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A soft stroke to Charles’s cheek stirs him.
He softly blinks open his eyes, smiling up at the hand. He purrs, feeling a soft pinch on his cheek. Even without his glasses or contacts, Charles knows it’s Max. His touch is like a glide, soft and gentle, not wanting to wake Charles.
“Good morning, mijn schatje,” Max cooked in a low voice. Charles couldn't make out his face but saw he was wearing a white shirt and shorts. Charles purred and tried to move his body up, but Max touched his shoulder, slowly pushing him down into the lush pillows and heavy blanket.
“No need to wake up so early. Sleep as much as you want,” Max reassured. He saw Charles sticking his bare thigh out; all he wore was one of Max’s shirts from last night. After that night, Max was surprised that Charles put on clothes, but he wasn’t complaining since he loved seeing Charles in his clothes. The oversized white shirt hugged his tiny waist.
Charles whined, but Max smiled and threw the cover over him. Charles didn’t stir, his feet sticking out at the end of the comforter, limp against the end of the mattress.
Quality exiting the room, Max tip-toed down the hall to the living room. There was the simulator. He glanced at it and knew that he should, but it was the day before a Grand Prix. One drive wouldn’t hurt, but one would become two or three, and the cycle wouldn’t stop. It was infectious. Max reached, but he imaged Charles gently slapping his hand and cursing at him in French.
“Maxy! Pas mal! Ne vous forcez pas. Pour moi s'il vous plaît.”
Max, shockingly, listened to Charles.
Not that Charles usually listens to Max. Coming with him randomly on trips has become a common and wanted occurrence. Or blowing a couple of thousand pounds and Maxy smiling at the notification on his phone instead of rolling his eyes. Or the now awkward, short conversations that now ranged from topic to topic, lasting until sunrise.
Max had met Charles through Daniel at Jimmyz Monte-Carlo. Max had met Charles, but Max needed a little help from Daniel to locate the beauty who spilled a drink on Max, whom Max could not stop thinking about.
It was after the Monaco Grand Prix last year. Max was slightly tipsy and exhausted and didn’t want to be at the club. Sure, the free drinks were a plus, but nursing them didn’t help block out the godawful Super Eurobeat or girls flirting with him at the bar. A few fans approached him but were more focused on Checo or Carlos, which Max 100% did not mind.
Just as Max finished signing a young fan's Red Bull shirt, he felt his back become sticky and cool. Cursing under his breath, he fell back and ripped out of his jacket. Just as he turned around to snap and curse at whatever idiot spilled a drink on him, Max froze.
The wobbling plush pink lips, thumbs rubbing against ring-covered index fingers, and the stuttering all caught Max off guard. The bright club lighting illuminated the server before him, who had just split his drink all over him. With Hazel eyes and brown hair, the server looked like the physical embodiment of beauty. He apologized repeatedly, grabbing napkins and rubbing them against Max’s back.
Max was starstruck, simply staring. He left the server running his hands over his back. He didn’t want him to stop.
But he did, and that’s where Daniel came in.
Being the bastard he is, Daniel saw Max’s look and hatched his evil little plan. As Max retreated to the VIP Lounge (where Daniel told him to go change), Daniel fetched the terrified little waiter boy and brought him to the Longue. As Max tried to find a shirt that Daniel put down for him (which was a lie), Daniel pushed the terrified (and beautiful) waiter boy into the room, then the door loudly shut.
In addition to his plan (Max was going to kill him), Daniel had ordered them some wine. Oh, and most importantly, Max had no shirt. And the waiter hid in the corner of the room. And of course Max had no idea how to talk to him. Just because Max was famous didn’t mean he was the ultimate flirt; rather the opposite.
Max grabbed two glasses by their side and placed them next to each other, beginning to pour the wine. He looked up at the Waiter and then looked back. It was hard to advertise his stare since he liked (loved) what he saw in front of him.
“You don’t have to be scared. It’s water.”
“But I wasn’t looking and your Max Verstappen, and I’m…,” A heavy French accent spoke. Not what Max was expecting, but makes sense. It fit him as well.
Max once again looked up and stopped pouring. He held the half poured bottle in his hands, softly spinning it around.
“And how does that make us different? What is your name?”
After some awkward shuffling, the waiter came forward and clasped his hands.
“I’m Charles, a university student. You're a Formula 1 Driver. A World Champion,” Charles, the beauty was named, replied. He ran his hand against the velvet sofa. Max’s eyes followed his hand and he wondered how soft his skin would fele against his cheek.
Max made his way to the couch and plopped down. In some way, he silently commanded Charles do it, in which he rapidly did by sitting across from him.
“Charles, Charles, Charles, the name suits you,” Max scanned Charles and handed him a glass of wine, “What are you studying?”
Thanking the Dutch man, Charles took the drink and swung the liquid in the glass, “Architecture and Art History.”
“Why those?”
“Because I appreciate the beauty of art. Not just the finished product, but why things from the way they do. The different art styles, the different arches, the history, it’s all so fascinating. Monaco is the perfect place in my opinion,” Charles chuckled under his breath, “I can say–I’m from here.”
Charles eased up a little bit. He sipped on his wine and seemed more loose, his leg shaking and hand fidgeting decreasing. Max leaned back into the velvet couch, having already finished his wine. He reached over to pour some, but Charles beat him to it and poured Max another glass. They were close to each other, Charles leaned in and so did Max. Max looked up and Charles didn’t, but he smirked as he poured the wine.
“Oh Max, I don’t know how I can repay you,” Charles cooed when he stopped pouring. Flicking the foam off the side of the bottle, he brought it to his lips and gently sucked on the foam off the side of his thumb, “For you know, your shirt.”
“Dinner. You can repay me with dinner. By going to dinner with me,” Max corrected. He mentally cursed at himself. The more he spoke, the dumber he sounded.
But Charles chuckled and put the drink down. He stood above Max and coerced his arms, tilting his head.
“Okay then. Dinner it is. What are we waiting for?”
The coffee machine beeped, and Max looked up. He sighed and rubbed his face before making his way over to the machine. As he poured himself and Charles a cup, he went to go get some pouring cream in the fridge. His phone kept buzzing on the counter. Once he finished making his coffee, he grabbed his phone and opened the notifications. Of course, they were links to the Formula 1 Gossip Pages on his burner account. Not to any other WAY, but the curious case of Charles Leclerc. The newest post was titled The Curious Case of Charles Leclerc; Sugar Baby or WAG?
Max held back an eyeroll and began to scroll through the slides. It first started with an introduction slide to Charles. He’s a twenty-five-year-old Monégasque who graduated from the Flag Bosio, College Arts Plastiques De Monaco with a degree in Architecture and Art History. Currently, he works as an intern at the New National Museum of Monaco. He has a brother in Formula 2, and he’s been spotted at races across multiple Formulas over the years.
Then the paparazzi photos started. The account started from the day after the club, after the dinner, where Max took Charles shopping with him. Max needed to buy a new suit, but it was also an excuse to take Charles snooping. The photos of Charles pointing as Max carried multiple bags did not help his case.
The next photos got worse. At the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony that year, Max brought Charles. That should have said enough, but it got worse. Especially since the suit was one that Max had brought, a sparkly navy one, and in their official photo had Charles leaning onto Max as he placed a hand on Charles's waist.
After more scrolling of evidence pointing towards them dating and in an arrangement, the final slide nearly made Max drop his photo.
It was a photo of Max and Charles. It was at Charles graduation. The first photo was with Charles, his family, and Max. Innocent enough.
And then the last photo was the afterparty of them making out in Charles’s family home’s backyard. Max didn’t even know how that photo got there.
As he zoomed in, he felt a warm presence behind him. Something plopped onto his shoulder.
“Cute photo,” A familiar voice said.
Max sighed and turned off his phone, looking down.
Charles immediately sensed his worry and wrapped his hands around his waist. He leaned further in, gently rubbing his chest, “Maxy? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Your ears are red, liar. Tell me.”
“Charles, it’s early-”
“I don’t care-”
“Fine,” Max put his foot down. He turned around to look at Charles, grabbing his hands, “Charles, I love you.”
To say there was silence was an underestimation. Charles stood there, lips parted, as he held Max’s hands. His eyes widened as he blinked, starting with a subtle shock in his face. Max looked back, fiddling with Charles' hands. They were extremely soft. Charles still wasn’t responding, just staring.
“This arrangement-I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t know what other way to make you happy besides the gifts and money. Every time you smiled and thanked me, I couldn’t stop. I wanted more, and I pushed. I broke the boundary I promised to keep and here we are,” Max explained, “People can’t figure out what we are. They know, they just can’t confirm. I bring you to every race I go to. Every party, every dinner, you are with me at everything. But you're not some pretty face. You are beautiful, yes. But more than that to me.”
Charles looked down and back up, his hazel eyes sparkling. Charles shuffled and stroked his thumbs against Max’s hands.
“Like…a boyfriend?”
That was the word. Boyfriend. It felt weird to say, but it was true.
“Yes, Charles, yes,” Max smiled and nodded, “Boyfriend. You’re my boyfriend, if you want to be.”
“Well, I assumed after you stopped paying, that we were. Not that it ever mattered to me. But I didn’t want to say because you are stressed with your racing, I didn’t want to be a distraction,” Charles shyly confessed looking away, “I just wanted to be around you, and you want me the way I want you.”
Max moved his hands to Charles' hip. Charles made a little noise as Max brought him closer, rubbing his hands up and down the sides of Charles' slim hips.
“Prinses, you are a good distraction. Don’t say that,” Max reassured, earning a small smile from Charles, “I’ve wanted to say that forever.”
“Me too,” Charles confessed back. Charles moved his hands to Max’s cheeks, “Oh, I also forgot. I love you too, Maxy.”
Charles's small peck on Max’s cheek became a full makeout session. The two of them didn’t need coffee to wake each other up. The greasy hands, sucking lips, and horniness were enough to drag them back to the bedroom. The door was immediately shut, and Jimmy and Sassy wondered what the commotion was coming from the bedroom.
Eventually, the two cats entered, navigating through the clothes, blankets, and pillows on the ground. Jumping onto the bed, they rubbed against Max and Charles, whose arms and legs were lazily wrapped around each other.
“My darlings,” Charles worshiped and petted the Cats, “Your mother needs a new outfit for tomorrow. And so do you,”
Max let out a groan, “Another one?”
Charles turned over and playfully flicked at Max’s hip, “Do you want an unhappy partner? Maxy, If we are going to tell the world we are dating, then I must look good.”
Max slapped Charles's bare ass and happily hummed, “I guess I agree. Something see-through. Classy and cute.”
“See? I’m always right, Maxy,” Charles smiled and hopped out of bed, “Now come come, my World Champion. You’ve got a pretty partner to flaunt to the Paddock tomorrow.”
As much as the bed was comfortable, Max forced himself up. Instead of putting clothes on, he went to Charles. Charles giggled as Max tackled him to the ground, their play fighting becoming another passionate makeout session. Max had a hand on Charles's thigh as he giggled in between their kisses, the sun peering from the windows.
It was only nine-thirty in the morning. They had time.