for a prompt,
max as the f1 world champion. charles is the heir to the monaco throne. [lorenzo is king currently]
max and charles love each other. max wins the monaco gp for charles. monaco goes crazy.
"Max," Charles tries to sound stern, he really does. But he doesn't think it comes across too well with how he cannot stop giggling.
It's not his fault really.
It's his boyfriend's.
His boyfriend who has him pressed against a wall of his motorhome, relentlessly kissing at Charles' cheeks.
"Maxxxx," Charles tries again, "You need to go."
A 'uh-huh' is the only indicator of Max having even heard him.
Max redirects his attack of pecks to Charles' neck and it makes Charles squirm.
"Max, that tickles!" he exclaims, trying to wiggle his way out from under his boyfriend's grasp.
Max chuckles, finally moving his mouth away from Charles' body, to look him in the eye, "I know," he grins.
It makes Charles' heart jump, how happy Max looks, how pretty.
Time seems to stop as Charles cradles Max's face in his palm, relishing in how Max turns his face to nuzzle into it.
Blue eyes twinkling, lips perpetually pulled upward, cheeks pink and puffed up. Max is a beauty.
Charles opens his mouth to tell him so when a firm knock interrupts him.
"Prince Charles," one of his guards calls out, "Nous devons partir maintenant. Prince Lorenzo et Prince Arthur attendent."
Charles sighs, wishing he could stay with Max longer.
Max seems to be wishing for the same, if his drawn out groan is anything to go by.
Yet, Max doesn't move away. He only snuggles into Charles harder, head buried into the crook of Charles' neck.
Charles laughs, running his fingers through Max's hair, "Come on, mon amour. Time to go."
Max huffs, "No."
Charles rolls his eyes, fondness seeping through his pores, and gently tugs at Max's hair.
Max pulls his head away with an exaggerated moan, "Ouch," frown lines covering his pretty face.
Charles pecks Max's nose and all of them disappear in a second.
"I'll see you after, okay?" Charles says, squeezing the nape of Max's neck.
"Yeah," Max says, a small smile on his lips, "Yeah, okay."
Max steps back and Charles walks to the door.
"Wait!" Max exclaims, making Charles jump.
He turns around.
"What about my good luck kiss?" Max asks, the corner of his mouth twitching as he pouts, clearly trying to suppress the smile trying to break through.
"You don't need a good luck kiss, mon amour. You're Max Verstappen," Charles reminds him.
Even after all this time, ever after multiple world championships, countless podiums and several records broken, Max still lights up when Charles compliments him.
He hopes he never stops.
"Charles, but what if you don't kiss me and the race goes badly? Do you really want that on your conscience?"
Charles scoffs, "Okay but what if I do kiss you and then the race doesn't go well? Will it be my fault then?"
"Of course not, schatje. Then it'll mean that your kiss protected me from anything worse happening," Max replies, like it's the most obvious information in the world.
Charles' heart throbs with adoration. He takes a quick two steps and grabs Max's face in his hand, pressing a firm, soft kiss to Max's lips.
When Charles pulls away, Max looks dazed.
Charles gets it. He feels it, the overwhelming rush he gets when he cannot believe this is his life.
"Good luck, mon amour," Charles smiles, dropping his hands, and walking backwards to the door, "See you on the podium, okay?"
Max simply nods, seeming to still be too lost for words.
That's okay. Charles knows what he would've said anyways.
--
"And the winner of the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix... Max Verstappen!"
The roaring in Charles' ears nearly blocks out the raucous applause of the Red Bull team. But Charles hears them still, faintly. Acknowledges them, thanks them for loving Max and appreciating him and taking care of him.
His cheeks ache because of how hard he is smiling.
And yet, when Max steps up on the top step, quickly turning around to catch Charles' eye, his grin somehow widens.
Charles winks at him, his hands not pausing their applause, and Max laughs, softly shaking his head, before facing the crowd.
Charles' eyes are glued to Max's back as the Dutch and Austrian anthems play. It's a beautiful back, all broad, strong shoulders, tapering down into a small waist.
The only thing that could make Max look any better is if he was wearing red, Charles thinks to himself.
Well, all in due time.
Soon, he's being indicated to step up to award the second place trophy.
Charles looks straight ahead as he walks to the platform, not risking turning into an ooey-gooey mess for a glance of Max's face.
Lando stands tall and proud on the podium, his face split into a grin.
Charles hands Lando his trophy and Lando holds out a hand for Charles to shake.
It makes Charles roll his eyes. There's no need to pretend that Charles doesn't see Lando every other weekend, that he hasn't seen Lando sloshed out of his mind and passed out on the floor of Max's jet, that he doesn't send Lando memes constantly and bitches about it if he doesn't give an adequate reply.
Charles grasps his hand and pulls Lando into a hug.
Lando yelps, and gosh, Charles so hopes that there is some camera somewhere that has recorded the noise.
"Good job, mate," Charles says, arms tight around Lando.
"Thanks, mate," Lando replies, and Charles can hear the smile in his voice.
Charles beelines back to his original spot, next to his brother, standing behind the podium finishers.
As Lorenzo awards Max with his trophy, Charles has to suppress the urge to shout and scream and hoot.
All he can do is clap a bit more aggressively than he did for the others.
It doesn't miss his notice how Arthur does the same.
It's soon after that Charles and his brothers, along with the other dignitaries, are being hurried off of the stage in an attempt to keep them safe from the champagne flying in the air.
Charles has just stepped into the protection of the wings when he's being pushed back out to the stage again.
"Va!" Arthur urges, literally shooing Charles away with his hand.
"Ne fais rien de trop stupide!" Lorenzo warns, but he's grinning wide too.
God, Charles loves his family.
It's Lando that spots him first.
The very next second, Charles is drenched head to toe.
But it's worth it to have Max's giggle in his ear as he hugs him tight tight tight.
His race suit under Charles' hands feels sticky and cold and like home.
"Mon Dieu, Max, tu es incroyable. So incredible. I love you. I'm proud of you," Charles rambles, trying to make the most of the couple of moments he'll get to speak to Max before he's swallowed up by his team and media duties.
Max pulls away, smiling at him, all crinkle eyed, "Thank you for your good luck kiss, schatje," he gives him a quick soft peck before gently pressing the trophy into his arms, "This one is for you," and then Charles is swallowed up in Max's embrace again, the roars of the crowd ringing in his ear, nowhere as loud as the beat of his own heart.
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