End Game (Charles Leclerc x Max Verstappen)

Call It What You Want

 *CONTENT WARNING - Smut. I will indicate the beginning and end with [***] so you can avoid if you'd like but still get the fluffy plot points*

Charles Leclerc

The Hungarian gp is about two weeks after the London trip Max, Pen and I took after Silverstone. I DNF'd this morning and Max was ninth which was not the best result for either of us but I think we were both a little bit distracted. I have not seen Max outside of the paddock at all since London and a not so very small part of me desperately wanted to kiss him the second we made eye contact. I knew keeping whatever this is a secret would be difficult but I did not expect it to be this hard.

The hotel room is so very quiet I can hear a false ringing in my ears. I hate to be alone. It is making me think of back when we were all in lockdown and I was most likely depressed. But, it is now nearly midnight and I have been in bed for an hour staring at the ceiling, sleep is pointless anyway.

I sit up, swiping my phone from the nightstand and pulling it from the charger. I immediately open TikTok, my new obsession of scrolling through Max edits has taken over the home page, and I am greeted by yet another edit of Max dripping in post-race sweat and champagne while pouring a bottle of water over his head. I cannot stop staring.

Mon dieu [my god] how is it possible to be so beautiful? My heart does a little flip and twist that has become quite normal when it comes to Max, it seems. Fuck I am hopelessly falling for this man, but I think I might be okay with that?

And perhaps it is because I am lonely and delirious and upset about the race but I cannot stop myself from texting Max. We said we would try this after all.

Are you asleep? (From Charles)

It is less than thirty seconds before his reply dings through and I am pulled away from another Max edit, this one featuring cute moments with Pen, which I will be saving to send him later.

Obviously not if I'm texting you back. (From Maxie)

Can't sleep? (From Maxie)

I do not know. The room is just so quiet and my brain will not shut up. You know how it is  (From Charles)

*Maxie liked a message*

Want company? (From Maxie)

I can think of many ways to shut you up ;) (From Maxie)

My jaw drops as I read his last text but my fingers cannot type fast enough. Images of the many many  ways I would gladly allow Max to shut me up are racing through my mind, each perhaps more explicit than the last. I type and retype my message at least four different times, trying to decide how much I am willing to risk to even just breathe the same air as him for a moment. Finally I sigh and decide perhaps my whole career is not worth one kiss, not matter how badly I wish we could. J'emmerde les conneries patriarcales stupides et les têtes de merde homophobes [Fuck stupid patriarchal bullshit and homophobic shitheads]. They are really ruining my life. And, however unknowingly, ruining my entire sex life.

I so badly would like to say yes Max but we cannot. What if someone sees you? (From Charles)

I can be very stealthy you know (From Maxie)

It is another minute before the second message pings through.

Please can I shut you up? I miss you (From Maxie)

This is dangerous. We are reckless. I cannot afford to maybe lose my seat over a man. But he is not just a man. He is Max. And right now I am seriously considering that I might risk losing my seat over Max. Shit.