lestappened

[lestappened]

Not to pressure you, i just wanted to let you know that i'd happily read camboy max au until my eyes melted off of my face. Thanks as always for the lovely snippets!

thank you!! while I'm definitely not up for writing at the moment and potentially not for a few more days, here's a little chunk of camboy max for the road! 1k, mature content referenced (duh)

There's a familiar ding in Rico's wireless earbuds, and he steps off the treadmill, wiping sweat off of his face as he grabs his phone off of its charger. Max is starting his stream late— normally he begins at six, when Rico is doing his evening workouts. He taps at the screen, smiling at the notification banner.

[Maxie33 is live!]

It's easy enough to navigate to the app, practically second nature as the familiar starting stream screen appears. Max has tagged it with iRacing, which means he's going to be complaining into the mic about idiot drivers. It's not Rico's favorite category— he likes the cozy games where Max gets comfortable and engages easily with the chat.

Rico's presence has been noted already. Max's two mods send him a little wave, and he makes his way to the donations page, getting ready to hit send whenever Max appears.

A moment later there's the sound of shuffling before the camera clicks on, Max settling into his chair. He's got one leg hugged to his chest, shorts showcasing a flash of thigh. His sweatshirt is baggy, no hints of the full chest or pierced nipples that Rico knows is underneath, so he must not be promoting the other business today, streaming just for the hell of it.

[r1c0 has donated €50] [Good evening Max!]

He sees the moment it comes through on Max's end, lips curling into a grin as he bites at his thumbnail.

"Hallo, Rico. You are so quick with it always."

The chat sends him a series of greetings as well. Rico's well known in Max's little community, mainly as a subscriber with more money than he knows what to do with, according to Max.

r1c0: My notifications are always on for boys as pretty as you are ;)

Max giggles, reading off a few more donations before leaning back in his seat, arms wrapped around his shin.

"Don't encourage that, chat, I'm sure he says it to all the boys."

Rico laughs as the chat jumps to his defense, propping Max up on the phone stand as he takes a long sip of water, mentally reordering his workout. Ten more minutes on the treadmill, thirty minutes on weights, twenty on cardio— he can fit some short breaks in there.

He boots the treadmill back up, steadily falling into the zone as Max reads off from chat for a bit, his steady voice occasionally interspersed with soft giggles.

"—no, no, it is not harassment. Rico is from my other channel. Maybe you are new here? Yes, thank you everyone for spamming the link, but I am not doing any camboy work tonight, you will have to settle for just the games."

Rico likes the games. He likes all versions of Max, but this version especially has gotten him through some of his longer nights, just him and the stream for company.

He fades into the repetitive thump of his feet against the treadmill, heart pounding in his ears. He can hear the stream in his earbuds, and Max's technical explanation of his setup as he preps. Rico's heard it a million times, so much so that he can start to predict what Max is going to say. He has no idea what any of it means, but he's good at pattern recognition.

There's sweat dripping down his forehead when he finally hits the end of his treadmill time, grabbing his towel and scrubbing it across his face roughly. He goes through half of his water bottle as he listens to Max complain about one of the other drivers, tapping back over to the donation tab.

[r1c0 has donated 30 subs!] [Send him into the wall.]

It takes a minute, but he hears Max's loud laugh, the one he makes when he's genuinely startled into it.

"Rico! Thank you as always for the gifted subs, but I am not shunting him just because he is terrible. No, chat, I am not going to do that. He's perfectly capable of hitting the wall all by himself."

r1c0: :(

"Do not send the sad face, I told you I am not doing it. I do everything else you want always on the other channel anyways."

r1c0: ;)

He moves over to the weights, Max's voice a comforting buzz in his ear. The other driver Max had been complaining about runs himself into the wall, exactly as Max had predicted, and Rico laughs to himself as he listens to Max's excitement about it.

"I fucking told you all— see, I did not even need to do it myself. Dumbass."

He gets lost in the workout, muscles screaming at the repetition as he gets into the zone, only to be startled out of it by the sound of his own name.

"'Where did Rico go?' He is still here, always, but he does not talk as much as you all do. He is a busy person I am sure, to make as much as he does. Especially since he spends so much of it here."

Rico drops the weights down, wiping chalk off of his hands before getting back into the chat.

r1c0: Always listening to you.

He means it in more than just the Twitch way— and the pink flush that blooms on Max's cheeks cutely informs him that the double entendre hadn't gone unnoticed. More than once Rico's requested audio files of Max getting himself off, and he pays whatever fee Max assigns to the audio, and then a hefty tip.

[r1c0 has donated €100] [Looking a little flushed, Max. Go get some water?]

Max's blush deepens as the donation appears on screen, tucking his chin into the collar of his sweatshirt as his nose goes pink.

"Thank you again Rico for the donation. I will grab one between sessions."

Rico waits patiently, absentmindedly stretching his legs as Max finally gets a point where he can pause. He watches intently as Max hops up out of his chair, pale thighs on clear display, and disappears out of view. The chat predictably goes wild at his legs, and Rico grins.

Max comes back with a water bottle, waving it clearly in front of the screen as he steps back into his chair, shorts riding up his thighs.

"There, are you happy?"

r1c0: Very.

Max has an energy drink problem, and while Rico doesn't harbor any fantasies of being able to fix it, there's something intoxicating about being able to tell Max to do something and watching him do it live.

Sure, he sees it on the camboy end all the time, but that's different— watching Max do it when there's nothing erotic implied somehow really does it for him. He may have phrased the donation like a question, but it's not really.

And watching Max do what he tells him to do in front of thousands of people, while still feeling private between the two of them...

He'll be going into Max's archive later.

[lestappened]

🚝 with max/gp and maybe the rest of the Redbull garage

Eeeeeee okay I've been looking at this in my inbox and thinking about it and... yeah, obsessed. Hope you enjoy!

It was a fantasy that Max had, and had shared with GP, to be passed around the team like a toy. Blushing, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, he'd said; "maybe- it could be their reward, for getting the car in a good place? When we win, they could-"

"Oh darling," GP had stroked his hand through Max's hair and held him tightly, gently pressing his thigh to Max's hard little dick, "you want it so badly, don't you?"

"Yeah," Max whimpered, rolling his hips forward, "but only with you- want you there,"

"I'll be there, Max, of course I'll be there," GP had promised, brushing a kiss to the top of Max's head and encouraging the rabbiting of his hips against his thigh.

Later, he'd asked; "anyone off limits?"

Max had wrinkled his nose and said, "uh... Horner and Helmut,"

"Besides the obvious," GP looked up from his phone to wriggle his eyebrows at Max, "I know you've got a thing for the oldies but that's-"

"Ew, GP!"

Laughing, GP said, "quick run-through of the garage, Max. Anyone you're not a fan of?"

"Just... nobody who will tell,"

-

Clearly, GP had taken the task very seriously. Occasionally Max would catch him having a quiet word with Calum, or discussing something with Jonathan, only when Max got near to them they disseminated.

The win would come, Max knew, but it felt like it was taking an age.

-

Interlagos was a tough track. The rain made it harder to navigate. Starting from P17 made it nigh on impossible, but they did it.

Another race win, his fourth closer than ever, all Max could think about was the train his partner had been organising to run through him to celebrate the occasion.

"Good job, mate," Calum clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by with the trophy, and Max smiled brightly at him.

"You are coming to celebrate?" He asked lightly, hoping that someone - anyone, really - would be able to pick up what he was trying to subtly put down.

"Yes mate," he winked. "GP's rounded a few of us up,"

At the confirmation, Max felt the tips of his ears go pink, and he nodded and said, "then I better go rinse the Champagne off,"

Calum winked at him as he backed away, and on the way to his driver's room he ran into Middsy and Luke, too. They were looking at him like a piece of meat, and Max felt the hot-please-yes shiver run through his gut at the realisation that they knew too. They were coming too.

Sitting outside the energy station is GP, phone in hand as he shows something to Lee. Distracted, Max nearly trips up the front step, only caught by Jonathan's quick hands on his waist.

"Careful bud," he hears in Jonathan's soothing, familiar tone, "don't want to bruise the star before the show,"

The comment is non-descript enough that to anyone not in the know, they would probably just frown and dismiss it. To Max, it's a siren. His eyes shoot across the courtyard to meet GP's, who's already watching him, smirking.

Without having to ask the question, GP answers. The barest hint of a smirk, the minute raise of one eyebrow, the dip of his chin.

Jonathan is coming.

Max's breath leaves his body in one rush, and he forces himself to move forward, forward, forward, until he's in the relative privacy of his driver's room. It isn't until he's rinsing off the sweat from the race that he thinks about the look on Lee's face, sat next to GP and watching Max. He looked- hungry.

-

GP walked with him down the corridor, both now dressed in jogging bottoms and comfy t-shirts. Outside the suite door - specially reserved for Max's celebration; GP pulls him to a stop. Tucked into the little alcove, he says, "your safe words are the same, Max. They all know your limits, and I'm sure Jonathan has drilled them. I'll be with you the whole time."

"Thank you for this," Max responds, thinking, 'red, green, GP has me,' "there are how many?"

"Ten plus you," GP watches him carefully, "you're sure you still want this?"

Max nods, licking his lips, "I want this,"

"Good," GP tucks his knuckle under Max's chin to raise it and kisses him gently, "I'm going to go last, darling, but I'll be there the whole time,"

"Please, yes," Max's throat is dry as he swallows, "I- I love you,"

"I love you too, Max. So much,"

-

Jonathan greets them at the door, bare-footed and casual in a way Max rarely gets to see. He winks at Max when he smiles nervously, and then says, "Lee is going over the details with the lads. Max- GP said you use green and red as safewords?"

"Yes, always," Max nods, tucking his hand into GP's and squeezing nervously, "who- will you tell me what you are planning?"

Pressing his back to Max's chest and hooking his chin over his shoulder, GP says, "no, darling. You'lll have a blindfold on, like we discussed, but you'll be able to hear us. Everyone will be kind to you, no harsh touches. You'll be able to touch us, too."

"That sound alright, Max?"

Licking his lips, Max nods and says, "yes, that is- yes. I trust you all."

"Good lad," Jonathan pats him on the cheek and says, "ready when you are, then,"

Taking a deep breath, Max nods. Jonathan leads the way into the open area of the suite, where seven heads turn i unison, the room quieting.

"Uh... hi," Max offers, still holding GP's hand for reassurance, "thank you for coming,"

The tension is broken immediately by Andy, who says, "I know the Heineken Zero is free but it really does taste like shit, doesn't it?"

As the room laughs, Max nods and takes a bottle of aforementioned 'shit' and takes a long drink. When he's done, he sets the bottle on the coffee table and says, "you are all here to fuck me, yes?"

Calum laughs nervously and says, "never one to beat around the bush, are you Verstappen?"

"Is there a bush to beat?" Genty jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at the room.

Chuckling, GP ruffles Max's hair and says, "just a tidy little bit of foliage,"

"GP!" Max exclaims, turning to the man and covering his face as everyone laughs, "that is- what-"

"They were about to find out anyways, love,"

He hears Middsy remark, "oh they're cute, actually," and then the sound of him being smacked, and Max pulls his hands from his face and says, "thank you, Midds,"

"Shall we get this show on the road?"

-

Calum goes first, putting Max on his hands and knees to tug the plug from his hole, smearing lube over him and sinking four fingers into the space. He's drooling onto Lee's dick when he finally wedges his dick inside, groaning as Max clenches around the thick press of him.

When Max looks to his left, he can see GP and Jonathan sitting in two armchairs, both with their own bottles of beer and fully clothed. They're just watching, watching as Max is fucked forward onto a cock and hauled back onto another. All the eyes on Max are making him feel hotter, dick hard and aching.

He can feel the wet pulse on come in his hole, the last of it landing on his ass cheeks as Calum's hand holds him steady. There's a nice 'well done' pat on his hip, and then the feeling of the mattress shifting as he climbs off and someone else climbs on.

Letting his eyes fall shut as Lee fucks his face, he widens his knees for balance and gets a good grip of his own dick, tugging in time to the slow bob of his head. There's a big hand at the back of his skull, holding him at the base of his dick, nose tucked into soft hair.

The gentle stroke of a thumb along the shell of his ear tells him it's GP, and then his controlled voice is telling Max, "good job, Max. Stay still so Andy can get started."

Max is just starting to panic when Andy pushes inside and GP lets him back up, Max panting into the crease of Lee's hip as they both praise him.

"So good for us, Max," Lee pets his hair, "perfect,"

"My perfect boy," GP agrees, fisting his hand in Max's hair and lifting him to his knees for a kiss. Fucking his tongue into Max's mouth, he groans. When he pulls away, Max is directed back to Lee's dick, mouthing at the tip and whining when Andy gets the angle just right.

He's much more vocal than Calum was, swearing under his breath as Max clenches around him. Lee makes a little noise, like it's caught in his throat, and Max meets his eyes as he works him over. It's not long before Lee is swearing, pulsing salty-sweet across Max's tongue.

His half-hard dick smears come over Max's bottom lip, and he swallows and licks it away reflexively, giving a final sucking kiss to his tip and smiling smugly when it makes him shiver and groan.

"Good boy, Maxy," GP says again stroking his hair, "we're gonna let your jaw have a little bit of a rest while Andy fucks you now, okay?"

"Okay," he whispers, hoarse, and GP thumbs the corner of his mouth and winks at him, then stands and goes back to his chair.

Given the green light, Andy pushes Max's shoulders until he's face-down-ass-up, moaning with every exhale as he's fucked roughly. He has to brace himself against the headboard, face smushed into the mattress. It feels incredible, being used like this, rewarding his team for a job well done.

Max can feel his own orgasm building, his swinging dick causing a wet patch as it drools precome, messy messy messy. He chokes on a whine as he shoots over the sheets, thighs tensing as Andy groans in tandem, fucking his dick into the tight clench of Max's hole once more before stilling. When he pulls out Max can feel the stream of come along his taint, Andy collapsing on his side to smile widely at Max, smoothing his hand along the curve of his back.

"You come a lot," Max observes, bushing at the loud wet burble of come as he tries to clench around it, "like GP does,"

"Hyperspermia," Andy says, matter-of-fact, makes a lot of mess, that's for fuckin' sure,"

"It's nice," Max says, sincere.

The other winks and then rolls sideways off the bed, landing in a squat and then falling backwards. When he swears, exclaiming, "fuck! Think I've got carpet burn on my arse," Jonathan says, "hot," and everyone cracks up around Max.

Gentle hands are on him again, then, GP turning him onto him back and saying, "Middsy is gonna fuck you now, love,"

Unexpectedly then, a cock ring is slipped onto his dick, Max whining in complaint, but GP is rubbing a calming palm over his bare chest and saying, "you got your one, darling. Save the rest for me,"

Max is a little distracted then, thinking of how full and swollen he'll be. With GP he normally can come three or four times in a row, so to- he's going to be so full.

Middsy fucks him gently, playing with Max's tits and looking proud of himself every time Max makes a positive noise. It's a little bit- romantic, for Max. It's nice.

When he comes, Callum takes his place, fucking him hard, Max's ankles up by his ears and thick forearms wrapped over Max's thighs. It's more Max's speed, and he idly jerks his dick, leaking pre over his tummy.

Greg climbs up onto the mattress, kneeling by Max's face, his dick an offering. Max teases him a little, tonguing at his slit and along the veins. It takes a gentle reprimand from Jonathan before he's sucking him properly, though the angle is awkward. A few minutes in and his neck is starting to feel the strain, but then Callum is pulling out, coming in messy stripes across Max's dick.

Rolling to his front, Max pushes Greg to the headboard, sitting up against the pillows. When he straddles, GP lets out a low chuckle, and tellls him, "doesn't matter how good a show you put on, Maxy, the ring is staying on,"

He whines, petulant as he sinks down onto his thick erection, pannting and balancing himself with his hands on Greg's firm stomach. Up on his toes, he starts to roll his hips, building up a fast and steady rhythm. He's glancing his prostate on every thrust, crying out at the zaps of pleasure along his spine. Max is no closer to coming and so close to coming.

Quads straining, he slumps forward, and then Greg takes control, holding Max at his waist and fucking up into him. Max is making a high-pitched sort of whining noise, his prostate being pounded continuously. Unable to come, he just- takes it.

GP's eyes are locked on his, and when Greg finally comes, Max sobs.

"What's your colour, baby?"

Gentle hands cupping his cheeks, thumbs wiping his tears away, waiting, waiting, until Max can pull himself back together long enough to say, "green,"

"You're doing so well, Max," Jonathan says, eagle-eyed.

"Fucking hell," Greg pants, laughing a little, "you've got some fucking stamina there, mate,"

"Thank you," Max says reflexively, and around him the room breaks out in chuckles again.

Luke and Genty replace Greg, Genty tucking his thumbs into Max's puffy, used hole and squirting lube directly inside. Max giggles, squirming at the cold sensation, and as he asks, "I'm not wet enough for you, Genty?" the man fucks into him.

He chokes on a laugh, hiding his face in the covers at the long, slow push inside. Genty fucks like a metronome, to a silent drumbeat, and it means Max can suck Luke's dick the same way, bobbing down and then back up, flicking his tongue against the underside and repeating the same again and again. When he pushes his thumb into his taint, Luke's a goner, coming against the back of Max's throat and scrambling to apologise while Max coughs.

Off to the side, Calum is chuckling, "cheeky finger always does me in too, mate, I wouldn't worry,"

"Fuck off," Luke laughs, holding Max's face in his hands and wiping the little dribble of come away from his chin, "that was- insane, Max,"

"Throat GOAT," Lee comments, cheeky grin in place when Max looks towards him.

Genty is fucking him steadily, still, and when Max teases, "maybe he will come by the end of the season," he's suddenly being pressed into the sheets, big body weighing him down, hips slamming against his.

"Cheeky little shit," Genty remarks through panting breaths, starting to lose rhythm as his force increases, "think your man's been too easy on you,"

"I'm his good boy," Max brags, arching his back and groaning as the angle gets better for him, "he likes me when I'm bratty,"

"Ha," Genty pants, "never would've thought,"

He comes with a bitten-off shout, pulsing more come into Max and then pulling back. Max sighs happily, rolling onto his back and looking to Jonathan and GP. They're still sat together, drinks finished now. GP clears his throat, and then the other man says, "ah, my turn,"

He only unzips his jeans, freeing his erection, and then tugs Max by his ankles to the edge of the bed. While he thrusts into him he plays with Max's cock ring, smirking at every whining moan Max makes.

"Play with your tits, Max," GP commands, suddenly next to Max, stripped naked.

He does as he's told, whimpering as he pinches his sensitive nipples. Jonathan's thrusts starts to change pace, erratic and harsh, and Max purposefully clenches around him, asks, "are you going to fill me up too? I want it,"

Hand fisted tight around Max's dick, Jonathan fucks into him a final time and stills, swearing softly as he fills Max's hole. GP's hand is gentle on his tummy, smoothing over soft skin.

"You've done so well, darling," he tells Max, kissing him softly, "say thank you to the boys,"

"Thank you," Max says, watching them all dress.

He rolls to his knees, clasping hands with some of them as they pass by, Callum winking at him and saying, "have fun, Maxy,"

The doors closes with a soft 'clunk', and GP and Max are already wrapped up in each other. GP has three thick fingers inside Max' hole, fucking them deep and pulling them back out, showing the mess of come to Max.

"Is this what you wanted, love? Being a lovely little comedump for your friends?"

Max whines, nodding, and GP smiles softly kissing him.

"I'm so glad, darling," he rolls Max to his back, bracing himself over him and then pushing inside slowly. When his hips are flush with Max's ass, he gently removes the cock ring and says, "okay love, you can come whenever you need,"

GP fucks Max exactly how he likes it, grinding up against his prostate and slamming his hips into him, teasing him the whole time. He's sent over the edge when GP tells him, "fuck, baby, your cunt is so wet for me. You're so full of their come, Max, like a sluttly little fucktoy,"

He shoots come across his chest, GP groaning at the sight, calling him his messy girl and adding to the loads in Max's hole. He kisses him sweetly when he pulls out, then grabs the polaroid camera from the table off to the side to take more photos of Max, of their commingled mess escaping his gaping hole. 

Max feels used and rewarded and perfect. Max has won.

[lestappened]

Charles:Have you ever been arrested?

Max: Yeah, how could you tell?

Charles: I was gonna say because it's illegal to be that cute but now I'm curious

Max: road rage

[lestappened]

Charles, very drunk: [points to Max] that’s my partner, suckers!

Max, quietly: actually, we are married

Charles: we are MARRIED! EVEN BETTER!

[lestappened]

I was writing in about model Max the other day, but now my needs have changed. I need SWIMWEAR model Max so badly! And I need driver Charles to fall in love with him and then be tortured by ads on Instagram or just big wallpapers all over Monaco where Max shows those perfect body off.

Charles would end up asking Ferrari if they could do a collab and design some swimwear … and then he’d suggest they hire swimwear model Max to model them! And perhaps Charles might offer to model with him!!

[lestappened]

ferrari: actively sabotaging their tp

charles: plotting his exit

lewis: liking shady tweets about how shit ferrari is

george: hanging on by a thread, on his knees for a contract

kimi: fighting for his life for some points after 3 dnfs (i lost track)

lando: hard launching his not gf

oscar: keeping his foot on lando's neck

yuki: hoping he can get out of q1, perhaps

f1 media in about 2 hours: so max, what if you get banned?

[lestappened]

3k of project emt! I picked a path here for the mitties and stuck with it, so if that's not your jam I respect it, because I didn't think it was mine either, but. here we are. relevant tags below the cut. max pov! explicit! (max/yuki and max/daniel)

relevant heads up: omegaverse (duh), mitties, maxussy, yukussy(?), in context of the mitties: biological milk (max is just as confused as you are)

Max is chatting with Gabi about tire temps in the hallway- there's not immediately any cameras or boom mics around, which is, he's sure, the only reason Gabi even thinks about it.

They're laughing about a joke Crane had made off stream the other night, getting ready to leave, when Gabi darts forward. Max assumed it's for a hug, so he's thoroughly unprepared for Gabi to nose at his neck, hands snaking up the front of his chest and squeezing.

He doesn't mean to gasp- it's not appropriate, wildly out of form- but Gabi's thin fingers are gone as quickly as they'd appeared.

"Thank you dame!"

It's tossed over his shoulder with a bright grin as Gabi leaves, and Max is left standing in the hallway, cheeks bright red. It's not Gabi's fault, he couldn't possibly have known how sensitive Max's chest has gotten.

Still. Max needs to get a handle on things. The dame instincts are getting out of hand.

------

Max doesn't consider Yuki one of the pups- he's just old enough to not trigger Max's instincts, but he's still not entirely close with the other omega.

At least, he didn't think so.

He might need to reevaluate. Yuki comes into his hotel room after an impromptu meeting about the car, and Max had been able to see the incredulous expression he'd been wearing throughout the meeting.

The car is definitely worse than they're letting on.

The other omega doesn't even knock- just lets himself into Max's room, swinging the door shut behind him as he toes his shoes off and advances towards where Max is lounging on the bed playing FIFA.

"Yuki?"

Max pauses the game, trying to parse out Yuki's scent. Irritation, worry, stress- he's confused for a moment on the more subtle notes before he realizes Yuki is also wet.

Yuki doesn't slow in his approach, hopping up onto the bed and crawling over Max, tossing his controller to the side before he straddles his hips, face dropping down into Max's chest.

"This team is fucked, why did no one say anything?"

Max decides it's probably best not to mention that he's been saying things. He runs a hand down Yuki's back, comforting in the way he does for the pups, even if this situation is decidedly different- Yuki has one of Max's thighs pinned between his own, and his fingers are pushing up underneath his shirt.

Usually when a pack member storms in wanting to fuck, it's one of the alphas.

"It is a good chance to prove yourself?"

Max offers it weakly, and Yuki lifts his head to glare at him as he tugs at Max's shirt, pulling it off over his head.

"I don't want your press answers, I want-"

His hands slide up Max's abs, and he shivers when Yuki's hands cup his chest, pupils dilating.

The moan that rips out of him when Yuki squeezes is a noise Max will need to take to his grave. His head drops back, and his scent sweetens with the notes of slick and arousal. Yuki purrs as he noses at Max's neck, scenting him. His hands rhythmically squeeze at Max's chest, and Max squirms slightly underneath him.

It feels weird, weirder than it did before he had the dame instincts. His pecs feel more dense, feel heavier on his chest. He's pretty sure it's actually impacted his weight.

"Yuki-"

The younger omega is grinding his hips on Max's thigh, hot and wet. He shuffles down, nosing at Max's collarbones before biting gently at the rounded muscle on the right side.

"They are perfect."

He sounds distracted, eyes looking at where his hands are cupping Max's chest, and Max whines, caught up in the sensations. They're new, not something he's used to- and he's been busy with the team and the pups lately, hasn't had a whole lot of time to go find someone to fuck him.

Yuki leaves another small bite, starbursts of sensation under Max's skin.

"Like stressballs."

What.

Max lifts his head, offended, and Yuki grins wide at him before he drops his head down, wrapping his lips around one of Max's nipples as he squeezes again.

Max jerks up, hands flying to Yuki's hair as his eyes roll back. It feels so good, like he's right on the precipice of something, but he can't quite get there.

Yuki purrs, hips rolling into Max's thigh harder as he sucks, bringing Max closer to the edge as he switches to the other side.

Max's chest is spit slick and red, marked with small bites scattered across the skin. He's soaked, trying helplessly to buck up against Yuki, who's getting more and more uncoordinated the closer he gets, scent thick and rich in the room.

Max wiggles a hand down between Yuki's hips and waistband. He's a good pack omega, knows what makes everyone tick- it's why he doesn't hesitate to slide three fingers into Yuki's wet heat, satisfied at the rush of slick he gets in response. He's thumbing at his clit as Yuki whines, and then the younger omega is biting down, hard.

Max's eyes roll back into his head, back arching. His fingers lock up inside of Yuki, whose desperate grind is starting to slow.

It feels- he feels-

He feels full, in a way that hurts. He has no idea what to do about it, and he's never felt this way before.

Yuki is panting softly against his skin, finally settling down as Max withdraws his fingers. He's still wet, aching inside, but it's nothing compared to the way his chest feels.

Yuki shuffles further down the bed, but Max stops him with a hand in his hair before he can get his face between his legs.

"I'm okay, mate."

Yuki cocks his head, but he listens, nodding as he slides off the bed. He leans down to press a kiss against Max's lips, scent gentle and satisfied, lingering in the room.

"Thank you Max. You are a good pack omega, and dame for the pups."

Max makes a confused noise. He's disoriented and horny- he's desperate, but not to get fucked, and it's doing weird things to his brain.

Yuki tilts his head, nodding at Max's chest.

"I'm sure they appreciate it."

Max is not any less confused.

------

Kimi panics when their meeting room door swings open, grabbing the paper with their Max list on it and shoving it down Ollie's shirt. They're all caught looking extremely guilty when Yuki steps in.

The older omega looks thoroughly unimpressed.

"Let me see it."

He makes a grab for Ollie's chest, who shuffles backwards.

"Mate, don't tit grab, it's rude."

Gabi snorts, and Yuki rolls his eyes.

"The entire pack knows what you are up to, let me see the list."

Ollie tugs it from his shirt, passing it over. Yuki snags the pen from where it's tucked behind Jack's ear, scrawling a new line at the bottom.

Project EMT:

Soft? Yes

Squishy? Yes

Comforting? Yes

Pillowy? Yes

Milk??? Yes

Kimi feels the blood rush out of his head at the new line, eyes going wide as he looks at Yuki.

Liam's eyes bug out of his head, and he's whipping his head back around to the older omega.

"Does it-"

Yuki frowns.

"I can tell it is there. I'm not sure Max knows it is there."

He shrugs.

"There is buildup. He will produce for you all, since you are pups."

Kimi's mouth is watering. He'd known coming into Formula 1 that things would be different- they'd gotten extreme lucky that their pack omega is as kind and welcoming as Max has been, and they're even luckier that Max's instincts have latched onto them.

Having a dame- most of them haven't had a dame since Formula 3, the last category where teams are required to have one on site.

Yuki wiggles his finger at them.

"Behave."

He leaves, door swinging shut behind him. There's a beat of silence.

And then a second one.

They're all scrambling at once a moment later, reevaluating, trying to figure how best to tackle this new information.

They need to know.

------

"Hey, Max."

Brad steps into his room, hands casually in his pockets. He's got scent blocking patches on, so Max can't pick up on his scent, but he looks relaxed.

Max pauses his laptop where he's been watching onboards, turning his attention to Brad.

"Brad?"

His trainer shifts, taking a deep breath before steeling himself, and Max narrows his eyes, wary.

"I wanted to talk to you about some biological stuff? And I'm not sure we're on the same page, mate."

Max shuts his laptop. This seems like... not a short conversation. He leans back against the couch, sighing.

"The dame thing has really fucked with me, honestly. I have no idea what's going on."

Brad winces.

"Yeah, about that. I think maybe you're suppressing some of those instincts?"

Max makes a face. He's much better about listening to his instincts now than he'd been when he was younger- he used to be terrible about it. Sure, the new instincts with the pups have been throwing him off, but he's still trying to listen.

"Not on purpose."

Brad nods.

"I didn't think so, I just, uh. I take it you didn't really have a dame in your life?"

He's right. Max hasn't gotten to spend all that much time with his own mother, and he'd never been allowed to spend time with the team dames that karting crews had- it was a glaring sign of weakness. Seb was the pack omega when Max had made it to Formula 1, but he wasn't a dame- although knowing what Max knows now, he wonders if spending time around Seb as a pup his rookie year could've changed that.

Probably not. Being a pup hadn't mattered anywhere else.

Max winces.

"Not really."

Brad reaches into his backpack, pulling out paper packets.

"Yeah, I figured. I printed you out some research and all that if you want to read on your own time, but mainly there's. Um. I've got a slightly awkward question for you, and I promise I'm only asking as your physio, okay?"

Max narrows his eyes.

"Okay...?"

"Are you producing?"

Max blinks at him.

"What?"

"Like. Milk."

The flush starts at his cheeks and ears, and Max buries his face into his hands,trying to ignore the hot flash of embarrassment that shoots through him. He'd been wondering-

"Ah, no? But-"

If there was ever someone Max should be honest to, it's Brad.

"-my chest has been feeling weird?"

Brad purses his lips, nodding.

"I'm going to be honest, I'm not specialized with dames, mate. I went over it in school, but it's not my specialty. Are you okay if I reach out to a peer about it? Try and figure out what's best for your situation?"

Max winces, but he understands. Brad signed up for a world champion who happened to be an omega- he didn't sign up for a pack dame.

Neither did Max, but there's nothing he can do about that.

------

"Absolutely not."

Brad sighs, looking pleadingly at him.

"I can't speak for how the pack runs, Max, but I can tell you what I'm seeing, which is that there's growing pups in the pack, and you're trying to provide for them."

Max wrinkles his nose, glancing down at his own chest. It's definitely gotten bigger.

"How would I even...?"

His trainer shrugs.

"That's between you and the pack. But you need to figure out a way to, um, dispense it. Otherwise you might have actual health problems. For what it's worth, Nate said that it's good for pack bonds and emotional regulation for pups, so."

Great.

------

Max ignores it. Ignores it when his chest is sore, ignores it when his suit is tight zipping up to his neck, ignores it when he can't fall asleep, shifting uncomfortably.

At the same time, it feels like the pack is out to get him. The pups are constantly at chest height, always wanting scenting and hugs, and Max can't help himself from watching them carefully- it's stupid, they have trainers and strict diet plans, their nutrition is just fine.

He's not even thinking about the older pack members, who are becoming equally as obsessed. A few days ago Lando had spent thirty minutes eating him out on AirMax before propping his chin on Max's hip, sweetly asking if he can suck his tits.

Max had gone bright red and kicked him out of the nest.

Carlos has been more tactile than usual, squeezing at Max's hips or smacking him on the ass, and Charles has been just as bad, blatantly incapable of raising his head to at least pretend he's looking Max in the eyes.

Lewis has been nearby more often than not, especially during press. It hasn't escaped Max's notice that he and Lewis are in the same conferences, the way the pack alpha carefully watches the media. He and Lewis aren't like that- they work well as a team taking care of the pack, but generally Lewis isn't protective of him.

He's not thinking about any of that at the moment, legs wrapped around Daniel's head as he whines, the soft skin of his thighs rubbed raw by stubble.

"Fuck, Danny- please-"

It's a panting gasp. He has his fingers curled tight in the alphas hair, tugging as Daniel twists another finger inside him, mouth wet as he licks sloppily over his clit.

There's a low rumble against him, Daniel's scent heavy and thick in the room, intertwined with the sticky sweet notes of Max's own arousal.

Max feels a soft scrape of teeth against his skin, long fingers curling just right as he moans, legs pulling Daniel closer into his cunt. He's overwhelmed, sensitive from his last orgasm, but Daniel feels so good, and he's more than happy to spend hours down between Max's legs.

Max doesn't have hours- doesn't even have seconds as Daniel sucks at him again, free hand skating up his abs and groping at his chest.

The feeling of the alphas palm across his chest has him bucking up into Daniel's mouth, but he can't go anywhere, cresting higher and higher until he comes, arching up off the bed.

"Alpha, Danny, so good-"

Max tugs Daniel up with the fingers in his hair, and he goes willingly. He's grinning, Max's slick across his face, and he smells deeply satisfied as he settles on top of Max, shoving his face into his neck.

It's filthy- Daniel's heavy possessiveness, Max's own slick being smeared across his scent glands.

It'll probably piss off Lewis. Daniel isn't technically part of the pack anymore, but Max doesn't care. He formed a pack bond with Daniel before the rest of the drivers pack bothered to care- Max isn't leaving him behind.

He's purring, vibrations rattling through his chest as he starts to come down. He's on cycle schedulers, so while he only has real heats a few times a year, he has mock heats much more frequently. The doctor had described it with some kind of pressure valve analogy.

Max doesn't mind. He's enjoyed being able to see Daniel again, and the few days they've been together have been nice. He missed his scent, the way he fits perfectly around and inside of Max, how he knows exactly what Max needs.

He runs his fingers through Daniel's curls, thinking.

"Dan?"

There's a sleepy hum from on top of him.

"What's up, Maxy?"

Max wiggles slightly underneath him, forcing Daniel to blink his eyes open.

"Is it weird? To be a dame, and take care of pups that aren't mine?"

Daniel makes a face, pushing his scent stronger as he eyes Max.

"No? Maybe to you, since you've never had a healthy relationship in your life, but that's perfectly normal everywhere else. It's the entire point of having dames, Max. So that there's always someone who can watch pups, even if their parents aren't around. Jesus, Maxy, it's practically a foundational part of a pack."

Max swats at him, glaring.

"I'm not stupid, Daniel. I know why dames are important, I just. The rookies are older pups? They are almost not even pups anymore. There's only a year between Liam and Yuki."

Daniel is squinting at him. He gets grumpy whenever Max tries to talk to him after sex- prefers to take postcoital naps.

"So?"

Max frowns. Daniel is being dense on purpose.

"So why would I only-"

He pauses. He hasn't talked about the milk thing with Daniel- or with anyone outside of Brad, because it's embarrassing. Even though the papers Brad gave him labeled it as an expected result of the hormone switch when he became a dame, which has made Max wonder if everyone already knows.

If that's the case, he's throwing himself off the roof.

Daniel rumbles, nosing at his jaw.

"Whatever you're stressing about, quit it. The pack loves you. The rookies adore you. You couldn't fuck it up if you tried, Max."

Max instinctively purrs in response, soothed by the low notes from Daniel.

"I know, I just. I do not want them to feel the way I felt."

Daniel's scent takes on a sad tinge as he snuggles closer into Max.

"You could drop out of their lives tomorrow and you still would've done more for them than anyone did for you. I don't think you should worry about that."

Max tucks his head into Daniel's neck, running the bridge of his nose across his scent gland.

"Thank you, Danny."

He's already falling back asleep on top of Max. He'll ask him about the milk thing later, when he's awake again.

He will.

------

Max never ends up talking to Daniel about it.

He keeps putting it out of his mind, racing and looking at data, working with Yuki to try and make their undrivable car into something that can last an entire race.

He massages at his chest at night, trying to ignore how good it feels, getting rid of the constant heavy ache. It always leaves him damp between his thighs, but he refuses to get his wires crossed any further than he already has- takes cold showers instead.

It works great. It's a good system, he hasn't had any problems, and it's fine.

It's fine until Isack gets sick.

[lestappened]

I Have Returned. with more tiny gax + alex doodles except max takes the concept of catboy too close to heart and scratches at everyone in the vicinity when getting a haircut (and bites at george).

haircut day is a battlefield for them 😭😭😭

OH MY GOD 😭😭😭😭😭

the way you lined them up like mugshots on the second one has me dead on the floor I LOVE THEM. THE BABIES. THE SILLIES.

haircut day is a whispered secret between alex and george on the days leading up to it because if max finds out it's on the agenda, he will mysteriously have "things to be doing"

"...whenever things don't go his way [haircut] he lashes out with unnecessary violence [biting]..."

^man who is not over getting bit as a teenager over a haircut

[lestappened]

does red bull pay (tiny gax au) max a larger salary than they otherwise would have due to the circumstances they suspect? even if they don’t, I would love to see how the boys react when the first f1 paycheck hits max’s account. (like omg we can actually go grocery shopping this week)

they do! the monthly stipends definitely make life much, much easier when they hit the accounts, and the first f1 paycheck sends all three of them to the dentist.

the teams also try to take care of them on-site as well. catered food, leftovers, lots of free merch, everything they can think of. (christian totally does not hunt down someone doing a pr package for shoes, that would be ridiculous)

[lestappened]

Oh my god I want to hug them so bad and wrap them in blankets it‘s unreal 😭.

Compilation of my favourite moments in no particular order:

Max basically saying „I don‘t care if Alex moves in, just don‘t fuck next to me“

Christians unprofessional behaviour (wanting to comfort a teenager)

Christians and Totos reaction to the fact that Max still has the Duct Tape BootsTM

Christian trying to not freak out (and kinda failing) when he realizes that Max is related to Jos and is possibly without any type of legal care taker.

Max teasing George about his crush/more-than-friends-feelings for Alex

Max and George being so siblings its killing me fr. They hate each other sometimes but they hold each other so dear I‘m gonna cry

Helping each other with the contracts for driving and sponsors. I can just see them sitting across at a kitchen table and going ham on the clauses.

Max getting a haircut from Pascale

The tiny gax smau post made me think about the possibility that they might be doing the cuddle thing when one of them is feeling like garbage.

Imagine Alex, still at RBR, not doing well in a race and Max texting George to come to Alex' driver room. RBR mechanics being very confused for a second because thats one one of theirs, but then they recognize George and let him be because they know he‘s probably here for Max. Eventually one of them opens the door to Alex' driver room because they haven't opened the door in a few hours and finding them on the floor because the couch isn't big enough for all three of them.

Sorry if it’s long, the brain worms have infected me <3

tiny max is a menace and relentlessly teases george about the way he looks at alex like he hung the stars in the sky. (until they get together and he's like "oh please god go back to how you were before I can't stand it")

christian experiences one (1) emotion that isn't ruthlessness or victory or cutthroat viciousness and immediately decides he just has to die. no other option. why is this wet mop of a child making him feel squishy things where is franz—

christian handles the unwelcome squishy emotions by making them toto's problem also. toto hates it equally as much, and then they find out there's more wet mop children.

baby bull child is bad enough to give christian hives, but finding out said baby bull child doesn't have an adult sends him into anaphylactic shock. a fever dream. a manic episode. he wakes up and realizes he's successfully pitched the idea of a clothing brand to Red Bull.

george is so pathetically obvious and alex is so pathetically oblivious... how could he not make fun of them.

they would take a bullet for each other, but they'd spend the rest of their lives teasing the other for almost getting shot.

contract renewal or new contracts is a whole event in their place. papers all over the kitchen and the living room, constantly going through highlighters, thinking out loud to each other all the time. george works under the table at a local bookshop that lets him use their printer to get all the contracts in physical media, and they let him take highlighters home too! before he got that job, he and max were going to the local library and printing them out in 20 paper chunks at a time to avoid getting in trouble, and it took forever.

pascale saw them get more scruffy with each race and eventually just couldn't take it anymore. the irony of george not eating his sandwich and instead lying to max and giving it to him later, is that if they'd just said that they were hungry, the leclerc's would've fed them both :( but they don't know any better, and the leclerc's still think there's an adult around. (an incredibly absent adult, sure, but they're certainly not thinking that max and george are alone.)

they absolutely still do the cuddle thing when they don't feel well. or when they're stressed, or overwhelmed, or really anything out of the norm! it's a comfort thing. the smau post is when their flight had been delayed, and while everyone else is trying to get comfy on airport chairs, the three of them have slept through worse, and they're very experienced at what's comfortable for them. (because when you've been sharing a bed and a bedroom for as long as they had, it's muscle memory.) it's also kind of nostalgic for them, because at this point they're in a two bedroom place (max and charles aren't together yet), and while max has no issues occasionally invading their bed when he wants comfort, it's not every night like it used to be.

They've also been known to catch power naps during race weekends in weird spots when there's a delay :)

[lestappened]

article about rico’s win today: rico verhoeven on top

max verstappen bottoms around corners

[lestappened]

My heart hurts for tiny gax, like max just not eating to give his portion to Alex and George bc theyre growing stopppp max lying and saying hes absolutely had water after hes had a ghost race only to pass out

max winning unreliable narrator awards again, because he's also growing. it's just that he doesn't consider himself in that equation at all, and he's not reaching beanstalk heights like george and alex are.

george lying about getting two sandwiches from the leclerc's and instead giving his to max, max patching his shoes and his gloves over and over again, alex using his sponsor money to pay the bills instead of on his kart, they're all trying so hard.

[lestappened]

does maxiel happen in the tiny gax au? (also if lestappen does we might find a bigger charles hater than gp *coughs* george)

maxiel in the sense that max lowkey has his first genuine crush (puppy love) and daniel thinks it's cute.

it's the first time where max is finally not overwhelmed and stressed and scared, because he's in f1 and making money to take care of alex and george, so he's able to actually think about things (like his hot teammate)

it never goes anywhere besides daniel letting him having a few kisses when max gets really drunk and starts opening up about his past, because max is an affectionate drunk, and he's been crushing on daniel in a way that is endearingly cute. but it never goes any further than that— although they maintain their jokingly flirtatious friendship, the puppy crush eventually fades and leaves them with a very strong platonic bond.

george is so genuinely gobsmacked at the idea of max being into people romantically that he struggles to process it at first, because max has never cared about that kind of thing before.

[lestappened]

[an image of an airport terminal, with numerous members of the grid scattered across chairs and the floor. There's a storm visible through the windows. The center of the photo is Max, George, and Alex. They're in a pile on the floor, with Alex on the bottom, head resting against his backpack. Max has the side of his head on Alex's stomach, knees curled to his chest. George has his head on Alex's shoulder, legs tangled together. All of their hands are intertwined. Max's jacket is unfolded across the top of the pile, with George's jacket across his shoulders. All three of them appear to be deeply asleep.]

alex_albon: Old habits die hard ♥️

MaxEmilian: You're more comfortable than the floor.

GeorgeWilliam63: Couldn't tell if it was the thunder or your snoring!

Charles_Leclerc: So much room everywhere else...

-> MaxEmilian: You can admit you're jealous.

[lestappened]

2.3k of tiny gax verse! alex, george, and charles POV. sickfic.

They're big fans of denial in the flat. It's easy enough, because if you don't address something, it's not real.

So when Max has a coughing fit one morning, shoulders shaking from the force of it, sounding worryingly thick— well. He blames it on choking on a piece of food. George and Alex let him.

It's getting colder outside, pavement wet from the rain, and they've shoved all of the blankets together. Max is starting to be scouted by teams junior teams, and...

In hindsight, it's stupid. Thinking that just because they'd never seen him get sick meant that it wasn't possible. He gets pale, paler than normal, and Alex curls his fingers into his palms. Max is curled in the middle of the futons, face hidden in George's chest. He's not snoring anymore, just a soft wheeze.

George looks up at him nervously.

"Alex, he's really hot."

Alex knows.

The season has been brutal, and Max and George have spent countless hours on sponsor offers and contracts, and they're all thin, struggling to keep muscle on. Max has been working extra at the garage, because George and Alex just keep growing, and they need nicer clothes for nicer sponsor agreements, and—

It's a vicious cycle. Alex chews at the inside of his cheek, mentally doing the math. If he and George do extra gig work, they might be able to afford medicine, but he's not sure what kind Max needs. A fever reducer for sure, and something to handle the wheeze in his lungs.

Naively, he's hoping maybe cough drops will fix it.

------

George is working at the bookstore. Alex is glad, because each cough from Max gives him a full body flinch, cringing quietly.

He hasn't gotten any better.

Alex pets a hand through Max's hair, damp with sweat. He's hot, even with the fever reducer Alex had convinced someone to buy for him in exchange for crumpled cash outside the store.

Max struggles up onto his forearms suddenly, coughing violently. It sounds wet, wheezing and thick, and he makes a wounded noise when he finally catches his breath, dropping back into Alex's lap.

"Max."

He reaches for the bottle of medicine, prepared to measure out another dose. It's probably not time for it yet, but it's the only thing that helps bring his fever down.

Max's fingers curl weakly into his pant leg, wheezing out another breath.

"I am fine, Ale—"

He breaks off in another coughing fit, doubling over, and Alex feels his blood run cold at the small droplets of crimson Max tries to hide in his elbow.

He tugs Max closer to his chest, panic steadily welling inside of him. They're in over their heads here, and there's only so much denial they can do.

Max wheezes harshly against him, forehead boiling hot against his shoulder.

"Meds."

His voice is weak, but he's fighting through it, defiant shine in his eyes even through the fever haze. Alex measures out another dose, fingers shaking. Max's cough is only getting worse, and they can't afford to get another bottle.

There's a race this weekend, and he knows, as sure as he knows the color of the sky, that Max is still going to try and attend. If they allow him to race is an entirely different story, but he'll try.

Insanely, Alex thinks he wouldn't be all that surprised if Max managed to still win. It feels otherworldly sometimes, living with him, watching him race. He's got a feel for the car that Alex and George can't quite reach, a fiery determination that seems to fuel him further than the rest of them.

Max takes the medicine like a shot. He's not even complaining about the taste anymore, like he did on the first day.

Alex tries to pretend the sinking in his heart is anything but cold, nauseous fear.

------

George is on the beanbag in the back. The bookstore knows he's stressed, and they'd mentioned having a potluck soon, to celebrate some arbitrary holiday George has never heard of. He's hoping there will be enough leftovers for him to sneak some home.

Right now, his priorities are elsewhere, anxiety skating up his fingers and arms, trembling as he types at the keyboard. He doesn't know what else to do.

They'll be out of medicine soon, and Max isn't getting any better, and there's a race coming up.

He hugs his knees tight to his chest, nervously shaking. He can't make it go away— the twitchy, nervous moments that have snuck into his everyday life. Every movement has to be worth it, every action justifiable.

He's going to throw up.

He sends the email.

------

Alex drives them to the race. Mostly because Max can barely make it to his feet, eyes glassy and perpetually sweaty, hair damp at the edges. They keep waiting for him to call it off, for him to admit that he can't do it, but somehow...

He's standing, moving like every breath hurts. Alex has to repeat himself two or three times before Max can hear him, and they can both hear each individual breath.

It sounds more like a rattle than a wheeze, and Alex and George have quietly, without ever speaking about it, taken up watching him in shifts. Sometimes the rattle pauses, and Alex feels everything inside of him plummet with fear until Max takes in another painful breath.

He's sure George also wakes up in a cold sweat, lying frozen to listen to the sound of Max's continued breathing. He's not sure George knows about the blood.

He doesn't have the heart to tell him.

------

George doesn't want to open the email. It's sitting in his inbox like a ticking bomb, because if he doesn't open it, it can't hurt him.

Can't let him down, can't shatter him into a million pieces, can't resign him to a fate of watching Max die in front of him.

He's not stupid. Max isn't getting better. Not without help, actual help, help they can't get. They can't go to a hospital, because the hospital will ask for an adult that they don't have.

They live in a precarious house of cards, and George is watching it wobble dangerously in front of him, growing increasingly unsteady with each struggling breath Max manages.

He can't possibly race— but that's not something they've said out loud. Alex is driving them, and George has a plan.

He opens the email.

From: Fernando Alonso

To: George William

Subject: Re: Why you should lie to the government

George. I am not sure how you got my personal email, and I do not want to know. Your PowerPoint was very engaging.

I will not pretend to be your brother's legal guardian. However, I have the location of a clinic that will see him and keep their mouths shut.

I have attached their contact details.

- Fernando Alonso, FIA Formula 1 World Champion [2005, 2006]

He swallows, opening the email attachment. There's an address, and a list of names. If they detour now—

"Alex, Alex pull over."

Max has fallen back asleep in the passenger seat. His breathing is worryingly shallow and wheezing, and he's both pale and flush, chest barely moving.

Alex pulls over.

------

The detour takes them six hours and more gas than they can afford, but they're almost there. Max hasn't woken up once.

George calls Max's team, apologizing profusely about missing the race, that Max would be there if he could. They're far more understanding than he expected them to be, mentioning that they're glad he's getting rest, that they'd also been worried.

They know Max would be dead before he missed a race. It scares George just how close they're getting.

He has one of the bottles of water uncapped, nudging gently at Max's shoulder. His skin is waxy, and he occasionally shakes with small shivers.

"Max."

He never responds on the first try anymore. George shoves at his shoulder a little harder, fingers tight around the water.

"Hey, wake up, we're almost there."

Usually, that would at least get something. A flutter of his lashes, an attempt to try and drag himself to the surface. George blinks back the hot press behind his eyes, trying to keep his voice steady. He doesn't want to alarm Alex, who's been driving the entire time.

"Max."

His voice cracks. Alex hears it, because of course he does.

"How is he, Georgie?"

George isn't sure he can answer without falling apart, and the panic is starting to seep in through the corners, crawling up his lungs, strangling his heart.

"Max get up. Don't be— come on, don't be lazy."

He's never called Max lazy a day in his life.

"Georgie, hey, how is it?"

Alex sounds worried from the front seat. George presses two shaking fingers below Max's jaw, resting his head featherlight on his shoulder. He doesn't actually know how to check for a pulse, only that this is what they do on TV, on the medical dramas Alex likes.

Max is still breathing, but there's a low, watery sound to it.

"George."

Alex sounds more insistent now, but George doesn't know what to tell him.

"Drive faster."

------

The clinic is a nice building, until George runs inside out of breath, frantically trying to explain that Fernando Alonso sent them, that his brother is sick in the trailer, that he's not waking up.

Max disappears into the back of the building, and he and Alex aren't allowed to follow.

Alex tugs him tight to his chest, one hand shaking as he tries to pet at the back of George's head, still trying to be strong for them both. He can feel his hot tears drop onto his hair.

------

The clinic gets one good luck at Alex and George thirty minutes later and takes them into the back too. They're both put on fluids, and the clinic was apparently planning to cater lunch, so they'll get some extra for them as well.

They're still not allowed to see Max, but Alex has his fingers locked with George's.

"Georgie."

George sniffs, still trying to pretend like he hasn't been crying.

"What?"

Alex squeezes his fingers.

"Who'd you call? To get this?"

George has been a steel trap about how he'd managed to get Max a doctor. He'd told Alex very solemnly that he had a place for them, but he needed Alex to trust him.

So far, he has. Still, George shakes his head, frowning.

"Doesn't matter."

Alex actually thinks it matters quite a bit— not that it does him any good, because George clams up, refusing to tell him anything. He confirms it wasn't a gang, he's not indebted for life, and that it was a stroke of luck, but he won't tell Alex anything else.

By the time the food shows up, a catered table of salad and fruits, roasted meats and vegetables, Alex has accepted that he's not getting an answer out of him.

------

Max has pneumonia. It's bad, apparently. It wouldn't ever have cleared up on his own, and the knowledge sits like a stone in George's gut.

It would've killed him. Slowly, relentlessly suffocating him. There wasn't any kind of over the counter medicine they could've gotten, no amount of cough drops, no miracle words to fix it.

Max is still asleep when the clinic lets them see him. There's an oxygen mask across his face, stickers on his chest attached to colorful cords that lead up to a monitor. There's another one wrapped around his finger, and he has an IV in, running up to bag of fluids above his head.

George tugs his chair closer and gingerly rests his head on Max's thigh. He's always felt untouchable, above everything else, stronger than anyone else George knows.

He doesn't feel untouchable now. He feels fragile, and George wants to curl around him, wants to protect him from everything the way Max does for him, but he can't. Not against this.

Alex's hand rubs softly against his back as he cries quietly.

------

12 years later:

Charles bumps Max's hip with his own as they walk closer to the cooldown room, grinning. The podium endorphins are starting to hit, and he's ready to chug the entire bottle of blissfully cool water waiting for him.

George is ahead of them, already scrubbing a towel through his hair, cap in one hand. He's grinning too, the special wide one reserved just for Alex and Max.

Max yanks his balaclava off, slamming his fist against his chest as he coughs briefly. Charles winces in sympathy, but George darts over immediately, nudging Max out of view of the cameras. He's gone ashen, eyes wide as he checks over Max frantically.

"Christ, Georgie— it is the fucking humidity here, always, you know it makes my lungs act up. Chill."

"Do you need an inhaler? Aleix keeps one in his bag."

Max levels an impressively unimpressed face at George.

"So does Rupert, because they are my lungs. If I needed it, I would be using it. Seriously, go sit. I'm fine."

Charles quirks his head.

"You have asthma?"

Max wrinkles his nose, rolling his eyes as he grabs his own water.

"No. George is just being a worrywart."

George glares, jaw tensed.

"Sorry, I think it's fair that it makes me anxious."

Max sighs, gripping George by the hand and pulling him into a tight hug. Charles doesn't catch what he says, too quiet for anyone but George to hear, but he sees the way his shoulders relax, leaning their heads together briefly.

He didn't know Max had problems with his lungs. Or at least some kind of problem, if it's earned him George's anxiety. Then again, George is anxious about a million things at any given moment— Charles has never met anyone with the ability to juggle as many problem as George and manage to be equally as stressed about every single one of them.

He wonders if Mercedes has designed a ThunderShirt for him yet.

Max manages to appease George, and Charles attempts to put it out of his mind. He'll ask Max about it later, when there aren't hundreds of cameras capturing their every movement.

For now, he has a podium to get to.

[lestappened]

messy doodle as a love letter (art?) to your tiny gax verse!!! i ❤️ them they're so small feral kittens/anything that's tiny and vicious and desperate for love coded 😭😭😭

i am walking away with a gax-shaped lump in my pocket. you cannot do anything about it. i am feeding them as we speak and i will tuck them into bed after.

screaming crying throwing up sliding down onto the floor in despair—

THEY'RE SO LITTLE IM GOING TO BE ILL DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOUVE DONE TO ME 😭

the bandaids on his knees from where he scrapes them working on the karts, and the shaggy hair because they cut it themselves, GEORGE'S HEADBAND, the way he's so defiant but so tired I am actually devastated. did you kiss this brick before you threw at at me????

THE THREE OF THEM CURLED UP TOGETHER. george and alex being intertwined and pressed together and max being so vulnerable all curled up under his arm, the way galex is a unit but max is clearly still a part of the dynamic 😭😭

this has genuinely killed me, maers. dead on the floor.

[lestappened]

2.1k tiny gax verse!!! more coming, but I figured I'd split it up a bit, after the whole... everything. of the race. again, snapshots, not entirely in chronological order.

max POV, george POV

Max realizes the trailer is parked in the same hotel lot the fucking Leclerc's are in too late. He lets out a string of swear words that Jos would be proud of, ducking into a hallway before they see him.

Fucking Charles, with his parents and his brothers and his... everything. He thinks he'll drive for Ferrari.

Max doesn't like to think about his own chances. His helmet is gripped tight in his hands, knuckles white. There's sweat dripping uncomfortably down his spine, the result of wrestling his kart back into the trailer. He's mostly got a system figured out, but still.

It's heavy.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. George again, probably trying to find a rule in the fine print consent form for the hotel that will allow Max to stay. He won't find one— Max had kind of expected it. He's not parked up at a place that would turn a blind eye, evidenced by the fact that Charles is here.

It's fine. They'll do better when George is here, and there's blankets in the trailer. The weather is mild enough that Max thinks he can get away with leaving it off, which is great— it'll save gas for the return trip. If it goes well, he'll have enough cash left to get groceries on the way back. Real groceries.

Max had won, which is really the only way to make any of this worth it. People have started talking to him, asking him questions about the karts and the race, and they seem genuinely impressed by his knowledge. It's stupid, because of course Max knows what he's talking about. This is all he has, it's what he's hinged everything on.

He's hoping today's performance was good enough to land him a new sponsor, so he can buy the parts he needs for George's kart. George has a fucked axle, so they've been swapping one of the good ones back and forth between their karts, and Max has been trying to rotate them out to avoid wear, but it'd be nice to just be able to buy the part they need.

He has a cracked fingernail that agrees with the thought as well.

He can see the Leclerc's crowd into the elevator, watching Charles' mother ruffle his hair, and his fingers grip tighter.

Asshole.

------

George hasn't told Max about the part time job. Mostly because he only works when Max is out karting, and it's under the table in cash. He's been stocking it in a jar in the closet, and he uses it to quietly restock the staples in their pantry when they're getting low. Max doesn't cook often enough to notice, and he's got too many other things on his mind to wonder why they never seem to run out of rice.

Max also works sometimes, quick gigs that George pretends not to know about, even though he wakes up when Max washes his hair in the sink in the early morning. He's pretty sure it's a physical labor job, because Max would never do anything that doesn't somehow contribute to driving— if he can make money and train at the same time, he will.

He glances back down at his phone. The sun is starting to set, so the local bookstore he works at had politely but firmly told him to head home, and Max should be driving back soon, provided he doesn't get arrested.

Alex: hey

Alex: huge favor

Alex: like MASSIVE

George: not a whole lot I can help you with

Alex: I think I might need to come to the UK

Alex: is there any way I can crash with you and max? I can cover my own costs, and help with rent.

George: mate we've only got one bedroom

George: we shoved the futons together

George: not in a gay way!

George: in a space conserving way

Alex: LOL

Alex: I believe you georgie

Alex: I have a big family, I'm used to stray limbs

Alex: I might actually end up with MORE personal space this way

George: you promise you won't cost more?

George: I don't want to be mean

George: but max and I are stretched really thin

Alex: I promise!

George: okay

George: I'll talk to him about it

The trailer is back in the driveway when he rounds the corner of the sidewalk, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Max hasn't been arrested, and he hasn't been murdered overnight while he slept in the trailer. Max says thinking like that is paranoid and that George needs to stop watching the news.

He unlocks the front door quietly, careful to avoid the creak in the floor right at the entryway. He can hear Max snoring already, and there's empty plastic bags on the counter.

Max must have won. There's milk, and a new container of eggs, and his eyebrows shoot up when he realizes they have trout in the fridge. He'll make that tonight, because on the rare occasion they get fish it's usually right before it expires, and Max probably didn't eat after the race unless the food was free.

There's lentils in the pantry as well. George isn't a huge pan of protein-loading Max makes them both do, but he understands it from a health perspective. He just wishes they could afford to make it taste better. One day, when they both drive in Formula 1, he's going to take them to a bakery, and they'll get every dessert on the counter.

Sticking his head into the bedroom reveals Max half sprawled on the futons, passed out. His fingers wring nervously when he gets a glance at his collarbones, just on the side of too sharp under his skin.

He's not stupid. He knows Max is making sure that he gets taken care of first, that he never finishes his plate until George is done, just in case he's still hungry. He notices.

He'll make sure Max gets more of the fish tonight.

------

"Shit!"

George scrabbles for his phone, fingers flying.

George: MAX

George: AXLE SPINDLE SNAPPED

Max: FUCK

George: we don't have any spares

Max: I know

Max: give me five minutes

George: I don't have five minutes

Max: give me three.

Max: and get it ready for the switch

George checks everything else on his kart as he disassembles the front left end, heart pounding in his chest. They'll be cutting it to the wire, and he's really not sure—

Max darts around to the corner, dropping to his knees next to George's kart. His hands fly across the pieces on the floor as he switches the axle spindle, fingers darkening with grease, and George's fingers are twitching. He's cutting it close, they're cutting it so close.

Max reassembles the kart like it's second nature, because it is. He's spent hours going over it with George, comparing what they were both able to learn before they were on their own, and what he picks up in the mechanics shop.

Like most things, he's just a few seconds faster, just quick enough to pull off something he shouldn't have been able to, standing and double checking George's suit and helmet, gloves gripped tight in his hands.

"Go, go, come on—"

------

George wins it. It's not always euphoric, more of a deep sense of relief, that he's worth it, that they're making it worth it.

Max still has grease on his fingers when he gets George in a headlock and scrubs at his hair, both giggling as the relief crashes over them. They're in a shitty motel, but they have the bed for the night, and he's won with a mismatched axle spindle and his headband pressing uncomfortably into his forehead.

It's worth it, they're worth it, they're doing it.

------

"Boys."

There's a soft accented voice behind them both as they're making their way to the parking lot, and Max stops first, George hesitating behind him.

Pascale Leclerc is watching them, eyes gentle.

"You make a mother's heart weep, yes? Please, let me do something with your hair."

Max winces. His own hair is getting long enough that he occasionally steals George's headbands when he's reading just to keep it out of his eyes, and George is always having to adjust his hair behind his ears. It curls long at the back of both of their necks, damp with sweat.

George steps forward, because he's talked to the Leclerc's more than Max has.

"Are you sure?"

Max was raised not to accept handouts. He's gotten used to having to do so ever since he started living on his own, and especially with George, but it still makes something curl unpleasantly in his stomach. They have scissors at home.

"Please."

She rests a hand on both of their shoulders, and Max looks at George again, wild hair pressed against his hairline and wet behind his ears.

He lets her lead them to a different trailer. The Leclerc's don't have the best in the lot, but it's nice, with enough room for karts and equipment as well as a few people. Charles is sitting on the pavement next to it, legs stretched wide in front of him as he drinks a water. Max pointedly doesn't make eye contact with him, even through he sees George wave.

"Charlie!"

Charles wiggles his fingers. He hasn't won today, but he'd done well, so Max isn't sure why he's sulking, not when he has a family that's proud of him even when he sucks.

Pascale herds them into the trailer, reaching for Max first, but he shakes his head, tilting it slightly in George's direction. She frowns, curling her fingers again, keeping his voice low enough that only the two of them hear.

"I will take care of you both."

Max chews at the inside of his cheek.

"We can't pay you."

"I know."

George is still talking to Charles outside. Max catches the eye of Charles' father, quickly looking away.

"Okay."

------

Charles is trying to figure something out. George knows this because he keeps asking leading questions, like he thinks George would tell him anything— he's British, he knows how to subtly doge a question.

What does have George uneasy is that his father is watching them both, reaching into one of the coolers.

"Charles."

He says Charles' name the French way, soft and sliding, before passing him a baggie with a sandwich in it. A heartbeat later, there's another one being held out to George.

The Leclerc's like him more than Max, he knows this.

"Thank you."

He says it as gratefully as he can manage, carefully tucking it into his helmet.

"I'll eat it on the road."

Charles huffs a laugh next to him.

"You do not look like you eat much of anything."

George kicks out at his foot, glaring.

"I drive fast, and that's what matters."

------

George had spotted Max get a sandwich as well. It has him relived, because as soon as they'd gotten away from the Leclerc's trailer, hair shorter and several waters richer, Max had immediately torn into it.

Still, he waits until they've been on the road for an hour before he reaches into his helmet.

"I had two while I was waiting with Charles, and they told me to hold onto your extra for you."

Max's eyes light up. They're brighter without his hair shadowing over his lashes.

"They did?"

George passes it over. It's slightly squished and room temperature, but Max tears through it just as quickly as he had the last one.

"Thank you, Georgie."

George gets snacks at the library when he comes in to work. He doesn't mind making sure Max is still getting what he needs, not when he spots the knobs of his wrists or the exhaustion in his eyes. They're both making sacrifices.

It'll be worth it one day.

------

Max wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, making a face at the feeling of grease smearing across his skin as he rolls out from under the truck.

"It is fucked. Trash. Tell them they are better off selling for scrap and buying a new car."

"This is why you're not at the front, Max."

Max is not at the front because he looks young— is young. The garage pays him under the table, and he gets the chance to learn.

Sure, he scrapes his knuckles on rusted metal, and he's fairly confident the underside of his nails are never going to get clean, but the experience is invaluable.

He's had to tweak at his own kart's engine more than once, and the things he's learned here helps make him reasonable confident that it's not going to go boom.

Kind of confident.

A little bit.