MAX VERSTAPPEN ONE SHOT - 001
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You and Max had been teammates before, back in F3 days. But now it was different. Now you're in the big leagues. At Red-Bull Racing, there wasn't room for any mistakes. As a second seat driver, you would be replaced instantly with the next person in line for your spot.
Lucky for you, you pushed to the max; every single race. In your first race of the season, Australia, you managed to overtake Verstappen himself and make your way into P1, finishing the race on a complete high.
Max, frustrated with P2, refused to look at you in the cooldown room. During media? He swiftly avoided any questions that even attempted to compare the two of you. However he himself didn't make any attempt to hide the scowl on his face at the mention of your name at any point.
Media finishes, and the two of you walk side by side in silence back to the Red-Bull garage, neither one of you making small-talk in fear the other would explode; either of glee or of rage.
After a congratulations from the entire team. Christian gives you a hard pat on the back and leaves to grab his belongings before heading home, the engineers following suite. Before anyone is able to leave, Max storms over, his eyes concentrated on you. You had seen him having a conversation with Christian a few minutes ago - what had Christian said to him? Was it about you? You might be about to find out...
He stops directly in-front of you, refusing to meet your eyes as he looks into the distance behind you.
His voice was low, as to not draw attention to the interaction, as he quickly turns around and stomps towards his driver room.
You freeze, your brows furrow and you slowly approach his room, your breathing now much heavier than it was 10 seconds ago, as you bring your hand up to knock on his driver's room door.
It swings open, revealing a truly, mad, max. He grabs your wrist, pulling you into the room, before slamming the door behind you and throwing you onto his couch.
"Christian says he plans on keeping you. For a long time."
You smile slightly, looking at the floor sheepishly.
At these words he slowly turns around, taking small steps moving towards you.
"You think you deserve to be here? You think you're a better driver than me?"
"Max, we've been driving together for years. I think we know where we stand driving-wise."
Her head fell to the side, her eyes rolling a little.
"What about off the track?"
"Where do we stand, off the track?"
He comes even closer now, his knees now touching yours as he leans right over you.
You're unable to finish your sentence before you feel hands suddenly on your neck, pulling you up from your seat and towards Max's face, before you feel lips crash onto yours. You barely have time to think before you're melting into his touch, your own hands finding their way to his sweat-lathered hair and tugging softly on tufts of it.
"God you're such a fucking good driver..."
His lips parted from yours to speak, before immediately going for your neck, leaving marks that were sure to stick out of your race-suit for weeks. His voice snapped you out of his trance, before your hands press against his chest, pushing him away.
"Max, what the hell are we doing?"
He hesitated, suddenly looking vulnerable under your questioning gaze.
"Red-Bull have finally found a driver that matches my ability to drive, and it really pisses me off."
Your brows once again knit together in confusion. He's pissed at you? So why was he-
"And it gets me so fucking hot."
He once again goes straight to your neck, nipping at your pressure points, causing you to moan in satisfaction.
After a good hour, the two of your are panting, your race-suits now long discarded on the floor. You look at Max as he stands up, casually changing into a T-Shirt and shorts, before giving you a tight smile and leaving you in his room, completely naked, left to make your way home alone wondering what the fuck just happened.
You quickly learned after a good few rounds of the season that you only got this treatment when you got a podium.
That being said, it causes you to work harder. You find yourself driving ruthlessly, risking penalties just to make it to P3 and get to experience max again.
In your first season in Formula 1, you had managed to rack up 16 podiums in 24 rounds, solidifying your seat at Red-Bull for a long time.
After making your way to your home in Monaco for the Winter break, you prop up in bed when you receive a text on your phone from Max.
That was all it took for her to slip into a hoodie and jeans and be at his place in 20 minutes.
But this time, nothing happened. Instead you spent the night talking, laughing, watching movies and cooking food.
For now, you didn't know what you were.
And that was more than enough for you.
