F1 ONESHOTS [Requests Open!]

Off The Ice - Lestappen (fluff)

A/N:

Hellooo!!

I know this is SHIT and I'm sorry 😞 I'm trying to improve my skills at writing fluff and smut, so you might expect many oneshots from here on out :]

I also might start releasing some more oneshots that I've written but just never bothered uploading, so if the quality wavers, please keep that in mind! ^_^

Anyways, Enjoy!

Charles barreled into his team's locker room, his sneakers screeching against the polished floor as his bag thudded to the ground. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, the frantic sprint from the parking lot evident in the sheen of sweat on his brow.

Without missing a beat, he tugged off his jacket and shirt in one smooth motion, revealing the sharp edges of his toned chest and the faint, defined abs trailing downward. He then heard a soft whistle from behind startled him.

Charles whirled around, his eyes locking onto Max, who was leaning lazily against the lockers. One arm rested across his chest, and the other dangled loosely, a finger tapping against the cool metal surface.

"Max? What the fuck! Why are you in here?" Charles questioned. Max's smirk was maddening, his light eyes roving over Charles in a way that made him feel utterly exposed.

"Leclerc, how come you came in late?" Max drawled, his voice deep and laced with amusement. "Or do you just like making an entrance?"

Charles clenched his jaw, crossing his arms over his chest, though it did little to hide the blush creeping up his neck. "Aren't you supposed to be out on the ice?"

Max pushed off the lockers with deliberate slowness, his broad frame somehow even more imposing as he closed the space between them. "Maybe," he murmured, his eyes glinting. "But why would I want to be anywhere else when I can watch this?"

Charles scoffed, rolling his eyes, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. "Oh stop being such a flirt-"

Max's hand shot out suddenly, fingers curling around Charles' hip, pulling him just slightly forward. The touch was firm, and confident, sending a jolt of warmth through Charles' body. It caused Charles to jump a little, taking him off guard.

"Relax," Max murmured, his voice dropping an octave as his thumb traced lazy circles over the hem of Charles' jeans. "You really don't give yourself enough credit, you are beautiful you know,"

Charles bit the inside of his cheek, trying desperately to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. He muttered, pushing Max's hand away. "We're both going to be benched if we don't get out there."

Max's laugh was soft but undeniably smug as he stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine," he said, his eyes still locked on Charles. "I'll see you out there,"

Charles shook his head, turning away quickly to gather his gear. He pulled on his padded shorts, adjusting the straps around his thighs, then reached for his compression shirt, sliding it over his head. His chest and shoulders flexed as he secured his shoulder pads, the movements fluid from years of routine. Finally, he grabbed his skates and helmet, stepping out of the room.

By the time he stormed out onto the ice, his cheeks were still burning. He skated toward the center, his stick gripped tightly in his hand as he took his position for the face-off.

Max was already there, crouched slightly, his stick poised over the ice. When Charles met his gaze, Max gave him a smirk that made his stomach ache. "Looking sharp Leclerc," Max said, his tone laced with something that sent a shiver down Charles' spine. "Good luck. You'll need it."