Chapter Text
Charles thinks he might be driving himself insane.
There’s been a faint ringing in his ears ever since the checkered flag. He feels hotter than usual, too, especially for the weather in Suzuka right now. Charles has chugged two water bottles, dismissing Lewis’ offer to have some of his share, and still he is far too hot.
He’s been like this for days. It’s always like this before his heats, and that would put his mind at ease, if his heat wasn’t a month away. It’s planned to happen before Imola, like he had always done it, because there’s something that drives him to perform better when he feels replenished and new again–call it placebic.
Charles is turning 28 this year. It never seemed to bother him before, the idea of growing up. 30 used to feel comfortable, just another milestone–he’s supposed to have a championship by then, maybe two. It sends him down a spiral now. It makes him think of Seb.
Seb was 27 when he had his first kid. He’s 37 now. He has 3 kids. Charles has none.
Albeit, Seb already had met his wife. Charles is more or less still single, barring the arrangement he has had with Max Verstappen since 2019. It seemed like the best idea for both of their situations at that age, and it was, until now, of course, because everything in Charles’ body is screaming matematemate, babybabybaby .
He used to love being an omega. He wishes Max wasn’t an alpha.
Charles also wishes Max hadn’t won today–not selfishly, and not out of hatred for his success. He just looks gorgeous. The white race suit isn’t helping, neither is his helmet hair. It’s the same hair he has after sex. It drives Charles crazy. His fists were clenched tightly throughout the whole podium celebrations, and his mind had tried to be some other place–something that wasn’t maxmaxmax.
Nothing is helping. He stops Max before he can go in for any interviews.
“When are you going to start a family?” Charles asks brusquely, a hand on Max’s bicep. He feels the way it flexes under his touch, and how Max’s shoulders tense at the sudden question.
Max blinks at him, eyes slightly wide. “I…” He swallows, his eyes squint like he’d imagined the words that came out of Charles’ mouth. “When–What?”
Charles exhales. He tries to be casual, doesn’t want to give the state of his own mind away. “A family. Yes?”
“Oh.” Max takes a moment, lips drawn into a thin line. He clicks his tongue. “Um. I don't really…”
“You don't know?”
“Want one.”
Charles’ shock is quickly blinked away, almost as quickly as Max’s blunt response. Max is the same age as him. Why doesn’t he want the same things? “Oh.” He echoes. “Why not?”
Max shrugs it off. “Personal reasons. You're very curious today.” There’s a smile on his face now. It feels plastered on, but Charles knows Max is too genuine for that.
“Ah, well…I was talking to Lewis about it.” Charles lies right through his teeth. His friends have just had a baby…4 months ago. It’s probably that underlying feeling to follow behind them. He shouldn’t be bringing Max into his temporary baby fever.
Max nods. “Right.”
Charles knows he’s unconvinced.
It’s Bahrain the next time Charles catches Max alone. It’s just after FP1. He’d been 2nd fastest, but it’s nothing he’d count as a victory. He could feel anything but happy right now. The feeling still plagues him from Japan. He remembers waking up in a sweat the night after that race, his stomach willing him to throw up, but he’d know he’d only be met with an empty pit.
Charles almost feels guilty. He couldn’t place why. He wanted to call his mother during the upcoming week here, but he doesn’t know if she’d understand. His mother had Lorenzo quite young, younger than Charles is now if he can remember all of the stories she'd told him and his brothers.
A baby isn’t the only thing on his mind anymore. The more Charles thinks of his parents, of Seb, he’s reminded that he doesn’t have anyone. Unmated at 27 was not the life Charles had imagined for himself.
He wonders how anyone could ever be this alone.
“Lewis is very old now.” Max is caught off guard once again by him. Charles couldn’t even bring himself to laugh at the way Max nearly chokes on his water.
Max turns to him with the same surprised look he had in Suzuka. Charles wonders if his scent is different to him now, if it was saltier, or uglier, pungent in the way he just wants . He ends up chuckling at the statement. “I wouldn't say 40 is very old. Not old at all,” Max replies, like Charles was being so absurd.
Charles scoffs. “For a family? I think so.”
“It's not that uncommon.”
Max isn’t giving him anything. Charles knows he’s smarter than to believe this was just a random topical conversation between friends. All of his instincts are probably telling him to run.
Was Charles not a good omega?
He swallows any other self-deprecating thoughts down to get back to the matter at hand. He’s not even sure what his aim is anymore, or who he’s even trying to convince. “It's not like he is in a serious relationship though. If he wants a family, he should be looking now.”
“I’m sure he’ll find some young 25-year-old omega eventually,” Max jokes, but Charles doesn’t miss how his eyes quickly look him up and down.
It’s not like Max was wrong. Lewis brings some model or B-list actor to many Ferrari get-togethers. They’re always younger than him, always beautiful, and they’re always omegas. Most of them are blonde. None of them he keeps around for long, though.
Charles and Max both don’t mention the obvious–the blonde omega who did stay, the one who also left. Charles had never asked Lewis about any of it, because everyone knows Lewis doesn’t like talking about his first few years in Mercedes.
“Gross.” Charles responds. “But also not uncommon.”
Max sets his drink down. He taps his fingers against the can before letting go, wiping the palm of his hand against his race suit due to the condensation. Charles watches it all. “Is it in your nature to want these things?” His eyes dart right back to Max’s.
“What?”
“Mm…Like, primally. Is that a good way of putting it?”
Charles sucks on the flesh of his cheek and bites down, feeling all too seen. He hesitates to even give him an answer, but nods nonetheless. “I have always wanted children. It was fun growing up with my brother's and my parents raised us very well.”
It’s a simple enough answer for Max, who nods along to his words. “Your mum is very nice when I speak to her,” he comments.
“Yes! She is the sweetest. The most loving mother.” Charles adds, quite enthusiastically.
Max smiles at him. “Your father, I am guessing, was loving too.”
“Of course.”
None of this really helps Charles’ current mindset. He’d done nothing but reminisce about growing up with his brothers for the last week. His happiest memories of his childhood had always included them, and his parents, things like…His mother would kiss his knees whenever he grazed them, his father would read him bedtime stories, and his brothers would always stay awake with him to watch movies and eat an obscene amount of sweets.
Charles always had the perfect family modelled out for him. Maybe that’s what helps keep this stupid desire to procreate alive.
“You are very sentimental. I think a lot of people like that about you.”
Charles blinks. “Hm?”
Max shakes his head, smiling wider. His hand brushes along Charles’ shoulder as he begins to walk away from him. “I will get going now. See you.”
It’s quite all-consuming, the way Max makes him feel.
Charles had never planned to like him.
Charles fucking hated Max.
It was his first year with Ferrari. It was Silverstone. It was after fucking Austria, and all Charles felt was utter fucking rage.
Max had no right to approach him. Charles could have ripped his throat out.
“Unfollowing me is pretty petty, you know?” Max looked so stupid in those flat brim caps back then. It annoyed Charles even more how he’d make it look almost flattering.
Charles reminded himself of all of the consequences he could face for punching Red Bull’s golden boy. He also hated the way Mattia used to berate him. “So was that move at the end of the race,” he muttered, because giving him a response was the polite thing to do.
Max scoffed. Charles had closed his eyes and imagined his future with Ferrari slipping away from him the moment his fist would make contact with the man next to him.
“I was driving–”
“I don’t care.”
Charles glared at him then. Max had met him with indifference.
The way Max had licked his lips brought Charles’ attention to the mole there. It wasn’t attractive at all, he’d think, even if it made every feature on Max’s face seem more enticing.
Max had also always been a genuine person. “I thought we were friends again. Is the Ferrari contract getting to your head?”
Charles had to bite down hard on the flesh in his mouth not to laugh in his face. “We were never friends,” he replied, trying to sound as mean as possible.
He’d never wanted to hurt anyone the way he wanted to hurt Max.
“What do you mean?” Charles couldn’t believe Max was actually shocked.
“I don’t like you. You don’t like me. How is that a friendship?”
“I…”
Charles furrowed his eyebrows and scanned Max’s face for any signs of mockery. He was met with nothing but a small frown and a horrible sad look in his eyes that made Charles almost feel bad. ’“Did you seriously think that?”
The thing Max said next made Charles rethink their entire lives spent racing and tormenting each other.
“I made you laugh.”
Because what?
“What?” Charles spat out, in utter disbelief.
Max never stopped looking earnest. “Last year. You liked me last year. I made you laugh a lot.”
Charles remembered thinking if this was really Max ‘Mad Max’ Verstappen or if he’d been replaced by a decoy. He had never looked so…young.
“I laughed at you?”
“At my jokes, obviously. The British–”
“Max.” Charles didn’t even know what to say. He just needed Max to stop talking before he does something he’ll end up regretting. “Why does that matter?”
Max looked at him like it was obvious. “I like it when you laugh. You always look so…” He seemed to have found some common sense when he’d taken a moment to look at Charles properly in the face. “...Stupid.”
Ferrari had told him they would require him to have a registered heat partner by the end of the season, as Charles didn’t have a mate, and because they didn’t want that part of his life to affect his performance.
Charles hadn’t known what to do when they told him. He definitely did not know Max Verstappen’s name would make the top of his list, because he liked his laugh.
It would be good, he thought initially, because he knows not one bone in his body would ever really desire Max as a mate, and Max seemed practical enough of a person to agree. That’s all he had come up with, before he yanked him into the nearest toilet stall and kissed him.
In Charles’ defence, he did really hate Max.
How was he supposed to know he would turn out to be the most lovely person ever?
The first time they had sex was during the summer break, when Charles’ heat broke out. He thought Max would be there to service him and leave when Charles was no longer begging for the pleasure of his company.
Of course, that wasn’t the case. Max cooked him stupidly delicious meals throughout the whole week, washed up everything after, and even bathed him multiple times during. It was…sickeningly nice. For an alpha, anyway.
It was hard to hate him when Max was like that every time. Charles had even offered to spend Max’s rut with him in 2021. He didn’t expect it to actually sting when Max had declined, although quite politely.
Maybe Charles was just finding it hard to put another feeling in the place of hatred. It’s not like he had any other alphas to compare Max to, but it’s not hard to figure out not all of them would have treated him with so much respect.
It became very difficult not to like Max. It really was very easy to like Max.
It’s just the problem with Charles’ stupid biology now, because something deep inside needed Max more than Charles had ever needed him. It was foreign territory. Charles hadn’t thought about wanting a family since he was 15 and idealistic.