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“Okay, you’re absolutely sure you are happy with all of that?”
“Yes, Charles.”
“Okay. Because once we start, you are in. I will check in with you, of course, but I will make it so you cannot remember that. So, it will be… intense.”
“Charles, we have been through this. I trust you.”
“I know, I know, it’s just… I am a little bit nervous.”
“Shouldn't I be the one who is nervous? You will be fine. To tell you the truth, I am more excited than I am nervous, anyway. I've thought this through, you have planned every aspect of it, we have a bunch of failsafes in place. This will be fine. You are fine, Charles.”
“Okay, okay... Okay. Are you ready?”
“Ready.”
Snap.
Of all of the starts to a season, Max decides this isn’t the worst one.
That doesn’t make it great though. Finishing fourth is not his ideal.
Finishing anything but first, in fact, is not his ideal.
He knows the world’s eyes are on him, waiting, even hoping for him to fail. He knows that, realistically speaking, fourth is a good result considering he started from P15 thanks to an engine failure in qualifying and that there are many, many more races left for him to come back from.
He still sulks a little bit as he gets out of his car.
The only saving grace is that Charles finished first. Max finds his happiness for his boyfriend quickly outweighs his own disappointment. He lingers by a monitor in the garage so that he can watch Charles’ podium ceremony. He stares, enraptured, as Charles’ delighted grin seems to take up the entire screen. The floodlights that bear down on him are nothing in comparison to the glow that seems to emanate from him. He glows and Max knows he isn't the only one who sees it.
When he goes through the media pen and his post-race debrief, he searches for that disappointment but finds nothing in return. He can only think of Charles. Charles, who looks happier than Max has seen him after a race weekend for possibly over a year. Charles, who Max loves and who loves Max, a fact that he still sometimes has to pinch himself over. Charles, who looks so fucking good drenched in champagne, eyes glinting with satisfaction, smile fluctuating between warm and open, to sexy and self-assured.
Max’s mouth waters as the images flash through his mind.
He needs to see him.
He gets to their hotel late, late, later than he can bear, and finds himself rocking on his heels in the elevator up to their floor. It’s so slow. Slower than normal.
When he swipes his keycard and pushes into the room, the relief he feels at finding Charles standing nearby in the kitchenette is palpable.
Max strides over before Charles can open his mouth to say a word. He grabs him by the waist and pulls him close, locking their lips and kissing him fiercely.
“Well, hello,” Charles says against his mouth when he lets go, just slightly, just enough that he can speak but close enough that they're pressed together.
“I am so proud of you,” Max practically growls into him. He’s not sure why he feels so tense inside, so animalistic, but he tightens his grip on Charles’ waist and enjoys the way his green eyes are already alight with interest.
“Thank you, mon amour.” Charles slides his hands up and around Max’s shoulders, fingers curling up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You did well, too. I’m sorry you didn’t get onto the podium. You deserved to be.”
Max shrugs, not caring.
Which is strange. Not too long ago he was lamenting his loss, hating the fact that he was starting the season off of the top steps. That feels like forever ago, not the mere hours that is has been.
Right now, with Charles in front of him, looking so beautiful and powerful and so lovely, Max does not care.
Charles watches him and Max realises he hasn’t said anything for some time. Charles stares, a knowing look in his eyes as he trails them across Max’s face.
Max licks his lips and Charles follows the movement, smirking.
He still won’t say anything.
Max swallows.
“I…”
There’s something there. Something important. A memory, maybe. A thought that he lost before he could pursue it.
“Hm?” Charles hums, leaning back in Max’s hold, which has loosened. “What is it, Max? Do you want something?”
Max slowly nods. He does. He wants. He wants Charles.
“What is it that you want, exactly?”
The way Charles emphasises the last word, accent thick around the syllables, makes Max shudder.
“I want… God, Charles, I want your cock.”
The words make it out of his mouth before Max can actually think them, but it’s true. It’s true, it’s true, he wants- no, he needs Charles’ cock. Like now.
Like, right now.
Charles' smirk only grows and he lets his hands fall away.
“What is stopping you from having it?”
Max sinks to his knees in an instant, mouth watering, gaze locked to the bulge in Charles’ pants. He’s hard, he’s already hard, and thick and so good. Max whimpers.
He reaches forward and unzips Charles’ jeans, pulling them down to his thighs. He leans forward and nuzzles his face into the outline of Charles’ cock through his underwear. He breathes in, deep.
He feels unhinged.
“Someone is all worked up, huh?” Charles says from above him. “Look at you. Hungry for it.”
Max moans as an answer. He is. He’s so hungry.
He does not waste any more time. He yanks Charles’ underwear down until his beautiful, perfect cock bounces up to greet him and immediately opens his lips and lets the head slide onto his tongue.
It’s perfect. It’s heaven. He feels complete. He didn’t even realise he felt incomplete, but now that Charles is in his mouth, he knows that he was. No wonder he felt so disappointed earlier. It wasn't because of a stupid race, it’s because he didn’t have this. He needed this. Needed Charles’ cock in his mouth.
His thoughts are muddled and messy and Charles is groaning above him and Max doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He settles for gripping Charles’ thighs so that he can bob his head, closing his eyes so that he can feel the slide against his lips as he takes his cock into his mouth, feel the weight of it against his tongue, the pressure against the back of his throat. It feels like sex. It feels like someone is touching him, doing this to him.
“Fuck, Max,” Charles moans, hand falling down to Max’s head, fingers threading through his hair. “You’re so good. Take my cock so well, don’t you?”
Max is obsessed. Enraptured. He has always enjoyed sucking cock, making Charles feel good, but this is different. This is electric. His mind is gone. His thoughts are meaningless. At first there are strays, little aborted ideas like, This feels different to usual, or, I hope I can fuck Charles after this, or, I can’t believe how quickly I bounced back from that loss. But they get batted away instantly before he can focus on them. Removed, as though stolen, until there’s nothing left. Nothing left but his mind repeating, over and over and over again, Charles’ cock, Charles’ cock, Charles’ cock.
He swallows around it and enjoys the way Charles’ hips stutter and jerk, thrusting and making Max gag as he readjusts. It feels good. Feels like fire. His jaw aches slightly and he loves it. Love this. Loves Charles. Loves Charles’ cock.
“Mm, you are going to make me come already.”
And god. God. Max’s hips jerk into nothing as he realises that he needs that. Needs Charles’ come. Needs it now, needs it in his mouth, on his tongue, spilling out over his lips, coating the back of his throat. If he was half aware, he would realise he is moaning nearly uninterrupted around Charles’ cock, bobbing his head furiously as he pursues his goal. But he doesn’t care to pay attention to anything outside of his mouth, outside of this feeling.
“Fuck. Fuck, Max. I am- Oh, god, I am coming.”
Max’s mind goes completely blank. He does not think any longer, only feels.
Feels the way Charles stills, the way his fingers tighten in Max’s hair, holding him there as he comes into his mouth. Feels the way his come shoots across the insides of Max’s mouth, into the back of his throat where he swallows it down. Feels the way Charles pulls back, just a bit, just so that he can come across Max’s tongue too. Feels the way his eyes want to roll into the back of his head as he tastes the salty-sweetness.
He comes in his pants. He doesn’t even notice.
Charles goes to pull away and he cries out, the sound muffled and broken.
“Ah, you do not want to let me go? Love my cock too much?”
Max nods, movement awkward with a softening cock in his mouth.
“How about we move to the couch? Then you can stay like this as long as you need.”
Max does not think- cannot think of anything except need when Charles pulls away. He can’t think of what is happening or what just happened, just lets Charles’ gently guide him over to the couch before he gets comfortable and lets Max crawl in between his spread legs, lying down there, head on Charles’ thigh as he sucks his soft cock into his mouth and lets the weight of it take the need away.
He comes to himself over an hour later, after Charles’ had come into his mouth twice more. He feels as though he just woke up after being drunk, only without the hangover symptoms. He remembers everything and he also doesn’t.
He feels like he should be embarrassed as he pulls off of Charles’ cock, but he is not. He is satisfied.
“There you are,” Charles muses, watching him with fond eyes. “I was wondering when you would come back to me.”
“What-” and Max pauses because his voice is ruined. “What happened?”
“You made me come three times, that is what happened.” Max nods, slowly becomes aware of the sticky, uncomfortable feeling in his underwear. Charles, seeming to read his mind, says, "And it appears you did too."
“Oh.”
Charles just grins. “Yes, oh.”
Max should be embarrassed, confused. Probably. But his head is empty and he just smiles in a way that makes Charles’ eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles back.
“How are you feeling?” Charles reaches down to stroke back his hair a few times, a lazy, satisfied smirk on his face.
Max tries to think. How does he feel?
He feels stupid. Dumb. Satiated.
He lets his head fall so that it rests on Charles’ thigh and closes his eyes.
“Happy,” he says. Charles just chuckles and strokes his hair.
Max doesn’t think too much about anything that happened that Sunday night. By the time he has woken up in the morning, he is already thinking about the next race. Charles doesn’t bring it up either. They fuck during the week and it is nothing like that night, no intense craving, no fogginess. It’s just their usual, hot sex. And that’s fine.
But then Max wins the race the next Sunday.
It’s great redemption. He laps half of the field even after pitting for the fastest lap at the end and finishes 12 seconds ahead of P2. He stands on the top step of the podium, listening to his anthem, unable to suppress his grin.
He looks down to his left, where Charles is standing. Their gazes meet.
Max is usually pretty good at maintaining his indifference for the cameras, their relationship an open secret in the paddock but certainly not public knowledge.
At that moment, he doesn’t care. His breath gets stolen when Charles’ lips quirk upwards like he knows something and Max’s smile is wiped from his face as he stares back.
He swallows and tears his eyes away only when the music cutting makes him realise how long he’d been stuck like that.
He feels like he can still feel Charles’ gaze on him, even when it definitely isn’t, can still feel that smirk somewhere deep inside.
In the media pen, he grows restless. He doesn’t typically enjoy interviews as it is, answering the same inane questions over and over again, standing there when he’s exhausted.
But this is different. He just wants it to be over. Just wants to get back to the motorhome so that he can get undressed and shower and-
A nearly defeaning silence makes him realise he has completely missed a question the interviewer has asked him and has to ask them to repeat.
It’s far too long before he can finally make his way back. It feels like hours. Like days, even.
When he finally gets to the motorhome, he closes the door behind him and leans against it.
What- What is he here for?
This isn’t where he was supposed to go. This isn’t what he wants.
He blinks a few times to himself, swallowing heavily. Shower. Shower, that’s what he wants. To get- to get clean.
He manages to do so, but with each second that passes he grows more agitated.
When he gets changed he doesn’t even grab his phone or anything. He moves as though he is on rails, heading straight out of the motorhome and directly to the, thankfully very nearby, Ferrari team motorhomes.
When the door opens, Charles just smiles a lazy smile. A knowing smile.
Max pushes in. He’s- he’s annoyed. Yes, that is what this feeling is. He’s annoyed.
Wait, why is he annoyed?
“Congratulations again,” Charles says, closing the door as Max moves in. “You must have had fun celebrating. It feels like it has been so long since the podium ceremony.”
It has been. So long. Too long.
Max is annoyed. He thinks. At Charles maybe. Because he didn’t win? No, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe because he didn’t come with Max after the ceremony? But, no, that also doesn’t make sense. Why would Charles even do that?
Maybe he isn’t annoyed then. Maybe he’s frustrated.
“You are so quiet.” Charles’ voice makes him start. He realises that again, he has just stood there, not saying anything. This is just like last Sunday. He had felt so… dumb. There’s a thought there, like there is something he is missing, but it flies away before he can linger on it. Instead he licks his lips and stares at Charles, who won’t stop smirking. “What’s wrong?”
“I- Nothing is wrong,” Max rasps. But it’s not true. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
Something is missing.
“Are you sure?” Charles’ hand comes up to cup his jaw, gentle and soft. “You look like you need something?”
Max’s knees threaten to buckle. His cheeks warm.
“I…”
“It’s okay. You do not need to be shy with me. What do you need?”
Max lets his eyes drop to the very apparent bulge in Charles’ pants.
He clenches around nothing and then shudders.
“C- Cock,” he manages to say, licking his lips again. “Need your cock. Please.”
“Yes?” Charles does not look the slightest bit surprised. Max feels like he should be surprised himself, maybe also a little bit mortified at his own behaviour, but he isn’t. Charles reaches down to cup his erection through his pants. “You want this?”
“Need,” Max says dumbly, clenching again.
Charles just hums, then reaches up to grab Max’s hand, pulling him along with him until they’re at his bed.
“How?” Charles asks as he coaxes Max to lie down. Max obeys, compliant, willing, missing something, something is missing, he’s so- he’s so- “Where do you need my cock, Max?”
He’s so empty.
“Inside,” Max replies, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “In my hole.”
Charles coos at him and it should be humiliating, but Max is shaking. He has never felt like this before. Never. He likes to fuck, he likes to get fucked, but he has never been so empty, so aching, so desperate.
“So good. You want me to fuck you?”
Max moans, fingers clenching into the blankets. Charles crawls over the bed until he’s leaning over Max and then kisses him, a soft pressure that is in direct contrast to the way he practically tears Max’s pants off.
Max shakes, trembles, lies there, lets Charles spread his thighs apart. Charles completely ignores Max’s cock, and everything else, just lets his fingertips trail along Max’s skin until he reaches his hole. Max shudders, but it isn’t enough. It’s too much, maddeningly intense, but it isn’t enough.
“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Not- Your cock, Charles. Please. Please.”
Charles grabs some lube from beside the bed, squeezes some onto his fingers.
“I need to prep you, Max.”
“Don’t- Don’t need it.”
Charles presses two fingers in at once and Max moans, hole clenching. It’s not right. It feels good but it’s not right.
“Shh. You do not know what you need right now.”
Yes, I do. I need your cock. Need it now. Right now, right now.
Charles ignores his furrowed brows and spreads his fingers wide, making Max keen as he works to loosen his rim. He teases him, drags the pads of his fingers right against that spot that usually makes Max see stars behind his eyelids, but it doesn’t do that this time. It makes him shake, makes his cock twitch and leak pre-come onto his thigh, but it isn’t what he wants.
“Please, Charles,” he moans. “Please, please, please.”
Charles huffs a laugh, pumps his fingers a few more times, then pulls away. Max feels so incredibly empty it almost hurts, but Charles is lubing up his cock and spreading more lube onto Max’s hole with his thumb and Max holds his breath.
Charles lines up his cock with his hole and he looks as though he’s about to say something, to tease Max further, but Max gives him his best pleading look, biting his lip, and it must work because Charles closes his mouth and then presses forward.
It’s like- It’s like heaven. It’s like hell. It’s like nothing Max has ever experienced in his life. He feels every inch, every millimetre, as it slides into him, stretching his rim until it perfectly fits around Charles’ cock. He feels every bump, every vein, as it slides against his insides and he’s coming, cock jerking and spurting all over his leg, his stomach. Max cries out, choked breath escaping him as Charles bottoms out.
“Fuck,” Charles whispers, eyes flickering everywhere all over Max as he stills there. “Fuck, Max. That- That is so hot.”
Max doesn’t hear him. He does but he doesn’t. His words go into his ears but there’s nothing there anymore. His mind is gone. His brain is full of cock. Charles’ is inside of him, all of him, and Max doesn’t care. Doesn’t want anything else ever.
Charles pants and clings tight to Max’s hips. If Max had the presence of mind, he’d reach out, do something to show his affection, like stroking the inside of Charles’ wrist, or intertwining their fingers, or pouting and asking for a kiss. But Max is not physically able to think of anything except for the parts where their bodies meet, his hole, clenching around Charles and feeling so, so, so full, so good, so good.
Charles starts moving and Max has to clench the sheets because there has never been anything like this in his life. Each thrust moves through his whole body like a shockwave, like a tsunami. It spreads outwards from his hole and spreads to the tips of his fingers, to the nape of his neck.
Charles says something to him, something unimportant. Nothing matters. Nothing.
It lasts forever, eternity, but it is also like a blink of an eye. Max isn’t sure if he’s coming or not, his muscles spasming and moans being torn from his throat, but he can’t be sure of anything.
Charles’ voice cuts through the white noise in his mind, just for a moment.
“Ah, Max, going to come. Going to come. You’re so good. So perfect.”
Max keens, and Charles’ hips stutter and then Max feels it, feels the come. He shouldn’t be able to feel it, but he does. It paints his insides, coats him, shoots through him and he thinks he might scream, doesn’t know, doesn’t hear it, just clenches tight and comes and comes and comes.
Charles collapses on top of him and Max opens his eyes, not certain as to when he had last closed them or how long for. Charles breathes heavily into Max’s neck.
“Don’t-” and once again Max is interrupted by the sound of his own voice, broken, “don’t pull out.”
Charles lifts his head, looks absolutely thoroughly wrecked, but he smiles and says, “I won’t. Don’t worry.”
He maneuvers them carefully, skillfully managing to keep his cock inside of Max the entire time despite it having softened. He arranges them so he’s spooning Max and Max feels the come leaking out of him around Charles.
“No,” he groans.
Charles wraps an arm around his waist, pulls a little closer. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s leaking,” Max mutters. “Don’t- Don’t let it-”
Charles kisses his neck and reaches down, uses his fingers to swirl around the outside of Max’s hole, ignoring the way he twitches and jerks, scooping up some of the come. He lifts it up to Max’s mouth and Max doesn’t think twice before letting him push it onto his tongue.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you more.”
He does. It doesn’t take too long before his cock hardens again and whatever little clarity Max had gained back is stolen as he is thrust into. He comes again and Max comes with him although that is less important, less significant. Afterwards, Charles presses a couple fingers into Max’s hole to help keep him plugged.
It’s perfect.
Again, Max doesn’t think to care much about what happened to him or why. It doesn’t really cross his mind during the week and, again, Charles doesn’t bring it up.
Just the same as last time, it all goes away until the race weekend is upon them once again.
Max wins the next Grand Prix, two weeks after his last one. It’s great and he is happy enough, but it doesn't take long. Already when he’s on the podium that feeling starts. He’s a bit surer of what is going on now, but without the clarity of mind to think upon it too deeply. All he knows is he won and now he needs Charles’ cock inside of him, needs him to come in his hole and fill him up.
However, unlike the previous race, Charles is not on the podium. He’s not even in the top 10. He had a terrible race, most of which Max witnessed when he’d glance at the large screens as he’d headed away with the win.
He had been responsible for a turn one incident with Charles which had meant he’d needed a wing change and Max had been given a penalty. It didn’t end up affecting Max’s race much and Charles had been able to make back his places and get into second early on in the race, but the rest of the race had been terrible for Charles, with a track limits penalty, someone else hitting him and forcing him to pit to fix a tyre puncture and just generally a bad race day.
Max would normally feel bad but he can’t today. He can’t feel anything except empty.
Charles isn’t happy when he gets to their hotel that night. He’s pissy and snappy and Max isn’t feeling smart enough to talk it through with him. He tries. He does. But his words don’t work properly.
Charles is rambling about his team’s shitty strategy and how George turned in on him and how Max should have just backed off in the corner, but Max’s throat feels thick and his mind blank and he reaches forward to tug on Charles' shirt.
“Charles,” he murmurs, interrupting him mid-ramble. “Charles, I need-”
Charles abruptly closes his mouth, pursing his lips. His eyes flash and he glances up and down at Max before sighing.
“Right. I forgot.”
Max stands there, feeling stupid. Charles stares at him for a moment longer then says, “Max, I’m sorry, but I’m really not in the mood right now. I’m angry at you right now. Can you- Can you wait?”
Max licks his lips. Can he wait? Can he wait while he’s so fucking empty and aching and he knows- he knows what it feels like, what it could feel like.
His thoughts are all jumbled but Charles looks genuinely upset and something slightly stronger fights through in that moment and he nods.
“Yeah… Yeah it’s fine.” He takes a deep breath and then pastes a smile on his face. “I’m- Are you okay?”
Charles laughs derisively, shaking his head. “Obviously not. It is like this, though. I just need to cool down.”
Max lets his hands hang down by his side because he isn’t sure what else to do with them. “Can I do something to help?” Like sitting on your cock? After a moment where his brain hangs, stutters, like it’s on dial up internet, he continues with, “I’m sorry about the corner. I didn’t know it would ruin your race.” Max thinks there is more to it than that, feels like he has more to say about it, but nothing really comes to mind. Or rather, nothing is in his mind when he goes to look for it.
Charles blows a breath out, wiping a hand down his face. “Thanks, but it’s not your fault, not really. It was all of the shit afterward. It is fine. I just need to relax today and I will be fine tomorrow.”
Max nods his head one too many times and then he tries to decide what to do with himself when Charles gives him a brief smile before telling him he’s going to have a shower.
Max feels nervous, confused and like he really needs a cock inside of him. He goes to the bedroom and lays on the bed. He gets his phone out and tries not to think about Charles in the shower, naked, his fucking beautiful, amazing cock just there and not being- Max should be- that should be inside of Max right now. But Charles is mad at him. That’s okay. Charles can be mad and still fuck Max. Even if he could just jerk off and give his come to Max, that would be good. That would be okay. That’d be-
“Shower is free,” Charles says and Max jumps. Charles is staring at him and Max is so incredibly grateful he’s still wearing his jeans and Charles can’t see his erection straining against them.
Max has to take a deep breath before saying, “I’m okay.”
Charles squints at him, then laughs. “Max, you stink, mate.”
Max pouts and he wants to fight back but his head says that if he’s good- if he does what Charles says Charles might change his mind and he might put his cock inside of him.
So, he nods and then pushes himself off of the mattress, wordlessly heading to the bathroom.
He runs the shower hot, hotter than he should. It burns his skin ever so slightly and he manages to wash his hair and under his arms before it’s too much. He’s empty. Empty, empty, so, so empty. He grits his teeth and lets his head rest against the shower wall, tries to rub his hole and stick a finger in dry but it’s not- it’s not right. Doesn’t feel like it is supposed to. He blinks away the tears of frustration and tries to make it go away. Just- make it stop. Make it stop.
He isn’t sure how long he’s in the bathroom for but it is surely long past midnight at this point. Maybe he can ask Charles to let him cockwarm him in bed. Charles doesn’t even have to do anything, he can just lie there and Max will be happy, so, so happy to have a cock inside of him that it will be okay even if it doesn’t move, even if he doesn’t get come.
When he stumbles back into the bedroom, naked, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, it is to find Charles fast asleep. The room is dark and Charles is on his side and Max is - just for one, fleeting moment he’s overtaken by love and warmth and it’s okay. For that one moment he is able to focus on Charles. He manages to slide into the bed and even kisses Charles on the cheek, not that he reacts or notices, dead to the world. Max pouts to himself, feeling guilty. Charles has had a really bad day and Max barely apologised, and he was asking to get fucked before he even did say sorry, and he hasn’t even tried to look after Charles.
He sighs, falling onto his back and staring at the darkened ceiling. He can hear the vague sound of traffic many floors below them, the sound of the room creaking ever so slightly, of Charles’ breaths, the slightest of snores breaking through every now and then.
It hurts.
It’s too much. Too intense. All over him but also just in his hole. Empty. Purely physical but also his entire mind is fogged over. He twists and turns a few times in the hopes that he can just fall asleep and forget but nothing works. He feels tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, sliding down his cheeks and into his hair and he sniffles as quietly as he can. Can’t- Can’t wake Charles.
After what feels like hours (or maybe it has been days? Weeks? Maybe he has always been this way? Empty, craving, hungry) he has to do something. Something. Just anything at this point is better than nothing.
He tries to be quiet as he slides out of the bed. Charles isn’t pressed up against him like normal so he gets away with it and he tiptoes out of the room and shuts the door as softly as he can manage before he whirls around, instincts driving him as he zeroes in on his luggage packed in the corner and goes straight for where he knows the lube is.
He works a finger inside of himself, then two, then three. He lies on the couch, legs spread obscenely and it’s dark in the room but he still has a flush on his cheeks as he lets his head tilt back on the cushion and tries to ignore the tears streaming down his face. It feels good, objectively speaking. There is a physical feeling that is there, like always is when he fingers himself, and it feels the same way it always does. But it’s not enough. Not today. Not now. It’s not the right width, or shape, or length. It doesn’t feel the same, knuckles brushing his rim in a way that is normally pleasant but now just makes him think of what he could be having instead.
Why the fuck did he go for the corner. He always goes for the corner, it is in his blood to go for the corner, but why did he do it today? He should have backed off. He should have lost. That would have been better than this. Now Charles won't give him his cock and Max is empty and alone and it's his fault. He should've begged Charles. Should have woken him up. It hurts. It hurts so much.
Harsh, artificial light beams down on him and Max flinches, freezing.
Charles stands at the bedroom door, hand still on the light switch, eyes as round as possible as he blinks at Max.
“Max,” he says, half groggily, half shocked. “Oh, Max.”
Max doesn’t have the decency, or the ability, to pull his fingers out. He can’t now. Even though it’s not enough he can’t go back to before, can’t go back to being so completely empty. He cries more and whimpers, “Charles,” and Charles walks around to the couch, kneels in front of him, hand on his wrist stilling Max’s fingers and making him whine.
“Shit, Max,” he breathes out. “I didn’t think it would get so bad. I’m so sorry.”
“Charles, please. I’m sorry, I tried to be quiet but it- it’s too much.”
“That was you trying to be quiet?” Charles teases and Max should blush but he can only moan and beg.
“Please, please make it stop. Hurts.”
Charles licks his lips.
“Sh, it is okay. I will fix it.”
He gently pulls Max’s hand away and Max chokes on a sob. But Charles seems to understand the urgency and he doesn’t leave him empty for too long, pulling his half-hard cock out from his pyjamas and making short work of sliding into Max.
Max's body is rigid for a second, and then he goes limp. The relief that pours through him isn’t even pleasant, not like last time. It feels like having cool water dumped on him after being on fire for hours. It’s intense in a completely different way but at least he’s not empty now.
Charles pulls his legs up so that they’re resting on his shoulders, thrusting into Max in slow, steady movements and leaning down to wipe away his tears as best he can from the distance. Max might be moaning, but he isn’t sure. With each thrust it is like a little piece of him is erased and that’s okay. He doesn’t want it, doesn’t want anything, just wants Charles.
He comes and comes on Charles’ cock and Charles lasts a lot longer than he should be expected to but he soon is shaking apart above Max and coming inside of him and then- then it is better. So, so much better. Max feels himself relax, melting onto the couch like honey, gooey, spreading out.
He wants Charles to stay like that forever. He can’t go through that again. Can’t be empty like that ever again.
He’s about to say as much, but Charles speaks first.
“Okay now?” he asks and when Max nods, grinning dopily, he smiles a little but looks more concerned than anything else. “Okay then. Max, I am going to end this now. I think you have had your fun.”
Max panics, thinks Charles is going to pull out and he clenches down as tight as he can. Charles winces, but he doesn’t move otherwise. He only raises his hands and then-
Snap.
“...Eight. Coming back to me now, Max. Eyelids no longer heavy and mind focused now. Nine. Feeling refreshed and alert and with a clear mind. Ten, fully awake now, eyes opening.”
The clap jolts him awake.
Max blinks a few times, coming to, and for one, short but blissful second, there is nothing.
Then the memories flood in, just one or two to begin with and then all of them all at once. Things he had forgotten- no, things he had been made to forget but they all come back, slotting into place.
Six months ago, when Charles had told him about his new strange hobby. Hypnosis. Max, being unconvinced until Charles convinced him to let him try it on him. Max, a little scared when he wasn’t able to remove his hand from his head no matter how hard he tried after Charles managed to hypnotise him. Max, intrigued, asking Charles to explain more about it to him.
A month ago, when Max suggested they try something on the erotic side and Charles needing convincing, especially when he heard what Max was suggesting.
Max, needing to take one or two shots before he had the courage to tell Charles his fantasy, of being made to crave someone’s cock, in his mouth, inside of him.
And then he’s back there, on the couch, legs still spread, dried tears making his eyes sore, hole fucking aching, Charles soft inside of him and come dripping onto the couch.
“Oh my god,” he whispers, then his hands are flying up to cover his face. “Oh my god.”
“Welcome back, Max,” Charles coos, voice warm, and he tries to reach up to remove Max’s hands from his face but Max is strong and wrestles away. “Don’t hide from me, mon amour. ”
“Oh my god,” Max repeats, face scarlet underneath his fingertips. “I can’t- Holy shit.”
Charles laughs at him and Max finally lets his hands fall.
“Yeah, that got pretty intense pretty quickly.” Charles concedes, letting his fingertips trail along Max’s thighs. “It was cute though.”
“Cute? Oh my god, Charles, I was fucking insane. Out of control.” He runs his mind back over the last few weeks and groans as he slowly recollects everything. The way he had acted, the things he said, the things he did. “I almost fucking eye fucked you on the podium in front of the whole world. Oh my god.”
“Oh, Max, you one hundred percent eye fucked me on the podium. There were posts about it on reddit and everything.” Charles looks amused and endeared, but also serious. He asks, “Are you okay? With everything?”
Max sighs, humiliated but unable to linger on the feeling for too long.
“Yes. Mortified, but fine.”
He remembers the multiple times Charles had paused things, snapping his fingers, putting Max back into trance to check if Max was okay, still enjoying it, still wanted to continue.
And Max had given an enthusiastic yes every time.
“Christ,” he mutters, and then he squirms and says, “Charles can you, like, get out of me. Feels gross.”
“Are you sure? Not going to cry?”
Max glares at him, eyes like daggers, and Charles only giggles as he pulls out.
He helps to clean up Max and then pulls him up and back to their bed, lifting the sheets and then sliding in next to him so that they’re cuddled together.
“It was pretty hot, non? ”
Max blushes even in the darkness of the room, still not fully coming to terms with how he had acted. Of course, the craving and the need had been the hypnosis, but Charles hadn’t made him act any certain way.
“Yeah,” he agrees despite himself. “It was.”
“When you came as soon as I got inside of you that other weekend- oh my god, Max, I think I almost died at that moment. It was so fucking hot. I did not make you do that, you did that all on your own.”
“Shut up,” Max groans, but it is hot. His dick even kicks a little but he refuses to indulge it. He needs to fucking sleep.
“Sorry for ignoring you. I didn’t think it would get that bad. I kind of thought it would pass overnight.” Charles hums next to him. “And maybe I felt like being a bit cruel. I don’t know.”
Max rolls his eyes because he knows. Charles can be viciously cruel when he wants to.
“It is okay. I probably deserved it. I’m sorry about your race.”
Charles smiles in the darkness and Max isn’t sure how he knows that but he does. He can feel it.
“It is okay. You managed to distract me enough that I've already forgotten all about it."
Max groans in embarrassment, but he's smiling to himself as he lets Charles' giggles play over in his mind as he falls asleep.