3.6k of the non-omegaverse omegaverse au! charles POV, explicit. featuring down bad charles, oblivious max, and a nod to the rookies and their... everything.
Charles blames the Instagram comment. Every social media training he's ever had tells him not to look at the comments under posts, but he's never been able to kick the habit. Seeing what people are saying about him scratches a bone deep itch, and he's tried to ignore the comment sections beforeβ it's just a collection of people who don't know anythingβ but he can never stay away for long.
It's not that surprising that something new catches his eye while he's scrolling through people's thoughts on the latest official F1 photo dump. There's a few photos of Max with the rookies, all of them crowding around him after the yearly photoshoot, and Charles knows that people have been calling them ducklings, but then he sees a new term catch his eye.
verstappenalty: rookies desperate for omega pheromones oh im sure
He blinks. He knows vaguely what a pheromone is, but he's pretty sure people don't have them, despite what some of the perfume ads online like to say.
He has no idea what omega means here. He knows of omega watches, and he's fairly confident he's seen it on a nutrition label before, but he has no ideaβ
There's an easy way to find the answer.
Search Results for: Max Verstappen Omega
Omega Max Verstappen - Works
It's probably a bad idea. He clicks the link anyways.
Two hours and a shameful shower orgasm later, and Charles doesn't think he'll be able to look Max in the eyes after this. He'd figured out fairly quickly what kind of site he was onβ he's not a complete idiot, he's been media prepped on the fact that some fans are... creative in their interpretations of driver relationshipsβ and it's not even the first time he's seen Max overtly sexualized in any capacity, although it's happened with more frequency over the last few seasons.
Still. He should've clicked out as soon as he realized what exactly he was reading, and yet... there'd been something interesting about it, this concept of some kind of biological draw.
And he really is trying to do research about the whole omega thing, which is why he'd clicked on another one after the first one. And then another one after that.
He's figured out enough to know that the fans calling Max an omega isn't an actual thingβ he feels silly now for even thinking it. He's known Max practically their whole lives, there's no way the fans would know something he doesn't. It seems a bit brave to be calling him that under the official social accounts though, and he has to wonder if Max even knows it's happening.
Probably not. Max enjoys spending as little time as possible on social media about him, and while he does spend too much time online, it's in his own bubble of personalized algorithms and whatever his sim racing friends send him.
So, there's not much of a chance he knows the fans are doing... all that. Charles' dick gives a traitorous twitch in his shorts, because he's an awful friend who should've stopped reading as soon as he realized it was porn but didn't. Reading about fictional Max like that has him feeling like he needs to go confess at the cathedral.
It's not that he hasn't thought about Max before, a few drinks in at Jimmy'z and a bit high, watching Max and Carlos under the lights. Or when he's particularly frustrated after they race wheel to wheel, not that it's happened latelyβ but he's always hard after good racing, it's part of being a driver. It doesn't have to do with Max.
He closes the tab on his phone before navigating to his search history and deleting it there too, nodding his head as he tosses his phone away onto the bed. He won't be doing that again, his curiosity is satiated, and eventually he'll forget this whole thing.
He wraps lube slick fingers around his cock, groaning into the pillow as he jerks up into his own hand, unable to control the thoughts running through his head. Fucking Max with his stupid online streams and his padel games with the rookies, and apparently F1 has decided he's not the villain anymore, because they keep posting all this content of him being soβ
Unwillingly, his brain feeds him an image of Max underneath him, face pressed into the mattress, ass in the air, and Charles fucks into him as he sinks his teeth into the meat of his shoulder, cock catching at his rim as Max whinesβ
He groans lowly as he comes, spilling all across his fingers. He's bitten into the pillow, a ring of spit dark against the white pillowcase, and shame flushes hot through him a moment later as he wipes off his hand with a tissue. Max is his friend, he needs to stop thinking of him like some kind of...
He shakes his head as he steps into the bathroom, turning the shower to be freezing cold as a punishment. It's ridiculous, the spin that all the social media accounts have taken recently with Max and the rookies, calling him a grid mother, and he's in the white fireproofs again this season, stretching wide across his chest, racesuit always folded at his waist.
The photo Red Bull had posted of testing where he was looking up at his team was fucking ridiculous. Charles is no stranger to the social accounts posting thirst traps, but it's like Red Bull is leaning into it at this point, like they're trying to make him out to be as maternal as possible.
It's even more ridiculous because Charles has eyes, and he can see that half the rookies are panting after Max like a dog in heat. Max, despite also having eyes, seems to be entirely oblivious to this fact. Charles has a feeling that particular choice is making things worse.
He sighs in the shower, glaring down at his cock as he shivers. Half the time it seems like the rookies are trying to worm their way into Max's heart by all their constant, tiny actions.
Unbidden, he remembers his recreational reading from before, trying to remember the word they'd used.
Courting. He roughly scrubs through his hair before stepping out of the shower, repeating it in his head until he can get into his phone and type it into the search bar, hoping for the site to provide him with answers once again.
Charles stares down at the notebook page in front of him, absentmindedly clicking his pen.
1- flowers (tulips? dutch?)
2- scented items for nest (workshop this)
4- I bring homemade food? or he brings it to me? (more research needed)
5- nesting supplies (...workshop)
He presses his lips together, trying to decide if he needs to add another line or not. Everything he'd found had said he needed permission from Max's parents, but he's well aware that Jos isn't too fond of him, and he doesn't know Sophie all that well.
Surely she'll be at Zandvoort though? He has a few months to figure out how he wants to go about that, and in the meantime he can handle the first issue, which is that most of the list suggests giving "nesting" supplies, which is Charles' first roadblock.
Max doesn't nest, because nesting isn't real. But Charles can't deny that the idea of Max being in a comfortable space with one of his sweatshirts is a nice visual image, and he wants to figure out a way to make it happen.
Charles Leclerc: Hello Max! Would you like to do padel together this week?
Max Verstappen: depends with who
Charles Leclerc: You, me, Arthur, and Lorenzo?
Max Verstappen: am I getting ganged up on?
Charles Leclerc: You can be on my team ;)
Max Verstappen: I don't know if that's a handicap or not
The wound to his ego is worth getting Max to agree. Getting Arthur and Lorenzo to agree is a bit harder, and involves giving Arthur permission to take some of his cars out this summer, which he will surely regret, but more important is that Max has agreed.
Charles buys a new padel outfit.
He sets his bag down carefully near the wall, taking a sip from his water as he waits for everyone to show up.
Extra water for Max? Check.
Premade snacks sitting hopefully in the fridge for later? Check.
An extra sweater on top of his bag in case Max is cold after? Check.
Carefully arranged blankets on his couch back home? Check.
More of this plan hinges on Max agreeing to come back to his place after the match than he'd like, but they live in the same building, so it's not that much of a detour. The sweater he'd grabbed in case Max gets cold is a soft blue color, unlabeled, and he'd only done one spray of his cologne on it, not wanting it to be too overwhelming. He hopes Max takes it when he offers later.
Arthur is the second one in, quirking a brow at Charles judgmentally as he crosses his arms.
"You look too put together for Joris not to be here."
Charles briefly wonders how it is younger brothers learn to be so casually judgmental.
"Are you trying to say I look like shit whenever it's not for my Instagram?"
Lorenzo steps inside a moment later, pulling them both into quick hugs as he ruffles Charles' hair.
"We are so nice, helping you with your date."
Charles smacks him on the back of the head, eyes flicking over to the door as he scowls.
"Do not call it that when he could walk in. Make fun of me later."
Arthur's eyes sparkle as he grins, and Charles wonders momentarily if maybe Alex and Lando would've been a better choice, but it's too late to change now.
Max shows up exactly at the time they'd agreed, lips twitching up as he looks at the three of them.
"I feel like I'm in the middle of a family matter."
He's in black shorts and a white shirt, and he's holding one of his personalized padel racquets. Charles knows he's a lost cause because he thinks it's cute.
He waves, gesturing to his side of the court.
"Max! Non, no drama here. Come, you are on my side."
Max runs a hand through his hair as he steps over, and Charles engages in the herculean effort of not staring at his thighs. He's had a bit of practice by now.
"Still not sure if that's a good thing."
It is not a good thing. They loseβ badlyβ because Arthur is a piece of shit little brother, and Charles had forgotten that Lorenzo had wooed his wife by way of weekly padel dates, and had gotten a personal coach at one point.
He can't even be mad about it, because between Max shouting at him when he loses a point, and his own shouting at Max, the court is filled with laughter, and he feels his smile stretching wide as Max bumps their shoulders together firmly, grinning at him.
"We will of course get them next time."
Fuck, he's so close. Charles can't even appreciate his lip freckle, because his eyes are higher up, which feels criminal.
Max drains the last of his water over by his bag, frowning slightly at the empty bottle, and Charles sees his chance, digging into his own pack.
He tosses the bottle at him, and Max flashes him a smile as he catches it.
Charles is actually out of his own water, and in his haste to pack an extra for Max, he'd forgotten his own. Whoops.
Charles allows himself a moment to watch the bob of Max's throat as he drinks before he looks back to his bag, looking back up when a hand claps across his shoulder. Lorenzo squeezes lightly as he smiles down at him.
"Good luck with that. I'm headed home."
His older brother just shakes his head with a small laugh, stepping towards the door.
"Text me next time you want to get beat again."
Next is Arthur, crouching down for a second to hug him before leaning close.
"Don't forget to put a sock on the door."
Charles shoves him off of him with a startled squawk, glaring at his little brother on the floor. Arthur is entirely unashamed as he gets up and heads for the door, wiggling his fingers.
Charles shakes his head as he stands with his pack, looking back over at Max, who has also collected his things.
"Hey, do you want to hang out at mine for a bit?"
Max tilts his head, considering, and Charles pulls out his best offer.
It's a bit chilly outside when they leave the court, and he spots Max shiver slightly as the breeze shifts. The edges of his hair are dark with sweat, and Charles wonders if he can convince him he can shower at his place too.
He pulls the blue sweater out of his pack, passing it over to Max and hoping he has the same instinct from years of signing things that Charles does. Sure enough, he mindlessly takes what's handed to him, although he pauses a moment later.
"Oh, I'm all good, I don'tβ"
There's a moment of silence, but then Max pulls it on over his head, and Charles does a mental fist pump of victory. So far, this is going perfect.
Max speaks again a second later, shouldering his bag again while they walk.
"I might go back to mine first to shower, but I will come to yours after if you are still wanting...?"
Charles shoves down the disappointmentβ it could be worse, Max could be not coming back at allβ and nods.
"Of course. I will leave the front door unlocked."
Max bumps their shoulders together again, flashing him a quick grin.
"I will post your address on Twitter and let the fans come visit."
Charles has nightmares about that kind of thing. They're worse than his nightmares about having to do a press conference in his underwear, which is probably saying something.
His nickname in Max's accent makes him want to do something stupid, like drag him upstairs and kiss him senseless, and he's really come a long way from when Max saying Charlie made him want to strangle him.
Then again, when Max had called him that when they were little, it was usually in a mocking way.
Max forgets to bring Charles' sweater back when he comes in, hair damp at the edges, and Charles tries to remind himself that it's probably just sitting in the laundry, and not somewhere on Max's bed so he can smell it.
He's set out his snacks on the counter, but he drifts towards the drinks cabinet as Max puts together a small plate, carefully arranging things so that they aren't touching.
"Do you have anything else today?"
Max looks up from his strategic grape alignment.
"Hm? No, nothing else. I handled my meetings earlier."
"Great. Do you like red or white?"
Max's eyes widen slightly, and Charles knows he should've asked if he wanted a drink first, but by doing it this way it's easier to get Max to relax and lose some of his rigid self control he carries around all the time.
Also, wine makes him a talker, and Charles wants to make sure the rookies are behaving.
Charles pours him a glass as Max takes his plate into the living room.
Max sounds slightly hesitant.
"...Did I interrupt your blanket fort, or...?"
Charles hides his smile as his pours his own glass before making his way over.
"Ah, sorry, it is a bit messy right now. But I have found that it is much more comfortable than you would think."
Max eyes him for a moment before tentatively setting his plate on the coffee table.
"How are things at Ferrari going again?"
Charles gestures for Max to sit in the center.
"You can rearrange it however you want, I don't mind. They are alrightβ Lewis is maybe having a harder time adjusting than we expected."
Max settles down before tugging one of the blankets across his legs and adjusting a pillow at his back. Charles gets the same sense of satisfaction that he does when he takes a good racing line. It may only be a few things now, but eventually he hopes Max will fix the whole thing.
It's what the omegas in his research do. And sure, omegas aren't real, but Charles is starting to see what the fans are seeing in Max, and he thinks maybe with the right encouragement...
"Yes, I imagine Ferrari is much different to Mercedes, even in ways he was not thinking of. It is of course all the little details in running a team that you do not think will be different but are."
Charles steps in next to Max and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. His research says he's supposed to wait for Max to invite him in, but he figures this is not the usual situationβ he'll work on getting permission later.
"He is a quick learner though. How are you feeling about the rookies?"
Max's eyes brighten as he leans forward, COD forgotten, and Charles resigns himself to at least an hours worth of anecdotes that Max doesn't seem to realize are thinly veiled attempts to flirt or date.
Max has his head tipped back against the couch, hidden beneath another blanket he'd grabbed midway through on of the games, and he blinks lazily at Charles. He's gone through two glasses of wine, and his snack plate is gone. The sun has set through the windows, and they've long since stopped playingβ there's a tennis match on TV neither of them are paying attention to.
Max watches him for a moment.
Charles doesn't want him to leave. He wants Max in his clothes, in his bed, begging for himβ bad Charles.
"Oui, I think so as well. We should do it more often."
Max nods, chin tucking down into the blanket.
"You were right, that this is comfortable."
Underneath the blanket, Charles' fingers twitch at the opportunity.
"You can take that one with you for your place. I have plentyβ too many, really. You'd be doing me a favor."
Max blinks again, rubbing the material between his fingers.
Charles hopes his nod isn't as eager as he feels.
"Yes, please take it. Let me know what the cats think."
Max laughs as he stands, gathering the soft martial into his arms.
"They will of course take it over immediately. Sassy is in charge of the flat."
Charles believes it. He wants to walk Max to his door, but he knows it wouldn't go over well, and he's had so many little victories tonight already that he doesn't want to push it. He settles instead on hovering carefully as Max slides his shoes back on, smiling softly at him.
"Thank you again, Charlie. I had fun."
Charles smiles back, trying to feel a normal amount of pleased about the statement.
"Yes, we will do this again soon. Text me when you get inside? So I know you have not lost the key under the mat?"
Max cringes with a soft laugh.
"I never should've let that video get out."
Max Verstappen: I did not lose the key
Max Verstappen: thanks again for the blanket
Max Verstappen: [image attachment]
Charles' heart melts when he opens the photo. Max has the blanket laid out on his own couch, two cats sprawled across the top, and more importantlyβ he can see an edge of light blue laid over the back of the couch. The same shade as his sweater from earlier.
Charles Leclerc: It looks good there :)
He finishes cleaning up the kitchen, taking the blanket that Max had kept wrapped around his shoulders and folding it carefully before setting it on the arm of the couch. If he wants to sleep under it tomorrow, that's his business.
He starts the dishwasher before grabbing clean clothes and stepping into the bathroom, letting the water warm as he strips. He's already half hard, and he's given up on feeling guilt about getting off to Maxβ and really, what's the point? Some of the rookies are doing the same shit, and if Charles doesn't get it together, they'll make more progress than he has.
He thinks about the way Max had looked at the end of the night, leaned against the couch, eyes half lidded and voice soft, lisp even stronger than usual. He steps under the spray as he wraps his hand around his cock, brushing his thumb across the tip.
It'd be nice to get him off like that, to see how far back his head can go as he bares his throat, to feel his fingers grip into Charles hair as he coaxes him over the edge. Precome blurts across his thumb as he considers keeping an arm across Max's hips, working him into a second oneβ he gets a particular rasp to his voice when he's worked up or frustrated about something, a borderline whine if it was coming from someone else.
Maybe he'd beg, plead with Charles to get on with it, or maybe he'd whine that if Charles doesn't quit he'll go into preheatβ
His orgasm rocks over him as he leans his head against the tiled wall with a moan. It's not possible, he knows it's not possible, but fuckβ having Max to himself for a few days where all he has to worry about is fucking him?
Charles is far more into that than he would've anticipated.
