Chapter Text
Although he had always done well there, this year, Max found that he wasn't particularly excited for Saudi Arabia.
He hadn't felt in sync with the car all season, results had been lacking, and it just felt like everyone had been so irritating recently.
"Max, I want you to use this session to try a few things out, we'll test out a few new parts, and just try and see what gets you the best times on track, yeah?" Christian says, a hand on Max's shoulder, an attempt at a reassuring smile on his face.
In all honesty, Max hadn't really heard much of Christian's speech. He was zoned out. Instead of telling the man that, he gave him a response that sounded dreadfully automated, and went off to wander around the paddock. He didn't really need a repeat, anyway – Christian had been rinsing and recycling the same words for a while, and at this point, he could probably do a better job at team principal than the man himself did.
Having hastily tossed on a dark hoodie, not too many people recognised him, or at least stopped to talk to him. He had no real destination, just wanted to get to somewhere quieter, darker, and somewhere he could truly wind down before preparations for the second practise session begun.
Red, orange, blue, green – the motorhomes passed by in blurs, Max's mind on autopilot as he let his feet carry him without too much thought as to he where he was.
Fortunately, it didn't take too long before he found a tire shed and let himself in immediately, sure no one would be inside.
But as he began to shut the door behind himself, he heard it – sharp breaths stolen through nostrils, desperate hands rustling against clothes. Keening noises pryed from the back of a warm, overused throat.
The realisation sent blood to his cheeks, but the confirmation was even worse. As Max turned, eyes wide, he saw it: two figures in red, one only slightly shorter than himself, a greedy hand grasping at the braids tied neatly at the back of the man's head and another wrapped tightly around his waist.
Oh.
It's not like Max didn't have a feeling Lewis could've been... into guys. If someone had suggested it to him, he definitely would've have doubted the thought. No offence, but he was kind of surprised the man hadn't come out earlier.
But seeing it like this, on display in such a raw, vulnerable fashion... it must've took Max's nervous system by surprise, because he found that his feet were rooted to the spot.
Lewis's eyebrows instantly upturned when Max entered his line of sight, a muffled whimper erupting from his throat, immediately swallowed by the mystery man – Probably An Engineer, Max referred to him as in his mind.
(One lucky engineer at that. Lewis must've liked him a lot, because in his ten years of Formula One, Max had never seen a driver so... close with a member of their pit crew.)
He looked desperate.
"I'm close," he suddenly breathed against Lucky Engineer's lips, his voice high in his throat and bordering on a sob. From his peripheral vision, Max could see Lewis's hips rolling in small thrusts against the body pressed against him. Unable to stop himself, Max's eyes tracked Lucky Engineer's hand as it snaked lower to a place he couldn't see.
Although, he was pretty sure he could guess its destination.
At this point, he could feel himself settling into his role, muscles relaxing and mind adapting. It was a weird feeling for a multitude of reasons: for one, he was straight; secondly, he hadn't gotten any kind of action in a while, especially on race weekends; and thirdly, why was he letting himself be Lewis Hamilton's cuck?
And why was it something he enjoyed???
He could think about those things later, he decided. There were more pressing matters at hand.
Lewis kept the lower portion of his face pressed into Engineer's shoulder, gazing up at Max through thick eyelashes. Max listened to his breaths as they sped up, watched as the movements of his hips gradually got faster. Even in the darkness, he looked like a vision, and the way his body drifted through movements so fluidly kept Max entranced.
The sheen that glossed his eyes was visible from Max's angle, painfully so. Since the moment he'd entered the dingy shed, it seemed the energy had shifted, setting Lewis alight. As he got increasingly more desperate, his moans became more audible, strangled as they left from his parted lips and absorbed by the fabric of Engineer's team gear.
In the same way Lewis had come alive when Max entered the picture, Max felt something new coursing through his veins. Something that filled him with confidence so strong that he felt sort of euphoric, and he wasn't even the one receive what Lewis had to offer physically.
Maybe that was what gave him the courage to do what he did next.
"You gonna come for me, Lewis?" he mouthed, afraid the man wouldn't be able to understand. Still, he persevered, a teasing eyebrow raised, "make sure his name is the one you say, he might get jealous otherwise," he added, rolling his eyes as he gestured towards the engineer.
"Mack!" Lewis cried as his body seized up, moaning way too loudly for the location they were in. He repeated the name like a mantra, and maybe Max was insane, but he was sure at least a few of those repetitions sounded like they had an 's' added onto the end.
That was it for Max, hastily, grabbing the outline of his own cock and stroking one, two, three, four times before he came, groan barely muffled with his fist. Lewis kept a watchful eye, and revealed a cheeky smile once Max opened his eyes again.
As always, post-nut clarity hit like a train, and all of a sudden Max was all too aware of what had just happened.
Lewis, ever the angel, could probably tell, and gave him some direction.
"Thank you, thank you," he breathed as he clung onto Engineer, keeping him from turning around. "We'd better go," Lewis suggested, the last word louder than the others, and Max followed the order immediately.
In that moment, the race back to the hospitality, to his bathroom, and back to the garage in time felt more monumental than the actual on race coming up on Sunday did.
Thankfully, he made it, and Christian didn't suspect a thing.
On Saturday, just before they hopped into their cars, Lewis's eyes found Max's lingering on him from across the grid. Before Max could flee, Lewis held the eye contact, and his face split into a grin. Max could feel his cheeks burning, though he wasn't entirely sure of the reason.
Perhaps it was because Lewis had now dragged him into this secret of his, and now the both of them had a shared responsibility for it. What was once Lewis's and Lewis's alone is now Max's too, something they share, and at its core, that is intimacy.
(he would've said not as intimate as the events he had witnessed the night before, but maybe that wasnt fair, considering he was practically an accomplice.)
Max tore his eyes away, got in the car, and ended up finishing on pole, Lewis on his heels, just like how things used to be.
Something in Max wanted to cower at the thought, alarm bells blaring in his mind. He'd seen how Lewis had hurt after Abu Dhabi – he didn't want to see the other man like that again.
But then again, maybe they could do it different this time. Change a few things around and see how it went. The championship would be won fair and square, and if not, Max would make sure he spoke out this time, he would.
So, if Lewis was down to play that game, so was he.