fic idea: alex tells george that max is actually very nice and then boom, threesome. after that, george and alex spiral because they used to have feelings for each other when they were younger, meanwhile max just wants two boyfriends.
instead of a response i offer a fic. for round eleven of the gbb weekly, and for you, dear anon. part of my series (1-2 in spa)
[ao3]
The sky was slowly lightening up when Alex finally kicked everyone out of his hotel room. Well, almost everyone.
Lando had already been quietly dozing off in a corner, George was watching Max and Charles play some kind of drinking game that Alex privately thought both of them were losing at. It involved three sheets of paper, hyperspecific F1 history, and occasionally slamming the desk loudly with a palm, which would make Pierre jump who was lazily scrolling on his phone leaning against the window. Alex enjoyed their company, had sat in the warm berth of friendship and a blossoming happy feeling nestled within his ribcage. He had made it into F1, into F1 and he was in a lovely hotel room after two Silverstone races and a deluge of people to bathe in that warm feeling with. Of course, that was before Alex nearly fell on his knees and toppled to the ground, sleepy.
George let himself be kicked out with a smile and a promise that Alex would call when he got back to Milton Keynes. Lando had to be shaken awake aggressively by Max and only reluctantly agreed to leave by hanging off Goegre’s shoulder like a koala. Max and Charles seemed to argue till the last second over some dispute they were having, something about Benetton and a front wing and a Hungarian Grand Prix. Alex tuned them out, shared an eye-roll with Pierre and let Pierre drag Charles away, thanking Alex for the nice evening. The knot in his chest throbbed at Pierre's sincere smile. They had known each other for what seemed like forever, orbiting faces around the Red Bull driver’s academy before it all went to shit in 2019. Or, went to shit for Pierre. Alex ignored the feeling and let Pierre shut the door behind him, and turned around to find Max sprawled onto the covers of Alex’s bed, his notebook opened again to where he had been making note of the races. A mess of blue and black ink that seemed barely legible to Alex, but Max seemed to read eagerly.
“How are you not tired?” Alex demanded, striding back into the room and picking up the various empty cans of beer scattered across the carpet. The sky had slowly melted from a dark all-consuming black into a hopeful blue. Navy blue. Red Bull blue.
Max made no move to help Alex, though he did shut his notebook and throw it away haphazardly on the sofa, turning over to lay spread-eagled on the bed. His feet were on Alex’s cushions but at least his shoes were off. He also probably wasn’t going to be sleeping, Alex thought privately. Their car back to Milton Keynes was at nine in the morning. Christian, the bastard, wanted to take advantage of the slight up they’d gained on Mercedes as soon as possible.
Max admitted, “I drank too much Red Bull, I think. I didn’t want to get drunk in front of Charles.”
Alex scoffed at Max's competitiveness, throwing the rest of the cans down the bin. Max genuinely, honest to god, adored the drink. Alex had electrolytes or just water decanted into the cans that he mandatorily had to hold, but Max usually had Red Bull, sometimes sugar-free, sometimes just straight genuine Red Bull. Alex wasn’t sure how he wasn’t sick of it yet.
“I still can’t believe you like that stuff,” Alex said, considering for a second if he could be arsed to pick up the vodka bottles and deciding against it, scrambling onto the bed and pushing Max to the left side, lying on his stomach as Max gazed up at the ceiling.
“Are you going to fall asleep?” Max asked, his gaze tracing the border of the wall connecting to the ceiling, the decorative molding at the edges.
“It’s my bed, you know. This is my hotel room.” Alex replied, stretching his arms out and bending his back in a comfortable stretch.
Max turned his head to the side to face Alex, grinning, “Yeah, but you’re not going to kick me out, are you?”
Alex stared into Max’s eyes for a beat too long. They were blue, like the colour of the sky behind, the rim where the heavens kissed the circuit, the creeping signs of light at the Earth’s edge.
“No.”
Max smiled, pulling his arms close to his body and folded them under his head like he was stargazing on some patch of grass somewhere beautiful instead of lying atop Alex’s rumpled sheets in a room that stank of booze. Alex glanced over the top of Max’s dirty blonde hair and wondered if he put his nose to it would it smell like champagne, the sweet taste of victory that seemed to cling onto Max like a perfume.
A patch of silence passed over them. Comfortable silence, almost, just the sounds of Max’s slow breathing and Alex’s uneven breaths, punctuated by the sounds of the birds singing outside, somewhere, scattered over the nation.
“Congratulations on the win,” Alex said suddenly, earnestly, drawing Max’s attention and making him turn face Alex, who turned around so that they were facing each other, Max with his chest bared to the world, Alex lying with his stomach falling the Earth
“You’ve said that already,” Max said, smiling.
“Yeah, but—” Alex fished for words, a feeling that felt like it was lodged between his throat, a tacky candy sticking the backs of his teeth to itself. “It was important to say again. You know, Silverstone, Lewis' home turf, that W11.”
Max groaned.
“That W11,” He said, half admiration, half annoyance.
“Wonder what it’s like to drive it, the handling seems insane, it’s just so, fuck, so fucking smooth, and that top speed, god.”
“They offered.” Max said suddenly, his voice unreadable. Max turned his gaze back to the ceiling and Alex tried not to miss the intensity of Max’s attention.
“What do you mean they offered?” Alex asked, confused, sitting up, cross-legged.
Max stretched his arms straight, extending himself like a needle, like an arrow.
“Mercedes approached me, last year, you know. To not sign the extension for Red Bull.”
Alex’s mouth dropped open.
Of course Mercedes would want Max. Max was one of the best right now, toe-to-toe with lewis, so fucking close every time, dragging the Red Bull places it didn’t deserve, a permanent wedge in the Mercedes’ glory. Max, who had every team eating out of the palm of his hand whilst Alex worried constantly about the safety of his own seat. He quashed that feeling brutally, squeezing until it shrunk into a non-issue.
“Why didn’t you say yes?” Alex asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “No—wait, I mean—obviously, its great you didn’t go but, you know, what the fuck?”
Max smirked at him, though it was small, a little subdued.
“I don’t know. Loyalty, I guess. No, I know, it was loyalty. And, well, Christian said we would have a good car, a car that could keep up with the Mercs and well—”
“We have an oversteery uncontrollable animal.” Alex finished.
Max smiled sadly. “Yeah.”
“Do you regret it?" Alex asked, whispering.
The sun had come alive now, the sky a beautiful psychedelic mixture of blue and pink, the colours bleeding into each other, blobs of paint that seemed to embrace the clouds, seemed to echo the heavens.
A slit of sunlight had peeked over the horizon, slipping between the crack of a window, scattering its golden shine over Max’s harsh features, softening them, freezing his expression into gold.
“I don’t know. No. Yes? I don’t know.”
Alex waited as Max worried his bottom lip, as if he was chewing on the words he was about to say.
“i don’t want to win a championship outside of Red Bull. Maybe like a second, a third, whatever, wherever, I don’t care. I was to win the first one with Red Bull. I can’t imagine being so cruel.”
“So cruel?”
“I can’t—I can’t just leave Chrsitian in the lurch like this. I can’t just go without repaying Helmut for everything he’s given me. Everyone one of my wins, I wouldn’t have them if not for— for Red Bull, you know? I don’t want to win and wonder if it was because I had the fastest car. I don’t want to just get the title, I want to fight for it, I want Red Bull to win it.”
Max had sat up now, and they were opposite each other, Max with his knees pulled to his chest, his fingers an inch away from Alex’s. His eyes were set in a tight gaze, almost determined, almost melancholic, pure devotion. Alex couldn’t understand it, but Alex wasn’t the beloved one, the golden boy, the child Helmut handpicked from a bunch of gangly children into the sport made for bigger men and larger egos.
No, Max wasn’t egotistical. He was just that good.
Max’s gaze clung onto Alex, and Alex was surprised to find Max's eyes watering, hints of droplets forming at the corner of Max’s eyelashes, small beads of wetness blooming at the rim of his eyelid.
“Oh—” Max let out a soft surprised noise, a breathy gasp barely there, and Alex broke away his gaze from Max as he blinked quickly looking away from Alex, an embarrassed blush spreading over his cheeks.
“Oh, fuck. Sorry, fuck.”
Max swiped quickly at the wetness that leaked onto his cheeks, traced the lines of his cheekbone, dashed it away with a rough swipe, but the tears seemed to keep coming, gathering rapidly and falling. A lone droplet splashed onto bedsheets, staining the small patch of distance between Alex and Max as he tried without avail to stop the tears.
“Oh, Max.”
“Shut up,” he mumbled, blinking rapidly, “I didn’t know this would happen.”
“I—”
Max only drew in a haggard breath as the tears kept coming, leaking out and running down the racing line of his face, faint tracks left in its absence, great large tears that seemed to tumble without avail. He wasn’t glowing now, the sun hidden by the English clouds, and in shadow Max bent his head away from Alex, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry— I—” Max took a shaky breath in as the tears chased a path down the sides of his face.
“Don’t be sorry,” Alex said hurriedly, helpless, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t make me cry, “ Max said roughly, “Fuck’s sake, don’t—”
Max’s face was scrunched up as he blinked, wetness clinging onto his upper-eyelash, and Alex reached out without thinking, folding his sleeve over his fingers and wiping away the tear-tracks off Max’s cheek.
Max sucked in quickly, but he made no move to stop Alex, dropping his hands to his lap, shuddering quietly.
Alex took that as a cue and leant forward, wiping away the wetness lightly on Max’s right cheekbone, his left, fingers swiping away the water that clinged to the bottom of his bottom lashes, and wondered what it would taste like on his lips.
Alex’s efforts were futile, the tears pooling quicker than he could wipe them, Max’s eyes welling up as he fixed his gaze straight on the bed, his face creased in a tight frown, his throat bobbing as he tried to take a breath without shaking.
“No, it’s useless, it’s—”
Alex ignored him, wiping Max’s face softly, feeling helpless to do anything but hold Max’s cheeks in his calloused hand, Max’s warm cheeks between the coolness of his tears. Max angled closer to Alex, his hand resting lightly on Alex's thigh. The sky was blue now, bathing the room in a brightness that blurred the world at its edges. Alex hoped he wasn’t crying as well.
A coolness landing on his lip told him otherwise, a light saltiness drying in his mouth.
“Oh– Alex–” Max choked out, a whisper, a breath.
Alex didn’t even feel like crying except for the melancholia that tugged at his heart, that slight hesitancy as Max’s tears flowed seemingly out of his control.
“God, we’re so silly.” Alex laughed wetly, his hands bracketing Max’s face. “You should be celebrating, you just stole the win from Lewis fucking Hamilton.”
That seemed to elicit a smile from Max, a tiny one that faded as quickly as it came. Alex let his hands fall from Max’s face and Max made a noise in response, small and needy and sad.
Max’s hand clutched his thigh lightly, hesitant, then stronger.
“Alex—”
Alex leaned forward and kissed Max’s cheek. He ignored Max’s soft intake of breath and pulled Max closer by the back of his waist, their thighs touching, and kissed his cheek softly. Alex let his tongue dart out, licking the wetness of Max’s face, tasting the slight saltiness on his lips. Max’s face was sweet, like lingering champagne, and when Alex pulled back, his left hand instinctively went to find Max’s right, softly gripping Max’s fingers.
“Is this okay?” Alex asked, whispering.
Max nodded slightly, and turned his other cheek towards Alex, inviting. Alex leaned in, and repeated the same, felt his own tear-tracks mix with Max’s, his lips grazing the jut of bone, the sharpness of Max’s features that Alex hoped he would kiss into softness. He drew back to find that Max had stopped crying, the tears clinging to the bottom of his lashed the last of the downpour, and Alex kissed his shut eyelids lightly, quickly, leaving soft noises and caresses on Max’s eyes, his nose, the line connecting his nose to his jaw, that soft divot where light always seemed to catch, where Alex had caught his lips on.
He pulled back finally to find Max looking up at him, his expression, curious, vulnerable, intense, his face dry.
“There. All better now, winner?” Alex said with a light laugh.
Max seemed to hesitate for a second, before he leaned forward and licked Alex’s cheek, and Alex tried to not shiver at the wetness, the warmth brushing up against him that seemed to drip down his spine and curl up at the base of his stomach. Max tipped his face to the side, kissing Alex’s nose lightly, dragging his lips along the side of Alex’s cheek, lightly, softly, so beautifully.
Alex wanted to kiss him. Alex needed to kiss him.
“Max.” Alex whispered, and Max stopped for a second, before he continued, dragging his teeth lightly over the side of Alex’s neck, his fingers digging into Alex’s thigh, his touch feather light.
“Max,” Alex tried again, more urgently, and Max pulled back, his eyes dark, intense, still but centimetres from Alex’s face.
Alex didn’t wait for an invitation and pulled Max close to him, yanking his hand into his own, crashing Max's shoulders against his, pushing his mouth against Max. It was wet, a wet kiss, soft and so wet.
Max seemed to melt into the kiss, his sharp body melting into curves against Alex as he shifted himself clover, taking Alex’s lips close, pressing more intensely, his tongue darting out and grazing against the top of Alex’s teeth, making him shiver, the base of his spine pooling with want.
Max pulled back, and Alex missed his warmth immediately. He wanted more.
Max was smiling now, slightly, and Alex couldn’t help but return the smile.
“I want one more,” Alex said, a soft pout in his voice.
“Where?” Max teased, his eyes light, shining.
Alex replied by licking a soft stripe over Max’s lip, biting lightly on the inside of Max’s lips, pulling himself close against Max, clinging on. His fingers felt warm, hot, something intense and red pooling at the tips of his fingers.
He pulled back, resting his forehead against Max’s, his eyes shut as he felt Max’s hand play with his fingers, their interviewed hands in Alex’s lap.
“I’m glad you didn't go to Mercedes,” Alex whispered, and Max let out a soft breath of air, warm of Alex’s lips. “Red Bull doesn’t deserve you. You deserve a better car.”
“If only every grand prix was at Silverstone, huh? “ Max joked, before exhaling again softly.
The birds outside sang softly. The sky was a bright blazing white-blue that pierced into every crevice of the room, creeping into the slit of Alex's eyes where he had closed them, falling into darkness. Darkness, but Max's sweet breath on his lips, his warm legs pressed against Alex.
