Chapter Text
Max didn’t know Spanish. Well, no sh*t, but like, he knew some words – from Checo, that is. The older man would often let some individual words slip out when he was too excited or stuck on what to say in English, which was not much better than a Duolingo course. Of course, he’d picked up some words and phrases, so he’d casually slip them into conversations and watch Checo’s brown eyes slightly widen before letting out a genuine chuckle. He’d spend a few seconds thinking before his eyes creased and he’d respond in Spanish, of course, with that slightly accent-flared voice that even someone like Max could detect. Sometimes he’d stand behind Checo, zone out and just stare at his small tufts of darker hair that were simply untameable that he had an extensive urge to pull on. Max would never do that, he wasn’t a child.
He tugged on the strands lightly without another thought.
It took a few moments before Checo turned to look at Max with that signature look – his eyebrows were slightly slanted down and bunched up, dragging the corners of his eyes down. If he weren’t an adult man and his colleague, Max would call those doe eyes, but he doesn’t. A small “Ow” escapes Checo as he flinches slightly to look back at Max, who does not regret this childish move on it. “What do you want?” The sticky and slow tone of Checo’s accented English dragged on in the air, way too long for Max’s liking. What he said never really mattered, because he’d always laugh, nod, lower his head to think and agree with whatever Max said or wanted. ”Nothing.“ That’s all Max said, and that’s all that was needed, to be honest. He’d always find minute ways to make the older notice him, or show any reaction, he was a bit clueless, but it was always funny to Max.
March 24th, 2024 – Melbourne
They were standing in their garage, simply just absorbing each other’s existence as the mechanics worked their lives away for the absolutely monstrous cars of theirs. Well, Checo stayed there because Max asked, but Max took his consent as a sign. It was different this time though. Checo met his eye after the race, with both of them losing the podium spot, and decided he had to stay.
There was oftentimes silence between them, or mindless chatter from either side just to fill up the space between them. In all honesty, Checo had never been the same to him again since Brazil, since he betrayed Checo, but Max always trusted that the older man was forgiving enough to let him slide. It was just that… well… Checo didn’t nearly talk as much as he usually did. Right now, their racing suits were suffocating them more than the silence, neither of them had made the trip to the changing rooms yet, as if to maintain some form of weird competition. Max wasn’t one used to losing, or used to losing an opportunity so dear to him. He could’ve won, he just… wasn’t good enough. Checo wasn’t much happier either, but he knew that the elder was much calmer about this, at least calmer than he was. He could feel himself lose energy from his eyes as he stood in the garage, staring at the mechanics who weren’t used to fixing crashed cars. Just as the air felt like it was freezing Max, a familiar face made him subconsciously sigh out of relief ever so slightly, never enough for Checo to tell though.
Carlos Sainz.
His teammate from his younger days, another Spanish speaker, and the winner of today’s Grand Prix. Checo would oftentimes talk to Fernando or Carlos as it brought comfort to him much more. Hell, that one time Max had to bring an extremely drunk Checo back home was probably the only time he called Carlos more than once a day, because he certainly could not speak nor understand Mexican Spanish. Checo was truly the type to congratulate Carlos without another thought, just so happy for everyone’s achievements.
Max had realised he wasn’t special.
Checo’s shoulders instantly relaxed and fell back into place instead of the slight shrug Max had just realised they were held in. He was relieved. He was relieved to see Carlos. He was nervous around me. Max felt something in his stomach turn as he raised his eyes to meet Carlos’ completely friendly, round, brown ones. The sense of coldness in Max’s eyes never left, the icy blue only grew darker as he got older, growing harder and harder to read.
“Checo!” Carlos always had that… look. Sure, Max knew that he looked at everyone like that, he was fully aware of the Spaniard’s zeal and enthusiasm when it came to socialising, he always had that glow in his eyes that dripped honey under the sun. He always held that smile, always brushed his hair with his fingers instinctively whenever he talked to Checo – or anyone.
Max hated it.
Especially the way Checo was responding to it, or rather, lack thereof. “Ah, Carlito, enhorabuena.” He heard the Mexican chuckle as they began diving straight into conversation, first starting with a tight hug, the narrow vowels of Checo’s accented Spanish and the strong consonants of Carlos’ was meddling with Max’s head. He picked up loose words here and there, but the longer he stood there, the longer the grating feeling was irritating every inch of Max’s being. He could smell the champagne on Carlos and its exact connotations. Checo’s freckles moved with his creasing eyes and bunched up cheeks when he smiled and rolled his r’s. They were conversing about getting a drink in a local Mexican place, or whatever the hell they wanted to discuss without Max understanding too much of it, but Checo looked a little too happy. The higher pitched vowels spilled out of his mouth as their conversation seemed to reach a more conclusive and celebratory end.
Max liked it when Checo was speaking Spanish, and it was sad to admit that the only time he really got to listen was when Carlos or Fernando spoke to Checo. He would always just stand there behind Checo, staring over his shoulder. Sure, he acted all easy and careless about it, but the way he stared at Carlos every single time clearly made the Spaniard aware of it. Checo didn’t know, couldn’t tell, or just simply – didn’t care. Max could never read him or whatever the hell was going on with him, he was always half a beat slower with Max, always reacting to things with slight confusion, but he seemed to pick up the speed with Carlos. Was it the language? Maybe it was the language. Max found his eyes darting around Carlos. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, good build, confident, well spoken, well liked, sure… Promising future, good driver, winner… Max had blond hair, blue eyes, a shorter build, a sharp sense of competitiveness, always wary, not good with press, co*cky, rude…
But no, no, he had more championships than Carlos, hell, he had more – everything, than Carlos. What the hell was there to be worried about anyways? He zoned back in, and the two seemingly had either reached a consensus, or had bid each other goodbye in an effort to maintain politeness (Max hoped for the latter). “Can we go now?” Although his tone came out sarcastic, the sense of hostility towards the other man had clearly sent Carlos further away, but not for Checo, no, all he did was laugh and say, “You’re so impatient, let’s go.”
And so they did.
They trailed off back to the driver’s rooms, or rather, Checo’s – Max always insisted that it had a better shower than his, and how Checo’s shampoo was always better, so they always ended up in Checo’s room whichever GP they were at. Checo was slow, but he was somehow always aware of Max’s little dips in attitude throughout their years as teammates. He was such an easy read, so childish that it was apparent to any one at first glance – well, Checo would assume so. The media had caught all the disappointment going on in the garage, but seeing it in real life was just so much worse. The proud lion cub had his head down, quite out of character, and Checo knew that it wasn’t really in his place for him to comfort the younger man or even say anything. He sighed mentally, staring at the young man and bunched his brows slightly, deep in thought.
Of course, the younger was always faster.
“Is he better?” than me? He spoke. This clearly confused Checo, who only bunched up his brows more. “Who?” Well, he knew who after a second of thinking, but he really didn’t want to give a definitive answer. The blond man was clearly taken slightly aback by his confusion, but nonetheless, he was the most hot-headed driver for a reason.
“Carlos.”
Max was aware he ruined the moment, but nothing could get worse.
“Why do you ask that?” Why would I think so? Those were the only words Checo could muster, his confusion was well outlined in his expression. The next second, he saw the Dutch driver’s eyes magnify in his field of vision, inching closer. “It’s yes or no, Checo.” He felt the taller man’s breath brush his face and the fresh smell of burnt rubber that radiated from the both of them. This was uncomfortable, this was dangerous. Checo felt the instinctive need to back away as he could barely breathe with such a tight space between them, but something had stopped him from doing so. “It wasn’t your fault today, we can do better in Suzuka-“ Checo shrugged slightly as he opened the door to his driver’s room, habitually tapping the door open with his key and turning on the lights that were always on the same side of the wall the doors were.
He was not particularly alarmed nor aware of how the door locked behind him.
Checo lowered his eyes as he mumbled his words of encouragement, but he felt a hand lay dangerously near his windpipe, threateningly grappling his collarbone. It burned.
“Yes or no. I thought I made it very clear.” As clueless as Checo was, he was aware of just how close and invasive this rapid closing of space between them was. He could feel their breaths merging together as he felt the oxygen between them thin. It was also finally apparent to him that perhaps this wasn’t the best situation to be in. The only thing he could do was answer. “No. Of course not, Max, I mean, we’re teammates-”
“What if we weren’t?”
Ay, por Dios.
“Max, you go get some rest, I know the DNF was really bad, you know you can sleep on the couch-” This made him frown again, his lips pursed as he tried to step away, this was too close for comfort, and his legs were getting tensed up for the fight or flight feeling he had always felt from driving. His dark brown eyes had that glimmer of confusion the same type a deer would have faced with headlights. Checo felt himself stumble a little as Max’s grip got a little harder, his brain screamed as it slowly lost power.
He felt a hand on the back of his head grabbing impatiently at his hair, and then it all goes to chaos.
What the f*ck just happened.
Or rather, what the f*ck is happening.
The next thing he knew, they were stumbling down onto the couch in the corner of the room, still kissing each other with an almost aggressive undertone. This was the moment where it really sank in for Checo – the person trying to stick his tongue down his throat was his teammate. Max Verstappen.
He was making out with his teammate.
Now, this was not prime thinking time, because clearly, Max had made an effort to get him all hazy like he was. His eyes were losing focus as he tried to respond to the younger’s eagerness to steal his breath away from him. It took him a bit longer than he liked, but he was able to respond with that muffled spice that he was so famously known for. Checo’s back hit the Sofa, it didn’t get him shocked enough, but it sure made his breath hitch – however much more than this whole sh*tshow of a situation did. f*ck it, he thought, as he reached his hands to hold onto Max’s head, reciprocating and grinding into whatever was happening. His head was a mess. After what felt like ages, they finally broke apart. The younger man’s eyes were filled with something that Checo couldn’t read aside from the obvious impulsiveness, they were both breathing incredibly heavily, way more than they would if they were both driving at their best levels.
“Checo…” The younger man’s voice was even raspier than usual, it came out as a low whisper instead of a sentence. The air from the words brushed against Checo’s skin. He shuddered.
If you asked Max if he knew what was going on, it would also be – no, what the f*ck? Sure, the race had gotten him gutted, the same type of dread he had felt over and over again from his younger years, that dread of disappointment and losing. He was absolutely losing it in the garage, or rather, it was all going on inside his head. It was devouring every single thought in his mind. This sort of rage and powerlessness consumed him, over, and over, and over again. He could usually handle the pain of defeat, but for some reason, this was the time for him to snap. It wasn’t a good decision, not at all, but it wasn’t like he could undo it or anything. f*ck. f*ck. f*ck… Isn’t this illegal? Max thought, as he pulled away, facing the slightly dazed and confused face of his older teammate. His lips were plumper and pinker than he remembered, and this made everything so much worse — He just ruined everything for himself, he’s already a bad driver, now he’s being an absolute jerk and a criminal. For those few seconds, Max just froze there and thought — well, more like he reasoned with himself for hell knows how long. It could’ve been hours, could’ve been milliseconds, but he just spent his time over Checo, thinking.
Centuries may have passed, he wouldn’t know, but Checo spoke — the way his voice was all sticky and glossy made Max’s muscles twitch. “Max… are you okay?” A cool hand reached for his cheek, a little unsure, but it pressed onto his face, forcing him to turn his attention back to his teammate. As if suddenly realising what he had done, Max scrambled up from the couch, finally giving Checo some space as he steps back. Now he feels like nothing but an intruder – this is Checo’s room, this place smells like Checo, the person before him is Checo, and yet, he just carelessly broke the peace of this room and its owner. What the hell had he done?
“I’m sorry Checo, I don’t know what- I- I’m so sorry, I’ll leave, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today-” His words jumbled together to barely form coherent sentences. The young blonde lion cub stepped back, now completely unsure of where he was and who he was. He wanted to run – this sense of shame covered the pain of defeat and loss. What was he to do now? It wasn’t like Checo wanted his downfall, but it was only natural and right for Checo to report this behaviour, but what if the team ignores Checo or actually silences him? What the hell?! Why did he ever think that that was a good idea…
“It’s okay.”
What?
“It’s okay.” The Latino repeated, his breath still a little hitched, as if he thought Max didn’t hear him the first time. His lips parted and shut, seemingly finding it difficult to construct a decent sentence appropriate for this situation – technically, he just got sexually assaulted in his workplace, and those were two crimes in each of their own. But being who he was, Checo didn’t feel too much, it was easy to figure out that Max was upset, and that he wanted to let off some steam, that was understandable. There wasn’t much that Checo didn’t expect, or rather, he just didn’t care that much. The blond was clearly taken aback as well, stopping in his escape to the door, staring back at Checo, seemingly completely surprised by this response. He expected being cussed at, beaten, slapped, called the police on — anything but this.
Forgiveness.
In fact, there seemed to be something else.
The next part? Max would really believe it if someone told him this was straight out of a sex dream he would have as a teenager, waking up with soiled pants which he’d have to wash, embarrassed and hoping no one else would notice. The moment Checo stood up in front of the sofa, and pointed at it for Max to sit, Max felt like he was working on autopilot. So like a puppy, he plopped down onto the sofa a little unceremoniously, just staring at Checo without another word. “You’re frustrated right? I understand. It was a tough race for the team today.” The older one spoke again, this time with a heavier accent to his voice. After some thinking, he took off the Red Bull cap and put it on the table next to the sofa, as if he was throwing away his identity as a driver for a short second. “I’ll help you.” He said, as Max watched him get on his knees and scoot between Max’s nervously spread legs. His breath brushed against Max’s clothed thighs, which only made him more hyper aware of his now super obvious bulge – even through the dark fabric of the pants. He turned his head to avoid the embarrassment like an ostrich, almost trying to pretend that this wasn’t happening.
Now, the thing about the older man was that he would never show any out-of-character lewd or sultry expressions, but what he had was those large dark eyes and slightly scrunched up eyebrows — that look of naivety and innocence just made things so much better, despite him being older than Max. His freckles, his tan skin, his dark brown hair, all coated in a thin, glittering layer of sweat as he finally found a good position between Max’s legs. The atmosphere soon turned from awkward to tense, Checo’s cheeks were flushed, but he didn’t hesitate any longer in leaning down and dragging his tongue across Max’s clothed erection, leaving a rather erotic wet mark across the dark cloth. Max started breathing more heavily, his heart pumping faster than ever before.
Despite trying to look away, Max kept on taking peeks at Checo, how he was nibbling and kissing on the bulge through his pants — oh Lord help Max, he was going to lose it. His teammate noticed as well, looking up with a small cheeky smile and wink, almost to confirm to Max that yes, this was very much happening.
And then — Max didn’t even know how to react when Checo flicked his tongue a few times in an attempt to catch the zipper, biting on it, and unzipping his pants in one swift go. It was for sure because his hands were on Max’s thighs since he needed to stay stable, but this sure made Max feel like fainting. Our little lion cub contemplated every decision he had made in life before this moment, and just couldn’t help but have his eyes glued on his teammate – working hard on what was in front of him. Patience was clearly running thin — the races always drained energy from them, but Checo still tried not to rush as much as possible. He planted a light kiss on the huge tent in Max’s boxers, and without another moment of hesitation, he tugged on the grey elastic band, and Max’s fully hard erection popped out, gently slapping Checo’s face, leaving a trail of precum. If I die today, it’s worth it. Max thinks to himself as he watches the elder smile and plant a small kiss on the tip — too intimate of an action for the situation they were in right now, but Max couldn’t complain.
With a little bit of spit and a blow of air, Max truly begins to process what’s happening — his teammate, Checo f*cking Perez, is blowing him off after essentially getting assaulted by him around 10 minutes ago. Oh well, nothing a little bit of relaxing couldn’t solve: Max thought, after becoming abnormally calm. Checo begins working on him, opening his mouth, taking a few licks on the side before wrapping his mouth tightly around Max’s tip. The warmth and softness made Max choke on air, covering his face with his hands, completely astonished by what was really happening. His hips jolted and twitched as he subtly thrusted up, attempting to get more of himself into Checo’s mouth. The older felt the pokes of his tip into the top of his mouth, then slipped towards the back of his throat. A little unhappy, he looked up to Max with a small pout — well, barely visible considering he had a co*ck stretching his lips open at the moment. Nonetheless, he obediently lowered his head and swallowed a few times, attempting to open up his throat to get more of the Dutchman in, especially with the said younger driver’s fingers tightly intertwined in his hair. He wasn’t a pro at this, but he was in one too many crazy parties to know what he was doing, so he sucked and went further, and further, and further.
The tip of his nose dug into Max’s light blond pubes, his lips wrapped around the blond’s base. This was clearly too much for Max, his face flushed so hard that it looked like he was suffocating. He couldn’t even think about the DNF anymore, all he had in his brain was just how good it felt with his co*ck buried in Checo’s mouth. His teammate was clearly not particularly content with how he tried to f*ck through his throat, choking a little, coughing, spitting his co*ck out, panting, then going back at it. This was basically torture for Max.
Adrenaline. That was what he was built for, so with a heated brain and a loss of control, he lost patience and pushed the elder’s head down. Hard. Checo, instead of the small whimpers and breaths he filled the room with before, let out a choked whine as he gagged, but was held in place by Max’s tensed hand. So instead of complaining or pulling away, Checo closed his eyes, his long lashes let the tears from gagging trickle down his cheeks as he tried to get used to the feeling. The pulsing and spasming of his throat — clearly unhappy with this sudden visitor, was pushing and squeezing against Max while the last thought in Checo’s mind let his pressed down tongue brush against the shaft holding his mouth open. He breathed hastily through his nose, desperately trying to resume to normal again. “I’m sorry mami….” Max whispers with a groan, and although it was quiet, Checo certainly caught it amongst all the squelching noises, his cheeks turning into a darker red. To the surprise of Max, who was combing Checo’s hair with his fingers, the older man began bouncing his head up and down on Max’s co*ck, taking it deep into his throat as much as Max liked.
This was when Max snapped.
Truly, he didn’t know what he was doing, so all he could do was grab onto the brunet’s curly hair and began primitively f*cking into his teammates mouth, riding and enjoying the high this brought him. The closer he got and the more his co*ck twitched, he saw Checo’s furrowed brows, and as he watched Checo reach his hand up to feel Max’s co*ck bulging a little from his neck, Max could not take it anymore. He tried to pull out with a short moan and a whispered apology, but the older seemed insistent on sucking him dry in his mouth.
After a few seconds, Checo pulled away, white, sticky streaks of cum mixed with saliva connected his lips and his teammate’s now cum-coated co*ck. He breathed, and through his parted lips, Max could see the strands of white liquid left in his mouth, on his tongue, and dripping from his lips. The older was aware of his stare, smiled, and kissed his tip once more. This clearly brought more out of Max as he shot a few more strands all over his teammate’s tanned face. The white hung on his lashes, cheeks, and adorned his freckled face — if Max hadn’t just came, he would be rock hard right now. Checo didn’t seem to mind it much as he only looked back up at Max with a small smile and a f*cked-out voice. “Hope you feel better now.” Then, he stood up, kneeling on Max’s thighs and planted a kiss on the Dutchman’s lips. Max’s face crinkled at the taste of his own cum. “God that tastes bad, you like it?” Max asked with a chuckle, looking at the elder who was looking back at him with a smile. “Not particularly.”
“Do you do this for Carlos too?” Max’s blue eyes lock onto Checo’s dark brown ones, suddenly sharp with the same jealousy he had that started this whole thing.
“Can Daniel do this for you?” Checo responded tauntingly, only for Max to laugh. As they sat there, Checo got busy with sucking a hickey onto Max’s neck, entertaining himself. The blond reached for Checo’s cap on the table and covered Checo’s face with it, but only making it look more erotic as you could see the strands of cum dripping off with the sweat.
“Uh… do you want to wash up? I’m sorry.” Max was still quite apologetic, but it wasn’t like Checo really minded anyway. “Tap water and mouthwash will do.” Checo shrugged, walking into the bathroom and closing the door, leaving Max slumped on the couch. After a few moments, he finally pulled his boxers up and zipped up his pants.
I need to leave.
Max thought. His legs were still shaking as he stumbled out of the Driver’s room, still dazed as he walked towards his own room. The staff saw him with his head lowered and walked around him, clearly assuming he was just stumped by the race, not noticing the suspicious white stains on his pants or the hickey that was barely hidden by his collar.
Well, maybe this day wasn’t that bad after all, Max thought. How was he going to deal with this new, admittedly weird relationship? Whatever, he’ll sort it after he wins next week.
