ORR CURSE OF OBEDIENCE AHHH THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS IT COULD GO (but lowkey established relationship max has the curse put on him and ppl r using for the wrong reasons (what ever that be) so charles pull some protective bf vibes and is like you can only listen to me and then curse solved and max is soo greatful to charles (lowkey could be unestablished relationship and this is where someone confesses)) whoops got a bit carried away 🩵
Max woke up feeling normal.
Entirely regular, not one discrepancy across his entire body.
None.
Charles wasn’t next to him, they’d slept in separate rooms the night before to ‘improve focus’ which was really just their way of saying they were unhappy and didn’t want to spread it to the other person.
In all honestly it was never their brightest move, considering every single time Max woke up feeling far more upset when he couldn’t curl into a warm body, and Charles would cling to him for the next couple of days until they finally felt satiated.
His mind felt a little fuzzy.
Nothing in particular, definitely not.
His phone chimed on the beside table next to him, Christian.
Max, we need you to come in earlier today, to look at the car. We want you to get us that number 1!!!
Max was at the track before he even registered the words.
Huh.
“Max! Exactly who I wanted to see! I need you to pop round to the mechanics for me, they want you to take a look at some last minute changes, I don’t know about them, I trust you, do what you think is best, alright?”
Max nodded and sped straight off.
All in all it was a relatively simple conversation, the team knew him, knew he was good, they changed what he wanted with only minimal refutes.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, definitely, it keeps the front of the car heavy.”
“And we can’t have anyone messing with your precious car balance, can we Maxie?” Rupert said, slapping his hands onto his shoulders. He’d been preying on Max from the sidelines for at least 10 minutes, more than enough time to come over.
“No, of course not,” he replied easily.
Rupert grinned and firmed up his grip, “Come on, Max, we need to head off now.” And dragged him away, he fell into line next to him.
“You alright mate? You seem a little distant today.” Rupert questioned, “Please tell me you’ve done all your race prep.”
“I’ve done all my race prep,” He said automatically and immediately felt his skin crawl.
He couldn’t even remember his way to the track, he knew damn well he hadn’t done a single fucking stretch or warm up, he hadn’t drunk a single drop of water, he hadn’t even fucking eaten anything.
He had nothing to burn or sweat, he hadn’t even drunk a singular drop of RedBull.
Max Verstappen hasn’t drunk RedBull.
And he was a good racer, he’d been a good racer. But you could only do so much when you were hungry and thirsty and under-caffeinated.
So why the fuck was he lying to Rupert instead of telling him so he could go off to the cafeteria, or do some stretches with him. Literally anything.
He opened his mouth to say something, refute it, anything but he just couldn’t.
His chest tightened and his hands clenched.
“Oh and text Charles would you? I’m sick and tired of him pestering me about you. Tell him you’re doing fine and I’m not destroying your muscles.”
Max pulled out his phone without even thinking about it.
Me:
I’m fine
And Rupert isn’t destroying my muscles
Charlie ❤️🏁:
Max!!!
Good morning!
You never text first!
How are you?
Me:
I’m fine
Charlie ❤️🏁:
Okay…
Very descriptive
I need to go, Fred wants me
But please don’t overwork yourself mon cœur, oui?
Max began to type a response, but-
“Alright, not that long. We still have stuff to do Max, race is in 5 hours and we’ll be working for every bit of it.”
He put the phone back into his pocket, despite the buzzing, which only increased as time went on.
It stressed him out, more that it usually would.
His fingers itched to pick it back up again, but Rupert was talking. He had to listen to Rupert.
—
“Alright, get out there and do your best Max, the positioning of this track is a bit bad for you, so make sure you keep that P1 in that first corner, okay Champ?” Christian said whilst grinning and clapping him on the back, pushing him forward and towards the car.
Max mumbled a vague agreement and made his way over to the track.
The car rumbled steadily underneath his hands, it was feeling much better than before, he wasn’t yet happy with it, probably never would be, but it was certainly an improvement.
The lights went out and he slammed the accelerator, heading towards the first turn, Oscar right on his heels and-
Keep that P1 in the first corner
He turned, barreling straight off the track, completely cutting off the first corner.
Shit
It was fine. All fine.
The FIA usually ignored any first corner infringements, especially on a track like this. It was okay.
“Keep it steady Max, keep pushing,” GP’s voice crackled through his ear.
“Wait- but with the-“
“No comment please, Max.”
He shut up.
He continued as normal, twisting and turning the car wherever need be, doing whatever he could to extend the gap.
Don’t overwork yourself, mon cœur
Right. He-
Keep pushing
Oh.
He couldn’t slow it down, he had to keep pushing. But he was meant to slow it down- so surely he had to fall back a little.
A faint thrumming began in his head, not entirely painful, but distracting enough that he couldn’t hear his own thoughts.
He drove in instinct, he wasn’t sure what he was doing or saying, but at least something was happening.
The drumming grew, it shook through his brittle bones and he gripped the wheel tighter in some futile attempt of averting the pain and regaining control.
But he hadn’t had control for a while now.
Not in the morning, not in any one of his conversations and certainly not in his driving.
But it just can’t be. Things like this don’t just happen, and they certainly don’t happen to Max.
Although, not one other thing could explain what’s going on.
Someone asks him to do something, and he just goes and does it, he doesn’t have control over his actions at all.
It unsettled something deep within him, he liked to be in control, needed it almost.
And now he had nothing.
He pushed down on the accelerator, sending the car in a perfect arc around a corner, gaining milliseconds to try and catch up to Oscar in front. He pushed harder and harder and-
A bright flash of pain sparked through his mind, he flinched and the car stumbled around a turn. It felt like burning and aching and freezing and it just hurt. It hurt so much.
“Keep the car steady, Max. Oscar 2.5 seconds ahead.”
Max barely managed to keep in another strangled, pained sound.
—
The car crossed the line in seconds, it was okay.
He wanted to win, but he always wanted to win.
He could take second.
But he really couldn’t take the fiery pain across his entire skull, only exasperated by the time he took off his helmet.
He closed his eyes and gripped the stand his helmet rested on. Blindly, he reached out and grabbed a water bottle and brought it to his mouth.
“Max.”
Oh fuck.
“We need to have a little chat,” Came the cocky, condescending voice of Muhhamed Ben sualem.
Quite possibly the last person he would ever want to be talking to right now, especially when Charles was right there.
“I would just like to remind you of the rules, Max. Considering you’re prone to breaking them. You are not to speak badly about myself or the rest of the FIA to anyone, press or not, or there will be harsh consequences, Max. It would do you well to remember this.” His voice droned on and on.
Max tried to refute, tried to say something in the one second he had before the cameras brought there mics over and he lost the chance to say anything at all. His mouth stayed closed.
Sulaem walked away with his typical goblinish grin.
He wasn’t really hearing much over the pounding in his head. He wasn’t really sure if it was because the only water he had was that in the water system, or if it was because he was running in absolute fumes after doing too much without any form of sustenance. Probably everything, considering the way he trembled where he stood, but he could see Charles out of the corner of his eye. At the very least he could be with Charles, especially after the shit show he’d suffered through.
He walked over and slumped wordlessly in a nearby pillar. Charles looked over and grinned with a small wink, although nothing else considering they had about a hundred cameras on them. It was a shame, Max was pretty sure he’d be okay with publicising his relationship for a kiss and a hug.
“Did you have a penalty?” Charles asked, also breathless but conscious enough to get his mouth moving, which was a little more than Max was currently capable of. He gave a small nod.
“God it was really hot out there today, wasn’t it?”
Again, Mad gave a bid but nothing else.
And Charles, probably sensing the fact his boyfriend wasn’t really up for a conversation, shut right up and came over.
He leant down on the same pillar, pushing their overheating bodies together, which was nice and pleasant but also very uncomfortable. Max knew it must’ve been the same for Charles, yet he was willing to do it, for Max.
Max dropped increasingly more weight into Charles’ side. Charles frowned and gave him an odd look.
“Are you okay, cherí? How do you feel?” He asked.
“Odd,” Max replied thoughtlessly, which he was not meant to say because he didn’t want to freak Charles out, and Charles would always be freaked out at the slightest change of his attitude.
Charles was clearly about to say more, but their PR managers came around together,
“Max, come on, you need to go speak with the media.”
His head flared up from where he hadn’t even recognised it falling.
You are not to speak badly
Max answered questions clinically, rushing through them and running off the second he could, in order to avoid any extra questioning.
He knew he was unsociable during the cool down room and podium. He hoped people believed it was because of the heat and penalty, rather than his overwhelming headache and aversion to speak in case anyone at all asked about penalties and he answered and his head flared up again.
It was much of the same in the post-race media room. Clipped answers, sips of water and wondering if he could sneak away to grab a bite to eat, or get some painkillers. Or just avoid the world for an hour or two.
The second he finished he slipped out of the room with a sigh, grateful to finally, finally-
“Max!”
Of for fucks sake.
It was a reporter he didn’t recognise, tall with dark eyes and a smile that instantly put him on edge.
“Sorry guys,” Max refuted, “I’m done for the day, I can’t really answer your questions.”
“We need you to answer some questions Max, we won’t take too long.”
Max’s body turned to face him before his mind could catch up.
“What happened with Oscar on the first turn? Was that his fault? Do you agree with the penalty?”
You are not to speak badly about myself or the rest of the FIA.
“Of course it is upsetting to get the penalty, but it cannot be changed now, so there is no point talking about it.”
“Ah, our typical world champion, blunt as always. What about the McLarens? What do you think about them?”
Stupid prick, Max wasn’t ‘their’ anything.
“I think they are very fast, they have a very good car-“
“Obviously not that. On a personal level, are you still friends with Lando? Do you like Oscar? Will yourself and Oscar’s relationship be able to repair after this incident?” He interrupted.
Max wasn’t sure press had ever bombarded him with quite so many questions, he wished the guy would just shut up and take that stupid camera out of his face so he could leave.
“Our relationships will not be affected by racing. We are all adults and we know how to separate from in and off track.” He replied dryly, hoping he would just get the fucking hint.
“What about outside of the track? Recently people have been speculating your relationship with Kelly. She’s been spotted around with other men, the tabloid are saying you have a PR relationship. Is this true? Who are you really dating?”
No no no no no, he could not seriously ask any of this right now. Not when Max couldn’t lie.
He had to shut up, he had to clench his mouth closed and drop any and all sound coming out, he couldn’t let them know, he couldn’t out himself and Charles.
Hell, they’d be arrested in half the countries they drive in, he couldn’t ruin both of their careers by letting his mouth run, but the guy was smirking at him and the camera was inching closer and he he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving.
“Well-“
“I don’t see what that has to do with racing,” a cold voice cut in.
Charles.
Thank god, at least he was here.
“In fact, I’m not even sure you have a permit to report right now, considering you are outside of the media pen. You have no right to blockade off a driver from leaving just to pester them with useless questions. We are leaving. I’m going to ensure you never even see a race track ever again, after you’ve broken rules and harassed drivers.”
He snapped at the man, glaring daggers over the camera, directly into his eyes without backing down the slightest.
We are leaving.
Okay. Simple.
Just leave with Charles, he can do that.
Charles gently grabbed Max’s wrist and dragged him away, “Come on, mon trésor. Let’s get far away from these people.” He whispered.
Charles led them to their car and guided Max into the passenger seat, before jumping into the drivers and grabbing Max’s hands from across the console.
“Max, baby, you know I love you.” Max tensed, he wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.
“And that means you can talk to me. About anything.”
Max nodded wordlessly, Charles just looked more pained and brushed a hand over his cheek.
“Sweetheart, what’s going on. You’ve acted strange all morning, you didn’t respond to my texts, you’ve been distant, you’re letting yourself be hounded by the same type of reporters you hate and now you look about tap away from collapsing. What’s happened?”
The words spilled out before he could stop them, panicked and rushed, “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening to me, every time someone asks me to do something I just do it. I have no say in it, it just happens. I barely even remember it, Charlie. I’m scared, I don’t know how far it goes, I don’t know how to stop it, and my head hurts- it hurts so badly. I don’t even know what’s wrong or how it’s happened but it doesn’t feel right.”
“Oh baby,” Charles cooed, pulling Max into a tight hug, “You poor thing. We’ll fix this, okay? I’ll get it sorted don’t worry,” he soothed as Max collapsed into his shoulder, thin streams of water soaking into his shirt, which only seemed to make them both more upset.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart, don’t cry. I know it’s stressful, but it’ll be okay, alright?”
Max tried to hide his face more thoroughly.
His head hurt as more tears flowed. He had to stop them, he wasn’t allowed to cry, but he’d already collapsed and now they couldn’t stop.
“Okay, how about this baby. Stop listing to what other people say. From now on you aren’t allowed to follow what they say at all, you have to use your own mind and your own opinions to make descisons. And if you’re ever in a position you are uncomfortable with, you leave as soon as you possibly can; you don’t stay around people like that, okay?”
Max sighed, “yeah. Yeah okay.”
“Perfect,” Charles grinned, “Let’s go back to the hotel now, cherí.”
—
Max stepped through the door, lightly supported by Charles’ hand resting over his waist and his vision promptly went back.
He collapsed forward, scarily close to getting the ground, until Charles’ scrambling was enough to grab and the back of his shirt and yank him away from the floor.
Charles sunk down himself, and brought Max to lay on his lap. He patted his face gently but firmly,
“Max. Max wake up. Mon cœur please get up, please,” he was feeling more and more frantic with every passing second, fumbling with Max’s legs to try and raise them both with one hand.
Thankfully, Max’s bleary eyes blinked open and he stared up at Charles before he could get worried enough to call an ambulance.
“Max, oh Max.” He sighed, “are you okay? Why did you faint cherí?”
“Food,” Max muttered.
“Food? Baby have you not eaten since the race? That was three hours ago. You need to eat afterwards, you need to regain the energy, Max. Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“No,” Max mumbled, “not since the race, yesterday.”
Charles blanched, “baby, please do not tell me you haven’t eaten at all today, please.”
Max paused for a moment, “okay.”
“Wait-no. Mon Sucre I didn’t mean it like that. Have you eaten at all today?”
Max shook his head, looking like he was going to fall back asleep.
“Max!” Charles stressed, “That’s so bad for you! On a race day? Oh my god, okay okay, I’m going to take you to the couch then in going to get you some food, okay?”
Max nodded, only looking mildly surprised when Charles hauled him up and dropped him onto the soft, plushy couch. At least it was comfortable.
Super comfortable.
—
Max woke up slowly, he could feel two strong arms wrapped tightly around his torso, dragging him into a familiar chest. There was also a leg draped over his own and Charles’ warm breaths hitting the back of his head.
He tried to squirm a little bit, to turn around and at least face Charles, but his grip was so tight no amount of wriggling was really helping.
“Max?” Came Charles’ sleep soaked voice, “go back to bed, cherí.”
Max huffed, “No, Charles. let me move around, I want to face you.”
Charles instantly sprung up, unravelling himself from Max. He rolled Max onto his back and straddled over him.
“Did you just say no?” He asked with wide, hopeful eyes.
Max giggled lightly, “No.”
Charles let out a frillish squeal and bent down to pepper kisses all over his face.
“You’re back baby! Oh thank god, I have my sweet baby angel back!”
“Oh shut up, Charles. You’re slobbering over my face.” Max drawled.
“God it really is you, isn’t it?” Charles asked, looking terribly endeared.
Max just placed his hands around his neck and yanked him down for a good, proper kiss.
