Work Text:
[A repost of a screen recording of an Instagram story, posted by @lando. The Instagram story is dated as 2 minutes ago: Lando has his arm hinged around Oscar's neck. They're in a club, the location tagged as Jimmy'z in Monaco. The caption, small and off centre reads: Summer breakkkk
The audio is blown out and illegible, save for the consistent thrum of bass. It's dark, everything appearing under blacklight, but Lando and Oscar are lit like normal, the phone's flash clearly being used. Oscar's cheeks are flushed, and there's a giddy smile on his face as he mouths along to the inaudible words of the song. Lando's eyes are glassy, a cup dangling from the fingers of the hand around Oscar's neck, clear liquid sloshing over the rim and falling onto Oscar's shirt. Neither of them notices. Lando sings along too. They're both clearly drunk.
In the background of the video, multiple Formula One drivers can be seen mingling with the crowd. In the middle distance, the figures of who appear to be Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen are visible. They're standing close together, Max's hands are poised on Charles' waist, Charles' arms are wrapped around Max's neck, one hand pushed into the hair on the back of his head. They're dancing to the beat of the song, pressed close together. Charles is grinning. Max looks smug. They seem to be as drunk as Lando and Oscar. Charles leans into Max's space and says something, too low for the microphone to pick up. Max smirks. Charles leans in and kisses him. Max's hands slide down from Charles' waist to rest on his ass, fingers clearly flexing. The video ends.
The caption of the video, posted by @sweet1633, reads: IS THAT CHARLES AND MAX KISSING IN THE BACKGROUND OF LANDO'S INSTAGRAM STORY???!??!]
458 comments | 243k likes | 121k retweets | 879k views
@sebvettels: Lestappen confirmation via drunk Instagram posting on main was not on my 2025 bingo card
@brocedeez: lando u messy bitch
@lecllerc: i fear i am going to be insane forever over this
@verstappen1: it's definitely them, max is wearing a fucking redbull shirt STILL
@d4nnyr1c: the ASS GRAB??!,,,,
#
Charles woke up with Max's sleeping body halfway on top of his, a massive headache, sixteen missed calls from various people on Ferrari's PR team and a single text from Lando. Charles squints at the bright display, it's barely 8 am, and Charles would never normally be awake this early. He grabs his glasses, and shoves them onto his face, the headache dulls slightly. Ignoring the missed calls, choosing wilful ignorance over facing whatever it is he's done this time, he instead navigates to his and Lando's WhatsApp thread.
August 24, 2025, 01:28
little lando norris: charles im so fucking sorry!
The headache throbs against his temple, increasing tenfold when his phone starts to vibrate in his hand - Silvia. The first time she had called. Fuck. Whatever he did, it was bad. - before he has a chance to respond to Lando's message. He lets out a long sigh and answers the call as he begins the slow and familiar process of extracting himself from Max's unconscious death grip.
"Buongiorno, Silvia" he greets, scrubbing a hand down his face, already wary.
"Charles. Is Max there with you?"
Charles blinks in surprise. "He is sleeping, still. What's going on?"
"I'm afraid you will have to wake him. I'm sure Red Bull is trying to reach him."
"Silvia. What is going on?"
"On Instagram, at the club last night. Lando was posting to his story, and you were caught in the background of a video. You and Max."
"The world knows we are friends, what is the problem here?"
"Charles," Silvia says, voice going gentler than he'd ever heard directed at him, "You were kissing."
Oh.
The phone drops from his hand onto the plush bedsheets. He scrambles to pick it back up.
Of course. There's no other reason that all of this would be happening. Fuck. He grunts, closer to an aborted scream than anything else, and rubs at his eye under his glasses.
"Oh," he says. "Okay. Um- What now?"
"Now you hang up. You wake up Max, you tell him what's going on. You get him to call Red Bull, and then you call me back. We'll talk for a while, figure out our game plan, and then I'll call Red Bull and we'll organise a joint meeting. It's not ideal, Charles, but we'll make it work."
Right. Of course.
"Right. Okay. I will just call you back, then."
"We had a plan for when you and Max decided to come out, Charles," Silvia says before he hangs up, "We're not completely out of our depth here."
When the line drops, Charles takes a moment to just breath. He drops the hand from his face to instead rest on the bare skin of Max's steadily rising and falling back, the sheets bunched at his waist. He allows himself the luxury at just looking at Max. His Max. His lovely, kind, beautiful Max. The man of his dreams, the love of his life. The best thing that has ever happened to him. And now he has to share that with the rest of the world. Charles blinks away the tears that blur his vision and takes a steadying breath.
He shakes Max's shoulder, leaning down to press gentle kisses against his forehead and cheeks until his eyes flutter open.
"Good morning, schatje," he says, voice rough as it always is in the morning.
"Max," Charles says, a watery smile on his lips and the threat of unshed tears in his eyes.
Max sits up, pulling Charles into his side and smoothing a calming hand through his hair. "Charlie? What's wrong, baby?"
"You need to call Red Bull. There is a video of us kissing that Lando posted to the internet." He can't hold in the sob then, the stress and tears overflowing as he says, "I'm sorry, chéri, I'm sorry."
Max goes preternaturally still.
“Lando did what?”
“He did not mean it. We were in the background of his Instagram story at Jimmy’z last night. I didn’t see him filming.”
Hot tears slip down Charles’ cheeks, there’s nothing he can do to stop them. His heart is pounding more now than it was when Silvia first told him of the situation. Logically, Charles knows that Max is not mad at him, that Max is just processing the information Charles has given him, that he’s just processing the massive change to their comfortable lives that’s been forced upon them.
Emotionally, however, Charles cannot understand that.
All logic is out the window. There is nothing but fear, and shock, and panic.
Max’s hand, still in Charles’ hair, goes back to carding through the strands. Distantly, over the pounding of his heart and the shortness of his breath, Charles hears Max’s voice, soft and slow and rumbling sweet nothings, words intended less to be heard by Charles than to just calm him down.
It’s sweet, how well Max knows him. How easy it is for Charles to ground himself through Max.
It’s only after Charles manages to slow his sobs to a weak shuddering inhale-exhale-inhale that he is able to hear the words Max is saying.
“Oh, my baby. It’s okay, schat, it’ll be okay. It is not your fault. We have been together for so long now, there were plans made for whenever we chose to come out. It is not the best of situations, but we can make it work. We’ll always make it work.”
Charles lets out a miserable little hum, and burrows closer into Max’s side. He hides his face in Max’s neck as he winds his arm around his waist. Max drops a kiss to the crown of his head, Charles presses a kiss into the juncture of his shoulder and his neck, skin still sleep-warm, in return.
When he speaks, the words are muffled, but he knows Max will understand. “You must call Red Bull. I am sure Christian is blowing up your phone by now. I need to call back Silvia.”
Max hums but doesn’t move for another long moment. Just hugs him. Charles has never loved someone as much as he loves Max in this moment. Has never loved Max more than in this moment.
It’s only when Charles has pulled himself away that Max speaks, “okay, baby. Okay.”
Max slowly untangles them and gets out of bed, pulling on a pair of boxers off the floor. (They’re Charles’ from the day before, and it’s as arousing as it is gross, despite the circumstances.) He scoops his phone off of the bedside table, eyes widening almost imperceptibly at the sheer number of notifications and clicks on one of the missed calls. Charles can hear the dial tone as Max leans down to kiss him softly, before slipping out of the room to take the call in the hallway.
Charles sighs, takes a sip of water from the bottle beside the bed, and calls Silvia back.
#
They decide it’s too hard to explain away. If it were posted by a fan account, or if it were a still image rather than a video, then maybe they could have cried lookalike or photoshop or ai generated. But it wasn’t. It was posted by Lando. A video.
Charles asks what the next steps are. Silvia tells him that they’re organising a joint meeting with Ferrari and Red Bull. Off the record, she says there are three real options:
Say it was a drunk kiss amongst friends. Play it off as a joke, a dare. Clearly, they’d had too much to drink; clearly, they were two heterosexual close friends, comfortable with their sexualities.
Ignore it and continue as if it never happened. Eventually, people will stop talking about it. Their relationship doesn’t have to be public, nothing has to change. Nobody has to confirm anything.
Neither of those sound very good to Charles.
There is still the third option.
They could release a public statement confirming their relationship. They would have to emphasise that it wasn’t on their own terms but that there is no ill-feeling toward Lando. They would be the first openly queer drivers on the track, the first drivers to be in a relationship with one another. It wouldn’t be easy, especially not during race weekends in certain countries. Charles doesn’t know if this is the good option, after all.
He doesn’t say anything. Silvia tells him to talk it over with Max.
He receives a calendar invitation for a meeting from Red Bull, over Zoom later this afternoon, before he had even hung up.
#
After the initial shock has worn off - oh my fucking God, he and Max have been outed and everyone knows about them now - Charles finds that, actually, he's not all together that angry. He's surprised, of course. Terrified of the implications, worried about Max, upset that they weren't able to come out on their own terms, but angry? Not really. Not at Lando, at least.
Finally, finally, he responds to the message from Lando.
August 24, 2025, 09:13
sharl leglerg: it was not on purpose, yes?
sharl leglerg: no hard feelings, mate
sharl leglerg: though max might go a bit mad max on you
sharl leglerg: … which is hot in a caveman way
Max comes back into their room, phone in hand and a pinched expression on his face. He climbs back into the bed, and Charles wastes no time fitting himself onto Max's lap. He smooths a finger over the crease between Max's eyebrows and presses a featherlight kiss there.
“Do not be too angry at Lando, mon chéri," he says softly, "you know it was an accident.”
Max huffs, his hands flexing on Charles' hips.
“I know this. I am still upset with his carelessness.”
“You can always post that picture of him and Oscar getting a little too friendly after a few too many gin tonics at our house party last month.”
Max grins at him. “See, schat, this is why we are getting married.”
Charles hums, and a pleasant thrill runs through him at the reminder. They’re getting married. He and Max. Married.
Fuck.
A primal sort of possessiveness overtakes him, and he figures in for a penny or however the saying goes. It doesn’t help that Max is sitting in their bed, wearing only Charles’ underwear, still somewhat rumpled from sleep. He’s gorgeous. The most beautiful man Charles has ever seen. And he’s all his.
He attaches his lips to the hollow of Max’s throat and sucks. He works at the skin until it flushes red, and then he kisses his way up to the pulse point and sucks another bruise there. He leaves one just behind Max’s jaw, right under his ear, where he knows Max is sensitive.
Later, Charles decides, when he finally gets Max inside of him, he’ll attach his teeth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder and leave teeth marks in a perfect ring. The idea sends another spike of arousal straight through him. He’s half-chubbed in his boxers, circling his hips a little in Max’s lap already. If Max wonders where this is coming from, he doesn’t ask. Instead, his hands find their way onto Charles’ hips, fingers digging in to the skin hard enough that Charles is sure he’s going to have some bruises of his own.
The world knows about them, now. He might as well give in and mark Max exactly how he’s been wanting to for the better part of five years. Right on his neck, right where it can't be covered by a collar, where even the race suit won't reach.
Claiming him as Charles'.
“Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing, baby,” Max says, right in his ear. His voice rumbles through Charles, and he shivers in response, a cheeky smile playing at his lips.
“Mm,” he hums, “but you like it.”
“‘Course I like it. I just wonder when it will be my turn to mark you up?”
“What is stopping you, ange? You know I like when you bite.”
#
The next week sees them back in the paddock. Zandvoort. Max’s first home race since everything. The bruises on his neck have only just started to fade, but they’re still clearly there. Still obvious to anyone with eyes that someone has put their mouth to Max’s neck and claimed him as theirs. It’s just not confirmed to the public that that someone was Charles.
But Charles knows. Max knows.
And, even if he has to take it off outside of his (or Max’s) drivers room, Charles has the cool reminder from the platinum engagement ring on a chain over his heart with bevelled edges and twin inlays of solid ruby and sapphire.
@lecllerc: okok i'm totally cool about this. deffo not going insane abt the mark under lec’s jaw and the absolute mauling of max
@op81op: hahahahahahahaah they ain’t bein subtle now
@gaaassslllyyyyy: everyone say thank you lando!!
@forzacharlie: the hickeys on max’s neck,, charles i know what u are
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