cloverleaves
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George made a sudden movement with his mouth. His tongue, wet and sinuous, edged a path around the column of Max’s cock like he was tracing a map of the pass on Max’s skin. It was too much, and it was not enough, and Max’s hips jerked involuntarily as his grip tightened on the steering wheel, letting off the accelerator just a hair as the wheels screeched around the tight turn.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed. “You really want to kill us?! Enough, George!”
Post Italian Grand Prix 2026. They go on a joyride in a most unexpected car, and George has several stories to tell.
Series
- Part 8 of pareidolia
Bookmarked by cloverleaves
08 Sep 2026
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“Trust me, I’d rather get a bollocking.”
“What do you get instead?” Max had asked seriously, prompting Russell to start finding the pattern of his carpet incredibly interesting.
It had been in that lack of verbal response and the presence of a barely-perceptible physical one that Max had finally felt a strange, quiet camaraderie. The feeling had been quickly replaced by an anger at being seemingly outdone in that awful, sacred regard.
It took one bastard to recognise another.
There was a certain humiliation in having your damage exposed to the person you least wanted as a witness. For Max, even worse was being asked to do the witnessing.
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Bookmarked by cloverleaves
21 Aug 2026
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“Eat shit tomorrow, Verstappen.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Max replies easily, downright bored. It’s a drag of a performance, the shit talk. He collapses back against the sheets, legs still dangling off the side of the bed. Waste of time, when George is just riling himself up to come back over, drop between Max’s knees. He loves a routine, though. “Crash and burn, Russell.”
Bookmarked by cloverleaves
08 Aug 2026
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It’s funny, really, how little they talk. What is there to talk about? They were completely different people back when all George’s face inspired in Max was annoyance, that hasn’t suddenly changed just because he’s a little fonder of him now.
When Max brings up video games or his plans to go play darts with friends, George hums along and pretends to care. Max can’t muster up the same pretense when George talks about padel or whatever gossip his girlfriends have fed him at brunch so instead he busies himself with tracing the shape of his lips with his eyes, imagining them swollen and wrapped around him.
More relationships would last longer if people just ignored each other’s personalities and focused on sex, Max thinks.
Bookmarked by cloverleaves
05 Jul 2026
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"What don't I understand?" Max asks.
George lets out a long breath.
Then he looks at Max as though he's about to reveal the most closely guarded secret in the world. He lifts his other hand and cups Max's face, squishing his cheeks slightly between his palms. With his right thumb, he gently brushes the skin beneath Max's eye.
Then he leans in conspiratorially and whispers:
"I need to trick the Universe."
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After a string of setbacks, George experiences a relapse of his obsessive-compulsive disorder. Max really wishes he'd known about George's diagnosis before listening to all of that.
Bookmarked by cloverleaves
16 Jun 2026