Work Text:
“You little shit!” Max exclaims into his headphones for what seems like the 100th time that morning. He can’t hear Lando’s retort but he hears Max cackle in response.
Charles sighs, running a hand through his own curls. He adjusts his own headphones, playing back the race commentary from Monza the weekend before. The volume is almost as high as it will go, he notices as he stabs the up button in frustration.
Another hoot from Max cuts through the voice of his engineer and he hits pause.
“Max!” Charles shouts to his boyfriend from the other room. He isn’t surprised when there isn’t an answer.
Too lazy to get up and ask his boyfriend once again to “please try and keep the screaming to a minimum, darling, I'm trying to work”, he settles back into his chair, trying to tune out the excited sounds from the other room.
He definitely tries to not think about how Max sounds when he plays games with Lando. With anyone else, Max is competitive as fuck, keeping his sounds to a minimum, saving his energy to focus on winning. But when he plays with Lando, he’s so much more carefree, giggling and cheering across the line when he makes a good shot. He can never hear what Lando says on the other line but it always makes Max smile, a genuine smile that is usually reserved for Charles.
Charles isn’t really jealous per se… it’s just that when he and Max play together, Max never makes any noise at all. They only ever play sim racing and Max always wins.
Charles isn’t really jealous per se, because he can make Max smile in other ways. . He’s seen Max’s affectionate smile, saved only for Charles and the cats. He’s seen Max’s sleepy morning smile, how the morning sun caresses his skin. He’s seen Max’s mischievous grin, matched with a glint that shines in his ocean eyes as he presses Charles into the mattress. And Charles knows Lando hasn’t seen that one before.
He’s not jealous but he’s also not getting any other work done, as Max lets out another stream of curses that cut through Charles’ feeble attempt at figuring out what the hell the strategy was supposed to be.
Charles grabs a pillow from the floor next to his desk and chucks it out of the room, vaguely in the direction of his boyfriend, still immersed in his duel with Lando. The pillow smacks onto the ground a few feet from Max, sending Sassy scattering. Charles gets a scathing look from the retreating cat but once again, his boyfriend continues on, unfazed.
Resigned, Charles turns off the race. They are nearing the safety car portion of the race and he really doesn’t need to watch that again. Plan A of trying to get Max to quiet down with words (and one flying object) has failed, so it’s time to move on to Plan B.
He pulls off his bandana, leaving it on his office chair, and pulls Max’s discarded hoodie over his own head before exiting the office.
Max isn’t in his simulator, so he and Lando must be playing Call of Duty or something. His boyfriend is sitting on the couch, Jimmy curled unblinking on the pillow that Charles had chucked on the floor. Max doesn’t look as he comes in, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he fixes his gaze on the screen.
Charles stops in the doorway, breath caught in his throat. Sure, he complains about Max’s gaming while he’s trying to work, but there truly isn’t anything in the world more beautiful than Max when he’s focused on something. He’d take this sight over the view from the cliffs of Monaco any day.
Max still hasn’t noticed Charles’ eyes on him, so he steps further into the room, bending down to pet that cat before walking towards his target. He steps into view, temporarily blocking Max’s view of the screen before putting himself in Max’s space. Max’s arms open reflexively, letting Charles slide onto his lap, where Charles purposefully gives a roll of his hip.
Max drops his controller.
Being this close to Max, Charles can hear the tinny sound of Lando’s voice through Max’s headphones. Clearly, Max dropping his controller was not optimal for their game play.
“Max!” Lando cries out, followed by a string of unintelligible swears, some in Spanish that Carlos must have taught him.
This time, Max is giving his full attention to Charles and it’s Lando who is being ignored. Plan B is going exactly according to plan.
“Max Emilian Verstappen!” Lando whines into Max’s ear as Charles leans down to nip at Max’s neck.
“Turn it off,” he mumbles into Max’s skin. But Max doesn’t move, transfixed by the feeling of his boyfriend’s body on his.
Charles sighs into Max’s neck and then pulls back, leaning towards the microphone on Max’s headphones.
“Goodbye, Lando.” Charles says cheekily and presses the mute button.
Max pulls off his headset, chucking it towards the discarded controller on the floor. He gets both hands under Charles’s (or rather his) hoodie and uses Charles’ momentary distraction at the feeling to pull them both down onto the couch, flipping them so that Charles is underneath.
“Were you wanting my attention, schatz?” Max purrs as Charles looks up at him, eyes wide.
Charles nods, the full weight of Max’s attention focused on him leaving him speechless.
“Were you feeling neglected?” Max chuckles, trailing curious fingers below Charles’ belt. “Did you want me all to yourself?”
“Always,” Charles mumbles.
“Well you’ve got me, baby,” Max lets his mouth follow his hands and shows Charles exactly how much he’s got him.