Chapter Text
“…What.”
The mutter came out far weaker than he had expected.
If he went after him now, he would still make it. The distance was short—just out into the corridor and he would catch up.
But even if I do, what’s the point.
Max turned his back on the door.
Don’t understand? What don’t I understand?
He stood there at the entrance, uncertain, unable to move. The very spot where George had stopped when he first came in. The faint trace of his cologne still lingered.
“You call me here and this is what I walk into.”
George’s low voice echoed in the back of his mind.
From where he stood, all he could see was the same scene as before: the suitcase left open, and his uniform tossed carelessly on the sofa, still crumpled from when he had stripped it off before dinner.
I don’t get it.
As if to shake off the irritation, Max dropped himself onto the sofa. He pressed his head back against it, staring up at the ceiling.
He understood that George was angry about what he had told Lando. But he didn’t understand why. There was no reason to hide it. Nothing to be ashamed of. No one had the right to say anything about it. So when he was asked, he answered. What was wrong with that?
“You’re just not trying to understand.”
George’s quiet voice and expression surfaced again.
“…Then say it in a way I can understand.”Max muttered.
George had stayed calm the entire time they argued. Like he wasn’t even worth getting properly angry at.
“Fuck…”
He covered his eyes with his arm. It didn’t help. A moment later he pushed himself upright, burying his face in his hands. His thoughts wouldn’t settle. The irritation only kept building.
This is pointless.
Thinking like this wasn’t getting him anywhere. Everything felt off—wrong in a way he couldn’t put into words.
Max stood and headed for the bathroom. The sink and a large mirror were on the right, a bath with an overhead shower on the left. Black tiles softened by warm amber lighting—clearly expensive, carefully designed. But it meant nothing to him.
He kept his gaze down as he stripped, tossing his clothes onto the counter. Stepping into the bath, he turned the water on. Warm water poured down from above, and the glass panel beside him fogged over almost instantly.
Fuck… what the hell is this.
He grabbed the shampoo, running his fingers roughly through his hair without turning the water off. George’s eyes came to mind. That expression—almost like he had given up.
“If you don’t get it, then fine.”
What do you mean, fine.
Was that it, then? Ending it? No. It had to be something else. He didn’t want that. But—
Maybe it was.
They had only been together a month and a half. It wouldn’t be strange for something small to end it.
He ducked his lathered head under the stream, staring down at the foam and water swirling toward the drain. No answers came.
What if he hadn’t said anything to Lando? The thought barely formed before he let out a long breath. “What ifs” about something already done were pointless.
Max shut off the water and picked up the shower gel. He worked it over his body, his hand sliding from his neck downward—then another sigh. His gaze drifted. Through the clearing glass, his reflection stared back at him. He looked… lost.
“…”
He shook his head slightly, turned the shower back on, and stood there with his eyes closed, surrounded by steam. Only the sound of water filled the space.
“—”
After a moment, Max lifted his head and looked at the mirror again.
“…”
In the reflection, his hand came up to his neck. Then his collarbone. His shoulder. His chest… and lower.
“…You’ve got that look on your face.”
A night in Monaco. Bright lights. The sofa in the living room.
“I only show it to you.” That low, gentle voice.
Max stepped out of the bath. The sound of the shower faded behind him.
Faint marks remained along his neck, his collarbone, his chest. Dull, scattered traces lingered around his hips.
It started with my neck.
He traced the spot lightly with his fingertips. The press of a soft nose. Then lips. Then a tongue, slow against damp skin—teeth following after. And afterwards, George had been almost excessively careful with him, attentive in a way that bordered on overprotective. Even the next morning. Constantly.
Not just that once. He was always like that. Always, as if he were something precious—
Oh…
“...It’s normal. He bites a bit.”
“I heard you’ve been biting Max a lot when you two hook up.”
“When you saw that message—did you even stop to think how that would feel for me?”
“It just means it didn’t matter that much to you.”
Max covered his eyes with one hand.
That was it.
I was the one who messed up.
Voices of engineers and mechanics, the hum of machinery—the pit garage was as hectic as ever on the final day of pre-season testing. Things weren’t going well. Adjustments were taking longer than expected, and the drivers were mostly left waiting.
Max had his racing suit slightly unzipped, resting his elbows on the counter in front of the monitors as he looked down at the sheet in front of him. It was a printout of lap times and sector splits.
…I need to apologise.
In the end, he hadn’t managed to contact him after that. He understood what he had done wrong. But he hadn’t known how to put it into words. He had lain awake, turning it over in his head, and only managed to sort it out properly just before dawn.
One of the monitors showed the F1TV broadcast. The Mercedes garage was on screen. The number on the chassis was 63—but George wasn’t there. Maybe he hadn’t gone out in the morning session.
I should at least send a message.
George probably still thought Max hadn’t realised anything. What if they didn’t get a chance to talk about this? If that happened… their relationship might actually be over.
He didn’t want that.
He pulled out his phone. I want to talk—that was enough. He decided on that and opened the messaging app.
“Max, get ready.”
The voice came from behind just as he did. Max turned his phone face down.
Lunch meeting at midday. Then back to test runs in the afternoon. Out on track, back in, waiting for adjustments. Over and over again. As the hours passed, the unease only grew. When he was in the car, he could focus. But every time he stepped out, everything he had pushed down came back.
He still managed to set the fastest time of the day. But just before the end of the session, his name dropped one place on the timing screen.
0.02 seconds. RUS.
Max stared at the standings on the left side of the monitor and let out a short breath.
…I’ll have to go talk to him directly.
There weren’t any other options left. There was a problem, though. He didn’t know the room number. Should he ask in a message?
…No.
If he got ignored, that would be it. Tonight was his only chance. He needed to catch him for sure. Toto would probably tell him.
When he got back to the hotel, Max headed straight for one of the restaurants inside. At this hour, Toto had to be somewhere eating. Probably not the same place as yesterday. French, Italian, Indian—he considered it for a moment, then stopped.
If he’s not there, I’ll just check them all.
“Good evening, Mr. Verstappen. May I ask if you’re meeting someone?”
The receptionist’s expression stiffened slightly at the sight of him—still in his Red Bull team kit and jeans.
Max scanned the dining room. Toto wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“Is Toto Wolff here?”
The receptionist nodded.
“Yes, he is. This way, please.”
The interior was refined and subdued, conversations kept low. Max followed, ignoring the looks cast his way from other tables. A few steps in, he stopped.
—George.
Kimi was sitting beside him. The same arrangement as yesterday.
He might be turned away again. The thought made something tighten faintly in his chest. But if he backed off now, it would just be the same all over again. Max took a step forward. Toto noticed him and looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Max didn’t stop—he walked straight toward George.
“—”
Those ice-blue eyes widened.
“I need to talk.”
George’s gaze wavered. For a moment, his eyes flicked toward Toto and Kimi.
“…Max, now’s not—”
“That’s fine.”
A calm voice cut him off. Toto.
“Go on. You’ve got something to talk through, haven’t you?”
Beside him, Kimi’s eyes moved between the two of them, concern evident. Max kept his gaze fixed on George, waiting. George hesitated for only a second before lowering his eyes, letting out a small breath.
“…Let’s talk in my room.”
The scrape of the chair sounded louder than it should have.
There was no conversation on the way to the room. The stiff line of George’s profile half a step ahead made something in Max’s chest feel unsettled. The lift stopped on one of the floors lined with suites.
So he went for a pretty nice room.
As they stepped out into the corridor, Max glanced at George. George looked back for a brief second, but said nothing. When they reached the room, George opened the door and stepped aside without a word. Max walked past him and went in.
Beyond the living area with its sofa and low table, there was a small dining table for two. Through the partially open sliding door, a king-sized bed was visible. The suite, done in calm tones, was immaculate—everything in its place.
George moved past Max and leaned back against the wall in the living room, folding his arms quietly.
“…Well?”
Those large ice-blue eyes fixed on him.
Max lowered his gaze once, then looked straight back at him.
“…I want to apologise.”
Silence.
“About our time together… I shouldn’t have talked about it like that.”
George’s expression didn’t change. Yesterday, he hadn’t understood why George had looked so hurt. Now he did. It wasn’t because Max had told Lando about they were together.
“I didn’t really understand… what that time means to you.”
Time where teeth pressed into skin, where touch lingered hard enough to leave marks. The moments when George let that “monster” no one else ever saw come to the surface.
“I wasn’t trying to make light of it. I’m not going to hide this, and I’m not ashamed of it. That hasn’t changed. But I hurt you… and I mean it—I’m sorry.”
For the first time, George’s expression shifted. His gaze slipped away, and he let out a breath, as if pushing something down.
“…It’s not that I want to hide us.”
“…Yeah.”
“It matters. To me, it’s not just sex.”
“I know… now.”
The way he bit, almost ritualistic. The overwhelming, possessive intensity—and the almost excessive gentleness that followed.
"That ugly monster I couldn't even handle myself—you didn't reject it. You took it all in. Because you accepted me like that, I feel like I can finally forgive the darker parts of who I am." George had said that, the morning after the first time they slept together.
“I was wrong. …I want you to forgive me.”
There was something earnest in Max’s eyes as he looked at him.
“—I don’t want this to end.”
George pushed himself off the wall. He walked over slowly until he stood in front of Max, then gently cupped his cheek. Warm fingers. A small breath slipped from Max’s lips.
“That’s ours. Just ours.”
“…Yeah.”
“Don’t tell anyone again.”
“…I won’t. But next time, don’t try to make a point with your attitude. Just say it.”
“Alright. That part’s on me. I’m sorry.”
“Good.”
Only then did something softer return to George’s eyes. He looked at Max, a faint, almost pained smile touching his lips.
“I thought this might be it. Today was… difficult.”
So he’d felt the same. It was a strange thought—both of them worrying, all while setting lap times.
Max blinked.
“…And you still set that lap time?”
He shouldn’t have said it. The moment the words slipped out, he went quiet. Too late. He looked up at George cautiously.
Blank. Then a blink. And then George let out a laugh.
“—Ha! You really are—”
Max found himself staring, caught for a moment by the familiar smile—one he hadn't seen in a while.
“Honestly... you're impossible.”
George shook his head, then looked back at him. The smile softened, his gaze fond.
“I didn’t want to think about anything, so I just drove. That’s how I got that time.”
“Toto had a laugh about it. Maybe he’d already figured something out,” George added lightly, lifting a shoulder.
That sounded about right. Toto was sharp.
“…Well. If it’s him, I guess it’s fine.”
At least he wouldn’t go around telling people. Maybe tease them a bit, but that was it.
“Right.”
The laughter faded, leaving something calm behind.
“…?”
Max’s gaze dropped. George’s hands were resting at his waist. When he looked back up, those ice-blue eyes were steady, quiet—and something in them made him instinctively step back, only to be stopped by the hands at his hips.
“You won’t make the same mistake again, will you?”
“I won’t. I just said that.”
“Is that all it is? Words?”
Something flickered in his eyes—the “monster.”
Max swallowed.
“…What do you want me to do?”
“There’s something you should show me too.”
His voice was quiet, but the smile that followed was sharp—predatory—as he leaned in and murmured the rest against Max’s ear.
“—”
Max’s eyes wavered. He bit his lip, then let the tension drain from his body.
“…Alright. Fine.”
George gave a single nod. Without looking away from him, he slipped out of his jacket, removed his watch, and slowly folded back the sleeves of his shirt.
The sound of running water echoed through the bathroom, mixed with slightly strained breathing.
“Much cleaner now.”
Watching the clear water swirl down the drain, George smiled and pressed a kiss to damp blond hair. Max, flushed all the way to his ears, clung to his chest on his knees. He rubbed his forehead against George’s shoulder, but his breathing refused to steady. Noticing George trying to pull back to look at his face, Max quickly grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer.
“—ha, ah… don’t… look…”
What George had told him to show was the preparation. It had been mortifying. But he hadn’t refused. He had chosen to show him everything. Even so, the embarrassment hadn’t faded. And… if George saw his face, he’d know everything.
“That’s not it.”
The quiet voice of someone in control.
“You show me everything, Max.”
His breath hitched again.
Slowly, Max lifted his face. Ice blue eyes watched him intently. He’d been seen during preparation, and now that same gaze clung to his flushed, aroused face—and to his completely bare body.
“—…”
He was being looked at between his legs. He tried to hide himself, but his wrist was caught before he could.
“Max.”
A quiet reprimand.
“…”
He let his hand fall away. Biting his lip, he endured the way George’s gaze seemed to lick over him.
His breath trembled. A dull ache coiled low in his belly. He was the only one naked, exposed in a way he would never show anyone else—and even now, just being watched… yet between his legs, his cock had already begun to stir, a bead of precome forming at the tip.
George’s lips brushed his ear.
“Being cleaned up by me, being watched like this… it turned you on, didn’t it?”
That bastard—getting a bit too full of himself…
Max let out a small gasp, his body shuddering. That infuriatingly beautiful face smiled with quiet satisfaction. George hadn’t even properly undressed. It looked like only Max had been undone.
But that wasn’t true. The strength in his fingertips, the hunger flickering in his eyes—the monster was there, restless. This was the face he showed only to Max.
“That expression… I can’t get enough of it.”
George murmured, almost entranced. Max frowned, still breathing hard.
“…Satisfied now?”
“Hardly. I’m not nearly done.”
Greedy bastard…!
Looking up at George as he slowly rose while holding his shoulders, Max cursed inwardly. The bulge pressing against his navy slacks left no doubt about what was expected. The bulge pressing against his navy slacks left no doubt about what was expected.
“…You’re asking too much.”
Max glared up at him, but George only smiled back.
“I won’t force you.”
That was what Max hated about him. A click of his tongue slipped out.
Biting down on his embarrassment, he reached for George’s belt. It was his first time undoing someone else’s buckle, unfastening the hook, pulling down the zip. And now—he was about to willingly put another man’s cock in his mouth.
Max let out a heated breath.
He pulled the slacks down. The dark navy boxers beneath were visibly strained. Once those came off, there would be no turning back. He glanced up at George, met his eyes, and quickly looked away.
“Want to stop?”
“…Shut up.”
One breath. Then Max steeled himself and pulled the boxers down.
The moment it sprang free, he froze.
There’s no way…
He’d known, but seeing it like this…
It won’t fit.
It didn’t feel like something that would go in his mouth. But backing out now wasn’t an option—his pride wouldn’t allow it.
Cautiously, he parted his lips and took the tip between them. Then he caught the skin lightly between his lips, applying soft pressure. When he glanced up at George, he saw him looking down, licking his lips.
A shiver ran sweetly down his spine. He wanted to see that face more.
He slid his tongue along the tip, then took it into his mouth. Above him, a sharp intake of breath. Avoiding his teeth was harder than expected. Pressing it against the inside of his cheek worked better. Licking along it would take practice. And still, only the tip really fit. He pulled back, letting his tongue trail along the underside and shaft. The reaction was immediate. When he lightly cupped and teased the sac with his hand, that drew another good response.
Maybe he was getting the hang of it.
“…ah—Max…”
The strained voice snapped him back. Still moving his tongue along it, Max looked up. George was staring down at him, breath uneven, cheeks flushed.
…ah
A dull ache pulsed through his hips. Large fingers stroked through his hair in approval. His body burned. George’s breathing grew rougher.
More…
The sound of water, overlapping ragged breaths, soft, broken moans. He sucked eagerly, feeling it harden further in his mouth and hand. Even the sensation of saliva trailing from his chin down to his chest felt good. His hips shifted. The hand resting on his head tightened now and then, giving away George’s reactions. Watching his face come undone, Max pressed on, driving him further.
“—ah… Max… I’m—going to come…”
Then do it.
He drew him in harder, sucking firmly around his cock. Instantly, his head was pulled down with undeniable force.
George’s groan—then something warm hit his face.
“…ah?”
Not understanding what had just happened, Max looked up, breath unsteady. Something trailed down his cheek. George looked satisfied. Only then did he realise—he’d been made to take it on his face. A hand caught his chin. He let it happen, accepting the kiss George pressed down on him. George carefully sucked at the tongue that had just been wrapped around him, then pulled back with a feral smile.
“…pervert.”
The insult came out soft, unsteady.
“Mm. I love you too, Max.”
This guy, honestly—
“Let’s continue in bed.”
“…okay.”
Murmured softly, Max let himself be pulled to his feet.
On the king-sized bed, he was laid on his back, legs spread apart. Between them, kneeling, George looked down at him as he slipped off his shirt. A well-built upper body. When it leaned over him like that, the ritual began.
“—…”
A nose pressed against his neck. At the same time, fingers slid in from behind. Skin and something deeper blurred together.
“Ah—!”
Teeth sank in just as a fingertip pressed deep inside, crushing a sensitive spot. A broken cry slipped out before he could stop it. He could feel George smiling against his neck. Too late—by the time he realised, the fading marks were all overwritten, and when there were three fingers inside him, he was already too far gone to think straight.
“ah— ngh… can’t— anymore…”
Heat pooled low in his belly. He couldn’t breathe properly. It was overwhelming. Just the brush of teeth made him shudder. He needed more. Fingers weren’t enough.
He buried his face in the pillow, gasping. At some point he’d been turned onto his stomach—he didn’t remember when. His back was probably covered in marks by now. His hips were lifted. Was he going to—
Just as the thought crossed his mind, teeth pressed into his backside.
ah—
Biting down. Fingers rocking inside him. Stimulation along his cock.
His breath caught.
“—ah—!”
Everything stopped for a moment.
He only realised he’d come while being bitten when George told him, pleased. His own breathing was loud. His whole body burned. It wasn’t enough.
I want more.
He felt his own release smeared over him, and let out a strained sound. After all that preparation, now—?!
“pl—please… George…”
There was no room left for pride. Max rocked his hips, pleading. Coming like that wasn’t enough. He wanted something deeper again.
“Want to come on my cock?”
A whisper. Something hot and hard pressed against him. Max rubbed his forehead against the pillow, nodding over and over.
“want it—”
Hurry.
“Coming like that isn’t enough anymore, is it, Max?”
Anything—just give it to him.
“not enough— inside— want to come inside—”
“Good boy.”
A firm grip on his hips. The tip that had been teasing at his entrance pressed in.
“ah…”
Drool slipped onto the sheets.
Pressure. Something thick and long pushing in. It was too much to take. He clung to the sheets. His hips were pulled back, held in place. A rough thrust, dragging inside him—he cried out.
“Such a good sound… let me hear more.”
Reflexively, he bit his lip. Immediately, he was driven into again.
“h—!”
“That won’t do. Let me hear you.”
Body heat pressing over him, a low voice at his ear. His face burned. His head felt like it was boiling. A sweet shiver ran down his spine.
Max closed his eyes once, then slowly parted his lips. A soft, needy voice spilled into the suite—and as if spurred on by it, George’s movements grew deeper, harder.
“ah— ah— it feels— good—”
Pleasure surged, pulling him under. He clung to the sheets. With every thrust, it built higher. Sweat dripped. The hands gripping his hips tightened. Rough breaths, low sounds fell over him. The world spun.
“—ah!”
The moment something deep inside was struck, his vision went white.
“ah— wait— still—!”
George didn’t stop. He was still coming—wait—! Max reached back in panic, but his hand was caught, his balance taken. Before he knew it, he was completely pinned between the sheets and George’s body.
“ah— ngh— stop— can’t—”
Relentless pressure deep inside. Weight. Sweat sliding. A low voice in his ear. His body wouldn’t move. The climax wouldn’t end.
His head spun. He gave himself over completely to George. It felt too good.
“—!”
Endless waves, cresting without pause. His fingers clutched weakly at the hand pinning him down, surrendering completely to the pleasure.
More—
The sound that slipped from his lips was pure bliss.
The creak of the bed.
His eyes wouldn’t open. He was sleepy. Someone was there.
“…Geor…ge…?”
A quiet laugh. A soft touch against his forehead.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Mm…”
Warm hands. His consciousness drifted.
Thank you, Max.
It felt like he heard it.
The faint dip of the mattress pulled him back to the surface. His eyelids were heavy. His body still sluggish. He let out a breath into the pillow, face buried. Just as he began to drift off again, the faint sound of paper turning and a soft electronic beep held him there.
“Mm…”
A small sound slipped out as he shifted.
“Awake?”
The calm voice came from right beside him. He forced one eye open, turning his heavy head. George was looking at him, seated on the edge of the bed. A sheet of paper in his hand—probably the room service menu. The phone at his ear must have been the in-room line.
“…Wh… what’re you… doing…”
His voice sounded awful. George let out a quiet chuckle. As if he wasn’t the reason.
“Ordering breakfast.”
A simple answer. Then he turned back to the phone.
“Good morning. I’d like to order breakfast, please.”
Unstyled brunette hair. A blue striped shirt. Beige chinos. Annoyingly perfect this early in the morning.
“One egg white omelette, and smoked salmon… sliced avocado on the side, please. And an orange juice.”
He eats a lot for this early, Max thought vaguely, shifting under the sheets. Everything ached. His hips, especially.
George continued.
“And scrambled eggs with bacon, hash browns… and a bread basket for two.”
Max lifted his head.
“…Oi.”
“We’ll have some fruit as well.”
“George.”
“And two coffees.”
“George!”
He was about to snap, for fuck’s sake, listen—but George covered the receiver just in time and looked over.
“Something else you’d prefer?”
“That’s not it. It’s too much.”
Way too much. He had no appetite.
George blinked, glancing back at the menu.
“Is it?”
“It is…”
Max lifted his head halfway, shooting him a look.
“You planning to make me eat all of that?”
A smile curved George’s lips.
“You should eat. After last night, you must’ve burned through everything.”
“Yeah? That’s on you.”
“Oh, really? I’m pretty sure you were the one asking for—more.”
“…!”
Heat rushed to his face. The memory came back all at once—clinging to him, voice embarrassingly sweet—
“Apologies, don’t mind us. That’ll be all.”
George finished the order as if nothing had happened.
Max dropped back down onto his front, turning his face the other way. The sound of the phone being set down. Then the bed dipped again, and the faint scent of cologne brushed his senses.
“Max?”
“…”
Like hell he’d answer. Damn him.
A quiet laugh. Then gentle fingers ran through his hair. Once, twice… three times. Then they slipped away, only to settle warm against his back. Sleepiness crept back in.
“Want to sleep until the food arrives?”
That gentle voice again. His consciousness began to slip.
“Mm… when it’s here…”
“I’ll wake you.”
A soft press of lips at his crown.
Sleep wrapped around him again, gentle and warm.
The murmur of voices pulled him awake about thirty minutes later. It felt like he’d slept much longer—the clock said otherwise. His body was still heavy, though his head felt clear. When he pushed himself up, he saw George arranging dishes from the room service trolley onto the table by the window. He turned at the movement, his looks almost annoyingly perfect.
“Morning. Breakfast’s here. Come over and eat with me.”
The smell of eggs, butter, and bacon drifted into the bedroom. His stomach gave an honest growl. Slowly, he dragged his protesting body out of bed. The moment he stood, his knees nearly gave way.
“Careful.”
A large hand caught his arm—George. He’d been in the living room just a second ago. When did he—? Max blinked, and George gave him a soft, wry smile.
“You’ve got to be more careful.”
That perfect face was seriously irritating.
“…Just so you don’t forget—this is completely your fault.”
“It’s a bit unfair to blame it all on me.”
George’s hand settled at his waist to steady him.
“Shut up.”
Max let himself be guided to the table. A lavish breakfast spread waited there. He dropped into the chair George pulled out for him—and winced as his hips protested.
“…”
George, halfway to sitting down opposite him, stopped.
“Does it hurt?”
“…Because a certain insatiable sadist went too far, yes.”
He shot him a glare, but George only smiled—that same infuriatingly beautiful smile. Meanwhile, Max was the one left wrecked—his hips ached from being forced open, his body sore all over from the constant pounding, and his body still hadn’t settled from being pushed over and over the edge.
“Maybe because you were rather enthusiastic in asking for more?”
“…God, that face of yours is really pissing me off…”
He sighed and picked up his fork. Scrambled eggs rich with butter, crispy bacon, golden hash browns. It all looked good. He was hungry. But more than that, he was exhausted. For a moment, he just stared at the plate.
I need caffeine.
A mug was set down in front of him with a soft clink. Coffee, steam rising. When he looked up, George was watching him, a hint of concern in his expression.
“…Thanks.”
One sip, then another—and finally his body seemed to switch back on. He exhaled, then picked up his fork again and took a bite of eggs.
For a while, it was quiet. The faint clink of cutlery, birdsong outside. No conversation. But it was comfortable.
A low vibration broke the silence.
Both of them looked toward the sound. On the low table, Max’s phone screen had lit up. He must’ve left it there last night. It didn’t look like a call, so he ignored it at first. But then two more notifications came in quick succession.
“I’ll get it.”
George stood. He glanced at the screen and paused for a few seconds before bringing it over and handing it to Max. The reason was obvious immediately.
WhatsApp. From Lando.
“George ignored me yesterday”
“Is he mad or something?”
“Are you with him now? Did it go okay?”
“…”
Right. The root of it all was Lando. Again.
He stared at the messages, then started typing.
“Not okay. He was seriously pissed. You made it a nightmare for me”
A beat, then another line.
“Give me the position next race”
Sent. It was read almost instantly. The reply came just as fast.
“Wait what? Was last night that intense?”
“What did he do to you?!😍”
“…”
Max frowned. Thought for a second. Then replied simply.
“I’m not telling you”
That line, he wasn’t crossing again.
He set the phone down, screen still on. Another message came—Come on, was it something really kinky? He ignored it. He was about to return to his meal when he felt a gaze on him and looked up.
George was watching him. Ice-blue eyes, quietly narrowed.
“…What.”
Max asked, and George’s lips curved slightly. A calm, satisfied smile.
“Nothing.”
For someone saying nothing, he looked far too pleased. But Max let it go.
It wasn’t a bad morning after all.
The Grand Prix season would begin soon. Amid the constant travel around the world, their relationship would continue. Rivals on track, lovers off track—their first season like this. With how different they were, there would probably be more clashes ahead.
—but somehow, it would be alright.