Work Text:
Well, it happened months ago. He's almost fine with it now.
Almost.
It had been huge, of course. Scandalous. Arguably the worst nightmare Max Verstappen could have imagined.
His sex tape had leaked.
Not just any sex tape, either. His and Lewis Hamilton's. His former rival.
The whole thing had been a disaster. Lawyers, police investigations, sponsors demanding answers, people insisting it was AI-generated, emergency team meetings, PR managers practically screaming into their phones, reporters becoming even more invasive than usual. Neither of them had ever publicly confirmed or denied anything, and now there was even a specialized bot constantly hunting down reposts and getting most of them removed from the internet.
Most.
The problem was that nothing ever truly disappeared online.
Every few weeks, it resurfaced somewhere. Usually Twitter.
Max was scrolling through his phone when he came across the latest example.
*"Sometimes I wake up and remember that Max Verstappen is a pillow princess and kinda want to die knowing I'll never have all that."*
Accompanied by a ridiculous reaction GIF.
Fifty-three thousand likes.
Fifty-three.
Thousand.
Likes.
This was absurd. Outrageous.
His life and career had nearly been destroyed because of some idiot hacker looking for credit card numbers, and now people seriously thought he was a...
A pillow princess?
Max Verstappen was a lot of things.
Stubborn, competitive, reckless, annoying, occasionally insufferable.
But a pillow princess?
Absolutely not.
With a scoff, Max tossed his phone onto the couch, the screen still displaying the offending tweet.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, flopping back against the cushions. "They're calling me 'pillow princess' on the internet," he scoffed. "The one time we filmed anything, and of course I'm just lying there taking it, like some... some..."
Across from him, Lewis arched an eyebrow while stirring his tea with deliberate slowness.
"Pillow princess?"
Max's head snapped up.
"I rode you for forty fucking minutes yesterday," he shot back immediately, pointing across the coffee table. "My thighs are still burning. That's not princess behavior."
"Prince Charming, then?" Lewis suggested.
Max stared at him in disbelief.
"Forty minutes," he repeated.
Lewis took a sip of tea.
Max scrunched his nose in indignation and gestured wildly toward the phone.
"Forty fucking minutes of me riding you like—"
"Like a cowboy?" Lewis supplied mildly.
Steam curled around his smirk as Max's jaw dropped.
"You bastard."
The throw pillow hit Lewis squarely in the forehead before landing in his lap. Lewis calmly picked it up and tucked it behind his back.
"I had you begging," Max continued, his voice climbing an octave. "You were whimpering—"
Lewis raised a single eyebrow.
"I recall someone screaming into a pillow at one point." He tapped his temple. "Memory's a funny thing."
Max pointed accusingly at his chest.
"I participated," he insisted, the last word cracking slightly. "You don't get to call me a pillow princess when I literally tied you up with a red silk tie and rode you until my thighs gave out."
Lewis smirked into his tea.
"Forty minutes," Max repeated.
"Yes, you've mentioned."
"Because that's not pillow-princess territory."
"You did make quite the effort," Lewis conceded, reaching out to brush a thumb over the fading bite mark near Max's collarbone. "But darling, the way you melted into the sheets afterward? Textbook princess behavior."
Max's mouth fell open in theatrical outrage.
"Oh, I'm the princess?"
He shoved Lewis's shoulder hard enough to make him sink further into the couch cushions.
"You fell asleep mid-fucking-kiss last night. Snored right into my mouth."
"I'm an old man" Lewis tried to respond, but Max was already barreling ahead, delighted to have found a new angle.
"And let's talk about your bedtime routine," he continued, gesturing toward the empty turmeric-ginger shot glasses scattered across the coffee table. "Face masks. Silk pillowcases. That stupid fucking gua sha stone you keep in the freezer—"
"Skincare doesn't have a royalty hierarchy."
"It should."
"It absolutely should not."
Max leaned forward triumphantly.
"You literally travel with three different moisturizers."
"Four."
"That's worse."
Lewis looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"Well, I think you're the princess."
Before Lewis could answer, Max leaned in and caught his bottom lip between his teeth in a teasing bite.
Lewis let out a startled sound, his hands automatically settling on Max's hips.
Max pulled back just enough to smirk.
"See?" he said smugly. "Whimpering already."
Lewis rolled his eyes.
"And this," Max added with a theatrical gesture between them, "isn't even about sex anymore."
"No?"
"No."
Lewis's smile widened.
"This is just me proving a point."
They kiss, and it's good. It's always good.