Chapter 1: Finché c’è vita c’è speranza
Chapter Text
Prologue - Finché c’è vita c’è speranza
Sometimes, I think so much about him that I can see his face, stuck, permanently behind my eye-lids. 2025 was one of those years where the feelings had been coming on so strong that it hurt to be around him. My heart would ache, my stomach turn and I lose proper cognitive function. I knew the score though. It came in waves. With time and his absence, I’d regain normality and could think again. Want someone else again. Then here would be moments of him where he was so confounding, so endearing, so enticing without trying, that I would be lost to him again.
In reflection, these moments come back in snapshots. Like in those first few days of summer when we lay on sunbeds a foot apart. Skin bare, warm under the Spanish sun. We tried to find anything other than racing to talk about.
We’d had a stilted conversation, our words ebbing and flowing, soundtracked by the sound of the pool water flowing over the edges and the cicadas buzzing in the surrounding mountainous landscape. I felt that it was a exchange that more so took place to give reassurances to each other that we could somehow attempt a friendship past being lifelong “rivals” or “colleagues”. An exchange, almost like that small smile and nod you would give when crossing someone on a hiking path, one that said i know where your heading, enjoy the journey.
I can see it now. The pale, soft skin of his chest, hairless but glistening with sweat and tanning oil. I only looked at him in small glances so as not to show a particular interest. But thats exactly what I had. A particular interest. How badly I was yearning then. It feels silly now; feelings I had passed off to my own consciousness as just “loneliness” or “fleeting lust”. I could have just reached out to him and pressed a finger into the slick pool of moisture that had accumulated in the trough of his breast.
“You fly privately here, then?” I asked him.
“Yeah, I had some stuff to wrap up in Monaco.” Then silence.
Crippling silence. What to say? What else could I ask? Did i still even speak english? Est-ce que je pense trop? Something to keep his attention on me if only a brief second. Because if he’d pay attention for one second, maybe he’d see something he liked. Would he be able to tell I was nervous around him? Eager to know him.
I was cramping from flexing for too long to look most desirable for those split seconds he glanced over to my bed.
I always struggled to find the right words to string together that I felt could interest Max in the slightest. Still nothing. So, instead, I nodded at the response and looked across to Max to see his gaze on me, the corners of his mouth upturned like he knew something I didn’t. Like he knew how much I wanted him.
And there was that morning, on the fifth day of the summer trip, when Max was performing his signature morning soliloquy to the table as he did most mornings at since he had arrived at the Villa. Max had the habit of rising hours before us and having more life to him on those mornings.
It took me weeks to figure out he was the one setting the table for us and cutting the fruit too - If I'd known earlier I’d have eaten more, if just to have something in my mouth that had been touched by his hands. And those fingers.
On that morning in particular, I sat across the table and as Max talked, I'd watched the movement of the freckles on Max's cheeks. The sun had the nerve to conjure them to him in the days before. I caught myself thinking about how I wanted to brush his lips against them. I wondered, both what they tasted like and what they'd feel like against my lips.
These thoughts were expensive. By now i knew this hole it led to and I wasn't yet prepared to pay the price of them, and so I looked away and hummed along with the others to Max's tale and tried to play indifferent to his eyes that had settled on me from across the table.
—
Something about his hard gaze was frightening, and exciting. It said "I think nothing of you”.
As we watched the ball hit back and forth, I'd mused this observation to Lily and Rebecca on the banks of the tennis court, Lily had said, “I think he's shy. I think he has so much to say he'd rather say nothing at all. Well, nothing about truly himself atleast. Nothing vulnerable”
I didn't accept this hypothesis for a long time. I'd sooner wish Max detested me. I detested myself. For feeling such thoughts about a man that would never want me back, never desire me in the way I desired him. A man who wouldn’t die for me, like I'd die for him.
“I don't suppose you had that problem with Alex?”
“No,” She watched as her boyfriend hit the ball with a soft grunt. “Alex was always easy and open. I think he's softer than max though.”
—
I can feel now that that flush of carnal desire I had for him. I could debate it originated on that podium we had shared. The one where he had won.
He was beautiful that day, I could only watch in fascination. His Adams apple bobbed over the neck of the RedBull race suit as he gulped down mouthful after mouthful of the awful champagne. Eyes beguiled as the foamy white sprays lapped against Max’s cheeks and down his jaw and neck.
I remember the confusion and embarrassment after in the shower of my driver's room, as to what had conjured the blood to swell my member on that podium; especially when I’d never gotten hard from a (non-P1) podium finish before. There was no way my then-teammate hadn't heard the moans through the wall of the motorhome as I had worked away my swelling into my fist, or the name I breathed as I spent. That look Carlos had given me when we both were leaving the paddock that day… so smug and amused.
It was the same look Carlos gave as he told me the list of guests that were staying the three weeks of summer holiday with them. Carlos' elder cousin, Caco, had offered up his second home on the Spanish island of Palma, for any of the drivers and guests to come and rest in privacy for as long as they wanted over the break.
“So far confirmed there is Bec and my team, Lando, Oscar and his Lily, George and Carmen, Alex and his Lily, Gabi, Oli and you. Yuki and Pierre are maybe and Max said he’d arrive later but is down to join us”.
My heart had started at the news and met Carlos’ entertained gaze with a wide-eyed stare. Max only really ever indulged in the occasional padel games to see his grid-mates out of work.
Outside of the whole Grid dinners, which he felt morally obliged to take part in, Max had never accepted a getaway or dinner invitation before,
“Pensi che sia un sì per ora e un no per dopo?”(Is that a yes for now no for later you think?), Charles countered.
“I hope so, I don't really know how to socialise with grown-up Verstappen outside of racing. And I didn't really have anything in common with him outside of racing and fifa when we were teammates” Answered Carlos with a laugh.
“ hai rinunciato all'italiano ora che hai
lasciato la squadra rossa? (Have you given up on Italian now that you've left the red team?)”
“Vaffanculo, Charlo.(Fuck you, Charlo)” Carlos laughed. “vedremo cosa succederà (we will see what happens), He might surprise us”.
Carlos found it funny, but I certainly didn't. I too had no experience with the non racing Max. We had this (mostly) unspoken mutual respect while we worked but… would we have anything in common outside of that? Would he like me?
When in such close proximity, Would he see my eyes and be able to read my mind and know about every thought I'd ever thought about him? The good, the bad, the ugly, and the dirty? I’d have sooner killed him than have my desires laid bare to him. How could both of us live while knowing the shamefull thoughts of him.
My own consciousness chided me enough for them.
I was told then, by Carlos, that Max and I would have joined rooms separated only by a shared ensuite bathroom, which ignited flutterings of panic and expectation.
In the days after, I imagined all sorts of scenarios. What If I forgot to lock the door and had Max stumble upon me bathing, or changing, or grooming? Would Max like to find me like that? Would Max watch me as I shaved my facial hair? Would he give me pointers? Would he take the razor from my trembling hand and do it for me?
Would Max come back to his room after a beach day and hear me with my hand wrapped around my cock, panting and moaning into the mist from the scalding hot water? Would Max like that? I wanted Max to find me like that. To join me in the water sink to his knees and take me into his mouth.
One lonely Saturday night in the hotel I imagined that one day Max would go on a hike through the mountains. He’d come back to the bathroom and leave his shorts on the side by the sink. I’d find them and press my nose to them, i’d inhale something of him i could never imagine. I'd put them on and savor the feeling of having what was once pressed against him, now pressed against me. I came to the thought of Max finding me in them.
Those endless possibilities swam around my head for days, all thoughts ending in misery at the expected disappointment for if none of those moments would come to fruition.
—
When Max joined the group in Palma after 4 days, he was something new. It was hard to understand or describe, even now. He was like a breath of fresh air. He was magnetising and enchanting. He was kind in ways unseen. Helpful too. Always saying Yes. “Have you drank enough water? Ill bring a jug”, “play tennis with me, you need to stretch your legs”.
He'd be up the ladders picking apricots with the housekeeper asking about his life.
“Have you lived in this area for a long time?”, “you have a wife? Kids? Thats great”, and “eat with us tonight?”.
This care felt to me then a strange manifestation in a man who was never quite cared about enough by anyone but his mother and younger sister, throughout his childhood. Max, who in karting didn’t bother trying to make friends with the other boys under the watchful eye of his father.
“Do ut des, Carlos” - I give so that you give. He’d called this over his shoulder when Carlos had told him that he could relax needn’t be up in the trees with the housekeeper. These were the mannerisms of a man forged in blood, sweat, tears and repeat. It turned me on.
On Max's first full day at the Villa, there was the unfortunate realization of the very real problems that may occur as a result of these stirrings within me when in close proximity to him. Max walked out to us dotted along one side of the pool, wearing a matching olive-green linen set. His shirt unbuttoned to the lower chest, shorts riding high on the creamy white of his strong thighs. Id gotten so to Max in variations of the same two outfits; Team kit or white tee - blue jeans. Linen was a revelation. Any hope for normalcy in my interactions with him that day were shattered.
Never before had I wished to be a fabric before. I wanted to wrap around his back, his toned mid-season stomach, his chest. Oh, to feel his skin everywhere, soft and pampered against me. If I close my eyes, I can imagine it now. I felt my blood start to flood to a place I couldn't help. Shifting to lay on my front and hide the physical manifestation of my desire, I joined the bubbling conversation. I engaged, I laughed at Lando, I persuaded George to do a drinks run and refused to give into the alluring effects of Max’s bantering.
From that moment, I knew it would be dangerous to be alone here with Max. I should avoid such instances at all costs.
Chapter 2: Somewhere in Spain
Chapter Text
Somewhere in Spain
Everything here was distinctly… Carlos. Or at least like the made up image of his childhood I'd created in my mind using limited pieces of information Carlos had revealed on the numerous flights and hotel stays we'd shared. This place was a collage of him.
The large Spanish Villa is painted in a tan tone, with red roof tiles and wide arches everywhere. Palm fronds swayed in the wind brushing shade over our faces in the mid afternoon sun.
When it was in the quieter hours I absconded from laying by the pool or on the tennis court and played at the dated (and just slightly out-of-tune) grand piano that sat by the windows in the sitting room. From my fingers, through the piano, the sound of Maurice Ravel, Brahms and Debussy flooded into the garden. And when I was tired, the speakers played Bossa Nova - Lando's contribution. He'd argued with Carlos over this.
“Mate! I understand it's Brazilian, not Spanish. I just dont give a fuck”. Argument won and we were persuaded with the samba-jazz melodies, and the fact it wasn't Oscars House music.
I regarded it all with a fondness. This Spanish hug embracing me and warming my soul, edging me to forget the worries of the season. The smell of sunscreen, cocoa butter and rosemary floated through the air, and ice clanked against glass as sangria was poured and shared by friends. Peace, that we coveted so deeply throughout the year, surrounded us then.
On our third day there, before he had arrived we lay on the ground of the tennis court chatting over glasses of Aperol Spritz.
“I have two main objectives this break that are of the utmost importance. Firstly, that I restore my tan enough to last me to the end of the season and my second one…” Lando glanced around at the eyes watching him, “Will remain a secret till the appropriate time in our holiday”
George laughed. “I wonder why you would mention it at all then, you Twat.”
“To scare you, Mate. Nah, I'm joking. Most of you guys will figure it out when Max gets here anyway”.
An Ominous forecast. Lando was in his element here. He had always assimilated well into Carlos' team and knew us all so well that he didn't feel that he needed to perform in front of us. He was already picking up a healthy colour by the third day so I felt confident his first aim would be completed. We’d done well to keep in touch this year, regularly meeting up for padel or a gym session, anything to help keep up his mental health while he battled so closely for the Championship against Oscar. He’d offer the same for Oscar but he knew Oscar had Lily and Arthur did a good job keeping up with him. Plus, he was the one in the lead, not chasing.
“Please don't try to fuck Max, Lando”, Alex retorted, which made Lando bowl over cackling as he started to walk away. “Not me!”
He had glanced at me and back to George and Alex as he replied said “Max’s tastes are a bit more upperclass than me”
I tuned out of that conversation quickly. The thought of Max with anyone else was enough to make my ears ring and eyes water. I suddenly was very interested in grass, when was the last time this was watered? Should I get the hose out? Is there a hose here? Anything but reminding me that Max was his own person and had very likely had many lovers and none of them were me.
Over the past 4 or so years I found it really difficult keeping a relationship. Privacy being the name of the game never did much to warm the hearts of potential suitors. Whichever Blonde Haired, Blue eyed men found they liked the secrecy and the allure of being in bed with Charles Leclerc, found they didn’t much like sticking around after I would inevitably indulge in a fantasy too much and slip out the wrong name in bed.
Hours drift by lazily and we find ourselves sitting around the table in the garden. “I hope you all dont mind broccoli or this meal is fucked”. Carmen had cooked some sort of health food concoction that would make Andrea proud. George thanks her with a sweet, chaste kiss to her cheek as she sits at the table. The night felt sticky and the air was heavy with the scent of sweat and sweet, musky parfums. Chattering filled the air.
As we finished our meal and sipped our wine, everyone's attention was diverted; Oli laughed boldly at Gabi’s story at one end of the patio, among a nest of team 55 - Rececca and Carlos murmured softly back and forth to each other, Lily gasped as George rambled through a tale of his and Alex's adventures a few summers ago, Oscar smiled as Lando grilled Lily on her engineering knowledge.
I just observed.
A group of nomads brought together in the most amazing and curious circumstances. I thought of the path we all had individually taken in order to end up together at this table. I felt the triumph and losses we’d each experienced to fortify our positions. I thought of my father. He’d have loved this. The energy, and the fun, and the electricity in the air. He would have loved that I felt happy here.
Then my eyes fell on the empty places at the table. Pierre and Yuki would be joining us from their brief stay in Italy, where I suspected Pierre was going to start initiating conversation around whether marriage would be on the cards for them soon.
Yuki had struggled for a long time with who he was, and how his father would react to news that his only son was not only gay but in a long term relationship with his ex-teammate. I could relate to Yuki. I'd tried to comfort him once, but felt a fraud. If I couldn't even accept it enough within myself to tell my mother or brothers, I had little right to consult with him on those inadequacies we both felt.
I pondered on the third free chair. Tomorrow, He would be there. I had decided that I shouldn't care about his presence when he arrived. Hey Max, Safe Flight? Cool, Stay away from my bathroom . If I didn't care then, maybe, I'd be safe from the effects his presence had on me. Maybe it would keep my feelings concealed from the others for that much longer. Maybe, Max wouldn't suspect me. And if he didn't suspect me - He’d have no reason to reject me.