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The paddock was alive with its usual chaos. Reporters shouting, engineers running, cameras flashing with relentless hunger. Max was used to it. He could tune it out. He could always tune it out.
Until he couldn’t.
The sudden ripple of noise wasn’t normal. The way voices rose, the way cameras tilted toward the entrance. It felt like a star had just dropped into their orbit. Max turned instinctively, eyes narrowing. He expected maybe a celebrity guest, a footballer, or some new sponsor unveiling. What he saw instead stopped him dead.
Lewis.
Not just Lewis. Lewis Hamilton, his husband, his retired legend of a husband, striding into the paddock like the ground existed for him alone. He wore sunglasses despite the cloud cover, shirt cut daringly low. Not obscene, not vulgar, but enough to show skin that should have been for Max alone. Smooth chest just teasing the eye, collarbones on proud display, neck completely open and gleaming under chains that caught the light.
The crowd erupted. Fans screamed his name. Journalists almost tripped over each other to capture the sight.
Max’s jaw tightened. He didn’t care that his mouth had gone dry. He didn’t care that his teammates were watching him. He only knew one thing: everyone was looking. Everyone was staring.
And Max didn’t like sharing.
He moved without hesitation, long strides cutting through the paddock until he reached him. Lewis’ lips curved into that maddening, knowing smile. The one that said he’d planned this. That he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Hello, love,” Lewis greeted softly, voice low but dripping with amusement.
Max didn’t answer. He slid an arm around Lewis’ waist, pulling him flush against his side. Close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin under that ridiculous shirt.
“You can’t just show up like this,” Max muttered against his ear, voice rougher than he intended.
Lewis’ chuckle vibrated against his chest. “Why not? I thought I’d surprise my husband. Seems like it worked.”
“Too well,” Max snapped back, eyes flicking to the vultures with cameras still circling. He didn’t let go. If anything, he gripped tighter.
“Relax,” Lewis teased, sunglasses sliding down just enough for Max to see the glint in his eyes. “I’m retired. I’m allowed to enjoy myself. You’re the one still stressing over championships.”
Max glared. “You’re trying to kill me before quali.”
Lewis tilted his head, lips quirking. “So dramatic.”
Max’s patience snapped. He bent down, pressed a quick kiss to Lewis’ temple, then pulled him straight toward the Red Bull motorhome. Past crew, past journalists, past anyone who thought they could stop him. Lewis barely managed a wave to the fans before Max was dragging him inside.
They reached his driver room. Max shoved the door shut behind them, locking it without a word. The air was heavy between them. Lewis leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, sunglasses sliding down just enough to reveal the spark in his eyes.
“You dragged me all the way here just to sulk?” he teased. His voice was smooth, taunting, exactly the kind that made Max’s chest burn.
Max stalked forward until he boxed Lewis in. His hands pressed flat against the wall on either side of him, his body crowding close enough that Lewis had no escape.
“You think this is funny?” Max asked, his tone low and sharp.
Lewis tilted his head, lips twitching. “A little. The great Max Verstappen, leader of the championship, completely undone by his husband’s wardrobe choice.”
Max growled, leaning so close their noses brushed. “It’s not funny when every damn person out there was staring at you. They don’t get to look. They don’t get to—” His words cut off, swallowed by the heat rising in his throat.
Lewis’ smile softened, though his eyes still danced. “They can look,” he murmured, voice dropping, “but they’ll never touch. You should know that by now.”
“I do,” Max admitted, rough and honest. “But I still hate it.”
Lewis reached up, sliding his hand along Max’s jaw, thumb brushing the tense line of his mouth. “So what are you going to do about it?”
That was all the invitation Max needed.
He surged forward, capturing Lewis’ mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was messy, desperate, weeks of separation and longing crashing together. Lewis gasped against him, then melted, arms winding around Max’s neck as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
The kiss deepened quickly, tongues tangling, breath stolen between them. Max pressed him harder against the wall, one hand slipping to Lewis’ waist, gripping tight enough to make him shiver. Lewis let out a quiet sound, half a laugh, half a moan, muffled by Max’s hungry mouth.
“An hour before quali,” Lewis murmured breathlessly when Max finally pulled back, lips red and swollen. “You’re reckless.”
Max’s grin was feral. “You started this.”
Lewis arched a brow, chest heaving. “Me? All I did was show up looking good for my husband. You’re the one acting like you haven’t seen me in months.”
“It feels like months,” Max admitted.
He dipped his head, kissing down Lewis’ jaw, then lower, teeth grazing the exposed skin of his neck. Lewis gasped, fingers tightening in his hair.
“Max,” he warned, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
“You drive me crazy,” Max muttered against his throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “Walking in like that. Smiling like that. Belonging to me but letting everyone else stare.”
Lewis shivered, tilting his head back, giving him more access. “Then remind me who I belong to.”
That broke whatever restraint Max had left.
He kissed him again, harder, rougher, until the world outside didn’t exist. Clothes tugged, chains clinked, the room filled with the sound of muffled laughter and stolen moans. Every mark Max left on Lewis’s skin was a claim, every bruise a warning to anyone who thought they could look too long.
Time blurred. Minutes stretched into something more, until both of them were breathless and flushed, lips swollen, hair an absolute mess.
When Max finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against Lewis’, panting. “You’re evil,” he whispered, though his smile gave him away.
Lewis smirked, chest rising and falling. “You love it.”
“Too much,” Max admitted.
Lewis leaned up, brushing another kiss to his lips, softer this time. “Good. Then let’s go show them exactly who I belong to.”
Max laughed, low and satisfied, before pressing one last bite to his neck. “Everyone will know.”
Lewis rolled his eyes, straightening his ruined shirt with as much dignity as he could manage. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re mine,” Max countered, smug as ever, and opened the door.
When they finally emerged, the paddock had shifted back into its usual buzz. But the sight of them turned heads instantly.
Lewis’ curls were a glorious mess, sunglasses back in place but unable to hide the redness of his lips. His neck was marked, fresh, blooming reminders of Max’s temper and possessiveness. His shirt was rumpled, but he didn’t look embarrassed. If anything, he looked smug. Radiant. Like he’d just won something.
Max walked beside him, calm as you please, though the sharp grin cutting across his face betrayed him. He looked like a man who had claimed victory long before lights out.
A reporter, bold enough to test fate, called out, “Good session, Max?”
Max didn’t hesitate. “The best,” he replied, grinning wider, and slid his hand right back around Lewis’ waist.
Toto Wolff muttered something under his breath in the distance, face in his hands. Fred Vasseur nearly choked on his water. Lando and Oscar were whispering furiously behind them, George watching with thinly veiled horror.
Lewis only laughed, leaning into Max’s side like he belonged there.
“You know,” he murmured softly, just for Max, “I think I’m really getting the hang of this WAG life.”
Max kissed his temple, possessive and proud. “I think you were made for it.”
Lewis smirked. “And you were made to be jealous.”
“Only of you,” Max growled, pulling him closer. And for once, Lewis didn’t argue.
Later that afternoon, Max put in a blistering lap during qualifying. The car danced on the edge of perfection, every corner sharp, every straight ruthless. When he crossed the line, purple sector times lighting up, the radio exploded.
“Pole position, Max!” his engineer cheered. “You’ve done it again!”
The crowd roared, but Max barely heard them. He was already searching the pit wall, and there Lewis stood, sunglasses pushed up, clapping slow and smug. Their eyes locked across the chaos, and Max couldn’t stop his grin. He pulled Lewis into his arms without hesitation.
“You’re insufferable,” Lewis whispered against his ear, though his smile betrayed him.
Max kissed the side of his jaw, completely uncaring of the cameras flashing. “You love it.”
Lewis chuckled, soft and warm. “Too much.”