
Max lets out this animalistic growl before he comes, and Lewis almost gets hard all over again.
—
They take some time to catch their breaths. Breathing into each other’s skin and regaining sense over their own muscles. Wordlessly, Max slips out of Lewis and falls down to sit back in a chair. Lewis whines at the sudden emptiness — marking it for his own dreams to wish for a night where Max falls asleep inside him.
He turns around to see Max tucking himself back in his jeans. Lewis leans against the wall to regain his breath a bit more. There’s come all over his belly, reaching as high as his own chin. He feels awkward, unwelcome, insecure. He doesn’t know what the fuck to do now. This wasn’t what he thought would happen when he visited Max. Not- not that he didn’t want it. No, he’d want this all over again. All the time. Whenever possible. Maybe a bit too desperately, even. He doesn’t make any move to redress.
Max moves in his chair, and Lewis sees how he gestures to Lewis to come closer. Lewis takes a tentative step forward, and feels how Max curls his hand around Lewis’ thighs to sit them down over his own. He kisses Lewis’ chest, and then follows the tracks of come over the skin. He licks and licks, cleaning Lewis off his own come. When he deems it ready, he presses a nasty bite to the middle of Lewis’ compass tattoo in his chest.
Lewis is so ruined for sex if it isn’t with Max, this kinky, come-eating bastard.
Then he falls back in the chair, as if he didn’t just completely blow Lewis’ mind.
He seems to be fighting a dopey, sedated post-sex grin, hoping and trying to remain cold and unfazed instead.
"So," Lewis says, to break the silence, to get them to talk, to get Max to say anything, "That. We did that."
"We did."
"Are you feeling- feeling better?" Lewis asks, because in the end, that’s what he came here for, to check how Max was feeling and if he could do anything to make him feel better.
"Mentally, a bit." Max confesses.
"Job completed then," Lewis jokes. Max huffs a laugh back, and it makes Lewis smile softly and blush a bit in return. He gets a finger under Max’s chin and moves him up, to kiss him. He feels tentative, unsure if Max doesn’t want this. But Max kisses back, warm, relaxed, slowly. Lewis tastes himself faintly on Max’s lips, and god if that isn’t the hottest thing ever.
"Stay?" Max croaks out, voice unsteady.
"Anything you want."
"Don’t crash into me again."
"Don’t crash into me again." Lewis retorts.
"I’m sorry, were you at the hospital getting a CT scan and losing an important race over it?" There’s a small fire lighting up in Max’s eyes again, and Lewis decides he shouldn’t pick this fight. They’ll talk about the details and everything later on. There’s too many emotions at play to let those get the better of them.
"Sorry, you’re right."
"Okay, no more race talk," Max sighs, "Get to the bed, I’ll follow."
Lewis kisses Max’s lips, smiling brightly and feeling his cheeks redden like he’s a schoolgirl who got a crush to say yes to go to prom. He can’t help himself, and he’s too tired to do a deep dive of all these feelings he’s feeling. He’ll examine them later, because he has Max close to him now, he doesn’t want to let him go.
"I’ll be waiting~"