#vertonelli fic

The numbers 04:43 glow red in the dark. Kimi’s mouth feels dry as cotton. He had had a couple of drinks, even though he wasn’t of age in this country. He promised his mom to go to bed early, and Bono had made sure that happened.

Three victories in a row. Kimi was starting to get used to it, though he remembered what had happened to Oscar last season. 

And George…

Something was different about George. A different sort of gleam in his eye. Kimi tried to ignore it. What had George expected, that Kimi wouldn’t even try to fight back? That Kimi would accept the role George had cast him in his mind, the deferential second driver? They were competitors.

The youngest championship leader in history! Toto’s booming voice. A pat to Kimi’s back. George lurking somewhere in Kimi’s periphery, taking a bitter gulp of his drink.

Kimi can’t fall back asleep. He had had the dream again. Max was always there.

Max hasn’t been anywhere near the podium this whole season.

Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Kimi crawls out of bed. His clothes are thrown haphazardly across the floor. His mom would berate him for leaving the hotel room so messy. When he pulls his jeans on, he can feel the sharpie he had accidentally taken yesterday from a fan is still in his pocket.

Last year, Ollie and Gabi had shown him how to access the roof of this hotel via the fire escape. It had made Kimi queasy but also excited, climbing the rickety stairs, tittering with his fellow rookies. Toto would have a conniption fit if he found out. Not to mention Kimi’s mother.

To their credit, it was probably more likely he’d die falling from those stairs than in an F1 car.

Kimi, Ollie, and Gabi had sunbathed on the roof for nearly an hour, talking shit and listening to the sounds of Miami around them. The only thing missing from this rebellious little outfit was a pack of cigarettes. Kimi had tried smoking, once. It had ended only in coughs and mocking laughter from other boys. His mother had smelled it on him, and he had never been yelled at as much.

F1 had made Kimi feel older than he was but that moment had made him feel young. His age.

The route to the roof is still intact. Kimi’s body shakes as he steps onto the roof. Though the building isn’t one of those huge towers that surround it, Kimi still feels like he can see the whole world from up there. He can hear the endless, static roar. Not the sea, no. Miami. And a city like Miami was a machine that never turned off.

Kimi’s heart almost falls through his asshole when he spots another figure on the roof, standing by the edge. He’s about scramble back towards the fire escape, but–

He recognizes that figure. The panic in his chest alleviates but soon surges back as fear. What is Max doing, peering down, and bracing his hands against the barrier?

You can’t even fall from this building without landing on another roof. Kimi remembers how he and Ollie and Gabi had spat down onto it. You would definitely break your legs or back, though.

“Max?” Kimi calls out. Max’s eyes are wide with surprise when he looks up. The tension leaves his shoulders when he realizes it’s Kimi and he smiles. He doesn’t look upset or anything, but Kimi still asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Peachy,” Max says.

“How- How did you get up here?”

“How did you?” Max grins at Kimi and Kimi feels himself blushing. (It happens too often.) “Who do you think told Gabi about this place?”

“Do you come here often?” Kimi asks.

“Who taught you that line?” Max laughs. “Toto? George?”

“It was Bono, actually,” Kimi plays along.

Max looks at Kimi. His eyes are always so intense, so blue. Kimi shrinks and shivers under the gaze, even when his eyes are always lenient. “What are you doing here? Everything alright?”

“Ah – just couldn’t sleep.” Kimi brushes him off with a hand gesture.

Max’s brow wrinkles. “The championship leader should rest easy. Feeling the pressure?”

It was hard not to. Kimi chews on his lip, looking at the sky that’s starting to turn lighter and lighter shade of blue. Soon, the sun would peek over the horizon. Tender wind tickles the back of his neck and ruffles his hair. Max’s, too, his hair without any gel, for once. Kimi flexes his fingers, feeling the urge to sink them into Max’s hair and feel how soft it is.

“I will do my best,” Kimi says after a moment of pondering. “George has the experience, but I want it just as much. I can win races so I can win the whole thing. And I want to.”

George hadn’t been far behind, chasing Kimi. Kimi had felt his hunger. They had ended up with a 1-2, though George’s slow stop had contributed to him not being able to fight for the win.

“George must be ecstatic. What does Toto say?”

Kimi shrugs and deploys his best (worst) Toto impression, “May the best driver win.”

“Hm.” The smile on Max’s face is slanted, wry. His fingers draw patterns on the concrete barrier they’re leaning against.

“How did you do it?”

“Win the championships? I did my best, of course.”

“No,” Kimi corrects, voice soft and silent. “Red Bull was Daniel’s team when you got there. How did it become yours?”

Max’s mouth forms an ‘o’ shape. “I- I didn’t do anything. I always focused on my performance, on giving the best performance. Daniel focused on his. It was the team’s decision. Christian’s. If there was any.” Max squirms, knees knocking against the barrier. “Well, of course, you have to be assertive. Long ago I told myself I wouldn’t listen to team orders.”

Kimi remembers teenage Max’s voice on the radio, an insistent No!

“Yes, like Seb?”

“Yes,” Max chuckles. “Like Seb. And that brought him championships, too.” He taps his fingers against the barrier, assessing Kimi. “I can’t tell you about what I’ve talked with Toto–” An image flashes in Kimi’s mind, Max shirtless on a yacht. “–but I don’t think he sees you as a number two driver. Yet. You don’t have to become one.”

“Mercedes is no Red Bull.”

“And you’re no Valtteri.”

Kimi looks at Max’s face. The dark circles around his eyes. “Did you have a nice break?”

“Break? Yes. It was nice.”

“You really liked it, didn’t you? Not having to drive these cars.”

“Everyone knows they’re not my favorite.”

There’s pressure in Kimi’s throat, a lump that refuses to dissolve, straining his voice. “But you’re not going to leave, are you?” The reassuring No, I’m not going to leave doesn’t come and Kimi snaps his head around, looking at Max. Max is looking down at Miami, at the road below where the first batch of morning shift workers are driving to their destinations. The sky, morning pale, reflects a hundredfold from the windows covering the high-rise buildings. “Max?”

“Kimi?” 

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, despite the warmth of Florida. Max saying his name always… titillates him. In Italy, he was another Andrea among too many Andreas. In the motorsport world he was Kimi, another name that had already been taken by someone else. He had felt like he needed to be someone bigger and louder to claim it as his.

“I- I asked you,” Kimi tries again. “I’m sorry if you can’t talk about it. You must have thought about it, though. During the break. You said you would.” Max simply nods. “What would make you stay?” His voice is fragile, asking that. What was that song he heard yesterday in the car, on the way to the track? Please, please, please, don’t prove I’m right. “They are changing how things work. It won’t happen immediately, but-”

“It’s not enough,” Max admits. Just what Kimi had feared. “It’s not just the regulations, but my team, also… Things have changed so much.”

“Then come to Mercedes!” Kimi finds himself pleading. Childish. Like this, he will never see you as anything other than a child. “I am sure Toto will not want to lose me. George will be the one who will have to look somewhere else. Especially if I win the championship.” And Kimi would. If this were the reward, he wouldn’t give only his 100%, he’d ramp it up to 110%. He can make it happen. The team will be his.

Until Max gets there.

“You can’t know for sure,” Max points out. 

“Are you considering it, then?”

“The regulations. I do not know if I can go through years with them. They say they will change things, but- I am not being optimistic.”

“You could win again.”

“I am already winning again. Somewhere else, Kimi. I already have my championships. I already achieved everything I wanted to. I want to have fun. I’m not having fun.”

“It’s- It’s not that bad,” Kimi swallows. “Not when you win.”

“I’m sure it’s better. It’s not me, though.”

“Will you think differently of me?” Kimi’s tone turns defiant, though he tries not to act like the petulant child he feels like. “If I win this with these regulations? Will I become a… a sham to you?”

“Of course not!” Max rubs the space between his eyebrows. “I know what you’re capable of, whatever the regulations. I will be proud of you if you win, Kimi.”

“You were supposed to be there.” Kimi can’t help the outburst. “Fuck these regulations and fuck Red Bull!”

Flabbergasted, Max stares at Kimi. “Kimi?”

“I just want to race with you.” Oh, how pitiful and young he sounds, even to himself.

“Well obviously that can’t happen now.”

“Yeah. Obviously. I wanted you on the podium. For my championship. It was supposed to happen.” He places his hand on the barrier, to calm himself. Max’s little finger twitches, touching Kimi’s.

“Oh. But that probably wasn’t going to happen. You’re so young and I’m so old. I could’ve taken you more years.”

“Fernando is old. Toto is old. You’re not old,” Kimi says. “And I could while you’re still here. I could win this year.” Kimi juts his chin defiantly. “Or the next. Or after that. If you stayed. You have a contract till 2028, right?”

“You know how contracts are in this sport.”

“You would leave your team?”

“Isn’t much of a team these days. So much has changed,” Max sighs. “I am thankful for the good years, of course.”

“You could come back. Räikkönen came back. And Fernando.”

Max’s sighs. “I don’t think so, Kimi.”

“You could call Toto. Have more good years. Now, or later.”

“Did Toto put you up to this?”

Kimi shakes his head. “All me.”

“Oh, Kimi.” Max grasps his hand, squeezing it hard, and Kimi closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the touch and not able to stand the pity in Max’s voice. He thinks about arriving at the paddock and not seeing Max’s smiling face, asking how he is. Always intently listening. Never flinching away from Kimi’s overeager touches. How is he supposed to go on without all that?

Max rubs reassuring circles in the back of Kimi’s hand, waiting while Kimi takes slow breaths. “Have you really decided?”

“Almost.”

It breaks Kimi’s heart more than any other answer, fills him with hope and desperation all the same. “Will you tell me when you decide for sure? I don’t want to hear it from anyone else. You have my number.”

“Of course.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Kimi opens his eyes. They’re bathed in the early morning sunlight. Max’s hair shines golden. His face is sad. But then he smiles. “You will be fine, Kimi. It’s your time, now.”

Kimi does something stupid. He lets his tears fall. And, he says, “You look very beautiful right now.”

A blush. On Max’s face, ruddy, rosy, blooming. Kimi has made him blush, though Kimi must be the one who's redder at the moment. He turns his head into Max’s palm when Max’s begins to wipe his tears away, tender, and meticulous. 

This is so unfair! Kimi wants to yell that to the whole of Miami. He was supposed to have more time. Kimi was supposed to grow and stop being a stupid teen and maybe then, he could have a chance with Max. And now Max is leaving. Kimi is crying like a little baby, and Max is wiping his tears away out of pity. And Kimi knows. He knows all this time his heart has been on his sleeve, his crush spilling out of him like a pink glow. Nobody miraculously ever bothered to tease him about it, but Kimi could see it in their eyes.

In Max’s eyes, too, so gentle as they stare at him as he cups Kimi’s cheeks and strokes his cheeks. He feels sticky and snotty and like a fucking child. 

But he also feels brave. “You’re not coming back?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then, could you- Or we- Maybe one day, when I have as many championships as you… Everybody wants to do Le Mans, right?”

Max chuckles. “Fernando has been asking about that.”

“I don’t mind if Fernando is there.”

“Well, I would love to drive with you. Le Mans or anything else. I’m sure we’ll race again, some day.”

Kimi’s hands shake and he puts them in his pockets, only for his right hand to close around an object. Right. The sharpie. He pulls it out, and fiddles with it.

Surprising him, Max reaches for Kimi’s hand and takes the sharpie. Confounded, Kimi watches as Max kneels and uncaps the sharpie. With big, blocky, rather ugly letters he writes MAX WAS HERE on the barrier. Then, he stands up and offers Kimi the sharpie with a cheeky grin.

Kimi writes, below Max’s words, a bit neater, KIMI WAS HERE. It’s like a signature for an unspoken contract.

At dawn on a rooftop in Miami, Max pulls Kimi into a hug. Kimi buries his nose into Max’s neck, trying to memorize his scent, though knowing Max, this won't be his last hug for Kimi. But he can’t cling to Max like this in the media pen, with all the eyes and cameras on them. This hug is for them. Their first goodbye. Sooner or later, Max will be gone.

Back in the hotel room, a new tab opens on Kimi phone: real estate Monaco.

–

Kimi crosses the finish line, and he’s a champion. The crowd erupts. Toto yells on the radio. His father, mother, sister, crying with happiness. 

On the podium, Kimi doesn’t turn to look at who stands beside him.

babydoll.

Max's palms slip around Kimi's broad back, trying to find purchase as he holds on for dear life. The younger man's waist is bracketed by Max's thighs, crossed behind the small of his back, as the Italian man rams into him hard against the wall in Max's small but cozy apartment.

Max almost screams at the force of the thrust, his head lolling back and bumping against the wall behind him.

Kimi only hums at his reaction, hardly affected himself, fixing Max with his deep brown stare.

Then he lets his head dip, his curls suddenly brushing against Max's nose, making him sneeze before a small, embarrassed giggle slips free. His head stays lowered as he nuzzles at Max's collarbone, only to sink his teeth into the sensitive skin without warning.

"Fuck, Kimi," a pathetic little whimper slips from Max's throat.

Kimi looks half-smug, half-predatory as he glances back up at him, his thrusts never relenting, his pace only quickening, his gaze smoldering.

"Yeah, again. Louder. Let me—and everyone else—hear who's fucking you this well, babydoll."

Max's eyes fill with tears as the next thrust hits his prostate dead-on, drawing a loud moan from his lips.

"Kimi!"

"Nah." The other man tsks at him, his thrusts slowing into a languid rhythm, his hips circling as he grinds against Max's body—not nearly enough, only teasing that delicious spot inside him with the tip of his cock.

"My first name, Max."

Max almost sobs as he obeys, the name leaving him in a low, desperate whine.

"Andrea."

Even slower now. Almost stopping.

"Louder, babydoll, or I'll slip out of you and leave you like this."

Honest tears spill down Max's cheeks, tracing over his chin and throat before disappearing beneath the collar of his T-shirt, hiked up high enough for Kimi to twist his right nipple between his fingers—meanly.

"Nooo..." he protests, clutching Kimi's waist tighter with his thighs, as though he could keep him from leaving.

But it seems he's not the one in charge here. He never is, and he really should've remembered that. How stupid of him.

"That's not how this goes, babydoll. Don't make me repeat myself."

Kimi's voice slips into that low, commanding mafia tone—the one he uses during high-profile meetings. It shouldn't be so hot.

But it is. A low, vibrating growl. Max can feel it deep inside him.

"You can do better than that," he continues, suddenly ramming into him in quick succession—one, two—making Max see stars.

"Andrea!" he cries.

And he doesn't stop.

His words dissolve into a blubbering mess of Kimi's first name and desperate pleas.

"Mijn god!... please, please... I'll be better. Please, baby... come inside me..."

The words are almost unrecognizable.

But Kimi hears them anyway.

He must be pleased by Max's hoarse screams, because he redoubles his efforts, driving into him until Max is utterly spent, reduced to a tear-streaked, sniveling mess. His legs tremble uncontrollably as Kimi finally slows after coming inside him, warmth spilling between them before sliding out of Max's abused hole and down his tights, already littered with finger-shaped bruises.

The moment Kimi lets him go, Max's legs give out beneath him, unable to support his weight.

Without a word, Kimi catches him in his arms and carries him to the bed, laying him down gently against the soft sheets.

He presses a kiss to the blond's forehead, tucks him beneath the covers, and slips away to the bathroom, returning moments later with a warm, damp washcloth to clean his lover up.

All the while, he murmurs soft praises against Max's throat, his cheek, anywhere his lips can reach.