Chapter Text
Pierre’s heart thunders against his chest as he rings the doorbell. Max is standing behind him, silent, reassuringly squeezing Pierre’s hand. Max would never admit it, but he’s incredibly nervous about meeting Pierre’s parents.
Pierre hadn’t come out to his parents yet, but he always suspected that they knew that Pierre wasn’t all that into girls. His mother had once comforted Pierre when he was younger, and a classmate had pecked him on the cheek and asked Pierre out, sending Pierre into a bit of an identity crisis. Pierre distinctly remembers her telling him that it was okay to like boys and girls; Pierre didn’t need to worry about it. Pierre knew his mother would be alright with him bringing Max home for Christmas, but Pierre wasn’t sure how his father and brothers would react.
Pierre turns to face Max, nerves bubbling in his stomach. "This was a mistake, let's just go and see your mother and sister. You’re out to them, right? It’ll be much better."
Max snorts in laughter and pulls the Alpine driver into a hug. "You’ll be okay, schatje. I promise that we can leave at any time if we’re not welcome. You are my priority, Pierre. You come first. But you and your family also deserve to be together for Christmas, so I can always leave too if I’m the issue."
Pierre wants to respond. Max would never be the issue. He knows that Max’s self-doubt can be as strong as his, so he feels like he needs to comfort Max and reassure him that if his family can’t accept Max, Pierre is always going to pick Max over his family. Pierre doesn’t have the time to comfort his boyfriend before the front door of his parents’ house opens.
They jump away from each other, staring wide-eyed at Pierre’s mother. Pascale Gasly is not an intimidating woman when Max sees her in the paddock with Pierre, but standing on the threshold of her home, Max feels like the woman is some sort of all-powerful being about to decide his fate.
"Pierre, we’re so happy that you can spend Christmas with us. Is this your boyfriend?" His mother asks, in French. Pierre tries to hide his smile, but there’s a twinkle in his mother’s eyes that tells him everything he needs to know. His mother had been watching them, and his mother knows.
"Please, Maman, in English. You already know Max. Max is my… boyfriend, and I wanted to introduce him as such to you and Papa." There’s a beat where the confession hangs in the air, and Pierre fears it's all gone to shit. But then Pascale sidesteps her son and pulls Max into an unexpected hug. Max tenses before hugging the woman back, a little awkwardly, but he's relieved that Pascale seems to be okay with his presence so far. His gaze slips to Pierre, who looks a little gobsmacked.
"Welcome to the family, Max. I can tell you that you make my son very happy, and that’s all I ask. Please come in, it’s cold. Pierre, why would you let poor Max stand outside in the cold!" Pierre stutters out a response that gets ignored as Pascale hooks her arm through Max’s and starts talking to Max as if he were always part of Pierre’s life. Max gets sucked into the conversation immediately, just shooting Pierre a small, yet genuine smile.
"Bring your bags in, Pierre. You can put them upstairs in your bedroom. Take Max’s too. You’re probably tired from the journey, Max. Come inside, sit, and have a drink. Jean-Jacques is very excited to meet you." Pierre huffs playfully, bringing in the bags and watching as Max listens attentively to his mother, his eyes full of life.
He just hopes that those eyes stay as vibrant as they are now.
─── ･･⟡･･ ───
Max feels a little overwhelmed at how doting Pierre’s parents are, and it doesn’t help that part of him keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. Pierre’s mother keeps feeding him bites of the food she’s cooking, Pierre’s father is treating him like another son, pouring him some cognac that Max isn’t too sure he likes but drinks anyway to be polite, and Pierre’s brothers keep asking him a million and two questions from his relationship with Pierre (that Max now realises might have been threats not to break Pierre’s heart) to racing to Max’s opinions about the most trivial things (such as if Max thinks there’s life somewhere in the universe or if Max believes in any conspiracy theories).
Pierre keeps trying to sit down next to Max and join in on the conversation, but Pascale keeps calling him back to help (Pierre’s already been up in the attic twice today on his mother’s request and down in the cellar to bring up the wine and champagne his father had yet to bring up for the end-of-year holidays). Pierre never whines about it when he gets called to help; he just gets up, rolls his eys playful, pecks Max on the cheek and goes to do whatever his mother requested.
It takes everything in Max not to make a joke about Pierre’s lack of brattiness.
Eventually, the conversations around Max switch to French, and Max’s French isn’t strong enough yet to keep up with Pierre’s family (even if Pierre has been trying to teach him more French), so he excuses himself and wanders over to the kitchen, where Pascale has kept Pierre the majority of the time they’ve been here.
"Are you sure he really loves you, Pierre?" Pascale asks her son in French, and Max lingers by the doorway, both unwilling to intrude and curious about Pierre’s answer.
"I know he does, Maman. I think he loves me more than I love him and that sometimes scares me, in a good way, I promise."
"What does the future hold for you two?"
"I don’t know, but I hope we’re happy together and have the chance to live life in peace together for a long time, but given how public our jobs are…" Pierre trails off, not completing that thought.
"Give it time. If Max loves you as much as he says he does, the two of you will figure it all out, petit."
"True, I do love him very much. How do you want me to chop the onions, Maman?" The conversation switches into cooking, and Max instantly loses the thread of the conversation, the French now too fast and a little too technical for him to understand, so he walks into the kitchen and pecks Pierre on the cheek before leaning on the counter and smiling at Pascale.
"Can I do something to help, Mrs Gasly?"
"Please, Max, call me Pascale. Did my husband and sons chase you off?" Pascale puts down her knife and looks at Max the way his own mother would. He feels like he could be in his own home, and Max is a little thrown off by how homey Pierre’s family home feels.
Max flushes slightly. "Not necessarily, my French is a little limited, and the conversation switched to French, which I understand, and don’t scold them for it, it is your mother tongue, but it got a little more advanced for my French, so I came here to see if I could help.
"That’s very kind of you, Max. But Pierre and I have the cooking covered; it’s a tradition at this point. Jean Jacques usually cooks, but since he’s handling the meals on Christmas Eve and Christmas, I cook the day before with Pierre." Pascale has a look in her eyes that makes Max feel like a child.
Max blushes even deeper. "I would also like to spend a little time with Pierre, if that’s alright, Mrs Pascale?" Max mumbles a little shyly, feeling the smile radiating off of Pierre.
"I’m going to really insist on your calling me Pascale, Max. Not Mrs Anything. If you want to help, you can. You can peel and chop the potatoes for the gratin. Pierre can show you where the mandolin is when you get to the slicing part. Just be careful with your fingers. My youngest managed to slice his finger last Christmas."
Pierre starts laughing until he realises his mother is having a jab at him. "Hey, that was an accident!" Pierre sticks his tongue out at his mother, to which Max playfully elbows his boyfriend’s side.
"Don’t be rude to your mother, schat." Max watches as Pierre visibly fights back a retort, the urge to be a brat coming out in full force as Pascale observes them with a smile that reaches her twinkling eyes.
"Your mother raised you right, Max. Maybe your manners might be able to rub off on my son one day," Pascale laughs, and Max chuckles with her while Pierre scoffs playfully.
"Maybe one day." Max hears Pierre mutter something under his breath, and it takes everything in Max not to put Pierre in his place in front of his mother (and they both know that Pierre will be set straight later when they’re in private).
"I’ll leave you two to it. I’m going to check in with the rest of the family. Pierre knows where things are in the kitchen and the house if you need anything, Max. There’s a list of what needs to be done, Pierre. I’ll be back in a little while." Both Max and Pierre hold back a snort at the mention of a list. Pascale eyes them a little suspiciously but says nothing, taking her apron off and leaving the kitchen.
Once Pascale leaves the room, Max crowds Pierre into the counter, kissing him deeply like a man starving for oxygen. Pierre kisses him back just as feverishly, scrambling for purchase.
When Pierre turns his head to break for air, they’re both panting, Pierre hiding in Max’s chest, as if he were embarrassed at the mere idea of kissing Max in such a way in his mother’s kitchen.
"I’ve been waiting all day to do that," Max whispers into Pierre's hair.
"You couldn’t wait until we were in my bedroom?" Pierre asked, trying to be snarky but failing.
"Don’t worry, your brattiness will be addressed later tonight in the privacy of your bedroom." Pierre lets out a squeal and whacks Max on the arm.
"Max! Don’t say shit like that!" Pierre exclaims loudly.
"Everything alright in there, boys?" The pair spring apart at the sound of Jean-Jacques.
"Tout va bien, Papa!"
"We’re all good!" Max turns to Pierre. "Maybe we should do what your mother asked us to do and be all domestic." Pierre side-eyes him.
"That was the plan until you kissed me silly, cheri."
Max playfully nudges Pierre before picking up a potato and getting to work, leaving Pierre to continue dicing the onions. As they worked side by side in comfortable silence, the warmth of the kitchen and the familiarity of the task made Max feel oddly content. He stole glances at Pierre, admiring the way his brow furrowed in concentration as Pierre did his best to keep his dicing consistent, probably having been scolded by his mother for uneven chops in the past.
After a while, Pierre broke the quiet by saying, "You know, I never imagined I'd see you here in my family home, helping out in the kitchen like this. It feels... nice. It feels right."
Max put the potato he was peeling down, turning so he could face Pierre and speak the words on his heart. "I know what you mean, and I agree, it feels right. And I hope we have this feeling for many years to come, for as long as life gives us."
"Honestly, that’s all I want with you. A fighting chance to keep our relationship strong for as long as you’ll let me love you."
Max pulls Pierre into his chest. "I promise to give you, to give us, a fighting chance for as long as you let me love you. I’ll always love you, Pierre, there’s no doubt of that."
They stand like that, in Pierre’s mother’s kitchen, the gratin half prepared, the onions mostly diced, and the noises of Pierre’s family laughing and chatting in the background, making this moment feel like a silent promise of forever to each other. It’s one that’s sealed by a kiss that’s filled with love bursting at the seams between them.
They forget to return to the tasks at hand, just holding each other and giving each other soft kisses, until Pascale wanders into the kitchen asking about their progress.
"Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt. You two are adorable. Pierre, go take Max on a walk in the forest or fields. Get some air and spend some time together. You’ve helped me out enough, and I can tell you two need a little time together. I’ll have your brothers or your dad help me. You’ve helped every Christmas, petit, they can help me out for once. Go have fun with your boyfriend." Pierre puts up half a protest, and Max interjects when Pierre prompts him, but Pascale Gasly manages to chase them out of the kitchen, and it’s without much fight that the two of them put on their coats and shoes and hop into Pierre’s car, thankful for a little privacy.
Sure, the walk was nice too, but the privacy was the best part of the time together.
─── ･･⟡･･ ───
"Are you religious, Max?" Pascale asks as Max helps her with setting the table. Pierre is catching up with his brothers, roughhousing with them in the garden as they are seemingly teasing Pierre over his relationship.
"My mother is, I’m not particularly, but I was raised Christian. Why do you ask?"
"We normally go to midnight mass on Christmas Eve, but I figured I’d ask if you’d like to join us tomorrow before we drag you over to mass. Don’t worry, it’s at a chapel we’ve been going to since Pierre’s been in Formula 1. It is a private service, considering he’s now considered high profile, and our regular church got overrun by fans. The preacher knows us well, and he would be an idiot to speak to the media about either you or Pierre."
Max pauses, his hands stilling on the silverware as he considers Pascale's invitation. The idea of attending midnight mass with Pierre's family felt both nerve-wracking and oddly endearing. He glances over at Pierre through the window, watching him playfully shove one of his brothers, a wide grin on his face. Max can’t help but smile at the sight. All the stress of the season had been shed from Pierre’s shoulders, and Max was so happy to see him so carefree and relaxed.
"I would love to, Pascale," Max didn’t know what he was feeling, but it was all good and mushy. "Thank you for including me in your family traditions."
Pascale smiles warmly at Max, patting his hand on the table. "You're family now, Max. Pierre has never brought anyone home before, and the fact that he brought you here means a lot to us all. We see how much you care for him and how much you love him, and that's more than enough for us to call you our son, too. God knows that if Jean-Jacques and I can handle 5 sons, we can handle having another one in our family."
Max feels a lump form in his throat at Pascale's words. To be accepted so openly and warmly into Pierre's family was something he had never imagined possible. He knows how important family was to Pierre, and to know that they saw him as part of it meant everything to him.
As the evening goes on, they finish setting the table, and the family gathers for dinner. Pierre is sitting beside him, their knees brushing under the table, asking Max silently if everything is okay, to which Max squeezes his knee before having his attention taken by Jean-Jaques. Laughter and stories fill the room, and Max finds himself being pulled into the lively conversations effortlessly, laughing as Pierre’s brothers share all the embarrassing stories they have about Pierre. Pierre tries to get it to stop on multiple occasions, but he gives up and lets it happen. Max squeezes his hand under the table, and Pierre smiles warmly up at him. It feels like all the puzzle pieces are finally in place, and it’s the best thing in the world.
Pierre relaxes, a soft smile playing on his lips as he listens to his brothers' banter with Max as Max gains enough confidence to start joking along with them. He can't remember the last time he felt this content and at ease in his own home. Looking around the table at the faces of his family, he feels a warmth deep within him that he hasn't felt in a long time. He feels whole, in a way he hasn’t in a very long time, and he has Max to thank for it. His mother catches his eye and gives him a knowing smile, a silent reassurance that everything is as it should be.
Once dinner is done, they move into the living room, balancing plates of homemade tiramisu in their laps with a glass of calvados for those who want a digestif and mugs of tea for the others. When Nicholas suggests they bring out the Monopoly board, Max is surprised by the resounding "no!" he gets.
"Cyril and Paul almost killed each other over Monopoly three years ago. It’s a banned game in this house," Pierre whispers into Max’s ear, stealing a spoonful as he tucked himself closer into Max’s side.
"How in the world did that happen?" Max asks, baffled.
Pierre laughs to himself, thinking about how insane the incident was. "Paul had bought Champs-élysées and Rue de la Paix and had the stations, nothing else, so he built hotels on both properties. Cyril had the worst luck that day and was running out of cash fast, and had to keep trading and mortgaging properties and such, just not to go bankrupt. He landed on Rue de la Paix and just lost it. He accused Paul of cheating since Paul had the bank, which led to a full-blown argument that ended with Paul overturning the board, sending houses and hotels flying everywhere, and at one point, Cyril stuffed the ship up Paul’s nose. It took hours to calm them down, even after Maman sent them outside, they got into a bit of a fist fight, and Papa had to hose them down outside since they were covered in mud. Since then, Monopoly has been off-limits in the Gasly household."
Max bursts out laughing at Pierre's story, trying to imagine the chaos that must have ensued that day. He can't help but find it amusing how a simple board game could lead to such mayhem in the Gasly household.
"Just for the record, Max, Pierre has been banned for all games in this house because he threatened to strangle Nicholas and ended up giving me a black eye over Ticket To Ride and broke one of Maman’s vases when we tried our hand at Risk. And Paul was absolutely cheating during Monopoly," Cyril chips in, and Paul gives an exaggerated gasp of indignation.
"Oh, here we go again with the accusations! I did not cheat; I was just playing strategically. It’s not my fault, I know how to manage my money well, and you don’t!" Pierre’s other brothers get involved, and the room is filled with shouting and finger-pointing, and Pierre takes advantage of the chaos to lean in closer and rest his head on Max’s shoulder.
"How did Ticket To Ride get physical? Isn’t that just a game about trains?" Pierre shrugged.
“Nico started it; he stole my route. Even if he didn’t know it was my route, he still stole it. And Cyril blocked off Vancouver just to piss me off, which cost me 22 points. So we got into a scuffle, and I elbowed him in the face; it was accidental."
"And the vase incident?"
Pierre winces. "That was my fault; I was losing. I flipped the board and managed to knock one of Maman’s vases over, but it broke. Since I’ve been told I’m only allowed to watch and mediate games." Max shakes his head, an affectionate smile on his face. He loves that Pierre is passionate about everything, even if he definitely takes it too far sometimes.
"You’re not getting involved in this argument?" Max asks as Pierre sips on his tea. The argument between Pierre’s brothers had escalated wildly to the point that they were all standing up and pointing fingers at each other, dragging up incidents from years ago to prove their points. Pierre shakes his head, an amused smile twitching on his lips.
"Nah, because that whole situation was my fault. I was stealing Cyril’s money and giving some of it to Paul without either of them knowing, and they still don’t know, and they will never know." Max chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief at the revelation.
"Such a brat."
"And you love it." Max can’t find it in himself to say the contrary, settling to kiss the top of Pierre’s head, watching the chaos continue until Pierre’s parents threaten to lock their eldest sons outside in the cold until they calm down.
─── ･･⟡･･ ───
It’s late on Christmas Eve (or early Christmas morning, depending on who’s asked), and Max and Pierre are in Pierre’s bed, in Pierre’s childhood room. They’re exhausted from the long day of cooking, drinking, forcing themselves to stay awake, listening to people speak French around them (Max), and being teased for being a love-sick fool by family (Pierre). Midnight mass went well, Max didn’t understand a word, but Pierre held his hand the whole time (only letting go to pray or when he held the hymn book), and Max was thankful that he got to be part of Pierre’s family traditions.
"How are you feeling, mon cœur?" Pierre mumbles, reaching for Max’s hand and lacing their fingers together.
Max shifts slightly on the bed, turning to face Pierre with a soft smile. He brings their laced hands together to brush his lips against Pierre’s knuckles. "I feel happy, Pierre. Being here with you and your family, it just feels right, like I belong here with you," Max whispers, his voice filled with emotion, making it a little hoarse. Pierre’s eyes soften, filled with an emotion that Max can’t quite place but makes his heart flutter.
"You do belong here, with me," Pierre whispers, pulling Max closer until their foreheads touch, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. "I love you, Max."
He cups Pierre’s cheek gently, his thumb caressing the soft skin there as he looks into those bright blue eyes he adores.
"I love you too, Pierre. More than anything," Max whispers back, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the man in front of him. Pierre's lips curve into a tender smile, and he closes the gap between them, pressing a gentle kiss to Max's lips.
“You didn’t get too bored at mass tonight, did you?” Pierre asks after a couple of beats. He sounds a little shy, and Max can’t help but smile at it.
“A little bit, but going to church always bored me, even when I went with my mother as a child. I always preferred watching F1 or going karting. I get why it’s important to you, and I’m glad I went with you, but don’t expect me ever to be a regular churchgoer.”
Pierre hums. “I can live with that. Church used to bore me, too, when I was young, but I don’t know, there’s comfort in faith. But yeah, watching the race was my favourite way to spend the weekends, so I get it.”
“Your dad’s the one cooking tomorrow, right? I tried to follow the conversation over dinner, but you all switched to French so fast it took me a second to catch up.” Max can feel Pierre’s cheeks go hot in embarrassment from where Pierre’s head is resting on his arm.
“Sorry about that, we don’t do it on purpose, I promise,” Pierre mumbles, tucking himself closer into Max. “Yeah, Maman always cooks on the 24th, and Dad always does the rest of the cooking for Christmas lunch. If you thought my mom was a good cook, my dad is arguably better. Just keep in mind he uses a lot of cream and butter, so it’s not the most plan-friendly food if you’re tracking over the break.” Max frowns. It’s the holidays, he stopped tracking the week after the last race, only following an intuitive plan. He’s surprised Pierre is still tracking.
“You’re still on plan?”
“I’m never not off plan. That’s what works best for me. I just have weeks where I can be less strict, with different macros and calorie counts, but Ben is going to be on my case the second we hit January 2. Do you know what it’s gonna be like with Rupert?” Max shrugs.
“I’m pretty certain it’s going to be similar to how it was with Brad. It works for me, so I’m not sure why it would change. I don’t need it to change, nor do I really want it to change.”
Pierre smiles into Max’s skin. “Not a critique. You look good, Max, and you had a hell of a season, you don’t need to change a thing if it’s working.”
Max kisses his hair, grinning into it. “Just enjoy tomorrow, I’m sure we’ll find ways to work off any extra calories you might eat tomorrow and get some extra protein in if you need to meet goals.”
They both know that Pierre would have screeched at Max’s comment if they weren’t in Pierre’s family home, so Pierre settles for grumbling and flicking Max’s shoulder before turning his back to Max.
“Go to sleep, Maxy.” Max laughs softly, cuddling Pierre in his arms.
“Goodnight, schat.”
There’s a sigh, and Max swears he can hear Pierre’s eyes roll.
“Goodnight, mon cœur.”
─── ･･⟡･･ ───
Christmas morning was a whole ordeal in the Gasly household. Max had thought that the night before had been a whole ordeal, but this was something else.
Pascale was already mourning the fact that her youngest was leaving so soon (they were headed to see Max’s mother in the evening, so they had time for lunch, and then they would leave), and everyone was crowding the kitchen, trying to help out Jean-Jacques, who was cooking enough food for an army.
Max stands there, watching, trying to offer his help, but seeing that it’s all hands on deck for the Gasly family, he keeps getting told to sit and relax.
Pierre eventually manages to escape the chaos and plops himself on Max’s lap, kissing him sweetly. “Sorry, Max, I didn’t mean to abandon you this morning.”
“It’s okay. It’s your family, you should spend time with them. Christmas is a little like this, too, when I’m with my family. I’m just a little… I don’t know how to word it.”
Pierre hums in understanding. “I get it. Lunch will be ready soon anyway. Sorry that it’s a little chaotic, Papa acts like we’re 15 siblings instead of 5, so we always end up cooking so much food.”
Max smiles and leans in to place a soft kiss on Pierre's lips. "I don't mind the chaos, as long as I'm with you," he murmurs, his eyes full of love and warmth. “Feels a little like home.”
“Home, huh?” Pierre muses, “Maybe one day we can have our own family chaos together.”
Max’s heart skips a beat at the idea. “I’d like that,” he replies with a soft smile.
Pierre leans in to kiss Max, only to be interrupted by a loud clang from the kitchen. They both look up to see Jean-Jacques frantically trying to salvage a dish that had almost fallen to the floor, causing everyone else in the kitchen to erupt into laughter. Pierre chuckles and shakes his head, squeezing Max’s hand.
"That's my family for you," Pierre says with a fond smile.
Max can't help but laugh along, feeling grateful for being welcomed into Pierre's family with open arms.
“Pierre, I know Max’s lap is your seat of choice, but sit down in a chair so that we can have lunch,” Jean-Jacques chuckles, wiping his hands on his apron as he looks over at them. Pierre rolls his eyes but gets up from Max’s lap grudgingly, taking his hand instead as he sits in the seat next to him.
Jean-Jacques puts down the roast beef he had been tending to and claps his hands together. "Alright, everyone, sit down so that we can eat and open gifts!" he announces, a wide grin on his face. The family quickly gathers around the table, passing dishes of potatoes, vegetables, and gravy around to each other while Jean-Jacques serves the capon, giving everyone their desired cut of poultry (there’s a small argument that starts over the bird’s thigh, but Jean-Jacques shuts it down by giving Max the last thigh).
As they eat, laughter fills the room, along with the clinking of silverware and contented sighs. Max can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the warmth and love that surrounded him. He steals glances at Pierre, who is animatedly chatting with his siblings and parents, a smile never leaving his face. Max feels a sense of belonging he hasn't experienced in a long time.
After the meal, when everyone's plates were clean and bellies full, they made their way to the living room where gifts were laid out. Max and Pierre went with relatively simple gifts, nice bottles of wine, sweaters and promises of a dog for Pierre’s mother. Pierre got Max a new bracelet (with jusqu'a la fin des temps engraved on the inside) while Max gifted Pierre a personalised and monogrammed leather journal so that Pierre could jot down his race thoughts and notes. (Pierre has no idea how Max was aware of the journal; he had always managed to keep it away from Max, but sometimes Pierre swears that Max knew him better than Pierre knew himself).
Once they all exchanged gifts and went through another bottle of champagne (which Max didn’t drink as he was going to drive them to the jet), they said their goodbyes and got rounds of long hugs.
“Don’t be a stranger, Max, you’re family now. Take care of yourself, and don’t let my son get his way too often,” Jean-Jacques says, hugging Max tight.
“Papa!” Pierre whines, and Max laughs loud and bright.
“Thank you for welcoming me into your family. Really.”
Max and Pierre wave as they get into the car, both of them unable to hide grins on their faces.
“I think that went well,” Pierre murmurs as they pull onto the highway, music soft in the background. “They all love you.”
Max smiles to himself, keeping his eyes on the road, and places a hand on Pierre’s thigh. All in all, it really did go well, and Max was happy that it did. He could only hope the same when Pierre met his mother.