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l-estappen · 4 months

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The Crown Jewel 🇲🇨 Home Victory ❤️

"I’ll just bring it home," I say to my race engineer, my voice thick with emotion, tears already threatening to spill. The realization is sinking in—I am about to win the Monaco Grand Prix.

"Thank you," my engineer replies.

Guiding the car through Monaco’s familiar streets, my thoughts turn to Papa. Memories flood back, bittersweet reminders of the journey that brought me here.

I remember the early mornings at the karting track, his encouraging words as he stood by the sidelines, always pushing me to be better. His eyes would light up with pride every time I won. Even when I didn’t, he reminded me that every setback was just a step towards success.

The day I told him I wanted to be a Formula 1 driver, he nodded with that determined glint in his eye and said, "We'll make it happen, mon petit champion." From that moment, every decision, every sacrifice my family made was geared towards this goal.

When he passed away in 2017, midway through my title-winning F2 campaign, the pain was almost unbearable. Losing him felt like losing a part of myself. But I knew he wouldn’t want me to give up. His dream was intertwined with mine, and I could feel his spirit urging me to push forward, to honor his legacy on the track.

He inspired me to embrace another important part of my life. When I came out to him, his support was unwavering. He taught me that being true to myself was just as important as any victory. Honoring him means living with courage and authenticity, both on and off the track.

Today, as I drive these final laps, I feel him with me more than ever. His presence is in every corner, every straight, every moment of this race. Winning in Monaco, our home, was a dream we shared. Now, it's about to become reality. I can almost hear his voice, filled with pride, saying, "Well done, petit champion. You've made it."

As the checkered flag waves and I cross the finish line, the tears I held back finally fall. This victory isn’t just mine; it’s ours. It’s for the man who believed in me, who sacrificed so much to help me reach this moment. Today, I bring it home for Papa and for my entire family.

"We won it!" My race engineer’s voice crackles through the radio, bringing me back to the present moment. "Finally."

"Yesssss!!! Yesss! Ha, ha. Yesss! Yes, Yes, Yes! Ahhhhh!" I shout, unable to contain my excitement. "I need to cool down, myself as well."

During the cool-down lap, I wave to the crowds. The cheers are deafening, the flags a blur of red and white. Monaco has always been home, but today, it feels like the entire principality is celebrating with me. The emotions hit harder than the G-forces, and I let out a whoop of pure joy.

When I finally pull into the pit lane, I park the car in the spot marked for the winner. The engine purrs to a stop, and the loud cheering that follows is surreal.

Without a second thought, I unbuckle my harness and leap out of the car. I don’t bother taking off my helmet—I’m too eager to share this moment with my family. I run towards them, my heart pounding harder than it did during the race.

There they are, waiting with open arms. My mom, my brothers, Joris and Andrea. The sight of them brings the tears back, and as I reach them, I fling myself into their embrace. Their arms wrap around me tightly, and through the helmet, I can hear their muffled cheers and sobs of joy.

"We did it," I roar, my voice cracking. "We did it."

My mom squeezes me tighter. "Your Papa would be so proud," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

As she steps back, I feel another pair of arms wrap around me from behind. I turn to see Lorenzo, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You did it, petit frère," he says, his voice steady but filled with pride. "Papa would be over the moon."

I hug him tightly, feeling the strength and comfort of his embrace. Lorenzo has always been my rock, especially after Papa passed away. His support and guidance kept me grounded and focused on my dream. "Thanks, Lorenzo," I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. "I couldn't have done it without you."

He steps back, giving me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. The weight of the moment starts to settle in, but before I can catch my breath, Arthur barrels into me, nearly knocking me off balance. "I'm so proud, I’m so happy!" he exclaims, his youthful exuberance infectious. "I knew you could do it!"

I laugh, ruffling his hair. "Thanks, Arthur. Your confidence means a lot to me."

Finally, I take off my helmet, feeling the cool air hit my sweat-soaked face. The roar of the crowd, the scent of burning rubber, and the sight of my family’s beaming faces make the moment surreal. I look into their eyes, seeing the pride and love shining brightly. This moment, this victory, is as much theirs as it is mine.

I close my eyes for a brief second, letting the emotions wash over me. Suddenly, I feel a familiar hand on my shoulder, a touch that sends a jolt of recognition through me.

Turning around, I see Max standing there, tears in his eyes and a look of such profound love and pride that it takes my breath away. His presence, solid and reassuring, makes this moment even more special. Without another thought, I grab Max by his racing suit and pull him toward me. Max’s arms wrap around me, and I feel the strength of his embrace. The world seems to blur around us as I lean in, pushing past any agreements about no PDA in the paddock.

Our lips meet, a collision of passion and hunger. The kiss speaks of every struggle, every triumph, every moment we've shared. It’s fierce, a raw outpouring of all the emotions we've kept bottled up, but also tender, a gentle reassurance that we’re here, together.

When we finally pull back, I rest my forehead against his, our breaths mingling. “I did it,” I say, my voice choked with emotion. “I really did it.”

Max smiles, his eyes shimmering with tears. “I’m so proud of you, Schatje. So unbelievably proud.”

“I fucking love you, Max.”

He chuckles softly, wiping a tear from my cheek. “I’m aware. And I fucking love you too.”

The roar of the crowd begins to filter back into my awareness, pulling me from the intimate moment with Max. Reluctantly, I step back, feeling the weight of the victory and the need to fulfill my duties as a newly crowned winner. Max gives me a reassuring smile and a quick squeeze of my hand before I turn toward the waiting press. But from the corner of my eye, I'm still able to see my family surrounding Max, hugging him tightly, their faces beaming with joy. The sight of them together, celebrating as one, makes every sacrifice worthwhile.

I grab Charles's hand, leading him through the doorway of our penthouse. His hair is still damp from the impromptu jump into the harbor with Fred. Droplets of water occasionally slip down his forehead. The thrill of victory still lingers in the air, evident in our lively steps and lingering smiles, but I notice the shivers starting to rack Charles's body—a familiar sign of his sensitivity to the cold.

"Let's get you into a warm shower," I say, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice. Charles nods, a goofy grin plastered on his face — clearly, the champagne is already working its magic on him.

As I guide him towards the bathroom, he stumbles slightly, then turns to look at me. "Are you going to join me in the shower?" he asks, his voice slurred but full of playful intent.

"Is that an invitation?" I tease, quickly turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature until steam fills the room.

Charles lets out a laugh, shivering again. "As if you need one."

"Let's get these off," I say, starting to peel his t-shirt away. Charles raises his arms, still grinning like a schoolboy, his eyes twinkling with mischief and something deeper, a warmth that melts my heart every time.

"I’m thinking," he says, raising an eyebrow suggestively, "that there's something else that can get into me."

I laugh softly at his bad joke. "Let's get you warmed up first, Schatje. We don’t want you catching a cold," I reply, dropping the shirt to the floor and moving on to his pants. "Now, into the shower."

Charles's grin widens, but he nods, stepping into the shower. The hot water immediately causes a visible sigh of relief. I watch for a moment, making sure he’s steady on his feet, before starting to strip off my own clothes.

As soon as I step into the shower, Charles wraps his arms around me, clinging to me like I'm the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I'm so happy," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He starts peppering kisses along my neck, his lips warm and insistent against my skin.

I smile, threading my fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp as the water cascades around us. "I know, Schatje. I’m happy too."

Charles pulls back slightly, looking up at me with that mischievous glint in his eye. "Do you know what would make me happier?" he asks, his hands roaming over my back and then lower.

I chuckle, though it's a struggle to keep my thoughts straight with Charles's dick hardening against mine. "You’re making your intentions very clear. But we do have a dinner to get ready for," I remind him, trying to inject some practicality into the moment.

Charles pouts playfully, grabbing our erections with one hand and squeezing. The heat rises between us, mingling with the steam from the shower. "But chéri, this is my moment and I want to celebrate it with you, right here, right now."

I close my eyes, letting the sensation of his touch wash over me, the warmth of the water, the intimate friction of our shafts rubbing against each other. "I want that too, Schatje, more than you know. But we can't keep the Prince waiting."

Charles's eyes darken with desire, and he slides his fist over our cocks. "He can wait," he mutters, his voice low and husky.

That’s all the encouragement I need. Bating his hand away, I spin him around and shove him against the shower glass, my hands roaming over his wet, muscular body. "We’re going to be late," I mutter into his ear, though my resolve has already slipped away.

"Don’t care. I need you," he replies, pushing his ass back against me.

My fingers slide between his cheeks, teasing his hole. He gasps and pushes back harder, his desperation turning me on even more. "You're so fucking eager," I murmur, voice dripping with lust. "I love it."

I grab the bottle of lube we keep near the shower gel and shampoo, slicking up my fingers. I press one into him, feeling him relax and open up for me, his moans echoing off the tile. "Putain, Max," he groans, as I rub against his prostate. "More."

I slide in another finger, scissoring and stretching him, preparing him for my dick. His hips buck against my hand, his need palpable. "S'il te plaît, bébé," he begs, "I want you inside me."

"And you will have me," I whisper, as I remove my fingers and quickly slick up my length with the lube. Finally, I position myself at his entrance, my dick throbbing with need. I push into him slowly, savoring the tight heat of his ass enveloping me. He gasps, his fingers splaying against the glass for support. "Fuck, Charles," I groan, "you always feel so good."

I start to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, my hands gripping his hips hard enough to leave marks as my cock stretched and fill him. The sound of our bodies slapping together, the steam swirling around us, the desperate edge in his voice — it's all overwhelming.

"Max," he pants, "harder."

I oblige, slamming into him with everything I have. The tight heat of his ass around me drives me wild. "You're so tight," I growl, feeling the friction and pressure build with each thrust.

"Oui, putain, Max," he moans, his voice rising. "Mon Dieu, don't stop!"

His back arches, pushing him against me, his fingers clawing at the glass for support. "Encore, please, encore," he gasps, each word a cry of pleasure that makes my cock twitch. His cries are frantic, raw, filling the space around us and driving me closer to the edge with every sound.

"I'm close," I warn, my voice raw with need, every inch of me straining for release.

"Me too," he gasps, his hand moving to jerk himself off in time with my thrusts. His body tenses and clamps down on me, his desperation palpable.

I pound into him harder, feeling him shudder and clench as he comes. "Max, merde, I'm coming," he cries out, his cum splattering against the shower wall.

The sight and sound of him losing control send me over the edge. I slam into him one last time, feeling his ass tighten and pulse around my cock as he comes. The way he clenches and milks my dick drives me insane. "Godverdomme, Charles," I groan, filling him with my cum, the sensation of release raw and overpowering.

We stay there, breathless and spent, water cascading over us. Charles leans against the glass, his body still trembling from the aftershocks. I press my forehead to his shoulder, our bodies still intimately connected.

"Happier now?" I ask, a soft smile tugging at my lips.

Charles nods, turning his head slightly to give me a hazy, blissful smile. "So much," he murmurs, his eyes half-lidded and dreamy.

I start to pull out, mindful of the time, but Charles's arms come up to stop me, wrapping around my waist and holding me in place. "Please, Mon amour," he whispers, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Stay just a bit longer."

I can't help but smile, touched by his clinginess. "Alright, just a bit longer," I agree, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

We stand there, the water cascading over us, our bodies pressed close. Charles's breathing slowly steadies, his heartbeat calming against mine. "I love you, you know," he says softly, his voice filled with warmth.

"I love you too, Schatje," I reply, running my fingers through his hair. "But we really need to get ready. We're already late."

He sighs, reluctant to let go, but finally loosens his grip. "Okay, but promise me we can stay like this again later."

"Promise," I say, giving him one last kiss before gently pulling out and turning him to face me. His eyes still have that dreamy, content look that makes my heart swell. I know this moment will linger in our hearts forever.

The palace lights glitter in the night, casting a golden glow over the grand entrance as we pull up. The driver opens the door, and Max steps out first, turning to offer me a hand. I wobble slightly as I exit the car, the champagne and our earlier celebration still swirling in my veins.

"We're 27 minutes late," Max mutters, sounding a bit worried. His sharp black tuxedo, crisp white shirt, and perfectly tied bow tie make him look extra handsome tonight. I catch his eye and give him a lopsided grin, feeling on top of the world.

Max shakes his head but laughs, wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me steady. We walk up the red carpet, drawing the attention of photographers and guests. As we reach the backdrop, Max pulls me close, his hand resting on my waist. We pose for the cameras, the flashbulbs lighting up our faces as we stand there, the excitement of the night making everything sparkle.

Inside, the grand chandelier casts a warm glow over the room, filled with elegantly dressed guests. Ornate tapestries and beautiful floral arrangements add to the fancy atmosphere. As we make our way through, I spot Fred by the entrance, shaking his head and smiling.

"About time you two showed up," Fred says, sounding amused but also a bit exasperated.

I lean in close to Fred and whisper loudly enough for Max to hear, "It’s all Max’s fault we’re late. He couldn’t keep his hands off me."

Max’s eyes widen in shock, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks as he opens his mouth to protest, but Fred cuts him off, laughing. "Nice try, Charles. But I know you too well."

I shrug playfully and stick my tongue out at Fred. Max gives my waist a gentle squeeze, a silent signal to behave, as he guides us further into the lavishly decorated hall. The Prince and Princess of Monaco are standing near the center of the room and turn to greet us as we approach.

"Your Highness, we apologize for being late," Max says, shaking the Prince’s hand with a familiarity that shows how well we know each other.

"There is no problem at all," the Prince replies warmly, shaking Max’s hand and pulling me in for a side hug. "It’s a pleasure to host this dinner for you tonight, Charles."

The Prince of Monaco hosting a dinner for the winner of the Monaco Grand Prix is a long-standing tradition. It’s part of the unique, glamorous vibe of my hometown race, one of the most prestigious events in the Formula 1 calendar.

"It's an honor to be here as the winner," I reply, my voice filled with gratitude. Standing here, surrounded by the grandeur of the palace and the warmth of the royal family, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of achievement. "Celebrating like this makes it all even more special." I think about the years of hard work, my family sacrifices, and the moments of doubt. Standing here now, it's all worth it.

The Prince’s genuine smile reflects not just his role as a host, but as someone who has watched me grow from a local karting champion to a Formula 1 victor.

"Charles, Max, please join us for the final photos before dinner," the Princess beckons, "Fred, please join us as well.

We gather for the first photo in front of the Formula 1 Grand Prix de Monaco backdrop. Fred stands next to the Princess, while Max and I are beside the Prince. Max's hand is on my waist, and I catch his eye, seeing the same joy and pride I feel. The camera flashes, capturing our smiles, the event logo, and the Monaco Circuit signs.

Moving to the next spot by the trophy, I admire its display in a beautifully crafted case. The elegant mosaic floor and soft lighting add to the classy vibe. As we pose, Max leans in and whispers, "This trophy will be in our home with your name on it." The camera clicks, immortalizing my beaming smile and the joy of the moment.

Just as the final photo is taken, an usher appears and announces that the guests should make their way to the dining room. The Prince and Princess indicate for the rest of the guests to proceed, and we stay behind, knowing we will be the last to enter.

As the room begins to clear, I reach into my pocket and pull out a power bank and my phone. The battery is almost dead, and I need to make sure I can contact my friends later for the after-party, so I plug my phone in and hold both gadgets in my hand.

Max watches me with a smirk. "I'm pretty sure power banks aren't standard accessories for a tuxedo."

I laugh, shrugging. "Can't let the phone die on a night like this."

Max chuckles, adjusting his bow tie as Fred shakes his head in mock disapproval, both of them with smiles playing at the corners of their mouths.

The Prince approaches us with a warm smile. "It's time for us to go," he says, gesturing towards the dining room.

We follow the Prince and Princess to the entrance of the dining room. As we walk, I keep my phone and power bank discreetly in my hand, ensuring my connection to the outside world remains intact.

The grand doors swing open, revealing the opulent dining room filled with elegantly dressed guests. Crystal chandeliers bathe the room in a golden light, and the sound of soft classical music adds to the atmosphere.

As we step into the room, the guests rise to their feet, applauding. The sight is both overwhelming and exhilarating. I catch Max's eye, and he gives me a reassuring smile.

"You look like you're about to give a speech," I tease, leaning closer to him.

"Just trying to keep my cool," he murmurs back, his hand finding mine and giving it a quick squeeze. "And make sure you don't trip over your own feet."

I chuckle softly, feeling his touch steadying me. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He grins, his eyes sparkling with pride and affection. "Always."

As we step out of the car, the neon lights of Jimmy'z cast a vibrant glow across the VIP entrance. The energy of the music pulses in the air, matching the excitement still thrumming in my veins. Charles stumbles slightly as he exits, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.

I chuckle, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. "Easy there, race winner. We don't want you falling before we even get inside."

Charles leans into me, his breath warm against my ear. "I’m fine, just a little tipsy."

"A little tipsy? More like a lot tipsy," I tease, pulling a pair of sunglasses from my pocket. "Here, put these on. They'll help you look less... well, drunk."

He takes the sunglasses with a grin, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he slides them on. "Do I look cool?" he asks, striking a playful pose.

"Very cool," I reply, laughing. "But let's keep it together until we get inside, okay?"

We lean against the wall, waiting for the security guard to escort us in. Charles fidgets beside me, his hand wandering up and down my back, fingers slipping under my jacket. I grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Behave," I murmur, though I can't help but smile at his antics.

"Can’t help it," he whispers back, his voice low and sultry. "You’re irresistible."

"And you’re drunk," I add, tugging lightly on his white shirt to straighten it. "Just try to keep your hands to yourself for a bit longer."

"But where’s the fun in that?" he challenges, a naughty glint in his eye. His hand slips down to my waist, fingers teasing the waistband of my pants.

"Schatje..."

Before I can say more, the security guard arrives with a Monaco flag in hand. "Gentlemen, if you could put this over your heads, it'll help keep the fans at bay."

I raise an eyebrow but take the flag. "Everyone will know it's us anyway."

"Do we get to be invisible?"

I can't help but snort at Charles's question. "Just follow the security guard, you goof," I tell him, draping the flag over our heads.

The security guard leads the way, and Charles places a hand on his shoulder for guidance, still giggling. I follow close behind, keeping a steadying hand on Charles’s back to make sure he doesn’t fall.

As we make our way through the entrance, cameras flash around us, confirming my previous assumption. When we finally reach our VIP area, I pull the flag off our heads, and almost immediately, we’re met with a barrage of champagne sprays.

"Let's get this party started!" one of Charles’s friends shouts, handing him a fresh bottle of champagne.

The next couple of hours fly by in a blur of laughter, dancing, and more drinks. Charles is the center of attention, his joy and energy contagious. I keep an eye on him, making sure he doesn't get too out of control, but I can't help but get caught up in the celebration too.

Two hours in, the atmosphere shifts as a new song starts playing. It's not a song that I recognize, but the slow, sensual beat is irresistible. Charles, swaying slightly, turns to me.

"Dance with me," he says, extending his hand.

I chuckle, grabbing his hand and pulling him into me. "To a song about steady green broccoli?"

He laughs, the sound rich and carefree. "Who cares? It has a good beat."

"Alright, Schatje," I say softly, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Let's dance."

We start moving to the rhythm, our bodies swaying in sync with the music. As the lyrics of the song drift through the air—"steady on my grind, no wan hear what they wan' telly me kudi na my fantasy"—I can't help but chuckle internally. The irony isn't lost on me. Charles has been more than steady on his grind; he's just won the Monaco Grand Prix. Talk about success.

The playful atmosphere begins to shift subtly. The proximity and the intimate nature of the dance draw us closer. Charles’s breath is warm against my neck, his hands sliding down my back, fingers pressing into my flesh. I can feel his arousal growing, a hard pressure against my thigh that matches my own burgeoning desire. My hands grip his hips, guiding our movements, pressing our bodies tighter together. Each sway of our hips sends a jolt of pleasure through me, and I can tell by the way Charles gasps and moans softly into my ear that he feels the same.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he pants, his voice husky with need.

I chuckle softly, leaning in to nibble on his earlobe. “Good.”

He tilts his head back slightly, exposing his neck, and I can't resist the urge to press my lips to the tender skin, sucking gently. Charles groans, his hips jerking against mine, the friction igniting a fire deep within us both.

I glance around, noticing that the crowd is absorbed in their own revelries. No one is paying attention to us now. A wicked thought sparks in my mind. Still holding Charles close as we dance, I guide us to a slightly hidden corner and press him against the wall, my thigh slipping between his legs. He looks up at me, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, a sly grin curving his lips.

I lean in, my lips brushing his ear. “Make yourself cum, Schatje.”

His eyes widen briefly with surprise and then darken further with lust. “Tout de suite, bébé,” he replies, as he begins to grind against my thigh, his movements slow at first, then more insistent as the friction builds. His hands grip my shoulders for support, fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt.

“That’s it,” I murmur, my hands sliding down to grasp his hips, guiding his movements. The feel of his hard length rubbing against me, his soft moans mixing with the music, is intoxicating.

Charles’s eyes flutter shut, his lips parting as he loses himself in the sensation. “Merde,” he pants, his voice a hushed whisper filled with need. “Feels so good.”

I tighten my grip on his hips, helping him find a steady rhythm. “Keep going, Schatje. Don’t stop.”

His breath comes in short, sharp gasps as he grinds harder against my thigh, the fabric of our pants creating delicious friction. His arousal is palpable, a hard pressure against me that only intensifies with each movement.

The music pulses around us, a private soundtrack to our intimate dance. Charles’s moans grow louder, his movements more frantic. I lean in, pressing a kiss to his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath my lips.

“I’m close,” he gasps, his voice trembling with the effort of holding back.

“Let go, Schatje,” I whisper, my lips brushing his ear. “Cum for me.”

With a final, desperate thrust, he shudders against me, his body going rigid as he finds his release. His moan is muffled against my neck, his grip on my shoulders tightening as he rides out the waves of pleasure.

I hold him close, feeling the heat of his body against mine, the wetness spreading through his pants. “That’s it, Schatje,” I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You did so well.”

Charles collapses against me, his breathing heavy, his body trembling with the aftershocks. I stroke his back soothingly, my own erection throbbing with the need to claim him fully, but content for now to simply hold him.

#ao3 #lestappen fic #lestappenoneshots #charles leclerc/max verstappen #charles leclerc #max verstappen #monaco gp 2024

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