Chapter Text
It began with a clip Max had not meant to watch. George was sitting beside Charles during an interview, looking far too pleased with himself as he mentioned that they had been speaking late at night. When the interviewer immediately asked what they talked about, George only smiled.
“I can’t disclose that.”
Charles laughed beside him.
He did not correct George. Did not roll his eyes or explain that it had probably been about racing, schedules, tyres, something dull and entirely unremarkable. He simply looked down with that soft, private smile of his, as though George had reminded him of something meant only for the two of them.
Max just stared at the screen because drivers spoke outside the paddock all the time. Max spoke to Charles too. Sometimes late enough that one of them fell asleep before answering, it meant nothing. He watched the clip again anyway. This time, he barely looked at George, he watched Charles.
The slight curve of his mouth. The warmth in his eyes. The way he leaned back in his chair like he was comfortable letting everybody wonder. Max locked his phone and tossed it onto the sofa harder than necessary.
Russell was an attention-seeking bastard. That was all.
The next race made it worse, Max’s weekend had already been miserable. The car refused to do what he asked of it, sliding when it should have held, fighting him through every corner as though it resented being driven. By the time he climbed out of it, hot and furious and nowhere near where he belonged, Charles and George were already celebrating above him.
Together.
Max barely listened to the interviews. He stood below the podium with his jaw clenched while champagne spilled over the edge and the crowd screamed for men who were not him.
Then George put his hand around Charles’s waist. It was casual almost familiar. Too familiar.
His palm settled against the narrow curve of Charles’s side, fingers spreading over red fabric as he pulled him closer for the photographs. Charles allowed it. Worse, he turned toward George with a laugh, shoulder pressing into his chest as though the touch belonged there.
Max looked away, but looked back almost immediately. He couldn’t take his eyes off Charles.
By the time Max reached his hotel, it was everywhere. Edits, slow-motion videos. Comments about how well they looked together and how beautifully they raced one another. People called them rivals. Said they danced on track, said Charles had finally found someone who could match him properly.
Max thought the whole thing was pathetic. Manufactured nonsense for people who understood nothing about racing. He saved the photograph without noticing. After that, he began keeping score.
George found Charles before the drivers’ briefing on Thursday. George made him laugh during the parade on Saturday. George touched his arm twice in the media pen and placed a hand against his lower back while guiding him through a crowded doorway.
Max noticed every single time, he started appearing beside Charles whenever George was near, as though dragged there by instinct. He interrupted conversations to ask questions that could easily have been sent in a message. He inserted himself between them during group photographs. When Charles asked George something about the previous race, Max answered before George could open his mouth.
Charles glanced at him, amused, but Max ignored it.
People had started calling George Charles’s rival more often too. Commentators said their battles were becoming the defining competition of the season.
Max hated that most of all, George had not earned it. He did not know Charles, not properly.
He had not spent childhood weekends fighting him over every centimetre of track. He did not know what Charles’s car looked like just before he committed to an attack or how the smallest twitch of his front wheel could reveal whether he was bluffing. He could not predict Charles from the movement of his shoulders or hear the frustration hidden beneath his calm radio voice.
George knew the version of Charles who smiled in interviews and spoke politely after races, Max knew the boy who refused to yield. He knew the man who could place a car somewhere impossible and make it look inevitable.
He had maybe two people on track that he enjoyed racing because they challenged him. Lewis had been an extraordinary competitor, Max respected him for it, but Charles was different…Charles had always been his.
His equal, his measure. His favourite person to beat and, though Max would rather bite through his own tongue than admit it aloud, the only person whose victory could still make something fierce and proud rise inside his chest.
So when George leaned close to whisper something into Charles’s ear before the briefing and Charles smiled, Max stepped between them without thinking.
Charles looked up at him. There was something bright and knowing in his eyes.
“What?” Max asked sharply.
Charles’s smile deepened.
“Nothing.”
Behind them, George sighed. He knew that their sick connection will bite him in the ass sooner rather than later.
~~~~
Charles noticed almost immediately. Max seemed to think jealousy was something he could conceal simply by refusing to name it. As though keeping his voice level and his expression blank would somehow disguise the way his entire body changed whenever George came too close.
Charles knew better, he knew Max’s silences. He knew the difference between indifference and restraint, between the distant stare Max wore when he was bored and the fixed, unnervingly focused one that meant something had caught beneath his skin.
Lately, that stare followed George’s hands. It followed the careless touch against Charles’s shoulder before a drivers’ briefing, the palm placed briefly at his back as they moved through a crowded doorway, the fingers curling around his waist when photographers demanded they stand closer together.
Max saw every one of them, his jaw would tighten. His answers became shorter. Sometimes he would stop listening entirely to whoever was speaking to him, eyes cutting across the room as though George’s hand on Charles was a problem he could solve if he stared at it hard enough.
Max had always been possessive of their rivalry. Charles had known that since they were kids. He had seen it in the way Max became more alive when Charles was close enough to challenge him, in the sharp satisfaction of beating him and the grudging pride that appeared whenever Charles did something brilliant. Max could respect other drivers. He could fight them, lose to them, praise them when they deserved it.
But Charles had always been different…Charles was personal.
This, however, was no longer only about racing. There was something heavier in Max’s attention now, something that lingered after George stepped away. It followed Charles through rooms and across the paddock, settling between his shoulder blades until he could feel it without looking.
And Charles, who had occasionally spent entire weekends being deliberately annoying simply because it guaranteed Max would speak to him, had absolutely no intention of reassuring him. He had Max’s attention now…completely. And it drove him insane with satisfaction.
It would have been almost insulting not to enjoy it. Charles never did anything excessive. Nothing that could be called deliberate if Max confronted him about it. He merely became a fraction more receptive whenever George approached while Max was nearby, George was using him as well because he knew this is the way to get under Max’s skin and he loves to piss him off whenever he can…so Charles allowed it only because he liked seeing Mad Max coming back to life.
He laughed a little louder at George’s jokes. He allowed a hand to remain on his shoulder for several seconds rather than moving away. When the paddock became noisy, Charles leaned closer to hear him, tilting his head until George’s mouth was near his ear.
Then, only after he was certain Max had seen, Charles looked toward him from beneath his lashes, it always worked.
Max’s mouth would flatten into a severe line. His broad shoulders turned rigid beneath his team shirt. Sometimes he appeared beside Charles moments later, offering no explanation for his arrival and contributing almost nothing to the conversation beyond his presence. He simply stood there, solid and immovable, taking up enough space that George was forced to step back.
Charles pretended not to notice, but inside, he was delighted.
One evening, Max messaged him under the excuse of discussing the race. It began exactly as Charles expected.
Max complained about Ferrari’s strategy with the offended certainty of someone who believed he could run both teams better than the people employed to do it. Charles defended one decision, criticized three others and sent a voice note explaining what the rear of the car had been doing through the final sector.
Max listened to it immediately.
They moved on to tyre degradation, balance and the mistake Charles had made on his qualifying lap. Max told him the mistake had not cost as much time as Charles believed. Charles accused him of being strangely kind.
Max responded that he was only being accurate. After that, the conversation drifted.
They complained about the hotel. Max sent Charles a photograph of the aggressively modern lamp beside his bed and said it looked like something designed by a person who hated light. Charles laughed hard enough to send him a voice note rather than type.
They discussed the food in hospitality, the media schedule for the next day and a television show Max had started watching but claimed not to enjoy despite having finished six episodes.
It felt familiar…easy.
The kind of conversation that seemed to continue without either of them consciously choosing it, as though they had simply slipped back into something that had been waiting for them.
Charles was stretched across his bed, smiling at his phone, when George’s name appeared on the screen.
He stared at the incoming call then he thought of Max’s face whenever George touched him so Charles declined the call and returned to their messages, but that doesn’t mean he can’t use this to his advantage.
“George is calling, I should go.”
Max’s response appeared almost at once.
“Why?”
Charles’s smile widened. “Because he wants to speak to me, yes?”
The typing indicator appeared, vanished and returned. “About what?”
Charles could practically see him staring down at the phone, already irritated by the fact that he had needed to ask.
He allowed Max to wait before responding. “Private things.”
This time there was no immediate reply. One minute passed then two. Charles imagined Max sitting alone in his room with his jaw clenched, trying to decide whether continuing the conversation would reveal too much. It pleased him far more than it should have.
After nearly four minutes, Max finally answered. “Russell talks too much.”
Charles laughed quietly into the darkened room.
“You have no idea.”
Max did not respond to that and Charles remained unbearably pleased for the rest of the night.
~~~~
Max pushed through the heavy doors of the club, the bass immediately slamming into his chest like a second heartbeat. The place was packed, lights strobing across sweat-glistened bodies, but his eyes cut straight through the chaos and locked onto one figure in the middle of the dance floor as if drawn by a magnet.
Charles.
He looked sinful. The white shirt he was wearing already dangerously sheer when dry was now completely translucent with sweat, clinging to every lean line of his torso like a second skin. His nipples were visibly hard, dark and peaked against the wet fabric, begging for attention with every roll of his shoulders.
The dark jeans sat obscenely low on his narrow hips, the waistband of his underwear just peeking out as he moved. Charles was grinding back shamelessly against one of his friends maybe two, it was hard to tell in the press of bodies, his ass pressing and circling with lazy, filthy confidence. His head was tilted back, lips parted in laughter, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, throat exposed and gleaming under the flashing lights.
The sight hit Max like a physical punch to the gut. Mouth-watering and infuriating. His.
Jealousy and raw want twisted hot in his chest. Weeks of watching George’s hands on that body, of Charles’s teasing little smiles made him crazy with pure need. Max didn’t think, he just moved. He cut through the crowd with single-minded focus, broad shoulders making space whether people wanted to give it or not. Charles didn’t see him coming until it was too late.
Max stepped right up behind him, chest pressing flush against Charles’s back, and slid one big hand possessively around his waist. His fingers dug in just enough to still the grinding motion against the other body, a clear claim. Charles startled for half a second, then melted back into him with a drunk, breathy little laugh that went straight to Max’s cock.
“Congratulations, Champion,” Max murmured low against his ear, voice rough with heat and barely restrained possession. He held up the fresh drink, offering it over Charles’s shoulder. “That red rocket of yours put you on the first step.”
Charles turned just enough in Max’s hold, their bodies still pressed tight. His cheeks were flushed from dancing and alcohol, eyes bright and mischievous as he wrapped his lips around the straw. He sucked slowly and deliberately hollowing his cheeks while holding Max’s gaze the entire time. The look was pure filth, a silent promise. Then he winked, slow and teasing.
“I like seeing you in my mirrors,” Charles replied, voice husky and warm, still leaning heavily into Max’s chest. “Congrats on your podium, Maxie. Always more fun when you’re there.”
Max’s grip tightened on his waist, thumb stroking possessively over the damp fabric of the shirt. He could feel the heat radiating off Charles’s skin, the way his body fit so perfectly back against him. Charles’s ass was still subtly rolling, now grinding against Max’s growing hardness instead of whoever had been behind him before. The friction was maddening.
“You look like you’re enjoying the celebration a little too much,” Max growled softly into his ear, lips brushing the shell of it. His free hand slid up Charles’s side under the pretense of steadying him, thumb deliberately grazing over one hard nipple through the soaked shirt. Charles shivered visibly, a soft sound escaping him that Max wanted to hear again and again. “Grinding on anyone who gets close? Or were you hoping I’d come take what’s mine?”
Charles laughed again, low and delighted, arching just enough to press his nipple harder into Max’s touch. “Maybe I was waiting for you to stop pretending you don’t want to.” He turned his head further, lips nearly touching Max’s jaw, breath warm and sweet with liquor. “You’ve been staring at George’s hands on me for weeks, Maxie. So possessive… Does it make you hard, seeing me like this? Knowing anyone could look but only you get to touch?”
Max’s jaw clenched, a surge of heat rolling through him. He pulled Charles harder back against his body, letting him feel exactly how hard he was, thick and insistent against that perfect ass. “Keep pushing, Charlie,” he warned, voice dark and promising. His fingers pinched the nipple lightly, just enough to make Charles gasp. “You know exactly what happens when you do.”
Charles’s eyes fluttered half-closed, a smug, submissive little smile playing on his lips even as he melted further into Max’s dominant hold. The music pulsed around them, but everything else faded…the crowd, the noise, the lingering jealousy. There was only the heat between them, Charles’s pretty, teasing body in that obscene sheer shirt and the certain knowledge of where this night was heading.
Max wasn’t letting him go. Not tonight. The bass throbbed low and heavy, matching the pulse between Max’s legs. Charles didn’t pull away. Instead, he pushed back deliberately, rolling his hips in a slow, obscene grind that pressed his ass right against the thick line of Max’s hardening cock through his jeans. A soft, needy sound slipped from Charles’s throat as he felt how hard Max already was for him.
Max’s hand slid lower, possessive and greedy, fingers splaying wide over Charles’s hipbone before dipping under the hem of that soaked, translucent white shirt. His palm met warm, damp skin, sliding up the lean plane of Charles’s stomach until his thumb could brush teasingly over one pebbled nipple. The fabric was so wet it might as well not have been there. Charles shivered hard, arching into the touch like a cat in heat, pushing his chest forward for more.
Max’s other hand came up to grip Charles’s jaw, firm but not rough, turning his face so he could speak directly against the sensitive shell of his ear. “Still doing your private talks with Russell?” Max’s voice was dark, edged with weeks of pent-up jealousy. “He whispers sweet nothings to you all night again? Put his hands where mine are right now?”
Every word was punctuated by the slow, dragging path of Max’s palm up Charles’s side, thumb circling that hard nipple through the clinging fabric before giving it a light, possessive pinch. Charles gasped, the sound breathy and wrecked, his body trembling as he ground back harder against the rigid heat trapped in Max’s jeans. Max’s grip on his jaw and waist tightened claiming, owning. Charles felt utterly possessed, trapped in the burning heat of Max’s bigger body, the weight of that unrelenting stare making his skin prickle and his cunt throb with slick heat.
Charles answered with a breathy, teasing laugh, still rolling his hips in filthy little circles, deliberately dragging his ass along Max’s cock. “Jealous, Maxie?” he purred, voice sweet and taunting even as he melted further into the dominant hold. “You get so quiet… so tense when his hand is on me. Does it drive you crazy knowing he thinks he can touch what’s yours?”
Max growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through both of them. His hand left Charles’s nipple only to slide back down, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of those low-slung dark jeans, teasing the warm skin there. “Keep talking like that and I’ll bend you over right here, Charlie. Show everyone exactly who this pretty body belongs to.”
Charles’s laugh turned into a soft moan as Max’s grip on his ass tightened, kneading the firm flesh. The friction was driving him insane the thick ridge of Max’s cock pressing insistently against him, the heat of his palm, the way Max’s breath fanned hot against his neck.
Unable to resist any longer, Charles spun in Max’s arms, turning chest to chest. He looped his arms around Max’s neck, pressing up onto his toes so their bodies aligned perfectly. The sheer shirt clung obscenely to his nipples, now even more visible, and his dark jeans were riding dangerously low. His lips brushed Max’s jaw, teasing, before he whispered, voice sweet and filthy at once, soaked in alcohol and pure want.
“Where are you staying?”
Max’s hand slid straight down to grip his ass properly, big palm squeezing hard as he pulled their hips flush together. Max’s heavy and thick cock rubbing itself over his mound. “Floor above yours. Why? You want a tour?”
Charles’s smile turned wicked, eyes dark with lust. He leaned in until his mouth was right against Max’s ear, lips brushing the skin with every word.
“I want your cock,” he breathed, shameless and dripping with need. “I want you with your nose buried in my pussy. Want you to lick me open until I’m dripping all over your face, Maxie. My pretty red cunt’s already so wet for you… swollen just thinking about that tongue of yours.”
Max groaned, deep and involuntary, the sound raw and guttural as it vibrated against Charles’s chest. His fingers flexed hard on Charles’s ass, hard enough to bruise, pulling him even tighter so there was no space left between them. Charles could feel Max’s cock twitch sharply in his jeans at the filthy words, thick and eager.
“That’s a fantastic answer,” Max rasped, voice rough with barely leashed control. He nipped at Charles’s earlobe, then soothed it with his tongue. “Follow me, Charlie.”
He took Charles’s hand in a firm, unyielding grip and started leading him through the crowd. Charles giggled drunk, giddy, and desperately turned on staying glued to Max’s side the entire way. His shoulder bumped Max’s arm with every step, body still buzzing from the grinding and the promises hanging heavy in the air. He let himself be guided like he belonged there, like Max’s possessive hand on him was the only thing keeping him upright.
By the time they reached the cooler air outside the club, both of them were breathing harder, the night air doing nothing to cool the fire raging between them. Max hailed a car with his free hand, the other still gripping Charles like he might disappear.
“Behave until we get upstairs,” Max muttered, pulling Charles close again, lips brushing his temple. “Or I won’t wait for the room.”
Charles just smiled, sweet and filthy, already planning exactly how much more he could push.
~~~~
The car door had barely clicked shut before the tension snapped taut between them in the backseat. The driver was up front, focused on the road, music playing low from the speakers some generic pop track that did nothing to cover the heavy breathing in the back. The city lights streaked past the windows in blurred neon as the car pulled smoothly into traffic.
Charles didn’t waste a second.
He glanced quickly at the driver whose eyes stayed fixed ahead then turned to Max with a wicked, drunk little smile. Without a word, he grabbed Max’s big hand and guided it straight down, slipping it under the waistband of his dark jeans and beneath the damp fabric of his underwear.
Max’s breath hitched as his fingers met scorching, slick heat. Charles was soaked. His pretty red pussy was swollen and dripping, the silky folds parting easily under Max’s touch. Charles bit his lip hard to stay quiet as he pushed Max’s hand deeper, pressing two thick fingers right against his entrance.
The moment they breached him, Charles’s spongy, velvety walls sucked them in greedily, clenching hot and wet around the intrusion. The filthy, wet sound was barely audible over the road noise, but both of them heard it. Max stifled a deep groan in the back of his throat, jaw clenched tight as he felt how ridiculously tight and soaked Charles was those plush inner walls fluttering and gripping his fingers like they never wanted to let go.
“Fuck, Charlie…” Max whispered, voice rough and strained, barely above a breath against Charles’s ear. “You’re dripping down my hand already. This greedy little cunt been waiting for me all night?”
Charles whimpered softly, hips twitching forward to take the fingers deeper. His head fell back against the seat, cheeks flushed dark, nipples still visibly hard through the sheer white shirt. Max curled his fingers slowly, rubbing against the spongy, sensitive spot inside him while his thumb found Charles’s swollen little clit peeking out, slick and throbbing.
“Shh,” Max breathed right against his ear, the command low and dominant. “Be quiet. You don’t want the driver hearing what a desperate slut you are, do you?”
His thumb started rubbing slow, tight circles over the sensitive clit, pressing just hard enough to make Charles’s thighs tremble. Charles’s pussy clenched hard around the two fingers buried inside him, more slick leaking out around Max’s hand and soaking into his underwear. Max kept the pace torturously steady rubbing, stroking, scissoring his fingers just enough to tease the spongy walls without giving Charles what he really needed to tip over the edge.
“You’re so fucking wet,” Max murmured, lips brushing Charles’s temple, voice dark and filthy. “This pretty red pussy gets like this just for me, huh? Not for Russell, not for anyone else. Only when I finally touch what’s mine.”
Charles’s breath came in short, shaky gasps. He tried to stay quiet, but little whimpers kept escaping as Max’s thumb worked his clit in perfect, maddening circles. His walls fluttered and sucked greedily around Max’s fingers, hot and silky, the obscene wetness making everything slicker with every tiny thrust of Max’s hand.
Max leaned closer, whispering hotly, “That’s it. Stay quiet for me, baby. Just feel how deep I am. Gonna keep you right on the edge until we get upstairs… then I’ll bury my face in this juicy cunt like you begged me to.”
Charles’s hips jerked helplessly, chasing the pleasure, but Max kept firm control rubbing his clit with relentless precision while keeping the thrusts of his fingers shallow and teasing. The car ride felt both endless and far too short, every second filled with whispered filth and the wet, secret sounds of Charles’s dripping pussy being played with in the dark backseat.
By the time the car slowed near the hotel, Charles was trembling, thighs pressed tight around Max’s wrist, his shirt sticking to his heaving chest and his pretty cunt throbbing desperately around Max’s fingers.
Max slowly withdrew his hand, bringing his glistening fingers up to his own mouth for a quick, filthy taste while holding Charles’s hazy gaze. “Behave,” he ordered softly as the car stopped. “The night just started, Charlie.”
~~~~
The hotel door clicked shut behind them, the sound barely audible over the heavy beat of Max’s heart. The hallway light was still bleeding under the door when Max turned, eyes dark and hungry. Charles stood there flushed, chest heaving from the ride up, that sheer white shirt still clinging obscenely to his skin, nipples hard and visible. The air between them felt electric.
Max dropped to his knees right there on the carpet, the movement sudden and decisive. His big hands grabbed Charles’s hips, fingers digging into the damp fabric of those low-slung dark jeans.
“Max-“ Charles started, voice still carrying that teasing lilt, but it cut off into a sharp inhale as Max yanked the jeans and soaked underwear down in one rough pull.
The fabric bunched around Charles’s thighs, trapping his legs slightly, but Max didn’t give him time to adjust. He shoved Charles’s back against the wall, hooked one of those trembling legs over his broad shoulder and buried his face between his thighs.
The first long, greedy lick dragged from Charles’s dripping entrance all the way up to his swollen clit. Max groaned deeply at the taste sweet, slick and overwhelmingly Charles. The pretty red cunt was already puffy and glistening, flushed dark from hours of teasing and the club’s heat. Max licked again, slower this time, savoring the way the silky folds parted under his tongue.
“Fuck… Maxie,” Charles tried to sound cocky, breath shaky. “Took you long enough. All that staring and you finally-“
His words dissolved into a broken moan as Max sealed his lips around the sensitive clit and sucked. Hard. His tongue flicked relentlessly while two thick fingers pushed inside without warning, curling deep into that tight, velvety heat. Charles’s walls clenched instantly around the intrusion, hot and silky, sucking the digits deeper as more slick leaked out around them.
Max pulled back just enough to growl against the slick flesh. “Mine.” The word vibrated straight into Charles’s core. “This pretty red cunt is mine, Charlie. Has been for weeks while I watched that bastard put his hands on you.” He thrust his fingers deeper, scissoring them, stroking that spongy spot inside that made Charles’s hips jerk. “His palm on your waist…fingers on your back. Thought he could touch what belongs to me.”
Charles’s head fell back against the wall with a thud. His hands flew to Max’s hair, fingers twisting in the short strands as his legs started to shake. “Been so fucking wet for you,” he confessed on a moan, voice turning filthy. “Every time George touched me I got like this… dripping in the paddock, in the car, thinking about your mouth instead of his stupid hands-“
Max rewarded him with another deep suck on his clit, beard scraping deliciously against sensitive inner thighs. He fucked his fingers in a steady rhythm, curling and pressing, drawing wet, obscene sounds from Charles’s body. The leg over Max’s shoulder trembled harder. Charles’s hips rolled, grinding against Max’s face, chasing the pleasure as his pretty cunt fluttered and clenched.
Max could feel him getting close already those plush walls tightening rhythmically, more slick coating his chin and dripping down his wrist. Charles’s moans grew higher, needier, breath coming in short gasps.
Then Max pulled his mouth away and slowed his fingers to shallow, teasing thrusts. “Not yet,” he growled, voice rough with lust and weeks of jealousy. He looked up, blue eyes burning as he watched Charles’s flushed face. “You made me watch Russell touch you for weeks. His hand around your waist on the podium. Pulling you close for the photos. Leaning in to whisper in your ear like he had any right.”
Charles whined, high and desperate, trying to push his hips forward. “Max, please-I was just teasing you, fuck-“
“I know.” Max leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue slowly over the swollen clit, torturously light. “And now you’re going to feel exactly what that teasing does to me.” He sucked the clit gently again, just enough to keep Charles on the edge, while his fingers continued their shallow, maddening strokes.
Charles’s legs shook violently. His grip in Max’s hair tightened almost painfully, knuckles white. “Please, Maxie… I’m so close-been wet for you for weeks, not him. Only you make me this messy-“
Max hummed in satisfaction but didn’t let him tip over. He pulled his fingers almost all the way out, then pushed back in slowly, curling them perfectly while his tongue circled the clit with feather-light pressure. Charles’s whole body trembled, thighs clamping around Max’s head as he hovered right there almost making a mess of him.
Max edged him like that for long, torturous minutes bringing him right to the brink with greedy licks and deep thrusts of his fingers, then easing off just as Charles started to fall apart. Each time Charles’s moans turned into frantic pleas. After the second edge, Charles was a wreck. Tears of frustration pricked at the corners of his eyes, his chest heaving, the shirt plastered to his sweat-damp skin.
“Max… please,” Charles begged, voice wrecked and small. “I can’t-It’s not-not funny anymore, I need you. Need to come on your tongue, please-“
Max gave one final, slow lick from entrance to clit, savoring the desperate flutter of those velvet walls, then pulled away completely. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, towering over Charles’s trembling form. Without a word, he grabbed Charles around the waist, lifted him clean off the ground like he weighed nothing and threw him onto the big hotel bed a few meters away.
Charles bounced once on the luxurious hotel mattress, the impact knocking a breathless laugh out of him. “Max, you big brute-“ he started, voice shaky with lingering arousal and affection, trying to twist around with a teasing grin.
Max crawled over him like a predator, broad shoulders blocking out the low lamplight. In one powerful motion, he flipped Charles onto his stomach, pressing that lean, flushed body down into the soft sheets with his own heavier frame. Charles gasped at the sudden shift, the cool fabric against his overheated skin a stark contrast to the burning heat of Max above him. Max’s chest molded to his back, one thick thigh shoving between Charles’s legs to spread them wider.
“Stay,” Max murmured, voice low and rough against the nape of his neck. His hand slid down Charles’s spine, possessive and reverent, tracing the elegant arch before gripping his hip.
Charles shivered beautifully under the touch. He felt exposed, vulnerable in the best way his face half-buried in the pillows, ass lifted slightly as Max manhandled him exactly how he wanted. Max hooked a strong arm under Charles’s hips and lifted, forcing that perfect ass higher into the air. Charles’s knees slid apart obediently on the sheets, presenting himself fully.
The cool air kissed his overheated, dripping cunt. It was a mess…swollen, deep red and inflamed from Max’s greedy mouth, his thick fingers and the scrape of that beard. The pretty folds glistened obscenely, slick trailing down his inner thighs in shiny rivulets. His clit peeked out, puffy and sensitive, pulsing visibly with every heartbeat. The sight was lewd, almost obscene, like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
Max’s breath hitched audibly. He knelt behind Charles, one big hand still holding those hips high, the other stroking slowly up the back of one trembling thigh. His gaze was locked on that glistening, puffy pussy, pupils blown wide with raw hunger. For a long moment he simply drank in the view Charles presenting so beautifully for him, back deeply arched, shoulders relaxed into the pillows, breathing shaky with anticipation.
“C’mon, schat,” he murmured, the dutch endearment warm and intimate. “Tell me you don’t want this and I won’t touch you further.” His free hand slid around to stroke Charles’s side, thumb brushing just under the hem of the ruined shirt. “I’ll stop right now. We’ll turn on the TV, watch something stupid and pretend this didn’t happen. But if you want this, Charlie-if you really want this, I’ll breed this pussy full. I’ll fuck you deep and fill you until you’re dripping my cum for days. That’s your choice, liefje.”
The words hung heavy in the quiet room, thick with promise and raw need. Charles whined, a soft, broken sound that went straight to Max’s cock. He arched his back even deeper, pressing his chest into the mattress while lifting his hips higher. His knees parted wider, thighs trembling as he presented that inflamed, dripping cunt like an offering. The movement made more slick trickle down, glistening on his skin under the warm light. Every inch of him screamed want flushed skin, trembling muscles, the way his pretty red pussy clenched visibly around nothing, aching to be filled.
Max’s breath grew ragged. He was nearly drooling at the sight, cock straining hard against his unzipped jeans, thick and heavy. “I need words, Charlie,” he rasped, voice strained with the effort of holding back. One hand stroked reverently over the curve of Charles’s ass, thumb brushing dangerously close to that swollen entrance but not quite touching. “Tell me, I want to hear it.”
Charles’s fingers twisted in the sheets. His face was buried deeper into the pillows, muffling the desperate sounds escaping him, but his body told the truth back bowed in a perfect arch, knees splayed, pussy on full display and dripping with invitation. He pushed his hips back shamelessly, chasing any contact.
“Oui-yes,” he growled, voice husky and wrecked, laced with French frustration and pure lust. “Yes, you fucking stupid dutchman. Fuck me-breed me-just putain do something!” He shoved his pussy higher, practically grinding back against empty air, desperate and impatient. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, Maxie. Make me yours.”
Max’s low groan was guttural, almost animalistic. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He pulled back just long enough to strip then he was back, covering Charles completely. The heat of his bare skin against Charles’s back was overwhelming solid, grounding, possessive. Max guided the thick head of his cock through the slick folds, teasing it over the swollen clit and dipping just barely into the dripping entrance, coating himself in Charles’s wetness.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he breathed against Charles’s shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the elegant line of his neck. “This pretty cunt is fluttering for me already. So red and swollen from my tongue… all mine.”
Charles moaned softly, pushing back, trying to take him deeper. Max chuckled, low and affectionate and finally gave in. He pushed forward in one long, slow thrust, sinking deep until his hips were flush against Charles’s ass. The stretch was exquisite tight, velvety heat gripping every inch of him. Both men groaned in unison at the feeling.
For a moment Max simply stayed there, buried to the hilt, savoring the intimate connection. He draped himself over Charles’s smaller frame, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other braced beside his head. Their bodies fit together perfectly Max’s broader chest to Charles’s back, strong thighs cradling trembling ones, cock nestled deep in that welcoming heat.
“Feel that?” Max whispered, rolling his hips in a slow, sensual grind that made Charles whimper. “So deep, liefje. Gonna breed you just like you begged. Fill this gorgeous pussy until it’s overflowing.”
He started moving long, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside Charles. The pace was sensual and intimate rather than frantic, each thrust deliberate, letting them both feel every inch, every flutter and clench. The wet, rhythmic sounds of their bodies joining filled the room, mingled with soft gasps and low moans.
Charles turned his head to the side, cheek pressed to the pillow, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Max leaned down and captured his lips in a messy, tender kiss deep and claiming, tongues sliding together as he continued those slow, powerful thrusts. One of Max’s hands slipped under Charles’s body, finding a hard nipple and rolling it gently between fingers while he fucked him.
Every movement was intimate. Max kissed along Charles’s jaw, down his neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin just below his ear. His hips rolled in grinding deep on every thrust so Charles could feel him everywhere. The arm around Charles’s waist held him close, keeping their bodies locked together as Max poured weeks of jealousy, want, and affection into each stroke.
“You’re perfect,” Max murmured against his skin, voice thick with emotion. “So good for me. Taking me so deep… this pussy was made for me, Charlie. Only me.”
Charles moaned softly, pushing back to meet every thrust. “Yours… always been yours, Maxie. Harder, please-“
Max obliged, shifting the angle slightly so every thrust dragged perfectly against that sweet spot. The pace stayed sensual but deepened, more powerful, the slap of skin growing louder. He kept Charles pressed into the mattress, dominated but cherished big hands stroking sweat-slick skin, lips whispering praises and filthy promises between kisses.
The intimacy built with every shared breath, every moan swallowed in kisses, every slow grind of Max’s hips. Charles’s cunt clenched rhythmically around the thick cock filling him, slick coating them both, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Max’s hand eventually found Charles’s, fingers intertwining beside the pillow as he fucked him with deep, loving thrusts.
“I’m going to fill you up,” Max promised again, voice breaking with pleasure as he felt Charles start to tighten around him. “Breed this pretty red cunt full. Mark you inside so everyone knows who you belong to.”
Charles whimpered his agreement, lost in the overwhelming sensations the weight of Max’s body, the stretch of his cock, the tender possessiveness in every touch.
Max kept the slow, deep rhythm for long, luxurious minutes, savoring the way Charles’s body welcomed every inch. The position was perfect Charles arched so beautifully, face buried in the pillows, ass raised high, that pretty red cunt stretched wide around his thick cock. Every thrust made slick sounds echo softly in the room, Charles’s walls fluttering and gripping him like velvet heat.
“Fuck, look at you,” Max groaned, voice rough with awe. He pulled back slowly until just the thick head remained inside, then pushed back in deep, watching mesmerized as those puffy, inflamed lips parted and swallowed him. “So greedy. This pussy grips me so tight every time I pull out… like it doesn’t want to let me go.”
He did it again slowly withdrawing until only the tip stretched Charles’s entrance, eyes fixed on the obscene sight: glistening arousal coating his shaft, Charles’s cunt clenching rhythmically around nothing for a second before Max sank back in. The visual made his cock twitch hard inside him.
Charles moaned into the pillow, pushing back needily. “Maxie… stop teasing-“
But Max was lost in it. He pulled out completely this time, rubbing the wet head of his cock up and down the swollen folds, tapping it against the sensitive clit. Charles jolted hard, a sharp cry escaping him as his thighs trembled violently.
Max chuckled darkly and pressed back in, bottoming out in one smooth thrust. “Sensitive, huh?” He reached underneath with one hand, finding that puffy clit with his fingers while continuing those deep, powerful strokes. He rubbed tight, slick circles in time with his thrusts.
The reaction was immediate and devastating. Charles’s whole body convulsed, walls clamping down like a vice around Max’s cock. His thighs shook uncontrollably, a wrecked moan tearing from his throat as pleasure bordered on overwhelming. “Ah, fuck-Max!”
“That’s it,” Max growled, voice thick with satisfaction. He kept rubbing firm circles on the clit while plowing into him harder, the wet slap of skin growing louder. “Tighten around me just like that. Gonna breed this pretty cunt so full.”
He kept the intense rhythm for a while deep, possessive thrusts combined with relentless clit stimulation until Charles was shaking apart, babbling in a mix of french and english.
Then Max wanted more. He pulled out, ignoring the whine of protest, and flipped Charles onto his back with effortless strength. “Want to see your face,” Max murmured, voice suddenly softer, more intimate. He pushed Charles’s legs wide and high, folding him nearly in half as he slid back inside in one smooth glide. The new angle was even deeper. Max braced himself on his forearms, caging Charles in, their faces inches apart.
Now they could kiss messy, breathless kisses as Max started fucking him again, slower but harder, grinding deep on every thrust. Charles’s hands roamed Max’s broad back, nails digging in as pleasure spiked. Max kept one hand between them, thumb rubbing steadily over that swollen clit while his cock pistoned in and out.
“Eyes on me, Charlie,” Max whispered against his lips. He pulled back just enough to watch his thick cock disappear into that glistening red again and again, mesmerized by how the folds gripped him, how arousal coated them both. Every time he pulled out almost fully, Charles’s cunt clenched visibly, trying to pull him back in.
Max rubbed the clit faster, watching Charles’s face contort in ecstasy. Charles’s back arched off the bed, thighs trembling and tightening around Max’s waist as another powerful spasm hit him. His walls fluttered and squeezed rhythmically around the invading cock, milking him.
“Gonna come,” Charles gasped, voice wrecked. “Max, pleaseee-fill me-“
Max groaned, pace turning rougher, more desperate. “Yeah? Come on my cock, liefje. Let me feel it.” He pinched the clit lightly while driving deep and Charles shattered.
His orgasm crashed through him, body convulsing, cunt clamping down hard in pulsing waves, slick gushing around Max’s cock. Max fucked him through it, groaning at the intense grip, then buried himself to the hilt and came with a deep, guttural sound. Thick ropes of cum flooded Charles’s spasming pussy, breeding him just as promised. Max kept grinding through the aftershocks, pushing his load deeper, making sure it stayed inside.
For a long moment they stayed locked together, breathing ragged, skin slick with sweat. Then Max pulled back slightly, eyes darkening with fresh hunger.
He withdrew slowly, agonizingly slow watching every inch of his thick cock emerge from that ruined, red pussy. The wet, obscene sound of it was unmistakable: a filthy, slick pop as the head finally slipped free. Immediately, a thick glob of pearly white cum oozed from Charles’s gaping entrance, dripping slowly down over his swollen folds and onto the sheets below.
Max was transfixed. “Fuck… look at that,” he breathed, voice rough with awe. His big hands held Charles’s thighs wide open, keeping him fully exposed. The sight was hypnotic: Charles’s pretty cunt, once tight and neat…now puffy, inflamed and sloppy. The lips were glistening, slightly parted, visibly pulsing as more of Max’s cum leaked out in lazy, creamy rivulets. The visual was pure filth, shiny and obscene under the low hotel lights.
Charles mewled, a soft, humiliated sound that caught in his throat. The bratty teasing from earlier had been completely fucked out of him. He felt molten, pliant, almost shamefully complacent under Max’s intense stare. Having Max Verstappen so utterly obsessed with his pussy, staring at it like it was the most beautiful, filthy thing he’d ever seen made heat flood his cheeks. It felt embarrassing… exposed… and yet undeniably arousing. His body betrayed him, another trickle of cum slipping out as his walls fluttered visibly.
“Maxie…” Charles whispered, voice hoarse and submissive, no trace of his usual sharp teasing left. He shifted his hips slightly, not to hide, but almost like he was presenting himself further, letting Max look. “It’s… so much…”
Max hummed in satisfaction, one thumb stroking the inside of Charles’s thigh. “So fucking pretty like this. All sloppy and full of me.” He leaned closer, eyes locked on the dripping hole. Another thick drop of cum escaped, sliding down toward Charles’s ass. The wet, glistening trail caught the light with every tiny movement of Charles’s body.
Charles whimpered again, cheeks burning hotter. The shame twisted hotly in his stomach, but it only made his cunt clench, pushing out even more cum. The sound was mortifyingly loud in the quiet room soft, wet sounds of his own pussy leaking Max’s load. He felt molten, like every bone in his body had dissolved into pure heat and submission. All he could do was lie there, legs spread wide, and let Max obsess over him.
Max’s thick fingers traced the swollen outer lips first, spreading them wider so he could see deeper. “Gonna keep you full all night,” he growled, voice low and possessive. “Not letting a single drop go to waste. This pussy is mine.”
He scooped up the dripping cum with two fingers and pushed it back inside slowly. The wet squelch was loud and filthy as his fingers sank into the cum-filled heat. Charles gasped, back arching slightly, but he didn’t fight it. Instead, he melted further into the mattress, a soft, complacent moan escaping him.
Max scissored his fingers gently, stirring the mess inside. Obscene, wet sounds filled the air with every movement: slick, gushing noises as cum mixed with Charles’s fresh arousal. He pulled his fingers out for a moment, watching strings of mixed fluids stretch between his digits and Charles’s puffy cunt before breaking. Then he pushed back in, deeper this time, curling them to press against that sensitive spot.
“So beautiful,” Max murmured, almost reverently. “Look how well you take it. Your pretty red pussy swallowing my cum right back up.” He repeated the motion pulling out to watch fresh drips, then pushing it all back inside with slow, deliberate fingers. Every time he withdrew, Charles’s cunt would clench weakly, another small trickle escaping, only for Max to gather it and feed it back in.
Charles was breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded, completely molten under the attention. The brat inside him had been thoroughly fucked away; all that remained was this compliant, overwhelmed pleasure. “Feels… so full,” he whispered, voice shaky with embarrassed arousal. “I can feel it… dripping out of me… and you just keep pushing it back in. It’s embarrassing, Maxie… but don’t stop.”
Max’s eyes flashed with heat at the admission. “That’s right. Let me take care of this pussy.” He added a third finger, stretching Charles wider. The wet, squelching sounds grew louder, more rhythmic as he fucked the cum deeper with steady thrusts of his hand. Charles’s hips twitched weakly, not really moving, just small, helpless rolls as he accepted everything Max gave him.
Max pulled his fingers out again, spreading Charles’s folds wide with both thumbs. The visual was breathtaking: the gaping, sloppy entrance, cum bubbling and leaking slowly, the inner walls visibly pulsing and shiny with white. A thick string of cum slowly dripped down toward the sheets, stretching obscenely before breaking.
Charles mewled again, covering his face with one arm in humiliated pleasure. “Max… you’re staring so much…” His voice was soft, almost shy, but his legs stayed spread wide, cunt on full display. He felt molten like liquid heat pooled low in his belly, every bit of resistance gone. Having the man he’d teased for weeks now completely obsessed with breeding and filling his pussy felt overwhelmingly intimate and dirty in the best way.
“I can’t help it,” Max admitted, voice husky. He leaned down and blew a soft breath over the sensitive, cum-slick flesh, making Charles shiver. “You look too good like this. All bred and leaking for me.” He gathered more escaping cum on his fingers and pushed it back in slowly, twisting his wrist so Charles could feel every movement inside.
The sounds were constant now wet, filthy squelches every time Max’s thick fingers moved in the cum-filled channel. Charles’s pussy made soft, greedy sucking noises around the intrusion, pulling the cum deeper even as more tried to leak out. Max kept up the slow, obsessive play for long minutes, pulling out repeatedly just to watch the drip, then feeding it all back inside while murmuring praise.
“Gonna keep you full all night,” he repeated, voice dark with promise. “Not one drop wasted. This pussy belongs to me. I’m going to breed it again and again until you can’t even walk without feeling me inside you.”
Charles moaned softly in response, completely complacent and lost in the sensation. “Yours…” he whispered, molten and willing. “Keep me full, Maxie… I like it when you’re like this with me.” His cheeks stayed flushed with that deep, shameful arousal, but his body stayed open and relaxed, cunt pulsing visibly around Max’s fingers every time he pushed more cum back inside.
Max continued the slow, hypnotic play spreading, watching, fingering, praising completely absorbed in the messy, beautiful sight between Charles’s legs. The room filled with the constant wet sounds of a well-bred, obsessed-over pussy and Charles melted deeper into submission with every filthy second.
His mouth sealed around the swollen nub again, sucking harder than before, while his fingers started fucking into the sloppy, cum-filled pussy with renewed purpose-harder, faster, deeper. Three thick digits stretched Charles open, curling relentlessly against that sensitive spot as mixed cum and slick squelched loudly with every thrust. Max’s free hand held one of Charles’s thighs pinned wide, keeping him completely exposed.
“Max-Maxie, please I can’t take another-“ Charles sobbed, voice completely wrecked. Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks as overstimulation bordered on unbearable. His body twitched violently, thighs trembling hard against Max’s grip as he tried once more to close his legs. But Max was relentless, holding him open with ease, broad shoulders settled firmly between trembling thighs.
The wet sounds were overwhelming now loud, messy, constant schlick-schlick-schlick as Max’s fingers drove into the cum-drenched heat. Fresh slick mixed with the earlier load, making everything obscenely slippery. Charles’s pussy gaped slightly around the thrusting fingers dripping constantly onto the sheets.
Max pulled back just enough to growl against the clit, “One more, Charlie. Give it to me, I want to feel you fall apart completely.”
Then he dove back in sucking hard on the swollen nub while his tongue flicked rapidly against it. At the same time, his fingers fucked harder, faster, the obscene squelching reaching a filthy crescendo.
Charles’s back arched sharply off the bed, a loud, broken whine tearing from his throat. “I’m-fuckkk, it’s too much-Max-!” His hands fisted the sheets, tears flowing freely as his entire body tensed. The pressure built impossibly fast, overwhelming and different from the previous orgasms deeper, more urgent, almost frightening in its intensity.
Max didn’t let up for a second. He sucked and licked the clit with single-minded obsession, jaw working as his fingers pounded into the sloppy pussy. The wet, gushing sounds were pornographic, loud and constant, filling the room alongside Charles’s desperate sobs and moans.
Then it hit.
Charles’s final orgasm crashed through him like a tidal wave. His whole body convulsed violently, thighs shaking uncontrollably in Max’s iron grip. A powerful, messy gush of clear fluid squirted out around Max’s thrusting fingers, soaking his hand, wrist and chin.
The release was intense and humiliating loud, wet sounds accompanying every pulse as Charles squirted again and again, soaking the sheets beneath him.
He whined loudly, deep from his chest, cheeks burning bright red with shame even as pleasure tore through him. “Oh god-Max, I’m-I can’t stop-“ The humiliation of squirting so messily, of being so completely open and out of control under Max’s hungry gaze, made fresh tears spill down his temples. Yet his body kept surrendering, cunt clenching and gushing around the thick fingers.
Max’s eyes lit up with pure possessive happiness and raw awe. His jaw was drenched dripping with a mixture of Charles’s cum, slick and squirt, but he looked ecstatic, almost reverent as he watched the beautiful, messy sight between Charles’s legs. He kept his fingers moving gently through the aftershocks, drawing out every last pulse. “Fuck, Charlie,” Max muttered reverently, voice thick with emotion. “So beautiful like this… everything you do is beautiful.”
He leaned in and licked a broad stripe up the dripping pussy, collecting the mixed fluids on his tongue with a low groan of satisfaction. Charles whimpered at the gentle overstimulation, body twitching weakly.
Max finally slowed, easing his fingers out with one last wet sound. The sight was breathtaking: Charles’s cunt gaping softly, red and thoroughly used, cum and squirt still leaking slowly from the swollen folds, thighs trembling and shiny with wetness. Max’s lower face was glistening, jaw and chin soaked, but his expression was one of pure possessive adoration.
He crawled up Charles’s body, covering him with his larger frame and kissed him deeply letting Charles taste the mess he’d made. “So perfect,” Max whispered against his lips between soft kisses. “My beautiful, messy boy. Look at what you did for me.”
Charles was utterly spent, teary-eyed and flushed, body limp and molten beneath Max. The humiliation still burned in his cheeks, but it was wrapped in overwhelming pleasure and the safety of Max’s affection. He clung weakly to Max’s shoulders, whispering hoarsely, “Felt… so much… embarrassed… but good. So good with you.”
Max smiled against his neck, placing gentle kisses along his jaw while one hand drifted back down between Charles’s legs. He played lightly now just soft, soothing strokes over the oversensitive clit and puffy folds, not pushing for more but not stopping either. His fingers gathered some of the leaking mixture and rubbed it gently into the skin, almost absentmindedly.
“I’m not done taking care of you yet,” Max murmured affectionately, voice low and promising. “Gonna clean this pretty pussy up with my tongue soon… lick every drop out of you. But for now, just feel me here.” He kept up the feather-light touches, soothing the trembling flesh while holding Charles close, letting him come down slowly in his arms.
Charles sighed shakily, completely surrendered, nuzzling into Max’s neck as the gentle overstimulation kept him floating in hazy, blissful submission.
~~~~
Charles woke to the unfamiliar weight of being held.
For several seconds he remained where he was, half beneath the duvet and half beneath Max, whose arm lay heavily across his middle. The room had the grey stillness of early morning. Beyond the curtains, the city had begun to move, but only faintly; a distant engine, the muted closing of a door somewhere along the corridor.
His body remembered before his mind did. There was a deep, diffuse ache through his thighs and hips, a tenderness that made him breathe more carefully when he shifted. The skin at his throat felt sensitive beneath the collar of the shirt he wore. Max’s shirt, he realised. It smelled faintly of clean cotton and something warmer that was simply him.
Charles closed his eyes again.
The bed had been changed. Water waited on the bedside table, along with two tablets and a packet of biscuits Max must have found somewhere in the room. Charles remembered fragments of being carried into the bathroom, of Max’s hand steady at the back of his neck while he drank, of questions asked quietly and more than once because Max had not trusted Charles’s first sleepy answer.
He had wanted Max jealous. He had wanted him impatient, possessive, finally incapable of pretending Charles did not affect him. He had not understood, until now, how much he had wanted this too.
Max asleep beside him. Max’s hand spread low over his stomach as though it had settled there by instinct. The evidence of care placed around the room without ceremony, because Max had never known how to make tenderness look like anything other than something practical that needed doing.
Charles turned slowly in his arms.
Max loosened his hold enough to let him move, then drew him close again without waking. His face was softer in sleep, stripped of the concentration he carried almost everywhere. Charles studied the familiar shape of him from too near a distance: the faint crease between his brows, the pale lashes, the mouth that always seemed made for disapproval until it curved unexpectedly into laughter.
There had been a time when Charles believed he understood every important version of Max. The boy who fought him for corners neither of them had any intention of surrendering. The driver who could become frighteningly calm when everything around him went wrong. The man who watched data until his eyes reddened and answered concern with impatience.
This version felt different. He lifted his hand and passed his thumb lightly over Max’s eyebrow. The touch woke him at once.
Max’s eyes opened and found him, concern arrived before sleep had fully left his face. “You’re awake.”
Charles smiled faintly. “So are you.”
Max did not smile back immediately. His gaze moved over Charles’s face, then lower, taking inventory with such obvious care that Charles felt warmth gather beneath his ribs.
“How do you feel, schat?”
The question held no embarrassment about what had happened, only attention.
Charles considered giving him the easy answer. He could see Max expected it and would not accept it.
“Sore,” he said. “Tired and a little overwhelmed, perhaps.”
Max’s hand shifted from his waist to his hip, settling there with barely any pressure. “Anything wrong? Does something hurt?”
“No.” Charles covered Max’s hand with his own. “Nothing is wrong.”
Max watched him for another moment, then nodded. The movement was small, but some tension left his shoulders.
Charles traced the back of his fingers. “You changed the bed?”
“It needed changing after last night.”
“And found food?”
“You had not eaten enough, I know you.”
“You put me in your shirt.”
“You were cold.”
Each answer came simply, as though Charles was asking why water ran downhill. Charles lowered his eyes. “You make it sound as though there was never another option.”
“For me, there wasn’t.” The words settled between them, Max seemed not to realise what he had admitted. Or perhaps he did and had decided not to retreat from it.
Charles moved closer until their knees touched beneath the duvet. Max’s palm slipped from his hip to the small of his back, fingers spreading there, warm against the thin fabric.
“What did you think would happen this morning?” Charles asked.
Max’s thumb paused. “I didn’t know.”
“That is not usually something you enjoy.”
“No, I never liked the unknown.”
Charles waited.
Max’s eyes moved briefly towards the curtains. “You wanted me last night. I was not sure whether you would want everything after it.”
There was no accusation in his voice. That made the uncertainty beneath it more difficult to hear.
Charles studied him. “You thought I might regret you?”
“I thought you might decide it was easier to leave things as they were.”
“As they were,” Charles repeated softly. “You mean pretending?”
Max looked back at him. “We were good at it.”
“We were terrible at it. Everyone else knows apparently.”
The corner of Max’s mouth moved, although the expression never became a full smile. His fingers began to trace slowly along Charles’s lower back, an absent path that soothed more than it stirred.
Charles leaned into the touch.
“I don’t know what this is supposed to look like,” he admitted. “I don’t need us to decide everything before breakfast. I don’t need promises about years from now.”
Max’s gaze sharpened, entirely awake now.
“But I don’t want to return to pretending that you are only important to me because of racing.” Charles’s voice became quieter. “And I don’t want another night like this to be something we speak about only when we are jealous or drunk enough to stop being careful.”
Max absorbed that in silence. His hand travelled higher, following the line of Charles’s spine beneath the shirt. When he reached the back of Charles’s neck, he held him there gently.
“I don’t know how to do this casually, Charles.” he said at last.
Charles’s chest tightened. “I’m not asking you to do it casually, Maxie.”
“I can’t promise it will be easy.”
“I have known you since we were children, Max. Ease has never been one of my expectations.” That finally drew a quiet breath of laughter from him. Charles smiled, but did not look away. “I want honesty, even when it is inconvenient. Especially then.”
Max nodded once. “Then I should tell you I hated the idea of Russell becoming the person you looked for after a race.”
Charles’s smile faded into something softer. “He was never that person for me…he was just there.”
“You made it look convincing.”
“I wanted you to see, I wanted to see how you would react.”
“I saw.”
“I know.” Charles’s fingers moved into Max’s hair, combing it back from his forehead. “I was unkind.”
Max considered this. “A little.”
“I thought if I could make you jealous enough, you might finally admit I mattered outside racing.”
“You have mattered outside the car for a long time.”
“How long?”
Max’s eyes held his. “Long enough that I should have said something before Russell started touching you every five minutes.”
The answer was so unmistakably Max that Charles felt his throat tighten around a laugh and something more fragile.
He kissed him instead.
It began carefully, almost tentatively, although there was nothing uncertain in the way Max’s hand tightened at his neck. Charles moved closer, one palm resting against Max’s chest, feeling the steady beat beneath it. Max kissed him slowly, his mouth warm and unhurried, then pressed another kiss to the corner of Charles’s lips, his cheek, the faint mark below his jaw.
Charles let his eyes close, the hand at his back traced down again and rested low at his waist. Charles touched his face, his shoulder, the strong line of his arm, as though learning through his fingertips that he was allowed.
When they drew apart, Max kept their foreheads together. “I do not want to be replaced,” he said.
The bluntness of it hurt Charles more than any elaborate confession could have. “You are not replaceable.”
Max’s eyes closed briefly.
Charles kissed him again, smaller this time. “Not as my rival, not as anything else.”
The phone on the bedside table began to vibrate and they both ignored it. It stopped, then started again almost immediately.
Charles turned his head far enough to see the screen.
George.
Max saw the name at the same time. His expression did not change, but his hand tightened almost imperceptibly at Charles’s waist.
Charles looked back at him. “You are doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking as though you could defeat a telephone through concentration alone.”
Max glanced towards it. “He is persistent.”
Charles reached across, silenced the call and placed the phone face down. When he settled back against Max, he found the tension still lingering in his jaw. “He may only be asking whether I survived the evening.”
“He knows you left with me.”
“Yes,” Charles murmured, brushing his mouth against Max’s. “That is probably why he is asking.”
Max stared at him and Charles tried to maintain a serious expression, but the indignation in Max’s face was too familiar and too dear. Laughter escaped him, soft at first, then warmer when Max pulled him closer in reluctant surrender.
“You enjoy this far too much,” Max said against his cheek.
“I enjoy you far too much.”
The phone buzzed again, insistent against the wood of the bedside table.
Max laughed once more, low and rough, the sound vibrating through Charles’s chest where they were pressed together. “He really does not know when to stop.”
“Neither do you,” Charles murmured, still smiling against Max’s mouth.
Max’s hand, which had been resting low at his waist, began to move. Fingers sliding beneath the hem of the oversized shirt, tracing the soft skin of Charles’s lower stomach, then lower still past the waistband of the borrowed shorts, until the tips of his fingers brushed the warm, sensitive folds between Charles’s thighs.
Charles’s breath caught sharply. A soft gasp escaped him, followed immediately by a quiet, involuntary moan that he tried and failed to swallow.
Max’s smirk was instantaneous, wicked and thoroughly pleased with himself. “Still sore?” he asked, voice pure innocence while his fingers stroked once, feather-light and devastatingly precise.
Charles’s hips twitched. His cheeks flushed. “You are a menace.”
“You enjoy me far too much,” Max quoted back at him, the smirk widening as he pressed the pad of one finger just a little more firmly against the slick heat he found there. “Apparently.”
Charles made a strangled sound that was half laugh, half desperate noise, and buried his face in Max’s neck. “Max-“
“Mghm?”
“If you keep doing that while George is still calling, I am going to answer the phone and put him on speaker just so he can hear exactly how well I survived the evening.”
Max’s fingers stilled for half a second. Then he laughed properly, warm and dark, and deliberately dragged his touch lower again. “Go on then,” he murmured against Charles’s ear, utterly shameless. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Charles’s laugh broke on another soft moan as Max’s fingers teased him open, slow and filthy.
“I always do the dare,” Charles gasped, eyes glittering with pure mischief. He snatched the still-buzzing phone, accepted the call, and put it on speaker with zero shame. “Hello, George,” he said sweetly into the microphone, smirking straight at Max.
Max’s eyes went dark in an instant. “You’re so dead, Charlie,” he whispered against Charles’s ear and pressed two fingers inside him in one smooth, devastating stroke.
Charles’s answering moan was entirely audible. There was a beat of horrified silence on the other end.
Then George’s voice exploded through the speaker, high-pitched and scandalised: “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU SERIOUSLY?! MAX IS FINGER-I CAN HEAR! CHARLES WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! I JUST WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU WERE ALIVE, NOT THIS-I REGRET EVERY LIFE CHOICE THAT LED ME TO CALL YOU TWO, DELETE MY NUMBER-BURN THE PHONE-I’M GOING TO BLEACH MY EARS!”
The line went dead mid-curse.
Max didn’t even slow down. He just smirked against Charles’s throat and pressed his fingers deeper.
“Told you,” he murmured. “You’re so dead.”
Charles’s laugh turned breathless as Max’s fingers curled just right, dragging another helpless sound out of him. He didn’t care that the phone had gone dead or that George was probably currently questioning every decision he’d ever made. All he could feel was Max smug, relentless and so thoroughly his.
He tipped his head back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded, and smiled up at the man currently ruining him in the most delicious way. “You know,” Charles murmured, voice rough with pleasure and pure mischief, “if this is what happens every time I answer the phone… I might start calling him myself just to watch you get jealous again.”
Max’s fingers stilled for half a second. His eyes narrowed.
Charles only grinned wider, rolling his hips deliberately against Max’s hand.
“Go on then,” he whispered, soft and teasing. “Make me regret that dare, Maxie. I’m waiting.”
Max answered him the only way he ever really knew how by claiming him again, thoroughly, until the morning light spilled golden across the sheets and Charles forgot every careful word they had spoken earlier.
Later, when they finally lay still, sweat-cooled and tangled, Charles traced idle patterns over Max’s chest and felt the quiet certainty settle in his bones.
This was no longer pretending, this was simply them. And for once, Charles was perfectly content to let the rest of the world and George’s traumatised ears wait.