a little bit of a spice 🌶
Giving a rookie his car is always difficult. Although his RB21 was temperamental, it was his. With his setup, his seating position, his steering wheel position. And now Max was looking at the screen, watching Lindblad calmly maneuver through the corners. Maybe the car would stay in one piece.
On the other screen, the one positioned a bit lower so it wouldn't be visible in photos, was Charles's onboard footage. He was tracking his statistics, how he was holding onto first place and improving his time lap after lap. One day they'd have equal cars, and they would finally fight fairly. The mere thought of it drove Max crazy. Fighting with Charles was always different: honest, respectful, but at the same time daring and aggressive. But the most important thing was that neither of them intended to hold a grudge against the other. No investigations, arguments, or penalties. One would take the other's side, understand, and forgive.
"This is boring, mate," came from Charles's cockpit.
Max laughed and made a note of what needed changing on his car for this stage.
The second practice disappointed Max. The new settings didn't help to neutralize the increased pressure and low downforce. The car was sliding, sometimes almost undrivable. However, he still managed to finish first, having fully tested everything required. This data could help in the fight for first place in the race.
The third was even worse. Something was broken on his car, but nobody knew what. Ultimately, he finished fifth.
Charles felt a warm sensation of acceptance spreading within him. The team had given Lewis the same settings he had been experimenting with in Austin. Some suspected that these ideas were not Bryan's. After so many years, Leclerc could become someone worth listening to. All three practice sessions proved his competence not only as a driver but also as an engineer. Over the years, he had only gotten better at understanding the cars. Sometimes he wanted to replace his strategists and engineers with himself, leaving only Bryan, more for fun than for utility.
Qualifying was tough. The weather conditions worsened, and it was getting warmer. The water that Charles sometimes remembered existed was hot and awful to drink. Sector after sector, corner after corner, and he heard the beloved words:
"P2, Charles. Lewis P3. Forza Ferrari!"
Leclerc quickly jumped out of the car and started looking for him. But Max was nowhere to be seen. Norris was on pole position. He shook his hand and looked at the telemetry in front of the track. Max was fifth, already expressing his opinion about the non-competitive car.
Charles was honest with himself and openly admitted that after losing his ridiculous chance at the title, he only hoped for Verstappen among all the championship contenders. That's why Max's words upset him. He didn't want to think that Max had stopped believing in himself, because there was no reason for him to be disappointed; that belief had been enough for him to take four titles. But would it be enough for a fifth?
The interviews and photos flew by quickly, and Leclerc returned to the hotel after the briefing. An hour and a half of sleep helped him feel energized again. After a shower, Charles went for a walk. Small tents and mobile grills were selling Mexican food. Beef tacos brought back warm memories of previous years. Charles took two.
"Chicken tacos," a familiar voice was heard.
Leclerc saw him in front of him again. For the first time all week. They had been in contact, but both seemed absorbed in their own tasks, so they hadn't managed to cross paths even at the hotel since arriving in Mexico. They barely texted, their message exchange consisting of forwarding news articles.
Max was angry, his brows furrowed, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on Charles. He couldn't tell what Max was thinking as he looked at him.
"Hi..." Charles said softly.
"I'm angry. I don't want to hurt you."
"Anything. I can't control myself right now. My thoughts are like big waves. There are too many."
Max clearly disagreed with him but didn't voice anything aloud. Taking their tacos, both young men headed down the narrow, deserted streets. The silence stretched for twenty minutes, but they continued to be in each other's periphery, finished their food long ago. Charles lightly touched Max's knuckles with his fingertips. The slight touch, more like a breeze, did not go unnoticed. Verstappen turned his palm towards Charles, inviting him to touch it. The interlocking of their fingers warmed them, saving them from the cool night air. Leclerc occasionally stroked the back of Max's hand with his thumb.
"You were right. It's a horrible feeling."
Leclerc met Max's eyes; he didn't need to ask him to understand. All of Max's thoughts were already in Charles's head the moment he watched the interview.
"Maybe this time, something isn't enough. And my stubbornness won't be enough to hide the flaws."
"Sometimes life closes a door to open a window. Otherwise, there would be a draft, right?"
Max smiled and touched Charles's cheek with his other hand. Behind him, a woman, crouching, was setting out candles, outlining a path for the departed.
"I liked your costume last year."
"Unfortunately, I didn't come up with anything this time."
The woman stood up. Her dark brown hair and dark skin perfectly masked her age. She approached the young men and started speaking quickly in Spanish. But then Charles spoke: his voice slowly constructed unfamiliar words into sentences. After a couple of minutes of conversation, he took small wreaths of orange marigolds from her hands, said goodbye to the woman, and turned to Max.
"We need to put them on."
"That's how we honor the memory of the departed. You remember the dead, and they come down to visit you."
Verstappen leaned in so Charles could put the wreath on him. It neatly rested on the crown of Max's head, tangled in his hair.
"You're not the first to say that."
"But the first to notice it outside your army."
They continued their walk. The street slowly climbed uphill. Around the path paved with stone tiles, small houses slowly rose, each roof decorated with flowers. Bright multi-colored flags hung over the road, each with a specific, different pattern. A small market gathered at the foot of the hill. There were fewer people than downtown, in the heart of the city, but the assortment was not poorer for it. Fruits and delicacies covered the counters.
"Looks like this is a 24-hour market."
"I think we could get dessert," Charles smiled silly.
The fruit was sweet, and juicy. Charles's lips were moisturized with the juice, which attracted Max's gaze. He put his mango aside and reached for Leclerc. They were standing near a burning red sign that read: "CANTA Y NO LLORES".
"Sing and don't cry, Max. Fight with me until one of us retires," Charles whispered, draping his arms over the guy's shoulders.
"Maybe we'll retire together."
Max kissed his lips. The mango flavor completed the juiciness of Charles's lips perfectly, so Verstappen ran his tongue over them, licking off the fruit juice. This action caused Leclerc to part his lips and let the guy's tongue into his mouth. They could have kissed like that for a very long time, but a passing crowd of drunken young people started whistling at them.
"Yeah, go on, kiss him!"
"Are you married? You look good as a couple."
Charles buried his forehead in Max's chest, and he shielded him from the people. They just smiled and walked past.
"Maybe we should really get married?"
"Are you joking? We're not even dating."
"I thought we were dating. I'm loyal to you."
"Don't lie to me. How many people are around you!"
They both laughed simultaneously. It was comical to be loyal to a person you thought wouldn't appreciate it. It turned out that both of them were too engrossed in each other to think about anyone else.
"Then date me, Charles," Max whispered in his ear.
"Only if you marry me in the end."
"I'll change the laws of Monaco for you."
Despite yesterday's disappointments, Max was in high spirits after the evening spent with Charles. He wanted him to stay the night, spend a couple more hours with him after returning from the walk, but Leclerc gently refused, quite rightly citing tomorrow's race. Both of them needed rest before a difficult day.
Now Max was standing in his garage, drinking a Red Bull.
"Are you feeling positive?" GP asked.
"I think so. Let's start with the medium. The car is already sliding anyway."
Once in the car, Max sighed: he needed to switch off his internal worries, shift his thoughts, like gears, into race mode. Opening his eyes, he saw the mechanics in front of him; the protective screen was up.
After the warm-up lap, everyone stopped in their spots, the ones they had taken after qualifying. Fifth place wasn't the worst, actually. The view was excellent, and maneuverability would have been good if Max hadn't ended up next to the two Ferraris that had broken ahead yesterday in the first corner, and then hadn't driven onto the grass. That's how car number 33 ended up behind Bearman. Surprisingly, Oliver confidently and neatly drove past everyone during Lewis and Max's squabble. Max tried to overtake him for a long time, but Bearman finally gave up and let him pass. Max expected a penalty, but instead, he heard the engineers discussing strategy. Only after he wasn't called into the pits did Verstappen realize that it was a brilliant acting performance by GP, one that even he had believed. In the final laps, he found himself in front of Charles. He quickly closed the huge gap, on already old tires after a recent pit stop, motivated by his engineer's words:
"Your man is ahead of you. We came here for a fight!"
Max understood that GP meant he should focus on Charles, as if he wasn't already consumed by him. He had a premonition of their fight, but then the Virtual Safety Car appeared.
Charles laughed, disappointed at the lack of a fight with Max.
"Haha, Max, oh God, Max. That's definitely going to be a penalty!"
Finishing second, Charles was happy. A second consecutive podium was pleasing, but the main thing was not to hope for too much. That was his mantra this year, which allowed him to fight without fear of losing anything. He climbed out of the cockpit and headed towards Max. A handshake and a touch of the waist: so familiar and with a slight taste of intimacy.
"Do you think I would have caught you?"
"I was waiting for it, but no luck. Next time, Max."
They both laughed and went their separate ways. Soon their bodies were close again. Charles started the dialogue, and Max talked about the first corner that had thrown him off his rhythm, but despite all the difficulties, they were both on the podium. In the cooldown room, Max managed to show Charles once again that he had already tried rally.
Stepping onto the podium first always came with a nasty taste of childhood for Max. But Leclerc was nearby again, he had overtaken him again, but enough time had passed for him to separate the race from the guy himself and love both the fight with him and him personally. All this gave different emotions, but his feelings, sacred yet open before Charles, were in this mixture. They sprayed each other almost simultaneously, but to hide his favoritism, Max tried to spray Lando with champagne too, but felt droplets of the sparkling liquid under high pressure fall on his neck again; Leclerc demanded his attention.
Back at the hotel, Verstappen collapsed onto the bed after a shower and stared at the ceiling. His thoughts raced between positive and negative. His head was throbbing with emotion. A knock on the door interrupted his drift into sleep.
Charles stood in the doorway.
"Maybe now isn't the time, but are you busy?"
"Shall we play padel? Our mutual friends invited me, but I don't want to play just among them. We have a team connection anyway."
"Are you going to run after the ball until the last moment again?"
"Yes. And I expect the same from you."
"Then let's play. We need to beat them. They almost humiliated me last time."
The game was fast-paced: Charles and Max both played with all their might, and sweat poured off them. In the end, they beat the other team by a margin of a few points.
All four of them were standing in the changing room. Two guys were laughing.
"We didn't know you were in love with each other."
"What made you think that?" Charles protested.
"Looks like Red Bull has known for a long time."
Max realized they were talking about his conversation with the pit wall during the race.
"I didn't know you worked there," Max replied, standing with his back to them and taking off his T-shirt.
Leclerc looked at the flexing muscles of Verstappen's arms and wondered how to stop the quarrel that was starting.
"So, what? Are you dating?"
"Yes. And my engineers use it to motivate me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"Hey, Max, cool down in the shower. I'm just kidding. I remember you're friends."
Charles volunteered to walk the guys out and then went back up to the changing room. Max was sitting on the bench in just his boxers in front of the locker, staring at the floor.
"If I could, I'd tell the whole world what I think of you."
"Would you say how much you want to push me off the track onto the grass?"
Max stood up and walked over to Charles.
"Maybe," Verstappen whispered in his ear, "or something else. Something personal: how turned on I get just thinking about you, how I go crazy when I'm alone in Monaco, how I only eat your ice cream, how I watch your onboard if I get the chance."
Leclerc felt himself blush, how much he slowly wanted to hide from all those words, but how much he wanted to keep hearing them. Unable to endure it, he reached out and kissed Max on the lips. A second later, Verstappen pushed him against the wall and finally put his hands on his waist, something that had been missing out on the podium. Under the slight pressure from the body close to his, Charles stopped moving, only spending his energy on the kisses.
"You smell like a good game."
"That's a well-veiled way of saying I stink."
After these words, Max lowered his head and ran his nose along the Monegasque's neck. A sophisticated scent touched Max's brain somewhere in the back, in the subconscious. Sweat didn't spoil the smell, it only complemented it.
"Let's go take a shower," Charles pushed him away.
Warm water streamed down their naked bodies, hiding them behind the steam. Max left hickeys, bites, and kisses on Charles's body, practically non-stop. Leclerc just melted under the touches and feelings. He tried to respond, but Max kept pressing him against the previously cold, but now steamed-up, tile.
"I almost caught up to you."
"You have been for a long time," Charles said breathlessly, tilting his head and arm back.
Finally, Verstappen knelt and kissed Leclerc's thigh. He, in turn, didn't resist, already anticipating the coming orgasm. Max acted quickly and aggressively. Their short struggle had excited him enough that just the memory of it drove him crazy.
"We never manage to compete properly in the f1 races. When are you going to change this team?"
"Not soon. Not that I'm planning to."
"Plan to. It's impossible, you can't bury your skills."
Max didn't give him a chance to agree or disagree with his opinion. The movements of his mouth and hands were enough for the warm water to quickly wash away the residue of sperm from both bodies. Verstappen kissed him again, biting his lip until it bled.
The hot weather in Mexico called them back outside. Max and Charles found themselves among the familiar houses, but now every corner, every entrance was decorated with flowers, flags, and candles. Passersby bowed to the homes of friends who had passed into the other world. Someone would stop to light a candle in memory. The familiar woman noticed them. This time, she spoke in broken English, but Verstappen still understood her.
"Take candles. Remember the dead. I already gave you flowers."
Max and Charles both reached for the candles simultaneously. They lit them from nearby ones and slowly placed them on the altar, not forgetting to silently say kind words for the deceased.
In the end, they decided to climb up to the market, and then turn onto a high point with a viewing platform. In the darkness of the night, there was no one there, and sitting next to each other, they gazed into the distance. Sometimes Max's gaze returned to Charles, memorizing his features.
"Would he be happy if I left Ferrari?"
"I don't know. He would believe in your championship and support you anyway, right?"
"Yes. But is it a betrayal to leave the team we both wanted so badly?"
"As goals are achieved, dreams change."
"Do I want a championship or to be at Ferrari? That's the main question you're asking?"
"How would you answer in my place?"
"I always put myself above the team. Everyone knows that."
And they continued to gaze at the stars, glittering in the clear Mexican sky on the eve of Day of the Dead.
I have a story about Austin lestappen podium this year. Let me know if I should post it too! Waiting for your feedback!
