Work Text:
1.
After over two decades in motorsport, Toto was used to the highs and lows and the intense emotions that always came with either winning or losing. It was normal day-to-day business by now and over the years, he had found many ways of dealing with the stresses and pressures of racing at the top of the league in Formula One.
However, there were certain days on which he found it harder to keep the lid on the overflowing stream of burning anger that wanted to rise in his throat and spill all over Christian’s stupid little face like hot lava, afflicting as much pain as possible and leaving scars that ran deep. Sometimes he was convinced that getting married to one of the other team principals in Formula One had been the worst decision of his life.
It had been a frustrating weekend in Barcelona, practice had been a nightmare, qualifying couldn’t have gone worse and then on Sunday, Checo had made a bad start and misjudged his breaking point for the first corner which resulted in the elimination of both Mercedes cars within the first few minutes of the race. A rookie mistake really.
So to say Toto was angry didn’t even cover the rage and frustration boiling in his chest. The costs would be offensively high, Valterri’s car would need a new engine and even with the mechanics working hard on Lewis’ car, trying to get it back on the track for next weekend, sorting out the temperatures, straightening out pipes, it would take a fucking miracle to keep the costs, time and effort for the team at a minimum. There had been no need for this sort of thing to happen and Toto was fuming when he made his way out of the Mercedes garage through the pit lane and over to the Red Bull pit wall, where Christian was just sliding out of his seat to celebrate their 1-2 with the drivers and the team, a small, self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Toto didn’t even wait until he’d fully crossed the pit to bark: “This win wouldn’t have been yours by miles if your drivers knew how to handle their cars!”
Christian’s gaze shifted away from one of the engineers he was congratulating and towards Toto, a storm of floppy dark hair, furious eyes and half-open Mercedes jacket, and his eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. But he didn’t get the chance to say a word.
“You’re getting really desperate, aren’t you? Unbelievable, the shit you try to win these days!”
Toto was all up in Christian’s space now, crowding into the smaller body, and to everyone else he probably seemed quite intimidating, almost a foot taller, lean body and clearly stronger than his counterpart. But Christian was intimately familiar with the body crowding into his own and he knew Toto wouldn’t hit him, the man couldn’t hurt a fly to save his life. And even if he planned on doing so, Christian would be able to take it, the cameras would pick it up and he would come out on top either way. So all Christian did was brace a hand on Toto’s chest, bringing a few inches of cool distance between them, and then said: “Now, darling, calm the fuck down, won’t you?”
Toto was taken by such surprise at his words that, for the whole of two seconds, all his anger faded away into the background. He could read on Christian’s face that he hadn’t planned on saying it either, merely a simple slip up caused by too much adrenaline and emotions running way too high. There was a hint of pink rising to Christian's cheeks before he blinked and smoothly shook it off. “Drivers make mistakes, Toto, you know that. You’ve been in the game long enough. What do you want me to do? Apologise? I didn’t drive the bloody car, did I?”
Toto set his jaw in suppressed rage. The audacity this man had.
“How about you pay the fucking bill? This is going to cost us a fortune!”
“That’s racing, mate”, Christian shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, seemingly safely back in his comfort zone now. He loved riling Toto up. “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.”
Toto gritted his teeth at the comment. It was such a Christian thing to say, so slimy and arrogant, almost indifferent. As if Toto and Mercedes didn’t make one of the two teams Red Bull had the most trouble racing against. He was such a conceited little-
“If it helps, I didn’t tell Checo to take out your cars”, Christian said now. “I won’t lie, I’m not sorry to see the result, but I didn’t get on the radio telling my drivers to wreak havoc. I’m not that much of a dick.”
“I don’t care”, Toto ground out, suddenly extremely aware of the attention they were getting not just from the cameras, but also from their respective teams and mechanics and crew members up and down the pit lane, warily observing the heated interaction. Any minute now and someone would step in. “The consequences for us are brutal. I’ve already talked to Michael and the FIA are looking into it as we speak.”
“Of course you have.” Christian was rolling his eyes, his subtle amusement at Toto’s outburst now replaced by clear annoyance. “Look, Toto, I’m not dealing with this right now. Everyone saw what happened, it’s a high-speed corner, Checo didn’t have any room to move, and your drivers weren’t giving us an inch either. That’s all I'm going to say about it, feel free to tell the press whatever you want.”
And before Toto could say another word or maybe bite his head off, Christian’s hand came up to pat his cheek twice in mockery before he briskly brushed past him to finally join his team’s celebrations.
Toto turned on his heels immediately, zipping up his jacket, striding back to the Mercedes garage, humiliated and fuming. This wasn’t over yet.
-
2.
The atmosphere in the press conference room was tense with the presser taking place mere hours after Mercedes’ win at the Canadian GP. It had been a good weekend for both Toto and Christian, really, but a better weekend for Toto, with Mercedes taking first and third place on the podium, and Red Bull coming fourth and fifth. Obviously, Christian was fuming.
“So, gentlemen”, the presenter led in. “With today’s results, both world titles are up for grabs next weekend in Qatar. We can all feel the tension in the paddock, what’s the mood like in your respective garages? Christian, perhaps we can start with you.”
Toto could always tell Christian’s mood by his body language. Loose line of his shoulders, no tension in his neck or biceps usually meant he was relaxed, happy to unwind after a long day of work with a pint and a lot of physical contact. A set jaw and hard, unforgiving lines around his mouth meant serious trouble. Combined with crossed arms, tight fists and flaring nostrils indicated bone-deep anger and more often than not ended in loud, frustrated shouting. He was concentrated when he was scrunching up his face, or worried. To get Christian to smile, or even laugh, was one of Toto’s favourite pastimes because it made him light up all over. However, Christian frozen, barely moving a muscle and fists buried in his pockets were a clear sign of impending danger.
“Well, obviously, the mood isn’t great after missing out on the podium by a quarter of a second”, Christian ground out. “It’s frustrating because we know what we’re able to do, our pace was good this weekend, and Max was in the lead for quite some time there, until it all went tits up.”
Toto managed to suppress a chuckle at Christian’s undertone. They’d already come head-to-head – well, head-to-shoulder, really – in the paddock after the race and Toto had been thoroughly entertained by Christian’s fury of losing the podium to Bottas in the last lap, but what did they say? All was fair in love and war.
“And Toto? How’s the mood at Mercedes? Are you looking forward to next weekend?”
“Oh, absolutely. I think we set a prime example this weekend of what we are capable of, both Lewis and Valtteri had a really strong weekend, and the team is excited to let it all come together next week in Qatar.”
“So you’re not worried about Christian giving you a run for either of the titles?”
Toto turned to his left, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth at the question. Christian just lowered his eyes at him, as if to say Go on, give me a reason.
“Obviously Red Bull is a very efficient team, there’s a reason why we’re currently at the same points in the championship. They would absolutely be able to outperform us.”
Of course, Christian took the bait. After all, Toto knew his husband quite well, no matter how often they came toe to toe over their jobs.
“But?”, Christian spat into his mic, eyes fixed on Toto.
As if mildly surprised by his words, Toto turned towards him, eyebrows slightly raised. He had tried to compliment him after all, if only somewhat backhanded. “But?”
“You say it like there’s something in the way of Red Bull’s win next week.”
“Oh”, Toto mused, unsuccessfully hiding his mirth about the situation. “Well, I guess if you were to spend only half the time you spend on the phone with Michael working out a way around your DRS issues, your chances of winning would be higher, darling.”
This time it was deliberate, and it was worth it, just for the look of wild fury in Christian’s eyes and how the humiliation coloured his cheeks a soft pink. The room was vibrating with badly concealed chuckles, a mixture of disbelief at Toto’s clear provocation and amusement at Christian’s discomfort, and the frantic shuttering of cameras going off at the back of the room.
Satisfied to have rendered Christian Horner speechless, Toto leaned back in his chair, shoulders relaxed and arms crossed loosely in front of his chest, and smiled sweetly over at his husband, completely aware that this would undoubtedly end with abysmal shouting in his hotel room later, hopefully followed by some really good sex.
-
3.
“Toto, just a short post-race interview if you will. We’ll be quick.”
“If I must”, Toto smiled charmingly, wiping a beat of sweat off his eyebrow with the back of his hand, then ruffling the hand through his sweat-soaked hair, fluffing it up. It was boiling in Mexico, way past the point of discomfort, and he was ready for a cold shower and some much needed sleep, preferably at home, with an armful of an equally clean Christian. However, this part was highly questionable at this point, going by Red Bull’s loss today.
“First of all, congratulations on the great results for Mercedes this weekend, how pleased are you with your achievements here and with Lewis taking first place?”
“Obviously we’re all very happy, we were able to show off our skills this weekend, the drivers were in tune with the cars, we had great pace. We’re looking forward to America next week.”
“Anything at all you’d like to say about Christian Horner’s comments on your win?”
Toto sighed heavily, trying not to roll his eyes. Of course, Christian had deemed it necessary to voice his displeasure. Of course.
“What comments?”, he asked, not even trying to hide his exasperation at his husband’s more annoying character traits.
“Well”, the reporter said, clearly pleased to get Toto’s first and potentially only reaction to Christian’s provocations on camera. “Red Bull seems convinced it was an unjust win with Hamilton cutting the ninth turn, effectively forcing Verstappen to pit way too early in the race.”
Toto sighed again, this time irritated, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. His shirt was clinging to his skin unpleasantly, and he was too tired to deal with Christian’s petty bullshit right now. He’d had a long day and at the end of it, they’d won, fair and square. It was beyond him how Christian never got tired of throwing tantrums until he got his way.
“Christian has a lot of opinions, and a sharp tongue and a smart mouth to express them accordingly. I wouldn’t believe everything he says.”
“So you disagree with his opinion that Red Bull should’ve won the race?”
“Of course I disagree! It’s frankly false, it was a textbook win for us. If my husb-“
There was a beat of abrupt silence when Toto’s mouth snapped shut. He rubbed a hand over his face to distract from the dawning realisation that this had been way too close for comfort. Jesus Christ. He cleared his throat.
“If Christian wants to throw a hissy fit, let him. It’s up to him to act like a child that can’t read the rule book.”
A minute later, Toto walked away from that interview one step closer to a heart attack. One of these days, his job would kill him.
-
4.
“Fuck, get it off, c’mon, off, off.” Christian’s voice was muffled by the collar of Toto’s crisp white shirt, trying to mouth at his neck while at the same time trying to get the buttons undone, but clearly failing and, hence, getting frustrated. Christian hated losing.
Toto was used to Christian’s impatience though, especially after a fourteen-hour flight and months of barely any off-time at all, and simply covered his fumbling fingers with steady hands, slipping the buttons through the holes one by one and pressing kisses along his husband’s stubbly cheek and jaw at the same time.
“Can’t believe you’re still wearing button-ups on holiday”, Christian complained, because he liked to complain about everything. “It’s fucking 40 degrees outside.” He was nosing beneath the collar now, hands roaming over Toto’s newly freed chest, inhaling his scent greedily, his aftershave, the light sweaty, musky undertones. It somehow always made him weak in the knees and to distract himself, he started pressing open-mouthed kisses along strong shoulders and the lovely curve of his neck, hands gliding down the lean back, searching for leverage to grind his hips into Toto’s body.
Toto was always more relaxed when it came to sex. He liked to take his time with him, liked to go slow and enjoy it, especially since their jobs made times like these so very rare for them. And in secret, Christian always thought that he liked Toto’s torturous, controlled handling during sex way more than the feverish, rushed quickies they’d squeeze in during race weekends or whenever their schedules would allow it. Well, maybe it wasn’t really a secret. Probably not.
“I have to wear button-ups”, Toto replied in a low voice, kissing his way down Christian’s neck, “because you’re stealing all my shirts.” He’d meant for it to sound irritated but the moment he said it Christian coughed out a sound that was half-whine, half-laugh, going pliant in his arms, and that was that. Of course Toto knew what to expect with Christian. What possessiveness did to him, why he wore Toto’s shirts underneath his Red Bull clothes instead of his own. How he liked to be handled every now and then, in private.
“Fuck”, Christian hissed, face buried in Toto’s chest while his hands rushed down to his belt, trying to open it with shaky fingers. “C’mon, get them off”, he groaned, frustrated when Toto started kissing that one spot below his ear and not helping at all. “C’mon, love, just get them off, gimme a hand here, goddamnit.”
Toto chuckled at his husband’s obvious annoyance but took mercy on him, sliding his hands down Christian’s still mostly clothed body and cupping the bulge in Christian’s chinos, making him choke out a high-pitched moan. “You mean here?”, Toto asked innocently, slowly stroking down the length, thumbing the leaking tip. “Is this what you wanted, darling?”
Christian was about to throw a heartfelt insult at either Toto or his belt when suddenly his back pocket started to vibrate. With a groan very different to the ones before he freed a hand from Toto’s body and groped his phone out of his pocket, not even glancing at the screen before his other hand dove straight into Toto’s pocket, pulling out his phone as well, and throwing both of them onto the nearest table, ignoring the sound of the steady ongoing vibrations. Not a second later, his mouth was back on Toto’s skin, and he was pleasantly surprised to find Toto had finally rid himself of his belt and opened his slacks so all Christian needed to do was go for it, really.
He shoved his hand down the front of Toto’s boxers, groping greedily at the hot, hard length, stifling his moan in Toto’s neck. His husband pulled him closer into his body now, a moan rumbling through his chest when Christian set a harsh pace, rubbing Toto just the way he liked it.
“Fuck”, Toto breathed into his hair. “Yeah, that’s it. Darling.”
Christian keened, his hips snapping up into Toto’s hand, which had found its way back to Christian’s hard-on and was groping him in just the right way, just there, below the tip, fuck.
“Bed, now”, Christian demanded, despite his hips still rocking steadily into Toto’s hand, unable to stop. “Now, c’mon. Need you to fuck me.”
Toto inhaled sharply and caught Christian’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down once before letting it go and kissing his lips instead, mouth falling open and tongue prodding. It was dirty and perfect and Christian loved every second of it until once more, a phone went off, rudely vibrating away on the table, interrupting what had been an absolutely perfect experience. Christian was furious.
“Lass klingeln”, Toto murmured against his lips in German, words that Christian was all too familiar with after years of being with Toto and doing the jobs they were doing. “Leave it.”
And distracting kisses and a hand twisting just so were enough for Christian to forget about pesky phone calls and work for the moment, and instead of getting annoyed, he let himself be walked backwards until the backs of his legs hit the mattress and Toto was folded over on top of him, pressing Christian’s body into the softness of the bed, applying pressure in all the right places.
Christian rolled his hips up into Toto’s hand, who was undoing his chinos and pulling them down in one go, eyes closed in pleasure when skin finally met skin and his legs fell open to invite Toto’s body even closer.
They were slick with sweat and precum, and the friction was just right, everything felt perfect for once, Toto’s lips on his, one hand wrapped around both of them, tight heat surrounding him while Christian rubbed himself on Toto’s dick. A low groan left his throat and got swallowed by Toto’s mouth, who kept pressing heated kisses all over his face, his hips snapping down to meet Christian in the middle. “Fuck”, he sighed, eyes pressed close in ecstasy, “need you inside me, honey.” He could feel his hole flutter at the thought alone. “God, please, want you to fuck me.”
He could feel a happy sigh fall from Toto’s lips at his request, ready to give him whatever he needed. Toto was like that. Usually quiet and calm, very professional and collected, but when it came to Christian – he had him wrapped around his little finger. Mostly, anyway. And on the days that he didn’t, it was the other way around.
His husband pressed one last, dirty kiss to his mouth before he lowered himself down to Christian’s chest to wrap his lips around one of his nipples, making him arch up from the mattress to chase the warm heat of his mouth with a low moan. This was getting dangerously close to the point of no return, but somehow, Christian did not have it in him to stop Toto’s hand from roaming all over his body, down his sides, his thighs and between his legs. It just felt too-
Once more, a phone on the table brought him back to reality, the violent vibrations on the wooden tabletop making his eyes snap open in blind fury.
Toto seemed to sense the change in his mood as he lifted his head and stopped the working of his hands and that was the final straw for Christian, really.
“I’m on fucking holiday!”, he snapped, shuffling out from under Toto, out of the sheets and off the bed. “One week! Once a fucking year! I told them to not even think about-“
“Christian”, Toto tried to intervene, a soothing, calm presence on the bed, where Christian should’ve been with him if it weren’t for his bloody phone!
He threw his husband a murderous glance, blindly groping for the ringing phone.
“God, what?!”, he barked down the line. “What could possibly be-“
He stopped abruptly, instinctively reacting to the caller, going white all at once, the blood draining from his face and instead leaving blotchy patches up and down his chest that Toto knew for a fact only appeared out of deep humiliation.
Toto’s eyes were fixed on Christian as he sat up on his elbows, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, unsure yet if he needed to worry or not. Christian waited another painfully quiet second, then he ended the phone call without another word.
“Christian?”, Toto asked, and there was definitely worry creasing the lines around his eyes now. “What is it? Who was on the phone?”
Christian didn’t move from where he was standing, frozen in place with the phone still in hand.
“That would have been Philipp.”
Toto’s forehead wrinkled, trying to think of a Philipp both he and Christian knew closely enough for him to call them during their scarce free time. “Philipp?”
“Schiemer.”
“Philipp Schiemer? As in… head of Mercedes-Philipp Schiemer?” His eyebrows went up in deep confusion. “Why would Philipp call yo-“
His eyes darted down to the phone still clutched in Christian’s hand, realisation dawning on what had happened. A few seconds of complete silence passed.
“Did you just shout at the CEO of Mercedes, Christian?”
“Maybe”, his husband replied in a clipped voice, carefully placing the phone back on the table. “You might want to call him back.”
Toto let himself fall back into the pillows with a sigh, rubbing both hands over his face to hide his grin.
-
+ 1
They didn’t share hotel rooms when they were travelling. They were on different teams after all, and days were long and tiring, they both had jobs to do, they were mostly stressed and emotions tended to run high, so, for the sake of their relationship, they had made that call years ago and stuck with it.
However, every now and then, when Red Bull and Mercedes ended up staying in the same hotel and they weren’t either tired or angry, one of them would make use of their proximity and sneak into the other’s room for some “downtime”, which was Christian’s way of saying he’d like to fall asleep in Toto’s bed, preferably in Toto’s arms.
Yesterday had been one of those days. They were in Singapore for one of the last races of the season, practice had gone reasonably well, and Christian had been buzzing with energy that night and demanded for Toto to fuck it out of him before Saturday’s qualifying. They’d fallen asleep naked, sticky and wrapped up in each other arms and stayed like this until their alarms had forced them out of bed the next morning.
All had been well, Christian had made it back to his room unseen and they had gone on with their respective days, Toto off to the track an hour earlier than Christian, who’d had to shower and grab some breakfast before setting off.
Christian had sat in the car, AC on full blast, enjoying the dull ache in his arse whenever he slightly moved with a smirk on his lips, answering some emails and sipping some coffee. Then, with a sudden drop of his heart he remembered the folder he’d brought along to Toto’s room last night, the numbers they’d made a note of yesterday during practice and which he’d very vocally taken responsibility for and was expected to bring along today. He needed that folder. Last night, his head had been too clouded with adrenaline and arousal to think straight and drop it back at his room before making his way over to his husband to get his brains screwed out, and now it was coming back to bite him in his fucking aching arse.
This was a huge problem and if Christian would have had the time, he would have been furious with himself. He didn’t though. He was already halfway to the track, probably cutting it close to making the first meeting of the day on time anyway, and – more importantly – he didn’t have a key to Toto’s hotel room. Which ultimately meant he’d have to meet Toto somewhere, and quick, because there was no way in hell they’d be able to explain to an assistant why Christian Horner, of all people, needed Toto Wolff’s private room key. The press would have a field day.
When Toto picked up the phone half a minute later, Christian could hear the smirk in his voice. “Missing me already, darling?”
Christian huffed.
“Listen, I have a problem”, he said, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, not wanting to raise suspicion but at the same time painfully aware of the driver in the front. “I left some documents in your room this morning and I need to get them asap, preferably at least an hour before practice starts.”
“Uh…” Christian could hear Toto move about and the background noise got much quieter a second later. “Well, I won’t be able to leave the track, but you can pick up my key and get them yourself if that helps?”
“Yeah, that’ll have to do”, Christian sighed, one hand rubbing over his forehead, annoyed by the inconvenience. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes, I think? I’ll drop by the garages and check in with the team and then I’ll come and get the key.”
Toto hummed in confirmation.
“Are you brave enough to come to my office and get it yourself? Or would you like me to meet you somewhere outside?”, he chuckled.
“I’ve been in your territory before, you know”, Christian declared, a little irritated.
“Only when you were really desperate, darling”, Toto murmured, making an embarrassing shiver roll down Christian’s spine.
“Right”, he coughed, sitting up in his seat and squaring his shoulders, painfully aware of the driver. “I’ll let you know once I’m on enemy’s soil, okay?”
“Alright.” Toto was still smirking. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
-
The entire affair of getting to the track and checking in with the team took Christian longer than he had anticipated, so it wasn’t until way over an hour later that he messaged Toto about the key.
It panned out to be even more difficult than expected to arrange a handover and hadn’t he been absolutely desperate for those fucking notes from yesterday’s session, he would’ve been tempted to just leave it. The Singapore track was a street circuit, so the paddock was accordingly cramped. Little space, too many people. The units were literally door to door and there would be absolutely no way for Christian to get into the Mercedes base unseen.
They decided to meet round the back, behind the garages. There were still a lot of crew members buzzing around, but it was quieter and less exposed than out front.
Toto was already waiting for him when Christian turned the corner, one shoulder propped up against a wall, feet crossed and idly typing on his phone. His shirt sleeves were rolled up due to the heat and his hair was catching a few rays of sunlight, making it look less dark and more of a soft brown instead.
He looked up when he noticed Christian approaching and put his phone away, a soft smile smoothening the sharp lines of his face.
“Hey”, Toto made when Christian came to a halt in front of him. “Here you go.” With a quick gesture he plucked the key card from his pocket and held it out between his fore- and middle finger for Christian to take.
“Thank you”, Christian breathed, storing it safely in his wallet. “This is bloody annoying, I’m sorry I made you step out of your headspace there for a second.”
“No problem at all”, Toto grinned easily. “We will beat you either way. Might as well give you a fair chance of sorting your cars out as best as you can beforehand.”
Christian snorted, rolling his eyes at the comment, but after the morning he’d had so far, he didn’t really have any more sharp-witted comments left in him.
Toto seemed to notice as well.
“Are you okay?”, he asked, less smug now, genuine concern edged along the lines of his face.
“Yeah.” Christian gave him a faint smile, suddenly utterly exhausted. “Just tired.”
Toto’s brows furrowed.
“Because of last night? If it’s too much for you to come over during a race weekend we can-“
“No, no”, Christian back-pedalled, not wanting Toto to put a halt to their sacred one on one time. “It’s not that, you know that. I’m more… generally tired, I guess. It’s been a long season.”
Toto regarded him with a long look and then made half a step towards him, almost stepping into his space, but not quite. Christian could smell him. He was close enough to touch now. He cleared his throat.
“It was a long season”, Toto agreed quietly. “We’ll get some off time at home soon though. No more travelling around, no more hotel rooms for at least two months.”
A smile stretched across Christian’s face at the thought of a few months of normal nine to five at home while they were preparing for the new season next year. He loved his job, but god, was he ready for some downtime.
“Yeah”, he said, smiling up at Toto, basking in the feeling that he was married to this man and congratulating himself on his great choices, just for a second. Toto mirrored his gaze, a gentle smile coming right up to his eyes. Christian’s heart might have skipped a fucking beat.
“Right”, he said after another second. “I’ll go about the rest of my day now, with zero interest in what you and your little team are doing behind your expensive garage doors.” He grinned. “Thanks for the key, darling.”
“I’ll need it back later”, Toto smirked, his eyes darting down to Christian’s mouth for a quick second.
“You can come get it after qualifying later”, Christian smirked. “As long as we’ll get pole. If we do, I’ll wait for you in your room, naked and writhing in your sheets.”
Toto’s eyes flashed amusedly at his words.
“And if we get pole?”
“Then you’ll have to sleep out in the corridor, love.”
Toto groaned an inaudible laugh, rolling his eyes towards the sky.
“What if Ferrari take pole?”
Christian actually hollered a laugh at that.
“We’ll see”, he grinned brightly. “You’ll have to come up with something really good to distract me from the sour mood I’ll undoubtedly be in.”
“I’m sure I can think of something”, Toto smirked, then pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Yeah”, Christian nodded. “Thanks again for the key.”
“Of course.”
And just like that, without any conscious input, they both leaned in at the same time to meet each other for a chaste kiss.
“I love you”, Christian murmured to soft lips and got an equally soft smile in response.
“I love you too. Now off you go.”
And after another, even smaller kiss to the left corner of Christian’s mouth, they parted ways for the day.
Neither of them had heard the shutter of the camera going off in the distance.