Chapter Text
"What am I doing here?"
Lewis smiled politely as Max sat down, ignoring the lack of greeting. "Hi, Max," he said, hands clasped on the table in front of him. "Thanks for coming."
"I left my neighbour with the cats," Max said, getting comfortable in his chair. "I don't like to do that. You said this is important?"
"Don't you want to order first?" Lewis said, eyes tightening as they looked at the waiter standing silently beside their table.
Max blew out a loud breath. He grabbed the menu, opened it, scanned one page, and closed it. "Kebabs, please," he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "And a gin and tonic."
"This is an Italian restaurant," Lewis said.
"The chef knows me," Max told him, then smiled at the waiter, who wrote down the order hesitantly.
Lewis pursed his lips, then smiled placidly. "The vegan rigatoni, please," he said at last, looking at the waiter. "Monsieur Agneau knows what I mean." He looked at Max, smug. The chef knew him too.
"And to drink, sir?" The waiter prodded.
"He'll have whatever you have that's not alcoholic," Max said, looking at Lewis. "Not water."
"Thanks," Lewis said after the waiter was gone.
Max smiled widely, kind of how he smiled at Mekies after the Frenchman gave him empty words about the car. "Why am I here?" He asked again.
"We should wait for the food," Lewis said placidly.
Max's eyes narrowed. "Why are you pushing it off?" He asked, crossing his arms. "Seriously, you send me some ominous text basically ordering me to dinner because you want to talk about something and then you don't talk."
Lewis shifted. "It wasn't ominous," he sniped quietly.
"Is this about business?" Max asked then, squinting. "You want to do business? Mate, this could have been an email."
"God no," Lewis squirmed. "Why would I want to do business with you?"
"Why would you want to have dinner with me?" Max retorted as their drinks arrived.
The waiter put them down quickly and ran off.
"You're not in love with me, are you?" Max giggled, siping his drink.
Lewis glared, then he looked down.
Max choked. "Wait a minute," he croaked.
"Of course I'm not in love with you," Lewis spat out, rubbing his forehead. "Geez, man, why are you so difficult?"
"I'm not being difficult!" Max laughed incredulously. "You are."
Lewis sipped his lime water thoughtfully. "You're right," he settled on. "I invited you to dinner because we share a common problem."
"The Mercedes, I know," Max nodded, sipping his gin and tonic. "Well, I'm glad you've started the conversation. I didn't want to crash them out by myself, that's not very sportsmanlike, but if we do it together—"
"What? No!" Lewis shook his hands. "We're not crashing out the Mercedes."
"Too obvious? That is of course true," Max rubbed his chin. "We're the better drivers, we should beat them on track. I admit, I didn't expect you to want to work with me, but I suppose Charles has been know to be a difficult teammate when he's off the pace."
"He's not off pace," Lewis cut in absentmindedly.
"Whatever his issue," Max dismissed. "So, if we find ourselves together on track, the Mercs around us, we put aside our issues and focus on them first."
Lewis stared. "That wasn't why I called you, actually," he said. "But it's not…a horrible idea."
"Oh?" Max frowned. "If that wasn't it, then what? Is it Toto? Look, I don't know what you've heard, but what I do in the privacy of my yacht is of course none of your business—"
"I do not want to talk about Toto with you, Max, ew," Lewis rubbed his eyes. "And I don't want to know what you're referring to right now, stop talking. Your 'negotiations' are your business."
"Well, I wouldn't want you to think I am sleeping with him," Max raised a hand.
"I—" Lewis gagged, then shook his head. "I didn't think you were."
"Not that he's not attractive, for a man his age—"
"Shut up, oh my god," Lewis put his hands over his mouth, bursting out in giggles.
Max stared, bemused, before he joined in the laughter. "What?" He asked, chuckling as their food arrived.
The waiter spared the giggling Brit a glance before putting the plates down and scattering away.
"Oh god," Lewis took a deep breath. "Jeez, I don't want to think about my ex-boss having sex. Much less with you. In a yacht. Ew, no."
"Well," Max shrugged, digging into his food. "If you don't tell me what you want…"
Lewis straighted up, looking down at his pasta. He decided he could finish the plate, then skip a few dinners in the coming days. "It's Cadillac," he said at last, not looking at Max. "That's why I called out, that's our problem."
Max froze momentarily before continuing with his meal. "Mate, they're penultimate place. How the fuck are they a problem for us?"
"Not the team, exactly," Lewis murmured, picking at the pasta. "It's them. Checo and, and Valtteri."
Max put his fork down, looking annoyed. "I've had enough of your games," he said, properly upset. "Speak clearly. You brought me to a restaurant to talk about Checo? Why?"
"And Valtteri," Lewis added, fighting back a smirk at his anger. It was nice to know he could still inspire it.
"What about them?" Max ground out.
"I think you know," Lewis said, smirk slipping.
"No, I don't."
"Max, don't be difficult," Lewis said, "don't you see? We're on the same boat."
"What boat?" Max stabbed his kebab harshly.
"We're in love with our ex-teammates."
Silence.
Max looked up, anger gone. Instead, his eyes showed some fear. Then they narrowed as they registered the complete sentence. "You're in love with Bottas?" He asked, leaning back in his seat. "I didn't think you were the type to fall in love at all."
Lewis tensed. "What is that supposed to mean?" He bit out.
Max shrugged, eyes wandering. "Well, you're rather detached. People would be surprised to see you with a partner, even more with a fellow driver."
"I'm not detached," Lewis said, picking up his drink. "I'm just— I have boundaries. We all do."
"And you want to break those boundaries now," Max chuckled, "and for me to join you. Are you mad, mate?"
"So you don't deny it," Lewis said. "You're in love with Checo."
"Of course I am," Max said, staring straight at him. "But that doesn't mean anything. Checo fucks his teammates, we all know that. And when he changes team, that ends. It doesn't mean anything to him, it never has, it never will. I'm certainly not special, not to him."
"Then why hasn't he fucked Valtteri?"
Max blinked. "I don't know," he said, pretending that that wasn't new information. "He had a year off, maybe he got himself a real boyfriend. He's in high demand in Mexico, you know."
"He'd have told us about it," Lewis dismissed, rolling his eyes. "Or someone else. But I have it on good authority that he is as single as ever and decidedly not sleeping with my— with Valtteri."
Max's lip pulled upwards slightly at the mishap. "I bet that good authority is Colapinto, isn't it?" He quipped. "Now talk about someone being in love."
"Don't be silly," Lewis glared. "He's just a boy with a crush."
"That was me with Checo," Max smiled bitter sweetly, "and look how I ended up."
"Why don't you worry about Kimi, then?" Lewis said, out of sorts. "He looks at you like he wants to climb you like a tree."
"I do worry," Max shivered theatrecally. "But he's harmless. I hear he's got a boy in F2 that likes him. That'll fix itself."
"Well, our situation with Checo and Valtteri is not fixing itself," Lewis said. "I've been waiting for far too long for Valtteri to make a move."
"What if he's not interested?"
Lewis looked at him, then down at himself. He took in his fine clothes, half exposed chest, and looked back with a raised eyebrow.
Max huffed. "Well, Checo's not interested in me," he said.
"That's not what Franco says."
Max tilted his head, heart stuttering. "Franco's a fool in love," he decided to say, "and probably sees other fools everywhere. He of course has no real insight into Checo's feelings."
"Then ask Fernando."
That gave Max pause. Fernando had all the insight into Checo's feelings. "Did you?" He asked.
"Yes," Lewis grimaced as he recalled the conversation. "And had to sit through a protective Spanish papa bear conversation because of it, so. Believe me when I tell you, Checo likes you back. Just you."
Max stared at nothing, letting out a trembling breath. Could it be?
"But."
Max looked at Lewis again.
"It's been half a season that he's back," Lewis said, "and he's done nothing about it. So I worry, as the man looking to get with his current teammate, that he might try and move on and return to his favourite past time and fuck Valtteri. That would be pretty fucking sad for me, and for you, so you see: a shared problem."
"You don't think Bottas would refuse him?"
"No one refuses Checo," Lewis hissed. "Don't say stupid things."
It was true.
"Can't you just tell Bottas how you feel?" Max waved his hands. "If you're so worried about it."
"That's pathetic, ew," Lewis shook his head, offended.
"You're not very romantic, are you?" Max mused.
"I enjoy romance," Lewis retorted. "I enjoy being romanced. I've flirted and flounced in front of Valtteri for years and gotten nothing but repressed looks and shy touches, so. I need your help."
"You want me to confess my feelings to Checo?" Max squawked. "I can't do that! You just called that pathetic," he scowled.
"No," Lewis took a calming breath. "No, that's not the plan. What I have in mind will be much more effective."
"Than just telling them outright?" Max squinted.
"Yes, though it pains me," Lewis said. He took another breath.
Max finished off his drink. "Go on," he said, rubbing an eye. "What's the brilliant Hamilton plan to find love?"
"We have to make them jealous."
Max sighed. "I figured it might be something like that," he nodded. "Petty, but effective. There's of course one issue. Who are we going to rope into this shit? Who would even be interested?" He grimaced, "I am not pretending to date Kimi, I cannot—"
"Stop assuming things, Max," Lewis interrupted, looking equally repulsed. "Of course we're not dragging Kimi into this. That'd be mean, besides. Probably. I don't know," he mused, "he's a teenaged, he might enjoy it— but no!"
"Well, Franco might be happy to pretend date you," Max said, "but not me. I'm not his favourite. I could call Daniel," he said, then looked down, "but that would, I think, be cruel."
"I meant each other," Lewis said, scowling at him.
Max looked up, blinking away other thoughts. "Huh?"
"We don't need to rope in anyone else," Lewis explained.
Max stared. "I don't understand," he said.
Lewis smirked. "I think you do."
"I don't want to."
"Max," Lewis leaned in across the table, "think about it."
"About us dating each other to make our old teammates jealous?" Max raised his eyebrows. "I have. It'll be a disaster."
"That's what everyone said when I moved to Ferrari," Lewis shrugged.
"And it was a disaster."
"But it worked out in the end," Lewis glared.
"Did it?"
"Fuck off, yes it did," Lewis scoffed. "I don't want to talk team politics with you. Checo and Valtteri, that's what matters. I wish to god Checo was in love with anyone else, but it's you. So I have to work with you to get this done. I want Valtteri. I've wanted him for years, I refuse to wait. I won't lose him, not to Checo, not when I know it won't be serious for them. Valtteri deserves…well, I love him."
Max looked at him, then at his half finished kebabs, then back up at him.
"Fuck it," he said, "I've made worst decisions."
Lewis smiled happily.
Then,
"Like staying in Red Bull this year?"
"Shut up or I'm breaking up with you."
A Week Later. Belgium. Cadillac Motorhome, 3rd Floor Balcony.
"Say, guys, is that Verstappen and Hamilton holding hands?"
"Mitä vittua!? What do you mean— Checo, are you okay? Checo? Checo~ Oh god, he's choking on his water, get help! And did you say Lewis is holding hands with WHO?"