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The Monaco night air was thick with salt and leftover adrenaline. Even at eleven-thirty, the harbor still carried the faint echo of the day, distant music from other yachts, the low murmur of water against hulls, the occasional laugh drifting across the docks. But Charles Leclerc’s family yacht sat quieter than the rest. Lights dimmed low, decks mostly dark except for the soft golden emergency strips along the walkways.
No music. No guests. No crew laughing in the galley. Just the steady, deep hum of the generators buried far below in the keel, vibrating faintly through the polished teak under his shoes.
Charles stood alone on the upper aft deck, elbows resting on the cool railing, staring out at the black water. His white button-up shirt was still damp from the earlier light rain, clinging slightly to his chest and shoulders. He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat, fast and angry. Every few seconds he unlocked his phone, re-watched the clip, and felt the heat crawl higher up his neck.
Max’s face on the small screen, that tired, half-smirk. The way he’d looked straight into the camera like he didn’t give a fuck who heard.
“It’s impressive what money and a whole principality sucking your dick can do for lap time. Some of us actually have to fight without the red carpet laid out on the harbor.”
The words landed like a slap every single time. Not just because they were public. Because they felt personal. Because part of Charles knew exactly why Max had said it. And because another part of him, deeper and more dangerous, felt something twist low in his stomach at the venom in Max’s voice. Something hot. Something he refused to name.
He swallowed hard, jaw tight. His fingers drummed restlessly on the railing. The shirt felt too tight across his shoulders. His skin was warm despite the cool sea breeze. He hated how aware he was of his own body right now, the way his pulse throbbed in his wrists, the faint ache behind his ribs, the low, restless heat that had nothing to do with just anger.
“Fuck you, Verstappen,” he muttered under his breath.
He felt something crack inside his chest.
Max had known him since they were kids. Since the karting days. He had seen Charles cry after losing races, seen him train until his hands bled, seen him get crushed by expectations year after year. And still… he said that.
The anger that rose in him was sharp, ugly, and mixed with something painfully close to heartbreak.
He started typing, fingers trembling with rage.
Charles:
Seen your little interview. Nice one. You know what hurts the most?
Not the words. The fact that you said them.
You’ve known me since we were fucking kids, Max. You were there in karting. You saw how hard I worked, how many times I got destroyed and still came back. You saw me lose everything and keep fighting. And after all that, your honest opinion of me is that I only got here because Monaco is sucking my dick?
He sent it, breathing hard. Then immediately started typing again.
Charles:
Come to the yacht. Crew is gone. No cameras, no team, no bullshit. Just you and me.
I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that. Tell me that all these years you’ve watched me suffer and bleed for this sport, and you still think I’m just a spoiled prince who got handed everything.
He stared at the screen, jaw locked, eyes burning.
The reply took a few minutes.
Max:
I’m not doing this with you tonight, Charles. Go sleep.
Charles laughed bitterly, the sound cracking in the middle. His eyes were stinging now. He typed faster, angrier, more hurt.
Charles:
Of course. Run away. That’s what you do best.
Say all that shit in front of the whole world but when I ask you to say it to my face, the same face you’ve known since we were thirteen; you suddenly don’t have the balls.
I thought you respected me. Even when we hated each other, I thought at least you respected how much I’ve fought. But apparently I was wrong.
He sent it, then added one last message before he could stop himself.
Charles:
If you’re really the man I thought you were, you’ll come to the yacht tonight. No excuses. Just you and me.
Prove to me that you’re not a coward who only says big words when there’s a microphone in front of him.
I’ll be waiting.
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again for almost a full minute.
Max:
…Fuck you, Charles.
I’m coming. And I’m not holding back this time.
Charles lowered his phone, hands still shaking with a mixture of fury, pain, and dark anticipation.
He whispered into the night, voice low and venomous:
“Come then, Max. Let’s see if you can really look me in the eyes.”
—————————————-
Charles shoved the phone into his pocket so hard the screen almost cracked. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the damp curls back, and tried to steady his breathing. His legs felt unsteady. He paced the deck once, twice, the soft soles of his shoes quiet on the wood. Every sound felt louder than it should — the creak of the yacht, the lap of water, his own heartbeat.
Twenty-three minutes later, heavy footsteps echoed on the gangway.
Max stepped onto the yacht like he was walking into enemy territory. Black hoodie, cap pulled low, shoulders tense, jaw locked. Rain from earlier still clung to his clothes. He didn’t say a word as he climbed the stairs to the upper aft deck.
Charles was waiting.
The second their eyes met, the air crackled.
“You actually came,” Charles said, voice low and venomous. He pushed off the railing, arms crossed tight over his chest. “Didn’t think you had the balls.”
Max stopped a few meters away, eyes narrowing. “You wanted me here. I’m here. Say what you want to say, Leclerc.”
Charles laughed — sharp, bitter, angry. He stepped closer, eyes blazing.
“What I want to say?” His voice rose. “You stood in front of the cameras and basically called me a talentless whore who only exists because Monaco sucks my dick. After everything? After you’ve known me since we were fucking kids racing karts in the rain?”
Max’s expression darkened. “Don’t act like a victim. You know exactly what I meant.”
“No, I don’t!” Charles snapped, stepping right into his space. “Explain it to me then. Look me in the eyes and tell me you really believe I’ve never had to fight. Tell me that every tear, every crash, every fucking year I spent getting destroyed by the pressure, none of it mattered. That I’m just a spoiled rich kid who got handed pole position because of my last name.”
Max didn’t back down. He leaned in, almost nose to nose, voice cold and cutting.
“You want the truth? Fine. You’re talented, Charles. We both know that. But in Monaco? It’s different. The whole fucking country is behind you. The pressure is less because everyone already worships the ground you walk on. Some of us had to claw our way up with nothing. No red carpet. No family yacht waiting in the harbor. Just pure fucking hunger.”
Charles shoved him hard in the chest. Max stumbled back a step but caught himself.
“Fuck you,” Charles hissed, eyes shining with fury and hurt. “You think I haven’t been hungry? You think I haven’t bled for this? I’ve crashed more times than I can count. I’ve lost friends. I’ve carried the weight of an entire fucking nation since I was a teenager. And you… you stand there and reduce everything I’ve done to ‘money and a principality sucking my dick’?”
Max’s jaw flexed. He stepped forward again, crowding Charles against the railing.
“Because it pisses me off!” he growled. “It pisses me off that no matter how hard I work, no matter how many championships I win, people still look at you like you’re the golden boy. The destined one. And you — you stand there acting like you’re the only one who’s ever suffered.”
“I never said that!” Charles shouted, shoving him again, harder this time. Their chests were heaving, faces inches apart.
“But you act like my pain doesn’t count. Like because I was born here, none of my struggles are real. You have no fucking idea how lonely it is. How exhausting it is to always be ‘Charles Leclerc of Monaco’.”
Max grabbed the front of Charles’s damp shirt, fisting the fabric tightly.
“I hate you,” he said, voice low and rough.
“I hate how fucking perfect you look even when you’re falling apart. I hate that I can’t stop watching you. I hate that even now, when I want to punch you, I still want—”
He cut himself off, breathing hard.
Charles’s eyes darkened. His hand came up and gripped Max’s wrist, but he didn’t pull it away.
“Say it,” Charles whispered, voice dangerous. “Finish that sentence.”
Max’s gaze dropped to Charles’s mouth for half a second, then back up. The air between them felt electric, thick with rage and something much darker.
“I hate you,” Max repeated, quieter this time, but his voice was hoarse.
“I hate how much I think about you. How much I want to shut that arrogant mouth of yours.”
Charles’s breath hitched. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. He could smell Max — rain, cologne, and pure adrenaline.
Their bodies were nearly touching now.
“You talk so much shit,” Charles breathed, lips brushing against Max’s as he spoke, “but you came running the second I called you a coward. You always come running to me, Max. Even when you hate me.”
Max’s grip on his shirt tightened until the fabric creaked. “Shut up.”
“Make me.” The words barely left Charles’s mouth before the tension snapped.
Max surged forward and slammed their mouths together in a violent, angry kiss.
It wasn’t soft. It was all teeth and fury, biting, claiming, punishing. Charles moaned into it, immediately kissing back just as hard, hands fisting in Max’s hoodie, yanking him closer.
They broke apart for air, foreheads pressed together, breathing ragged.
“I still hate you,” Charles gasped against his lips.
“Good,” Max growled, biting Charles’s bottom lip. “I hate you too.”
But neither of them pulled away.
Instead, Max shoved Charles harder against the railing, hands sliding down to grip his waist possessively as their mouths crashed together again — deeper, messier, full of years of unresolved rage and unbearable want.
The fight wasn’t over.
It had simply changed form.
——————————————
The deeper they moved into the yacht, the narrower and darker the corridors became. Crew deck. Industrial. Exposed steel pipes running along the ceiling, metal grating underfoot in places, the strong smell of salt, diesel, polished wood and faint engine oil mixing in the air. The generators thrummed louder down here, a constant low vibration that traveled up through the floor into their bones, making everything feel heavier, more primal.
Charles walked ahead, shoulders tight, hyper-aware of Max right behind him. Every step felt heavier. He could hear Max’s breathing — low, controlled, but slightly ragged. He could feel the heat of him even without looking back, like a predator stalking prey in its own territory.
“You really sent everyone away?” Max asked, voice echoing slightly off the metal walls.
“Yes.” Charles didn’t turn around. His voice came out rougher than he wanted. “Didn’t want any witnesses when I told you exactly how full of shit you are.”
Max made a low sound, half laugh, half growl. “Always in control, huh? Prince Charles needs his private kingdom even for a fight.”
Charles stopped suddenly and spun around. The corridor was so narrow their chests brushed. Both of them inhaled sharply at the contact. Charles’s back hit the cool wall. Max didn’t step back. He crowded closer, one hand braced beside Charles’s head on the metal.
“At least I don’t need to tear other drivers down in the media to feel big,” Charles hissed, eyes flashing.
Max’s gaze dropped to his mouth, dark and hungry. “And I don’t need a fucking floating palace to feel important.”
The air between them was electric. Charles’s breath came fast and shallow. His skin felt fever-hot. Every tiny brush of Max’s hoodie against his damp shirt sent sparks racing down his spine. He could see sweat glistening at Max’s temple, the way his pupils had swallowed almost all the blue. The bulge in Max’s jeans was obvious now, pressing against the fabric.
“You’re hard just from arguing with me,” Charles whispered, vicious and low. “I can fucking see it.”
Max’s eyes flashed with anger and raw lust. “So are you, asshole. Don’t act like you’re any better.”
They stood there, chests heaving, breathing each other’s air. The sexual tension was suffocating now — thick, heavy, almost unbearable. Charles’s hands itched to grab Max, shove him, bite him, anything to break this unbearable pressure building between them.
Max’s hand lifted slowly. His fingers hovered near Charles’s throat, so close Charles could feel the heat radiating off them, but not touching. Charles’s cock throbbed painfully in his trousers. He bit the inside of his cheek hard.
“You want me to ruin you so fucking bad,” Max whispered, voice wrecked and dangerous. “Don’t you?”
Charles swallowed, throat clicking. His voice came out rough, defiant. “Only if you can take it when I ruin you right back.”
For one endless, charged second, neither moved. The generators hummed beneath them. The yacht creaked softly around them.
Then Max stepped back, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped. He looked like it physically hurt him to pull away.
“Lead the way, Leclerc,” he said, voice dangerously quiet. “Show me this special place of yours.”
Charles turned before Max could see how badly his hands were shaking. His legs felt weak as he continued down the last narrow stairs toward the lower hull.
The space that opened up wasn’t a closed room. It was a wide, industrial utility area right at the bottom of the yacht — the true belly of the beast. Exposed pipes and thick structural poles ran vertically through the center of the space, bolted heavily into the keel. Dim emergency lighting cast long shadows. The air was warmer here, heavier with salt and metal.
Charles barely had time to take another step.
Max had clearly been looking for something.
His eyes landed on a thick vertical support pole in the middle of the open area — cold, solid steel, waist-high horizontal bars connected to it, perfect for securing equipment. Hanging on a nearby hook were several heavy mooring straps and a coil of sturdy black rope — the kind used for tying down tender boats.
Max’s lips curled into a slow, dark, predatory smirk.
He didn’t say a word.
In one brutal motion, Max grabbed Charles from behind, spun him around and shoved him hard against that central steel pole. Charles’s chest collided with the cold metal with a grunt.
“Max— what the fuck—!”
“Shut up.”
Max’s voice was low, rough, and full of dark satisfaction. He pinned Charles’s wrists behind the pole with one hand, pressing his body flush against Charles’s back. Charles could feel how hard Max was — thick and insistent against his ass.
Max reached out with his free hand, grabbed one of the thick, rough nylon mooring straps from the hook, and looped it around Charles’s wrists and the pole in one swift, practiced movement. He yanked it brutally tight.
The nylon bit into Charles’s skin; rough, industrial, unforgiving.
Charles bucked and twisted violently. “Don’t you fucking dare tie me up like this, Verstappen—!”
But Max was stronger, heavier, and clearly had been imagining this moment. He cinched the strap even tighter, forcing Charles’s arms behind the pole, shoulders pulled back, chest pushed forward against the cold steel.
Charles was completely trapped, standing, exposed, bound to the heart of his own yacht in the open industrial space.
Max stepped back half a pace, breathing hard, eyes raking over Charles’s body with pure hunger.
“Fuck…” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Look at you. Tied to your own boat like a fucking present. All that arrogance… gone.”
Charles yanked hard at the straps, muscles straining, chest heaving. His cock was straining painfully against his trousers, obvious and leaking.
The position arched his body beautifully — vulnerable, displayed, completely at Max’s mercy in the middle of the open lower deck.
His voice shook with fury and arousal. “Untie me bastard.”
Max’s smirk widened, slow and filthy. He stepped close again, pressing his body against Charles’s, mouth brushing his ear.
“No,” he whispered. “I’ve been thinking about shutting you up like this for years.”
“I said untie me right now, you arrogant prick. You think this makes you big? Hiding behind straps because you can’t handle me otherwise?”
Max laughed — low, dark, and way too pleased with himself. He stepped in close again, pressing his body against Charles’s back, letting him feel how hard he was.
“Oh I can handle you just fine. In fact…” He reached around and palmed Charles’s cock through his trousers, squeezing once, hard.
Charles hissed, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“I’m going to enjoy breaking that attitude out of you.”
“Fuck you,” Charles spat, even as his voice cracked. “You’re all talk, Verstappen. Always have been.”
Max’s smirk only grew, slow and dangerously pleased, like a predator who had finally cornered its prey exactly where he wanted it.
He grabbed Charles by the hips and spun him around with ease, forcing his back flush against the thick, cold steel pole.
The new position pulled Charles’s arms tighter behind the pole, forcing his chest forward and his hips out in a perfect, vulnerable arch.
The industrial lights cast sharp shadows across his body, highlighting the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the flush creeping down his neck, and the very obvious bulge straining against his expensive trousers.
Max took one deliberate step back, eyes dragging slowly up and down Charles’s bound form. He looked like he was savoring every second.
“Fuck me…” Max muttered, voice low and rough with lust. The corner of his mouth curled into a filthy, arrogant smirk. “Look at you. Chest out, cock leaking, breathing like you’re already desperate for me.”
He tilted his head, clearly enjoying the view. “All that royal attitude… and now you’re just my pretty little fucktoy on display.”
Charles yanked hard at the nylon strap, muscles flexing, breath coming in sharp, angry pants. “You’re enjoying this way too much, you smug bastard.”
“Oh, I am,” Max admitted without shame, his smirk deepening into something almost playful — but the darkness in his eyes promised anything but playfulness. “Been thinking about shutting that smart mouth of yours for years. And now…”
He slowly lowered himself to his knees right in front of Charles, never breaking eye contact.
The movement was deliberate. Controlled. Max sank down gracefully, knees hitting the floor with a soft thud, his face now perfectly level with Charles’s crotch.
He looked up through his lashes, blue eyes dark with hunger and wicked satisfaction. That smirk never left his lips.
Charles’s breath hitched violently. “Don’t you fucking dare—”
Max’s hands slid up Charles’s thighs slowly, fingers pressing into the muscle, feeling the tension there. He leaned in and pressed his open mouth against the hard outline of Charles’s cock through his trousers, breathing hotly against the fabric.
Charles’s hips jerked forward involuntarily. A broken sound escaped his throat.
Max chuckled darkly, the vibration shooting straight through the fabric. “Already twitching for me? Cute.”
He looked up again, eyes gleaming with playful dominance. “You can keep pretending you hate this all you want, Charles… but your cock is begging for my mouth.”
He dragged his tongue slowly over the fabric, tracing the entire length of Charles’s erection, leaving a wet trail behind. Then, without hurry, he unbuttoned Charles’s trousers and dragged them down along with his underwear in one rough tug. They pooled around his ankles.
Charles’s cock sprang free — flushed dark red, painfully hard, already leaking at the tip.
Max licked his lips slowly, eyes locked on it like it was his favorite meal. He wrapped one hand around the base, giving it a firm, teasing stroke, and looked up at Charles with that same infuriating, cocky smirk.
“Such a pretty cock,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Look how hard you are for the guy you claim to hate.”
He leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue from base to tip in one long, wet stripe, swirling it around the sensitive head to collect the bead of precome.
“Mmm… and you taste even better than I imagined.”
Charles’s head fell back against the pole with a dull thud, a loud, broken moan tearing from his throat. His arms strained uselessly against the straps, shoulders burning, body arching helplessly toward Max’s mouth.
“Fuck— Max—”
Max hummed in satisfaction, clearly loving every second of Charles’s loss of control. He pressed soft, teasing kisses along the shaft, then looked up again with pure filthy delight.
“Keep moaning like that, baby. I want to hear how much the Monaco prince loves having his rival on his knees for him.”
Then, without another warning, Max parted his lips and took Charles into his mouth; hot, wet, and agonizingly slow. He sank down inch by inch, never breaking eye contact, until his nose brushed against dark curls and Charles’s cock was buried deep in his throat.
Charles let out a loud, wrecked cry, thighs trembling.
Max’s smirk was still visible even with his mouth full — the pure, arrogant satisfaction of having Charles Leclerc tied up and falling apart on his tongue.
Charles’s entire body jerked, a strangled groan escaping him.
“See?” Max murmured against the wet skin, voice smug. “Your body already knows who’s in charge. Even if your stupid mouth doesn’t.”
Charles tugged hard at the straps, shoulders burning, face flushed crimson.
“You’re such a cocky bastard… ah— fuck!”
Max had taken the head into his mouth, sucking lightly, tongue swirling. The wet heat was overwhelming.
Max pulled off with a wet pop, stroking him lazily with one hand.
“Cocky? Says the guy tied up and dripping for me.”
He leaned in again, taking Charles deeper, hollowing his cheeks. The suction was perfect — hot, tight, filthy. Charles’s head fell back against the wall with a thud, a broken moan tearing from his throat.
But even as pleasure crashed through him, he kept fighting with words.
“You think this… shit… makes you win? You’re still just jealous… of everything I have.”
Max pulled off again, stroking faster, thumb pressing right under the sensitive head. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but that arrogant smirk never left his face.
“Jealous? Of you? Right now you’re the one tied to a pipe, begging with your cock. Who’s winning, Leclerc?”
“I’m not begging,” Charles gasped, hips twitching forward desperately despite himself. Sweat was already sliding down his temples. His wrists ached from pulling at the straps, but the pain only made everything sharper. “You wish I would.”
Max laughed softly, the sound vibrating against Charles’s cock as he took him back in — deeper this time, throat relaxing, nose brushing against dark curls. He sucked hard, messy, obscene wet sounds filling the whole yacht.
Charles’s moans got louder, needier. His legs shook badly.
Max felt him getting close — the way Charles’s cock throbbed on his tongue, the desperate little thrusts he couldn’t control. Right when Charles was right there, teetering on the edge, Max pulled off completely. He sat back on his heels, lips shiny and swollen, looking up with pure smug satisfaction.
“Not yet,” he said calmly. “You don’t come until I decide you’ve earned it. And right now? You’re still being a fucking brat.”
Charles let out a frustrated, wrecked sound, almost a sob.
“You fucking asshole… I hate you so much right now.”
“Yeah?” Max stroked him slowly again, torturously light. “Tell me more. Keep talking. It’s cute how you think you’re still in control.”
He leaned in and sucked Charles back into his mouth without warning — faster, sloppier, throat working around him.
Charles cried out, arms straining uselessly against the nylon, body arching. The generators hummed louder beneath them, vibrating up through Max’s knees and straight into Charles’s trapped body.
Every time Charles got close — every single time his moans turned into desperate whimpers and his thighs started shaking uncontrollably — Max would pull back at the last second. Edging him mercilessly. Driving him insane.
“You’re shaking so bad,” Max taunted between sucks, voice hoarse but still so fucking smug. “Look at the big Monaco prince now. Leaking all over my tongue. Begging without even saying please.”
“I’m not— fuck— I’m not begging you!” Charles snarled, even as tears of frustration gathered in his eyes.
His voice was completely wrecked. “You’re going to regret this when I get out of these straps, I swear—”
Max chuckled darkly around his cock, the vibration making Charles choke on his own words. He took him to the edge again — sucking hard, one hand gripping Charles’s hip bruisingly, the other pressing on his lower stomach — then stopped.
Charles whimpered loudly, hips chasing Max’s mouth desperately. “Max… you fucking prick… just let me—”
“mhmm,” Max whispered, licking a slow, teasing stripe up the underside. His eyes were glittering with dark pleasure. “I’m enjoying this way too much. Keep fighting me, Charles. It only makes it better.”
Max stayed on his knees, lips shiny and swollen, looking up at Charles with that unbearable arrogant smirk that made Charles want to both punch him and beg him for more.
The nylon strap dug deeper into his wrists every time he pulled, a constant reminder that he was completely stuck — arms locked behind him to the thick steel bar, trousers around his ankles, cock hard and throbbing right in Max’s face.
And the worst part? The yacht might have been empty tonight, but they were still on it. Charles’s family yacht. The same one that floated in the middle of the Monaco harbor, surrounded by other boats, security, and the constant possibility that someone — anyone — could walk past on the dock or even come aboard if they noticed the lights.
Max seemed to read his mind.
He stroked Charles slowly with one hand, lazy and torturous, while his other hand gripped Charles’s hip hard enough to bruise.
“You know what’s fucking hilarious?” Max’s voice was low, rough, dripping with smug satisfaction.
“Right now, anyone walking along the harbor could look up at this yacht and think the perfect little Monaco prince is probably asleep, getting ready for his big home race tomorrow. But instead…” He leaned in and licked a long, wet stripe up Charles’s cock, making him shudder.
“Instead their precious Charles is down here in the belly of the boat, tied to a pole, getting his dick sucked by his biggest rival.”
Charles’s breath hitched sharply. A fresh wave of heat flooded his entire body. The image hit him like a lightning bolt — the thought of people outside, the harbor lights, the distant sound of music from other yachts… while he was here, exposed and falling apart.
“Shut up,” he gasped, but his voice cracked badly. His cock twitched hard in Max’s hand.
Max chuckled darkly, clearly loving the reaction.
“What if they knew, huh? What if someone came down here right now and saw their golden boy like this? Arms tied behind your back, legs shaking, dripping all over my tongue…” He took Charles back into his mouth without warning — deep and sudden — sucking hard enough that Charles’s moan echoed off the walls.
“Fuck— Max—!”
Max pulled off again with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting them. He looked up, eyes glittering with pure arrogance.
“You should be fucking grateful, you know that? A four-time world champion is on his knees for you. On your yacht. Sucking your cock like a fucking whore just to ruin you.”
He stroked faster, thumb pressing right under the head in that devastating way. “Say thank you, Charles. Tell me how lucky you are that I’m down here ruining the Monaco prince.”
The words hit Charles like a punch to the gut. His mind short-circuited. The combination — Max Verstappen, four-time champion, on his knees, saying these filthy things — made something dark and twisted explode inside him. A loud, broken moan tore from his throat before he could stop it. His hips jerked forward desperately, chasing Max’s mouth.
“God— fuck— I hate you,” he whimpered, but his voice was soaked in lust. Fresh tears of frustration and overwhelming pleasure stung his eyes. “You’re so fucking full of yourself—”
Max laughed softly, the sound vibrating against sensitive skin as he sucked him in again. Deeper this time. Messier. His throat relaxed and took Charles almost all the way, nose brushing against his pelvis. The wet, obscene sounds mixed with the constant hum of the generators made everything feel filthy and overwhelming.
Charles’s head thunked back against the metal. His whole body trembled.
“Ah— shit— Max…”
Another loud moan escaped him. He couldn’t hold it back. The thought kept spinning in his head: Four-time champion. On his knees. For me. It made him throb harder, made his stomach tighten with unbearable heat.
“Look at you,” he taunted, voice hoarse but so fucking proud.
“Moaning like a slut just because I reminded you who’s sucking you off. Does it turn you on that bad, Charles? Knowing the guy who’s beaten you for years is down here on his knees, choking on your cock, edging you until you cry?”
Charles tugged violently at the nylon straps, wrists burning, shoulders aching. His cock was leaking steadily now, flushed dark and painfully hard.
“I’m not— I’m not crying for you.”
Max raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “No? Then why are your legs shaking so much?” He leaned in and licked slowly around the head again, teasing, never giving enough.
“Admit it. You love that I’m the one ruining you. Max Verstappen on his knees in your fancy yacht, just to watch the great Charles Leclerc fall apart.”
Another loud, wrecked moan ripped out of Charles. The words went straight to his cock. His entire body burned. Sweat slid down his neck, down his spine, making his shirt stick to his skin. He was so close it hurt. Every nerve felt raw.
“Max… please— fuck, just let me come,” he finally broke, voice hoarse and desperate. “I can’t— I can’t take it anymore—”
Max’s eyes darkened with triumph. He stroked him slowly, torturously, keeping him right on that razor edge.
Charles moaned loud and broken, the sound echoing in the yacht, no longer caring how desperate he sounded.
Max looked up with that same arrogant, victorious smirk, eyes dark with lust and power.
“You’ve been such a loud, bratty little shit tonight,” he murmured, voice hoarse but dripping with smugness. “But I think you’ve earned one thing.” He leaned in and licked a slow circle around the leaking head.
“Come in my mouth, Charles. Fill it up like the desperate prince you are.”
Charles’s breath stuttered. His wrists yanked hard against the nylon strap, the burn only adding fuel to the fire.
“Then do it, you bastard— stop fucking teasing me—”
Max didn’t need to be told twice.
He sank down again, taking Charles deep in one smooth, practiced motion. No more teasing. This time it was relentless — hot, wet, tight throat working around him, tongue pressed flat against the underside, cheeks hollowed.
Max sucked hard and fast, one hand gripping Charles’s hip bruisingly, the other sliding between his legs to roll his balls gently.
Charles’s moans turned into broken, filthy sounds.
“Fuck— Max— oh god—” His entire body shook.
Max looked up without stopping, eyes locked on Charles’s flushed, wrecked face.
He pulled off just long enough to growl, “Come on, baby. Give it to me. Let the whole harbor know who owns this cock right now,” then dove back down, throat relaxing completely as he took him to the hilt.
That was it.
Charles came with a loud, shattered cry that echoed through the cabin. His whole body seized up — thighs trembling violently, abs clenching, arms straining so hard against the straps that the nylon creaked. Thick, hot pulses of cum flooded Max’s mouth.
Max didn’t pull away. He swallowed around him greedily, throat working, milking every single drop while his tongue kept moving, prolonging the orgasm until Charles was whimpering, oversensitive and gasping.
Even after the last spasm, Max didn’t let go.
He kept sucking — gentler now, but still relentless — tongue swirling around the sensitive head, lips sealed tight. Charles hissed sharply, hips jerking away from the overstimulation.
“Max— fuck— too much— stop—”
But Max only hummed, the vibration shooting straight through Charles’s spent cock. He finally pulled off with a wet sound, swallowing visibly, lips glistening. A few drops of cum had escaped the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with his thumb, then looked up at Charles with pure filthy pride.
“You taste even better when you’re crying,” he said smugly. “But we’re not done. Not even close.”
Charles was panting hard, chest heaving, legs barely holding him up. His cock was still half-hard, twitching against his stomach, overly sensitive and glistening. “You’re insane… I just came— I can’t—”
“You can,” Max cut him off, voice low and commanding. “And you will.”
He leaned in again and took Charles back into his mouth — soft, warm, almost soothing at first. Slow, lazy sucks that made Charles whimper from the overwhelming sensitivity.
Every nerve felt raw. But Max was patient, skilled, and utterly merciless. He worked him patiently until, impossibly, Charles started to harden again.
Then Max pulled off completely and rose to his feet.
He pressed his body against Charles’s, chest to chest, one hand wrapping firmly around Charles’s cock while the other braced beside his head on the pole. His mouth hovered right next to Charles’s ear, breath hot against the shell.
“Here’s the unique part you’re going to remember forever,” Max whispered, voice dark and filthy.
“I’m going to milk another one out of you while I tell you exactly what the world would think if they saw their golden boy right now.”
His hand started moving — tight, slick from spit and leftover cum, perfect pressure. Not too fast. Torturously perfect.
“Imagine it,” Max breathed right against his ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin.
“All those people on the dock… the fans who call you ‘Il Predestinato’… your family… the cameras that follow you everywhere. They think you’re untouchable. The Monaco prince. But right now?” His thumb circled the head on every upstroke, pressing right into the slit.
“Right now you’re tied to a pole in your own yacht, cock throbbing in my hand, leaking again like a desperate little thing after I just swallowed your first load.”
Charles moaned loudly, hips jerking into Max’s fist. The overstimulation mixed with the dirty words made his head spin. His cock was fully hard again, aching, impossibly sensitive.
Max’s voice dropped even lower, hot and rough. “Now you’re going to come again just from my hand while I remind you how you look right now.”
He twisted his wrist on every stroke, squeezing tighter at the head, then sliding back down with a filthy wet sound. His free hand slid under Charles’s shirt, pinching a nipple hard, rolling it between his fingers.
Charles’s head dropped forward onto Max’s shoulder, wrecked sobs and moans spilling out. “Max— fuck— I can’t— it’s too much—”
“You can,” Max growled, biting his earlobe. “Come on, Charles. Give me another one. Show me how much you love being ruined by me.”
His hand sped up — fast, tight, relentless. The sound of skin on skin filled the yacht, mixed with Charles’s broken whimpers. Max kept talking right against his ear, never stopping.
“That’s it… feel how hard you are again? Just because I swallowed your cum and told you the truth. Everyone out there worships you… but I get to see you like this. Tied up. Shaking. Begging with your cock. My pretty little rival.”
Charles cried out, the words hitting him like sparks. His second orgasm built impossibly fast — sharper, almost painful from the overstimulation. His thighs shook violently. His wrists burned against the straps. Every muscle was tight.
Max felt it. He pressed even closer, lips brushing Charles’s ear with every word.
“Come for me again. Right now. Let me feel you lose it while I jerk you through it.”
On the last stroke, Max did something uniquely devastating — he pressed two fingers firmly behind Charles’s balls, right against his perineum, massaging in tight, rhythmic circles while his hand flew over the head.
The combination broke Charles completely.
He came with a loud, guttural moan that sounded almost pained. His cock pulsed hard in Max’s fist, shooting weaker but still intense streaks of cum over Max’s hand and his own stomach. His whole body convulsed — back arching, legs giving out, only the strap and Max’s body keeping him upright. Tears slipped down his flushed cheeks. His vision whited out for a few seconds.
Max didn’t stop stroking. He milked him through every wave, slow and firm, drawing out the pleasure until it bordered on too much. All while whispering filthy praise right against his ear.
“Good boy… look at you coming again so soon. So fucking sensitive for me. That’s my prince. Falling apart twice because I told you the truth about what you really are.”
Charles was a complete wreck — panting, whimpering, body twitching with aftershocks. His cock was still twitching in Max’s hand, red and oversensitive, but somehow still not completely soft.
Max finally slowed his hand but didn’t let go. He pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to the side of Charles’s sweaty neck, then pulled back just enough to look at his ruined face with dark, hungry eyes.
“Still think you’re in control, Leclerc?” he asked, voice rough and smug.
Charles stayed completely silent for a long moment.
His chest was still heaving, skin flushed red from neck to thighs, sweat glistening on his collarbones. Cum streaked his stomach and Max’s hand. His wrists were still bound tightly to the steel bar behind him, arms aching, but he didn’t tug at the straps anymore. He just breathed — deep, shaky breaths — eyes half-lidded, staring at the floor.
Max stayed on his knees, looking up at him with a mix of satisfaction and slight confusion. The silence stretched. It wasn’t the usual bratty comeback. It wasn’t moaning or cursing. Just… quiet.
“…Charles?” Max asked, voice still rough from sucking him off twice. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly stood up, stepping closer. “You okay? Did I… go too far?”
No answer.
Charles simply looked at him. Really looked. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, something dangerous and hungry flickering behind them.
Without a word, he twisted his wrists sharply. The nylon strap was tight, but not impossible if he angled right. With a low grunt and a hard yank, he managed to loosen one side just enough to slip his hands free. The strap fell to the floor with a soft thud.
Max’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what are you—”
Charles didn’t let him finish.
He moved fast — faster than Max expected after two intense orgasms. He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbed a cold bottle of water from the mini-fridge built into the wellness cabinet, twisted the cap off and took several long gulps. Water dripped down his chin onto his open shirt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving Max.
Max swallowed hard, suddenly unsure. “Charles, talk to me. You didn’t like it? Was it too much? I thought you—”
Charles slammed the bottle down on the counter with a loud clack. Still silent.
Then he lunged.
He shoved Max hard in the chest with both hands. Max stumbled backward until the back of his knees hit the wide, low leather couch tucked against the far wall of the wellness cabin — the one meant for guests to relax after sauna sessions.
Max dropped onto it heavily, eyes wide with surprise.
Before he could even sit up properly, Charles was on him.
He climbed straight into Max’s lap, straddling his thighs, knees sinking into the soft leather on either side. His hands fisted in the front of Max’s hoodie, yanking him forward roughly until their faces were inches apart. Their chests pressed together.
“Charles—” Max started, voice hoarse.
“Shut up.”
Charles crashed their mouths together.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw, desperate, and filthy.
His lips were demanding, tongue pushing into Max’s mouth instantly, tasting himself on Max’s tongue. A deep, possessive groan rumbled in Charles’s chest as he tilted his head and kissed harder, deeper, like he wanted to devour him. Max groaned back, hands flying up to grip Charles’s waist, fingers digging into bare skin under the open shirt.
Charles rocked his hips forward slowly, grinding down against Max’s still-hard cock trapped in his jeans. The friction made both of them shudder. Charles’s hands moved everywhere — sliding under Max’s hoodie, dragging nails down his chest, pinching his nipples, then back up to fist in his hair and tug his head back so he could bite along Max’s jaw.
“Fuck…” Max breathed when Charles moved to his neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “Charles… what the hell—”
Charles answered by kissing him again, even hotter this time. Their tongues slid together, wet and messy. Teeth clacked. Charles rolled his hips in slow, filthy circles, feeling Max throb underneath him. One of Max’s hands slipped down to grip Charles’s bare ass, squeezing hard, pulling him closer. The other hand slid up Charles’s back, under the damp shirt, tracing the sweat-slick line of his spine.
They kept kissing like they were starving — long, deep, devouring kisses that left them both gasping whenever they broke apart for air. Charles sucked on Max’s bottom lip, bit it, then soothed it with his tongue. Max groaned into his mouth, hips bucking up to meet Charles’s grinding. Their bodies moved together, hot skin sliding against fabric, hands exploring everywhere they could reach.
Charles pulled back just enough to look at Max’s face. Max’s lips were red and swollen, eyes dazed and dark with lust, hair messy from Charles’s fingers. He looked completely wrecked already.
Charles smirked — slow, dangerous, and full of promise.
He leaned in close, lips brushing Max’s ear, voice low and rough with arousal.
“I’m gonna fucking ruin you, Verstappen.”
The words hung heavy in the humid air between them.
Max’s breath hitched sharply, his hands tightening on Charles’s hips. His cock twitched hard against Charles’s ass. For the first time that night, the arrogant four-time champion looked genuinely speechless — pupils blown wide, chest rising fast, completely at Charles’s mercy.
Charles smiled against his ear, then kissed him again, slower this time. Deeper. A filthy, claiming kiss that promised exactly what he had just said.
Charles stayed in Max’s lap, straddling him, lips still brushing against Max’s ear after that dangerous promise. Their breathing was loud in the humid cabin, chests pressed together, hearts hammering. Max’s hands gripped Charles’s bare hips like he was afraid he’d disappear.
Charles pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but there was a new kind of control in them now — calm, hungry, and completely focused on ruining the man beneath him.
He reached down between them, fingers wrapping around Max’s cock through his jeans. Max hissed sharply.
“Take these off,” Charles ordered, voice low and rough.
Max didn’t argue. He lifted his hips and shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough. His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, flushed dark red, already leaking at the tip. Charles stared at it for a long second, thumb slowly spreading the precome over the head.
“Fuck…” Charles breathed, almost reverent.
He stroked once, slow and firm. “So fucking big. So pretty. All this time I hated you and I still couldn’t stop thinking about how good this cock would feel inside me.”
He leaned down and spat directly on it, watching the saliva drip down the shaft. Then he added another spit, stroking it in until Max’s entire length was slick and shiny.
Max groaned, head falling back against the couch. “Charles—”
“Shut up and let me admire it,” Charles murmured, still stroking him lazily. “It’s so thick… veins right here…” His thumb traced one prominent vein. “I hate how much I want it. How much I’ve always wanted it.”
He kept talking while he worked Max’s cock, getting it even wetter, messier. The wet sounds of his hand filled the room. Max’s hips twitched up into his fist, breathing ragged.
Finally, Charles rose up on his knees, positioned himself right over Max’s cock, and looked him straight in the eyes.
“You know what’s fucked up?” he whispered, voice shaking with honesty and lust.
“I’ve wanted you for years. Even when I wanted to punch you. Even when you were beating me, when you were my biggest enemy… I still got hard thinking about you. I hated myself for it. How the fuck am I supposed to want the guy who keeps ruining my races?”
Max’s eyes widened, lips parted. He looked genuinely stunned. “Charles… I didn’t know… I thought—”
Charles didn’t let him finish.
He sank down in one smooth, relentless motion.
Max’s cock pushed inside him — thick, burning, stretching him open. Max’s words died in his throat, replaced by a loud, broken, guttural moan that sounded almost pained.
“Fuuuuck— Charles— oh my fucking god—”
Max’s head slammed back against the couch, eyes rolling back, hands flying to Charles’s hips and gripping hard enough to bruise. His whole body jerked violently.
“Shit— you’re so tight— fuck—!”
Charles let out a shaky, satisfied groan as he bottomed out, ass flush against Max’s thighs. He stayed completely still, just feeling the way Max throbbed deep inside him, filling him so perfectly it made his toes curl.
Max was panting like he’d just run a sprint, eyes wide and dazed. “You— you little shit— you can’t just— fuck—”
Charles smirked down at him, then leaned forward and attacked his neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He sucked hard, licked the sweat from Max’s skin, bit his collarbone, then moved up to kiss his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. All while staying perfectly still, clenching around Max’s cock on purpose.
“You feel so good,” Charles whispered against his lips, rolling his hips in a tiny, teasing circle. “So deep. So fucking big inside me. I can feel you twitching.”
Max whimpered — actually whimpered — hips trying to thrust up but Charles kept him pinned down with his weight.
Charles kept kissing him everywhere he could reach: messy, wet kisses on his throat, his chest after shoving the hoodie up, his nipples. He sucked one into his mouth, tongue flicking, while his hands roamed over Max’s abs, nails dragging lightly.
Max was losing his mind. “Charles— move— please— I need you to fucking move—”
“Not yet,” Charles murmured, biting Max’s earlobe. “I want to feel you like this. All desperate and whining under me. My rival. My enemy. My fucking champion on his back for me.”
He started moving then — slow, torturous rolls of his hips. First just grinding in small circles, feeling Max’s cock drag against his walls. Then adding shallow up-and-down movements, never letting Max slip out too far.
The sounds were obscene. Wet. Filthy. The slick slide of skin and lube made by spit and precome echoed with every roll. Charles’s moans mixed with Max’s desperate groans.
“Fuck— you’re so tight,” Max gasped, voice wrecked.
“I think I’m gonna fucking die— shit— Charles—”
Charles sat up straighter, hands braced on Max’s chest, and started riding him properly — deeper, faster, mixing those filthy circles with long strokes that made Max’s cock hit that perfect spot inside him every single time.
Both of them were loud now. Moaning, cursing, gasping each other’s names. The couch creaked under them. Sweat made their skin slide together.
Charles kept talking between moans, voice breathy and broken.
“I used to jerk off thinking about you after races… even when I was so fucking angry at you… ah— fuck— right there—”
Max’s legs were already starting to shake. His hands gripped Charles’s ass, helping him move, thumbs spreading him open wider.
“You’re gonna make me come just from riding me like this— shit— you’re doing so good baby—”
Charles leaned down again, kissing him messily, tongues sliding together as he kept bouncing. The angle changed and both of them moaned loudly into each other’s mouths.
The pleasure built fast and brutal. Charles’s thighs started trembling from the effort and the overwhelming sensation. Max’s legs shook harder, heels digging into the floor as he tried to thrust up.
“I’m close— Charles— fuck— I’m so close—”
“Come on,” Charles growled against his lips, riding him harder, faster, wet sounds getting louder.
“Fill me up, Max. Want to feel you come inside me while I’m ruining you.”
Max came first with a loud, broken shout — body seizing, hips jerking up as he pulsed deep inside Charles. The feeling pushed Charles over the edge right after. He came untouched, cock trapped between their stomachs, spilling hot and messy while a long, wrecked moan tearing from his throat.
They stayed locked together, panting, shaking, kissing sloppily through the aftershocks. Charles’s legs were still trembling as he collapsed forward onto Max’s chest.
Max’s arms wrapped around him tightly, both of them breathing like they’d just survived something life-changing.
“Jesus…” Max whispered against Charles’s damp hair, voice completely wrecked. “You actually ruined me.”
Charles smiled against his neck, still clenching around him.
They stayed like that for a long minute — chests pressed together, hearts hammering against each other, skin slick with sweat and cum.
Charles’s face was buried in Max’s neck, breathing hot and shaky against his skin. Max’s arms were wrapped loosely around him, one hand slowly stroking up and down his damp spine in lazy, soothing motions.
“You’re shaking,” Max whispered, voice rough but surprisingly gentle. He pressed a soft kiss to Charles’s temple, then another to the corner of his mouth. “You okay?”
Charles hummed, still hazy, nodding weakly against his neck. His thighs were still trembling from the intense orgasm. He felt completely spent, oversensitive, and yet somehow still hungry.
Max smiled against his hair. Then, without warning, he tightened his grip.
In one smooth, powerful motion, Max shifted forward on the couch and stood up, lifting Charles with him like he weighed nothing.
Charles’s eyes flew open in surprise, a startled sound escaping his throat as his legs instinctively wrapped around Max’s waist for balance.
“Max— what the—?!” His voice was hoarse and confused.
“Wait— what are you doing?”
Max didn’t answer with words. He just smirked, hands firmly supporting Charles’s thighs as he carried him across the small cabin. Charles’s arms instinctively looped around Max’s neck, still dazed and floating from the afterglow.
The cool metal wall met Charles’s back sooner than he expected. Max pressed him against it — not roughly, but with undeniable strength — pinning him between the solid wall and his own body.
The contrast was immediate and overwhelming: the cold steel against his overheated, sweaty back versus the burning heat of Max’s chest and cock pressing against him.
Charles’s breath hitched sharply. “Max… fuck—”
“Hold on to me,” Max murmured, voice low and dark.
He adjusted his grip, hands sliding under Charles’s thighs, spreading them wider so Charles’s legs were locked tightly around his waist.
The new position left Charles completely open, supported only by Max’s strength and the wall behind him.
Max reached down between them, lined himself up, and pushed back inside in one slow, deep thrust.
Charles’s head fell back against the wall with a loud moan.
“Holy motherfucking shit—!”
The angle was completely different now. Deeper. More intense. Gravity helped Max sink even further, pressing right against that oversensitive spot inside Charles with every movement. Charles’s fingers dug into Max’s shoulders, nails biting into skin as his body adjusted to the new position.
Max groaned deeply, forehead pressed against Charles’s.
“Fuck… you feel even tighter like this.” He rolled his hips experimentally, grinding up into Charles in a slow, devastating circle.
“Look at you. Legs wrapped around me, pinned to the wall like you belong there.”
Charles’s moan was loud and broken. The position made him feel every single inch of Max so intensely. He could feel the powerful flex of Max’s abs and thighs with every thrust, the way Max’s muscles worked to hold him up and fuck him at the same time. Sweat made their bodies slide together deliciously.
Max started moving faster — deep, steady thrusts that made Charles’s back slide up and down the cool wall with every snap of his hips.
The generators’ low vibration traveled through the metal straight into Charles’s spine, adding another layer of sensation that made his toes curl.
“Max— oh god— it’s so deep like this—”
Charles cried out, voice echoing shamelessly. One of his hands slid into Max’s sweaty hair, gripping tight. “You’re so strong… carrying me like this— fuck— harder—”
Max’s breath was hot against his neck as he obeyed, thrusting up harder, faster. The wet slap of skin on skin returned, louder in this upright position. Every thrust made Charles’s cock rub between their stomachs, trapped and leaking again.
“You like being manhandled, don’t you?” Max growled against his ear, voice rough with effort and lust.
“You came three times for me, let’s make it four baby hmm?.”
He changed the angle slightly, driving up sharper, and Charles let out a high, desperate cry.
“Yes— yes— right there— don’t stop—!”
Charles’s legs tightened around Max’s waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him even deeper. His head kept hitting the wall softly with every powerful thrust, but he didn’t care. The mix of cold metal, burning heat, and overwhelming fullness was driving him insane.
Max shifted his grip, one arm wrapped securely under Charles’s ass, the other braced against the wall beside his head. This gave him even more leverage. His thrusts became punishing — deep, rhythmic, and relentless. Their bodies moved together in a raw, vertical dance. Sweat dripped down Max’s temple onto Charles’s collarbone. Charles’s moans were constant and loud, mixing with Max’s deep, guttural groans.
The position was exhausting for Max, but the power it gave him was intoxicating. He could control every angle, every depth, watching Charles’s face twist in pleasure up close.
“You’re so fucking loud like this,” Max panted, biting Charles’s jaw. “Love hearing you fall apart while I hold you up. Can you feel how deep I am? How easily I can fuck you like this?”
Charles could only moan brokenly in response, nodding frantically. His cock was trapped between them, rubbing perfectly with every thrust. His thighs trembled violently around Max’s waist from the strain and the pleasure.
Max leaned in and kissed him — messy, desperate, and claiming — while never stopping the brutal rhythm of his hips. The kiss tasted like sweat and pure need.
When they broke apart for air, Charles’s voice cracked on a particularly hard thrust.
“Max— Max— I’m so close— fuck, I’m so fucking close—”
“I know, baby,” Max breathed hotly against his ear, never slowing down.
“I can feel you tightening around me. Let go. I’ve got you.”
He adjusted the angle one last time, driving up sharper and harder, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves with every thrust. Charles’s entire body tensed like a bowstring.
Then it hit him.
The orgasm crashed over Charles with brutal intensity.
A loud, shattered cry tore from his throat as pleasure exploded through every nerve in his body. His thighs — still locked tightly around Max’s waist — started shaking uncontrollably, trembling so hard it looked like he was vibrating. The muscles in his legs spasmed violently from the sheer force of pleasure, weak and useless, completely out of his control.
“Max—! Ahhhhh— fuck—!”
Charles’s voice cracked, head thrown back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as wave after wave of blinding pleasure tore through him. His hole clenched rhythmically around Max’s cock, pulsing and fluttering as he came untouched between their bodies, painting their stomachs with hot, thick streaks of cum.
Max didn’t stop moving. He kept thrusting through it — deep, steady, perfect strokes — while wrapping one arm securely around Charles’s back and pulling him even closer.
“That’s it… that’s my Charlie,” Max whispered right against his ear, voice low, warm, and meltingly soft.
He pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses along Charles’s jaw, his cheek, the corner of his trembling lips.
“Let it all out. Feel how hard you’re coming for me… so beautiful like this.”
Charles could barely breathe. His legs kept shaking wildly around Max’s waist, toes curling, thighs quivering with aftershocks as the orgasm seemed to stretch on forever.
Max kissed him deeply, swallowing his broken moans, then pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, “You’re doing so well… so fucking perfect. I’ve never seen anything hotter than you falling apart in my arms like this. Just let go, Charles. I’ve got you. I’m not letting you fall.”
Every soft word, every gentle kiss against his sweaty skin, made the pleasure feel even more intense, almost overwhelming in the best way. Charles whimpered helplessly into Max’s mouth, tears of pure ecstasy slipping from the corners of his eyes as his body continued to convulse.
Only when Charles’s orgasm finally started to fade and his broken moans turned into soft, exhausted whimpers did Max slow his thrusts. He pressed one last deep kiss to Charles’s lips, then gently pulled out.
With surprising tenderness, Max kept Charles wrapped around him — legs still loosely around his waist — and carried him back to the wide leather couch. He lowered them both down carefully, never letting Charles go, until he was sitting on the couch with Charles straddling his lap again, chest to chest.
Charles was completely boneless, head resting heavily on Max’s shoulder, breathing ragged and shaky. His legs were still trembling faintly against Max’s sides.
Max wrapped both arms around him, one hand slowly rubbing soothing circles on his back, the other gently stroking his damp curls. He pressed soft, lazy kisses to Charles’s temple, his cheek, the side of his neck — gentle and unhurried, like he was trying to bring him back down to earth.
“You were incredible,” Max whispered between kisses, voice warm and gentle. “So fucking beautiful when you come like that… shaking in my arms. I could hold you like this all night.”
He tilted Charles’s chin up softly and kissed him again — slow, deep, and full of affection.
Their tongues moved lazily together, no rush, just warmth and closeness.
Max kept one hand on the back of Charles’s neck, thumb stroking soothingly, while the other continued those gentle circles on his back.
“Easy… breathe, baby,” he murmured against his lips. “I’ve got you. Just relax.”
Charles stayed curled against Max’s chest for a long minute, breathing slowly, The haze of pleasure was starting to fade, and reality crept back in.
He suddenly felt… exposed.
Too raw. Too vulnerable. He had come four times, screamed Max’s name, shook like a leaf in his arms, cried from how intense it was. The Monaco prince — reduced to a trembling, cum-covered mess pinned against the wall.
Charles swallowed hard. Embarrassment burned in his chest. He pushed weakly against Max’s shoulders and tried to slide off his lap.
“I… I should get up,” he muttered, voice hoarse and unsteady. “Clean myself. Get some water or… something.”
Max’s arms tightened around him instantly, firm but not forceful. One strong hand settled on Charles’s lower back, the other cupped the back of his neck, keeping him exactly where he was — straddling Max’s lap, chest to chest, still warm and sticky between them.
“Where do you think you’re going, pretty boy?” Max asked softly, a hint of amusement in his rough voice.
He tilted his head to look at Charles properly. “You really think I’m letting you run away right now?”
Charles avoided his eyes, cheeks burning.
“I’m not running. I just… I don’t usually…” He trailed off, jaw tight. “I looked pathetic like that.”
Max’s expression softened, but his grip stayed steady. He gently guided Charles’s chin up so their eyes met.
“Hey. Look at me.” His voice was low, warm, and impossibly steady.
“You didn’t look pathetic. You looked fucking breathtaking. Shaking in my arms, coming so hard you couldn’t even control your legs… that was the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Charles tried to look away again, but Max wouldn’t let him.
“I mean it, Charles,” Max continued, thumb stroking slowly along Charles’s jaw.
“You trusted me enough to let go completely. Do you have any idea how rare that is? How much that means to me?” He leaned in and pressed a slow, tender kiss to Charles’s forehead. “You’re not weak. You’re incredible. And right now, you’re mine to take care of.”
Charles’s throat tightened. He stayed quiet, but some of the tension in his shoulders eased.
Max reached over to the side table without letting Charles move, grabbed a soft towel and a fresh bottle of water. He opened the bottle first and held it to Charles’s lips.
“Drink,” he said gently but firmly.
Charles obeyed, taking several slow sips. Water dribbled down his chin. Max wiped it away with the towel, then started cleaning him carefully — first his stomach and chest, then between his legs with soft, careful strokes. Every touch was gentle, almost reverent.
They stayed like that for a while, just breathing together. The generators hummed low beneath them. The yacht creaked softly with the harbor water.
Charles finally spoke, voice quiet against Max’s neck.
“I hate how much I wanted this. How much I still want it. You’re supposed to be my rival. The person who pisses me off more than anyone else in the world.”
Max let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest. He ran his fingers through Charles’s damp curls, untangling them slowly.
“Yeah… I know the feeling.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Charles’s head.
“I’ve spent years telling myself I hated you. Your perfect face, your talent, the way Monaco worships you. But every time we fought on track, every radio message, every interview… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even when I was angry, I wanted you.”
Charles pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were vulnerable but honest. “This isn’t just sex for you?”
Max shook his head, gaze steady.
“Not anymore. Not after tonight.” He cupped Charles’s face with both hands. “I don’t know what this is yet. But I know I don’t want it to end when we walk off this yacht. I want to keep seeing you like this — not just the version that fights me, but this version too. The one who falls apart so beautifully in my arms.”
Charles’s breath hitched. He searched Max’s face for a long moment, then leaned in and kissed him — slow, deep, and surprisingly sweet. When they pulled apart, Charles rested his forehead against Max’s.
“I still hate you a little,” he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Max grinned. “Good. I still hate you a little too.” He kissed the corner of Charles’s mouth. “We can work on the rest later.”
He reached for another clean towel, gently cleaned the rest of the mess between them, then pulled Charles down so they were lying on the wide couch together, Charles draped half on top of him. Max grabbed a soft blanket from the side and wrapped it around both of them.
“Stay here tonight,” Max said quietly, fingers tracing lazy patterns on Charles’s bare back. “Don’t go back to your house. Sleep here with me. Let me hold you.”
Charles was quiet for a moment, then nodded against Max’s chest.
“Okay.”
The cabin fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by their breathing and the distant sound of water against the hull. Max kept stroking Charles’s back, occasionally pressing soft kisses to his hair, his temple, his shoulder — small, grounding touches that made Charles melt further into him.
“You know,” Charles said eventually, voice sleepy and soft, “if someone told me this morning that I’d end the night letting you fuck me against the wall and then cuddle me like this… I would’ve laughed in their face.”
Max chuckled. “Same. But I’m not complaining.” He squeezed Charles a little tighter. “Best quali result I’ve had in a while.”
Charles laughed weakly and pinched Max’s side. “Don’t ruin the moment, Verstappen.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Leclerc.”
They stayed like that — tangled together under the blanket, bodies warm and exhausted, hearts beating steadily against each other. For the first time in years, the sharp edge of their rivalry felt softer. Not gone, but transformed into something deeper. Something that felt dangerously close to the beginning of more.
Max pressed one final kiss to Charles’s forehead as his eyes drifted shut.
“Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”
And for once, Charles believed him.