Las Vegas had been the glitzy spectacle everyone anticipated, a weekend full of flashing lights, roaring crowds, and endless energy. For Charles, it was supposed to be another step toward realizing his dream—his first Formula 1 World Championship. After all, Ferrari had the edge here. The car suited the circuit’s characteristics, and after his victories in Brazil and Mexico, Charles was on a hot streak, inching ever closer to Max in the standings.
And it started just the way he’d hoped. Pole position was his, after an intense qualifying session where he had outpaced Max by a mere fraction of a second. Ferrari fans roared in support as Charles stepped out of the car, his face flushed with adrenaline and excitement. He could see the championship within reach, just three races left, and he had the upper hand. But as Sunday’s race unfolded, it became all too familiar. Ferrari’s tire strategy faltered, and what could have been another victory slipped through his fingers, leaving Max to capitalize on the opportunity.
Max had been his usual brilliant self, pushing his car to its limits and beyond. Charles couldn’t deny that Max had earned the win, but the sting of watching another race slip away left him in a strange limbo of emotions—pride for his husband’s success, but frustration that once again, he was second.
They didn’t have much time to process what had happened in Vegas. The championship fight was tighter than ever, with only two races left, and every point mattered. They were on a private jet to Qatar within hours of the Las Vegas podium, the hum of the plane engines filling the quiet space between them.
Max sat across from Charles, flipping through some race notes on his tablet, seemingly unaffected by the intensity of the weekend. Charles, on the other hand, stared out the window, lost in thought. The skyline of Las Vegas had long disappeared, replaced by the endless stretch of desert below, but his mind was still replaying the race.
Max noticed the silence between them and set his tablet aside. “You’ve been quiet,” he said gently, leaning forward. “Everything alright?”
Charles glanced at him, trying to muster a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… just thinking about the race.”
Max nodded, sensing there was more to it. “It was a tough one,” he acknowledged. “Ferrari had the pace, but the tires—”
“—the tires,” Charles finished bitterly, shaking his head. “It’s always something, isn’t it? I had the car. I had the pole. But here we are again.”
Max’s eyes softened. He knew this tone, the self-doubt creeping in around the edges. He’d seen it before in Charles, especially when things didn’t go to plan. “Hey, you drove brilliantly. I didn’t win because I was faster. It was strategy, pure and simple.”
Charles rubbed his face with his hands, trying to shake the frustration. “It’s not just that, Max. It’s… it’s this feeling, like no matter what I do, you’re always one step ahead. It’s always me chasing you. Even when I have the upper hand, something slips.”
Max leaned back in his seat, studying his husband. “I get that. But you’ve closed the gap, Charles. You’re right there with me. You’ve won the last two races, and Vegas was out of your hands. That’s not on you.”
Charles exhaled slowly, turning to look at Max fully. “I know. I know it wasn’t my fault, but… it’s hard not to feel like I’m losing it, like the championship is slipping away again. I’ve been here before, Max. I’ve been this close, and then…” He trailed off, not wanting to voice his deepest fear—that he’d come up short once more.
Max’s expression was steady, his voice calm and reassuring. “You’re not losing it, Charles. And this isn’t over. We’ve still got two races, and anything can happen. You’ve proven you can beat me, you’ve done it more than once. You just have to believe in yourself.”
Charles looked down, biting his lip. “I’m trying.”
Max reached out, gently taking Charles’s hand. “I know. And I’m here for you, no matter what happens. You’re not in this alone.”
Charles managed a small smile, squeezing Max’s hand in return. “Thank you, Max. I don’t know how you always stay so calm.”
Max chuckled. “Years of practice. And also, I trust you. I know how good you are. You should too.”
The rest of the flight passed in relative quiet, but the weight of Charles’s doubts began to ease, if only a little. Max always had a way of grounding him, of reminding him of his own strength. By the time they landed in Qatar, Charles felt more focused, ready to face the next challenge.
—
**Qatar, Race Day**
Qatar’s hot and dry conditions were a stark contrast to the glitz of Vegas, but the stakes were higher than ever. Max had taken pole position in a thrilling qualifying session, but Charles knew that points were given on Sunday, not Saturday.
The race began, and from the first lap, it was clear it would be a battle between the two of them. Charles was on fire, chasing Max down with a fierce determination that had become all too familiar over the course of their long rivalry. Every corner, every braking zone, every straight—Charles was right there, testing Max’s defenses.
It wasn’t long before the tension on track began to show. They were pushing each other to the limit, the kind of racing that straddled the line between fair and aggressive. Charles found himself pushing Max out wide on one corner, only for Max to return the favor a few laps later, the two of them locked in a battle so intense it left the rest of the field far behind.
But as the laps ticked down, Charles began to feel the pressure. He knew he had to win this race to keep his championship hopes alive. Every time Max defended, every time he pulled ahead, it felt like the title was slipping further from Charles’s grasp. And when Max eventually crossed the line first, Charles’s frustration boiled over.
The podium ceremony was tense. Charles stood stiffly next to Max, offering only a half-hearted smile when they exchanged glances. The reporters picked up on it immediately, asking Charles questions about his race. His responses were clipped, petty even, and it wasn’t long before the media picked up on his frustration.
“Max was… Max,” Charles said in one interview, his tone cold. “He always seems to find a way to push the limits.”
Max, who had been watching from a distance, heard the comment. He kept his composure in front of the cameras, offering gracious answers in his own interviews, but anyone who looked closely could see the hurt in his eyes.
Later, in the paddock, as they prepared to leave, Max approached Charles. He wanted to talk, to clear the air. But when he found Charles in their shared motorhome, it was clear that his husband wasn’t ready to talk calmly.
“Do you really think I was unfair today?” Max asked softly, trying to keep his voice neutral.
Charles, who had been pacing the room, turned sharply. “You pushed me wide! You always do this, Max. You know exactly where to go, where I can’t follow you. It’s like you… like you want me to fail!”
Max blinked, clearly taken aback by the accusation. “What? No, Charles, I’m racing you. I’m pushing you like I would push anyone else. I don’t want you to fail.”
Charles scoffed, his frustration bubbling over. “You say that, but every time we’re out there, it’s like you know exactly how to make me doubt myself. You’re always one step ahead, always… always perfect!”
Max frowned, stepping closer. “I’m not perfect, Charles. I’m just racing. I’m doing what we’ve always done—what we *both* love. I don’t want you to doubt yourself. You’re the one person I believe in more than anyone else.”
But Charles wasn’t ready to listen. The pressure, the fear of losing the championship, and the sting of another second-place finish had clouded his judgment. “Well, it doesn’t feel that way.”
Max paused, his face falling slightly. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet but firm. “I don’t know what else to say, Charles. I’ve always respected you. I love racing you because I know how good you are. Today was hard, yeah. But we both pushed each other, and that’s what we do. That’s what makes us… us.”
Charles’s anger flickered, and for a moment, guilt surged through him. He knew deep down that Max hadn’t crossed the line today, that they had raced the way they always did—on the edge, pushing each other to be better. But right now, all he could see was the fading chance at the championship, slipping further away with each race.
“I just… I need some time,” Charles muttered, turning away from Max.
Max watched him, the hurt evident in his eyes, but he didn’t push. He nodded, stepping back. “Take all the time you need. I’m here when you’re ready.”
As Max left the room, Charles felt a pang of regret settle in his chest. He knew, deep down, that Max wasn’t the enemy here. But in that moment, it was easier to blame him than to confront his own fears.
—
Later that evening, when the adrenaline had worn off and the weight of his own words settled in, Charles found Max sitting on the balcony of their hotel room, looking out at the shimmering city lights of Doha. Max had changed into casual clothes, his posture relaxed but his face distant, as though he was lost in thought.
Charles paused in the doorway, his heart heavy with guilt. The fight had left a sour taste in his mouth, and now that the heat of the moment had passed, he could see how unfair he had been. Max had always been his biggest supporter—on and off the track—and yet he had lashed out at him because of his own frustrations.
Taking a deep breath, Charles walked over to Max and sat beside him. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The air was thick with tension, but Max didn’t turn to face him. Charles could feel the distance between them, something that rarely happened in their relationship, and it hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Charles finally whispered, his voice barely audible above the hum of the city. He glanced at Max, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but Max remained quiet, his eyes still fixed on the horizon.
“I shouldn’t have said those things,” Charles continued, his tone more urgent now. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong out there. We raced the way we always do—hard, but fair. I just… I was frustrated, Max. I’m so close to this championship, and I feel like it’s slipping away. And instead of dealing with it, I took it out on you.”
Max finally turned to him, his blue eyes soft but still clouded with hurt. “I get that you’re frustrated, Charles. This whole season has been intense. But you have to understand, I would never do anything to hurt you—not on purpose, not in racing, and definitely not in life.”
Charles’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in Max’s voice. He reached out, placing his hand on top of Max’s, squeezing it gently. “I know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I know that, Max. And I didn’t mean what I said earlier. You’ve always pushed me to be better, and I wouldn’t be where I am without you. I let my emotions get the better of me, and that wasn’t fair to you.”
Max let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I understand, Charles. I know how much this means to you. But it hurt hearing those things, especially when all I’ve ever wanted is to see you succeed. You’ve worked so hard, and I believe in you more than anyone else. You can still win this championship, but you have to believe in yourself too.”
Charles nodded, his throat tight with emotion. “I do believe in myself, but sometimes… it’s hard. I’ve always been chasing you, Max. Even now, after everything, I feel like I’m always just one step behind. It messes with my head.”
Max looked at him for a long moment, his expression softening. He could see the toll the season was taking on Charles, the weight of the pressure and the expectations. Slowly, he moved closer, wrapping an arm around Charles’s shoulders and pulling him into a comforting embrace.
“You’re not behind me, Charles,” Max whispered against his ear. “You’re right beside me. You always have been. We’re in this together, no matter what happens.”
Charles let out a shaky breath, leaning into the warmth of Max’s embrace. For the first time that evening, the tension in his chest began to ease, replaced by a deep sense of comfort. Max had always been his rock, his source of strength, and even now, in the middle of their most competitive season, that hadn’t changed.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Charles admitted, his voice muffled against Max’s shoulder.
Max chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Charles’s head. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that, because I’m not going anywhere.”
Charles smiled faintly, pulling back just enough to look Max in the eyes. “You’re right,” he said, his voice steadier now. “I’m going to keep fighting. For the championship, for us… for everything. And whatever happens, I’ll deal with it. No more blaming you for things you can’t control.”
Max gave him a small, reassuring smile. “That’s the spirit.”
They sat there for a while longer, the cool desert breeze brushing past them as they shared a quiet moment of understanding. The weight of their earlier argument had lifted, replaced by the familiar sense of partnership that had always been at the core of their relationship.
Eventually, Charles broke the comfortable silence. “So, where should we go for dinner?” he asked, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “I feel like we deserve a cheat meal after today.”
Max laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Definitely. I think we’ve earned it. But don’t tell our trainers—they’d kill us.”
Charles grinned, feeling the last of his tension melt away. “Our secret.”
As they stood up, ready to leave for dinner, Max leaned in close and whispered, “By the way, I’m still going to win this championship.”
Charles smirked, a fire lighting in his eyes. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Max chuckled, giving him a teasing nudge as they walked out of their hotel room. Despite everything that had happened on track, despite the tension and the pressure, they were still *them*—two people who loved each other fiercely, who pushed each other to be better every single day, both on and off the track.
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