#charles and max | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

putting-it-into-parc · 2 months

Text

jealousy, jealousy - chapter 4: those eyes

f1 fanfic: lestappen (max x charles)

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the grid arrives in melbourne, and max and charles are going through it. they each decide, independently, that they want to get in on some exercise-induced endorphins. and immediately run into each other at the gym.

chapter 4: those eyes

This was the least relaxing off-week Max had ever experienced. Most of the grid had arrived in Melbourne a week in advance to adjust to the time zone and weather, and were making the most of the last vestiges of Australian summer. But Max could not for the life of him shake what had happened last week in Saudi.

“Let me go,” Charles’ angry voice rang in his head. And then his own, “I don’t know why I grabbed you like that."

He didn’t, really. All he knew was that as the paramedics lifted Carlos into the ambulance, he was seized with this feeling, that Charles would run after him.

And why would you care? He didn’t. Shouldn’t. God, Carlos was Charles’ teammate. Wouldn’t Max feel concerned if Checo suddenly passed out during grid breakfast?

Not to the point that I’d forfeit the race. That was it. Max wasn’t afraid of losing Charles, watching him slip through his fingers. He was disturbed by the fact that Charles would give up the race to wait uselessly in a hospital. But that realization didn’t make him feel any better.

Normally, Max would default to his sim racing rig. But even that didn’t seem like it would be enough to quell his anxiety.

His eyes fell onto his ill-used black duffel.

Max had never been all that passionate about working out. He wasn’t particularly athletic like some of the other guys on the grid—visions of Charles viciously returning Nando’s serve on the padel court and Carlos jogging easily with Danny down the track while Max could barely breathe came to mind—and personally believed an hour on iRacing would probably get him closer to a WDC than an hour pumping iron.

So he figured if he felt the urge to exercise voluntarily, he should probably capitalize on it. Who knew, maybe all those workout junkies would be onto something when they harped about endorphins or whatever.

Even though it was past 9, Charles was itching to get in a quick lift, maybe a spin as well. He quickly changed into a pair of lightweight shorts. He debated wearing a shirt but doubted anyone would be in the gym at this hour anyway.

George Russell style, he thought, laughing to himself.

The gym as vacant, just as he’d hoped. He started on the bike, wedging his buds into his ears and queueing up some Hans Zimmer. It felt so good to just dissociate, vaguely aware only of the sweat starting to trickle down his back. The dramatic climax of a song hit and Charles stood up out of the saddle to ride it out—

—and almost fell off his bike when he saw that he was not in fact alone at all.

Max ambled through the doors of the gym, and judging by the looks of the bag slung over his shoulder, he’d only just gotten there.

Charles pulled an earbud out and continued cycling, sneaking peeks at Max but having trouble thinking of what to say to him. If anything. Maybe Max was in another touchy mood and would ignore Charles or see him and leave. The thought made Charles feel…strangely empty. Not as relieved as he would have thought.

He needn’t have worried. Max, spying Charles on the bike, made a beeline towards him first.

“Charles,” he nodded.

“Hey, Max.” Charles wiped his brow with the towel he’d slung over the handlebars. “Here for a lift?”

“Ah, yeah, I was thinking so.”

“Want to spot each other?” Charles dared.

“Sure.”

Charles climbed off the bike and waved Max over to the bench. “I was going for a push day, you good with that?”

Max nodded and loaded the barbell. Charles placed his hands under the bar as Max pressed. His hands brushed Max’s forearms by accident, and Max’s eyes flashed up at him. Charles’ stomach lurched. Calm down right now, he told himself sternly.

Did Charles suddenly think he was George Russell or something? Max rolled his eyes when he saw him pedaling shirtless, bobbing his head to whatever sadboy soundtrack was blasting through his earbuds. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck and collected in the crevice formed by his traps and collarbone. To be fair, his pecs put Max’s to shame…and so did the rest of his chiseled torso. He should’ve been better about going to the gym.

And he just might. He didn’t remember lifting ever being so enjoyable. When his triceps trembled on the last rep, Charles’ tanned forearms rescued him from the bar. And after a set that left him totally gassed, he relished seeing Charles smile brightly, and the feeling of his warm hand clapping him on the back.

His arms felt like jelly, but he wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

“Mate,” he groaned. “I’m gonna hit the sauna.” He wondered if Charles would join him. Was it weird that he was hoping he would?

“I’m so finished,” Charles agreed. He slung his towel over his shoulder. “Can I come with?”

Max held open the door for him in response.

The gym sauna was actually quite nice. Dark panels of cedar lined the walls and floor, and nozzles mounted to the ceiling intermittently subjected them to blasts of eucalyptus-scented steam.

Charles stretched luxuriously out on a bench, extending his muscular legs and leaning back onto his hands behind his head. “Ahhh,” he sighed. “I feel like I never see you here.”

Max swallowed. “Dunno, I guess the gym’s not really my scene.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen the light yet, mate. I wasn’t really into it either, but Carlos”—Max stiffened at the name—“is a total gym rat. He converted me.”

“What?” Max asked. “Aren’t you a sports guy?”

Charles giggled. Like, actually giggled. “No way mate, that’s a new side of me. When I wasn’t karting as a kid, the other sports I played were piano and chess.”

This was news to Max. He always felt like a nerd compared to a lot of the other guys. You would never know that about Charles, with his tanned abs and sculpted shoulders and his sun-bleached curls. Max had felt self-conscious the second he’d taken off his shirt as they’d entered the sauna. He was pretty certain that he was so pale it was blinding. Not that he could tan even if he wanted—as soon as his epidermis so much as glimpsed the sun, it decided to go bright red. Bonus points for blisters.

Max stole a glance at Charles. His eyes were closed. There was a freckle right below his right eye that Max had never noticed before. His gaze roamed over Charles’ thick eyebrows, finely shaped nose, neat stubble, down to his lips, the upper one starting in two perfect peaks and curving up into an impish smile. He thought about how the guys regularly gave him shit for being a pretty boy, the legions of girls who fangirled over Charles’ looks.

Girls, Max had seen plenty of pretty girls before. But the Monégasque dozing in the sauna next to him…pretty simply couldn’t do it justice.

Charles’ eyes fluttered open, and Max suddenly remembered that, as a child, he’d bike along the Meuse river in Maaseik. Ninety-nine days out of a hundred, the river was so dark gray it was almost black, but every so often the sun would make its presence known on a spring day, and the river would turn a brilliant azure, fading to green at the banks where the water reflected the trees. He might as well have been right back in Maaseik, gazing at that river. He was happy then. He felt like he couldn’t ask for anything else right now.

Charles must have seen something in Max’s face, because the tops of his ears turned pink. Max felt his own cheeks flush in response. Without so much as a warning, Charles sat up and leaned forward until his face was barely three inches from Max’s. Max felt his stomach somersault, the way it always did before rounding a steep turn. His eyes searched Charles’ desperately, looking for any sign of what he was thinking, what he was going to do.

Then, light as a feather, Charles gently touched a spot on Max’s chin. It tingled; he barely registered that it stung ever so slightly.

“You cut yourself,” Charles said quietly.

Max’s heart hammered so hard, he was convinced Charles could feel the blood rushing through his jaw. Or just see his entire body quaking in time to the beat.

“I…yeah, I must’ve. Shaving,” Max managed, hoarsely.

Charles withdrew his hand. Max fought the overwhelming urge to grab it before it was gone forever. He felt utterly lost in his eyes.

“When I was a kid,” he heard himself say, “Jos took me cycling by this river. In Belgium. I was too young to go karting.”

Charles said nothing, but held his gaze.

“Most days, the river was grey,” Max rambled on, feeling faint. “But every so often, it would be sunny outside, and the water…the water was so blue. And green and brown and all the colors. Like—like your eyes.”

Max saw that Cupid’s bow lift in a tiny, devastating smile. But then it spoke.

“You live in Monaco now. Next time we’re back home, I want to take you to La Mala on my boat. I don’t know why we haven’t been yet.”

Max’s heart threatened to take a flying leap right out of his chest.

Charles continued slowly, “When we get to the horizon, you look in the mirror. Maybe my eyes look like your river, in Belgium. But yours…” His voice dropped a full octave lower. “Yours are where the sky meets the sea.”

He pulled away abruptly, stood up, and left only a trail of wet footprints as he exited the sauna. Max stared dumbly at what was left of Charles, not at all sure if what just happened was real.

It was all Charles could do to not break out into a sprint as soon as he closed the sauna door behind him. His body felt like it had been braised; every inch of his skin felt like it could erupt into flames at any moment. Maybe the sauna had quite literally scrambled his brains. He could not believe he had just told Max Verstappen that his eyes reminded him of the fucking ocean. And he found it even harder to believe that his own had inspired such a comparison on Max’s end.

George’s voice echoed in his head. “He was giving me these eyes…”

No. No no no. This could not be happening. He could absolutely not be thinking about leaving his hand on Max’s jaw, leaning in, letting their lips brush. Except he knew, sitting in that sauna, that was all he wanted to do.

Charles turned the corner to the lockers and promptly slammed into Max, who had replaced his shirt and had his shoes dangling by the laces in one hand.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “I am so sorry.”

Max, at least, looked equally perturbed. “No, that was my bad, I didn’t see you—”

Charles was sure his face was positively maroon. Maybe even his neck. “Uh, well, nice working out with you,” he fumbled lamely.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh, thanks for spotting me. I think I might come to the gym more.”

“You should,” Charles said emphatically.

Max smiled at him, genuinely smiled, and Charles felt like someone had pumped his head full of helium. “Well, see you around.”

“Yeah, see you.” Charles pulled on his own shirt and slipped into his slides. He turned to leave.

“Wait, Charles.” Max called.

Charles stopped short.

“I don’t know if you really meant it, about boating in Monaco,” Max said from behind, his voice betraying the slightest crack. “But if you did, I think it would be nice to see La Mala together.”

notes: i'm not gonna lie guys i screamed a little writing that last line i am unwell the boys are back is officially chapter 3 and has been labelled as such. this is a continuation of that chapter.

tensions will be boiling next chapter. you have been warned. >:)

also, i have been made aware of something called a taglist (tumblr newbie, sorry), so please feel free to reply on any of the chapters if you want to be included on it!! i never thought anyone would read any of this tbh so...v grateful for those of you who've enjoyed the ride so far :')

taglist @fangirl-dot-com

89 notes · View notes