#Lestappen drabble

[lestappenforever]

I just saw a TikTok that said “imagine Charles playing basketball, points at you and says this is for you and completely misses 20 times in a row” and now I can’t stop imagining max awkwardly standing there while this happens.

I cackled at this mental image for fifteen minutes, so I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry, anon.

---

Max Verstappen understands that people are different. He also understands that people have different definitions of fun. And it just so happens that Max Verstappen's idea of fun on a Saturday afternoon is not to be in a clammy gym that kind of smells like years and years of old sweat, with the loud, insufferable sound of sneakers squeaking against hardwood floor every few seconds while a group of not-even-a-little talented men run around, trying to get a basketball through the hoops.

It is, however, Charles Leclerc's idea of fun, apparently. And Max has long since learned that dating Charles Leclerc means that he will be spending some of his off-season days doing things he wouldn't usually subject himself to.

Such as watching his idiot boyfriend and his entourage of idiot friends trying to play basketball. Emphasis on trying.

Andrea isn't half-bad, but not being half-bad isn't very helpful when the other seven people on the field are absolutely useless. Max has long since lost track of how many times Joris has failed at his attempt to receive a pass, and Riccardo has been spending more time on the floor of the gym than on his feet. But worst of them all, is Charles.

Beautiful, wonderful Charles, who can navigate an F1 car through the smallets of corners at incredibly high speeds without issue, but who can't seem to get a basketball through a hoop to save his fucking life.

He hasn't managed to score a single point, and they've been playing for close to forty-five minutes already. It's nearing to the point of being painful to keep watching, but Max can't seem to tear his eyes away. It's like watching a car crash, and Max is captivated.

Another ten minutes pass before Joris demands a break, claiming to be on the verge of death, and the group makes their way towards the stands. Andrea holds his fist out for Max to bump once he's within reach, and Max obliges.

"How do you put up with them?" Max asks, watching as Andrea chugs half a bottle of water in one go.

"I ask myself the same question almost daily," Andrea responds with a sigh, which earns him an offended huff from Joris. Andrea rolls his eyes and pointedly doesn't acknowledge it further.

Max huffs a laugh and gets to his feet, making his way down onto the court and turning right, walking in the direction of the bathrooms.

Upon finishing his business and returning to the court, Charles is the only person who has returned to the court, and he's standing at the freethrow line in front the hoop closest to the bathrooms.

"Hey, Max!" the Monégasque shouts as Max passes him, and when Max looks over at him, the other man is grinning widely at him.

"Yeah?" Max calls back.

"This is for you," Charles shouts, pointing at Max and giving him one of his signature attempts at a wink — his worst attempt yet, Max finds himself fondly thinking — before throwing the ball in the direction of the hoop.

It goes flying over the entire thing, and Charles scrambles to retrieve it once it returns to the floor.

"Kidding," Charles tries and fails to sound nonchalant as he returns to the freethrow line. "This is for you!"

This time, Charles throws the ball so hard it slams against the board behind the hoop and immediately returns to the Monégasque's hands.

Max stares, unimpressed. Somewhere behind him, Andrea stifles a laugh — Joris flat-out cackles. From where he's standing, Max can see Charles' cheeks pinking slightly, and as the Monégasque glances at him, Max recognizes that look in his eyes.

Determination. Not unlike the determination he has seen in Charles' eyes so many times before a race.

"Ah, fuck," the Dutchman groans, as Charles makes a third attempt to make the shot. He fails, yet again, and immediately runs to retrieve the ball.

And so it begins: Charles trying and failing to get the ball into the hoop, from several angles and distances, and Max awkwardly standing at the sidelines, watching him the entire time.

He misses a grand total of twenty times before Andrea loses his patience and intercepts the ball before Charles can retrieve it for a twenty-first attempt, and announces that the game will resume, putting Max out of his misery.

Charles argues with Andrea in Italian and Max leaves them to it, returning to his previous seat to keep watching what is arguably the least impressive game of basketball he has ever seen.

Another half hour passes before the group decides to call it a day, and start packing up their things to go home. Charles, however, remains on the court even as his friends start departing one by one, barely even acknowledging them with a dismissive wave of his hand as they bid him farewell. Shortly after, Max and Charles are alone in the gym.

With a sigh, Max gets to his feet and walks onto the court, where Charles has once again tried and failed to get the ball into the hoop from the freethrow line.

"Wanna go home?" Max asks him once he comes to a halt a couple of steps from the Monégasque.

"Nope," Charles answers immediately, without looking at Max. His laser focus is trained on the hoop as he shoots — and misses.

"Are we going to stay here until you make that shot?"

"Yep."

Max rubs a hand over his face. "Do I have a say in the matter?"

"Nope."

"Lovely," the Dutchman concedes, and walks back over to the stands to take a seat.

It takes Charles thirty-three new attempts to finally get the ball in the hoop, bringing his total attempts up to fifty-three. Max watches every single one.

But it's all worth it in the end when the ball finally goes in, and Charles erupts into a wild celebration — falling to his knees and pumping his fists in the air as if he has just won his first World Championship. And Max realizes he would gladly sit there until the morning if he had to when he sees the look of pure, unadulterated joy on the Monégasque's face as he beams at Max.

Not that he'd ever tell Charles that, though. Because the man is insane enough to actually make him do it, too, if he knew. So Max applauds Charles' achievement and returns the grin Charles sends him with a matching one of his own, before he gets to his feet.

"Well done, babe," the Dutchman says. "Now can we go home?"

And Charles leaps to his feet and bounds over to Max like an excited puppy, throwing himself into the other man's arms and wrapping his own around the back of Max's neck.

"Now we can go home," Charles confirms, pressing a firm kiss to Max's lips that the Dutchman can't help but smile into.

It's a smile that fades quickly, though, when Charles pulls back with wide, excited eyes.

"I'm just going to try to make a shot from the half court line first," the Monégasque says, as he turns to look for the ball.

Before he can start moving towards it, however, Max grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him back firmly. "Absolutely fucking not," he huffs, using his hold on Charles' shirt to turn the other man around and shove him towards his things.

"But —,"

"Home."

Charles pouts the whole way there. Max pretends not to notice, because now it's Charles' turn to take part in Max's idea of fun: which doesn't involve leaving the apartment. Or the bedroom.

Being in a relationship means making compromises, after all. And, well, Charles kind of likes compromises.

#Asks #Anon asks #Lestappen asks #Lestappen drabble #My writing #I'm not taking prompts btw #I just couldn't not write this #Lestappen

[laura1633]

a drabble of charles wanting to be in maxs lap? :)

Hi anon, thank you for the ask ♥️. I took it in a bit of a cutesy silly direction so hopefully that is okay, I was just in the mood to write a nice cute drabble today.

------

Charles isn’t jealous of a cat. 

He isn’t. That would be ridiculous. 

Except Sassy is currently snuggled in Max’s lap and taking up the space where Charles would normally choose to perch himself. The Dutchman is cooing softly and giving Sassy little pets on the top of her head and the sound of her purrs are filling the room. Charles scrunches his nose up and tries not to think about how loudly he would be purring if Max was gently petting him and running his large hands through his hair. 

“Has she been fed?” Charles asks curiously, it’s not exactly his finest hour but if Sassy is due a feed then that is a sure fire way to get her up and off where she is curled up against Max’s soft thick thighs. 

“She’s been fed, haven’t you Sassy?” Max coos as he looks down at Sassy and smiles lovingly at her. 

“Okay” Charles nods and tries not to get paranoid about the fact that Sassy is now glaring at him, the last thing he wants is to get into a battle of wits against a cat.

“You look cute like that” Max hums and Charles feels his heart skip as he realises Max is in fact talking to him this time and not Sassy, “You should wear my clothes all the time” 

Charles flutters his eyelashes in his boyfriend’s direction as he tugs on the large hooded top he has borrowed from the Dutchman. It’s warm and fleecy inside so he’s just paired it with a nice tight pair of boxer briefs. 

“You going to come and cuddle up then?” Max grins as he pats the space on the couch next to him. It’s not exactly where Charles wants to place himself though, he very much wants to clamber right on to Max’s lap and melt right up against his boyfriend’s body. 

Sassy looks territorial though. 

Charles cautiously makes his way and over and remembers to coo softly at the little fluffy menace that is currently staring him down and clearly laying claim to Max. 

“Did you just have a shower?” Max asks as Charles takes a seat, “You smell of coconut” 

Charles grins, at least he smells better than Sassy - she’s been rolling around in the dirt all day, the only thing Charles has been rolling about in is in bed earlier this morning with Max. The Monegasque settles down as closely to Max as he dares and leans in bravely to rest his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Luckily Sassy doesn’t hiss this time but Charles can see her eyeing him with suspicion.

“Oh look, it’s her boyfriend!” Charles proclaims excitedly as he sees the large tabby cat from next-door stood outside on the patio. Right on cue there’s a loud meowing that can be heard even from the other side of the glass door and Sassy snaps her head up immediately to look over. 

It’s not Charles’ proudest moment but he feels a huge sense of victory as Sassy jumps up off of Max’s lap and bounds over to the door. The Monegasque almost trips in his haste to let her out. It’s not that he doesn’t like her, he does (kind of), he’s just not sure she is too keen on him yet. As she struts outside she starts nuzzling up against the large tabby cat before trotting off with him presumably to go snuggle up. 

Which is precisely was Charles also intends to do. The Monegasque turns on his heels and tries not to skip too happily as he sees Max’s muscled thighs ready and waiting for him to crawl on to. 

Max hums happily the second Charles clambers into his lap. The Dutchman’s hands glide up the inside of the hooded top Charles is wearing and sooth up and down the Monegasque’s back before settling just above his hips.

Charles does indeed purr. Or at least makes a happy soft little vibrating sound as Max’s palms rest against his skin. The Monegasque snuggles in as close as he can as he leans his body weight up against the broadness of Max’s chest and buries his head right into the crook of the Dutchman’s neck. 

Max gives the best hugs, Charles is just annoyed it took him so many years to discover that.

“You nice and comfy?” Max asks as he wraps Charles up tighter in his arms. 

The Monegasque nods before tipping his head up so he can pepper some much deserved kisses up Max’s jaw and lips.

It’s perfect.

Charles grins to himself as he settles down for the evening all wrapped up warm on his boyfriend’s lap.  It’s the most comfortable spot in the whole house. Max is muscled and broad enough to make Charles feel nice and delicate as he sits atop his thighs. But Max is also soft and curvy and nice and squishy to rest against. Charles likes to call it the perfect balance - a soft but muscled body - the absolute best of both worlds. 

Charles fully intends to stay where he is snuggled up for the rest of the night. 

Charles 1 :  Sassy 0 

#Lestappen #lestappen drabble #anon asks

[lestappentrain]

We'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made - a Lestappen drabble

---

Max has just finished his race when the door opens, he guesses Charles had been watching the stream because it hasn’t even been a minute since he closed Twitch.

Charles walks straight towards the mini fridge and takes out a red bull. For someone who claims he doesn’t like it, he sure has stolen his fair share of them over the last couple of months. 

 “So you’ll keep this and engrave it year after year, right?” Charles says and Max turns on his chair to see him inspecting his championship trophy, it’s the replica. The real one is in his living room.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” Max answers nonchalantly.

“And then the original goes to the new champion?” Charles continues, leaving the red bull can on top of the fridge besides the trophy, turning to Max.

“That’s how it works, yes.” Max reaches for Charles' hand pulling him down onto his lap, and steadying him by the hips. Charles’ hands wrap around his neck instinctively.

“Hmm,” Charles looks deep in thought, “in other words, they won’t be leaving this apartment any time soon.” Charles clarifies.

“Well, as long as I keep winning schat.” Max says, pinching Charles’ waist making him yelp and receiving a punch on the shoulder in return.

“Oh no, my mistake. I was talking about when it, inevitably, is mine. I was wondering if Ferrari would want to have it back in Maranello, but I really like having it around, you know. Although, now that I think about it, if we have a shared trophy room it won’t make sense to have both of them; the original and the replica. Wait, are we putting up all our trophies together? I still need to catch up to you. You know what? I’m gonna call maman and tell her to put all my trophies from karting in a box, then we’ll go pick it up.”

And just like that he gets off of Max’s lap and is on the phone with his mom. 

Max wonders what just happened, he questions how much he deserves to think about a future with Charles. 12 year old Max would never believe it. 26 year old Max still doesn’t believe it.

Yes, he knows what they have is pretty new, just a few months since they first acknowledged the other as their boyfriend, (they were ordering uber eats when Max complained “If Brad says I put on some wait during the break, I’m saying it’s my boyfriend’s fault” and Charles followed it by “said boyfriend is hungry, so hurry up and stop whining” and that was that) and a just a couple of them living in a shared space. But this is who they are, sending it all in.

And always, always, so sure about each other.

#lestappen drabble #lestappen fic #charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen #formula 1 #mywriting

[f1-giuki]

angst, nothing new by taylor swift and phoebe bridgers, lestappen?

(i imagine it being one of them feeling like they’ve outgrown each other in a sense :( or like. idk. you have creative freedom and i feel angsty today love u muah)

CARO OH MY GOD MY DARLING SWEETHEART!!!!!!!!!! YOU POISONED MY MIND WITH THIS I LOVE YOU!!!!!!! here's your 655 words lestappen angst!!! hope you like it💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

song recommended!! prompt post!!

-

Charles is lying on the chaise longue in his hotel room. It’s a strangely nice hotel room for a Formula 2 driver. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to have it. Should he think about the money Ferrari is spending on him? A newly nineteen-year-old rookie, a hot shot. He’s always smug but polite about his plans for the future, Formula 1, Ferrari, the red car, a championship with them, my dream, my peers’ dream, but tonight he would like to kick his ribs and hiss to shut up at his stupid face.

He’s nothing, he feels like nothing. An empty promise made of empty trophies who feel like he knows everything at eighteen.

The question is if the blue circles under his bags will be cute and haunted for long. He doesn’t feel like shit tonight, a smear of lipstick on the side of one’s mouth. A failed attempt. The trace of something that will never be.

He’s not sure if it’s the amount of vodka and red bull he had at the club, or his heavy crying eyes speaking for himself, but he sees someone sitting on his bed.

“Max?” He croaks out, intoxicated.

“You’re so stupid.” The man says, and his voice is so stupidly familiar.

“I don’t understand…” Charles slurs.

“I’m you, you idiot… You should stop with vodka Red Bulls, it’s bad for the brand and your body. Andrea will kick your ass if he finds out…” His older self mumbles. He looks older, but just slightly, he’s bulkier, less Victorianesque, with a faint stubble on his face. He looks healed but not so much.

“How old are you?” Charles asks, nearly slipping and falling off his chair.

“Twenty-two.” Older-Charles answers.

“Does it get better? Do I get him?” Charles asks, trying to pull himself together.

Older Charles knows exactly what he means by that. Does he still think I’m just this shiny new thing everyone raves about? Have I lost my sparkle to his eyes? Are we okay finally?

“He’ll push you out of the track and he’ll steal your first win with Ferrari.” Older Charles states simply.

“So he’ll be back at loving me?” Charles asks, hopeful, his mouth open.

“He won’t. He meant it, tonight. But he’s not mean… It’s- complicated. But you should forget him. He won’t touch your skin anymore. It’s fire to his fingertips and it will burn him down. Forget him and grow up…” He says, flattening his lips on a tight line.

“Why are you so mean to me?” Charles asks, feeling tears flowing out of his eyes again, voice wobbly and broken.

“You need to grow up, Charles, we don’t know anything, we look exactly like we’ve been through it. Patch yourself up together. That should be your end goal, you need to do something I couldn’t do. Stop feeling like you’re nothing. We have to stop ourselves from crying ourselves to sleep, and stop drinking…” Older Charles tells him.

Charles sighs and nods, cleaning the snot and the tears on his face with the cuff of his ruined shirt. He sits back on the chaise longue and sniffles a bit. He closes his eyes, trying to make the voice in his head stop. He should stop trying to boycott himself by drinking until he can’t feel a thing and use energy drinks to be aware and feel all the pain nonetheless. He should stop torturing himself.

“Goodnight, Charles…” Older Charles mumbles as Charles tries to fall asleep.

He feels a kiss on his forehead, before drifting off in a dreamless sleep.

“It will get better, just hold on…” Another Charles whispers. He’s older than the other, his stubble is more present, like the lines under his eyes.

“You still won’t know anything by the time you’re twenty-six, but it will be better…” He mumbles, before sitting on the bed and lying down too, dreaming of blue eyes and soft lips.

#lestappen #lestappen fic #lestappen drabble #f1 rpf fic #lovely caro #lestappen angst

[lovings4turn]

i see you opened your request for blurbs! so what abt "you look gorgeous. stunning. jaw-dropping. breathtaking. do you see what i'm trying to get at?" with lestappen x reader? love your writing!! 💕💕

eek this is such a cute prompt !!! thank u for the request n for being so sweet lovely !! had to adapt the prompt just a lil, but hope you like this <3

clothes littered your floor as you dug through your wardrobe in desperate pursuit of an outfit you loved. your bottom lip was caught between your teeth as you held back a groan, frustration beginning to build as your search became more frantic.

another race meant another weekend spent in the paddock, showing your unequivocal support for your boyfriends. you loved being in attendance at their races, granted the chance to see them do the thing they were most passionate about and celebrate every achievement alongside them.

but as much as you loved attending the grand prix weekends, you would be lying if you said there wasn't a small amount of pressure looming over your head. dating two of the sports’ most known drivers came with a lot of media attention, and you wanted to look your best in order to feel your best.

currently, you were clad in a pair of deep blue jeans and black top, something you’d found to be simple yet effective every other time you’d worn it. sunglasses were perched precariously on top of your head, more of an accessory than anything else, and you’d opted for comfortable trainers thanks to previous experience of walking around the paddock in incredibly uncomfortable shoes. 

yet for some reason, this time the outfit you’d loved many times before didn’t feel like enough. though, you didn’t know what ‘enough’ was in this context anymore. being overdressed wasn’t at all necessary, and you’d seen plenty of the other girlfriends wear outfits similar to yours just the other day. 

before you could turn your entire wardrobe upside down, the sound of footsteps beckoned your head to turn towards the doorframe.

charles was fiddling around with his watch whilst max was frantically typing on his phone, likely shooting off a text to someone to verify what time he’d be arriving at the track. when he looked up and sensed the distress on your face, a small frown settled onto his lips. 

“are you okay? we were just seeing if you’re ready to leave.”

“i don’t know,” you admitted with a shrug. “i feel like i look stupid.”

the words felt childish as they left your mouth, but there was no taking them back. slight shame burned underneath your skin, and you opened your mouth to try and smooth over the situation but were interrupted by sounds of confusion.

in any other situation, the matching expressions of shock on your boyfriends’ faces would be comical, but you were currently in no mood to laugh.

"are you kidding?" max asked, jaw slightly dropped in disbelief. "you look gorgeous."

"stunning," charles added, tone matter of fact. green eyes lazily ran up and down your figure for the full effect, before he spoke again. "jaw-dropping."

"breathtaking. do you see what we're trying to get at, liefje?" max asked, his words bordering on teasing despite the serious expression on his face. 

gratitude swelled in your chest, and your heart thrummed against your ribcage in an effort to break free and leap into their hands. it seemed that max and charles were gifted with the ability of cheering you up no matter what was wrong, and you’d never be able to find the words to thank them properly.

so, you simply nodded and moved to press a kiss to charles’ cheek, before turning on your heel and pressing your lips to max’s skin, too. 

“let’s go then, loves. you two have some trophies to win.”

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen blurb #lestappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc x you #max verstappen x you #lestappen x you #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 x you #formula one x you

[nyoomfruits]

"if you win i'll kiss you" from the kiss prompts !!!!!!

big MWAH smooch to @jennarations for transcribing that one interview of charles describing the inchident for me when i couldnt listen to it you are the BEST

“if you win, i’ll kiss you”

“Charles!” Someone yells, as Charles makes his way to the karting track in search of his father. He knows who it is before turning around, recognizes the English pronunciation of his name, colored by the hard tsj and lispyness of the s. There’s only one person who says it like that. 

“Max,” Charles says, tone even. Max is... An enigma to him. On track he’s fast, ruthless, annoying, snatching wins that were supposed to be Charles’s, hoisting trophies that should’ve been in his hands. 

But outside he’s. Friendly. In a very skitish way, like he doesn’t really know how to talk to people, like he’s only ever been taught how to race and never how to make friends. 

It should make Charles feel bad for him, maybe. But Charles is fourteen and he already has friends, and he doesn’t care for Max Verstappen and his million trophies and his bright fucking future. 

Or well, he does care. But only in the sense that he wants to beat him. Take his trophies, his wins. That stupid future WDC everyone keeps whispering about, despite him never even having set foot in a single seater. 

“How are you?” Max smiles, genuine and kind, and Charles squints at him. 

“Good. Fine,” Charles says. Maybe if he keeps his tone clipped, doesn’t ask any return questions, Max will get the hint and go away. 

“Are you excited for the race?” Max asks instead, voice eager, completely oblivious to Charles’s annoyance. “I’m liking Val d’Argenton so far, good track.”

“Sure,” Charles says, shrugs a little halfheartedly, looks around if he can maybe see his dad milling about, pretend he’s calling him over. “Excited to win.”

Max laughs. “Ha,” he says, “me too.”

Charles squints again. “Not if I get there first.”

Max’s eyes are twinkling, and he’s enjoying this, the annoying bastard. “Wanna bet?”

“How about,” Charles says, “if you win, I’ll kiss you.” It’s a bit mean, maybe. Charles has seen the way Max looks at him sometimes. It’s the same way Charles looks at the girls in his class. He’s not stupid, he knows what it means. 

Max looks like that now, eyes wide and a little startled, but interested, too. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah! Yeah, okay. I’ll win.” 

“Sure,” Charles says again. There’s no way. Charles won’t let him. Plus, he has no intention of kissing Max, so. 

Good motivation all around. 

They get called away then, and before Charles knows it he’s strapped into his kart, ready to go. He forgets about Max all together then, completely focused on just winning, all the way up to the moment he actually passes Max on track. Only then does he remember the bet, and he smiles a little bit at his double victory. Only one kart left in front of him now. He’s so close he can almost feel the weight of the trophy in his hands. 

But then at the next corner Max is back with a vengeance, pushing Charles so wide he falls all the way back to seventh place. He’s absolutely fuming when he finally crosses the finish line, pulls up beside Max to make an ‘are you crazy?’ movement at him. 

He can’t see Max’s face, but he can almost picture it, mirroring his own annoyance, as he pushes Max wide in retaliation and he sends him rolling into a giant puddle of water, soaking Max all the way up to his middle. 

In the end, none of it even matters. Not the bet, not the pushing, not the podium. They both get disqualified for unsportsmanlike behavior and then that’s the end of that. 

It’ll take a couple of years, before Max smiles at him again, says his name in that same way, with that same excitement. 

It’ll take even more before Max finally gets that kiss. But when he does give it, it’s not because of any bet, or because of any stupid jealousy or need to prove himself. It’ll be because Charles wants to.

#lestappen #drabbles #still slowly working my way through the kiss prompts haha

[wanderingblindly]

hi liquid my darling :))) for your kiss prompts, in aid of you practising these prompt drabbles (and for my own indulgence xo) pls write whichever pairing your heart desires to the prompt of “wanna practise?” :’) thank u i love u

Please feel free to ask me more kiss prompts, which I definitely fill at some point in time (unspecified).

Wedding Bells, Wedding Kisses (Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, 900 words, drabble)

“Max!” Charles calls, slamming the front door open with significantly more force than necessary – dramatic, as always. Max mutes the stream he’s lurking in, thankful that he wasn’t on audio, and calls back.

“What’s up?”

Charles storms into the office, following the sound of Max’s voice. He stands in the doorway, cheeks a little red and chest moving like he’d run in from the parking garage. Despite the visible distress, Max can’t help but think that he looks adorable like this: worked-up over something that – inevitably – doesn’t actually matter. “Yeah?” Max starts again, half wondering if he’s meant to try and figure it out himself. 

“The wedding.” Charles breathes, voice still a little shaky with whatever energy he’s buzzing on.

“The wedding.” Max nods along, as if it makes total sense, standing from his office chair. “You’re… nervous?” He prods gently as he makes his way towards the door, stopping when they’re face to face.

“How do you… how do we kiss? For the wedding.” He looks at Max with those wide, earnest eyes that always hit him right in the gut – trusting and honest and vulnerable. 

But Max can’t help it: he laughs a little, no more than a snort. Charles ran up to the apartment, hair on end and eyes frantic, to ask about how to kiss? When they’ve kissed for years? Charles punches him on the arm before he can actually answer. 

“Stop laughing, I’m serious!” He cries, voice one step away from a true whine. “How are we meant to kiss?”

“Like we always do?” Max offers, voice still light with laughter as Charles rolls his eyes dramatically. 

“It’s not the same, Max. We do not have one, a wedding kiss.”

Max takes another step closer, closing the minimal distance between him and Charles – standing nearly chest to chest in the office doorway. He looks down at him, just a few centimeters that somehow makes all the difference, and takes in the state of his lips – clearly bitten during whatever bout of anxiety caught hold of him in the car. And it hits him:

“We can, of course…” He starts, watching Charles’s eyes flick to his own lips before meeting his gaze again. “Wanna practice?”

—

Max guides them to the couch, shooing away the cats and grabbing Charles by the shoulders – urging him to sit. “So,” He starts, sitting down next to him carefully. 

Charles looks nervous, hands gripping his thighs tightly, straining his jeans. Frazzled isn’t a strong enough word; he looks shaken to his core. Somehow, Max thinks, he looks even more distressed than when he tried to make a move on him for the first time – terribly drunk and painfully endearing, wearing his tux and still holding his Rookie of the Year trophy. 

“Like this, then?” Max asks, leaning in and placing the most chaste of kisses on Charles’s cheek, right on the spot where his dimple forms. 

Charles giggles, nervous and fleeting. “At least pretend you like me, yes?” His dimples are on display, his laugh firming up as Max pulls away and rolls his eyes. 

“Sure, yeah, I can do that,” He says, moving a hand to Charles’s jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly in a familiar motion. With practiced ease, he slots their lips together. He can feel Charles continue to relax in his hand, the tension he holds in his face easing as Max sweeps his thumb along his cheek. 

He sighs into it, making that little noise in the back of his throat that means he’s content, and Max takes it as an invitation. His hand slides to the base of Charles’s skull, fingers finding their spot in his soft, overgrown hair. Charles leans into him, allowing Max to pull them tighter together – allowing him to gently coax his mouth open, allowing him to kiss him deeper, to let him taste him fully.

Max moves his other hand to Charles’s hip, silently urging him to come closer, when Charles pulls away – lips stained Max’s favorite shade of blush. They match his cheeks, both alive from his touch. 

“My mother will be there, you know,” Charles laughs a little, pushing against Max’s chest playfully. “Be respectful.” Max is listening, really, but it’s like part of him has been ignited; Charles almost seems bashful, chin tucked towards his chest slightly, long hair flopped boyishly over his forehead, lashes dark against his cheek as he looks down.

Max isn’t listening. 

“Give her my apologies,” He smiles, grabbing Charles’s hips with both hands and pulling him onto his lap – earning a surprised noise, something between a gasp and a giggle. “My self control, you know,” He catches Charles’s lips again, tasting that delicious blush like it’s the first time “It’s not so good.”

“Max,” Charles tries to chastise him, voice closer to a moan than a beratement. 

“Let’s practice later, ok? Wedding kissing,” Max says, moving his lips lower – hoping to elicit that hiccupy breath he loves so much when he touches him just right. With a delicate brush against the sensitive skin under his jaw, sliding up to catch his earlobe between his teeth, he whispers: “What d’you think?”

“I –” Charles starts, sentence falling off as Max slides a hand up his shirt, tracing the curve of his spine with feather-light touches. “Yeah, yes, um. Later, right.”

“Thought so.”

#MY ANGEL MY DEAREST DEAREST WIFE I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY #i had so many other scenes in mind that it gave me decision paralysis and so i decided to strip it down to its bare bones #maybe i'll expand it later!!!! #lestappen #lestappen fic #lestappen fanfic #f1 drabble #ask me :)

[m1lkteaboi]

Warm orange rays crawled across the living room floor as the sun settled into the horizon. The tv was on playing some highlights of a recent football match. Max enjoyed the moment, the smell of food cooking wafting within the appartment.

Warm orange rays crawled across the living room floor as the sun settled into the horizon. The tv was on playing some highlights of a recent football match. Max enjoyed the moment, the smell of food cooking wafting within the appartment. The comforting weight of Charles, his lover, laying across his stomach. Two wine glasses glinted in the light on the coffee table, contrasting with the deep sangria colored wine it held.

Charles breathy laugh caught his attention, no doubt Lando texting an unhinged meme. Breathing deeply Max relaxed more against the couch, placing his calloused hand against the soft stomach of Charles hoodie. Charles paused his texting to place a quick kiss against Max's chest, impish mischief shinning in his green eyes.

Sometimes Max wished he could be in the moment forever, just the two of them in their own little world. Together.

#drabble #little story #f1 #f1 fanart #formula 1 #fanart #fan art #my art #f1 love #max verstappen #charles leclerc #lestappen #mv1 #cl16 #cute art

[paint-it-red-and-black]

"oh, Charles, you're such an angel."

Max hears it often. he picks up the phrases chirped by the girls around. it was said by fans, PR managers and once he had even heard it from a Ferrari mechanic. and Max totally and utterly disagrees.

Charles is no angel. on and off the track.

he is a bloody menace.

because angels don't look like that. with a slight squint when there's a storm brewing in the depths of green eyes in the middle of a sunny day.

angels don't get so angry you're afraid to approach. angels don't hold grudges. angels are quick to forgive.

angels don't smile like that. smirking, a little arrogant, covering it with their innocence. and showing a little of the soft tip of the tongue between their teeth.

angels are measured. they take their time. they are neat and tidy. they never make a mess of crumpled sheets and clothes.

angels are gentle. angels never squeeze skin until it bruises, bite until it darkens, or pull hair so hard it brings tears to the eyes.

and even more so, angels don't moan. not painfully, but sweetly, like melted chocolate with marzipan that leaves marks on your fingers. hot. frank. naked. absolutely wasted.

angels don't expose their necks, don't bare collarbones, giving more space for someone’s lips to leave marks.

angels don't press closer, scratching back until it’s bleeding. angels don’t choke on passion and never create their own.

but he falls asleep in the most angelic way. with his nose against Max's neck and the blanket pulled up to his eyes. he throws an arm and a leg over the body next to him, pulls closer, smiles warmly, and lowers his long fluffy eyelashes.

people easily fall for it.

"oh, Charles, you're such an angel."

but Max knows that Charles isn't an angel at all. he's a real demon in the flesh. but it's much easier to love him like that.

#lestappen #drabble #red and black drabble #i don't know wtf has happened to me i never wrote anything guess im going crazy and its lestappen's fault #I'll do whatever just not to study pružnost a pevnost #its like strength and flexibility of materials in czech?.. creepy shit but very important #and english of course is not my first language so i really hope that i didn't do any mistakes #but i love their duality and how everyone percieves Charles as “angel” when he's a real menace #so yeah i hope you enjoyed #have a great day everyone!!

[twslug]

warsh_tippy and zelda by whatever, dad

#i need everyone to understand my primal craving for soft domesticity in the context of a high intensity competitive sport #it is so important to me.... #just a little drabble #very little polish but its okay You all are not here for QUALITY youre here for YAOI #charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen #this one goes out to my twitter mutuals

[lestappenforever]

Post Brazil GP 2023 Lestappen drabble

There is a heaviness in his chest as Charles makes his way down a hotel hallway that isn't his own. His eyes feel dry and sore — seemingly completely devoid of any moisture. Not that he's surprised, given the countless tears he's been shedding this afternoon.

He'd qualified P2 in Brazil, still high off his P3 finish in Mexico the week before. Finally going into the race weekend feeling confident for what felt like the first time in ages. When he'd woken up that Sunday morning, Charles had been full of hope. He'd been excited. Happy.

He should have known it would end with engine failure, sending him into the barriers in the formation lap, because it's the fucking story of his life this year.

If only the team had listened to him. If only they'd changed the fucking engine like he'd begged them to.

But no. Instead, he went from P2 to a fucking DNS.

How could he be so fucking unlucky?

He stops outside of a hotel room door at the end of the hall, and he only manages to knock once before the door swings open.

Max is wearing a towel slung low around his waist, his damp hair a mess atop his head. The skin of his chest and face are flushed a soft pink.

If Charles didn't feel so damn empty, he would have been able to fully appreciate the sight. He would have reached out and tugged the knot of Max's towel loose with a swift flick of his wrist and they'd stumble into the room and fall gracelessly onto the bed in a tangle of limbs like they have done so many times before.

But alas, every ounce of desire, of excitement, every resemblance of joy, even for Max Verstappen, was ripped from his grasp the moment his car collided with the barries in the formation lap, leaving only nothingness behind. Only darkness. Only a dull ache that somehow feels situated in his very soul, rather than in his heart.

It's an odd feeling.

Max can tell that he's been crying, but he doesn't say anything — just steps aside to let Charles trudge into his hotel room with his head down and his shoulders slumped, heading straight for the minibar.

Behind him, the door clicks shut. Charles almost doesn't hear it over the sound of the beer he's cracking open.

He chugs the entire thing in one go. Opens another immediately after.

Max is leaning against the wall a couple of steps behind him, arms folded across his broad chest. Watching Charles intently, but remaining silent. Knowing there's nothing he can say; knowing Charles will say something.

The Monégasque downs the second beer. Opens a third before he turns to Max.

There's a light gone from his eyes. Max tries to suppress the shudder that runs through him at the unfamiliar sight.

He's seen Charles sad before. More times than he would like, in fact, especially this season. But this? This is something new. Something that makes something hard and unpleasant lodge in the center of Max's chest.

It's the last straw.

"Call Christian." Charles' voice is cold and flat, devoid of any emotions.

Max raises an eyebrow, heart skipping a beat in his chest.

"Are you sure?" The Dutchman asks, tentative in a way he seldom is.

He knows this is a sensitive topic. With the amount of conversations they've had about the potential of Charles joining Red Bull, Max has long since learned that he needs to tread carefully. But, this is the first time Charles is the one to initiate the conversation. And he supposes that counts for something.

Charles takes a long drink of his beer. Puts the bottle down on the table next to him. Nods.

"I'm sure," he says, voice firm. Certain. "I'm done."

Max doesn't ask another question; just walks over to the nightstand to pick up his phone. He unlocks it and navigates to Christian's contact. Allows himself one final look in Charles' direction, giving the other man one last chance to change his mind.

All Charles does is nod, shoulders squared. He looks solid — unyielding. Steady as a mountain amidst the most brutal storm.

As Max hits the 'Call' button on his phone, he can't help but think how gorgeous Charles looks like this, even though he knows that Charles' heart is broken into a million pieces.

Scuderia Ferrari will forever regret the day they destroyed the final piece of loyalty of their beloved prince — their Il Predestinato, who would have given them his entire life if they'd allowed him to.

"Hey Max," Christian's voice sounds through the speaker, and Max puts the phone to his ear.

"Christian," Max greets, watching as Charles closes the distance between them, holds out his hand expectantly. "There's somebody who wants to talk to you."

Max places the phone in Charles' outstretched hand. The Monégasque places it against his ear without hesitation.

"Christian, it's Charles," he says, green gaze locked on blue. "I'm in."

#Lestappen #Lestappen fic #Lestappen drabble #Lestappen gate 2023 #You're welcome or I'm sorry I guess #My writing #Charles to RBR

[laura1633]

can you do a fluff drabble 🥺

maybe stressed max sleeping ontop of charles, head on his neck with his arms wrapped around charles body while charles plays with his hair and hugging him closer

Of course anon 🥰 I have written a short little drabble below featuring stressed Max and sleepy cuddles. Thank you for the message ♥️

“Max? Are you okay?” Charles rubs his hand in calming circles on Max’s back as he hears the Dutch driver stirring in his sleep. It’s the second time this week it has happened and whilst he let Max brush it off last night he doesn’t think this is a coincidence. 

“Sorry” Max mumbles lazily as he turns to face his boyfriend, “It’s just a bad dream” 

“You want to talk about it?” Charles leans in and presses a kiss on the tip of Max’s nose making the Dutchman’s lips curl  upwards into a smile, “If you’re worried about something you can talk to me.”  

Max frowns, he’s not even really sure why he is stressed. It’s most likely nervous anticipation, last season was so great he has no idea how he is going to top it but it feels selfish and ridiculous to say that out loud. Of all the things to be stressing about it seems so insignificant.

“Come here” Charles tries to roll Max on top of him.

“I’m going to squash you” Max pouts, his hair is sticking up everywhere and his cheeks look all rosy and cute, it makes Charles’ heart flutter. 

“How heavy do you think you are?” Charles giggles as he manages to manoeuvre Max on top of him, “Is that better?”

“Hmmmm” Max hums and exhales softly as he nuzzles into the crook of Charles’ neck. The Monegasque’s arms curl tightly around Max's body pulling them closer together and Max suddenly realises how much he needed this. Charles is his safe space, especially when the Monegasque is cradling him so protectively.  

Max closes his eyes and melts against Charles’ body, he can feel the Monegasque’s chest rise and fall  in a nice steady rhythm and hear his soft little breaths. Everywhere their bodies are touching feels nice and warm. 

“I know it can get a little stressful sometimes” one of Charles’ hands runs through Max’s hair and rubs gently against his scalp whilst the other hand continues to sooth down the Dutch driver’s back, “I’m always going to be here you know, I am always going to love you.” 

Max smiles against Charles’ neck, it sometimes feels like Charles knows him better than he knows himself because it suddenly hits him that much of his stress comes from worrying he won’t be enough. When he stops winning, when he’s not at the top then what does he have to give.

Charles starts pepping small kisses on the crown of his head and whispering soothing words and Max realises that no matter what happens this season or beyond he will always have lots of love to give and he will always have Charles to give that love to. He also knows that he will receive all that love back and honestly, loving and being loved by Charles is all he has ever wanted anyway . 

#anon asks #lestappen fanfiction #lestappen drabble

[lestappentrain]

This came into my mind while I was trying to fall asleep. Tried writing a fic around it but figured that would take too much effort from my part. So here's a drabble.

No title because are you suppossed to come up with a title for 400ish words?

Max just finished his run and posted a story on his instagram, adding on a geotag and going directly to Charles’ profile. They have yet to follow each other back since 2019, but they’re just not doing it because of the principle of not following each other.

Charles' profile picture is in red, indicating he has a new story. Max clicks into it, long gone the fear of Charles knowing he watches his stories. They both do and they both know about it.

He’s back in Monaco apparently, it’s a view of the Marina and wait- that is not from Charles’ balcony, Max would recognize that view from anywhere. It’s from his apartment, like Max’s apartment.

He closes instagram and goes to his texts.

Max V are you at my place? 

Charles L Yes!!  Wanted some time with the cats cause I missed them

And like, Charles has been to his apartment on his own plenty of times, for God’s sake he has a key. The thing is, those times it was because Max wasn’t in Monaco and Charles normally fed the cats. This being one of the advantages of their new found friendship.

Apparently Charles liked cats, and Jimmy and Sassy liked Charles.

A constant buzzing of his phone interrupted his thoughts.

Charles L Oh shit Just figured this must be weird I swear I was not breaking in to steal anything It’s not like I want your trophies Like I want them but I want to win them, I don’t want yours I also just wanted to see the cats And probably you But I’ll go Sorry

Max V jesus Charles, calm down i’ll be home in 10, don’t leave.

Charles L Okay 

Max pockets his phone and starts walking home, stopping at the coffee shop to get something for him and for Charles, knowing he’ll need some caffeine after his trip back from Maranello.

It takes Max about 15 minutes to get to his place. Time in which Charles has calmed down and made himself at home. Max finds him sitting on his couch, feet propped up on his coffee table -telling him to get them off is like telling a kid to stop drawing on walls, pointless- and controller in hand, playing some FIFA. Jimmy and Sassy are laying beside him.

“Practicing for me not to beat you?” Max says and Charles all but jumps from his place

“Hey! Don’t do that. I didn’t hear you come in” He gets up and goes straight to Max, stopping right in front of him.

Max doesn’t know what goes next. Do they hug? Normally they don’t. But Charles is looking at him expectantly.

“Is one of those for meee?” Charles asks and right. The coffees.

#charles leclerc/max verstappen #charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen drabble #f1 drabble

[wisteriagoesvroom]

hello hello! Are you still doing fluffy prompts? If so may I please ask for cuddling in a bathtub or something?

I'm not annoning I have no shame or dignity left

so your idea spurred another idea. it is tangential, but i hope it still delivers on the Soft Vibes. thank u for prompting 🫂

don't take too much (off of me)

📝 1.3k words 💟 lestappen 🟢 rated G 🔗 also on ao3

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not.”

Charles twirls the scissors between two fingers, hoping that his posture is authoritative enough that Max will quit squirming in his chair. They are in the middle of lockdown and neither is sure when their tentative friendship turned into this – at first it was innocuous knocks on the door to play FIFA, then it was to borrow a jar of pesto here and there. Then, trampling into each other’s apartments. Max knowing to wipe his shoes on the carpet, Charles helping pick up cat food on his regular run to the grocery store (in line with lockdown mandates, they’re only allowed to go to the store twice a week.)

And now they are here. Max sitting on a dining room chair, leaning back, a makeshift cowl around his shoulders that Charles had stolen from his maman’s salon. Max tries not to twitch or move, knowing that the process of hair cutting is a delicate process. Sure, he has sat for a haircut many times before, but never under the hands of this erratic ball of energy that is Charles Leclerc, who is currently brandishing a blade like a child would a spork.

“Do you trust me, or not?” Charles says. Indignant.

“I’m here, am I not?”

“Unhappily, it seems.”

“Kerel. You have wavy hair. You look like a Disney prince. Me? One wrong move of the scissors and there will be memes in my name.”

“But it’s kind of fun when they are making the memes about you. No?”

Max glowers. “It is when they’re nice ones.”

Charles makes a noise between a snort and a guffaw. Charles perched on a stool behind him, so he can’t see the other man’s expression. But when Max looks to the corner of his living room, Max can see Charles’s face in the reflection there. Just a sliver of his face, in profile. Max expects to find Charles’s eyes crinkled, maybe teasing. Max is used to it, after all. Being the an easy target, a convenient villain. Because a lion never roars back. Not outside of the track, anyway. Even if he sometimes hides in his apartment with his cats and licks his wounds instead.

Max’s shoulders tense, hackles up. But Charles’s eyes are very soft. The punchline never comes.

“Well. I think you very handsome, Maximilian.” Charles says.

Oh. Max’s throat bobs. He doesn’t really know what to say. He’s been called many things in the past. Handsome isn’t necessarily one of them. And somehow it has a greater weight, a different bearing, when it comes from Charles. Because Charles is someone he’s begun to acknowledge that he cares about, perhaps a great deal.

“And now! We are doing the short at the sides and long at the top, oui?” Charles says. Snapping straighter in his makeshift hairdresser’s stool, energy whipping through him like lightning. Changing the topic as if he hadn’t just confessed to Max the very same thing that Max has been thinking about Charles for weeks – or if he’s honest – years, now.

“Whatever you do, make sure it’s tidy, yeah?”

“Come on mate. I am always careful.”

“Like you were when you drove into the Copse wall.”

“That was an isolated incident. Due to a combination of unexpected mechanical factors.”

“Pfft. Okay. Save that response for Sky.”

“You’re nearly as annoying as them, sometimes.” Charles says, frown gentle before he lifts the scissors again. 

Comfortably back in their banter-y element, the chatter continues. Charles is careful about his work, the blades moving slowly and carefully. And what Charles lacks in finesse he makes up for in social skills, clearly inheriting this from his parents. Talking and filling the silence comfortably, wandering from topics as diverse as sailing on the Monaco coastline, to David Guetta’s recent bizarre fundraiser video, to the latest model of automatic cat feeder that has become available on the market. Charles’s fingers brush his jaw occasionally to adjust the angle, scissors glinting in the afternoon sun. Max deliberately avoids eye contact, only glimpsing at him occasionally to share a laugh. 

At the end, Charles uses a towel to brush the loose hair off Max’s neck. They both get up to stand at Max’s living room mirror, surveying Charles’s handiwork. Their reflections loom large, shoulder to shoulder at the same height. Besides, Max isn’t really looking at himself, and neither is Charles, either.

“It’s good, yes?” Charles says. Low, conspiratorial.

Max’s grip tightens on the towel that he’s holding. His pulse etches up. The whole afternoon has been gentle touch, contact that aches because the pandemic has made him even more pathetically wanting than usual. Contact that he’s been trying very hard not to think about or keep for more nefarious purposes later. 

The other man's gaze is warm in the mirror. Max thinks of fresh cut grass at Imola, his favourite corner in Silverstone.

“Yes.” Max says. It’s good. The haircut, him, them. This strange rhythm they’ve found together. The quiet space of each other’s apartment, each other’s company, temporarily safe from the world. The trust offered to one another: enough to let them run you into gravel and trust that it was worth the fight. Enough to hold a blade in your hand and only let one other person in the world come near you with it. Risk, and promise.

Then he’s turning towards Charles. Charles mirroring him. The light is bright and the sky blue in the window, but all Max can see for a moment is Charles’s face, his half open mouth ripe like a plum. The scent, this close, of Charles’s carrefour laundry softener and woody aftershave.

And they’re leaning towards each other, a boundary they might finally cross, let the cards fall where they fucking may, when—

A yowl. A screech. A mighty crash. 

“Sassy!” Max says, practically jumping out of his skin.

Both men whip around at the source of the noise. Sassy’s frozen on a shelf, a beige mass with yellow eyes. Paw half up, looking guilty – if a cat could look guilty– at a trophy that he has just knocked off a counter. Jimmy, on the other hand, is absolutely nowhere to be seen, already having escaped the scene of the crime.

Max groans into his hands. But then Charles is laughing, an asthmatic penguin noise that Max has really come to like. It melts the fire in Max a little, amusement tempering his frustration. (The trophy is not the source of Max’s current frustration, but Charles does not need to know that.) 

“I shall get the broom.” Charles says.

“Thanks.”

So the moment passes. They clean up. On their hands and knees, near, but not touching. The broken trophy is the one he got for his overtake on Nasr in his first year in F1, and offers a chance for them to reminisce about their races. For Max to joke a little about whether Charles will get his first WDC when the pandemic is over, both of them excited about the future, a future with both of them in it, still trying, still racing each other to the brink. It’s much easier to do this, than to talk about the almost-kiss, or break the seal on this moment that they know won’t last forever.

Debris cleared, and the cats shooed into the study, Charles mentions that he should go return his equipment to his mother. They stand at the doorway for a moment that stretches too long.

Max doesn’t know how long they have. Of this, of each other. Of being left alone, of the world not encroaching with cameras or demands for explanations or labels for what they are. Of getting to know each other not as competitors, but on their own terms, in their own time.

But for a long time, Max will always remember this moment. The two of them, a dining chair. His crazy cats, Charles’s toothy smile. Their partial reflections in the mirror, an afternoon unfolding with potential.

A warm hand on his back to let him know he’s cared for, and looked after.

#lestappen #f1 rpf #max verstappen #charles leclerc #3316 #1633 #drabble #f1 drabble #prompt fill #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #fluff #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fic #ficlet #formula 1 rpf #f1 fic #wisteriawritesstuff

[sharlsletwink]

short lestappen drabble: super horny doctor!max & nurse!charles. They'd be going at it in the shower, locker room, empty hospital room, room behind the reception counter. Just any place and time that gives them a sort of privacy. They get so horny looking at each other work that they just HAVE to fuck it out right then. When they're overlooking the same patient, max would grope charles' ass or when max is explaining something to charles and charles runs his hand down max's chest al the way to cup max's slowly hardening cock.

#lestappen #charles leclerc #f1 #f1 imagine #max verstappen #drabble #f1 drabble #f1 drivers #1633

[nyoomfruits]

i somehow lost the ask but this was written for the ‘wanna practice’ kiss prompt with lestappen :)

The door of the dorm room swings open rather dramatically, banging against the opposing wall as Charles comes barging through, beeling for this bed and flopping down on it face first. 

“Do I just suck?” He asks, voice muffled by his pillow. 

“Yes,” Max says, not looking up from where he is working on his econ homework on his own side of the dorm room. 

“You don’t even have any context,” Charles says, unburrying his face. Max glances at him. He’s pouting.

“Hm,” Max says, pretends to consider it. “No, my answer stands.”

Charles makes a dramatic strangled warbling noise and falls back into the pillows. Not for the first time, Max regrets becoming his friend. It was easier, back in high school, when they were sworn enemies. Lot less exaggerated sighing as Charles waits for him to ask him what’s wrong. 

After the fifth sigh, a deep one that must be coming from the depths of Charles toes, Max finally relents. “Fine,” he says. “What happened?”

Charles looks up with entirely too much glee, happy to be indulged, as he says, “I think I’m like, unloveable.”

Max suppresses his snort as he thinks of all the people that would line up to get their shot with Charles Leclerc. “Sure,” he settles on. “Why?”

“I was making out with this girl last night and then she made this very obvious excuse and just left. And there was this guy, a week ago, we’d just been making out for like, maybe a minute and then he went ‘nope’ and left.” Charles has flopped onto his back now, staring miserably at the ceiling. 

“Maybe you’re just bad at kissing,” Max says, frowning down at his econ homework.

“What? No I’m not,” Charles says, indignant. There’s a pause, during which Max scribbles some things down in his notes. Then, very quietly, “Oh my god, maybe I am.”

Max makes a ‘well, there you go’ motion, and hopes this means he can finally go back to finishing this assignment. It isn’t due for another two days, but there’s that paper coming up and he has time now, so-

“Kiss me,” Charles says. Max hadn’t even heard him move, but he’s here now, leaning into Max’s space like some kind of siren out of a Greek myth trying to lure him into the depths of seduction. 

Or something. If anything, Max’s brain isn’t really working right. Charles is right there, in his space, hands leaning on the sides of Max’s desk chair, looking ridiculously… giddy, almost. Max had this dream once. But Charles had looked a lot more sultry and his eyes had been closed and he’d been sitting in Max’s lap instead of leaning over him and-

“Why,” Max says. In his haste to stop that insane train of thought, he forgets to phrase it as a question. 

Charles pouts at him. His nose is inches away from Max’s. “So you can tell me if I’m a bad kisser.”

“Who says I’d be a good judge of that,” Max says, instead of outright ‘no’, because he’s a self sabotaging idiot. “Maybe I’m a horrible kisser.”

Charles tssk’s. “You and Daniel dated for like two years. If you’d been bad at kissing he’d dumped you much sooner.”

“Thanks,” Max says, frowning. “I think.”

“Come on,” Charles weedles. “Just see it as like, practice. For you. For when the next Daniel comes along.”

Max snorts derisively. The next Daniel is currently trying to convince him to kiss, so. Whatever. “Fine,” Max eventually says, because Charles is a stubborn little bastard and maybe if they kiss he will finally leave Max to his assignment. 

Also Charles is still there, in his space, with his big green eyes and his stupid pouty mouth and Max is only a man, so. 

“Yay!” Charles says, and then abruptly lunges forward to smash his lips against Max’s. 

Their teeth clunk together and Max winces as his nose bumps against Charles’s, and he lets out a strangled little noise as he gently pushes Charles back. 

He’s starting to see there might be some truth to the whole ‘Charles is bad at kissing’ thing. 

“Wow, okay, let’s just,” he gently pushes a confused Charles further back and gets up out of his chair, so they’re face to face. “Maybe do it a little more gently, yeah? Like this,” He puts one hand on Charles chin, tilts his fac up a little, softly brushing their lips together before pressing a little harder, letting their lips slide against each other. 

And oh, it’s much better like this, Charles following Max’s lead, his hands coming to rest on Max’s waist as Max’s hands slip into Charles’s hair, and he’s a little enthusiastic with his tongue at first, but he’s a quick learner, and for a moment there Max forgets all concept of time. 

“Ah,” Charles says when he pulls away. There’s a frown on his face, like he's deep in thought. “Yes. I might have been doing that wrong.”

Max merely hums, still reeling a little bit from the experience, still feeling the faint touch of Charles’s lips on his own, not trusting himself to speak. 

“Well!” Charles suddenly says, seemingly shaking himself out of whatever thought process he’d gotten tangled up in. “Thanks for that! I shall put it into practice now.” 

It takes Max a while to understand what he means, but then Charles is putting on his jacket and grabbing his keys and oh. 

He means with other people. 

“Right,” Max says, trying really hard not to look disappointed. “Right, well, good luck.”

“Thanks!” Charles yells over his shoulder, before moving through the door, taking Max’s entire heart with him. 

Max is left standing in the middle of the room, staring forlornly at his econ homework. It suddenly lost all of its earlier appeal. Especially when he can still feel the ghost of Charles’s finger tips on his waist. 

#lestappen???? in this economy???? #i kid #anyway excuse my characterization its Been A While #lestappen #drabble