Chapter Text
The drive from Maranello to Monte Carlo takes roughly four and a half hours under ideal conditions; throw in traffic, and all bets are off. Charles left the Ferrari headquarters at 5:30 PM, the weather still clear. Past Genoa, however, rain began to fall, intensifying as full darkness set in. An accident on the E80 highway stretched the night and the crawling line of vehicles into an endless ordeal.
After pulling into a service station for the third time to refuel, Charles’s regret over choosing the Ferrari SF90XX peaked. On this gridlocked, rain-lashed night, the track beast’s excess performance was nothing but a burden: its outrageous fuel consumption and small tank meant a fourth stop was likely, while the suspension, harder than the garage floor, made his back ache more fiercely with each kilometer.
While waiting for the pump, he checked his phone. Messages still sat at the exchange from four hours ago – his text announcing departure, Max’s reply (“Drive safe, baby”) followed by a string of filthy promises about what awaited him back home. He’d been at Maranello for four days; Max had been in Milton Keynes earlier in the week, only returning to Monaco yesterday. All told, they hadn’t seen each other in a week. Four hours ago, Max’s explicit texts had left him aroused, itching to leap straight into their Monaco apartment bed. Now, however, all he felt was bone-deep ache and exhaustion.
As the fuel gauge clicked back to full, Max’s name popped up on his screen.
22:03 Max: Where are you, baby?
22:03 Accident on the road, stuck in traffic
22:03 Still not out of Italy😥
22:03 Max: Heavy rain? Drive safe.
22:04 Max: Focus on the road, don’t rush.
22:04 Max: I’ll be waiting, no matter how late 💕
Windblown rain lashed through the open sides of the service station, drenching Charles and making him shiver. With cold-stiffened fingers, he removed the gas pump and went to pay inside. As he walked out, a Volkswagen Passat drove past, tires hitting a puddle dead-on, splashing him head to toe.
“Oh, fuck you!” Charles yelled furiously. The Passat, with its meager 150 horsepower, plush suspension, and frugal 1.4T engine, ignored his curses and drove off. Soaked to the skin, Charles slumped back into his 1030 horsepower Ferrari SF90XX, turning on the AC with numb fingers. He pulled out his phone, typing into his chat with Max: I feel like I’m going to die of exhaustion. He stared at it for a moment, then deleted it without sending. A heavy sigh escaped him; shifting into gear, he saw the dashboard display: Avg. Fuel Consumption Since Start: 36.8L/100km. Hesitating for a few seconds, he turned the AC off – he absolutely could not face stopping a fourth time.
He finally pulled into Monte Carlo well past midnight. Cold, hungry, and feeling like his bones might rattle apart, Charles dragged his exhausted body from the car into the underground garage elevator. The overly bright cabin lights stabbed his eyes as the doors opened, leaving him dizzy. He gripped the accessibility rail, standing there until the dancing spots faded, only then realizing he’d forgotten to press his floor. Cursing under his breath, he slammed the button unnecessarily hard. The elevator finally began its ascent.
The thought of his soft, warm bed spurred him down the corridor. He fumbled for his keys and opened the apartment door. Lights were on, but the place was quiet, only Leo bounding out excitedly to greet him. Charles scooped up the puppy, sighing. “I miss you so much, baby.”
He carried Leo into the living room, but no one was there. Max must be asleep, he thought, then stayed quiet. A few steps further, he saw the bedroom light on and heard the shower running. Max was probably bathing, he thought to himself. At that moment, Charles realized he couldn’t take another step. He just collapsed onto the nearest sofa, closing his eyes halfway.
Lying there, the cold finally registered. He knew that he should get up, change out of his wet clothes and take a hot shower. But the sofa was too comfortable, and he was too tired; gravity felt ten times stronger, pinning him down. He curled up with a shiver, thinking just two minutes, only two minutes, but his eyelids were already drooping heavily.
He didn’t know how long he’d drifted when a voice calling his name pierced the haze. He forced his eyes open, taking several seconds to focus. Max sat beside him, blue eyes fixed intently on him, the irises looking pale under the light.
“Charles,” Max said quietly, his hand warm against Charles’s chilled face, “Wake up. Don’t sleep here.”
Charles blinked, trying to clear his head. Max’s touch was warm; he’d clearly just stepped out of the shower, enveloped in steam, the faint scent of mint and juniper clinging to him, drawing Charles instinctively closer. He struggled to sit up, teeth chattering, swaying as he tried to lean into Max. The Dutchman was faster, not letting him rise fully before pulling his trembling body into his arms. The heat radiating from Max made Charles’s eyes sting, his bones soften, his mind uncontrollably melt into incoherence. I miss you. Rain so heavy. You’re so warm. I’m so cold. I love you so much.
“I’m just… really tired,” he managed finally.
He felt Max’s arms tighten around him, lips pressed warm, soft kisses into the curve of his neck and behind his ear. Warm breath ghosted over his chilled skin, making him shiver harder.
"God, you're freezing," Max murmured, his voice low with concern. He gathered Charles’s icy hands in his own, rubbing them gently. "And soaked through."
Charles sighed, a tremor still in his voice. "Got rained on. Then some idiot at the gas station drove through a puddle and drenched me." He let out a weary breath. "Such a shit day."
"Rough one," Max acknowledged softly, giving his shoulder a light, reassuring pat. "How about a hot bath? I'll go run the water."
Charles shook his head almost imperceptibly, his fingers tightening slightly on Max’s robe. "Stay... just a little longer?"
God, I’m being so needy, he thought, a flush of embarrassment warming his cheeks even as he made the quiet request. But he couldn’t bear to move from the cocoon of Max’s warmth. The awful shivering was finally easing, replaced by a heavy wave of exhaustion pulling him under. He just needed to stay here for now.
Max sighed softly, his thumb brushing a familiar, comforting circle on the nape of Charles’s neck. "Five minutes," he conceded, his tone firm but gentle. "Any longer and you’ll get sick."
Charles nodded. Five minutes is enough. He closed his eyes, nuzzling the scent gland on Max’s neck. Max’s pheromones always grounded him. The familiar mint and juniper wrapped around him, but beneath it, faint yet unmistakable, was the animalic tang of ambergris – a scent that shouldn’t be there outside of rut.
Charles pushed himself upright in Max's arms, sudden clarity cutting through the fog. "Shit," he breathed, hand pressing to his forehead. "Max... your rut. I completely forgot."
Max gave a soft laugh, his hand still resting possessively on Charles's waist. "Was wondering when you'd notice."
"I can't believe I forgot," Charles shook his head as if trying to dislodge water, "My head's not working right. I should've been back yesterday. I'm sorry, Max."
Max frowned, leaning in to cradle Charles's face. "Nothing to be sorry for, baby. Don't apologize for that."
Charles sighed heavily. The scent clinging to Max seemed suddenly unmistakable – that heavier, muskier ambergris note underlying the usual clean juniper and mint, the distinct animal signature of his rut. How could he have missed it? Why hadn't he noticed sooner? He swallowed, guilt coiling thick and cold in his stomach, rising like a tide.
"Are you feeling okay?" Charles asked, looking up. His fingers went to his own collar. "Can I help? I can—"
Max shook his head, catching Charles' hand gently. "No need, Charles. You know I'm fine." His thumb brushed Charles' knuckles. "You're exhausted. Let me run you that hot water." With that, he stood and headed to the bathroom, leaving Charles sitting alone on the sofa, the weight of his forgetfulness settling heavily on his shoulders.
Max wasn’t necessarily lying about feeling fine. This was part of what made him different. Max Verstappen earned the moniker "The Racing Machine" not just for his unstoppable prowess on track, but also for his rock-solid consistency. Rut seemed to affect him minimally; the Dutchman had competed in – and stood on the podium during – multiple Grands Prix while actively in rut, a feat bordering on impossible for most.
As his partner, Charles could perceive subtler shifts – the deepening of his scent, a slight increase in clinginess – but fundamentally, Max’s mood and behavior remained remarkably stable. Rut rarely disrupted him. The most noticeable change was how it seemed to amplify his appetite – Max simply used it as the perfect excuse to get Charles into bed far more often.
"Charles, it’s a special time," Max would murmur, pressing close, his expression betraying no actual discomfort. "Can you really say no when I need you?" A hand would slide possessively down Charles’ spine. "Just once more, yeah?"
Charles recognized the tactic, saw right through the feigned vulnerability. But the tiny, persistent doubt always nagged: what if, just this once, he really is suffering? So every time, Charles yielded. Every time, he let Max have his way.
This time was no different. That doubt lingered. Max claimed he was fine, but Charles had left him hanging for days, forgotten his rut entirely, and arrived home so late. What if he was gritting his teeth through discomfort? Looking back, those raw, explicit texts Max sent hours ago… maybe they weren’t just teasing. Maybe they were the frustrated edge of a need held tightly in check.
Charles’ bones ached with exhaustion, but that didn’t matter. He still had some strength left, enough to make it up to Max. He shivered again, colder now, but he began unbuttoning his damp shirt. He curled up on the sofa just as Max returned from running the bath, carrying a blanket. He sat beside Charles.
“Hot water’s running. Should be ready soon,” Max said, handing him the blanket. “Get those wet clothes off. You’ll just get colder.”
Charles obeyed, shrugging off his shirt, but didn’t take the blanket. Instead, he leaned in, seeking Max’s lips. Max seemed surprised but instinctively pulled him closer, meeting his cold lips gently. Charles shivered in his arms, kissing him clumsily while trying to untie the sash of Max’s robe. Max began kissing him back leisurely, one hand cradling Charles’ head, less like passionate foreplay and more like tender nuzzling. Charles’s hand slipped inside the robe, fingers tracing the hard muscle of Max’s abdomen, then lower, over the fabric covering his groin. When he tried to go further, his hand was gently stopped.
“Charles,” Max smiled, ruffling his hair. “It’s Okay.”
Charles ducked his head, seeing the clear outline of Max’s erection straining against his underwear. “I haven’t done anything for you yet,” he protested, shaking his head. “You could fuck me, if you want. Or I can use my mouth—”
He tried to shift, to kneel and take Max into his mouth, but his body trembled violently as he moved. His exhausted bones felt like they might scatter in all directions. He tumbled awkwardly back into Max’s lap.
“Stop. Don’t move,” Max’s voice held quiet authority.
Charles blinked, flushing with embarrassment. Couldn’t he even manage this? But if oral sex wouldn’t work, he could at least use his hands. He reached out again, murmuring, “My hand, then…”
The next second, he felt his hand being firmly grasped, followed by the Dutchman's calm, low voice: "I said, don't move."
It wasn't loud, but it was unmistakably an order. Charles froze instantly, as if struck by lightning. An uncontrollable shiver raced down his spine, leaving him almost dizzy. He realized his heart was hammering against his ribs from that single command; his body locked in place, yielding completely, ceasing all movement.
Max's blue eyes held him steadily, until he finally sighed and softened his voice. "Charles. Breathe."
It was still an order, but gentler. Charles realized he’d been holding his breath. He gasped, drawing in air raggedly. Max’s hand pressed against his back, rubbing soothing circles. “Breathe slowly.”
He found Max's words acting like an anchor in a raging storm, something his instincts desperately clung to for stability. Following the gentle command, he slowed his breathing. The tension gradually drained from his stiff limbs, leaving him boneless and slumped against Max's chest. Max held him with one arm and pulled the blanket over with the other, draping it over his exposed skin. He finally began to feel less cold, just as a deep, bone-weary exhaustion washed over him. But he knew he was in the safest harbor in the world, and so he allowed his eyes to fall shut. He lost all sense of time, drifting in a hazy state until he felt himself being lifted. Instinctively, he hooked his arms around the other's shoulders and let out a soft, weary sigh.
Being lowered into the bathwater brought him back slightly. Max supported his back with one arm, hooked the other under his knees, slowly submerging him in the hot water. Steam fogged the bathroom, obscuring Max’s expression behind the haze. Charles blinked, reaching out blindly towards him, only to accidentally splash water on his face.
Max caught his wrist, shaking his head like a big cat, and laughed. “Feeling lively now?”
Charles sank his shoulders deeper, sighing in relief. “Not really. But it does feel better, at least.”
The electrifying tension from moments before had dissipated, as if those potent, almost magical commands had been an illusion. But he knew they were real—the lightning-strike sensation still made his heart flutter with residual awe. It wasn't that he'd never had fantasies about submission, or that he was completely unaware of his own inclinations, which weren't solely about desire. It seemed Max wasn't entirely clueless about his submissive leanings either, though this was the first time he had truly used a command. Charles thought he should feel alarmed by how easily he yielded, but strangely, he didn't. Max's words still echoed in his hazy mind, now feeling like a warm, comforting mist through the steam. He knew he could entrust himself completely to this man.
The hot water left him utterly relaxed, his mind turning to mush. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to try his luck at being spoiled again, blaming it on the steam and the scalding temperature.
"Can you carry me out later?" Charles murmured with a sigh.
Max ruffled his hair and chuckled. "Of course."