Chapter Text
From the moment Charles and his classmates had been old enough to start speculation on what they’d present as when the time came for them, they’d all known he was going to be an omega. It was such a foregone conclusion that when he presented during the half-term maths exam just before Christmas, the fact he’d presented as an omega wasn’t even mentioned in the footnotes of their collective recollections of the day.
His breakout heat had ended just in time for his family’s annual trip to the south of France with Pierre.
They are playing in the waves on a beach in Nice when Pierre calls him alpha the first time. “Hey alpha! Race you to the waves!”
Charles is already running.
It’s not until he comes up for air after his dive that he releases what Pierre had called him.
Charles knows he is an omega with certainty, even if he smells like a stereotypical alpha: dirt roads, whiskey, and pine.
It’s too late to go back and correct him though, with the Frenchman halfway out to sea.
Charles doesn’t mean to let his oldest friend assume that he is an alpha, but he never finds the time to set Pierre straight.
Charles thought it was obvious he was an omega. He’d never shied away from the omega-like tendencies that he’d exhibited in childhood, and he falls into his new-found omega instincts like a child jumping into a snowbank, or a pile of fallen leaves.
Apparently it’s not obvious, because when he gets back to karting in January he goes through the same dance all over again.
“Smells like someone presented as an alpha over the holidays!” Esteban calls out as he passes by the Leclerc family.
Charles jerks in surprise, and by the time he gets his wits about him the moment is gone and Esteban is too far away to be corrected.
There comes a point when Charles realises that motorsport is an alpha’s sport. They all are, actually, but motorsport especially. Neck, shoulders, legs, Charles finds them harder to bulk up than his rivals as an Omega, but he manages. It’s not that he doesn’t let his designation hold him back, he’s not thriving despite his designation. He’s thriving because he’s Charles Leclerc, the King of Monaco.
When some of the boys present as betas, or even omegas—more obviously than Charles did—the alphas rally around them. It’s a nice little family he’s found on track, even if they all hate each other sometimes. But isn’t that the crux of family? Supporting each other even if they drive you up the wall, or off the track.
If they saw Charles as an alpha, then he just so happened to be a gentile one.
Max Verstappen wins the entire series that year. It really isn’t a shock, he was crazy on track—Charles is just as bad, but half a tenth slower to the line. What is a shock is the screaming match he and his father get into after the fact.
They shout in Dutch as Jos packs Max’s kart into the truck.
Charles shares a wide eyed look with Alex when they pass each other. Everyone is pretending they can’t hear what’s going on, but they are very loud. It isn’t an uncommon occurrence, but one would think this wouldn’t happen when Max has just won it all.
Charles has to urge to comfort him. Pull Max into his arms and away from his father.
But he can’t.
Maybe when the dust settles he will invite the Dutchboy out to burgers with the rest of them.
“Why can I not have one night to celebrate?” Max screams in English. “Can I not have one night with friends?”
Maybe someone has already invited him.
The argument ends there. Almost. Jos gets up in Max’s face, he whispers something in a scathing tone. Max puffs out his chest and snarls back at him.
He stays right where he is standing while Jos climbs into the truck and slams the door. The man drives off, leaving Max. He scoffs and stalks off towards George on the other side of the field they have been using as a garage this weekend.
He feels his phone ping in his pocket.
George
Max is coming tonight
Alex
:thumbsup:
Charles
Is he okay?
George
He said “it is what it is” when I asked
I dunno what that means
Charles
How is he getting home?
George
He said he’ll be fine
Alex
What does that mean?
George
I dunno
Mum just offered drive him to his hotel after
Alex
:thumbsup:
Charles
Okay
It isn’t awkward or uncomfortable to fold Max into their little group, not like Charles had feared. Max eats his burger and laughs at Geroge’s bad jokes, he ribs Alex when he gets to the embarrassing parts of his story, and he smiles when Charles starts going over the race.
An honest to god smile with teeth.
He thinks all three of them freeze.
Max is edgy the entire time. He’s jumpy and seems aware of everything in a bad way.
Charles doesn’t really know what possessed him to sit next to the Dutchboy at the beginning of dinner, but he’s glad he did. His instincts are screaming at him to grab Max, start petting his hair, and purring, or something. If he and Max didn’t have the hatred infused relationship they did on track, he thinks he’d give in to the desire. Instead, he produces calming pheromones. He doesn’t smell like vanilla and lavender like other omegas, but a hint of wildflower hits the air.
Max’s shoulders relax a fraction, and even Alex and Geroge ease.
Charles likes being able to do this for his friends.
Alex is telling a story about the family dog when Max shoots up out of his seat and rushes away without a word.
“Uhm?”
“Should we..? Go after him?” George asks. “I don’t think he’s been okay all night.”
“Maybe we could give him a second.”
“No.” Charles pushes his chair back. “Something is wrong. I will go check.”
George grabs his forearm. “Charles, maybe I should do it.”
He furrows his brow. “Why?”
“Because you and he, you butt heads, mate.”
“But I’m—”
“Like his biggest rival,” Alex agrees. “Probably doesn’t want you to see him like that. Can’t have another alpha see him weak, y’know? He respects you.”
“So are we not going to check on him? Both of you are alphas.”
“I’ve never beaten him in a race.”
“That is ridiculous. Max’s ego isn’t so fragile he can’t deal with being beaten. He congratulates me all the time.” Charles takes a deep breath, and the words Alex has just said filter through his mind. “What do you mean ‘seen as weak?’ You aren’t a weak alpha just because you lost a race! What are you talking about? Do you think we see you as weak?”
“Well, no. But Max. With his dad. We all see it.”
He rips his arm away. “I am going to check on him.”
“Charles!”
“No George, I am going to do it.”
He holds his hands up. “At least calm down a little, mate. You’ll probably make it worse if you find him like that.”
Charles can feel the tension in his shoulders. He tries to shake them out, but something has been wrong with Max all night, and he’s pretty sure it doesn’t have anything to do with that fight with Jos. He drinks his water. “I am going now.”
“Okay. Let us know, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The bathroom in the burger joint reeks of bitter lime and midnight rain. He finds the Dutchboy white knuckling the sink. The sound of rushing water and heavy breathing fills the air.
“Max?”
“Charles?”
“Are you okay?” he asks, shutting the door. “It reeks in here.”
He laughs, dry. “I’m presenting. I think.” He splashes his face. “It hurts. Did it hurt when you presented?”
“A little. Can I come closer?”
“Yeah.”
Charles puts a hand to Max’s clammy skin. He feels the temperature of his forehead, like Maman did for him. “You’re very cold.” He takes a step back. “Alpha. Your dad will be happy, I assume.”
Max growls. “I do not want to talk about my dad.”
He raises his hands, placating. “Okay.” He inhales deeply, trying to calm himself. It’s a terrible idea, because he gets a noseful of Max: campfires, rain, lime, and honey. “You are going into a breakout rut.”
“I know that. We have sex-ed in the Netherlands, Charles,” he snaps.
“You can’t be here for that. Where are you staying?”
“I’d rather camp out in the woods than go back to my motorhome.”
Charles is numb in his horror.
Yes, he doesn’t like Max very much, but that’s because the Dutchboy keeps to himself all the time. The only experience Charles has of him is being a terror on the track, and this dinner. Even without this dinner—this glimpse at a goofy boy his age—he wouldn’t wish what Max is suggesting on anyone.
Charles doesn’t know what a breakout rut is like, but if it’s anything like his first heat, then Max needs a bed. He needs to be taken care of. Safe.
“Non, that is not acceptable.”
“Too bad.” Max splashes his face again. “Dad told me not to come home tonight if I was going out with friends.”
If Charles wasn’t standing still he’d have tripped over his own feet. “What?”
“It is okay. I’ve spent the night in a gas station before. It is not so bad.”
“Absolutely not. You wait here.”
Charles is a man on a mission. He breezes past Alex and George, who are worriedly waiting, and reaches his family a few tables over.
“Max présente,” he tells Maman. “Il ne veut pas retourner chez lui. Est-qu’on peut lui rendre à notre hôtel?”
“Il présente?”
“Alpha. Dans la salle de bain.”
“Max is presenting?” George’s mum asks.
Right. Not everybody speaks French. “Yes. He needs a safe space, and he doesn’t want to go home.” He turns back to Maman. “The inn we are at still has empty rooms, non?”
“We could… He can’t stay here.”
Maman must see the desperation in his eyes, because in the next moment she’s standing. “Allez chercher Max. Je vais être à l’auto.”
He runs.
“Charles?” Max’s voice is rougher when he enters the bathroom again. “It hurts.”
“I know. You can’t stay here.”
“I know.”
“Will you come with me? Maman will take you to the inn.”
“I don’t have a room.”
“We will get you a room. Come Max.” He holds out his hand. “Please?”
Max nods, but Charles still has to pry his hands away from the sink.
“Viens. Tout sera d’accord.”
“I don’t know French, Charles.”
“That is okay. Let’s get out of here.”
He pulls Max out of the bathroom, keeping his distance as best he can with his hand holding onto the other boy’s. Alex and George are already at the tables holding the rest of their families.
George hands Max his coat. “Are you feeling okay, mate?”
Max laughs once. “No. This is terrible.”
“It’ll be like that for a few days,” Alex tells him, “but it gets better, and then you come out and alpha and that’s great!”
“Yeah.” Max seems unconvinced, but he also seems out of it.
“We should get going.” He looks to his family. Arthur and Lorenzo are polishing on the fries.
Papa puts a hand on Charles’ shoulder and guides him to the front. “Maman will take you both to the inn, then she will come back for us. We will all get back. Ne t'inquiètes pas.”
Charles is rubbing Max’s arm comfortingly in the backseat when they arrive. When they get out of the car Max latches onto Charles, grabbing him and pulling the Monegasque into the circle of his arms.
“Max.” He tries to pull away. “We have to get inside.”
He growls.
Then his arms loosen. Charles looks back to Max and he seems horrified with himself. Charles tries to reach for his hand again, but Max snatches it away and follows Maman inside.
In the lobby, Max finds himself being pulled back to Charles: back into his space. This time he doesn’t fight it. The Monegasque doesn’t seem to mind anyways.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Jos?” Charles’ mother asks while unlocking the room he’s going to spend the next few days in.
“I am sure.”
He still has an arm around Charles’ waist and pulls him into the room.
His head hurts. His everything aches a little actually, but some of that might be from the race. He feels so cold.
“Charles, here is my key to our room. Once you get Max set up, you can go back, 116.”
“Merci, Maman.”
He tightens his grip. “You are leaving me?”
Max immediately regrets it. Regrets opening his mouth, because both Charles and his mother are now staring at him; Charles with confusion, and his mother with acceptance. Max doesn’t know how to interpret either. He hates it.
“Do you want me to stay?”
“No,” Max says even as he feels his head nod up and down.
“I can stay,” Charles tells him softly. “I do not mind. Would that be okay?”
Max can feel himself slipping. His brain is turning to mush, and everything is freezing cold.
“Maman, could I stay?”
“If you want to. Keep the key, just in case. I will go pick up Papa and your brothers.”
“Can I have my clothes? And the blue blanket?” He turns back to Max, so she must have agreed. “Let’s get you into the bed, Max.”
He allows himself to be led. When he’s pushed onto the bed, he drags Charles down with him.
He lets his instincts take over.
“Max?”
“I am okay,” is the last thing he remembers saying. He puts Charles in the middle of the bed and shoves his nose deep in the Monegasque’s neck.
The blacks out after that. He enters some kind of a fugue state where he’s half in his body and half very far away. He knows that Charles gets up from the bed sometimes, and Max has to try very hard not to growl.
He knows that when Charles tries to make him eat, Max will take over and start feeding Charles instead. He does get food in his body, because Charles will pout at him, and Max can’t stand the idea of Charles being upset.
He thinks he forces Charles to put on his hoodie. He thinks he looks away in embarrassment when he growls at Charles for not taking his shirt off first. He thinks his chest rumbles happily when Charles then tucks that shirt underneath the pillows.
He knows they spend a lot of time cuddling. He knows that Charles is usually on top of his chest, holding Max’s wrists down with one hand above their heads. He knows Charles blares his neck for Max to burrow into.
He thinks he controlled himself.
He knows he kept his mouth shut the entire time.
He thinks he might want to do this again.
He knows that he is warm.
When Max comes to a three days later, there is sunlight filtering through the blinds.
He blinks his sleepy eyes open and registers the weight on his chest: Charles Leclerc. He looks peaceful when he’s asleep. The sun halos his bed head, and Max tries not to jostle him too much as he wiggles his wrists out of the grasp they are trapped in.
He wonders why Charles felt the need to do that. He hopes he wasn’t too much, overbearing in all the wrong ways.
Once free he rolls them onto their sides and it feels like he can breathe for the first time. He can smell Charles in the air, his dirt roads, whiskey, and pine blending with his own new scent—campfires, rain, lime, and honey—but there’s something else in the air. Something he remembers from just before his memory goes hazy, something from the celebrations the night before: wildflowers.
Max takes Charles in. The Monegasque curls into himself, now that Max has left him. He looks warm, soft, and inviting surrounded by hotel blankets, arranged loosely around them like a shallow protective barrier.
Wildflowers.
Max is in a nest.
There’s a streak of blue woven into the white, and Max remembers asking his mother for a blue blanket: the blue blanket.
Charles rolls again. He groans as he opens his eyes.
Max tries not to find it cute, and that only works because he feels like he’s panicking. “There’s wildflow in your scent, Leclerc,” he says instead of good morning.
“Yeah.”
“Charles,” he stresses, “there is wildflower in your scent.”
“Yeah.” He opens his eyes. “I know what I smell like,” he grumbles. “Why are you over there? Is your rut over?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to leave then?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Charles unfurls a section of blanket. “I am cold.”
There’s nothing for Max to do, but fall forward and wrap Charles up in his arms.
Holy Shit. Max Verstappen is cuddling Charles Leclerc in something that can only be called a nest. They have sex-ed in the Netherlands, he knows what a nest looks like.
He dips into the scent glances on the other boy’s neck once more. “Are you..?”
“Am I what? It is too early for you to be thinking this hard.”
Max’s mind is running a mile a minute. “Are you an omega, Charles?” he winces at being unable to keep the incredulity out of his tone.
Charles pauses. He blinks the sleep from his eyes.
Why is Max asking this like it’s new information?
He curls into the honey scented duvet, and watches Max’s eyes bug out of his head.
Right. Being an omega is apparently not obvious to others. Not like it’s intrinsic to his entire being or anything.
Max seemingly takes his confused silence for something else. “I won’t tell,” he promises.
Charles’ mouth drops open.
“Did you think I would?” the Dutchboy asks horrified. “You help me through my rut, and still think I would tell your secret. Do you trust me so little, Charles?”
Charles' immediate instinct is to sooth. “I trust you.” He launches into Max’s arms, tucking him back into the fold of the blankets. “I trust you. I would not have stayed here while you were not you if I did not trust you.”
“Okay.”
It’s only when Max tentatively tilts his head away to nose at his scent glands that Charles realises it’s too late to tell Max he doesn’t care if people know he’s an omega. Max has made it personal. About trust.
“I know we are not friendly, but thank you for staying.”
“Of course.” Charles would never leave someone alone like that. He still can’t believe Max was willing to camp out his first rut in the woods. He purrs, and that seems to calm Max down.
“You made me a nest.”
He frowns. “This isn’t a nest.” He looks around at the mess of blankets. “Well. I did make something, but this isn’t a nest. There’s. There’s nothing here. I thought it would help. A nest always makes me feel better and we are very far from your den, I guess. Is that okay?”
“It’s okay.” Max curls himself tightly around the Monegasque. “When do you have to get up?”
“Maman brings breakfast at nine.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven. Can I go back to sleep?”
Max chuckles. “Can I keep holding you?”
“If you want. You are cozy.”
Charles and Max are packing up the nest after breakfast when they talk about it again.
“I know what people say,” Max starts, “and it is okay if you want to hide it, but know that there is nothing stopping an omega from being an amazing racing driver.”
“I do know that. I beat you sometimes, and they call you a generational talent. And it won’t be harder to beat you now that you’ve presented. If that were the case I would not be beating Alex and George.”
Max hums, folding up Charles’ blue blanket.
He’s a little concerned about how okay he is that Max is handling it, but he’s also been wearing the hoodie Max presented in for three days now and neither of them have mentioned that yet, now that Max is lucid again.
“Do they know?”
Charles is silent.
“I won’t tell them. I promise. This is your secret.”
Expect that it’s really not. It’s not a secret that Charles Leclerc is an omega. Not to him. But it seems like he’s going to have to keep it for a little while longer. Again.