Work Text:
Oscar doesn’t see either of his boyfriends until after the race, when he sneaks into the hotel that both Red Bull and Ferrari have booked their star drivers into. Of course, they don’t know that they could save an outrageous amount of money by just booking one room, but that is neither here, nor there. The hotel McLaren chose for Oscar and Lando isn’t far away, but he still shouldn’t let himself be caught here.
Especially not the way he looks right now, hair still damp from a hasty shower, face red and patchy, because he couldn’t be bothered to put on moisturizer, wearing a black hoodie that he found at the bottom of his suitcase. It has a mysterious stain on one sleeve and the end of the cord is chewed, but it was the only thing he had, that was not orange.
He makes his way towards Charles’ room, he knows the way by heart now, he’s been sneaking in and out of it all weekend long after all, but he’s intercepted halfway down the corridor by Max who seems to have waited for him, judging by how he’s leaning against the wall, facing the lift Oscar steps out of.
Max immediately pushes himself away from the wall and steps into Oscar’s space, wrapping him up in his arms, dropping a kiss in his hair. “Hi,” he says. Oscar smiles. “Hi,” he whispers back. Max smells like his body wash and Charles’ laundry detergent, homey and safe.
“Congratulations”, Oscar mutters into Max’s chest. “That was a fucking impressive drive.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”, Max grins shyly. “Thank you.” He doesn’t say anything about Oscar’s drive, though. Maybe it’s better this way, it’s not like there is much to say about it anyway.
He feels the exhaustion beginning to creep in and with it, as always, come the thoughts, a whirling, raging mess of emotions, frustration, fear, anger, sadness, helplessness. Lately, he often feels more like he is watching himself from the outside, watches as the Championship slips further and further away from his grip, and the further it slips, the louder the voices become, both in his head and in the world.
Unworthy , the whisper, Waste of space, no talent, unworthy.
And maybe they have a point, his last few races have been nothing short of a shitshow, and now his mistakes have cost Charles the race.
“I should find Charles and apologize.”, Oscar mumbles and moves to extract himself from Max’s embrace.
But to his surprise, Max holds on tighter, boxing him in his arms.
“Max?” Oscar asks, confused.
“Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea to see Charles right now.”, Max says, carefully.
“But, why?” Oscar has to apologize to him, at the very least. And, truth be told, he just wants to see Charles; he hasn’t since the early morning.
“Oscar, love, I think Charles just wants some space right now. He’s upset.”
Oh.
Charles needs space.
From Oscar.
Has he said so? Did he talk to Max before Oscar came over, told him he doesn’t want to see Oscar, and to send him away?
Max seems to read his mind, because he gently rests a hand on Oscar’s chest, fingers splayed wide over Oscar’s racing heart. “It’s okay, Osc. It’s just how he gets after a bad race. He just needs a moment because he doesn’t want to take it out on you.”
“But he should take it out on me.”, Oscar insists. “I ended his race.”
“No.”, Max says firmly. “That is not how this relationship works. We don’t take things out on each other. And especially not things that happened on track.”
He begins to steer Oscar on the direction of his room. “Come on.”, he says, “We’ll get some food, and you can tell me, how great I am, and then we’ll go see him, yeah?”
The joke doesn’t land the way he intended, and in the back of his mind, Oscar is aware, that he should absolutely tell Max how great he is, because that drive was fucking spectacular , but the thought doesn’t pierce through the whirling mess.
So, instead, he just nods and lets Max lead him back to his room. He lets himself be deposited on the couch and lets Max press a precooked, trainer-approved meal in a lunch box into his hands.
They eat in silence, Max sitting next to him, his entire side pressed to Oscar’s, a steadying presence.
Finally, Max takes the bento box out of his hands, huffing a laugh through his nose when he sees the peas Oscar neatly sorted out of his rice, and motions for Oscar to take his hand.
“Come on.”, he says. He leads Oscar down the hall to Charles’ room, the room they all shared all week, because it is the biggest out of the three rooms between them. Max never lets go of Oscar’s hand, holding it tightly, a tether, connecting Oscar to reality.
They end up standing in front of Charles’ room for longer than necessary, but Oscar can’t bring himself to knock. Max stands behind him, waiting patiently, until Oscar finally raises his hand to knock.
“Yes.”, Comes Charles voice from inside, muffled by distance. “It’s open.”
Max nudges Oscar’s back gently. “Go.”, he says. “I’ll be here.” He leans down to press a kiss to Oscar’s shoulder, before he steps away.
Oscar doesn’t want to go through that door. He’s afraid of what’s on the other side of it. What if Charles yells at him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t. What if he’s silent, or, oh, God, what if he’s crying? What if Oscar made him cry?
But he knows he has to face the music. Whatever is on the other side, he deserves it. So, he slowly turns the handle and opens the door.
The room is dimly lit and eerily quiet.
Quietness is something Oscar rarely experiences. In the paddock and on the track it’s never quiet of course, and at home, there always is commotion of some sort. Music playing, laughter, someone talking on the phone, Max’s cats, Charles’ dog. He’s gotten used to the noise, the commotion, so its absence feels… wrong.
Charles sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed. His eyes follow Oscar as he slips into the room and closes the door behind him.
He looks awful. Not physically, Charles is blessed enough to still be unfairly beautiful even when he’s exhausted and clearly troubled. His eyebrows are knit together, and his smile looks forced, but mostly, he looks exhausted, and frustrated and sad.
For a moment, they just look at each other from across the room and Oscar searches Charles’ eyes for any hint of what might happen next, but all he finds is a bone-deep tiredness.
And suddenly, Oscar can’t take it anymore.
It all comes to a head in this moment, all the frustration, the stress, the whispers. He doesn’t even know what is happening to him, until the first sob wracks through him.
„I’m—I’m sorry. “, Oscar sobs. He sounds pathetic and horrible, but he needs Charles to know he’s sorry, needs Charles to forgive him, he has to, because Oscar doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”, he babbles, his arms wrapped around himself. “Please, I’m so sorry, I’ll do anything, please don’t break up with me.”
“Oscar.”
“That was so stupid of me, I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it was a mistake—”
“Oscar.”
“Really, you have to believe me, I didn’t think that would happen, it’s my fault, it’s all my—"
“Oscar!”
Oscar flinches, curling in on himself. He screws his eyes shut. Who is he kidding, by now he’s just delaying the inevitable. He should at least look at Charles, when he breaks up with him, if only to save his dignity. But he can’t bring himself to. He doesn’t want the last time he sees Charles’ face to be twisted in anger.
Except it won’t be the last time, because Charles will still be in the paddock, and Oscar will have to see him, and Max, and he’ll know what they taste like, and how they like their coffee, and how Charles looks when he comes, and how Max mumbles Dutch in his sleep sometimes.
He’ll have to see them, and Lando with the Championship under his belt and Oscar will be the failed one. The one who had the Championship on a silver plate and wasn’t strong enough to take it, the one who had the two most incredible partners and lost them because he’s fucking bad at his job.
“I’m sorry”, he whispers. “I’m just sorry. I need you to know that.”
And then suddenly he’s warm. Two arms wrap around him, wrapping him in safety and familiarity, like a favorite blanket. Everything smells like Charles and home and Oscar exhales.
He doesn’t know what is happening, because this may very well be the last hug he gets from Charles, and he’s done nothing to deserve this, but his body betrays him, by immediately surrendering to Charles, melting into his arms like wax.
“Oscar”, Charles coos in his ear. “Oh, Oscar, mon ange, non, it’s alright.” He runs his hand up and down Oscar’s back. “Shh, don’t cry, please.”
“But I—”
“No”, Charles interrupts him. “Breathe, amour. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
And Oscar believes him.
Charles holds him, until his breathing slows, and his tears dry on his cheeks, leaving itchy, dry skin behind. His hands never still on Oscar’s arms and back, gentle, slow touches, grounding him.
Finally, Charles seems to decide, that Oscar is sufficiently calm, he gently steps back and rests his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. He gives him a once-over, sharp, green eyes tracing over Oscar’s face and then he nods, like he’s decided Oscar is ready for whatever will come next.
He leads Oscar to the bed, gently pushing him to sit down at the edge. Then he takes the seat next to Oscar. Oscar settles his hands in his lap, fingers nervously twisting together.
“I will not lie”, Charles says, “I am upset. But not the way you think. I know you did not do it on purpose.”
Oscar nods frantically. “I didn’t.”, he doubles down. “Why would I?”
“Yes.”, Charles smiles faintly. “And why would you? But it was still risky, and someone could have gotten hurt.”
Oscar hangs his head. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”, Charles reaches out to take one of Oscar’s hands in both of his. “Look, this season is over for me, there is no coming back, not even for P2 in the constructors, I fear. There is no saving it. So, I suppose one more DNF does not matter.”
Oscar opens his mouth to interrupt him, but Charles continues before he can speak. “But I love racing. And I love racing you, and Max, and I think there could have been a podium in it for me. So, yes, I am upset. And I am allowed to be.”
Oscar nods again. “Yes.”, he says. “You are.” Charles gives him a crooked smile before he turns serious again.
“But, Oscar, I have to apologize to you, too.”
Oscar snaps his head up. “What?”, he blurts. “For what?”
Charles gently runs his thumb back and forth over Oscar’s hand. “You— “, he swallows. “Earlier, you said please don’t break up with me ”, he licks his lips the way he only usually does when he’s nervous. Why would Charles be nervous? Is he about to break up with Oscar? Is that what he’s sorry about?
“That made me think.”, Charles says, carefully measured. Jupp, this is it. This is where he breaks up with Oscar. He wonders what will happen to Max now. Will he be forced to choose? Can Oscar still be with him and not with Charles? How do you break up when you’re dating two people?
But before Oscar can get lost in the technicalities, Charles continues. “It made me realize, that I have failed in making you feel secure about our relationship, and I am sorry about that.”
Silence.
Oscar blinks.
“What?”
Charles raises Oscar’s hand to his lips to kiss it. “If you really thought, I would break up with you over a racing incident, then I have failed to make you feel safe. I want you to feel secure enough to know that something like that will not change the way I feel about you. Oscar, you are the love of my life, you and Max, and never want to live without you.” He’s looking at Oscar with wide, honest eyes, his face so open, and vulnerable that Oscar almost starts crying again.
“It broke my heart to see you like this.”, Charles sounds hoarse, like he’s on the verge of crying too. “I know all of this is taking a toll on you, it’s so much pressure and so much frustration and stress and you shouldn’t have to stress about our relationship on top of that. And I will do better, to remind you, that this, what the three of us have, is firm.”
He nods, as if to underline with words, give them more meaning. “We are not a variable. We are a fixed point. It is important to me, that you know that.”
“Oh.”, Oscar whispers. He isn’t sure he has the words to explain how this makes him feel, so he does the only other thing that makes sense right now.
He surges forward and presses his lips to Charles’. Charles immediately returns the kiss, gentle and deep, breathing Oscar in. He lets go of Oscar’s hands to cup his face, thumb carefully tracing Oscar’s cheekbone.
“I love you.”, Oscar whispers against Charles’ lips. “I love you so much and I never want to lose you.”
“You won’t.”, Charles promises him. “You won’t. As long as you do not ask us to leave, we will not. And you will not lose us over something silly like a racing incident.”
Oscar chuckles quietly. “Just an inchident.”, he says. Charles rolls his eyes fondly, but he laughs. “Exactly.”, he agrees.
They end up curled together on the bed, Oscar resting on Charles’ chest, their legs tangled under the sheets.
“Where is Max?”, Oscar mutters, half asleep. Him and Charles having this conversation, his moment, was important, inevitable, really. They needed it, desperately, but now he feels Max’s absence in the room. “Feels weird without him. I miss him.”
“I does.”, Charles agrees, already stretching himself to reach the nightstand. “I will text him. Knowing him, he is probably sitting at the door waiting.”
True to Charles’ prediction, not even a second after Charles puts down the phone, Max stumbles into the room and heads straight for the bed.
“Hey,” he says carefully. “All good?”, his eyes dart nervously between Charles and Oscar.
Oscar nods his head, rubbing it against Charles’ chest. “Yeah”, he mutters. “We agreed, it was just an inchident.”
Max chuckles quietly. “Just an inchident, huh?”
“Oh god, enough with that already. You say something funny once and it never lets you go, it is exhausting. I know how to say it properly.”, Charles huffs. He pouts, dramatically, before waving Max over with his free arm. “Now come here, we miss you very much and we would like to be cuddled by you.”
Max slides into the bed immediately. “All the cuddles in the world.”, he promises, as he arranges himself against the headboard, so that Charles and Oscar can curl up to either side of him.
After a moment of silence, he looks down, first at Charles, then at Oscar, with a wicked little grin. “So, what about my celebratory blowjob?”