i love... cars

series/longer fics:

more than nemeses - oscar/carlos, 3k, superhero au made off to find your lover - lando/max/oscar, complete, western au mutually exclusive - oscar/max/charles, complete, vampire au shifting skin and bone - oscar/carlos, oscar & max & charles, complete, werewolf au school stories - max/charles, oscar/max/charles, high school au coven of vampires - oscar/george, oscar/george/max/charles/carlos/lando/arthur, complete, vampire au

other fics (ao3):

“You bring up something else of note. The informality.”

George levels the reporter with a stare. He can’t believe he’s being interviewed by someone so completely stupid. “Have you met His Royal Highness?”

“Once,” the bumbling fool admits. Fine. George still has the high ground here.

“Would you call him a friend?”

The reporter clears his throat. “I don’t have that familiarity, no.”

“His Royal Highness prefers his friends to address and refer to him by name, outside of the most strictly ceremonial circumstances. I’m sure you’d agree that our chat is not precisely ceremonial.”

“We’ll say no more on the topic.”

George would snort if it wouldn’t reflect badly. Max is going to get a laugh out of this. 

“You’re also close with Prince Lando.”

“Surely you’re aware that we grew up together.”

“Of course,” the reporter murmurs. “How have your friends, who are naturally more traditional than most, reacted to the recent insight into your personal life?”

Wanker, George thinks. “I hope you’re not insinuating that they’d be intolerant.”

With his team, with his teammates, with his rivals, his friends, Toto Wolff—

They’ll find a way to claim that he doesn’t care about F1, or the things he’s achieved, or any of the people he knows anyway. He might as well have some fucking fun.

Of course he has been asked about his plans for the rest of his life, and for now all he has said is that he wants to sleep and eat and not hold 35 kilos with his fucking neck ever again in his life. And also manage his racing team, but this one is not new at all. No he has no plans to mate right away.

The first morning Max is a retired racing driver, George Russell comes to his door.

Max has never actually had a reason to give George his flat number. He is pretty sure he saw George last night anyway. Maybe they made plans then, Max does not fully remember everything that happened.

“Hi,” he says, and lets George in. “One minute, I need to find my hangover pills I think.”

“Rough night?” George asks, following him into the kitchen very close behind. Max feels his scent very strongly. 

Max makes a small groaning noise because that’s the quickest way to say Yeah and you knew that already because you were there. “To be honest I don’t remember what we said we were doing today.”

George looks surprised, which is stupid because he must have seen how Max was a lot more drunk than he should have been. Then he says in a way that is weirdly soft, “That’s okay, Max, you were rather drunk.”

“Yeah.” Max cracks open a Red Bull, because he thinks he needs to be awake for whatever this is, and downs it with his pills. Also he has been promised all the Red Bull he needs his whole life even when he stops endurance, so that’s good.

He waits, but George doesn’t say what they planned.

“Like I said I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” George repeats. Max waits again. George is not usually this stupid. “Ah. We were… going to go out for lunch.”

Max blinks. “Everyone?” Because they already did drivers’ dinner, and Max paid because it was his last time, so it’s weird to have one again so soon.

“Just us,” George says firmly. “We should go now.”

“Right now?” 

“Right now.” George looks a little angry, actually, his scent a little sharp even for him, and Max blinks.

“Right,” Max says. “Can you call my phone?”

Because if he’s being honest, he has no fucking clue where it is. 

“Do you need it?” George demands, definitely sharp now. 

“What?”

George laughs. “Come on, Max. It’s not like I’m going to kidnap you. I can drop you straight home.” And then he says, a little louder, “Let’s go, Max.”

Max goes. He really fucking loves George’s Mercedes anyway.

Max only starts to think that something is not right when George follows him down a flight of steps into a concrete-walled basement.

Before that, being driven through Monaco in a hypercar, walking into yet another Monaco home, being steered through and past years of F1 memorabilia, he had not thought to be confused. 

“George,” he says, stopping and turning. “You said we were going for lunch.”

George smiles and, before he speaks, closes the door. “I did, didn’t I? Do be quiet.”

Max is quiet. He is not used to listening to anyone like this, anyone except his father or GP or maybe a long time ago Christian. He has stood there looking at George for a long time when he thinks to say, very quietly, “You are using your alpha voice?”

George looks, and Max has no other word in English for it, stricken. “Christ. You didn’t know?”

Max shakes his head, looking at George’s face and trying to understand what he is doing here. Alphas do not normally use their voices without reasons. Max would have gone for lunch without a reason, but he thinks maybe that’s not what George wants.

Lunches, with F1 drivers, in his experience, do not happen in basements.

“Christ. Well. To avoid confusion, let’s assume that any orders I give you will be alpha commands, shall we? You’ll know to resist then.”

Max is very confused now. He is an omega in a public space, but he has not really learned how to resist alpha voice. Sometimes the thing they say is stupid and he doesn’t do it, but George has not told him anything really stupid yet.

Sometimes they fuck him up a little, and he stops thinking, but probably George can’t make that happen.

He is still meant to be quiet, so probably he shouldn’t say any of that.

“Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Max says immediately, because now he’s pretty sure he does. George will tell him to do things. If they are not stupid, Max will do them. “George?”

He says this quietly.

“Yes, go on.”

“Are we having lunch?”

“You are stupid,” George says, grinning hugely. Max has almost always liked to see George smiling. He is prettier that way, except for when he cries. Or when he is angry. “I lied, Max.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Not—Max. Do explain what you think is happening here.”

Max is not even sure that was a command. “You are being weird and we’re in your fucking grey basement for some reason.”

“Because?”

“How the fuck would I know.”

“There is something deeply wrong with you.” George takes Max by the arm and pulls him across the basement. When he stops he looks angry, like he looked angry in Qatar, and Max stays very still and wonders if he should do something about that. “Let me make this very clear. This is a kidnapping, Max. An abduction.”

“Oh,” Max says, a little bit surprised but deciding that that makes sense, actually. He looks towards the door and checks that it’s closed like he remembers. 

George’s hand on his arm gets very tight. “You’re not fucking running out,” he says, still very angry. “Fuck the alpha commands, if you try I will break your legs.”

“Okay.” Max looks up at George and wonders what happens now. “I’m hungry,” he tries, because George promised him lunch and honestly the kidnapping is whatever but he would have liked lunch first.

“You’re deranged.”

“I said hungry,” Max says, smiling up at George because even if George is angry he is still going to make his joke. 

George hits him. Not even very hard, maybe like he hit Valtteri however many years ago in Imola, which isn’t even a race anymore it’s been so long. 

Max has almost been waiting for George to hit him for fifteen years. 

“For that, you starve,” George tells him. “Hands out.”

Max puts his hands out. George suddenly has a rope in his hand. Max thinks it was probably not made for tying people up, maybe it’s a clothesline, but that’s what George uses it for. 

“Really no food?” Max asks, just to check, because if George is joking he probably doesn’t always laugh. 

George yanks at the rope hard, making Max’s arms hurt, and then suddenly he says, softly, “I don’t need to hold back, do I?” and knees Max in the balls.

“George,” Max groans.

“Shut up.” Max is on the floor now, but George is still holding the rope from his hands and he looks so angry and Max is very very confused about this kidnapping thing. “If it isn’t clear, Max, that’s another command. I’m leaving now, you are going to stay completely silent until I come back. Understood?”

It takes a long time and George kicks him again, in the ribs this time, but Max nods. 

“What an absolutely depressing excuse for an omega,” George says, which makes no sense, “but then, you’ve always been like that, haven’t you?”

Max doesn’t say anything.

“It’s odd,” George adds, somehow already all the way at the door. “I thought at first I’d like it when you were gone. No more of those fucking Mercedes rumours.” He knocks on the wall, contemplative. “I suppose I’ve known you too long.”