One Shots | Formula 1

MV✩

"I like it when you're rough"

TW: explicit, nsfw.

I stood in the dimly lit garage, the smell of rubber and gasoline filling the air, and I couldn't help but reflect on how Max and I had ended up here—friends with benefits, tangled in this web of unspoken rules and late-night rendezvous.

Max Verstappen. The name alone sparked a myriad of memories. We had been friends for years, sharing the chaotic world of fast cars and constant travel. Max, as the daring pilot soaring across tracks, and me, a part of the bustling Red Bull Racing team. Our lives were a whirlwind of races, press conferences, and endless flights to new destinations. Amidst this whirlwind, we found solace in each other's company—both physically and emotionally.

It started innocently enough. Two friends, always on the move, looking for a release from the pressures of our demanding careers. We joked about our "friends-with-benefits" arrangement, a pact born out of convenience more than anything else. With our schedules, finding time for a traditional relationship seemed impossible. So, we settled for this casual, unspoken agreement—a way to scratch an itch, so to speak, whenever our paths crossed.

But as the months rolled on, something shifted. What began as a pragmatic solution evolved into something deeper, more intimate. Our encounters became more than just physical release. They became a refuge, a sanctuary where we could shed the weight of our responsibilities and simply be ourselves.

For Max, I sensed it was a respite from the constant scrutiny and expectations that came with being a racing phenom. The pressure to perform, the spotlight always glaring—it weighed heavily on him. And for me, it was a release from the relentless demands of my role within the team. The stress of optimizing every race weekend, the sleepless nights analyzing data—it consumed me. But when I was with Max, all those worries faded into the background.

There was an unspoken understanding between us—a mutual acknowledgment of the chaos that defined our lives. In each other's arms, we found comfort. We talked about everything and nothing, basking in the simplicity of the moment.

Tonight was no different. As I waited for him in the shadows of the garage, I felt a familiar anticipation building within me. The loud revs of engines echoed in the distance, punctuating the quiet. Soon, Max would appear, that mischievous grin playing on his lips. I would follow him to his driver's room, tucked away from the prying eyes of the racing world. It became our sanctuary, our private space where we could truly let go.

I loved being in Max's driver's room the most. There was something raw and primal about it—the smell of sweat mingling with the faint scent of his cologne, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he emerged from the car, fueled by the intensity of the race. In those moments, our encounters were passionate, rough. It was as if the rush of the track ignited a fire within us, unleashing a side of Max that was thrilling and untamed.

The way he looked at me with those intense eyes—it sent shivers down my spine. There was an unspoken understanding between us as we shed the layers of our public personas, baring our vulnerabilities in the intimate space of his driver's room.

Today wasn't any different. As Max stepped out of his car, his adrenaline-fueled presence filled the garage. I fell into step behind him, unnoticed by the bustling crew, and followed him quietly into his driver's room.

The result of the race had been disappointing, evident in the tension radiating from Max's every movement. He was usually intense after a tough race, but today there was an edge to his demeanor—an untamed energy that set my pulse racing.