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Part 13 of you’re gonna go far, kid
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Published:
2023-11-27
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1,734
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1/1
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the winner takes it all

Summary:

The formation lap had Charles’ palms sweating and his breathing shallow.

Gentle words of encouragement crackled through his headset, with them; fear of disappointing the team doubling.

Before long, he was lining up on the grid, next to Lewis.

Before long, it was lights out for the last time this year.

Before long, Charles Leclerc was leading the 2024 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.

 

or, the championship-deciding race

Notes:

YALL IM SO UPSET ABOUT CHARLES NOT BEING ALLOWED TO DO DONUTS AT ABU DHABI HE DESERVED IT

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

They ended up flying straight to Abu Dhabi after Qatar; going back home was unnecessary as they’d already adjusted to the new time zone.

They spent the days leading up to the weekend at the hotel, as they’d surely get mobbed within minutes of being seen in public together.

The media had taken their coming out surprisingly well, adjusting to their budding relationship quickly.

But being out had come with a lot more attention. There were constant photographers around them, ready to snap a picture of them together. It made them both uncomfortable at first, but they didn’t have any choice but to get used to it.

Life as an F1 driver.

Their hotel had a rooftop pool, and even though it was rather cold out late last night, Charles treasured every minute they spent out there.

It was one of the last days they had to themselves for a while. After the race, there was still loads of work to do.

After the race, one of them would be a championship richer. Charles prayed it’d be him.

It was complicated.

One part of Charles wanted Max to win, to continue his streak, and to get that fourth championship.

The other part was desperately aching for a reward for his own hard work—his maiden championship win.

A few more bathtub talks followed after Spa, some more necessary than others.

So as he padded through the hotel room, long after midnight and barefoot on cold tiles, Charles thought about their journey.

They started out karting together, pushing each other to the limit before they'd hit puberty. They’d come so far since then, maturing over the years and growing closer. growing to respect each other.

It had been hard for Charles in 2022. He’d struggled to cope with his feelings towards Max, pushing them down in order to focus on the championship.

Then he lost the championship.

The bitter taste of envy did not leave his mouth until they’d returned the following year.

The break was more than necessary, in Charles eyes. It gave him some time to think things through.

He desperately wanted more from Max, and it was practically suffocating. His hands ached to touch him, and his stomach fluttered whenever Max flashed him a smile. He felt like a love-sick middle schooler.

He silently decided not to do anything about the massive crush he had, Pierre’s whining be damned.

So when they returned to racing, Charles was out for blood. He’d qualified well enough, in third. Checo and Max are ahead of him, with Carlos in fourth.

The first race of 2023 had been going well until the car broke down and put an early stop to his race. He would've ended up on the podium if he’d finished.

Max had looked radiant on the top step, proudly grinning as he waved to the crowds.

Charles hadn’t been able to decide if he wanted to strangle him or kiss him.

The races up until summer break left Charles grasping for straws. He’d had a rough first half, only managing one podium in seven races.

He’d blown his chance of winning the championship yet again, this time even earlier in the season.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but one night in between race weeks, Charles texted Max.

It had been a simple ‘hey, do you want to get lunch tomorrow?’ which had him throwing his phone across the room with a squeal as he hit send.

Max had agreed, and from there, they’d grown much closer.

It got Charles hopes up; maybe Max felt the same way he did. But he never dared to let himself dream.

But then, on a hot summer evening, when they’d both had a little too much to drink, they had started discussing their love lives.

Charles had tensed next to him, and Max had looked at him curiously.

He bit his lip, contemplating what to do.

What did he really have to lose?

So he let it all out. He was a little out of breath when he finally finished rambling, not daring to look at Max.

The Dutchman didn’t respond until Charles looked up at him.

Max shook his head, letting out a little laugh before pulling him in and kissing him softly. He tasted like whiskey.

Charles laughed against his lips, and soon neither could focus on kissing. They dissolved into giggles, holding on to each other so as not to fall over.

And that had been the start of Max and Charles, since then constantly attached at the hip.

Most of the grid knew by their six-month anniversary, with the rest of the drivers assuming they were more than friends and getting their suspicions confirmed in Monaco.

Nonetheless, Charles dragged himself back to bed. It was way too late. Max was warm, and he draped a heavy arm over his waist as Charles got under the covers.

He was dead to the world minutes later.

When his alarm woke him up a couple hours later, he muffled a groan into Max’s shoulder.

Abu Dhabi was alive as ever, and the paddock was buzzing with excitement for the championship-deciding race.

Both Red Bulls topped the practice sessions later, taking turns delivering the quickest lap.

And as they fought for pole position in qualifying, the world seemed to come to a halt around them.

Charles could only hear his own heartbeat ringing through his ears.

P2. His last lap hadn’t been better than P2 in Q3.

The wave of nausea that hit him made him lose his footing for a second, but he mumbled something back to his engineer regardless.

Who then told him that Max was in P3. And Charles would be starting behind one of the Mercedes.

Finally feeling as if he could take a breath again, Charles pulled over into Parc Fermé.

He shook hands with Lewis before hurrying over to Max.

He looked him up and down, eyebrows furrowed and a questioning look in his eyes.

Max grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the side as he started frantically explaining how Carlos had ruined his lap.

Charles wrinkled his nose, humming along sympathetically.

Pictures were taken, with both drivers sporting muted smiles. Lewis was beaming from where he stood, squeezed between them.

They were both called sore losers by some rabid Mercedes fans on the internet, but oh well.

Max snatched his phone from his hands after that, opting to take him to bed instead.

Then came race day. And Charles didn’t think he’d ever been this nervous in his life. Because it all came down to this, didn’t it?

It was a whole season of 100% dedication, and it was all going to be determined in 58 laps of racing.

The Yas Marina Circuit was beautiful on an ordinary day, but today it seemed to come alive in an all-new way.

Charles was practically vibrating as he walked alongside Max through the paddock. They’d wear their brand new helmets for the race, specifically designed for this. The gold base of them both made a stark contrast to the navy writing.

On Max’s, the number ‘1’ was displayed proudly on top, with ‘16’ on both sides.

Charles’ was similar, with his own number on top. But added alongside the two already existing names on his helmet was Max’s.

Max had brought it up and, more so, stated that he was going to wear Charles’ number somewhere on his helmet in Abu Dhabi.

Naturally, Charles didn’t have any objections.

His mom had flown out and was currently sitting in the garage with Christian. She had hugged both boys, wishing them luck and kissing them on their foreheads right before they got into their cars.

It caught Max off guard, a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

The formation lap had Charles’ palms sweating and his breathing shallow.

Gentle words of encouragement crackled through his headset, with them; fear of disappointing the team doubling.

Before long, he was lining up on the grid, next to Lewis.

Before long, it was lights out for the last time this year.

Before long, Charles Leclerc was leading the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.

The world was dead silent to him as he maneuvered through the circuit. Max was close behind him, really close. He’d get DRS within a lap, so Charles pushed to create a gap.

It didn’t work out in his favor, as Max overtook him two laps later. Charles cursed to himself.

‘Max says sorry.’ His engineer said a few seconds later.

How cute. Charles rolled his eyes regardless.

Max being Max, had pulled away from Charles by seven whole seconds when the yellow flags came out, which quickly turned into a full safety car.

It gave both Red Bull drivers a chance to pit, and diminished the gap between them.

The four laps behind the safety car gave Charles a chance to catch his breath. Not for long though, as the safety car came in and the race was back on.

He held it together well in the first couple laps, almost within DRS range many times. When Max went slightly wide in turn seven, Charles saw his chance.

He lodged himself on the inside line, and finally got DRS behind Max this time.

So on the next straight, Charles took the position back; murmuring a ‘sorry sweetheart’ through the radio. It would get on Max’s nerves, he was sure of that.

Christian told them to quit flirting on the radio.

Charles huffed. They’d show him flirting.

But Charles led, and with only a handful of laps left, and with the gap to Max widening with every minute, he was almost sure he had it.

His engineer told him to keep his head down, so he did.

When Max was still six seconds behind him on the penultimate lap, Charles was about to puke in his helmet.

He was pretty sure he blacked out when he crossed the finish-line.

The gibberish leaving his lips was a mix of Italian, French and English, mouth running faster than ever before.

He was pretty sure most of it was unintelligible, breaking into sobs somewhere along the way.

And as Christian’s voice rang through his ears, all he could do was scream right back, a sense of deja vu settling over him.

‘Charles Leclerc. You are the World Champion. The World Champion!’

Notes:

YALL. THIS IS NOT THE END OKAY?? I PROMISE THERE IS A CHAPTER SET IMMEDIATELY AFTER THIS.

 

(hes def is gonna do donuts) (with max)

LOVE U

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