Chapter Text
"Here's your fan mail." Said one of the staff at Charles while throwing him gently a pile of envelopes. Most were white, but few attracted more attention, few reds, few pinks and a dark blue.
They were in Belgium, one day before the beginning of the qualification. Charles was outside, in a general area near the Ferrari paddock. It was mostly media day for all the racers.
He raised an eyebrow while grabbing the pile. When he started F1 and received his first fan mail, it was truly special. Realizing people noticed him and preferred him made his ego vibrating with pride. After a few years, it was still special, but he realized he was secretly counting the letters to see if his fan base was growing or decreasing. It was becoming a compulsory problem.
Charles always took the time to read each of the letters with attention. When he couldn't answer personally, because there was too much to do or if the letter was a bit too generic, he made sure the staff sent a premade printed letter with a signed photograph.
He had an hour to kill before his media occupation. It wasn't enough to respond to all the fans, so he started to make two piles. The one he would bring home and write later, and one for the staff.
Pierre passed next to him and smiled at him, looking in a hurry at the circuit. His friend knew how important this moment was for him. It was for all the drivers, after all.
The first letter was from a kid in France who wished he could be a F1 driver one day. He told him he couldn't because his single mom couldn't afford the fees. Charles sighed, putting the letter on the "for home" pile. Few others seemed generic, how Charles was their favourite, how they wished they could get pictures. In the staff pile they go.
About 30 minutes later, there were only five letters not in the piles. Charles took the pinks, frowning. He's used to his now. There was always at least one, most of the time many, love letters from girls.
It made him chuckle at first, but after a while he felt weird about it. It's not that he doesn't like it - it's that... Women were poetic in real life. They were supposed to be cute and gentle. Sure - some wrote some poems. But mostly, like today, they were provocative.
Charles sighed as he put three letters in the staff pile.
Sure - he likes to have people trying to flirt with them. Just not... Girls?
Most people didn't know, so it made sense that he didn't receive love letters from guys, and many from women in heat.
Charles wondered if the staff that wrote back to them had fun reading it. Do they read it? Maybe not. Maybe they just send the letter, since the address is on the envelope.
One last envelope. A dark blue, more square than a rectangle. It seems to have something inside other than a piece of paper when his finger brushes the envelope.
All the envelopes were previously opened by the staff before they were given to him. To make sure it was safe. Charles was pretty sure they didn't read it before they received it. He opened the envelope, put his hand and grabbed whatever was inside.
There wasn't much.
A picture (a Polaroid? Who has a Polaroid camera anymore?) hidden inside a piece of paper folded in two.
He opened the letter, revealing the picture, and quickly hid it back. His cheeks blushed in an instant. He realized how in public he was right now. He couldn't watch - see - observe that picture here. It didn't take long to notice it was a guy, hand in his blue underwear. He was fit, so fucking fit, and probably sexy. Fuck.
Just as he was putting back the picture and the paper back in the envelope, Max appeared from nowhere and walked in Charles direction.
"Oh fuck no." Mumbled Charles, trying to hide the piece of evidence in the pile of letters to bring home. He shuffled the letter as he could, as if the other would know what was there.
"Hey Charles. Doing a bit of fan mail?" Max said with a smirk.
He looked at the two piles with amusement.
"Yeah, well, you know how it is." Answered back Charles, trying to not do something stupid, like biting his own tongue while speaking.
"Any uh- any special letter this week?" The Dutch asked, scratching his lobe.
Charles felt his ears burning, but be stayed still. People told him many times he wasn't a good actor. He can't bluff. But he's not lying if he doesn't talk about it.
"The usual. You? Did you get any interesting letters?"
Charles' voice was cracking a bit. He hoped the other didn't notice it.
"Same. There's a young girl in Italy who's in a hospital. I was thinking about going and see her. Do you think it's too much?"
Max was frowning lightly, as if he wasn't saying the most angelic thing ever. The sun was almost creating a halo around his head if Charles was placing himself just right.
"That's a good idea."
"Yeah? You think so?" Max's smile grew bigger, his eyes turning on small half moons.
Charles nodded, feeling his heart going a bit more fast than he wanted.
Fucking Max Verstappen. Demon in a car, angel in real life.
"Wanna come with me?" Max added, as if it was nothing.
Charles blinked. He surely misunderstood. Why would Max ask a Ferrari guy to come with him at a hospital in Italy? It would be way more logical to invite someone else at Red bull. Heck, it would be even more logical to bring Lando.
"I'm sorry - what did you say?" Answered Charles, still thinking he misunderstood.
"The girl in Italy. I was thinking we could go and visit her next week? After Belgium GP."
So he didn't misunderstand. That didn't help his blush.
"The other drivers will be there too?" Asked Charles.
Max stayed still a second before talking.
"If.. If it's what you want. Yeah. I can call and ask around and-"
Charles cut him.
"We can go, just the two of us."
Max blinked as if he was trying to comprehend what was said, then smiled again.
"Great. I'll give you the info. We can go in my jet or drive."
Charles nodded, not trusting his voice anymore.
He just agreed to go to Italy with Max.
Max.
His crush for many many years.
The guy he's trying hard to keep a safe distance. Sure, they were good mates. They talked and celebrated together. But Charles always tried to keep a wall between them.
Because he's pretty sure Max is straight.
It was 10 PM when he finally could be alone in his hotel room. After a quick shower, he put himself in pajamas and took the dark blue envelope with him to his bed.
He sat down and look at it a moment before opening it.
His first thirst trap mail from a man fan. Charles licked his lips, not so proud of what he was about to do.
The envelope didn't have much. No return address. Only the name of Charles and the Ferrari address. A simple stamp was in the corner.
He took the paper and photo and drop the envelope on the bed.
The letter was short. There was no signature or name. The writing was a bit difficult to read - but it's not surprising.
There were a few words about how the guy found him attractive. How himself wasn't out, but that Charles helped him realize his preference.
"Fuck." He sighed.
He let himself lay down, his eyes on the picture again. This time he took the moment to appreciate the view and every detail.
We couldn't see his face, which didn't surprise him. Actually, we couldn't see much more than from his happy trail to his knee.
He was fit - not super muscular, but Charles knew he had great core muscle from the sight. His hand was in his navy blue boxer, laying down on a white bed. Charles could see the contour of the stranger dick - he looks massive. His hands looked manly and strong too, you could see a few veins popping out of his forearm. He also had big muscular thighs.
Charles' eyes traveled back to the boxer. There was a logo near his belly button. Is he dreaming or is it Red Bull merchandise?
Charles' hand instinctively went inside his own underwear.
It was stupid. Charles could get a guy tonight if he wants. All he needed to do is going in a club and choose. His reputation and his looks made it easy. So fucking easy.
Why is he dreaming of the only guy he couldn't have? Why is he imagining that the guy in the picture has dark blonde hair, sky blue eyes and a light shaved beard? He could even imagine smelling his perfume as he came silently.
"I'm fucked." He mumbled, when he came down from his high.
He shouldn't do this. It was stupid. It's only good to break his heart.
He hid the letters in his backpack, thinking he would hide it in his home bedroom later. He can't answer back (what could he possibly had said anyway, thanks for the wank!) but he could admire it anytime he wanted.