Chapter Text
Max knew his animal nature was a bit… difficult.
Being a lion hybrid in the world of Formula 1, where most of the grid members were prey hybrids, was intimidating. Almost dangerous. But Max had proven he wasn't an irrational animal and was capable of controlling his temper. Well, perhaps with the occasional slip-up, but nothing truly serious.
From a young age, under the raw and harsh upbringing of Jos Verstappen, little Max had learned not to be carried away by his emotions. His father had trained him to have a character of iron: cold, competitive, and distant. So distant that it was almost impossible for him to truly express how he felt.
He hid behind a mask of high ego and feigned confidence, because sometimes Max felt he was as sensitive and delicate as a flower. Sometimes he wanted to burst into tears and not just feel that ugly knot pressing against his chest when something didn't go his way or he simply had a bad day. Sometimes he wanted to laugh out loud with Yuki—the sweet squirrel hybrid who was his teammate—instead of pushing him away because he was terrified of showing even a tiny glimpse of weakness.
Only sometimes, he wished he were just a prey hybrid or that he hadn't had such an inhumane upbringing. Only then would he not feel the unbearable pressure to "be the best" that he carried on his shoulders; he could live a more normal life like any other driver.
Like Charles, for example.
Occasionally, he caught himself watching the Cheetah hybrid—with his cute ears and tail full of brown spots—just being himself. Always laughing, joking, talking to engineers, mechanics, drivers from different teams, even the security staff. Charles was like a social butterfly, always with that white-fanged smile and warm dimples, ready to make you feel safe and trusted.
Max felt jealous sometimes.
Jealous of not having that confidence, or perhaps it wasn't that, but rather that he didn't possess the Cheetah's warmth. The lion hybrid was blunt, loud, always making precise comments—sometimes ill-intentioned or biting. In contrast, the Ferrari driver was kind, always delicate with his words, always conscious of what to say and what not to say, which key to press and which to avoid.
Very different from Max.
They were like polar opposites, completely different.
So, why did he feel that strange tingling every time Charles approached him?
They were both predator hybrids and, beyond that, they were both males. Wasn't that tingling he felt in his gums and in the scent/mating gland at the junction of his neck and shoulder supposed to be felt for a female?
Everything was confusing. Everything involving Charles Leclerc was confusing; it always had been, since they were children meeting in Karting, and even more so now, when the Cheetah gets too close.
Because Max wasn't blind or oblivious enough to miss Charles's strange behavior: the lingering stares, the prolonged touches, the way he subtly bathed Max in his earthy scent every time he came over to chat, the way that mischievous spotted tail sought to wrap around his waist every time they posed together for a photo.
He simply didn't understand it—or didn't want to—because that would go against nature, against his principles, and against everything Jos had instilled in him regarding romantic partners as a child: meet a lion hybrid girl or any other predatory species, mark her as his own, get married, and give her cubs.
It was just... Ugh.
Damn Charles and his charming personality, his blinding smile, his mesmerizing green eyes, his hair...
—MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?— That shout snapped him out of his reverie, making him jump in his seat and nearly fall off. —I’ve been trying to get your opinion on the strategy for the next race for almost an hour, but you’re just sitting there, staring into the void.—
A bit embarrassed and with his cheeks flushed a subtle pink, he turned to see GP, who was scowling, his wolf ears and tail bristling with irritation, holding a stack of papers.
—I-I’m sorry, GP, it’s just...—
—It’s just nothing, Verstappen. You’ve been on the moon for days. What’s going on with you? Something has been bothering you, and you better tell me because we can’t go on like this.—the older man sighed, pulling up a chair from the other side of the Red Bull garage and sitting in front of Max.
—I don't know what's wrong with me, honestly. I admit I've been a bit distracted, but...— Max didn't manage to finish what he was saying because a hospitality member entered the garage.
—Excuse me, but GP... Horner wants to see you, says it's urgent.— said the newcomer, a raccoon hybrid with cute ears and a striped tail, offering an apologetic smile.
The wolf hybrid sighed wearily before following the girl, but not before shooting Max a "this isn't over" look. Max ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. The Dutch lion knew GP wouldn't leave him alone until he squeezed every last drop of truth out of his system.
—Great... now I don't just have to worry about the races, but about GP too... It’s just...—
—Did you know that only crazy people talk to themselves?—
This time, Max couldn't hold back the decidedly unmasculine squeak that escaped his lips. Standing in front of him, with that dimpled, fanged smile, was none other than his tormentor: Charles Leclerc.
And in all his Ferrari glory.
Was it even legal for a racing suit to fit him that well?
—You nearly scared me to death, for God's sake. —Max reproached, trying to regain some composure. His own tail twitched restlessly behind him. —What are you doing here, Leclerc? Are you spying?—
Charles let out an ironic little laugh before stepping further into the Red Bull garage. —"As if your strategies were any better than ours."
—At least I can manage a P3, minimum... Ferrari, with that tractor, barely manages to cross the finish line— Max knew he should shut up, that the situation at Ferrari wasn't the best, but it was either that or focusing his gaze on those receptive little ears hidden in that mass of curls and wondering if they were as soft as they looked.
Not that it had happened before. (Actually, it had).
—You certainly have a sharp little tongue," the Cheetah replied, now standing in front of the still-seated Lion. —If we were still in Karting, believe me, I would have closed it with a punch by now.—
Max shivered at that but hid it as best he could, raising his gaze until it connected with Charles's. Blue against Green.
—I’d like to see you even try.— Max commented under his breath, feeling his tail and ears go on alert for any danger.
—Is that a challenge?— Charles teased, tilting his head slightly, without losing that sarcastic smile Max hated so much.
That bastard.
The lion didn't respond; he didn't dare to because he knew the Cheetah would do it. And the last thing he wanted was to cause a scene in his own garage; he didn't want to give the press anything to feed on.
—Don't tempt me, Little Lion. You know me, and you know better than anyone that if I have to bite that egocentric smile off your face, I won't hesitate.— the Cheetah growled, lowering his body until he was at Max's level, face to face. —Though I think you’d enjoy every second of it, wouldn't you?—
Without entirely meaning to, Max lowered his head—not in complete submission, but Charles’s earthy scent was doing things to his body. —Its that what you came for, Leclerc?— he hissed quietly.
The lion felt cold fingers settle on his jaw, forcing his head back up. —Actually, no. I was just passing by to give you this... I know you like sour gummies.—
To Max's distress, Charles released his jaw and straightened up, pulling a colorful little bag from his suit. And yes, they were his favorites: green apple flavor with a hint of lemon, dusted in sugar.
—How-how did you...?—
—How did I know? I just imagined it— the Cheetah remarked dismissively but then licked his lower lip in a flirtatious gesture. —Actually, I tried them and they reminded me of you... all sweet but sour at the same time. So rebellious, yet at the same time, so ready to obey.— Max's breath caught, and by instinct, he pressed his thighs together. It was getting hot. —Well, I hope you have a productive practice... See you later, mon petit chaton.—
And with that, Charles walked away, full of confidence, tail and ego held high, leaving a sensitive, flushed, and utterly stunned Max behind.
—Did... did he just call me "little kitten"?—
Max was screwed.
Well, he would be soon.