lw77

[lw77]

i wrote smt shameless from diet pepsi verse people, you will need an acct to read on ao3. i kind of wrote it, dropped it and hid. enjoy

[lw77]

Diet Pepsi 💈 (LSxMV)

Chapter 8. - Four-times for Goodluck

He’s poring over another inventory sheet his dad left him when a soft knock against the cash counter snaps his head up. Max is leaning in, his head tilted in quiet amusement at Logan being so absorbed in the sheet.

Sheepishly, Logan blurts, “Oh, Max! How long have you been standing there?” He can already feel himself blushing, like always, whenever Max is near.

“Hi, Angel. Not long. You looked so focused, I didn’t want to distract you,” Max replies.

“I didn’t even hear the visitor bell. This is why me and inventory are dangerous. What if you were a robber? The store would’ve been empty by now,” Logan complains, glaring at the sheet like it should feel guilty.

Laughing, Max squints at him. “If I were a robber, I think you know what I’m taking.”

Despite the heat flooding his face, Logan can’t help preening at the insinuation. He tries to tease back. “Oh yes, my mom’s sub shelf. I know where your loyalties lie, Maxie.”

Brows quirked in amusement, Max lifts a hand to gently tilt Logan’s chin up to meet his eyes. “And where do my loyalties lie, Angel?”

Hot damn. It’s so unfair for Max to not only look like a walking Calvin Klein ad but to also act exactly like Logan imagines those ads would, if they could talk.

“Th-the boys, of course,” Logan stammers, trying to hold Max’s gaze.

He watches Max’s eyes flick to his lips, then back. “I think you’ve been misinformed, Angel. Do I need to set it straight?” Max smiles as he says it, his thumb now brushing the corner of Logan’s mouth.

“Uhuh” is all Logan can manage, overwhelmed by the closeness, the touch, and the desire rising in him. He wants Max to kiss him, public decorum be damned.

Max’s thumb shifts to Logan’s cheek, brushing so softly that Logan almost misses what comes next, too distracted by the sensation.

“Let me take you out then. Tonight.”

Logan jolts upright like he’s been shocked. “Like a date?” he asks, too eagerly.

“Not like a date, Angel. A date. May I?” Max grins, clearly amused by whatever expression Logan is making—which is probably somewhere between dopey and crazed, knowing himself.

“Yes! I mean, yes, of course,” Logan says, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to yell. I think I had something in my throat.”

Max looks unconvinced but doesn’t call him out. Instead, he gently brushes a piece of hair from Logan’s face. “Okay, Angel. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“I’ll be ready,” Logan replies, quieter this time.

“Perfect. Bye, Angel.” Max gives his cheek one last soft stroke before turning and striding out.

By the time the door clicks shut behind him, Logan realizes Max didn’t buy a single thing. And, he has a date.

His dad needs to cover his shift. 

—-——- 

“So he came into the store and asked if he could take you?” is Oscar’s bewildered question after Logan recounts his morning.

“He asked to take me out , not to take me ,” Logan says, exasperated.

“I bet you’d like that too, wouldn’t you, princess? You dirty, dirty boy, in your father’s store too!” Alex chips in, placing his hands on his chest in mock scandal.

Ignoring them, Logan continues buttoning up his shirt, only for Oscar to slap his hand away as he reaches for the last three buttons.

“Ow! I’m going to a restaurant, Osc, not the beach.”

“Leave those. Entice the imagination a little. He’s not taking you to church,” Oscar replies without missing a beat.

“I bet I know something Logan would love to worship if Max did take him to church,” Alex adds with a triumphant grin.

Logan groans, throwing a towel at Alex’s face. “Is this fun for you? You’re supposed to help me. Why did I even tell you guys?”

“Because you love us,” Alex sing-songs from behind the towel.

Oscar just grins, crossing his arms. “And because you need our help not to button yourself into celibacy.”

Before Logan can retort, the sound of the doorbell cuts through the room.

His eyes go wide. As he checks his reflection one last time, Alex pats him on the shoulder. “You look good, Logs. Like an angel if he was from Florida.”

Oscar nods behind him. “Just make sure to eat slow, chew. It’d be a mood killer to choke in the middle of dinner.”

Groaning, Logan says, “Oh my god, that was one time .”

“Logs, that was two months ago,” is Oscar’s deadpan reply.

Before Logan can argue, Alex is already pushing him out of his door. “Either way, seduce him and don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!” is all he’s told before he’s shoved right into Max.

Max steadies him easily. Logan turns to glare back at his friends, who give him a finger wave.

“Bring him back in one piece, please,” Oscar calls sweetly before shutting the door in both their faces.

Max’s quiet chuckles pull Logan’s attention back to him, in time to realize his sudden collision had crushed the bouquet Max was holding.

“Oh my god, Max, I’m so sorry,” Logan says, frantic, as he tries to smooth out the crinkled brown paper.

Max's hand stops him, gentle and soothing. “It’s okay, Angel. They’re for you. You can do whatever you want to them.”

Looking up from his fussing, Logan blushes. “You got me flowers. Oh my god, they’re gorgeous!” He admires the arrangement of peonies and now-crushed lilies. “I love them, Max. I can’t believe they’re ruined,” he adds, still trying to reassemble a flattened lily into something resembling a flower.

Max takes Logan’s hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles with a soft chuckle. “It’s okay, Angel. I’ll buy you more. Don’t look so sad. Now,” he pulls back to look him over, eyes warm, “you look very pretty, baby. Let’s go so I can show everyone my pretty baby.”

“Okay,” is Logan’s shy reply as he clutches the bouquet close to his side with his free hand.

Max walks him to the car, their hands still joined. He’s pretty sure anyone looking can see heart emotes floating all around him.

At the passenger side, Max lets go of his hand and opens the door. “Your chariot, Angel.”

Logan slides in, heart fluttering. “Thank you.” He almost thinks Max is leaning in for a kiss, only to realize he’s reaching in to help with the seatbelt.

But Max is close. Too close. Logan can smell his cologne–warm and clean, with something darker underneath. His fingers graze Logan’s waist as he clicks the buckle into place.

“There,” Max murmurs, not moving back right away.

Their eyes meet. For a second too long.

Then Max exhales, smiles like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and gently shuts the door.

Logan stares straight ahead, cheeks burning, bouquet still clutched tight in his lap.

God help him. This was going to be a long night.

Logan would love to say he was normal for the rest of the car ride, but that would be a Sunday sin.

Max’s quiet focus, the sharp cut of his profile framed by the evening sun, and the weight of his palm resting casually on Logan’s knee—

It’s a miracle Logan didn’t melt into a puddle right there in the seat.

So the journey from the car to their private booth and even ordering is a bit of a haze, as Logan tries his best not to do something wildly out of social decorum.

The food arrives, and Logan pretends he cares more about his fish than the way Max’s knees keep brushing his like it’s nothing. He gets a few bites in while Max slices his steak with casual elegance. Everything about him is so composed. Logan wants to mess him up just a little.

“How’s your fish, Angel?” Max asks around a small smile.

“Do you want to try?” Logan offers, partly because he wants to see Max’s mouth do something other than smile like he knows all of Logan’s secrets. Partly because he's a brat.

Max raises an eyebrow. “You’ve barely had two bites.”

Logan flushes, eyes darting down to his neglected meal. “It’s good,” he mumbles, then stabs a piece of fish and holds it out.

To his surprise, Max leans in without hesitation and takes it from the fork, lips brushing it just slightly. His eyes stay on Logan as he chews, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“You’re right. That is good.” His voice is smooth, rich, amused.

Logan’s about to respond, but Max is already picking up his own fork. “Your turn, Angel.” Before Logan can protest, Max is holding out a piece of steak, glistening with juice and perfectly sliced. “I can feed myself,” Logan says, but his voice is weak, teasing at best. “I know you can,” Max replies, coaxing the bite closer. “But I want to.” Logan hesitates only a second before leaning in and taking the bite.

It’s delicious. But it’s not the food that makes him dizzy. It’s the way Max watches him while he chews, like he’s cataloguing every expression. Like he’s learning him.

Another bite follows. Then another. Both of them trade bites, Logan lost entirely in the soft curl of Max’s smile and the warming silence between them. Then Max sets his utensils down.

His gaze lingers on Logan’s mouth a moment too long.

He reaches over and brushes sauce from the corner of Logan’s lip. “You always make the sweetest sounds when you like something, huh?” he murmurs, thumb trailing to his own lips without thinking.

Logan’s pulse skips.

Just then, the waiter swoops in, clearing their plates with practiced efficiency. Another places a pair of dessert menus on the table with a polite smile. Max picks one up, studying it. Logan does the same, though there’s nothing on the menu he wants more than Max again.

“See anything you want for dessert, Angel?” Max asks quietly from behind the menu.

“Nothing they can offer,” Logan replies, looking at Max.

Max’s brows lift, amused. “No?”

Logan shakes his head in agreement and leans in just a little, voice soft. “I want something else.”

It earns him a squeeze to his thigh and a slow, knowing look from Max.

“Are you sure, Angel? Not even an espresso?” Max teases, their faces close now.

Logan’s eyes drop to his mouth, then back up again. He clutches at the hand on his thigh. “Yes. Now take me home, Maxie.”

Max, calm as ever, closes the menu and signals for the check.  “Okay, Angel. Let’s go.”

The car ride is quiet, but the air between them thrums. Logan’s hand rests in Max’s, his thumb moving slow, deliberate. Neither of them says much. They don’t need to.

------------

Max’s place is dim and clean, all sharp edges and soft light. He doesn’t waste time, pressing Logan back into the door. “Angel,” he murmurs, lips brushing near his temple. “Thought I’d have to suffer through dessert before I could taste you.”

Logan’s fingers curl into Max’s shirt, dragging him closer.

Max kisses him, firm and focused. Logan melts into it, hands in his hair, heart racing. Max slots a thigh between Logan’s legs, holding him there. The friction is instant, Logan gasps. Max deepens the kiss.

He tilts Logan’s head, tongue sliding deeper as his thigh presses up again. Logan groans, hips grinding down with a soft, desperate noise.They move together, slow and close. Logan is hard now, grinding against the press of Max’s thigh, every drag making him breathless.

Max finally pulls back, just slightly. “Want me to take care of you, Angel?” he asks, voice thick with heat.

Logan glares, flushed and panting. “I should’ve let you suffer through dessert if you’re just going to tease me.”

Max smiles, unexpectedly soft. There’s a flicker of something boyish in the way he looks at Logan, the way his hand comes up to stroke his cheek. He brushes a strand of hair away from Logan’s forehead, gaze lingering on the flush in his cheeks, the way he’s pressed up against him.

“I’m not teasing, Angel,” he murmurs, voice low but sincere. “I want to take care of you. In my bed.”

Logan’s breath catches. That look, steady and wanting, makes something in him twist. He nods, the tension in his glare giving way to something else entirely. “Do it then,” he says, just loud enough for Max to hear.

Max leans in for another kiss, slower this time, lips dragging just enough to make Logan shiver. Then he takes his hand and leads him through the apartment, guiding him down the hall with practiced ease and barely leashed hunger.

Logan barely registers entering the bedroom. He’s watching Max instead. The way he moves. The way he turns to face him, thumb still tracing his knuckles like he can’t stop touching him.

Max tugs him in close again. “Tell me if anything’s too much,” he murmurs. “Anything at all. I need to hear you say it, Angel.”

Logan nods, breath catching. “I will.” 

Max brushes their noses together. “You have a safeword?”

His voice is warm, careful. One hand cups Logan’s jaw, thumb stroking gently as he waits. Logan’s voice is quiet. “Dolphins.”

Max kisses him again, slower this time, with a tenderness that makes Logan shiver. “Good.”

He undresses him without hurry, piece by piece, like he’s unwrapping something he’s wanted for a long time. His lips graze warm skin; his fingers leave deliberate trails down Logan’s arms, across his waist, the curve of his back.

When Logan’s finally bare on the sheets, flushed and watching him with wide eyes, Max just looks. For a long moment, he takes him in, every inch, spread out for him.

Then he moves closer, crawling over him, gaze heavy and dark.

Logan shivers, feeling his skin break into gooseflesh in anticipation. 

Keening softly, the sound catching in his throat before it escapes. He reaches for Max to pull him in. Max follows easily, swallowing Logan’s keen with a kiss, slow and deep, his weight pressing Logan into the sheets.

Max fits between his thighs easily, broad and solid in a way that makes Logan feel spread open, filled out just from the way they slot together.  Logan curls his legs around Max’s hips, arching up to meet the heat of him as his hands go to his neck. 

Max is still dressed, every single part of Logan’s body feels like a live wire as he feels Max trail his hands from his face to his sides, stroking soothingly, before he brushes against the red head of Logan’s cock before he lowers his lips to take a nipple in the heat of his mouth. 

Logan gasps, hands coming to clutch at Max’s head. “No Maxie. Wan– need you inside this time please.”

One of Logan’s hands slides down, trying to guide Max where he wants him.

“Need me inside, Angel?” Max murmurs, voice thick against his mouth.

Logan nods, barely able to form words. “Yeah. I—God, yeah.”

Max’s thumb brushes across the tight ring of muscle, slow and deliberate, pushing just enough to make Logan gasp, head falling back.

Every nerve feels lit, his body aching in anticipation, in want.

“Tell me what you need, Angel,” Max says lowly, his hand dragging down Logan’s thigh to keep him open.

Logan breathes out a soft whimper. “You. Just—your fingers, you inside, please.”

Max reaches across him to the bedside, grabbing lube and a condom with practiced ease. Logan watches, breath catching, his thighs still parted around Max’s hips.

Max slicks his fingers, eyes flicking up to Logan’s face. “Breathe for me, Angel.”

Logan nods shakily, his chest rising with each quick inhale. “Hurry,  please.”

Max’s fingers are there just one circling, teasing. His other hand holds Logan’s hips, keeping him still, the touch feeling like a red-hot brand. Max leans down, kissing and nipping at Logan’s neck.

His mouth moves down Logan’s chest, sucking, biting, before latching onto his nipple, lavishing it with his tongue and teeth. He switches to the other nipple, repeating the process, all the while Logan writhes beneath him, whimpering, begging.

Logan’s body strains, the only thing he can move is his chest, pushing into Max’s waiting mouth, as Max holds him down with deliberate pressure.

Max’s fingers tug at the ring of muscle, making Logan gasp in relief before resuming their slow, teasing motion. Frustrated, Logan pleads, “Please, Maxie just one finger, please.”

Logan finally feels the finger push in, he moans as his body clenches, already trying to pull Max deeper. “Fuck–Max. More, more more please I can take it.” The feeling of Max’s finger is thicker than Logan’s own, and Logan bites down on his fingers to quiet himself, trying to hold back the desperate sounds.

“You’re doing so good, Angel” Max murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Are you going to keep being good for me?”

Logan nods, and a second finger follows, easing in beside the first. Logan arches, biting down on his fingers to stifle the loud moans spilling. Max works him open carefully, his free hand smoothing over Logan’s hip, grounding him.

Then, a third finger slides in, and Max curls them just right as he licks up Logan’s neck, biting at his earlobe. “Maxie! Maxie, Maxie,” Logan chants, his breath hot against Max’s skin

He continues to brush Logan’s prostate, as he spreads his fingers, stretching him out. Logan feels himself get strung tighter and tighter with each brush, each deliberate press against it “Maxie—God, I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop!” Logan pleads.

“Want to see you fall apart on my fingers Angel,” Max breathes, voice caught somewhere between reverent and wrecked. “Want you to take me so well.” Suddenly, he’s coming untouched as Max watches eyes hungry as Logan clings to him and thrashes trying to get away from the continuous massage. 

“Safeword?” Max asks, fingers stilling.

“No—no, don’t stop, I like it,” Logan pleads, teetering on the edge of overstimulation and slipping headfirst into another orgasm as he moans through it.

When Max finally pulls his fingers out, Logan whines at the loss.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Max murmurs, “I’m gonna give you something better.”

He pulls off his shirt, and though Logan is boneless from the back-to-back orgasms, he still reaches up to try and unbutton Max’s jeans. His fingers fumble, uncoordinated, but eager.

Max chuckles at the effort, covering Logan’s hands with his own to help guide them through the buttons before pushing his pants down.

Then, with surprising gentleness, he grabs his discarded T-shirt and uses it to wipe Logan’s chest clean.

Logan moans, hips jumping as the shirt brushes his spent cock. “I’m ready, Maxie, I am—please.”

Max kisses him once more, deep and hot, before reaching for the condom. “Keep those legs around me, Angel.”

Logan obeys, desperate and trembling, as Max rolls the condom on and slicks himself up.

Logan watches, eyes wide, drinking in the sight of Max’s cock—girthy in a way that suddenly makes sense of how long he spent stretching him open.

Then Max lines himself up, gaze locked with Logan’s, waiting.

“Still want it, Angel?”

Logan nods, pupils blown, lips parted. “Yeah. Want you.”Max presses in slowly, inch by inch. Logan’s breath stutters, hands gripping Max’s shoulders like he might break apart from the stretch and heat. He forces himself to breathe.

Max kisses him, then trails lower, sucking and biting love bites down his neck as his fingers brush over Logan’s already sensitive nipples. That touch makes Logan finally relax, and when Max bottoms out, they both moan—Max buried to the hilt, Logan trembling beneath him.

“Fuck,” Logan whispers. “You feel... so deep, Maxie. Feel you in my throat.”

Max leans down, voice rough against his ear. “You’re taking me so well, Angel. My perfect fucking fit.”

Logan brings a hand to his stomach, brushing over the skin where he can feel the pressure of Max buried so deep inside him. His fingers tremble where they rest on his stomach, overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch, the raw intimacy of it all. Max is everywhere: inside him, over him, around him, and Logan feels like he’s coming undone at the seams.

Max begins to move, slow at first, pulling out just enough before pressing back in with a grind that makes Logan gasp. “Fuck, Max,” he whimpers, hands clawing at his back now, legs tightening around his waist.

Max keeps his slow pace. He shifts just slightly, and Logan cries out, arching up with a sob, that spot inside him lit up like a live wire. “There?” Max asks, smug.

Logan nods furiously, fingers digging into Max’s back. “There, Maxie, right there, don’t stop.”

“You’re doing so good, baby boy,” Max murmurs against his throat, voice thick and reverent. “So tight. So fucking perfect.”

Logan tilts his head back, giving Max more skin to mark, and Max doesn’t waste the invitation. His mouth finds the curve of Logan’s jaw, biting just hard enough to make him cry out, hips stuttering up to meet Max’s thrusts.

They find a rhythm: deep, slow, relentless, and Logan clings to him like he’s the only thing tethering him to the earth.

Every drag of Max’s cock hits his prostate, making stars burst behind Logan’s eyes. He can’t stop the sounds spilling from his lips—moans, gasps, broken whimpers of Maxie and please and don’t stop.

He’s so close. Logan reaches down to stroke his cock, only to find his wrists pinned above his head in Max’s grip.

“No, Angel,” Max says, voice dark and low. “want to see how many times you can come just from my cock.”

He punctuates the words with a sharp grind against Logan’s already abused prostate, making him moan, the sound high and helpless.

It doesn’t take much after that. Logan’s coming for the third time that night, spilling across both their chests, body tightening around Max as the orgasm rips through him.

He’s still shaking when Max pulls out, only to flip him over and press back in. Logan feels his eyes roll back at the continued onslaught of pleasure as Max pulls him up against his chest.

Supported by Max’s body, thighs spread wide over his, Logan lets his head fall back against Max’s shoulder. Max’s hands grip his waist, lifting and lowering him onto his cock in slow, deep thrusts.

Logan feels delirious. He just came, and yet another orgasm is already building low in his gut. His hands claw behind him for purchase, scrabbling at Max’s arms, his thighs, anything solid.

The only sounds in the room are the wet slap of skin and Logan’s soft, punched-out moans each time Max drives up into him, unrelenting.

Logan's moans are ragged now, each one torn from his throat as Max holds him steady and thrusts up, deep and deliberate. He’s trembling in Max’s grip, thighs quivering with overstimulation, but he doesn’t want it to stop, can’t even imagine wanting anything else.

“Fuck, Angel,” Max groans into his neck, biting down gently before kissing over the mark. “You’re so good. Look at you, taking it like you were made for me.”

Logan whimpers, too far gone to respond with anything but a choked moan. His body is burning, buzzing, barely holding together, but the way Max is fucking him, slow, hungry, reverent it grounds him through the haze.

Then Max shifts his angle, and Logan screams, back arching as his prostate gets hit dead-on again and again. His hands claw down Max’s thighs, anchoring himself against the brutal wave rolling through him.

“Maxie, I—” His voice breaks. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m coming again, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can, Angel. Give it to me,” Max pants, sweat-slicked chest pressing to Logan’s back as he rocks up harder, faster, relentless. “Come on, baby, one more for me. Just one more.”

It crashes over him with no warning—Logan cries out, body locking up tight around Max as he comes again barely a squirt, untouched, ruined, and shaking.

Max curses under his breath, hips stuttering. “Fuck —Logan—Angel, fuck, you feel so good—”

With a low groan, Max buries himself to the hilt and spills into the condom, his grip tightening around Logan’s hips hard enough Logan hopes they bruise. Max rides it out in short, shallow thrusts, his body trembling just as much as Logan’s.

For a long moment, the only sound is their heavy breathing.

Then Max presses a kiss to the top of Logan’s shoulder, voice hoarse but tender. “You okay, Angel?”

Logan, wrecked and floating, nods slowly and hums. “Yeah,” he whispers, letting his head fall back against Max’s shoulder. “Think you broke me. In a good way.”

“Good because, your mine. Angel” 

Max holds him close, neither of them moving for a while. The rise and fall of their chests start to sync, Logan still trembling faintly in Max’s lap, every nerve ending spent.

“You did so good,” Max murmurs, kissing Logan’s shoulder again, then trailing soft kisses down his spine. “So good for me.”

Logan smiles, eyes still closed, letting himself melt against Max’s chest. “You always talk like that after you ruin people?” he says, voice sleepy, teasing.

“Only when I like them,” Max replies, nuzzling into the curve of Logan’s neck.

Eventually, Max shifts gently, easing Logan off his lap and onto the bed. Logan lets out a soft whine as he slips out, and Max chuckles under his breath.

“I know, baby. Let me take care of you.”

He pads off to the bathroom and returns a minute later with a warm, damp cloth. Logan watches him, chest aching a little in the best way. Max moves carefully, cleaning him up with gentle strokes, murmuring soft things under his breath that make Logan’s heart flutter more than the mind-blowing sex did.

When he's done, Max tosses the cloth aside and climbs back into bed, pulling Logan into his arms. Logan nestles in without hesitation, tucking his face into Max’s chest and sighing as the warmth of his body settles around him.

“Comfortable?” Max asks, stroking his back.

“Mmhmm. Best pillow in the world.”

Max tilts his head down and kisses his temple. “Good. Want you comfortable”

Logan hums again,. “You’re soft after sex. I like it. Does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?” Logan asks eyes peaking up at Max.

“I just made you cum four times in my bed,” Max says with a low laugh. “Yes Angel, this means I’m your boyfriend and you’re mine. ”

Logan flushes, hiding his face. “Don’t bully me when I’m fragile. Just had to confirm.”

“I would never Angel,” Max says, smiling into his hair. 

-----------------

Author's Note: I'm sorry for the 5 month wait. But this universe is not over! on AO3 im gonna continue writing little blurbs for it. I love the way everyone's character kind of came to be as I was writing.

anyways thank u so much for the love!!!!

i have not heavily edited fair warning i just wanted to put it out there for you.

[lw77]

working on ch.8 of diet pepsi idk why i stopped 🤔 i may make this a universe and post blurbs of the characters once this final ch. is done 🤭💈

[lw77]

Over and Over (MV x CS)

Chapter 6. Seven Days

They promised it would only be seven days apart, but Max knows how easily Carlos gets in his own head. He wonders if seeing him will be enough for Carlos to let go of the hesitation, the second-guessing.

Note: Writing this chapter and honestly every chapter of Over and Over, The Marias is always playing. In particular for this chapter - Sienna. So please play it while reading. 🎀

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ─────୨ৎ─

The lead-up to the first race weekend after summer break always feels like a false start. Everyone’s already off the line before the lights even go out. Max hates it. He doesn’t get the rush.

The car is good, has been good, should perform well. He doesn’t understand the nervous anticipation. Not for this.

When he imagines Carlos coming, he feels steady. But when he slips to the other side of it, wondering if Carlos will actually show, something cold and deep opens up under him, like standing in a pool where his toes can’t find the bottom. That anticipation, he understands. 

They promised it would only be seven days apart, but Max knows how easily Carlos gets in his own head. A gnawing feeling settles in his stomach when he wonders if seeing him will be enough for Carlos to let go of the hesitation, the second-guessing.

Carlos hasn’t texted yet, so Max tries to relax.

Carlos agreed to the driver picking him up from the airport and the access card waiting at reception. That should mean something. Should. Between running over data, Max checks his phone. Again. And again. Mid-afternoon relief washes over him when Carlos’s message lights up the screen:

I’m here. I’ll wait for you, Maxie.

Max hovers over what to type back, his thumbs frozen. He exhales slowly, starts to type, erases it, starts again. An engineer calls his name, snapping him back into the moment.

By the time the day finishes up, he quickly showers the day off in his driver’s room and debriefs with the team. The sun’s already set.

His drive to the hotel feels both like a minute and an hour, anticipation heavy on his chest. He steps out, the cool evening air hitting him, it does nothing to calm the pulse that’s been steadily picking up in his chest.

He’s not nervous about whether Carlos is there – about whether he’s not. If the message was some small mercy so he didn’t worry, mess up his first day back on track. 

Max enters the hotel and heads for the elevator, the hallway stretching out in front of him. He can’t help but hope he’s there behind his door. Please. Please.

When he reaches his suite, he swipes his card and steps inside. Thinks its too quiet for a suite meant to hold two. 

He catches himself from tripping over sneakers left by the door with no sign of their owner. He moves through the dark suite and pushes open the bedroom door.

Carlos is there.

Sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, his hair a mess against the pillow. Carlos is here.

Max sags against the doorframe, the tension slipping out of him all at once. His head tips back lightly against it. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding leaves him in a rush. He stays there for a moment, just looking, just letting it sink in. 

Max lingers there, counting the soft rise and fall of Carlos’s chest, each breath an affirmation of his reality, before he quietly approaches, careful not to wake its occupant. Kneeling by the side of the bed, the soft scent of Carlos’s cologne mixing with the faint musk of sleep, Max gazes at Carlos’s face, half hidden in the pillow Max had used the night before. His lips form their ever-present pout, his face slack in a way Max has come to memorize from their days by the beach.

Max gently brushes a strand of hair from Carlos’s forehead, his fingers reverent in their soft touch. The warmth of him, the silkiness of his hair, and the soft rise and fall of his chest ground Max in a way nothing else ever has. 

He wonders if GP will kill him if he falls asleep like this, kneeling by the bed – gazing. If he can explain it, or if GP will understand the mere sight of Carlos does to him is something no thousand race wins can ever give him.

He traces the line of his jaw with his thumb. 

“Thank you for coming Carlos,” Max murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s not sure if Carlos can hear him, but it doesn’t matter. He needs to say it.

Carlos stirs again, his eyelids fluttering open slowly, his gaze meeting Max’s. There’s a moment of sleepiness, but then recognition. And then, a small smile, slow to form, but all the more genuine for it.

“Max,” Carlos breathes, his voice hoarse from sleep. “You’re here.”

Max can’t resist. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Carlos’s forehead, the warmth of him enveloping Max like a balm. “Yeah. I’m here.” 

Carlos pulls him closer, shifting in the bed, and Max lies down beside him, Carlos sleepily tucking himself into his side. Max rests his head against the pillow, his arms wrapped gently around Carlos.

For a moment, they lie there in comfortable silence, the only sound is the soft rhythm of their breathing. Max feels the weight of the day slip away, the rush of the track and the demands of his team fading into the background. 

Carlos shifts slightly, nestling deeper into Max’s chest, his hand coming to rest over Max’s heart.

Max wonders if Carlos can feel the steady beat beneath his ribs, finally calming from the rattled pace it had set earlier.

"I missed you," Carlos murmurs against his chest, his voice still thick with sleep.

Max smiles, fingers brushing through Carlos’s hair. "I missed you too," he replies quietly, his voice low, as if speaking any louder would break this scene. 

Max watches as Carlos’s hand tightens slightly over Max’s chest, his eyes closing again as he settles deeper into the warmth between them. His breathing evens out again as he drifts. Max feels a calm wash over him, the one he only gets when Carlos is close. 

When Max wakes, dawn is just starting to seep through the thin curtains, soft and slow, painting everything in faded golds and quiet blues.

He watches the way the light catches on Carlos’s hair, how his lashes fan out against his cheeks, his breath a steady whisper against his skin.

Max presses another kiss into Carlos’s hair, breathing him in, savoring this stolen piece of morning before the world can creep back in. Before he has to head out.

Carlos shifts again, snuggling closer, his fingers bunching in the fabric of Max’s shirt like he is making sure Max will not slip away.

Then suddenly Carlos stirs harder, his head lifting, panic flashing across his face even through the fog of sleep.

"Max," he says, voice frantic, like he's breathless.

Max strokes his hair, cradles the back of his head, pulling him in close. "Shh" he murmurs against his temple. "We have time. I am still here. It’s only five."

"I missed you," Carlos mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, the words rumbling against Max’s chest.

Max squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, overwhelmed, before pulling him even closer, tucking Carlos’s head under his chin and lets his hands roam slow and careful down his back

"I missed you too," he whispers. "More than you know."

He wonders why he ever worried so much about whether he would be enough, when all Carlos has done, at every moment of consciousness, is reach for him and whisper that he missed him.

Carlos only sighs, nuzzling deeper against him, already half-asleep again. 

Max stays awake long after Carlos drifts off, his fingers brushing lazy circles over his back, watching the slow stretch of morning light creep across the room. 

Eventually, the soft light grows stronger, and Max knows he’s running out of time. The team will expect him. His trainor will start calling, loud and relentless. 

He lets his fingers trace the familiar dip of Carlos’s spine, the soft curve of his shoulder blades under the worn fabric of his t-shirt. He presses a final kiss to Carlos’s hair and carefully starts to shift, untangling their limbs as gently as he can manage. Carlos stirs almost immediately, his brow furrowing, a soft sound of protest slipping from him.

“Max?” Carlos murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. He blinks a few times, his eyes squinting against the soft light spilling into the room. “Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah,” Max says softly, barely above a whisper. “I have to go to the paddock soon.”

Carlos’s hand twists just slightly around Max’s shirt, his eyes still half-lidded as he gazes up at him. “I’ll be here when you get back,” Carlos says, though there’s a faint trace of sadness in his voice.

Max swallows, running his thumb over Carlos’s cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.” He shifts slightly, trying not to jostle Carlos too much as he starts to untangle himself from the sheets, but Carlos’s arm stays wrapped around him, pulling him back in for a brief moment.

“Hope you get pole,” Carlos murmurs, nuzzling into Max’s chest again, like he’s trying to soak up the warmth, as if afraid of the cold that’ll creep in once Max slips away.

Max laughs softly, pressing a kiss to Carlos’s forehead, his fingers brushing over the back of his neck. “You think I can put it on pole?” he asks gently.

Carlos gives a small nod, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “Of course, Maxie,” he whispers. He shifts to sit up, his face a little scrunched from sleep, but he smiles softly at Max. “Go on then. Go get podium. I’ll be here.”

Max looks at him for a moment, taking in the way his hair falls over his forehead, the soft expression on his face. A wave of affection washes over him, stronger than anything else. Carlos’s unwavering belief in him, from the very beginning, is something Max can’t shake.

“Alright,” Max says, his voice thick with emotion he doesn’t know how to name. He stands and starts to pull on his clothes, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. The quiet between them is comfortable, familiar.

But there’s a shift in the air now, a subtle tension. 

Max finishes dressing, adjusting the collar of his jacket as he looks back at Carlos, still propped up on the bed, his eyes following Max’s every movement.

“Do well, Maxie. I’ll be watching,” Carlos says softly, his voice hoarse but full of that same care and tenderness Max has come to name.

Max nods, pulling on his shoes and grabbing his phone. “I’ll do my best.” He hesitates at the bedroom door, looking back at Carlos. For a brief moment, he wants to say something that would make Carlos understand just how much he means to him, how much he matters. But words don’t feel enough when all he wants is to kiss Carlos again. So he just looks back one last time.

Carlos watches him with quiet eyes, his hand still loosely gripping the blanket, as if holding himself back like he knows Max is. “Bye, Maxie,” he says softly.

Max smiles at the sight of him. “Watch my podium then. It’ll be for you,” he promises, and walks out the door, the soft click of it behind him. 

– 

When Max gets into position, he barely knows what’s happening. All he can see is the last image of Carlos: rumpled with sleep, stretched out on the bed, smiling at him like he always does. "Do well, Maxie. I'll be watching."It loops behind Max’s eyes, steady as his heartbeat.

He barely hears the radio. He feels like he’s living up to his nickname for the first time, Mad Max, wild and burning. He’s not racing the others; he’s chasing the clock, chasing the seconds, racing his way back to Carlos.

Suddenly, the words cut through. "Third place, Max. Podium finish."He blinks, disoriented, and a laugh bubbles up in his chest, giddy and weightless. A podium, just like he promised.

In parc fermé, he hauls himself out of the car. The camera finds him, but all he can think about is Carlos, in his hotel bed, watching, waiting. He points and kisses his index finger, sending it out into the world, hoping it will find him. I did it. I did it for you.

This time, when he begs off the celebration, saying he needs to focus for the next race, everything blurs around him. The drive, the hallway, the elevator. All of it just a flickering background until he’s standing at his suite door.

The door swings open before he can even swipe his card.

Carlos is standing there, smiling easy, but there’s something in his eyes that Max doesn’t miss. Something tentative, something eager.

Like he didn’t leave Max standing barefoot on a moonlit beach a week ago, a kiss still lingering on his lips. Like he didn’t send him off that morning with a casual go get podium, as if sending him on an errand.

“Hi, Max,” Carlos says, his name warm and soft on his lips. It pulls Max in all the same.

Max doesn’t answer right away. He steps forward, tugged by something invisible, crossing the threshold as Carlos steps back to let him in. The door clicks shut quietly behind them. The hotel room is dimly lit, calm and still compared to the buzz outside. Max closes the space between them, wrapping Carlos up in a hug. A laugh bubbles out of both of them. He thinks of all the times they were teammates, Carlos’s quiet encouragement, steady and certain.

“See? I told you you’d put it on pole,” Carlos says into the fabric of Max’s shirt, still sticky with the scent of champagne.

Max slowly lets Carlos down, just enough to look at him. His gaze lingers on Carlos’s face. He is not sure what he is searching for, but it is there. In the way Carlos’s lips curl into a small, almost nervous smile. In the way his eyes find him and stay, open, warm, longing.

“You did," Max says, brushing Carlos’s reddened cheeks. "You always did.”

He doesn’t let the moment slip away this time. He steps in closer, feeling Carlos sway into him naturally, like he had been waiting too.

“Seven days,” Max murmurs, stepping closer.

Carlos nods, his breath catching slightly. “Feels like longer.”

Max’s hand finds Carlos’s arm, his thumb brushing over the fabric of his sleeve. Then, instinctively, he reaches up to brush a lock of Carlos’s hair from his face, fingers lingering in the softness of it. He can’t help but caress the strands, smoothing them back like he’s trying to erase the space between them—the distance of the last seven days.

Carlos leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, a small breath escaping him, like the gesture is the only thing keeping him grounded. Max’s fingers trace the curve of his jaw. Finally, Max breathes. You’re here.

Max’s gaze drops to Carlos’s lips, the corner of his mouth curling into the softest smile as he leans in. He brushes his lips gently over Carlos’s in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepens as soon as he feels Carlos’s breath hitch. His hand slides to the back of Carlos’s neck, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss isn’t rushed, there’s no urgency to it. Just the slow, warm connection. The reassurance Max needed all week, filling him now in Carlos’s presence. He feels the way Carlos melts into him, whatever hesitation they had slipping away with every touch, every soft press of lips.

When they pull apart, it’s just enough to breathe. Max’s forehead rests against Carlos’s, both of them silent, savoring the quiet.

“I’ve missed you,” Max whispers.

Carlos’s eyes are soft when they meet his. “Missed you too,” he says, his voice a little rough, like the words themselves are as much of a relief as the kiss.

Max smiles, his thumb tracing over Carlos’s lips before he kisses him again this time deeper, more certain.

When they pull apart, Carlos lands one last peck on his lips, then says, “Come on my race winner. Tell me about the race.” Carlos grins as he tugs him gently toward the bed.

Max lets himself follow, he’ll shower later. For now he wants to see Carlos as long as he has him. ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪🎀 ⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚ Sometimes all we need from the ones we love is to be seen, held and celebrated. Hope this chapter showed that with these two.

[lw77]

Chapter 6 of Over and Over coming very soon! here's a little sneak peak

Max finishes dressing, adjusting the collar of his jacket as he looks back at Carlos, still propped up on the bed, his eyes following Max’s every movement.

“Do well, Maxie. I’ll be watching,” Carlos says softly, his voice hoarse but full of that same care and tenderness Max has come to rely on.

Max nods, grabbing his phone. He hesitates at the door, looking back at Carlos. For a brief moment, he wants to say something that would make Carlos understand just how much he means to him, how much he matters. But the words feel too heavy to say out loud, so he just looks back one last time.

Carlos watches him with quiet eyes, his hand still loosely gripping the blanket, as if holding onto the moment before Max leaves.

“Bye, Maxie,” he says softly.

Max turns back to him. “Watch my podium then,” he promises. “It’ll be for you.”

[lw77]

Over and Over (MV x CS)

Chapter 5. Halved

Carlos no longer races and Max is a world championship contender.

The TV blares with the current F1 race. Carlos shuts it off before he sees anyone he knows. He exhales as he sinks back into the couch. Racing feels both like a minute ago and a lifetime away. He had done it for so long that, no matter how much time passed, it was always there in his rearview mirror, looming like a mountain.

Sometimes he thinks about going back, hoping to ease the ache that settled in him when he walked away. But he knows better. It is not the racing he misses. It’s someone.

He still can’t make sense of it. They were teammates once, competitors more than friends. They were never meant to be friends; their fathers had ensured that. And yet, their last season together, what happened between them, hurt Carlos in a way that went beyond rivalry, beyond anything he had the words for.

He couldn’t stand being apart when the ripples of Marko’s decision reached the garage, but he couldn’t bear to look at him either. The hallways stretched like endless miles between them, though they were only a meter apart. The ache of distance became something like punishment, a lesson to himself for believing it was ever more than what it was.

Now the ache is constant. What was once a punishment has become a quiet reminder, a wound refusing to close.

–

He travels for a while after he leaves. Goes around Asia with friends. When he throws up daily because the ache has become all-consuming, they assume it’s food poisoning.

Through Europe, he smiles and flirts with the people his friends expect him to. He mimes and pretends his way across the continent.

In Brazil, they laugh when an old woman on the beach grabs his arm. Her fingers, knotted with age, tighten around his wrist, surprising him with their strength. Her voice low, reverent.

"You are a halved soul, niño. Keep running, and the fates will find you first."

Her breath smells of salt and something sweet. Her eyes, too knowing, too sharp, hold him in place. The words settle like heat in his chest, lingering long after she releases him. He stumbles back when she lets go, feeling found in a place where he thought he was hidden. 

That night, when his friends head to the street party, he stays behind, feigning sickness. He lies back on the grass by the outdoor pool, gazing at the moon, turning her words over in his head.

A halved soul.

He wonders if he should believe it. If it could explain why the pain in his chest has never faded, why it settled there the day he walked away.

If he’s right about who holds his other half.

Carlos no longer races and Max is a world championship contender.

Their worlds are apart now. However brief their time together was, it’s over.

He tells himself that’s how it will continue to be. And the ache will dull, eventually. He almost believes it.

__

He’s in Mallorca, at a beach club, when he feels it.

It starts as a flicker, a shift in the air, a pull deep in his chest. A familiar sensation he has spent the last year and a half trying to ignore. He grips his beer and takes a slow sip, anything to stop himself from looking around. There is only one reason his body would sing into awareness like this after so long.

He keeps his eyes on the bottles lined up behind the bar, reading each label like they might tell him something new. Anything to keep himself still. Anything to keep his hands from trembling.

Then it happens again. The weight of someone standing behind him. The quiet charge of familiarity pressing into his skin.

Carlos exhales, but it does nothing to steady him. His body betrays him, muscles tensing like a wire pulled too tight. He tells himself not to turn too quickly, not to give himself away, not to hope.

And then, the one thing he has both denied and craved for months.

“Carlos.”

His name, said like a confession.

Carlos shuts his eyes for half a second, as if that might stop this from happening. As if he can erase the shudder that runs through him at the sound. Exhaling, he sets his beer down carefully, needing control over something, anything, and turns.

“Max.”

It's the first time he's said his name aloud in months, and he wishes it tasted bitter on his tongue. But all he tastes is relief.

It has been almost a year and a half since he last saw him in person and not through a TV screen. A year and a half since they stood face to face. Yet somehow, it’s like no time at all. Carlos takes him in, the sharper edges of his face and the broader set of his shoulders. He looks different, older, heavier with something Carlos doesn't name.

He swallows hard, a lump forming in his throat. The ache stilling for once.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Max says. His voice is quieter than Carlos remembers.

Carlos shrugs, his gaze flicking away. “My family owns a home here.”

He catches the subtle shuffle of Max’s feet. When Carlos finally looks up, he sees Max glance at the bar, then back at him, like he's unsure of his next move. It's strange on him. Max has never been unsure, never hesitant.

And yet, here he is, standing in front of Carlos like he does not know what to do with himself.

“Where did you go?” Max finally asks.

“Away. I don’t think I was quite cut out for racing.” Carlos chuckles, a hollow sound.

He wonders if this is real. If his mind has finally cracked under the weight of missing him. If this is what the old woman meant when she spoke of fate intervening, to drive him mad.

Max watches him, the weight of his stare heavier than Carlos remembers. Maybe he had forgotten what it felt like to be seen by Max like this, like he could peel him apart with nothing but silence.

Carlos clears his throat, reaching for his beer again just to have something to do with his hands. He takes a sip, but it tastes off now, bitter in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

“I thought you loved it,” Max says eventually.

Carlos looks away, out toward the beach where the sun is bleeding into the horizon. The sky is pink and orange, waves rolling in slow.

“Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “When I was young.”

Max tilts his head, considering, measuring the words like he always does, needing to understand before he can accept. Carlos used to find that look infuriating. Now, he just feels tired.

“I asked about you,” Max says, softer this time.

Carlos looks at him then, his chest tightening, something flickering in his eyes. “Seriously?”

Max nods. “Every race.”

Something tightens in Carlos’s chest and stays. He doesn’t know what to do with Max's admission.

He doesn’t know what to do with Max standing in front of him, talking like this, looking at him like this. Like it wasn’t only Carlos who lived with this ache. Like it is their first season all over again, like nothing has changed.

But everything has.

“Why?” Carlos asks, barely above a whisper.

Max opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it again. His fingers twitch at his sides, as if he is resisting the urge to reach for something.

For Carlos.

Carlos swallows, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Max exhales, glancing at the bar, then back at him. His voice is careful now, deliberate. “But I miss you.”

Carlos looks down, fingers pressing into the wood of his stool. The words take a second to settle, to root in his chest. Me too, he wants to say.

Instead, he doesn’t look up when he answers, his voice quiet, frayed. “How long are you here?”

“A week,” Max replies. “Maybe more, it’s summer break.” His eyes are open, searching.

Carlos meets his gaze, letting the words sink in.

“Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll see you then.”

He slides off the stool, and for a moment, he and Max are a hair’s breadth from each other. The air between them hums with something unspoken, some invisible thing.

“I’ll find you,” Max replies, blue eyes bright with a joke only he knows.

Carlos hums before taking slow, certain steps away. He makes his way down the beach toward home, the sand cool beneath his feet and the tide rolling in steady.

For the first time in months, he breathes easy.

—- --

True to his word, Max finds him. They move through the market in easy silence. Both know there is no need for words, not yet.

Carlos drifts from vendor to vendor, inspecting produce with practiced ease, while Max lingers beside him, arms steadily filling with his growing purchases.

The sun rises higher, warming their skin past the pleasant balm of morning. When the weight in Max’s arms grows substantial, Carlos finally decides he has everything he needs for the week and steers them toward his car.

“They only have a market on Saturday mornings, so I buy everything ahead,” Carlos explains, the first words either of them have spoken all morning.

Max hums in acknowledgment, shifting the bags in his arms. “I get that, but you bought four kilos of tomatoes, Carlos. Will you really finish that in a week?”

His tone is light, teasing. Carlos huffs, shaking his head as he unlocks the car.

“It’s summer! I can make Gazpacho as much as I want.” Carlos says. 

“Perfect, my favourite.” Max replies cheekily. 

Carlos meets his eyes as he opens the trunk. Max’s eyes are almost teal in the sunlight, scrunched from the big smile on his face. Carlos can’t help it, he smiles in return.

Easy.

—- ----

As he and Max carry in the groceries. He puts them away as Max follows him and does the same with the bags he has. They move in easy silence around each other. 

Carlos wonders why he ever thought it’d be any different. 

He sets up a pot of water to boil, as he readies some tomatoes to go in. He gets his ice bath ready, moving quietly around the kitchen as Max stands nearby watching him work. 

“You’re actually making it?” Max teases.

“Well, I was going to make it for myself anyway, unless you don’t want any?” Carlos teases back, an eyebrow arched in question.

“I’d love some. Might even have the whole pot to myself,” Max responds, matching his response a cheeky smile joining his words.

— -------

The morning blends into the afternoon, and soon, the evening. Seamlessly, their days pass by, one after the other, orbiting each other.

Carlos slices fruit under the afternoon sun, Max leaning against the counter, flipping through an old recipe book he has no real interest in. Later, they drift through the water, lazy strokes cutting through the heat, shoulders brushing with every turn. By dusk, Sangria in hand, they stretch out on the grass, the sky dimming to violet as the island breathes around them.

Days so simple.

For the first time since they met, they live outside the long shadows of their fathers.

Carlos thinks about that. About how easy it is. Being around Max is simple in a way nothing else has ever been. There is no pretense of being someone he is not. No pressure to perform.

It makes a part of him wonder how many more days like this they can have.

Max will be here for the rest of the break. Carlos knows that much.

But when the market closes for the fall, when the summer fruit is gone, and the sand cools beneath their feet at night, will Max still be here? Or will Mallorca become just another memory, its warmth fading like the last light of the season?

Or maybe he’ll stay. And they’ll see if the distance between them can stretch without breaking, if they can keep orbiting each other, held by the same quiet pull.

He lies back on the grass, his Sangria finished long ago. He folds his hands on his stomach and turns to look at Max.

Reclined back, face bathed in moonlight, Max looks weightless. The heavy set of his shoulders from the beach club seems lighter now.

Carlos wonders if the same ache he carried in his chest is one that weighed down Max’s shoulders.

As if he can hear Carlos’s thoughts, Max lays back as well until they are gazing at each other.

“You’re thinking again,” Max says, a hint of amusement in his voice, but his eyes are soft.

Carlos exhales, a shy, small smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, but I am always thinking,” he admits.

Max hums, as though he already knew that. “What is it this time?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

Carlos shrugs, looking up at the sky instead of Max. “Nothing,” he says, but it’s not quite the truth.

Max watches him for a moment, then shifts closer, propping himself up on one elbow. “Liar.”

Carlos huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s stupid.”

Max nudges his arm, light and teasing. “So, how will I know if it’s really stupid if you don’t share it with me?”

Carlos glances at him, and for a second, he thinks about saying it out loud. About telling Max that this—today, tonight, all of it—feels like something he wants to hold onto. That he’s not sure how many days like this they can have, but he knows he wants more.

Instead, he just sighs, rolling onto his side to face Max properly. His affection colors his gaze as he looks at him.

“You can’t tease me. I’m older than you,” Carlos settles on instead.

Max grins, lazy and knowing. “Yeah. But then I’d be bored while you’re in your head, thinking.”

Carlos doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. He huffs, moving his hand to meet Max’s where it rests between them, then says, “Fine, I’ll think about telling you them later. Better?”

Max laughs, head thrown back, the sound warming the air between them, filling it with something comfortable and sweet. He pulls Carlos closer by the hand, a subtle tug that feels more like an invitation than a movement. The cicadas hum along with him, the sea murmurs in the distance, and Mallorca surrounds them like a precious bloom, unfolding slowly.

——- 

In the last few days before Max’s break is over, they spend their evenings out more, seeing the friends Max came on vacation with.

They’re back at the same beach bar where they met all those days ago, cheeks warm from the drinks the group has steadily consumed since sunset. It’s his last night here, and Carlos feels put out, sad that this might be the last time he sees Max for a long while. He tries to think of anything else, knowing how easily Max reads him, especially after all the time they’ve spent together this week and a half.

But when he brings his attention back to the table, he can feel Max’s gaze on him, steady and knowing. It’s like always, a comforting blanket over his loud mind.

When Carlos meets his eyes, Max quirks a smile and nods toward the beach, a silent question. 

Carlos smiles and nods, getting up.

The sand crunches beneath their feet, leaving faint footprints along the shore. The waves lap at their ankles, and the moon, big and bright, lights their steps. They walk quietly side by side for a while, neither knowing how to break the silence.

Carlos’s mind swirls with a repeating mantra of I’ll miss you, miss you, miss you. From the way Max’s brow is slightly furrowed, he thinks Max’s thoughts aren’t any different.

So Carlos breaks it, thinks he’ll answer the confession Max uttered that first day with one of his own.

“Me too,” he says softly.

Max turns to look at him, his lips quirking with amusement. “Me too, what, Carlito?”

Carlos laughs, shaking his head before his gaze drops to the sand. “I missed you too. And I’ll miss you when you go.” His eyes find Max’s as he says the last part.

“I’m only going back to the season, Carlos. This doesn’t have to be goodbye. I don’t want it to be.” Max’s voice is soft, but there’s a quiet conviction in his words.

They’ve stopped walking now. Carlos digs his toes into the cool sand, scrunching it absentmindedly. He feels like he should be the one saying this, the older one, acting like it, but it’s Max who always seems to have the right words. Words that make Carlos feel like he fits in his own skin.

He feels Max’s palm on his cheek, guiding him to look at him. The days they’ve spent together have drawn their bodies closer. Knees bumping under the table, fingers brushing the curve of Carlos’s wrist as he takes a plate, a warm palm on the small of his back as Max passes. But they’ve never crossed the boundary of subtle affection. It simmers though, and Carlos feels it spill over now as he wishes for something more. 

Carlos thinks his eyes must look pleading because Max’s own are open, worried.

“We don’t have to meet at the paddock, Carlos. It can be anywhere else,” Max says.

Carlos’s head buzzes with the pressure of wanting Max to kiss him and the unanswered question of why Max knows his worries like his own, how he can read his mind like it’s his own. Max’s hand brushes through Carlos’s hair, making him shiver.

A halved soul. 

Carlos’s own hand goes to where Max’s is cradling his face again. “Anywhere? Even China, Maxie?” he jokes, trying to calm his racing mind.

“You don’t have to miss me for more than a week if you choose, Carlos.”

He turns his face into Max’s palm, whispering his answer, shy to say it aloud. “Okay, only a week, Max.” His smile lingers as he finishes.

Max’s response is to pull him close, closer than they’ve been all week long, breaths mingling and soft puffs of warmth brushing each other's faces.

Carlos’s eyes drop to Max’s lips before flicking back up to meet his gaze. Max’s thumb strokes the corner of his eye, brushing against his eyelashes, the touch so light it makes him sigh.

Carlos leans in, the warmth of Max’s breath steady against his skin. The days they’ve spent together linger between them, every glance and touch catching up to this moment.

“Max,” Carlos whispers. Silently pleads, as the words a halved soul circle around, hold me, console me, complete me. 

Max kisses him, gentle and certain. His hand stays on Carlos’s face, grounding him. Carlos’s fingers curl at Max’s waist, holding him close. The waves lap softly at their feet, the night air thick with salt and warmth.

When they part, Max stays close, their foreheads brushing. Neither of them speaks, but Carlos feels the promise settle between them.

“A week,” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Max’s eyes soften. “Only.”

[lw77]

Over and Over (MV x CS)

Chapter 4. Reckless

As Max watches his shrinking figure and wonders if they were right. That he is dangerous and reckless.

When Max clipped Grosjean in Monaco, the drivers stopped calling him reckless and started branding him as dangerous. Then came the press conference afterward, where his frustration seemed to build with each passing question about his integrity.

It was Carlos who pulled him aside in a, for once, deserted garage. "It’s okay, Max. You’re young and fast, and you want to go faster. They’re just scared," he said calmly, his hand a steady warmth around Max’s wrist.

Max nodded because he knew Carlos was the only one in the paddock who didn’t see the reckless danger everyone else saw in him.

"Good," Carlos said before releasing his wrist.

And when Max finished fourth in Hungary, his father berating him, cock-eyed with frustration over being a "fourth-place loser," it was Carlos who softly clapped him on the shoulder in the privacy of a hallway. His brown eyes were warm and bright.

"You did so well, Max," he said, voice soft.

And when he finished fourth again, despite the noise surrounding his last fourth-place finish—whether it was a fluke or a sign—his father, the press, and the other drivers were still the same.

It was Carlos again, outside the meeting room, eyes warm and kind as he clasped Max’s neck in quiet congratulations. Max’s skin sang with bliss where Carlos’s palm met it. He couldn’t help it. His hand went to Carlos’s waist as the other kept Carlos’s hand pressed to his neck.

"See? You’re not dangerous. You’re just faster. You’re going to get a podium soon, Max," Carlos murmured into the closing distance between them.

Max softened at the warmth Carlos carried for him. He wondered if he closed the gap between them, would Carlos finally meet him there?

Before he could, the door to the meeting room swung open. Carlos jumped back as they were hurried inside.

At the end of the year, when Max took home three awards, Toro Rosso hosted a celebration. As the team toasted to Max’s action-packed rookie year, it was Carlos’ eyes he caught in the crowd, shining with warmth as he raised his glass.

Later, when both their fathers were gone and the crowd no longer divided them, Max found his way to Carlos the way he always did.

Carlos stood among a few of his engineers, eyes bright and cheeks warm with alcohol. As Max approached, Carlos pinpointed him with ease, his smile growing. The engineers dispersed, not wanting to disrupt the two drivers.

"Thank you, Carlos. For always seeing me when no one else would. I know my driving isn’t the perfect, pleasant cookie-cutter whatever-the-fuck they want. But I’m not purposefully..."

He trailed off, looking into Carlos’s eyes.

"Dangerous?" Carlos finished for him.

"I can’t help it, Max. We share a garage. I see your dedication. I see the push and pressure put on you," Carlos said. By your father, goes unsaid.

In the small alcove of the party, Max wondered if Carlos noticed how he seemed to imperceptibly move closer to Max. 

Just as Max found his way to Carlos, it was Carlos who closed the gap.

"Still, I know I’m not the easiest teammate to have," Max pressed on, eyes raking over Carlos’s face. He knew all the things said about him were nothing compared to what Carlos faced, weekend in, weekend out.

Carlos’s face tightened before filling with mirth. "Maybe it’s just me, but it was a pleasure," he replied. A callback to Max’s own words outside the hallway all those months ago.

It made Max laugh, made him heady with the knowledge that Carlos remembered him so well. "Does that mean we figured it out?" he asked, searching his eyes, waiting for Carlos to close that last gap.

"Maybe," was all Max got before Carlos was called away by his cousin.

—-- 

And in Australia, even when Max lived up to his nickname, it was Carlos outside the briefing who patted him on the shoulder.

“We did well, Max,” he said, even after defending Max’s rear-end hit.

As the weekends passed, Marko and his father’s meetings grew more frequent and longer. Max wondered if Carlos would still have such kind words for him if he knew what was being planned.

Soon, the decision his father and Marko had made began to take shape in the garage. With each miscommunication and every excuse about his side ignoring team orders, Max saw how Carlos withdrew. His words became fewer, his smile faded, and his warmth disappeared as he wound tighter and tighter within himself.

So when Sochi happened and he was let out early in Q2, the paddock buzzed with speculation. Max, prioritized by Helmut. Red Bull move confirmed.

But all Max could do was watch as Carlos walked to his motorhome, helmet firmly on.

When he finally caught Carlos alone before their briefing, he saw how defeated he looked. His eyes were rimmed red, his lips bitten raw as he turned his blank gaze to Max.

“I cheer for you, Max, but what you and your father did was unfair. I know I am not a hunter, but this decision should have been shared,” he said, his voice cracking.

“It was not my decision, Carlos. You know I did not want to hurt you.”

“You were always going to move up, but why did you have to do it this way? You could have told me. I would have understood.” Carlos spoke into the empty space between them, no longer looking at Max.

“My father... I did not know if I—” Max started, but Carlos cut him off with a sharp glance.

“Do you think this is easy for me? I still defend you and cheer for you despite what my father demands.” His voice had an edge now.

Carlos exhaled, shoulders sagging. “I do not know why, but I thought you would tell me. You blindsided me. I made excuses. I told myself I just had to become better. But it was planned all along.” His voice quieted by the end, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Carlos, please. You know—”

The meeting room door opened. Their names were called. Carlos walked past him without a look back.

—

That year, when Toro Rosso holds their end-of-season celebration, Carlos does not look at him. He does not raise his glass. He does not wait for his father to leave before slipping out.

Max rushes to find him before he reaches the valet.

“Carlos, wait. You don’t have to leave yet.”

Carlos shakes his head. “It’s fine, Max. I’ve got plenty more seasons here ahead.” His voice is quiet, unreadable.

Max takes a step closer. “I’m sorry for how it happened. I should have told you.”

Carlos finally looks at him, his gaze unfocused, like he is not sure what to say.

“You were faster. I wasn’t. That’s just how it goes, right?” He tries to sound indifferent, but there is something heavy in his voice, something that makes Max’s chest ache.

Even now, after everything, Carlos still meets him with quiet understanding.

Max swallows. “That’s not—” He hesitates, then says instead, “I meant what I said. It was a pleasure being your teammate.”

Carlos exhales, something flickering across his face before he gives the smallest nod.

“Goodbye, Max.” His jaw tightens around the words. His lashes wet as he turns and walks away.

Max watches his shrinking figure and wonders if they were right. That he is dangerous and reckless.

Author's Note: Listen to this as you listen please. Also sorry for the wait lifes been crazy

[lw77]

currently writing chapter 4 of over and over and omg im the one writing but why do i feel like its happening to me

[lw77]

In honour of the last GP of 2024, here’s the 2024 F1 teams as produce stickers

[lw77]

Over and Over (MV x CS)

Chapter 3. Lines

To be in step with one another is a misstep across the lines drawn by their fathers, but Carlos can't help wanting to wander.

Since the first race of the season, all anyone talks about is Max’s debut. In the media pen, among frustrated drivers, and even within the team—it’s always the same. "Mad Max," they call him, a reckless, aggravating threat to the championship contenders. Carlos wants to agree. He really does. But whenever he looks at his teammate, all the chaos and complaints fade. Instead, he sees Max bent over the data, calm and focused. Then Max glances up, meeting Carlos’s gaze with bright eyes and a small smile, and it’s hard to imagine him as the menace everyone else describes.

Carlos’s father couldn’t disagree more. His coaching is like a broken record, alternating between criticizing Max’s aggressive style and urging Carlos to copy it. Carlos knows their fathers are locked in their own competition, using their sons as proxies. He feels it in the garage, in the tense atmosphere and the invisible barrier their fathers have drawn between them.

Since testing, Carlos has barely spoken to Max. The tension between their fathers makes it feel like crossing a line just to stand near him, let alone talk.

Max, of course, doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he doesn’t care. He moves through the paddock steady and unshaken, flashing easy smiles even as the media calls him reckless or the team piles on the pressure.

Carlos watches him sometimes, when no one else is paying attention. It’s not just Max’s focus or the way he brushes off the noise. It’s the way he carries himself, like he belongs, like none of it can touch him.

There’s something comforting about it. Max never pushes, never forces anything, but the way he lingers after meetings or catches Carlos’s eye with a quick grin feels like an invitation. Like he’s saying, It’s okay.

Carlos doesn’t know why it matters so much. He only knows it’s getting harder to stay behind the lines their fathers have drawn.

This scene has a great emotional undertone and subtle tension between the characters. Here's a refined version with minor adjustments to enhance flow and clarity:

He’s waiting outside the debrief room when he feels Max nearby. It’s almost unsettling how, lately, he can sense exactly where Max is without even looking. Carlos wonders if it means something—like his mom used to say about media naranja—but he knows better. Those kinds of things don’t happen, not in this sport, and definitely not between them.

Yet, when Max settles across from him, the tension over results and strategy seems to dissolve. A strange calm washes over Carlos, and he can’t ignore how Max’s presence affects him. He finds himself checking, almost compulsively, to confirm if it’s really Max, slouched against the wall opposite him.

Carlos glances up, trying to hide his stare as his eyes meet Max’s. Max is already watching him, his gaze calm and steady, as if measuring something unspoken.

“Everything okay?” Max asks, his voice smooth, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You looked lost in thought.”

Carlos hesitates. It’s not like Max doesn’t know what’s going on. But the question feels loaded, like Max is giving him space to answer—if he wants to.

"Yeah," Carlos replies, trying to sound unaffected. "Just thinking about the race. You know how it is."

Max doesn’t respond immediately. He just watches him, his eyebrows drawn slightly, as if weighing Carlos’s words. It makes that familiar, odd pull return, the sensation that Max isn’t just looking at him as a teammate—but as if he’s seeing something else entirely.

“You always think too much,” Max says quietly, his tone teasing but gentle. “You’re overthinking it.”

Carlos feels his chest tighten. It’s like Max can see straight into his mind, knows exactly what he’s been struggling with. Max’s words hang in the air, and it makes Carlos wonder—Is it a challenge? Or an invitation?

“I’m not overthinking,” Carlos fires back, a touch defensive. But his racing heart betrays him, and deep down, he knows Max can see right through it.

Max tilts his head, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “Are you sure?”

Carlos swallows hard, feeling the weight of the question settle deep in his chest. For a moment, he wonders if they’re still talking about race strategies. He considers saying something—letting Max know that he feels him before he enters a room, before he’s even in his rearview mirror. But the words catch in his throat, tangled with the weight of the confession.

Max seems to sense the shift, a flicker passing across his face before he straightens, stepping back with a small shrug. "Maybe it’s just me," he says casually, though there’s something different in the way he’s watching Carlos now. Like he’s waiting for something.

Carlos forces himself to look away, pretending to focus on the wall behind Max. But his mind is spinning, and it feels like the weight of it all is almost too much to handle.

It’s a strange moment, one where the world feels both too big and too small at once. Carlos feels the weight of all the unasked questions, the things neither of them can say, the things that would change everything if they did.

Max doesn’t push. Instead, he offers a small, knowing smile, as if deciding the next move is Carlos’s to make. “Well,” he says, his voice quiet but steady, “I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon enough.”

And with that, Max turns and walks toward their meeting room, leaving Carlos standing there, staring at where he used to be.

[lw77]

Diet Pepsi 💈 (LSxMV)

Chapter 7 - Geritol

A little debrief after the lake.

Logan is finishing up putting the last of his clothes away in his closet when he’s interrupted by the loud sound of Alex and Oscar bursting into his room.

“Princess, your paupers have arrived,” Oscar announces with a grin.

Logan rolls his eyes and steps out of the closet, scanning his now mostly organized room. The scent of fresh laundry still lingers in the air, but Oscar and Alex bring with them the unmistakable smell of lake water and sunscreen. He glances at the two—Oscar sprawled across his bed like it’s his, hands behind his head, while Alex lies next to him, one arm dramatically thrown over his face.

“You guys come straight here from the lake house or what? Get up, you heathens. You’ve got the juicy details I need to hear, like, now.”

Alex groans from under his arm. “Ugh, I feel like I just ran a marathon.”

Oscar snorts. “Alex, senior citizens have better stamina than you. It was, what? Four rounds? Five, tops.”

Alex throws a lazy punch at Oscar’s side, who just laughs and brushes it off.

Logan, unable to hold back, jumps onto the bed and wedges himself between them. “I can’t believe it. So you four—this really happened?”

Oscar flashes a smug grin. “Oh, yeah, Logie boy. Your two old pals still got it. Although, one of us might need a little Geritol.” He pats Alex on the shoulder with mock sympathy.

Alex rolls his eyes, but Logan leans in closer, all ears. “This is wild. I seriously never would’ve guessed George and Carlos were a thing. But the four of you? Scandalous. Spill.”

Alex sighs dramatically, but there’s a tired smirk on his face. “Just look at Oscar’s neck.”

Logan’s eyes immediately widen when he spots the faint purple and blue marks on Oscar’s neck, barely hidden by his collar. Oscar blushes and quickly looks away, but it’s too late.

“Oh my god,” Logan laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Oscar, I didn’t know you had it in you… or maybe I should say they did? Honestly, I figured you’d come out with battle scars.”

Oscar groans and hides his face behind his hands. “Please don’t make it sound like it was a train or something.”

Alex chuckles and ruffles Oscar’s hair. “Oh, please. You loved it. Practically insatiable. You even begged for it.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile creeping across his face. “Robo OP, begging? Who knew you were a demanding brat in bed?”

Oscar peeks out from behind his hands, half embarrassed, half proud. “It’s brat summer and look, it just… happened, okay? George and Carlos—together? Hot. And then Alex knew exactly what I like, so he made it happen. It was just… yeah.” He trails off, shooting a glance at Alex, who’s still lounging on the bed, looking tired but satisfied.

Alex stretches and sighs. “I’m done for the year, seriously. But this one?” He points at Oscar. “Couldn’t get enough.”

Logan stifles a laugh, looking between the two of them. “You wore them out?”

Oscar’s embarrassment melts away as he shrugs, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

“Okay, fine I was celibate for like a year. Maybe I missed a little attention. What’s the big deal?”

Alex throws him a look. “A lot of attention. And yeah, everyone noticed.”

Oscar smirks. “Jealous?”

“Not even a little,” Alex groans, rolling onto his back. “Just don’t ask me to keep up with you next time. I’m pretty sure I nearly died.”

Logan shakes his head, laughing at the easy way Alex and Oscar banter. But as his laughter fades, his mind drifts to Max. There’s a quick flash of worry that hits him—what if Max doesn’t feel the same? He tries to shake it off, but it lingers for a second, and he can’t help but think out loud.

“You two are ridiculous,” Logan mutters, though his voice sounds a little softer than usual.

Oscar notices immediately, his teasing smile fading just a bit. “What’s up, Logs? Max still got you all twisted?”

Logan freezes, his cheeks flushing, but he quickly recovers with a scoff. “Nope. Not at all. He’s just... he's really god muscly and all that.”

“Oh, come on,” Alex presses, that familiar grin returning. “You’re telling me Mr. ‘See you soon, Angel’ shared a bed with you and nothing happened?” He dramatically mimics Max’s voice, throwing in an exaggerated swoon.

Logan groans and throws a pillow at him. “Shut up!”

Oscar snickers from the bed, clearly enjoying Logan’s discomfort. “It’s okay, Logan. If you won’t tell us, I’m sure Fernando will if we ask.”

Logan groans louder, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine, we did stuff. But only in the morning—not all night like you four.”

Oscar and Alex exchange a look before turning back to Logan, both giving him identical, curious stares.

“That doesn’t sound so bad. So why do you seem so…” Oscar starts, trailing off.

“Not excited,” Alex finishes.

Logan hesitates, playing with the pillow. “He’s perfect, guys. He knows everything I like, he’s exactly my type. Even his body—oh my god. But what if it’s like a one night stand thing? I mean, he’s so good, I think I’ll be too dickmatized once I get a taste, and what if it's just that? A taste!?”

Oscar props himself up on his elbow, looking at Logan like he’s the dumbest person alive. “Oh my god, Logan. It’s not like this is some one-sided crush. The dude only has eyes for you, calls you ‘Angel,’ and everyone can tell it’s you he’s into.”

Logan’s cheeks turn pink, but he can’t help but grin. “Really?”

“‘Really?’ Yes, really,” Alex repeats, mimicking Logan’s voice and throwing in an exaggerated dramatic sigh.

Logan grabs a pillow and whacks Alex with it, making him yelp. “Hey! It’s hard having a crush on someone so sexy, okay?”

Oscar, lying back with a smirk, casually adds, “Logs, you’re sexy too. Max is just… manly sexy, while you’re more twink sexy. But trust me, you’re both equally hot.”

Logan groans, burying his face in the pillow. “You guys are impossible.” After a beat, his muffled voice comes out. “Alex! I knew you joining us would bring some juicy insider info.”

Alex smirks, sitting up with a mock salute. “Of course. I’m your personal whistleblower when it comes to your loverboy, Logie.”

“Now that’s settled,” Oscar cuts in, fluttering his eyelashes. “Can you please bake us cookies while we pick movies to marathon?”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Sure, Oscar. But what’s wrong with your eyes? Need some eye drops?”

“What? No! My eyes are fine—I’m just batting my lashes to convince you,” Oscar says, deadpan.

Logan snickers. “Ohhh, well, you were doing it too fast to call it batting eyelashes. More like machine-gunning your eyes.”

Oscar shoots him a flat look. “Go make those cookies before I bring out an actual machine gun. Grandpa needs fuel.” He pats Alex’s stomach for emphasis.

Logan huffs playfully as he stands up. “Jeez, I’d hate to be the one taking care of you in a senior home.”

Oscar’s laughter follows Logan as he heads toward the kitchen. “Good luck, Logie! And don’t forget the rainbow chocolate chips. We can’t have Alex turning into Grandpa Rambo!”

From the kitchen, Logan’s muffled voice calls back, “That’s not even what Alex likes—it’s what you like, Oscar!”

Authors Note: I was stuck on how to continue this after the lake and suddenly school and work got super busy. but I realized I've been stuck for too long. So, here is a short little part before the next one!

Also also Max is now a 4 time WDC go king goooo

[lw77]

ive been working on chapter 7 of diet pepsi for sooo long and im stumped i have so many ideas but cant narrow it down. please send suggestions my way ‼️ i love u mwah 💋

[lw77]

Where'd you go bestie?????????

Started school and new job 😳 I’m coming back though, promise 🤍🎀

[lw77]

just realized Carlos Sainz is basically completing the RB colours with every team he’s joined

RB colours blue, yellow and red

Yellow - Renault

Red - Ferrari

Blue - Williams

Am I connecting dots or straight up being crazy 🫣

[lw77]

Diet Pepsi 💈 (LSxMV)

Chapter 6. - Special Friend

Logan gets a ride home from Max and finds out there's a ghost haunting his house.

Before long, the kitchen fills with more people. Logan nurses the espresso Max made for him as he watches everyone blearily make their way in. When the crowd starts gathering around the island, he feels his stool being pulled and sees Max give him a lazy smile over his espresso cup, drawing him closer to where he stands. Once he’s pressed into Max’s side, Logan tilts his head in question.

“Do you need a ride home, Angel?” Max asks, leaning down slightly.

“No, I think I’m going with Alex and Os—” He turns to point where he last saw them leaning into each other, only to realize they’re no longer there. “Wait, where'd they go? Max, oh my god, they were just here a second ago!” He turns his head around to see if those two somehow ended up behind him, but they have really disappeared.

Max chuckles. “I guess I’m driving you home, Angel. Want to grab your stuff while I try to find Danny to say goodbye?”

Logan grimaces when he realizes his bag is still with Oscar. “Uh, sure, but my bag’s with Oscar.” Dropping his voice to a whisper, he tugs Max down. “You don’t think they’re all in the room, do you? Oh my god, what if that’s why they disappeared—those horn dogs.” Both he and Max scan the kitchen for Carlos and George, only to discover they have also vanished.

They both spot a grinning Fernando, who beams when he sees they realize who exactly is missing in action. “I can’t lie, Angel. I didn’t think they would go for a repeat so soon.”

Logan pats Max’s chest. “Me too, but why do I feel like Fernando definitely knew they would?”

Max holds the hands that were patting his chest and uses them to pull Logan off the stool. “I don’t know, Angel, but it’s his thing.”

Logan thinks back to the night before when Fernando orchestrated the whole room allocation. “Yeah, his thing,” he repeats sceptically as he follows Max out of the kitchen.

When they reach the hallway leading to the rooms, Logan isn’t sure if he wants to walk in on whatever scene those four are making—or not making. “You know, I think I’ll just shoot Oscar a text to bring my bag whenever he leaves,” he tells Max.

Max laughs at his trepidation. “Okay, Angel. Let’s go get whatever we need from our room. We can go find Danny afterward if he’s awake, and then I’ll take you home.”

As Max packs up his swim shorts and other items, Danny walks into their room.

“Good morning, lovebirds!” he exclaims before unceremoniously falling face-first into the bed. A few moments later, he adds, “Oh god, it smells like eau de cum in here. Jesus, did you guys just have sex or something? On these sheets that I just buried my head in?!”

“Technically, we didn’t,” Logan says.

“Didn’t have sex on the sheets? Don’t lie to me; it smells funky.” Danny snaps back.

“Well, we didn’t have sex, right, Maxie?” Logan continues happily. For some reason, teasing Danny is as enjoyable as telling his annoying cousin that Santa Claus isn't real.

“Yes, Angel.”

“See? It must be your own breath or something, Danny.” Logan says innocently, making Danny jump up as he breathes into his palm to test it.

“Whatever, I know you guys did something. It’s not only my Nonna who has a sixth sense for these things; I do too, Logieboy, so I’ll let it slide.” Danny attempts to sound menacing but looks a little worse for wear after the brief gaslighting session Logan led.

“Alright, we’re gonna head out. If you need anything, give me a call, Danny,” Max says, clapping Danny on the back before pulling him into a brief hug.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Maxie pad! Just take our little Logiebear home safe and sound. And make sure you don’t throw your back out, because we need all hands on deck for the job on Monday!” Danny finishes with a 100-watt grin.

Rolling his eyes at his best friend’s antics, Max shakes his head and waves as they head to the front door together. Logan, on the other hand, scowls at Danny before scrunching his face in faux disgust and fanning the air in front of him for added effect, as if Danny’s breath really does smell. When Danny catches on, he quickly tests his breath again.

“Goodbye, Danny! Don’t choke on your toothbrush!” Logan calls out with a laugh as he skips out the door, leaving Danny still testing his breath.

Shaking his head, Max opens the passenger door for Logan. “Hop in, Angel,” he says in that familiar, easy tone.

Logan gives a small smile before sliding in. The click of his seatbelt fills the brief silence as Max walks around to the driver’s side, settling in and starting the truck. They pull out of the driveway, the morning quiet around them.

“You’ll need to give me directions, Angel,” Max says, his voice calm. “Unless you want me to take you to your dad’s store—or mine,” he adds with a teasing grin, his eyes flicking briefly over to Logan.

Logan turns, catching that playful glint in Max’s eyes. “You want me in your bed again so soon, Maxie?” he teases back.

Max chuckles, his hand brushing through Logan’s hair before trailing down to rest on his thigh, his touch firm yet soft. “Well, when you ask so nicely,” Max replies, his voice low and warm, eyes on the road but a smile playing on his lips.

Rolling his eyes, Logan places his hand over Max's before he directs him to his house. The cab of the truck fills with a languid peace as they navigate through the morning traffic, lulling Logan into a brief nap.

The truck shutting off jolts him awake, and he blinks, realizing they’ve arrived outside his house. He looks back at Max, a small pout on his lips when he realizes he slept through most of the drive.

“What’s wrong, Angel? Is this not the right address?” Max questions, his tone playful.

Shaking his head, Logan replies, “It is. Guess I’ll see you on Monday?” His voice carries a hint of disappointment at having to part.

Chuckling, Max’s hand comes to cradle the side of Logan’s face, his thumb brushing where Logan’s lip juts out. “We can go to mine, Angel. We don’t have to do anything either. Just sit and look pretty for me while I work on some of our projects. You like that?”

Logan leans his head into Max’s hand, feeling comforted its not just him disappointed at their goodbye. “As much as I’d love to, I think I need to go give a sign of life to my parents so they know I didn’t drown. But… I’d love to do that another time?” He raises his eyes to Max’s shyly.

Brushing his thumb along Logan’s cheekbone, Max smiles softly. “Of course, Angel.” He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the spot where his thumb rested. 

When Max pulls back, Logan instinctively shifts forward, his lips catching Max’s in a brief, sweet kiss. Leaning closer over the cab of the truck, he brings his hands to clutch the back of Max’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair, trying to pull him in closer. The warmth radiating from their bodies fills the space between them, heating up the cab, it makes Logan's pulse quicken.

Max kisses Logan back, the sweetness quickly transforming into something deeper, more urgent. Their lips moving together, soft and hungry, as both try to pull the other closer. Max’s hands slide down Logan’s sides, fingers grazing over his jeans, teasingly tugging at the loops as if to pull him into his lap.

The pressure of the tug makes Logan gasp, his breath hitching in his throat, a sweet, intoxicating sound that Max eagerly swallows down. He breaks away just enough to catch Logan’s gaze—those eyes now dark with desire and edged with frustration—as a wayward smile dances on his lips.

"Why'd you stop?" Logan whines, his disappointment palpable as he paws at Max, hands desperate, trying to pull him back in, the need for more clear in every touch.

“Can’t take care of you here, Angel. I don’t want to send you home to your parents like that, now do we?” Max placates, despite his teasing words.

Groaning, Logan replies, “Ugh, I change my mind. Let’s go to yours, Maxie. I’ll send my parents a text.” 

Max laughs softly. “Angel, I think it’s too late for that. We’ve been out here long enough that I’m pretty sure your parents are looking through the windows at us—yeah, there it is.” 

Logan looks outside to see the living room curtain suddenly close shut. 

“Oh my god,” he exclaims, mortified.

Still chuckling, Max says, “It’s kind of funny.”

“It’s mortifying,” Logan shoots back. With one last peck to Max’s lips, he twists to open his door. 

“I’ll see you soon, alright, Angel?” Max’s voice is gentle yet firm.

Logan nods, his heart fluttering as he steps out into the cool morning air. “Yeah, soon,” he echoes, taking a moment to glance back at Max, who watches him with a smile that sends warmth flooding through him.

When the front door shuts, Logan hears Max’s engine turn on, followed by the familiar sounds of him driving off.

Soon, he hears his mom call out unconvincingly, “Logan, is that you, hun?” as she rounds the foyer.

“Yeah, Mom! Didn’t you see when you and Dad were peeking out the window?” Logan calls out, easily calling their bluff.

He hears his dad yell from the kitchen, “The living room is just drafty, son! That has nothing to do with us!”

Nodding at her husband’s words, Logan’s mom agrees, brushing her arms in a ‘so cold’ gesture. “Your father’s right, hun. That was definitely not us. It might even be a ghost, you know? Grammie did like those curtains quite a lot, probably her spirit” she adds, continuing her unconvincing act. “Now come on, I made some pancakes.” Her tone brooks no argument, silencing any further protests Logan might have had about their excuses.

Following his mom into the kitchen, Logan sees his dad wearing a knowing smile. “So, how was the lake house? Did you boys have fun?”

“Yeah, it was good. Danny had jet skis, so Oscar and Alex were on those all day,” Logan replies, trying to keep it casual.

“And any special friends made there?” His dad quickly follows up, eyebrows waggling playfully.

“Yeah, honey, did you make any special friends?” his mom echoes, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“Okay, you guys keep emphasizing ‘special’ like I make imaginary friends or something. It’s getting weird. Is there a question ‘Grammie’ might have since she moved the curtains so much?” Logan asks, giving his parents a knowing look.

Clapping her hands in delight, his mom is quick to respond, “Oh yes! She said it’s a shame that kind young man who drove you home didn’t come in for her famous pancake recipe.”

“Seriously?” Logan raises an eyebrow, incredulous.

“Logan, this isn’t your mother and I, but Grammie. We are merely her messengers. So please don’t skip any details,” his dad explains, suppressing a grin and failing to keep a straight face.

Logan sighs, feeling the weight of his parents’ curiosity pressing down on him. He doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed or annoyed.

“His name is Max. We spent time together, and he offered me a ride home,” Logan mutters.

His dad springs up. “Max? Our regular Max? The one who called you ‘Angel’ last time?”

His mom gasps dramatically. “Someone flirted with our son, called him ‘Angel,’ and you’re just telling me this now?”

Logan groans, “Can we drop it, please? You wanted some details, and I gave them.”

“Sweetheart, I was going to tell you! He’s the one from Ricc&Co we thought we had to hire to finally get him into Logan’s bedroom. You should’ve seen him in the store—he only had eyes for Logan,” his dad interjects.

“Whatever,” Logan retorts, trying to hide the smile creeping onto his face. “Can I just eat my pancakes in peace?”

“Only if you tell us more about this Max! Your dad saw you flirt; I only saw—” his mom insists, a mischievous glint in her eye before it widens as she realizes something.

“You mean Grammie saw? Anyway, you’ll see him, Mom, just come to the store and watch like Dad does” he concedes, finally cracking a smile as he digs into the stack of pancakes.

Authors Note: I didn't forget this story! I know this is short but the next chapter will be loooooong <3

[lw77]

Over and Over (MV x CS)

Chapter 2. Do you know?

Max has always known, he wonders does Carlos know too?

It’s late February, with a typical seaside chill in the air, but nothing compares to the cold atmosphere surrounding Toro Rosso’s newest driver. Max can feel it—the skepticism. He’s not even eighteen yet, and he understands why. If it weren’t for his ability to drag that shitbox of a car to pole more times than it deserved in F3, maybe it would get to him. So, he stands tall—awkwardly, as any seventeen-year-old would—no choice, really, with the shadow of his father constantly looming behind him, ready to steer him like the cherished project he’s become.

But Max doesn’t care, not about the yelling, the spittle, or whatever his father has thrown at him through karting, the feeder series, and now here. He loves racing—he’s good at it—and driving a car to its limit feels almost effortless. Yet, that’s not what excites him now—not even the STR10 his father has been endlessly droning on about, going over the changes and improvements from last year to suit Max’s driving style.

None of it matters. Not the relentless coaching or the advice he barely listens to anymore, nodding only to keep his father off his back. Because Max knows what's waiting for him on the other side. He’s always been aware of it—the other half of himself, walking somewhere in the world, always nearby, ever since his consciousness first blinked into being. He’s carried this deep knowing that he’s following someone else’s tracks, trying to find them. He’s sensed them, at times, throughout his life, enough to know who it is. But he’s never been sure whether they felt it too.

Now, though, they’re teammates.

With each step Max takes toward their garage, he can’t help but wonder how they’ll react to the bond. Will there be that soulmate spark like in the movies—two magnets snapping together—or will they embrace, unable to let go, like in the books Victoria reads? There’s a heady thrill in knowing what awaits him: his soulmate. His boyish excitement is obvious, and he quickens his pace. His father, mistaking his urgency, comments on how much he likes Max’s sudden enthusiasm for seeing the car.

Finally, Max rounds the garage, stepping inside with little fanfare, enduring the slaps on his back while his father takes charge, gloating on his behalf. Max is distracted, his attention fixed on one person. He moves toward him: Carlos, deep in thought, his gaze distant as he listens to his father speak. Max wonders idly if overbearing fathers come with the soulmate package in this life, because whatever Carlos is hearing is making his shoulders rise higher and higher until they’re nearly at his ears.

Suddenly, Carlos turns toward him. Max notices the shift—the way Carlos’s lost stare sharpens in recognition, then something more. They lock eyes, and Max watches as the tension in Carlos’s shoulders eases, a wave of calm settling over him. Carlos’s cheeks and nose are flushed red, but they hold each other’s gaze. When Max continues forward, he sees Carlos’s body sway slightly in his direction.

“Hi, Max.” Max extends his hand for a handshake, aware of all the eyes on them in the garage, especially their fathers’.

“Hello, Max, I’m Carlos,” comes the belated introduction as Carlos clasps his hand. A sense of peace, bliss, and home hums where their palms meet, fingers curling together.

“Nice to finally meet you, Carlos,” Max replies, a smile breaking across his face. Carlos feels warm, alive, and Max can’t help but zero in on the space where they stand. For a moment, he’s pulled into the past, catching a glimpse of another meeting where he kissed this same hand, centuries ago—names and places lost to time. Then, he’s back in the garage, squeezing Carlos’s hand to confirm the present. Max wonders if Carlos remembers too, if he saw the same vision, because Carlos wears that same sweet smile he gave Max all those years ago.

Just then, a hand claps onto each of their shoulders—their fathers. Carlos tries to pull away from their prolonged handshake, but Max holds on, letting their palms slide apart slowly, fingers tangling one last time before he steps back.

“I see you boys have met already. Sainz, how are you?” Jos asks, failing to hide his smug smile as he claps Max, his prized trophy, on the shoulder.

“Good, good. Winning championships, you know, Jos?” Sainz Sr. replies, a jeering smile of his own, making Max’s father scowl.

While their fathers posture, Max keeps his gaze locked on Carlos, and Carlos on him. Max wants to reach out again, every part of him alive with the pull of their connection. A deeper part of him aches to hold Carlos against his chest, to feel the softness of his hair and the stubble he’s growing in this life. He wants to walk, sit, run, dance—whatever Carlos desires—by his side. He wants to ask, Do you remember? Do you know? Are you happy? Did you dream of me like I dreamed of you? I’ve been waiting… waiting for so long. Were you waiting for me too?

He snaps out of it when he sees Carlos being steered away toward his engineers by his father. Max’s own dad is angrily muttering under his breath about something Sainz Sr. said, but Max doesn’t care. All that matters is the small glance Carlos gives over his shoulder, like he can’t bear to look away either. And with that, something settles deep within Max— you were waiting too .

[lw77]

Over and Over (MV x CS)

In this life or the next, Max is determined to keep meeting Carlos, over and over, to follow his tethered half as long as he'll have him.

Carlos thought back to something Max once said. “We’re soulmates. In our last life, you left me too soon, so I followed. That’s why you’re older now, and I’m younger.” Max had said it so plainly, as if it were absolute truth, sensing the hesitation Carlos never voiced. Every time Carlos felt the tight knot of anxiety form—realising it was Max’s arms he ran to, Max’s hands he clung to, and Max’s gaze that steadied him—those words unravelled the tension.

It was a softness for Max that made his father seethe, a trait he had tried to discipline out of Carlos his whole life. But when his soul was so tightly tethered to Max, pretending otherwise felt impossible.

He thinks back to that now. They're in Barcelona for testing, his home track—the place where Carlos first met Max and where he last sat in a Formula 1 car. Standing at the edge of the track, the sun high and bright, it beats down on Carlos’s back as he watches Max slip into the cockpit. The engines roar to life, and a familiar ache tightens in Carlos’s chest—a mix of pride and something deeper.

The last time he was here, he had stayed in the cockpit, helmet firmly on and head bowed. It was then that he realized he didn’t want to do it anymore. He had only ever stayed for the friends, then because his father wanted him to, and finally because it was the only place their fathers had no choice but to let them meet—bound by teams, contracts, and duties that served as a mask. He had never been the hunter his father wished him to be, never became the driver his father pushed him to be. Too soft. Always too soft to hold any shape his father pressed into him.

He wonders now if he ever truly accepted his dad pushing him into karts because some part of him knew it would lead him to Max. Was it all just fate’s twisted way of bringing them together? How cruel fate was, Carlos sneers, to let him break over and over as his father tried to shape him into someone he wasn’t meant to be. He gave years to the sport—to his father, only for them to chew him up. At least he managed to spit himself out before they could.

Back in the garage, Max prepares for the track, his eyes set with determination. The fluorescent lights cast a soft glow, a halo around him—the same Max who followed Carlos into F1 at seventeen because he always knew what they were.

As if feeling the weight of Carlos’s thoughts, Max’s gaze finds his, and when their eyes meet, he presses a kiss through his helmet to his index finger—I carry you with me.

—----

He’s leaning against the garage, waiting for Max to join him.

"Do you ever wonder if we really lived other lives?" The thought that they've been in each other's orbit far longer than they can imagine—that they've met as soulmates each time—goes unsaid as Carlos murmurs, his words barely audible above the cacophony. But then he remembers the weight of Max's gaze—how it anchors him and makes him feel like he belongs to something bigger than himself. He recalls how at peace he feels in Max's presence, how his heart slowed into a summer calm the first time they met, as if it recognized, before Carlos did, that he was whole. Carlos can't imagine a life without it; he can't envision his soul in any universe not being halved so Max can piece it together.

“Every day,” Max replies, his voice cutting through the noise as he emerges from the garage, wiping sweat from his brow. “I think about all the times we’ve found each other. It’s like we’re destined to collide, over and over.”

Carlos turns, a faint smile easing the tightness in his chest. “Maybe that’s why I can’t let go. No matter how hard I try, amor.” Leaning back against the cool garage, something stirs in his chest—something heavy and unspoken. He tilts his head, feigning confidence, but Max sees through it.

Grinning, Max steps closer, his eyes softening as he cups Carlos’s cheek in his hand, his touch both familiar and grounding. It’s as if he knows what Carlos is afraid to say. “You’re not supposed to let go, remember? Didn’t I tell you? I followed you for a reason. It’s always been you.” Max’s thumb brushes lightly over the dark circles beneath Carlos’s eyes, and Carlos lets his lashes flutter closed, feeling the tension melt under Max’s touch—the only anchor against the tide of anxiousness that threatens to wash over.

“Do you wish I never stopped? That it was still me in the garage next to you?” Carlos whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his vulnerability.

Max’s gaze deepens, and for a moment, the noise of the track fades into the background. “Always,” he admits softly. “But it’s not just about you racing. I want you everywhere, you know? When you’re not here, when I don’t see you—” Max shakes his head, closing his eyes as if whatever he thought is something he doesn’t want to hold onto. “It feels like I imagined all of this. Like I’ll have to chase you into the next life just to see you again.”

Max’s confession hits Carlos like a tidal wave, chest splitting open with the weight of it. His heart surges toward Max—this boy, now a man—ready to carry both of them. He grasps Max’s wrists, his face cradled between Max’s warm hands, and holds his gaze. Max’s fingers trace gently over his features—his brows, cheekbones, and lips—brushing tenderly against the stubble Carlos has been growing. Max’s reverent gaze never wavers, as if he’s memorising every detail, every touch, as if this moment is his last chance to do so.

It churns something deep in Carlos's chest, unaware of how fragile it all feels to Max to finally have him—for them to be together without the threat of either of their fathers looming over them ever again. He remembers when they were still boys under their fathers' guardianship, bound by filial duty and controlled by paternal pride. How the pain of their forced distance clawed at him, reminding him of all the times they could only brush hands or clasp each other’s necks in feigned sportsmanship, desperate for just a moment of warmth—a fleeting chance to soothe the ache of a bond stretched too thin.

Suddenly, it’s like Carlos is the one going 300 km/h, not Max. Carlos who waits on Max’s side of the garage, hand covering his mouth, too scared to watch the TV, too strung out to focus on anything but the data. Heart racing until Max returns, helmet off, healthy, whole—alive. Max is on the other side, speeding around the track, desperate to find him, to know he’s still there, waiting—real.

He presses a kiss to the palms still cradling his face, pulling Max from whichever depth of thought he’d fallen into—I’m here. Max answers his kiss with a gentle press to his hair, and as one hand slips to his neck, he pulls Carlos into him, drawing him closer—You are.

Author's note: This is based on the idea I had and the little blurb I wrote for it yesterday. I may make this multi-chaptered sometime in the future but this is it for now, so enjoy!