deader
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“Is he fighting for the win?” Another pause. “Or is he planning to catch Norris?”
Max snorted. Someone turned to look at him; he merely shook his head and looked back at the screen. Sarcastic little asshole, George was. Max sipped on his water again and waited for George to unleash the—not the lion, the snake or something, something venomous—at Marcus.
Tough luck, he thought, exhaling harder to clear his lungs. Asking George Russell for team order—who did they think he was, did they not know George at all, George who would rather tear through the track with shredded tires and a slow puncture side-by-side Max rather than give him an easy time of it for even one fucking minute of them being near each other—
“Holy shit.” It rippled through the Red Bull garage, the disbelief and excitement of something unprecedented to enliven the race. “Russell really did it. He let Antonelli through.”
The last Dutch Grand Prix, 2026. Max is very, very ill with the flu, and George had cast his lot in with the devil.
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- Part 7 of pareidolia
Bookmarked by deader
31 Aug 2026
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“I’m George,” the guy – George – says, not offering a hand. “Nice weather out here, don’t know how you race like this.”
Max is busy staring at the pearly whites blinding him. There’s no way this guy hasn’t had work done. Lips like those, plump and pouty, would probably burst if Max bit on them. The paddock has become a cesspool of influencers and celebrities since Netflix came in with their cameras, but it still rubs Max the wrong way, how they prance around knowing nothing about racing and offering their inane opinions.
“It’s fine,” he dismisses, gripping the ball. “I’m good at what I do.”
“I’m sure you are,” George says, flashing another cookie-cutter smile. “Good luck on Sunday, then.”
alternatively, max learns that loving a man doesn't have to be painful
Bookmarked by deader
12 Aug 2026
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These are things Max can still tell about George, like how he’s lost weight because his agency is a fucking prison and Max is no longer there to tell them to fuck off. Or how despite his tailored suits and white teeth, George is a needy loser who cries too easily and likes picking fights with Max despite it.
The world doesn’t know anything about George, not like Max does.
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Bookmarked by deader
16 Jul 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 deader
15 Jul 2026
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“George is not my boyfriend,” Max responds automatically. Then, “he’s mad at me again.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. He’s always mad at me.”
No one bats an eye at them, not really. It’s an open secret around the paddock that they sometimes fuck when they’re not fighting and sometimes when they are fighting. It’s stress-relief, sex you don’t need to sign an NDA for. It works even if George causes him more stress than he relieves. At least he’s quiet with a dick in his mouth. Sometimes.
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Bookmarked by deader
15 Jul 2026