Chapter Text
It’s only three laps, 246 seconds, and forty-two turns. He can manage it- he has to go through it. The problem is, though, with every bump, his body gets even wetter, and the slick between his legs keeps pooling up.
It’s been a while since his heat started. It was supposed to be aligned with the summer break, when they would be off for the holidays, so he could take care of it thoroughly. Alas. It’s fifty degrees in this heat, and still, still the heat in the cockpit can’t compete with the heat between his legs.
His Nomex itches, the sudden jolt right at the base of his spine, and it’s an instant soak into his compression shorts. His gaze is hazy, head blurry- but there are still two laps left, with a position to defend against Charles.
Only two more laps. Only two.
The air conditioning in the cool-down room is supposed to be freezing. It normally is designed to be cold enough for the amount of sweat his body produces during races. But the warmth of an omega heat? That’s new.
He stumbles through the door with a ragged breath, and he’s sure he’s smelling weird. The thick layer of sugary-sweet spike, from a premature heat that has no business hitting him right now- he took his pills- and why now? Millions of people watching!
Blindly, he grabs the nearest white towel off the table and shoves it between his legs, wiping desperately at the slick soaking through his suit. He needs to scrub away the evidence before the cameras catch the way his knees are visibly buckling.
When Charles walks into the cool-down room, he halts by the door, nostrils flaring. It can’t be that obvious, can it? Just a bit of sweat, maybe burnt rubber, and Max’s honey-layered vanilla.
But Charles’ green eyes narrow into dangerous slits before landing on him. Max wonders if Charles’ rut is close. Wonders about his cycle. About the omegas he has in his bed-
With a miserable whimper, Max drops the towel, frowning. His hands curl into fists as another contraction rips through him. Don’t point it out, don’t say it, don’t do it-
"Max?"
He knows. Fuck.
"N-nothing," Max squeaks, voice cracking painfully high. Another fresh wave of heat rolls through him, making his eyes roll back as slick keeps burning down his thigh in a trail. "Just... give me a minute."
Before Charles can interfere further, Lando steps through the door. He’s not aware like Charles, so he’s only wiping sweat from his forehead. Even though he can’t smell Max’s heat, he can sense the tension in the room. His eyes dart from Max: practically shaking apart against the counter, to Charles: who is standing rigid with his nostrils flared. As if he wants more than a scent. No, he’s just a co-worker-
"Is there a problem?" Lando asks, his tone lingering between casual banter and something guarded.
The race summary starts playing, so Max only waves a hand in the air. He throws the towel on the couch before sitting down; he doesn’t want to stain it, but there are eyes on him. Green ones. Max catches them hesitantly. Charles doesn’t say anything in front of the cameras, only a rough exhale. He and Max aren't friends like that. They don't have an understanding. But looking at Max: pale, trembling, and entirely defenseless in a room full of cameras and alphas, well. He must’ve been thinking about it.
The moment the podium’s over, and cameras pivot away, Charles moves. He doesn't say a word to Lando. He simply reaches out, grabs Max firmly by his waist, and yanks him closer. Max stumbles as he’s dragged towards an empty service hallway without big lights.
“You’re in heat.” Charles chokes out. His hands are tight over Max’s flesh, and for a second, the glint of possession rings in his pupils. His chest heaves- Max would say he’s fighting himself to stay away. Trying to tame his inner alpha. “Are you- are you out of your fucking mind? Going to the podium like this?"
Max’s head lolls back against the wall with a helpless sob. His fingers claw weakly at the front of Charles’ suit. "My schedule... I'm on the suppressants, I swear. I didn't miss a day. It just... it broke through. It’s too early, Charles."
Another violent wave hits him, a fresh rush of slick soaking through his underwear. His knees buckle, and if Charles’ arm wasn't braced hard around his waist, he would definitely fall.
Charles’ hand slides up from Max’s waist to tangle aggressively into his blond curls by his nape. When it’s like this, his thumb presses right over Max’s exposed scent gland. Max lets out a broken moan at the contact. Instinctively, his hips twitch forward to chase the pressure.
Charles narrows his eyes with a suspicious gaze. "And do you... have someone to spend your heat with?"
Max lets out a breathless laugh that sounds dangerously close to a sob. "No," He pulls Charles closer by the fabric, pulling him closer as the burning ache inside him demands friction- demands an alpha. "No, I'm... I'm usually stable, I don't...Charles, nobody knows- fuck, it hurts."
Right now, Charles is the only solid thing in a world that is entirely spinning. Max’s hips are grinding against Charles’ thigh in a hazy panic. He doesn't care that they are only co-workers, that they spent the last two hours battling on the track. It. Hurts.
Without another word, Charles slides his arm under Max's knees and scoops him up off the floor. Reflexively, Max’s arms wrap around Charles' neck. He buries his face right into the crook of Charles’ shoulder. His nose brushes against the rich scent of cedar mixed with ozone.
Charles pushes open an empty room and sets Max down gently on the couch. But the second they’re not skin on, a needy whine rips from the omega's throat. Max reaches out blindly and tries to claw at Charles’ chest to pull him back down. His body trembles with heat bubbling on his skin.
As on point, Charles covers Max’s trembling hands with his own, pinning them gently to the mattress as he cages Max beneath him. He leans down until his lips are right against the sensitive skin of Max's scent gland, as if his body is responding to Max’s inviting scent. "My rut is very close. If you accept..."
He doesn't finish his sentence. No. He doesn't have to. The heavy, metallic mist of an alpha on the verge of a mistimed rut mixes with the sweet aroma of Max’s heat.
But the fever will be gone when he’s back to himself, when the haziness washes out, and this is Charles, his childhood rival Charles, his you make me feel butterflies Charles, his I’ll run you off the track for two points Charles.
Even with the slick running down his thigh, he manages to put a hand on Charles’ chest for some distance. “We can’t- we can’t do this. Next race, when we’re back on track- if anyone finds out what happ-”
His breath hitches as another brutal wave rips through his lower belly, forcing him to arch his waist against the curve of Charles’ stomach. “I can’t be tied to you like this. And your rot… If you anchor to my unplanned heat, you’ll suffer too.”
His lips stick out in a trembling pout as he looks up at Charles with wide blue eyes. But Charles doesn’t move an inch. He only leans down further, ruining the distance Max worked so hard to build between them, and his nostrils flare as he takes in Max’s sweet-sour scent. It’s fighting against biology. It’s useless. It’s-
"I'm not asking you to be my mate," Charles hisses, and his voice is so harsh Max finds himself wanting to obey. He’s being a bad omega. His body needs this. The touch of rough hands, strong muscles around him-
"Do you have any idea how insane your scent is making me right now?" Charles grabs Max’s hip. Their ragged breaths are aligned right now. "All that slick between your thighs, God." His hands come up to caress Max’s curves. "I don't care about the championship tomorrow. I don't care about the press or what anyone says. I only want to take care of you.”
My body aches for it, goes unsaid, but Max knows it. Sees it, how hard Charles is holding back himself, pupils dilated, scent burning thick and heavy. An alpha's desperate need for a burning omega in heat. An alpha dangerously close to his rut. It’s instinctive, the need to protect.
Max’s throat tightens. A soft, broken whimper slips past his lips before he can swallow it down. He wants to argue, wants to throw up his usual defensive walls and snap back that he doesn't need anyone to take care of him- especially not a co-worker from the grid. But the protection from his brain can’t fight against the hormones in his body. There’s no denying of his skin melting against Charles' palms, or the raw, unfiltered want in the alpha's voice.
No denial, but no acceptance either- he whines. His fingers uncurl from Charles’ chest to tangle in his dark curls. “It hurts, alpha.”
This is the surrender. Max doesn’t need words. Because the next second, Charles leans down to crash their mouths together in a bruising kiss. It’s desperate, breaking the last part of a leash. It’s not gentle, and it’s not like how a first-time kiss should be. Only raw want and instincts. Basic biology. Chemical.
Charles licks behind Max’s teeth, and Max gasps into the kiss. His hips buck upward as Charles’ hand finally dips down, sliding right past his fireproofs. His hand strokes Max’s outline with practiced ease, before he pulls back abruptly. Max chases the friction with a messy cry. “Why-”
“Not here,” Charles presses a hard, possessive kiss to his damp temple. “We still have to go through the media pen.”
The reminder hits Max like a cold splash of water. His eyes snap open with a shudder. So many cameras, flashing in his face, questions he has to answer- so many alphas out there. He wonders if they can inhale his desperate scent or if it’s only Charles’ upcoming rut that’s sensitive to his scent.
Walking out there right now, and later, his team debrief while sweating like this? Max gulps down an anxious breath. He straightens on the couch with trembling fingers. His face is flushed, but what’s worse is- his scent is already spiked. “When will we… um.”
Charles looks just as wrecked, his jaw tight and his chest rising heavily. Max knows that he fights to control his alpha instincts. He drags a hand down his face to collect himself, but the raw hunger is still burning hot in his gaze. "Ten minutes of questions," Charles steps in close enough for one last, punishing kiss. "Then we disappear."
The adrenaline that had kept him upright through the press is gone, now replaced by a feverish shiver. With every passing minute, he’s closer; he feels it- the ache. It only gets worse. It’s cold because Charles is away, but it’s hot; the fire is inextinguishable until Charles closes the distance between their bodies. “Cold- so hot, I'm burning, please-"
“Sshh,” Charles circles his hole, and Max’s breath catches as two fingers penetrate him. No resistance; only his slick welcoming Charles. His knuckles brush against Max’s walls as he pumps them in and out. “So easy for me. You really needed this, yeah?”
“Mmmh,” Max grinds against the coldness, shivering as Charles places a kiss on his shoulder. His hole throbs when a third one joins the other two. “Alpha,” He begs, head lolling to the side. Charles presses his cupid bows right on his scent gland before grazing it with his teeth. “Do you have any idea how hard you make me?”
And Max doesn’t need telling- he can feel Charles throbbing against his bare skin. His hand moves to his own chest, but Charles swats away his hand. “No. Don’t be a bad omega. You’re going to cum from my fingers.”
“But they’re hurting.”
“They’re sensitive, aren’t they?” Charles grins against his neck. He slowly traces around one nipple, then twists it. Max lets out a choked-out sound that’s dangerously close to a moan.
In a swift move, Charles turns them around. From his lap to the mattress, Charles gets between his chest to lick on his soft buds. Max tugs on his dark locks out of instinct. Now, with three fingers inside him and a tongue around his nipple, it’s harder to control his moans.
He doesn't even remember the last time he was touched this way, let alone spending his heat with someone else. Charles is taking care of him, as he promised. “Alpha- knot.” He whimpers, and he's drooling. The fingers inside him don't even struggle, they’re only opening more with Charles’ digits.
“Good boy.” Charles hisses, and he's withdrawing his fingers. It's only ten seconds between his warmth leaving and his cock popping in Max's ass, but it feels like hours of endless desperation. “Fuck… You're so wet it's not even fighting. Are you feeling it, baby?
“Feel it,” Max gasps, chasing the friction with his hips. He arches into him instinctively. He's never felt this level of need before- not this raw. It burns under his skin. The stretch is perfect after months without real intimacy. Just racing stress and cold hotel rooms.
But now? He's wetting Charles’ cock, Charles' hips snap against Max's, and the lewd noises are so loud it's impossible to ignore. Charles doesn't rush; he starts slow, a deep grind that has Max seeing stars- as if savoring how perfectly their bodies fit together for once, instead of trying to fit their cars into a tight turn. He’s fitting right tight into Max- isn't this enough?
“More-” He whines, and Charles actually smirks this time before snapping his hips with more fever. He loves this, Max thinks. Loves how powerful Max Verstappen, the world champion, melts underneath him. “You feel that? How deep I am?” Charles murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction and something dangerously close to affection. “Cute little omega… So pretty.”
He rolls his hips deliberately slow again, a torturous grind that makes Max whine, and Max thinks about it, being his cute little omega. About being so pretty.
Until Charles drives forward hard with a sharp thrust that takes his breath away. Charles’ hands slide up from Max's waist to frame his face. The way he kisses him next is anything but detached- it's hungry. Possessive. A real kiss full of heat instead of just performance or obligation. More than any other alpha he had spent his heats with.
Like Charles actually wants this. Wants him.
Cute little omega. So pretty.
“You're a tease.” Max hisses.
"Me? A tease?" Charles pulls back just enough to look down at him, one eyebrow arched. His lips are swollen from kissing. His hair is a mess. He looks stupidly handsome like this.
But then without warning, he stops moving entirely.
No thrusts.
No friction.
Just the heavy warmth of their bodies pressed together while Charles stares into Max’s hazy eyes with deliberate calm- and waits. Max squirms beneath him instinctively, a quiet whine building in his throat because how dare Charles stop now?
But Charles only grins wider, bastard, and leans in to brush his nose against Max's before whispering. “Want me to keep going?”
“Don't you dare stop.” Max hisses, voice cracking, desperate but demanding- and Charles’ grin turns downright predatory. He doesn’t say another word.
Instead, he captures Max’s mouth in a punishing kiss. The second Max’s thigh hooks around Charles’ hip, their bodies lock into a tighter, more intimate angle. Now it’s skin on skin. Charles growls low in his throat, a real alpha sound, and obeys. No hesitation. He fucks into him with brutal speed. Each thrust is sharp, and each slap of skin echoes faintly in the quiet hotel room.
Max gasps for air between moans that he can’t suppress anymore- he’s usually quiet. He doesn’t like alphas talking back to him during it when they realize Max likes making noises, so he bites down on his arm, down his lip, anything to stifle the noise- but now? They’re tangled together, sweaty, air heavy with the scent of slick. The raw intimacy after weeks of rivalry and distance on track-
And it’s good. So damn good. The stretch burns perfectly, every nerve lights up. His stomach clenches with pleasure so intense it borders on pain. When Charles shifts his position, wrapping Max's thighs together and placing them on top of his shoulder, he hits something even deeper inside him. Max’s back rises from the sheets in a beautiful arc, and a broken cry. “Fuck- alpha!”
He's so wet that it's dripping down his thigh, sweet honey, and Charles traces a trail with his finger to swipe it. It’s shiny and sticky on Charles’ fingertips, glistening shamelessly. Charles drags it slowly up Max’s trembling stomach, over his abs, then presses it against his parted lips.
"Open," He commands softly, but there's no room for refusal in his tone. Just alpha dominance laced with dark affection. And Max is a good omega, isn’t he? He obeys instantly, pink tongue peeking out. The moment Charles slips his finger into his mouth, a shiver runs through him, something primal.
Red crimson adorns his cheek with a deep flush as he tastes himself. Salty-sweet heat mixed with submission. And while Max sucks gently on Charles’ finger, Charles watches him like a predator savoring every flick of his tongue, breaking no eye contact.
Musky alpha pheromones mixed with Max’s own omega arousal, and suddenly his tongue aches, not for the taste but for words. I love your scent. The way you smell drives me crazy. I want to drown in it forever. But instead-
“Are you close?”
“Close,” Charles admits with a huff. Sweat shines on his temple, so much effort just to fuck Max into complete submission. Just to knot him and fuck him and relax him-
Do you want me like I want you?
Max whimpers softly as Charles crushes their lips again. His hips don't slow down, though- no mercy. He keeps driving into him with deep, forceful thrusts because he knows exactly what they both need: release. And maybe a knot for Max.
One of Charles’ hands slides down to grip Max's ass firmly- spreads him wider. Angles deeper. Pushes harder. It’s too much and it’s too soon and it’s too hot and he needs this-
“Knot, please, alpha-”
And just as his body tenses- the coil winding tight at its peak, the swelling begins. Not full yet, but there: the first thick pulse of an alpha knot starting to form inside him. A warning sign written in biology itself: I'm claiming you.
Max squeezes his eyes shut as his thighs tremble. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
He’s sure that Charles can feel every twitch, every pulse of Max’s body around his cock. The knot keeps swelling, warm and thick inside. His body starts cooling down finally. This isn’t some casual hookup anymore. This is him fucking his co-worker; this is him, thanking him, begging for his knot like it's salvation after months of loneliness and stress.
Charles doesn’t say another word, anyway. He just lets Max use him, his body, and leans down to press a tender kiss on his forehead. Then, he nuzzles into his neck, right next to his mating gland, and Max feels it, the further swelling in his hole. Does this turn you on? Do you want to mark me bite me claim me-
“Sleep. I’ll pull out when it’s time.”
And who he is to deny the alpha?
When he opens his eyes again, he’s not in the safe warmth of Charles’ arms. He’s curled slightly on his side, drowsy but sated. His skin is still flushed, just better, and his hair is a mess against the pillow.
There are soft blankets around him, pillows from both sides of the bed, fluffed up into a cozy pile- even one of his own team jackets draped over it for warmth and scent. A perfect cocoon. Max blinks a few times with a frown.
Alphas don’t usually do this with omegas they’re not mated to. He knows he probably looks exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally too- but Charles making a nest for him?
“You’re awake,” Charles mumbles under his breath. He wipes away the blonde locks from Max’s forehead, and something close to possessiveness glints in his green eyes. Almost.
When Max opens his mouth to question, only a whimper escapes him. “What- did you do this?”
“Shhh,” Charles presses a kiss on his hair. Max’s neck itches, but before he can reach for it, Charles wraps a hand around his wrist. “You’re still burning.”
As if saying, you still need me. And Max knows it; only one round will never be enough. Even with suppressants, his heats last two or three days minimum. At least fifty more hours with Charles. He whimpers, trying to get up and away; it’s a stranger, it’s not my nest- but Charles effortlessly overpowers him, lifting and putting him back down in the middle of the cocoon. “I know, I know it hurts baby… Just let me soothe you, yeah?”
No, but his body craves him, so it’s a yes. A confused, delirious mix of a snarl with a sob tears past his lips, but when Charles crawls into the nest, his nostrils flare. Max’s shivering doesn’t stop entirely, but it slows down. His nose twitches against a hoodie smelling heavily of laundry detergent and Charles’ own natural musk.
"Safe," Charles mumbles softly right against Max's sweat-damp curls, pressing a slow kiss right over the omega's marking gland. It itches. Mark me love me bite down-
In a breathless moan, Max’s fingers fist desperately into Charles’ shirt, pulling him down until there is no air left between them. He’s already dressed again, but Max is naked, and it’s too many clothes on Charles, it’s too hot-
"Need... please," Max gasps out, his hips twitching a pathetic rhythm against Charles' thigh. His heat shadows the last rational thought in his brain. The frantic edges of his panic are finally melting away, replaced by a consuming ache that only one thing can fix: Knot. Charles’ knot, specifically.
Thankfully, Charles is not rude like before. He doesn’t make him wait. A rumbling growl, and he’s sliding his hand down between Max’s trembling thighs. The friction of skin against skin is feverish. Max arches off the nest with a sharp cry, throwing his head back against the blankets as Charles’ fingers slide deep inside him.
“So wet for me, Max,” Charles praises, and Max wants to cry at the approval in his voice. It hits every primal nerve, every ending in his omega senses. Charles’ finger hooks inward, pressing, and it feels so good- he wants to sob.
Surely, Charles is also feeling the shift. Max’s sweet aroma rises again, filling the room. His arousal spikes so heavily it fills the entire nest.
“Focus, baby,” Charles demands, voice soft but firm. Max’s hazy eyes snap open. He can feel his pupils dilating until they swallow his irises full. Charles drives his fingers deeper, quickening the rhythm, and Max is shivering, not from fever. It’s pure lust.
Heaven is under Charles’ fingertips, caressing his walls. Max cries out as he orgasms, his voice getting swallowed by the heavy wool blankets. His muscles clamp down hard around Charles' hand. Wave after wave of pleasure washes away the coherence he had left.
He feels dumb and happy and saturated at the same time.
As Max collapses back against the nest, limp, Charles' chest heaves. The sight of Max, swept completely out to sea, thoroughly marked by his scent, must be so much to handle for him. Poor alpha.
Next time Max is back to himself, he’s sitting on a toilet lid. Soft scent of bubbles fills the air, cute and calming. His own honey scent is overpowered by the unnatural ones; Max pouts, Charles can’t smell him anymore. Bad alpha.
Beside him, Charles is testing the temperature carefully with his wrist. He pours another capful of body wash before kneeling beside the tub and reaching back out for Max.
And Max is needy; he raises his arms in the air like a little baby. The moment Charles' hands touch him, Max’s already gone. With a needy whine, he presses his flushed face into Charles' neck, desperate for skin-to-skin contact.
"Don't leave me in here," He sniffles, voice rough and raspy from crying out earlier.
"I'm not going anywhere, love. I've got you right here," Charles promises, easing them both down into the warm, comforting water.
Love.
Max sighs, his body melting in the warm water. His stiff muscles unwind as Charles pulls him closer, resting his head against his chest. He doesn't allow Max to lift a finger. With a loofah, traces the bubbles over Max's shoulders, down his arms, and carefully washes away every trace of Max’s heat, whispering praises the entire time.
Once Max starts whining about the hotness, Charles wraps Max in a massive, fluffy towel, and carries him back out to the freshly changed sheets, his nest. Max really feels like a baby in the towel.
Charles grabs a bottle of cold electrolyte water from the mini-fridge, unscrewing the cap and kneeling beside the nest. Max is too out of it and heavy-lidded to hold anything himself.
"Open up for me," Charles slips an arm behind Max's neck to prop him up. He presses the rim of the bottle to Max's lips. "Drink. Slow sips."
Max hesitates, parting his lips for him. When he pulls back with a frown, Charles sets the bottle aside and reaches for a small plate of sliced fruit. He feeds Max small, bite-sized pieces of melon and berries. He’s too patient even when Max is grumpy, puffing and swallowing sleepily.
Every new bite and it’s a new kiss, Charles’ awarding system he found for Max after a few minutes of whining and tempering like a little child.
This time, it’s not on his lips, though. It’s right on his scent gland. Max whines, a soft, high-pitched sound of pure desperation. The cool water and the brief rest do nothing to quench his fire- it’s starting again, deep in his lower belly. Another wave of overripe berries and ozone floods the hotel room.
Blues turn glassy, and he’s already grabbing the front of Charles’ tee with trembling fingers.
"Again," He demands, his voice cracking into a ragged sob against Charles' mouth. He doesn't care about dignity, doesn't care that his muscles are still aching from hours ago. Doesn’t care that after this, they’ll have to get back to being co-workers and strangers in bed. Just this moment. He just needs the heavy, solid weight of an alpha- his alpha anchoring him before he completely loses his mind.
"Greedy," Charles scoffs, but his hands are already climbing up Max's sides, mapping the trembling lines before pulling Max's head back to bare his throat completely. The contrast is dizzying: Charles’ cold skin against his feverish one.
When Charles presses the thick, demanding length of himself against Max’s entrance and slides home in one smooth stroke, Max throws his head back with a moan. “Oh God- yes.”
In a swift move, Charles turns them around, so now Max is on top, riding him. It doesn’t pop out, Charles’ cock, and Max feels his slick getting thicker at the information. Good alpha.
"Look at you," Charles pants, leaning down so his forehead rests heavily against Max's. "Who owns you? Whose alpha are you taking right now?"
Max's vision swims, the pressure building behind his crotch into a blinding pleasure. “Yours. Only yours, please, make me feel it-”
Still joined, still throbbing deep inside his slick, hypersensitive walls, Max doesn't hesitate. He plants his hands flat against Charles’ broad chest as he starts bouncing up and down.
"Fuck-” Charles gasps, his hands snapping instantly to grip Max’s hips. His eyes are too dark. There’s no green in them anymore. A wild laugh tears from Max’s throat. “You think you’re the only one who can handle this?”
With a gentle caress, Charles’ fingers dig deep into Max's soft skin, anchoring him in place to stop him, and this time, he starts thrusting upward to meet every bounce. The room feels like it's spinning, or maybe that’s just the heat between them; Max can't differentiate.
Hard enough, Charles grips Max's hips, and Max is sure he’s going to leave finger-shaped marks later. They'll bloom later, just like how Charles’ knot will swell in him. Every snap forward makes their bodies slap together loudly, sweat glistening on their skins. "Alpha-knot me."
But Charles doesn’t answer, far too gone for it- he only growls, the sound tracing down Max's spine and making him shiver. Charles stops thrusting and squeezes Max’s ass, not letting him move. "You want my knot, baby? Tell me. Beg for it."
"Please-please, Charles, knot me," Max sobs, his back arching in a delicious wave as he wraps his legs tighter around Charles’ waist. He’s pulling him in as deep as humanly possible, closer as in closer. "Fill me up, make me yours, please-"
That is all it takes.
Charles lets out a raw, guttural roar, driving forward with one final thrust that bottoms out completely. The sudden, expanding shift of his knot inside him extracts a scream from Max's throat. Quickly, Charles closes a hand on Max's mouth, quiet Max- but still, his eyes roll back in pure bliss.
It surges forward suddenly, the knot, swelling rapidly within Max’s already stretched walls. The hot pulse of possession locks them together.
Every new wave floods inside his walls- euphoria, it’s the heat of an alpha. Max collapses heavily over Charles’ body, burying his face between his’ shoulder and neck. The intensity of Charles' delayed rut and Max's rushed heat makes the biological lock even more stubborn. It takes a long while for the knot to soften and recede.
Carefully, Charles lies him back into the nest, and Max is boneless and completely spent in the center of the blankets. His chest rises and falls in shallow, exhausted breaths. He can feel every tiny shift Charles makes, every pulse of the alpha still throbbing inside him. He wants it as much as Max.
Charles props himself up on his forearms, keeping his weight mostly off him. His broad shoulders are slick with sweat as he caresses Max's flushed cheek with his thumb. "I know, baby. I've got you.”He shifts just enough to pull the heavy wool blankets higher over their shoulders, tucking Max into the bed with so much care, and Max realizes, his knot is still in, not popping out.
It still makes him wet.
Hours later, Max stirs slowly, blinking against the dim light filtering through the curtains. The afterglow, both from sex and the alpha knot, is gone, and he’s feeling hollow. It’s too empty.
There's no warmth anymore. Not the warmth of the burning heat but also the heat of a body. No warmth beside him. The nest is cold now.
Max whimpers, his neck is itching, he's thirsty, he needs to pee- and where is Charles?
No steady breathing of Charles sleeping nearby. Just silence.
He sits up carefully, sheets pooling around his waist, and that’s when he sees it: a folded note on Charles’ pillow. Neatly placed. Not scribbled in panic or left carelessly like an excuse note from a one-night stand. This looks deliberate.
His neck itches where Charles had kissed and bitten earlier, his sensitive skin had always been sore post-heat, but worse than that? His throat feels dry as sandpaper. He needs water desperately. He needs Charles to feed him, quench his thirst-
He reaches for the paper with trembling fingers. The note is written in Charles' familiar handwriting, crisp. But there’s something odd about the feeling, to think Charles touched the same piece of paper before him, as if holding hands- and Max’s gut twists uncomfortably at the realization: They never held hands romantically, intertwined. Only lips on lips, skin on skin, cum on slick- stupid lust.
He unfolds the paper with a shaky inhale.
Had to leave for Monaco early. Don’t worry. The press won’t find out.
No name signed. No "love" or "see you soon." Just stupid details. And the lack of tenderness? It stings more than he expected. He knows they never set rules or details- but after everything-the intimacy, his knot in Max- Max begging him to claim him- is that all he gets?
Just a business-like note like they were colleagues who shared a hotel room by accident?
He stares at it for too long, then his bladder reminds him sharply why standing up matters right now. A single tear slips free before Max can stop it, warm, betraying- and he swipes it away fast, angry at himself.
Fucker.
That’s what Charles is now. A fucker. For leaving like that. For not even saying goodbye properly after they were that close, their limbs tangled-
He throws the note back on the pillow with more force than necessary and swings his legs over the bed.
His body aches in places he doesn’t want to think about; Sore muscles, tender skin, the hollowness between his legs- but worse than that? The emotional hollow behind his ribs.
Why did this feel so intimate? Why did being knotted by an alpha who actually cared fucked his body up?
He stands on unsteady feet and stumbles toward the bathroom first, but the reflection on the mirror is disgusting. Beautiful. Messy hair. Pretty little omega. Kiss marks blooming on his skin, purple and angry, eyes a little red-
And suddenly he feels stupid for wanting Charles this much.
Without hesitation, he grabs his phone from the nightstand. Unlocks it. Opens Charles’ contact. And with one sharp tap, he's gone: Blocked.
No ‘I received your writing’. No warning. Just gone. The number disappears from existence in Max’s world as if it never mattered at all.
The final goodbye, up until the season starts again and Charles is at his throat, ‘how dare you block me?’ or on top of him ‘I missed you’-
Max doesn’t owe him anything more than this block button press right now- and honestly? It feels good. Empowering even.
He tosses the phone back down and focuses on basic survival mode: water first, chugging straight from the bottle, not careful like Charles did before- then shower to wash off every trace of last night’s scent.
Including Charles’.
Max
Are you busy on the 4th? There's this place in Saint-Tropez. I was thinking of a reservation. Maybe we could spend some days together by the pool. Sunbathing and stuff. [11:05]
(unsent!)
And my rut. [11:06]
(unsent!)
Uh, Max? [14:33]
(unsent!)
Max? [16:57]
(unsent!)