Chapter Text
It was something they’d often discussed at the beginning of the relationship: the potential that one day, sometime in the future, the three of them could end up fighting for a championship title against one another. Charles had always been involved in the conversation but reality had become apparent to him in recent years as Red Bull grew closer and closer to building a car capable of beating Mercedes and as Max and Lewis began to butt heads on track more often than not.
So when the start of the 2021 season came around and it looked like Red Bull might be bringing the competition to Mercedes at last, Charles couldn’t help but feel the battle between his partners was inevitable.
He just never expected to get so caught in the middle of it all.
It was in Monaco that Charles first came to realise exactly how this season was destined to unfold.
Up until that point, he'd been distracted by his own misfortune. It was much of the same as the year before: forced to endure a car barely built for points positions let alone race wins and championships. The start of what felt like another season of disappointment. Another season of fighting just to be near the podium; another season of scrabbling for points with the midfielders.
Distantly, he was aware that his partners were having a significantly better start to the season than him and he celebrated with them when he wasn't so swept up in his misery. But the distraction of wrangling his red tractor of a racing car, of another year feeling like a fraud in Rosso Corsa - it made him blind. It meant he didn't notice the things that should've been so obvious at the time.
Looking back, he sees things a little clearer.
The first race of the season had been good - ordinary, even.
Lewis had secured the first win of the season but Max was just behind him, right at his heels, and though it was still too early to tell, it seemed like the predictions were coming to pass. A championship fight was brewing: one shared between the two most important people in his life. A fight for Lewis' eighth, record-breaking title and a fight for Max's first, what he'd spent his whole life working for. Something had been stirring between them ever since that first race. A spark in both of their eyes that Charles had been a fool to ignore.
In the beginning, though, none of it had felt any different. Each win they'd celebrated as they always did, both men pulling him into whoever's bed was biggest that weekend and spreading him out across the sheets to consume. Charles' brain had been so foggy with pleasure and indulgence that he hadn't taken a closer look at the glances shared between the two alphas - the heat in their gazes straying just a bit too far from lust and desire.
They'd always been a bit possessive, playing their little games to see who could be the better partner. The better alpha. It was Charles' favourite thing when the relationship had first started - to see just how far they could be pushed, to let them fight for him in the way that came most naturally. They'd pressed him into mattresses and drew pleasure from parts of his body he never knew was possible, attempting to one-up each other every time and coaxing him into a puddle of indulgence spread across the sheets. When the attachment grew deeper and their feelings became indisputable, it became more than that. They learnt how to lure out all of his best smiles, rooting out all of the quirks and secrets that made him glow with happiness, and it felt like their trio was perpetually surrounded by laughter and joy.
Against all odds, Charles had managed to find two alphas who were fiercely competitive in every way that mattered, always looking to exceed the other in the bedroom and outside of it, also. Two alphas who were protective and possessive but who were so loving and kind, too. Tender with both him and each other.
Oftentimes, it felt like a miracle.
For as long as he could remember- and just as long as he'd been an omega, too - Charles had been warned about the dangers of alphas. Alphas with sharp teeth and sharper claws; alphas who hated when others dared to only glance at what they considered their own. Possessive in a way that strayed into restraint and control - domination.
But Lewis and Max were never like that. They were competitive and stubborn, undoubtedly. They hovered when it wasn't necessary and they were quick to anger whenever they felt Charles had been wronged. But they were not cruel and they were not controlling and Charles never felt like he had to watch his step around them. Everything that had happened between them had felt natural - easy. The three of them never had to compromise or suffer to make the relationship work. Everything had always, seemingly, just fallen into place.
Max and Lewis loved each other as much as they loved Charles and it was unavoidable that they'd end up falling into each other's beds in the way they did. From the very moment Charles had joined the grid in 2018, everyone had known it - had seen the inevitability of them before even they did.
Looking back, Monaco was the first sign of a shift in the relationship. The first sign that things weren't quite how they used to be.
Sure, they'd all had bad days before - bad weekends, even - that was the nature of their sport. But Lewis had been twitchy after qualifying that particular weekend. Charles had his pole, no matter how undeserved it might have appeared, and Max was right behind him.
But then there was Lewis. The alpha couldn't even be considered in their rearview mirrors: starting seventh. He'd been furious, understandably so, and Charles had felt for his boyfriend, something in his chest curling unpleasantly as he watched the alpha fume across the paddock.
Later that evening, Charles and Max returned to their shared apartment in Monaco alone. But there wasn't any alarm bells ringing yet.
It was relatively common for one or more of them to have to remain on track until late. Sometimes there were last-minute meetings to be had and data that needed running over, so Lewis' absence wasn't particularly unusual. What was unusual, however, were the hours that ticked by slowly and, as midnight crept up on them, the disturbing lack of the other alpha's presence. Every text and phone call went unanswered and as they finally drifted to bed, tired of waiting up any longer, Charles couldn’t help but note how stiff Max had been behaving all evening. How unnaturally quiet.
It was well past midnight by the time Lewis came home and Charles was the only one awake by then, Max snoring softly at his side. The hum of the city below was muted through the windows but Charles could imagine it as he lay there, the sounds of celebration that always surrounded the Monaco Grand Prix - the sound of home. When he heard the click of a lock deep in the apartment, Charles' attention flipped to the sound of padding feet. He could see the moon through the gap in the curtains, high in the sky and glaring down on them as the third member of their relationship attempted to creep into bed without drawing anyone's attention.
He didn't know that Charles was still awake, though, and so he had no reason to mask the look on his face - the crease between his brows and the flat line of his lips.
Maybe, on another day, Charles might have stayed quiet. On another day, he wouldn't have thought much of Lewis turning up finally in the middle of the night. But Charles hadn't liked the expression on Lewis' face and something in him urged to speak up.
"Are you okay?"
The alpha jolted at the sound despite the whisper in his voice, evidently surprised that anyone was still awake at that time. It might have been suspicious if the tension on Lewis' face hadn't melted instantaneously, "All good. Just had some data to work through before tomorrow."
Charles glanced out of the window again, at the signs of night weighing heavy on the Mediterranean municipality, "So late?"
"Yeah, but don't worry about it. You know how Toto gets," Lewis had shifted closer whilst Charles was stuck staring at the moon, the alpha ducking his head to nuzzle into the gland on his neck. Scent-marking him.
Months later, Charles realised the distraction for what it was. With Lewis' soothing, familiar pheromones blanketed over his body, Charles had easily fallen into a dreamless sleep and by the next morning, he'd almost completely forgotten how late the other man had come home the night before.
All he remembered was how happy and content he'd felt, humming blissfully to himself and thinking nothing of the muttered voices coming from the room next door.
Baku, the following fortnight, was much of the same.
With the poor performance from Mercedes in Monaco, Max took the lead in the championship. There wasn't much between them - a measly four points - but any driver on the grid would feel frustrated losing that advantage. So, for a moment, when Max's left rear tyre failed, stealing the easy win he'd been on his way to securing, it had looked like Lewis' luck was on the rise.
Charles felt conflicted watching it all pan out. It was always strange routing for your partners whilst simultaneously hoping to beat them, too, and Charles experienced all kinds of conflicting thoughts as he watched Max kick the Red Bull on the big screen, feeling his anger radiate through the pixelated image. Charles knew better than most what it felt like to be robbed of a win, how that kind of rage would blaze beneath your skin for days afterwards. It was worse when it wasn't even your fault: when it was freak accidents like tyre blowouts that couldn't have been avoided even if you'd tried. So, he felt the burn of sympathy for his boyfriend, for how unfair their world could be.
But he also couldn't help the small flair of excitement he felt knowing that Lewis would get his chance for redemption. That he'd be able to make up for his struggles in Monaco.
Engines hummed around him as they waited for the restart and Charles' eyes were fixed on the lights above. He knew he couldn't linger on thoughts of his boyfriends - of Max back in the paddock, red-faced and furious, or Lewis a few rows up, staring forward just as he was - and as the lights began to countdown, he focused only on the pedal beneath his foot and the objective ahead.
Later, all Charles would remember of the restart was the cloud of smoke and the sharp smell of burning rubber as the silver Mercedes careened off the track and onto the runoff area.
His hands had tightened around his steering wheel, gloves flexing as he wrangled his car around the bend, slotting into place behind the Alpha Tauri in front. He'd blinked hard as his Ferrari shot down the straight, feeling like he'd dreamt that a Mercedes had careered off track by its own accord. He was sure that he hadn't seen any signs of a collision or another rogue incident, another burst tyre or something else entirely. The obvious felt absurd - laughable, even - but the message through his ear was unmistakable, a Mercedes had taken itself out of the lead and, from his front row seat, it had looked like a complete and utter accident.
"That wasn't Bottas, was it?" He asked over the radio, thinking he remembered that the other Mercedes was starting behind him. Not in front.
"No, Hamilton."
Charles barely managed to wrestle the car around the track for the following lap, a strange feeling like he was dreaming making his muscles stiff and ungiving. For as many years as he’d been in Formula 1, the one thing he'd known for sure about Lewis - as his boyfriend but as a fan, also - was that he never made mistakes. Lewis Hamilton was renowned for his level-headedness and his ability to face any threat with unparalleled conviction. You don't become a seven-time world champion by accident, Charles would know.
Lewis was one of the best for a reason, he was more talented than almost any driver Charles had ever met, and he didn't make mistakes.
With another disappointing race result beneath their belt, it was unsurprising that Ferrari kept him at the track til late that evening. Fourth wasn't terrible all things considered but his team had never been comfortable with mediocrity and, if it weren't for the bad luck and mistakes of the drivers in front, their haul of points would've been meagre at best. But it meant that he was last to arrive at the hotel that evening, long after Lewis and Max had turned in for the night themselves.
He knew it probably wasn't going to be pretty, but Charles also couldn't imagine it being that bad either. Neither of the alphas had suffered a great loss in their championship fights. Plainly, they were exactly back where they started before the weekend had even begun.
In his naivety, Charles could only imagine the big, comfy nest he was going to have to build and the work he'd have to put in to coax his two favourite people inside. He imagined that it would only take a little bit of coaxing and a few flutters of his lashes before the two grouchy alphas would be a puddle of content in his arms. It was his tried and tested trick and a scheme which had never failed him. So, he was feeling all kinds of hope as he made his way back home to them.
That was, at least, until he heard the shouting.
The very moment the elevator doors slid open, Charles could hear raised voices and, for every step he took down the corridor, a growing sense of apprehension blossomed in his chest at the realisation that it was coming from their hotel room. Their words were indefinite but the sentiment was clear: two men were arguing, shouting at one another from the tops of their lungs. From where he was standing, just a few feet away, he could smell the anger and the irritation pouring out from under the door and, even so muted as it was, Charles' nose burned in response.
The scent - and all its fury - left him feeling unbalanced. For a second, Charles could hardly remember where he was, let alone what he'd been doing the seconds before the elevator doors slid open. In a daze he walked towards the door and, only when he raised his fist to knock, did he realise the absurdity of the situation - that he was knocking on his own hotel door, not a stranger's.
Perhaps he’d been so thrown off by the unsettling scents of his boyfriends’ anger that all of his good sense had vanished for a second or two. Suddenly, he'd imagined himself a stranger imposing himself on two furious alphas - a bystander. It was ridiculous, he knew. They'd never operated like that before. Dealing with a three-person relationship was always tricky and they'd agreed, from the very beginning, that it was the three of them. No one would ever be left out in any way. The doors would always remain open.
As Charles plucked up the nerve to push inside, he heard a crash from within. It was followed by more shouting, so angry that Charles had to fight with himself to push inside. But it was too late to back away at that point, his hand already pushing down on the handle, so he opened the door wide to see the sight before him.
For a short second, the two men inside the hotel room were unrecognisable. Their faces, twisted with rage, were unfamiliar to Charles, the expressions uncanny. His immediate thought, looking upon the scene, was that they'd never looked at each other like that before - with irritation, and something he feared was resentment, in their eyes. Of course, there'd been times throughout their relationship that they'd been annoyed at one another - angry, on rare occasions. But never like that; never without any affection persisting somewhere on their faces.
In all his memories, Charles didn't think that they'd ever looked at each other like that before. Not in his presence, at least - the thought of which made something uncomfortable writhe in his chest.
The second thing he noticed was the mess in the room. They weren't always the tidiest group, but they weren't slobbish, either. Not enough to justify the objects and clothes strewn across the floor. Charles tracked all of it, heart aching as he noted his own items tangled up in the mess - the blankets enriched with their mixed scents he’d always preferred to nest with and his favourite hoodie all part of the fallout.
As soon as they'd noticed his presence, the argument that had been raging between his alphas stifled immediately. Their chests were still heaving and their breaths were quick like they'd finished a marathon seconds before. They turned to him with wide eyes, looking a little apologetic and a little like they’d been caught in the act as they took in his presence, as they absorbed the shock on his face as he took in the sight of their destroyed room.
It was like Charles blinked and Max was at his side, face pale and eyes wide as he reached out to him with hesitant hands, palms outstretched in surrender. It took Charles a second to recognise the high-pitched noise in the room - his own quiet whining - as Max began to coo at him softly, a desperate attempt to soothe the omega. There was panic fizzing between his thoughts as he looked at the wrinkled state of his possessions - his nesting materials and the clothes that brought him the most comfort, a t-shirt from his father's old karting team strewed up amongst it all. It didn't help that the room reeked of angry alpha, sour and acidic, burning his lungs with every breath he took.
While he spiralled, Max had been muttering sweet things in his ear: apologies and remorse, telling him that it was an accident, that they hadn't meant for him to see it all. All the while, his thumb rubbed firm circles over the scent gland on Charles' wrist. The touch was distracting, pulling Charles' thoughts away from the crumpled items on the floor and to Max's voice instead, the murmur of his words.
"Shh, it's okay," he whispered, thumb sweeping over his wrist, "You're okay, we're here for you."
As Max's soothing, familiar scent washed over him, something twinged at the edges of Charles' conscience. It was distant and faraway, like a whisper of wind brushing over the back of his neck, leaving goosebumps in its path. The more Max's scent surrounded him, the less pressing the feeling became until he is feet were drifting towards the bed, guided by Max's gentle hands and his voice in his ear.
There was Lewis there, too, pressed against his side and muttering gentle apologies and sweet things as he tucked him into the sheets. The mixed scent of them - sandalwood, leather and forest fruits - washed over him, making his eyes heavy as sleep called to him. A wave of content, happiness, and desire for sleep ebbing and flowing until he was too weak to resist, until he'd forgotten all about the horror he'd been feeling only minutes before.
Until all of it felt like a distant dream.
After Baku, things remained relatively ordinary. Or, at least, as much as they could be.
Somehow, after the bad start at the beginning of the season, things had only gotten worse for Charles. It reminded him of being back in Sauber in a midfield car where the day felt like a good one if he only just made it into the points. Like he was back to square one all over again. Sixteenth in France and Seventh in Styria, not for the first time he felt like luck was truly running against him.
At least when he was in Sauber nobody expected him to be better than the midfield but in Ferrari? The stemming disappointment and the growing pressure from both external and internal forces were a sufficient distraction.
There were no more arguments between his alphas after Baku. Not for a while, at least. Things had returned, at least to Charles' knowledge, back to normal. They were their usual attentive selves, tending to his needs and keeping a watchful eye on him over the racing weekends. The burden of his season so far felt less heavy when they were with him, keeping him in bed for long, lazy mornings in the days when they were all at home and distracting him with runs and hikes when he needed it.
On the surface level, nothing about their relationship had changed. Lewis still cooked their meals and Max still forced them all to watch their shows together. They both still fucked him into the mattress until he was teary-eyed and gasping.
But sometimes Charles noticed something different between them. It was in the way they never sat side by side any longer, keeping Charles as a barrier between them on the sofa. It was in the way they barely looked at each other when they were touching, eyes finding Charles' instead. And he liked the attention, sure, but he couldn't help the way his stomach clenched every time he noticed it - a feeling of impending doom.
Max's second win at the Red Bull Ring marked three back-to-back races where he'd come out top. The gap between him and Lewis was significant, thirty points separating them, and it seemed like the championship, for all intents and purposes, was going his way.
Charles tried to feel anything but bitterness as he rolled into Parc Ferme, a measly four points under his belt. There was orange smoke pouring across the track, the Dutch fans roaring for their driver as he pulled into the number one spot once again. It brought a smile to Charles' face, at least, watching on the big screens as his boyfriend stood atop his car, arms thrown in the air as he soaked in the crowd's cheers. He couldn't help but think of Monza and his win there what felt like a lifetime ago now, chest warming at the thought of one of the people he loves getting to experience unconditional support and devotion like that.
It had helped with some of his own self-pitying as he stood beneath the podium, feeling fond as Max grinned out at the crowd as they roared for him. Charles couldn't understand much Dutch, but he could understand the sentiment. The Dutch fans were almost as dedicated as the Tifosi and they adored Max, coming in their droves to races all over the world and waving their red flags for everyone to see. Max glowed beneath their love - their dedication - and Charles felt his fondness for the other man ache with every passing second.
When he turned to his side to share the moment with the third member of their relationship, he suddenly realised that he was watching alone. It was strange, really, to have spent so many months watching both his partners up on the podium together, always the one down below, cheering them on even when his races had been anything but ideal. Lewis' absence on the podium was noticeable, of course, but his lack of presence altogether was disturbing, to say the least.
Distantly, he remembered watching Lewis' back as he fled Parc Fermé and some part of him had thought it was odd how desperate he seemed to escape, how he hadn't even taken a second to glance back at Charles before fleeing. In his naivety, he'd assumed that Lewis would find his way back for the podium celebration, that he had some pressing need to be elsewhere at that very moment but that he'd return in time to watch Max take his trophy. But Charles had been wrong.
Pretty early on in the relationship they’d all agreed to always make an effort to be at the podium celebration if one or more of them had made it up there. Charles had escaped medical examinations and team debriefs to watch his boyfriends' podium ceremonies, he'd never missed one before. So, even when he searched frantically for a valid explanation for Lewis' absence, the distinct lack of one weighed heavy on his mind.
Out of habit, Charles waited just outside the cool-down room for Max afterwards. Even if Lewis wasn't there, he refused to be the one breaking traditions.
When Max finally came out, grinning broadly and skin glistening with champagne, Charles didn't hesitate before throwing himself into the other man's arms. It felt good to be held by him after such a shitty race, to feel his strong arms and the warmth of his hands on his neck, the scent of happy, satisfied alpha surrounding him.
Max rumbled contentedly into his hair, kissing and nuzzling into the dark locks.
"You smell so good," he groaned, pressing in closer and breathing him in deeply.
Charles hummed, pleased by the compliment, "I'm proud of you."
"You are?'
Max pulled away, his blue eyes bright and pleased, glowing beneath Charles' praise. Charles liked him best like this - when his shoulders were free of any burden and he moved like he'd never been troubled once in his life. It soothed that long-buried doting instinct in Charles: the desire to make his alphas happy and their lives easy.
"Of course," Charles replied, reaching out to squeeze his hands, "Two wins at your home race and you're leading the championship, you should be proud."
There must have been something particular about those words - something Charles hadn't noticed as he was speaking - that made the energy around them shift. Max's gaze darkened, almost imperceptibly, and Charles probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been waxing lyrics about the delight in his eyes only moments before. He didn't think much of it, though - about the potential sinisterness of that shift - not when Max had suddenly pressed the heat of his growing hardness into his thigh.
"No Lewis?"
Charles' heart stammered, guilt filling his lungs even if he hadn't done anything wrong. He didn't want Max to feel bad about Lewis' absence, desperation to ease any disappointment fuelling the lie as it spilt from his lips, "Probably an urgent meeting," he said, knowing that they wouldn't have started without Valterri, who'd passed by him less than a minute before, "He'll have a valid excuse."
Something swept over Max's face too quickly for Charles to catch and then he was smiling brightly again, white teeth flashing, "Of course, he will."
Before Max had even allowed him a second to gather his thoughts, he was tugging Charles along the hallway. Step by step, Max pulled him closer and closer to the room he'd just left, leering down at him and ignoring Charles' startled, entirely unconvincing, noises of protest. He kept tugging until the door fell in beneath the weight of his back, pulling until they were both inside the cool-down room and the door was snapping shut behind them.
When the click of the lock sounded through the quiet room, Max's lips met Charles' in a hot, desperate kiss. He barely had time to check if any cameras or crew were left as Max dragged him close into a tight embrace. Instinctively, Charles moaned into the alpha's mouth, head filling with something heady and wanting as Max backed him up against one of the empty walls. There was a thigh between his legs, hot and firm as it pressed up against him, giving him something to writhe on as Max licked into his mouth feverishly.
A hand came to rest on the side of his face, big and hot as it pressed demandingly into his jaw. When Max's thumb came to settle into the hollow of his cheek, tapping once in suggestion, Charles' mouth dropped open instantaneously. The digit pressed into the wetness of his mouth, baring down onto his tongue until his hips were kicking desperately up into the pressure of Max's thigh. The flood of aroused alpha pheromones surrounded him in a thick, heady cloud and Charles didn't know what to expect until he felt the cool rim of a bottle pressed against his lips, hard and smooth as Max coaxed it up higher, tipping it. The champagne poured out quickly, flooding Charles' mouth and he swallowed greedily, gulping the rich, sparkling liquid down until Max lowered the bottle.
Blue eyes settled on his own, dark and intense, Max's mouth pink and wet as he gulped down mouthfuls of champagne. When the bottle pulled away, Max's tongue darted out to lick at the remnants, the freckle above his lip glistening and vulgar.
Max grinned, incisors flashing, "My second favourite taste in the world."
Charles didn't need to ask what his first was - the thigh pressing insistently between his legs was clue enough. His heart was thumping frantically within his chest and he couldn't help his whine as heat began to flare throughout his body. He could feel how wet he was growing, leaking profusely as Max's free hand palmed at the slip of his waist.
"More?"
Post-race Max had never failed to be a bit of a weakness for him and he was feeling particularly fragile in that moment. He could only manage to nod his reply, eyes wide and pink lips parted as Max eased the bottle towards his lips once again. He lifted it slowly, tipping more Ferarri Trento into Charles' waiting, eager mouth. Swallowing, Charles' eyes held Max's steady gaze, watching his slow, satisfied blinks as he gulped mouthful after mouthful of sparkling liquid. Lost in the heat of Max's stare - drowning in the endless black of his pupils - Charles was startled when he felt the cool champagne flood across his mouth and chin, dribbling down to soak into the thin fabric covering his chest.
Max hissed in apology but there was a smirk on his face even still, hands reaching out to pat against the sodden fireproofs and tutting quietly, "These are all sticky now. Should probably get you out of them."
When a pair of hands teased at the corner of his top, Charles felt more than willing as his arms shot up in response, letting Max tug the damp material over his torso and off his shoulders, flinging it into some unknown corner for later. The skin on his chest burned hot under Max's heated gaze, rib cage rising and falling in stuttered little moves as Charles struggled to regain some semblance of control beneath Max's uncompromising desire.
The bottle of champagne was still hanging loosely between the alpha's fingers and Charles watched, bewitched, as Max lifted it high. What was left in the bottle flowed quickly from the lip and down onto Charles' eager, waiting mouth. He spluttered beneath the flow and drank what he could but most of it fell freely, splashing onto the bare skin of his chest and abdomen, trickling down until it soaked into his waistband. It should’ve been uncomfortable - the feeling of cold, sticky champagne clinging to his skin - but Charles only felt hot, unbearably so, as Max stared at him like he wanted to consume every morsel of his being.
When the alpha pressed him over a nearby side table, pushing his fireproofs beneath his ass and fucking into his barely prepared, dripping hole, Charles couldn't find any reason in his head to object. Not as Max’s hips slammed into his ass over and over again and not when the orgasm Max wrenched out of him had his knees wobbling and his inner thighs soaked, pleasure making him sink into the hard plastic of the table like it was a luxury mattress.
The fog of his orgasm weighed so heavily that he didn't think much of Max's request: petitioning him to not wash away the remnants of slick and cum and champagne before they returned to the hotel later that evening.
Charles had floated through debrief, a measly few sprays of scent blocker enough to keep his post-race activities hidden from his team but not to last until they got back to the hotel. Max had offered to drive, of course, skipping the early celebrations to escort his boyfriend back to their room before he would head out for the night. Charles still felt too satiated and sex-dumb to really think much about the offer, sinking into Max's passenger seat and ignoring the feeling of sticky champagne on his skin and the scent of a smug, satisfied alpha beside him.
By the time they'd rolled up to the hotel, Charles was already nodding off, so Max had the pleasure of lugging his deceptively heavy body out of the car and up to their room. But he didn't seem too disgruntled about the arrangement. Without complaint, he carried his boyfriend inside, lowering him onto the sheets gently and leaving him there to grab a glass of water. Distantly, Charles could hear the shower running and the noise of someone in the ensuite as he curled into a pillow laced with his alphas' scents, mouth watering at the compatible blend of sandalwood, leather and forest fruits.
He was half the way to sleep when the bathroom door finally opened. There was a heavy weight on the mattress beside him, Max from what he could tell, which meant Lewis was the figure emerging from the ensuite in a cloud of steam. Charles' head felt as light and airy as the steam floating around them, limbs floaty as Max caressed the scent patch on his neck.
There was a mumble, what sounded like a voice but which got cut off, dramatically, all of a sudden. Charles' brows pinched and he wanted to roll over, to see why Lewis' words had been cut off so abruptly but Max's hand on his neck felt too good and the call of sleep was too compelling.
As Charles pressed deeper into the sheets he heard the voice again, "He reeks."
The anger - the revulsion - in his voice had a whine building up in Charles’ throat almost immediately. The thought that his alpha could be angry at him for some reason, that he might be repulsed by his scent, felt like a stab to the chest and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. But before he could do anything about it, the despair melted away as quickly as it had risen, replaced by contentment and happiness and a deep desire for sleep.
"That's rude."
Charles wanted to agree, head bobbing dumbly as if to say yes that is rude, I smell like my alpha which is good.
"What? Did you just rub yourself all over him?" A pause - a tumbleweed flopping round and round an empty dessert until- "Is that champagne? Did you fucking smother him in champagne?"
A smug voice, "He liked it. He asked for it."
"You're so full of yourself," what sounded like a sneer in the voice, "Suddenly you start winning and you think you're the shit or something. It's pathetic."
Beneath all of the content and happiness and desire for sleep, something raged in Charles' chest. The feeling was akin to times when he'd been running for far too long. When his heart felt like it would never calm down, hammering against his chest and making him feel lightheaded, reeling. One thought broke through the content and the happiness and the desire for sleep: stop. He wanted them to stop.
But then a thumb pressed down on his neck, heavy and oppressive until sleep finally washed over him like a thick blanket of darkness.
By the morning he'd forgotten any of it had ever happened.
Two weeks later, Charles found himself in one of his least favourite places in the world.
Max looked fine. He was a little peaky and the skin below his ribs was purpling and blackened with bruises, but all in all, he was fine. Or, at least, that's what he kept telling Charles.
"I promise schat," he said, thumbing at the top of his hand, "I feel fine. Really."
Charles' heart was thudding in his chest, heavy and oppressive, he felt like bursting into tears every time he caught a glance of stomach-churning, mottled skin. His voice came out small as he spoke, reluctant, "I don't even know how to look at him. That move- It was-"
Max cut him off with a defiant shush, linking their fingers together and forcing Charles to look away from the bruises and back into his eyes, "Don't speak like that. It was hard racing, that's all it was. I don't blame him for it."
The tears began to fall then, trickling down his cheeks, "We're not supposed to hurt each other like this, we-" he choked on his words, face skewed up, "We promised to race fair, always."
Silence pervaded his little speech. Max was looking out at the windows into the fields surrounding the hospital. He didn't look particularly aggrieved, not like Charles was expecting him to be. There was a hardness to his face, instead. It looked a little like sufferance.
"I don't want him to make it easy for me," Max finally spoke, "I don't want it to be fair."
His hand had tightened around Charles' fingers tight and unyielding.
"I want to win."
Charles went back to the London apartment alone that evening, doctor's orders forcing Max to stay in bed for another night. Just precautionary, they’d told him. That didn’t mean he liked it.
The room was dark as he stepped inside, the moonlight streaming through the window was all he had to guide his way as he tiptoed towards the bedroom. He didn't know what to expect when he stepped inside. He'd been thinking about it in the car ride home, wondering if Lewis would even be there or if he'd scampered off to lick his wounds somewhere privately. Or, even worse, if he was out partying, uncaring of his boyfriends in a hospital mere miles away.
Instead, Charles found Lewis sitting on the edge of the bed, straight-backed and facing the window. His posture was rigid and the room stank of sad, regretful alpha. Charles' heart sunk immediately, all of his anger and his resolve melting away as he stepped across the bedroom's threshold and fell beside his boyfriend.
Until that point, Charles wasn't even sure if Lewis had noticed his presence at all. But he knew that he hadn't when the alpha softened immediately, sinking into Charles' shoulder as he broke down into horrific, wretched sobs. Charles had never seen Lewis cry before. He'd seen him sad, of course, grieving, too. But he'd never seen him cry. All of his instincts flooded his mind the second he saw the first tear fall and Charles felt no guilt at all as he pulled the other man into his arms, cradling his figure against his chest.
"I'm sorry," Lewis wept, chest heaving, "I'm so sorry."
Even though it might not have been Charles' place to forgive him, he did, "It's okay," he'd whispered, "It was an accident."
"He's okay, though?" Lewis breathed, the words wet and filled with remorse, "Everyone was saying that he's okay, that he wasn't hurt."
"Just a bit bruised but he's fine," and then, to soothe his own anxieties, as well, "You know what he's like. He'll bounce back in a few days."
After a few more wheezing tears, Charles decided to move them back further into the bed. He realised, suddenly, that Lewis had been sitting on the edge of the nest - just outside - like he felt that he was unwelcome somehow. It broke Charles' heart to see and so, feeling heavy, he continued whispering reassurances into the other man's ears: he's alright, he's not hurt, he'll be fine, you didn't mean to, it was an accident, it was an accident, it was an accident.
He kept repeating the words until sleep crept up on him, pervasive and unavoidable, and he no longer had the energy to speak any more.
Before it could take him, he heard words whispered back into his own ear - a prophecy or a warning or, maybe, worst of all, from the man beside him - "What if it wasn't an accident?"
Hungary was the last race before the summer break and, as was becoming common for the season, it was the usual shit-show for Charles. He hadn't even managed to finish a single lap before Stroll decided to slam into the back of his car, sending him careening off into the gravel. Charles couldn't even bear to look at the Canadian and the crippled green car as he climbed out, slumping against his own wrecked Ferrari as he decided well and truly, once and for all, that the world frankly had it out for him.
He'd spent the rest of the race sagged in the oppressive red of his Ferarri-issued waterproof coat, watching the rain-spotted screens as the surviving drivers finished the following 70 laps without him. At the very least, his boyfriends had gotten out of it relatively unscathed. Well, if you counted Max's destroyed chassis as unscathed, that is. But, damp and miserable, Charles couldn't help but feel it was better than what he was currently experiencing.
In the end, he was happy for Ocon. A first win was always exciting, even more so when Pierre would be bitching and moaning about it to him on text later on. At least, that was something to look forward to.
Well... That and the night he and his boyfriends had planned for the evening.
After the miserable first half of the season and the growing tension of a championship fight, the three of them had agreed to a night to themselves tonight. A long night, Charles thought with pink cheeks. Or, if you're Pierre and a little more vulgar, a fuck-fest, most appropriately. It had been the first thing the three of them had agreed on in weeks. They had plans and a schedule and, thanks to Max, a new pair of tiny, lacy lingerie for Charles to wear and them all to enjoy.
By the time Charles had escaped the paddock - thankfully, not late, Ferarri releasing him after having very little to say about his 0 laps completed - a smile was finally blooming on his face. He was going to have a long, hot shower and he was going to scrub at every inch of skin until he was soft and glowing. Then he was going to put on the lacy panties and wait spread across the bedsheets for his boyfriends to finally come home and ravish him.
It was all going so well for the first hour. Charles was squeaky clean and the lace was fitting him just right. He'd even shared a few suggestive pictures to their private group chat, imploring his lovers to run to him at the earliest convenience, before throwing his phone away to some forgotten corner of the room.
Lewis was the first to turn up, looking just as eager and pleased when he found Charles spread across the pristine bedsheets, white lace tight around his hips and chest. The older man leaned in to kiss him before anything else, seemingly desperate to get his mouth on Charles as soon as possible. But when his roaming hands fell to the clasp around his back Charles paused, frowning up at the other man.
"What about Max?" He asked, "Shouldn't we wait for him?"
Lewis' mouth curled into something gentle and affectionate, "You're so sweet," he murmured as he kissed the curve of Charles' chest, hands swooping over his milky, naked thighs, "But Max said he's going to be pretty late and so we shouldn't wait up for him."
Before Charles could protest, Lewis' tongue was pushing into his mouth again, licking behind his teeth and dragging any coherent words straight out of his throat to be discarded away. His hands, hot and heavy, were pawing at every millimetre of available skin and Charles' thoughts were growing foggier and foggier by the minute. So he tried once more to prompt, "Seriously, Lew, I think we should wait for Max."
"Baby," the alpha hummed, his big, brown eyes filled with affection, "You are so lovely but I promise you that Max wants us to start without him, okay? He knows how desperate you get and he wouldn't want you waiting."
His mouth moved to Charles' the second he finished speaking, nipping momentarily at his scent gland before seeking his mouth again, kissing him until he was feeling feverish, lust and desire clouding his judgment, "Okay- Okay."
Lewis' hands were everywhere: on the meat of his thighs, across the plains of his stomach, the curve of his waist, the small of his back. His hair, his mouth, his throat. It felt like there wasn't an inch on Charles' body the other man wasn't touching. He became a puddle of mush as Lewis' fingers curled inside him, dragging guttural moans and desperate whines from his throat with every stroke of his insides.
It didn't take long for Charles to become a puddle in the sheets, jelly-legged and two orgasms deep by the time the other man finally began fucking him. He drooled onto the pillowcase, clumsy with arousal and unconcerned when Lewis had ripped the new, lacy underwear clear off of him, tearing the delicate patterns and throwing them carelessly somewhere near the door. He fucked him hard into the mattress, hips slamming into his ass so aggressively that Charles could've been convinced the imprint of his figure would be indented into the sheets forever.
It was fast - frantic - like they were racing against time. But Charles didn't have the brain capacity to tell him to slow down, nor the willingness. All he knew was how good he felt, Lewis' hand at his throat and his cock thrusting into him with an almost feral determination. Obscene profanities were grunted into the skin of his neck, all of the words that Lewis knew would make Charles clench around him.
But it was only when his teeth sunk into the skin of his shoulder, piercing through skin, that Charles finally came for the third time, legs shaking and wailing as he sunk onto the mattress.
By the time Lewis' knot had shrunk and he'd wiped him clear of any and all bodily fluids, Charles was dozing contentedly into the sheets. Not a single care in the world running through his pretty, little head. He could barely remember the earlier plans of the evening, thinking only how much he'd like to have Max here now - to curl around his soft, warm body and fall into a long, dreamless slumber.
When Max finally showed up, he couldn't be sure how much time had passed since Lewis had whispered his assurances. Maybe, it was late like he'd said or, maybe, barely any time had passed at all. All Charles' knew was how sleepy he felt and how good Lewis' hand felt stroking the scent gland at the highest point of his inner thigh.
"You fucker."
A voice broke through the peace, disturbing him from his barely-there dosing.
"You selfish, fucking dickhead."
Charles whined into the sheets, frowning minutely. He couldn't understand why the scent of angry alpha was permeating his little happy bubble.
"I asked you to wait, I fucking-" A growl, throaty and hostile, "This is over the line."
The mattress shifted as Lewis moved and, for a second, his hand left the little patch on Charles' thigh and unpleasant thoughts began to break through the cloud covering his head- confusion and distress and fear and- the hand returned and contentment washed over him again. Happy and satisfied and the desire for sleep.
"I only did what he asked," there was humour laced through every one of Lewis' words, "He begged me to, said he wanted to know what a real alpha felt like."
A crash and then the mattress was shifting again, another weight joining them. A growl and then the hand was removed from his thigh again - confusion and distress and fear returning tenfold. With the minuscule amount of bodily strength he had, Charles shifted his head on the pillow to witness the sight of his alphas - of Max, huge and raging as he pressed Lewis into the mattress, hand tight around his throat and straddling his hips. Lewis was trapped beneath him, trying to writhe against the attack but struggling beneath the weight, hands clawing at Max's forearms.
Perversely, it reminded Charles of the many times he'd seen them in bed together, pressing the other into the sheets as they made love. But there was no love in this - there was barely even an ounce of affection in either of their eyes as they fought for dominance.
Fear flooded his veins and Charles whined loudly, horrified at what he was seeing. It wasn't a noise he'd made very often, something instinctual, but it must have been startling enough because the two men froze instantaneously.
All too quickly, the fighting alphas let go of each other. Max was the first to move, flinging himself across the bed sheets until he was pressed against Charles' other side. If the Monegasque had any strength in his body left to move he might have flinched away but, instead, he was forced to remain there as both his alphas pressed against his sides. Lewis' hand returned to his thigh instantaneously, thumbing at the scent gland there whereas Max's fingers flew to his neck to repeat the movement there, too.
"Shh, schat," Max whispered, kissing his cheek devotedly, "It's okay, we didn't mean to scare you. We love you so much, we're sorry."
On his other side, Lewis's lips were dragging against his collarbone and, in any other circumstances, Charles would feel like he was in heaven - both his alphas pressed against his sides and touching him tenderly, lovingly, "Yes, we're so sorry. We love you so much. You were never meant to see that."
Instead, before the tidal wave of contentment and happiness and desire to sleep washed over him, all Charles could feel was cold, stark betrayal.
When Charles was sixteen, a year after he presented, his family noticed something strange about him.
It had happened during an argument with Lorenzo - one he can’t recall all these years later and which he only knew about now because Lorenzo had been kind enough to tell him in the years following. Charles knew he had been furious, hands flying and voice raised as he screamed at Lorenzo until, out of nowhere, it had all disappeared. Lorenzo’s hand had wrapped itself around his wrist and his fingers were pressing into the scent gland there. It wasn’t on purpose, he’d only been meaning to stop one flyaway arm that was coming a little too close to comfort, but suddenly everything in Charles had shut down all at once.
The anger had faded, becoming nothing more than a distant buzzing in the background. He could barely even remember what he was angry about in the first place, only that it didn’t matter now. Content had washed over him in a pleasant wave, pushing all negative thoughts out to sea on a little row boat, all forgotten. He couldn’t understand why Lorenzo was staring at him so wide-eyed.
The next time it had happened, Charles had been seventeen and Arthur had just presented as an alpha. He’d been a little annoyed by it: the fact that both of his brothers had won the lottery in second-gender presentations and he’d been the only one to pick the short straw - destined to be an omega in a world where alphas prevailed. In his youth, Arthur was hotheaded and quick to anger like most freshly-presented alphas his age were and there was one day an argument had brewed between the two of them. Charles could never recall this one either, but he was told that the whole family had been watching that time.
They’d been bickering between one other, ignoring the pleas of their families to put the issue to rest, when Arthur had attempted to pull him into a headlock. Though it was a little uncouth for Arthur to be doing that to an omega, it wasn’t strange within their relationship before that point. But suddenly, unlike any of the times before, Charles’ legs had wobbled beneath him and he’d flopped, unwillingly, onto the ground.
Beneath all of the content, the happiness and the desire for sleep, he could hear his family’s distress and outrage. There was his mother’s voice nearby, words trembling as she asked her son over and over again if he was alright. Maybe they thought he’d been paralysed by his brother’s rough horseplay or his weak, inferior omega brain had been overwhelmed by the dominance of his alpha brother. Charles couldn’t speak to reassure them. Whether that was an actual, physical restraint or just because he couldn’t see any reason to do so, happy happy happy clouding his mind, he’s still not sure. But even so, they’d rushed him to the hospital and it was there that the truth was revealed.
His circumstances were special. For some reason, one the doctors could never figure out, Charles was especially susceptible to an alpha’s touch on his scent glands. At its very core, this wasn’t exactly an unknown phenomenon. It was relatively common for omegas to feel calm and at ease with their alpha’s touch against their scent patches. But, where Charles’ situation differed, was the fact that this was not usually the case between unmated pairs and especially not family members or - when they tested it with one of the alpha nurses - strangers.
It had felt particularly like another shot in the foot for Charles. Not only did he present as an omega, a minority in the sport he loved so reverently, but he was also an omega who could be controlled and subdued, almost debilitatingly so, by another alpha with just a single touch to his neck, wrists or inner thighs. It was a horrifying thought - not just for him but for everyone around him - and from that point on, it had become the world’s best-kept secret amongst the Leclerc family. Everyone who knew was under strict instructions to never speak a word of it to anyone.
Even if it was a little dramatic, it was all necessary, of course. Who knows what alphas could use that information for their benefit? Whether on or off the grid, a stranger or someone he knew. It was for his safety that it remained a tightly-kept secret.
In 2019, Charles, Max and Lewis began dating. It was a whirlwind kind of romance and Charles had felt swept up in all of it - the attention and the doting and the pure, unadulterated affection. For so long, he’d been unwilling to give himself away to another alpha and for there to be two? Despite his fear, he couldn’t fight the rightness of it all, how predetermined and fated it all felt.
But during the 2020 season, the secret that Charles had tried so hard to keep hidden revealed itself. It was an accident like most previous instances had been. This particular time, Charles had been crying about something. He couldn’t remember what, but he was very upset, snot-nosed and weeping between his alphas. Max had only meant to comfort him when his hand had settled against the scent gland on his neck and, like magic, all of Charles’ sadness evaporated.
His tears stopped and contentment settled heavily over him. What reason did he have to cry when his lovely, doting alphas were settled on either side of him? Whatever reason it was, Charles couldn’t recall any longer. But his alphas weren’t sharing his evident good spirits. No, they’d been stunned - horrified, even. And so, when Max’s hand had left his scent patch and the false feeling of overwhelming contentment had ebbed and flowed away, Charles explained.
He told them everything: about the sway alpha touch seemed to have on him, about the fear he and his family had been dealing with all those past few years that someone would take advantage of this clear weakness, that they’d use it for their benefit. That they'd take advantage of him.
His alpha boyfriends had been devastated for him and entirely understanding, promising they’d never touch him there unless they had his explicit consent first. That they’d never, ever use that information against him so long as they lived.
Charles had been overwhelmed with love; happy that he’d found two alphas who would never take advantage of this weakness he had been cursed with. Two alphas who would never, ever purposefully hurt him like that.
He was so sure of it.