Chapter Text
Fuck Monaco.
It was too small. The beaches were all bays, the buildings were all white, the people were all cunts and the FUCKING STORES NEVER HAVE GINGER BEER.
Oscar was standing with his arms folded in frustration, peering down at the small grocery store shelf like he could force it to be different if he gave it his most intimidating stare. Shockingly, it wasn’t working, and now he looked like a weirdo with an iced tea fetish, the hood of his jumper pulled over his cap as though it might shield him from the many, many people who liked to take photos of him at his local supermarket.
At what point did he sign up for this, exactly? When he’d come into F1, things hadn’t been nearly this bad. People weren’t THIS weird. Or maybe they had been, just not about him. In any case, he needed to get out of here before a new picture wound up all over Threads of Oscar looking pathetic and lonely. It would probably be captioned ‘WDC loser is buying milk while his teammate is doing cocaine off a model's stomach’ or something equally true and depressing. Whatever.
He paid the cashier, who to her merit, pretended not to know who he was, and made his way out of the store with a plastic bag in one hand and his phone in the other. He’d walk back to his apartment, it was only one block. Doing that every day of his winter break so far had helped him believe that he wasn’t like most of his coworkers, who would jump at the chance to park their multi-million-dollar sports cars on the curb of a 711. Tax haven or not, Monaco presented people a whole lot of ways to lose a small fortune, if one really wanted to do so. Grand theft auto notwithstanding.
He opened his phone for something to do on the walk. He’d been catching up on all the Supercars races he’d missed during his own race weeks, and had found himself firmly in the Broc Feeney supporter camp. Something about the guy reminded him of Max. Probably his quiet confidence, the way he’d sometimes smile, small and evil, at the camera like he was sharing a private joke with millions of people. And he did drive for Red Bull, so there was that.
All the Supercars drivers were a comfort, they all had Oscar’s upbringing. They sounded like his dad, looked like his cousins. Hardly any media or PR training to speak of, and people loved them for it. He liked the way the cars moved, heavy and hard, jumping curbs and slamming into one another violently. It hadn’t worked for Oscar, he preferred a more clinical driving style, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t cool as hell to look at.
But, as his Instagram feed reminded him, Feeney had not managed to win championship this year. He’d come third, 4 points behind his loud bubbly teammate, and 60 points off first place. Ironic, when Oscar thought about it. Even his comfort serious was reflecting the miserable reality of his life these days. He left a like under Feeney’s post about coming back stronger next year, knowing exactly how that would look to anyone paying attention. Feeney’s bio said ‘Super 2 & Super 3 Champion’. Of course it did.
Oscar’s apartment was on the bottom floor of three units that backed out onto the street, his doorway was through the front facing garage, meaning every time he wanted to go inside he’d pass his bright orange McLaren Artura. That was maybe the other reason he didn’t feel like driving places at the moment, he wasn’t feeling particularly team spirited these days.
Typing in the security code and buzzing himself in, he opened his messages. Two unread texts from Lando stared back at him, amongst the hundreds of others we didn’t want to answer. He should probably at least respond to Lando if he didn’t want to seem petty.
4: ay I’m going for paddle with George, comin?
4: party in the hills 2nite. I know yr not a party guy but thought I’d ask anyway
Yup. He was right about that, Oscar was not a party guy. Or a paddle guy really, outside of being bored on race weekends. And Lando’s poorly concealed guilt was just not his problem.
81: No thanks mate. Have fun though 👍
Lando lived approximately a 2-minute walk away, in one of the highrise condo suits. Although he’d never been over, he didn’t need to go to know what it looked like inside. Having LED lights in your living room will do that, especially when they flash purple and green until the early hours of the morning.
Oscar put his things down on the kitchen table and turned on his TV, which still had the Adelaide Supercars Grand Final paused on the screen, and went to make himself something to eat. Something that his performance coach would probably have frowned at. He was feeling extremely sorry for himself today, and surely a packet of instant Macaroni hadn’t killed anyone before. Kim could bite him.
His phone dinged with another notification that he was about to ignore, assuming it was Lando, but then he caught a glimpse of the surname.
Verstappen. What? Max wasn’t in the habit of texting Oscar about anything. Maybe it was important? He opened it, holding his phone like the message planned to jump out at him.
Max Verstappen: Text me your address I’m coming over
Er. What? No he absolutely wasn’t, unless someone had literally died. Oscar’s place was a mess and he hadn’t even showered yet. Having Max Verstappen, 4 time WDC and 1 time biggest embarrassment of Oscar’s career in his apartment today didn’t exactly sound fun.
Oscar Piastri: ?
Max Verstappen: Chill out, nothing is wrong. Just do it. Fernando asked me to
Damn. As cryptic as this exchange was, Oscar still wasn’t in a position to deny Fernando anything. He sort of owed his career to the guy. It had been him who’d suggested Oscar not take the seat at Alpine all those years ago, and he’d been something of a mentor while Oscar was a reserve driver. He’d gotten to learn from the best, Oscar knew that. And Fernando definitely knew that. He’d never let Oscar forget it.
Oscar Piastri: Um, okay? Please make it quick
He texted Max his address and prayed he lived far enough away that he would at least have time to throw his unwashed clothes in the laundry basket before Max saw them draped all over his couch. What do people do when this sort of thing happens? His feelings about Max were really, REALLY complicated, especially at the moment, and he hadn’t expected to be forced to confront them today. With everything else already swirling through his head, it was the last thing he needed.
Max must not have lived more than a 10 minute drive away, as the intercom rang 15 minutes later. Monaco is too small.
He buzzed him in, and watched him walk through the garage on the intercom screen. He looked pretty harmless today, no Red Bull get-up in sight. A white t-shirt and jeans. Their fashion sense was at least one thing the two drivers shared in common. He heard Max knock on the door, and knowing full well it was petty, waited a good minute before he went to open it. There was something kind of funny about Max standing awkwardly next to a huge fuckoff McLaren car. Oscar almost wanted to take a photo.
When he finally did open the door, Max pushed right past him and started walking towards the living room.
“Finally, damn. I’d ask if you were in the shower, but clearly not.”
Oscar looked down at his disheveled jumper and shorts that didn’t match. It was rude of Max to comment on it, but the honesty was weirdly refreshing. He’d been getting nothing but ‘you’ll get ‘em next year bud!’s and ‘you’ve had a great season pal!’s since Abu Dhabi.
Max threw his bag down on Oscar’s couch. Apparently, being a world champion means everyone else’s house becomes your house. He shouldn’t be surprised, Lando acted the same way after all.
“Gonna tell me what this is about, or?”
Max turned to face him. The look on his expression was unusual, not the standard coolness Oscar had come to expect from him. He didn’t look flustered exactly, it was more like… anticipation. Like he was waiting to share something important.
“Yes. I’ll keep it as brief as I can.” Max turned and pulled out his iPad from his bag. “Does your TV do the screen sharing thing?”
“Um? Yes?”
Max handed him the unlocked iPad, clearly waiting for Oscar to connect it to his Wi-Fi. Oscar took it from his hands, still feeling bewildered, but not really like he wanted to put up a fight. Let’s just get whatever this was over with, and then hopefully Max would leave him alone to his moping.
“Alright so- eeeesh. Yeah, this place is a mess. Fernando was right, you’re taking this worse than we thought.” He was looking around at the disaster zone that was Oscar’s living room.
“No idea what you’re talking about there, Verstappen. Feel like enlightening me yet?” He handed the iPad back to Max.
“I’ve been asked to induct you.” Max cast to his TV, and the Supercars race was interrupted by a PowerPoint style presentation slide, all black with huge white writing in the centre. It looked extremely homemade.
“Pay attention, please.”
The writing said: TITLE FIGHT LOSERS: 101
“Oh my god.” Oscar said out loud. “What..!?”
“Hey, I don’t like it any more than you do. But if me and Bottas had to do it in 2020, so do you.”
Do what? What was this? Was he serious?
“Are you serious?”
“Wish I wasn’t, but here we are. As I’m the youngest on the grid to go through a title fight loss this bad - apart from you now, it’s my job to get you up to speed. You can ask Webber if you want, this is an age-old tradition and I don’t plan to break it.”
When Oscar just looked at him, stunned, Max’s face softened.
“You might want to sit down.”
Oscar did sit down. Mostly because he was feeling an overwhelming mixture of confusion and embarrassment that was threatening to knock him off his feet. Max seemed to notice his shock.
“It’s not that bad, promise. But it is important. And honestly? You’re lucky I didn’t win this year. Or you and Lando would be doing this together.” He sat down next to Oscar on the couch and flicked over to the second slide.
“First things first. Feelings.”
There was a bad JPEG of a crying emoji next to the bullet points on this slide. Oscar wanted to die from embarrassment. What the fuck was happening right now?
“What you’re feeling is normal. A bit of anger, a lot of resentment, probably some heartbreak and a bunch of shame.”
That last one kicked Oscar’s brain back into function. Shame? No. He had no reason to feel shame. Title loss or not.
“Max, as much as I.. c’mon. I don’t need- what the fuck?”
“Oh, you do. Is that a slice of pizza on your carpet?”
Oscar opened his mouth and closed it again.
“Like I was saying, it’s normal. The key is, figuring out how you’re going to cope.”
For some reason, that made Oscar’s anger flare up. But not at Max. Not really.
“No see, that’s where you’re wrong. Didn’t anyone tell you? I’m actually fucking awesome under pressure. I don’t have feelings, so we super don’t need to be doing this, actually.”
Max just raised an eyebrow at him. “See? Anger. Not that I don’t understand the sentiment, but still.” He flicked over to the next slide.
“There are three major categories of problems no one is going to want to talk to you about, or understand. That’s why I’m here. The first one-" He used his pointer finger to highlight the first bullet point. It reminded Oscar of how his grandparents use their phones. Ugh. Family. Ouch. He missed them a lot.
“-Resentment. It doesn’t matter what kind, or who for, you’re going to have to deal with a lot of it. For you I’d say probably…” he trailed off, looking Oscar up and down. Oscar had to shift in his seat a little, he always felt a bit freaked out when Max looked directly at him. Maybe freaked out wasn’t the right way the describe it.
“Probably for your team, your teammate and the world as a whole. Would you say that’s right?”
Woah. Nail on the head. Oscar just furrowed his eyebrows in response, trying not to look directly at Max.
“I’m of course not judging you. But you will need to get that under control if you want support next year.”
“What are you, my PR coach now or something?” Oscar mumbled at the floor.
“And that leads me to the second one, anger.” Max highlighted the second bullet point. “The kind of anger that comes from the pressure we deal with every week is unprecedented. As in, there is nothing else like it on earth. I think you’ve been doing a good job of hiding that so far, but at some point you’ll snap. When that happens, you’ll want it to be off camera. Trust me, I’d know. So the winter break is good time for that.”
Oscar wasn’t really following. This was moving very fast and it was a lot to take in that it was happening at all.
“Seriously, I’m doing fine. Can we just-"
“I said listen.”
He promptly shut up. When Max Verstappen gives you an order, you obey. Something in the very back of Oscar’s mind wanted to hear Max say that again, in that same demanding tone. Maybe force him to take it back instead of just sitting there stupidly. Mm. Complicated.
“The final one is proximity. It’s not really a feeling, but it makes the other two worse. As I’m sure you know, Lando lives two minutes from your house. So does George, so does Charles, so does Carlos. Any plans on how you’re going to deal with that all break?” He paused, eyes still raking across Oscar, who had started to curl in on himself.
“No. Didn’t think so.”
“Proximity is dangerous when you’re stuffed full of anger and resentment. You’ll want to take it out on someone. Maybe even violently. So it’s crucial that you find a way to do it properly.”
Oscar strangely felt the need to laugh hearing that. It was almost a 1:1 of what his team principal had been telling both his drivers all year. He chuckled bitterly into the back of his hand.
“Thanks, but McLaren actually hirers specialists to help with that.”
“No. I said properly. This is unprecedented levels of stuff we’re dealing with here Oscar, keep up.”
Mm. Max said his first name.
“Are you straight?”
Oscar’s eyes widened. Were his thoughts suddenly audible?? It wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen today.
“What?!”
“I’m asking if you fuck girls or guys.”
A stunned silence followed. Max wasn’t looking away. He was expecting a genuine answer. Something about the weird, fast paced honesty of this whole interaction opened Oscar’s mouth for him after a moment, the surprise was pretty audible in his tone.
“I-I don’t fuck anyone these days.”
Max hummed and looked away from him, but clearly wasn’t done prodding. “You seem bi. Are you bi?”
“I really don’t see how that’s your busine-" Max didn’t even wait for him to finish his sentence before he inferred the answer Oscar wasn’t saying.
“Great. That’ll make this next part easier.”
He leant forward, shooting a look Oscar’s way. It seemed like he was gauging him. His mood. But it was always hard to tell with Max, and Oscar still refused to meet his eyes anyway.
“Proximity plus resentment and anger leads to tension. Like, a lot of tension. How many sex dreams have you had about Lando this year?”
Nope! Too far! That was the last straw.
“WOAH. NONE! C’mon man! Don’t just say shit like that!”
Max refused to back down or look away. There was a standoff. Oscar met his eyes. Blue and green. And he lost the standoff when Max raised an eyebrow at him.
“…Almost one a week. All year.”
Max relaxed back against the couch.
“Yeah, that happens. Don’t be embarrassed. But still, one a week is pretty full on, and you’re not currently sleeping with anyone. That’s a bad combo.”
Pause followed as Max formatted what he wanted to say next. That could not have been a good sign, Oscar didn't like how long it was taking either.
“So, the best way to deal with that is by getting it out of your system-"
He jumped to a conclusion about where that was headed before Max was done talking. He’d maybe seen one too many thirst edits of his papaya companion recently.
“-I’m not gonna sleep with my teammate.”
There was a moment of surprise in the older man’s eyes, and Oscar panicked for a second that he’d read that completely wrong.
“No, obviously. That would only make things worse, we can thank Hamilton and Rosberg for that knowledge. But still, it will need to be someone.” He changed over the slide. “I’ve taken the liberty of compiling your best options. It has to be someone you’re angry with, and someone you can afford to hate. Before I show you, do you have any ex’s that live nearby? That would be the safest thing.”
The panic subsided when he realised Max wasn’t laughing at him. “No.”
“Okay, then these are probably your best picks. That’s Carlos, George Charles and me. We’ve all taken podiums from you this year, and we all live close enough to trigger the proximity issue.”
“Wa.. that’s you.”
“Yes. Well done.”
What.
“You want me to fuck you?!”
Max’s voice came out teasing when he responded. “Oh? I had a feeling you were a top, didn’t think it would be that set in stone though.”
“That’s not what I-"
“Yes, I am one of the options. But again, it can really be anyone who’s willing and lives close enough.”
The pressure that had been building in Oscar’s head reached a climax. He was currently discussing sexual preferences with a man he’d been avoiding even looking at all season, let alone talking to. A man who was now implying he’d let Oscar- yeah. No. This was a dream probably.
“See while all of that is INSANE! - it’s the willing part that gets me. None of those people would want to sleep with me. You’re crazy. Like, I think you need help maybe.”
He blinked, and Max didn’t disappear. Weird.
“You don’t actually know you’re hot, do you?”
“What??!”
“Oh my god, this is getting annoying. Do you think I’d put someone on the list who didn’t want to sleep with you? I’m not stupid Oscar.”
“But.. you’re.. that’s..”
“Yup. Anyway, I know this is kind of a lot, so I’ll let you think about it. I actually have other stuff I need to do today, so.”
He got up from Oscar’s couch, looking very much like someone who hadn’t just turned the whole world upside down. “Lucky you, your presentation was short. Fernando had to do ours, took an hour.”
What.
“While you’re thinking about it, work on getting your anger down. Try throwing something you shouldn’t throw or making a fake account and commenting mean things to people you hate.” He shrugged. “Worked for me.”
Oscar just sat there, shell shocked.
Max closed his iPad and put it back in his bag, and Oscar watched him pull it over his shoulder and begin to walk away.
“Oh, before I forget. Don’t go to that party Lando is going to tonight. You’re not ready, you’ll end up trying to punch him or kiss him or something. Just stay home. I’ll be home too, so text me if you need to.”
And then he just left. Walked right out Oscar’s door like he’d just stopped in for a coffee.
-
Oscar should probably move. It had been nearly 1 hour, and he was still sat staring at his TV. His internal monologue was starting to sound like a bad pop song, the same three lines playing on repeat in his head.
Max was fucking with him, he had to be. And he’d let it happen. And he’d shared things he really shouldn’t have.
Those three thoughts guided him the rest of the morning as he subconsciously started to clean his apartment, trying not to consider what Max Verstappen might do with the information that he had been having sex dreams about his teammate. Max had sounded so earnest, he’d been too direct, and Oscar’s pathetic impulse to please him had kicked in. Maybe he could just… pretend he’d been kidding? Yeah. Because Oscar was renowned for cracking jokes. Fuck.
He ended up showering around 2pm, better late than never. He tried extremely hard not to think about that demanding tone in Max’s voice when the heat of the water ran over his stomach, and harder still to ignore the immediate hardness it caused when he failed. Complicated was beginning to be too light a word for how he felt about Max. So he ignored his pressing problem and put on his comfort playlist instead, letting a mishmash of The All-American Rejects and Imagine Dragons remind him that he was a super normal guy actually, had been since he was a kid. Repressed sexual issues? Nope. Not Oscar. Shame and heartbreak and anger? No thank you, he liked house music.
By about 4pm he was just too curious. There was always a small sliver of a chance that Max hadn’t been lying or trying to mess with him. That little brain worm just would not go away, no matter how much music he attempted to blast over it. Looking at his phone, he decided to call Max’s bluff. He’d said he could ask Webber about this? Fine. He would.
The kid: Hey Mark, I know it’s pretty early back home but I just had the weirdest conversation with Verstappen of all people. Give me a call when u get a chance?
He put his phone down, not expecting to receive a response until the following day, but then 5 minutes passed and it lit up with notification.
Mark: Ah! Congrats son, welcome to the club. Can’t call right now, about to get on a flight - talk soon
Oh.
So it hadn’t been a joke. WHAT?!
Oscar spent the rest of the day pacing around trying to figure out what the actual hell.
-
Later that night, he couldn’t sleep. And it wasn’t just the presentation or the questions buzzing through his head that was doing that.
There was music coming from down the road, cars driving past constantly, and the drunken mixed voices of French and English speakers who’d clearly stumbled down from somewhere and felt like making that everyone’s problem. Not somewhere. One place in particular. Oscar had lived here long enough now to know the telltale sounds of Lando throwing a pregame party.
Whatever. He was allowed to do that. It was his right, after a year of fighting for this. But it made his stomach twist and his fists itch just the same. He had earplugs. He could have used them and blocked it out and gone to sleep, but some sick part of him still needed to be angry, and this was a compelling excuse. He thought about what Max had said, about the proximity and the anger, and how bad they made each other. He considered himself a calm person, but Max had been right, these feelings were… unprecedented. Violent. He wanted to talk more about it with someone who got it.
Oscar Piastri: If you’re still up you could come over again. No pressure. Not urgent.
…typing
…
Max Verstappen: For sex?
Oh my god. Was he always like this?!
Oscar Piastri: No
Oscar Piastri: Not specifically
Max Verstappen: Sounds like a lie but okay 🦁
Yeah. It was probably a lie.
-
“How does this- um. I mean, how do you want..”
“Probably you could start by not doing that.”
He let of go of Max’s shoulders. Oscar hadn’t been sure where to put his hands, so he’d just sort of let them awkwardly grab whatever, grip a little too tight, concentration overriding any arousal he could have been feeling as he tried to put his thigh between Max’s legs and press against him.
It didn’t feel right. Max was taller than he was and significantly broader, so trying to press him against the wall of his bedroom wasn’t actually going very well. It was drawing exactly 0 response from the older driver, who looked a bit bored. At least Oscar hadn’t tried to kiss him. He almost had, when Max had walked through his door immediately and walked off down the hallway looking for his bedroom. He’d shown Max the way, closed the door and then stood there looking at him, trying to figure out what happens next. He wasn't a hook-up type of person. Were they supposed to kiss? Was he expected to try and kiss this man? The one he couldn't even look in the eyes? Luckily, he hadn’t tried to. That would have been super embarrassing considering how this was going.
“Might help if you gave me something to work with.” Oscar said, noticing that whatever he was trying to do with his thigh hadn’t stiffened anything where the fabric of their pants met. Max wasn’t even touching him, not really. He just had two big hands planted firmly on Oscar’s waist, watching him move.
“Do you want me to take over?”
“No- just. Give me a second.” Oscar pulled back and looked him over. Max was still fully dressed, same as he was. His hair wasn’t ruffled, his face wasn’t blushed. He could have walked out of Oscar’s apartment exactly as he was and no one would even think to question what he’d just been doing.
Oscar’s confidence wasn’t at its best in that moment. This was Max. Not his friend. Not a random at a party. Not even really just his hot senior coworker. He’d had a pretty massive crush on the guy for the better part of his driving years, pushed down and ignored by means of necessity. But now they were here, by the grace of God somehow, and Max was looking at him, waiting for him to do something, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Frustrated, he pulled away and went to sit on the edge of his bed. He put his forehead in his palms and groaned.
“This isn’t working.”
He heard Max push himself off the wall and cross the room, stop in front of him and crouch down. He put a careful hand on Oscar’s thigh and spoke gently.
“You’re just too in your own head.” He moved Oscar’s palms away from his face.
“Of course, it’s okay if you don’t want to go through with this. I won’t be offended.”
Oscar took in the sight before him. Perfectly calm expression. Long eyelashes, clear skin, slight stubble on his jaw that Oscar would never have been able to grow let alone pull off. Turquoise eyes. He lifted a hand to the side of Max’s jaw, just to feel the bone under his fingers and prove it was real.
“Fuck- no. No, I do. You’re just really beautiful. I’m nervous. Sorry.”
That earned him a smile. Max reciprocated the hand on his jaw by lifting his own to run it through the side of Oscar’s hair.
It seemed like for whatever reason, brutal honestly worked best for both of them. The second Oscar tried to hide his feelings or seem cooler than he felt, Max withdrew. It was something that was difficult for Oscar to lean into, given he’d been pretending his way through emotions all year, but it did feel really good when he could manage it. Max would smile at him. That was nice. He looked so pretty in the dim lamp lighting of the bedroom, a bit like a mirage.
“Then let me take the lead for a bit. Just until you’re feeling more comfortable.”
Oscar took a breath out and gave a short nod. He’d really wanted to be the one in control of this situation. He’d wanted to prove to himself that he couldn’t be intimated so easily, even by someone like Max. He’d been wrong. Much like every other thing in his life right now, he’d lost this battle. It hurt, the loss of pride did sting, but not enough to want to stop this completely. His 19 year old self would have backhanded him if he tried to do that.
Max stood up, gripping the fabric of Oscar’s jumper and pulling. “Off.”
He went without a fight, discarding the fabric on the floor and looking up as Max did the same. Max’s pale torso was framed by hard muscle around his chest and ribs, but there was a softness to the skin that was so deeply masculine it made his head throb. He didn’t look like someone who’d stopped eating because of work stress, unlike Oscar, who was more bones than skin these days. A horrible mixture of envy and arousal swirled in the pit of Oscar’s stomach, and he had to look away.
He blinked and Max was in his lap, pushing his chest down until his back hit the bed, the heavy pressure of legs around his waist keeping him steady as he felt fingers trace along the line of his collar bones.
“I’d always wondered how far down your freckles went.” Max said, seemingly to himself, as he pressed lightly into a couple scattered sun kisses that trailed along Oscar’s v-line. He almost moaned out loud at the feeling. His eyes fluttered shut and he let his hand find the back of Max’s shoulder blades. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched him like that.
“Can I take off your pants?”
What a stupid question.
“Yeah.”
Max undid the zipper as fast as he could and made light work of removing the fabric from Oscar’s legs, pulling it off his feet and dropping it to the floor.
“Shit- woah.” Max was looking directly at Oscar’s half hard erection like it planned to bite him. When he realised what was causing that reaction, Oscar let a nervous laugh climb his throat and ran a hand through his hair.
“Yeah. Sorry, should’ve warned you.”
“Fucking massive.” Max said, still to himself, and gripped Oscar with strong fingers. The contact felt insane after almost a full year of nothing but getting himself off in hotel showers at stupid times of the night. Oscar moaned deep in the back of his throat. Jesus.
“You’re telling me no one else is using this?” Max said, genuine curiosity in his voice. What an interesting choice of words.
Max looked up at him. When their eyes met, Oscar was pleasantly surprised to see what looked like genuine arousal on Max’s face this time. There was the blush he’d been hoping for, and the telltale fast rising and falling of his chest. Who would have picked Max Verstappen as a size queen? Pretty convenient, actually. It meant Oscar might not have to do much else in the ‘turning him on’ department, which was a relief considering his earlier attempts.
“Can I put it in my mouth?”
Oscar’s turn to blush. Jesus.
“Mhm.” He didn’t really trust himself with any real words at the moment, everything he wanted to say would have been extremely cringe, and he still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream. Somehow he got the feeling that the way his dick jumped in Max’s hand at the question was a pretty obvious response anyway.
There was no time wasted after that. Max just let his tongue dart out to wet his lips and pulled Oscar’s tip to meet it, licking lightly at the slit and coxing precome from Oscar’s body like he’d been doing it his whole life. His hips bucked up by accident, leaving a wet smear across Max’s cheek, which got him a small laugh.
“Pretty pent up, aren’t you?” And Oscar didn’t get a chance to respond before there was wet warmth surrounding every fiber of his being.
“Hmhh! Fuck- Max.” He his hands flew into soft auburn hair as Max’s throat closed around him, the kind of even suction that only comes from experience working him over each time he was sunk down on. A pleased little groan vibrated from Max’s throat around him and Oscar had to tighten his grip on Max’s hair to cope with it. He seemed to like that, Oscar realised, as Max’s eyes lidded over slightly with the pull. He tried it again, a bit harder this time, tugging deliberately as the hair caught under his fingers. Max moaned softly and doubled his efforts to take him deeper, which was a stupid and insane thing to witness. A size queen who likes it rough. You learn something new every day.
He felt Max’s tongue swirling over his head and Oscar’s hips lifted again, pushing him deeper. Max gagged a little bit, but didn’t lift off him, and Oscar felt the need to see how far that went.
“Can I-?” He pushed back in too deep, showing Max what he meant, and the older driver didn’t even gag that time. He just looked up at Oscar, eyes half lidded and mouth stretched around him, then nodded and relaxed his throat. Pulled back slightly to give Oscar enough space. Put his hands on the bed to support himself. Inviting his throat to be used at whatever pace suited Oscar. He briefly wondered if he’d ever see anything that hot again, before pushing the thought aside and fisting both hands into Max’s hair as he pushed up into his throat.
Very little resistance from Max’s body. Almost nothing. It hardly made sense. Oscar was big, and he was able to get himself more than half way buried in Max’s throat with every single thrust. The heat was too much, the wetness was too easy, and the tears starting to gather at the corner of Max’s eyes was demonstrating how very real this situation was. Max was actually letting his throat be fucked. By Oscar. And he appeared to be getting off on it, if the redness that had started to creep across his chest was anything to go off. If the- WOAH. If the hand that Max had just started using to touch himself over his jeans was anything to go off.
Oscar was starting to moan embarrassingly loud at this point. He couldn’t help it, it was about to be too much, he was extremely pent up. He was going to come like this soon if he didn’t push Max off. And then he wouldn’t get the chance to see if he would actually let Oscar fuck him. See if he could get Max to go all soft and blissed out, hear what it sounded like when the stretch was too much. Make him moan his name. Watch him take it. Watch him come on a dick. Maybe even untouched, if Max could do that. Maybe-
“Shit- okay. Stop stop. M’cum.” Not really English, but it got the point across. He pulled Max up by his hair.
When they made eye-contact again, there was that same look. The same standoff from Oscar’s couch that morning. Max’s lips were red and spit covered, but his eyes were clear and focused. Oscar thought he saw something briefly cross through them. But then Max smiled at him, a small thing, and pushed his head back down, empaling his own throat on Oscar’s dick. His hands forced Oscar’s hips to the bed, holding him still with bruising grip. He forced himself down so far that Oscar saw stars when he bottomed out, lips pressed all the way up against his abdomen.
“Hhm- seriously! I- I can’t-"
Instead of moving, he just flexed his throat muscles back and forth, massaging Oscar’s entire length inside in one go. That was game over.
FUCK. Was the only thought he had before his body gave out and he coming onto Max’s tonsils with a guttural moan that didn’t match any sound he’d ever made in his life before, the ceiling falling out of focus above him as his eyes closed with the force of it, every muscle in his body tensing at once. He felt Max swallow around him. Felt a hand touch his stomach where his abs had gone stiff.
When the feeling subsided, no relief came with it. Instead, a heavy wave of shame flooded Oscar’s veins, quickly followed by the type of anger only described in Ancient Greek Mythology. Max had forced him to orgasm because he felt like it. Because he probably thought it was funny, how quickly he’d been able to make it happen. Because he’d wanted to, and because he got everything he wanted. Because he could. Because of who he was. Because he knew Oscar wouldn’t put up a fight.
He sat up and shoved Max off by his shoulders, causing the taller man to fall back a bit in surprise. Oscar used his now superior height advantage to push him again, causing Max to almost fall off the bed. The words bubbled up from somewhere not even Hades dared visit.
“What. The. FUCK?! I TOLD you- to pull off-"
In an attempt to avoid being shoved again, Max had gotten off the bed and was now backing up a bit towards wall. Oscar’s blood had turned to lava all of a sudden, and he wasn’t backing down. He followed Max off the bed, reasonable thought staying behind him as he went. Max still had that smile on his face. Small and evil. He breathed a laugh out his nose.
“You think that’s FUNNY?! You think I’m just going to let you-"
Max’s back hit the wall, Oscar was in his face now.
“Just- come in here and just fucking-" he shoved Max again, making his head lull back as it met the plaster. “Just- TAKE whatever you fucking want?!!”
Still no vocal response from Max. Still just a smirk. Infuriating.
“SAY SOMETHING. I’m not a TOY! I’m not your fucking LAP DOG!” His finger was pushing into at Max’s chest now. "You DONT get to decide what I feel - or when!!" They were so close. Oscar lowered his voice and let the words fall out cruel.
“Just because you’re a champion now, doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you like a whore.”
Whoops. One word in that sentence didn’t quite fit.
Max raised his eyebrows at that and moved his hand to grip Oscar’s jaw, thumb pressing into the underside of his chin painfully, forcing his face to the side with strong fingers. Oscar fought against it as best he could, trying to keep his eyes locked to Max’s.
“I think those words were meant for someone else, don’t you?”
The anger at being physically subdued flipped hard against his heartbeat and Oscar shook his jaw free of Max’s grasp. Without really thinking anything other than that he needed to shut the guy up, he put a hand to Max’s throat. Not squeezing, just pressing him further into the wall. Max made a low pleased noise, which Oscar ignored.
“Maybe. But I’ve got some choice ones for you too since you’re listening.” His tone was well beyond his control now, bitter and cold and coming out through clenched teeth. He forced his thigh between Max’s legs, and was met with extremely stiff fabric this time around.
“I will not be collared. Not by you. Not by Fernando. Not by anyone. Got it?” He released his grip on Max’s neck so he could speak.
Max put a hand to his own throat where Oscar’s had just been. Oscar watched his throat work to swallow, then felt him roll his hips against his thigh, hard. He felt the shape of Max’s erection through his pants as it prodded at his leg, struggling to say restrained against his jeans. He bit his lip and smiled again. Not evil this time, just a small tug at the corner of his mouth.
“There he is. Nice to finally meet you Oscar.”