Archive of Our Own

“Tell me what you want Max.”

Max had gripped his wrist, and moved Oscar’s hand to front of his pants, trying to get him to do something to release the pressure. Oscar, for his part, was attempting to free himself from the grip. A cute little back and forth that Oscar was currently losing. 

Max made an annoyed noise when he couldn’t get the pressure he was after. “It’s pretty obvious I think, don’t be stupid.”

“Nope. Not good enough. Need to hear you say it.” 

The anger in Oscar’s blood hasn’t disappeared, but it was quickly being drowned out by the heat of the moment and the feeling of being properly seen. Nothing left to hide. No nerves about being judged. Max was looking at everything Oscar had tried to keep buried and wasn’t flinching. It was intoxicating, and the feeling was burning through him like a wildfire, egging on his arousal, making him desperate to finish what they’d started.

Max was rutting against his thigh, which was equal parts hot as fuck and funny as hell considering his skinny jeans had nothing in the way of give. Oscar could have watched him do that all day, and now he’d already come once, he was in no rush to give in to Max’s unspoken demands anyway. Although it was very tempting.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want to touch me Oscar. We’re a bit past that now I think.” 

His voice was doing a solid job of hiding his desperation, but the raspy undertone was giving him away regardless. “You’ve been looking at me like that for years.”

In response, Oscar forced his hand under the waistline of Max’s underwear too fast, and ran a finger over his slit, making Max stutter against his palm and moan against his shoulder a bit pathetically. He hadn't had time to prepare for the attack and couldn't do anything about his reaction. That’s more like it.

Then Oscar withdrew his hand and took a step back, watching as Max’s eyes widened with the sudden loss of contact. 

“Fine. Don’t say it. I’ll see you next season then.” And he went to turn around.

“No! Fuck- okay, fine, God.” Max pulled Oscar back by the collar of his shirt. They met against the wall, mouths inches apart, chests almost close enough to hear one another’s rapid heartbeats. Oscar put his palm against the wall the steady himself. He was never actually going to walk away.

“Please will you get me off.” He mocked against Oscar’s mouth.

Max’s tone was petulant, but Oscar smiled at the words anyway and let his eyes fall to Max’s lips. Politeness looked nice on them, forced though it might have been. He shot a look up to Max’s eyes and back down again in a silent request for permission, and Max gave one small nod. He lent in, closing the distance in a kiss that was entirely possession. He didn’t even close his eyes, he just bit into Max’s bottom lip, licked over the bite, along his teeth, then into his mouth to taste his tongue. Oscar’s dominant side shuddered when he caught the remnants of his orgasm in the back of Max’s mouth. Disgusting and wet, but undeniably his. When he pulled back to speak, the edge to his tone was replaced with something more genuine. Quieter, more like a warning. A plan had started to form in his head.

“I’ll do it. But you’re not going to like how.” Max furrowed his eyebrows at that. His chest was rising quickly, breath getting caught in their shared oxygen. “Turn around.” 

Max did as he was told, cautiously turning his chest away from Oscar, keeping his head still as though the younger man might try and stab him if he wasn’t paying attention. And well, in a way, that’s essentially what Oscar was planning to do. 

When Max’s chest was fully flat against the wall, he reached around and finally undid the stupid skinny jeans in his way. He pulled them and Max’s boxes down using most of his strength - they really were tight - and left them to collect at his knees. 

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself, running a hand over the newly exposed skin, feeling the curve at the base of Max’s spine, watching him shiver at the touch. “God you’re pretty.” 

He let his index finger trace lower, slipping between the fold of Max’s ass and circling the tight ring of muscle. He heard a very needy little sound bounce off the bedroom wall as he pressed against it to test how open Max was. Not nearly open enough for what he wanted to do. That was pretty exciting, in Oscar’s opinion. 

“I’ve got lube, but I’m not gonna use it yet.” 

He put two fingers in front of Max’s mouth, resting the back of his hand against the wall. “I’d suggest you suck if you don’t want this to hurt.”

“Evil little freak.” Max said, most likely to save some of his pride, because then he was wrapping his lips around Oscar’s fingers. He took them deep, meeting them against the wall, pressing his tongue between them, trying to get them as wet as he could. The feeling made Oscar’s head spin. He knew what that throat could do. He knew exactly how skilled Max was with his tongue. And despite all of the guy’s shit talking, it really seemed like he was enjoying this. He was pushing the pads of Oscar’s fingers against the back of his throat unnecessarily hard. 

“Bit of a slut, aren’t you? Like to keep your mouth full.” 

Max’s hips stuttered against the wall. A Degradation kink. Noted.

He pulled his fingers out, tailing a line of spit as he moved them back behind Max’s body. The older driver coughed a bit, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. 

“This better be good Piastri.” 

Oscar didn’t respond, just smiled to himself and pushed a finger inside Max with no warning, all the way past his second knuckle. Max’s head hit the wall and he yelped. 

“I’d prefer if you used my first name while I’m inside you, actually.” 

Oscar curled his finger, testing to find a good angle before he started thrusting it deeper. It was surprisingly easy to do, due to the fact that Max was pushing back against his hand, trying to impale himself further. It only took a minute or two before he was more than ready for another one, breath getting progressively faster and coming out through his nose as he attempted to keep his mouth shut to stop himself from moaning. Cute. Oscar thought to himself.

He added a second finger, slower this time, letting Max feel every inch of it, and reveling in the groan that created. Even his voice was gorgeous, wonton and broken and heavy with sex. It made Oscar feel a bit crazy. His ego roared at the thought that he had been the one to pull that noise from Max. Only yesterday, the idea would have seemed impossible.

Adding small curling motions against Max’s walls, he focused on trying to find what he was looking for. The small bundle of nerves that he knew would speed this process along, make Max more pliant, make him needier, get him to- 

“HMMhr!” 

Ah, there it is. Oscar’s dick twitched again in interest at the sound that was one part resistance and two parts pleasure. More of those noises and he’d be fully hard again in no time. He was already halfway there, their little power play from earlier had seen to that, and being 24 has its perks.

He pressed back into the spot with both fingers, playing with the nerves, watching Max try to stop himself from screaming at the calculated impact. Not so scary now, are you? He hit into the spot again and again until he could feel the trembles rocketing through Max’s spine. 

“Think you can do another for me, big man?” 

“Fuck! Oscar- shut up! Just-"

“AHg!”

Oscar laughed at him and pressed a third finger inside, one that hadn’t been wetted by Max’s mouth, directly into his body. It sounded like it hurt a bit, the moan that followed ebbed more on the side of pain and pleasure than restraint and pleasure. Oscar cooed at him and licked a kiss to his shoulder blade. “There you go.” 

Keeping up the pace, he made sure to flex his fingers as much as possible, stretching Max as hard as he could without causing too much pain, waiting for the glide to get easier, waiting for Max’s body to soften enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about his size later. It was taking a while, and Max was clearly not coping well with that, the noises he was making were getting less coordinated. Oscar found himself fully hard again, as the rocking of Max’s hips forced his dick to press against skin, and he got to watch as it bounced with each push where his fingers tangled with Max’s body. Again, an INSANE thing to see. Oscar felt a bit nauseous. 

Three fingers deep and pushing against his prostate with every thrust forward, Oscar was starting to piss Max off now. 

“Jesus- I’m ready! What’s taking so long?” 

“Just making sure.” Oscar put a fist in Max’s hair and pulled, forcing his head back so far it hit Oscar’s shoulder, making Max’s body arch against the wall. “You still haven’t asked me to fuck you, so.” 

He hoped the coolness of his tone was a nice little scare for Max, since it stood so stark against his harsh physical actions. Scared or not, it seemed like Max was about to break and finally say what he needed to hear, if the erratic movements of his hips were anything to go off. 

He forced his fingers against the nerves one final time for good measure, knowing it would be the final straw.

“UGnh! Yes, God! Fine. Fuck me- please.” 

“Aw. So polite.” 

Oscar released his grip on Max’s hair and pulled his fingers out. He turned away and started walking towards his bedside table. Max tried to follow him, moving like he was about to go and sit on the bed, trying to kick his jeans the rest of the way off his legs in the process. It looked a bit awkward, and something truly evil in Oscar reared its head at the eagerness and the moment of vulnerability. His plan from earlier solidified.

“Oh. No. You lost bed privileges when you decided to ignore me and do whatever you wanted.” He spun around to talk to Max, and put a hand to his chest to stop him moving forwards, pushing a bit. “Now I get to do what I want. Go and wait in the garage.” 

Max just looked at him, expression twitching in confusion. “What?” 

Oscar didn’t respond. He just raised his eyebrows, daring Max to resist again. After a second of quiet in the darkness of the room, Max took the dare.

“It’s winter. I’m not wearing any clothes.” 

Oscar just shrugged. That was not his problem.

“Seriously?” 

Still no response. The implication was clear. Do it or you’ll get nothing. Max looked like he wanted to put up more of a fight, but Oscar chanced a glance between them and was met with one of the most intense looking erections he’d ever seen. Red tip wet with precome, prominent veins running through the pale shaft, pressed flat into Max’s stomach. Yeah, he was going to lose the standoff this time.

“Fine.” Max bit out.

“Great.” Oscar pressed a brief kiss to his lips, more in mocking than in earnest, and hit him on the ass gently. “I won’t be long. You know the way.” 

Max looked furious. Haha.

“You’re so lucky you’re hot.” Max said as he turned to walk out of Oscar’s bedroom. “Fucking 5’nothing menace.” He mumbled to himself as he left. 

Oscar waited a minute or two before he opened the draw and took out a condom and his lube bottle. The real reason he wanted Max out of the room was because he needed to check the expiry date on both of them. That’s how long it had been. And Max would absolutely have noticed. Lucky, it was fine. Both were still useable. 

Heading out of the bedroom door, he was pleased to see that Max had already made his way into the garage. He tapped the intercom screen on, and watched as it framed a moving image of Max with his arms crossed, completely naked and leaning against his car. He looked like he was deciding whether to touch himself in Oscar’s absence, or just give up and bolt.

Fucking priceless. 

Oscar opened the condom wrapper and slid it over himself, discarding the foil on the floor. Still watching Max through the screen, he opened the bottle of lube and squeezed some of it into his hand. He worked it over himself a few times, letting the pleasure wash over him, and warming the lube against his skin. He should probably go in now, before Max got fed up and left. In a spontaneous last minute decision, he went and picked up his phone and keys from where they had been left on his couch, deciding to take them with him. Being able to make a quick getaway was a good idea, just incase this didn’t go well.

“Hey.” He closed the door behind him. 

“The fuck are we in here for Oscar?” 

Mm. Angry Verstappen. 

Oscar crossed the garage, putting the things he’d been carrying down on a storage cupboard near the exit. “Turn around, put your hands on the car.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Oscar didn’t lift his eyes from what he was doing and kept his tone even like the question he was about to ask meant nothing to him. “What’s wrong? Never been fucked against a McLaren before?”

Max’s eyes almost left his head they opened so wide. “Oh, that’s-"

“S’okay if you don’t want to go through with it. I won’t be offended.” He mocked Max’s accent as he finished his sentence. Turning back towards the car, he noticed that Max’s face was saying something new. It wasn’t just the dim lighting of the garage, it was a genuine, intense expression that he’d never seen before.

“Come here.” Max reached a hand out for Oscar to take. Curious, he took it, letting himself be pulled closer. When their bodies met, Max ran both his hands through Oscar’s hair, something strangely alive and breathing in his eyes. “Fuck yes, I want to. That’s stupid hot, you should have just told me.”  

Well, that was more positive than Oscar could have hoped for. But he was sort of glad he hadn’t told Max his plan to begin with, otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten to see that brand new, pretty look on his face, which he now knew was surprise mixed with arousal.

He smiled at Max, and gave a small laugh.

“So then turn around, dickhead.” 

Max kissed him. Light and gentle, before spinning around and doing as he was told. He put his hands beside his body on the car, and moved his legs apart so that Oscar could fit between them. 

Oscar ran a hand down his spine. His anger had almost completely faded all of a sudden, and there was a weird open space left where it had been eating at him. It was quickly filling with something dangerously close to fondness. He decided he should probably focus, and ignore whatever that was. 

“Okay. Wanna tell me how you like it?” 

The question itself seemed to do something pretty fierce to Max, who tilted his head down to meet the metal of the car. 

“Hard. Please.” 

Mmhm. Shocker. Yeah, he could do that. 

“Understood.” 

He spat into his palm, mixing it with the leftover lube on his fingers, and pushed them back into Max’s body. The older man keened, a deep moan rippling through his chest as he let Oscar coat his insides, easing the push. He was still very open. Good. 

“Tell me if I hurt you.” Oscar said quietly, before lining himself up. 

“Okay, but I want you to h- MMNn!” Oscar pushed in, not giving Max any time to adjust to the feeling as he bottomed out, fast. He put a hand on his shoulder to keep Max steady, their slight height difference being helped by the fact that Max had slumped over, bent his knees and pushed himself forward with the impact. 

Oscar’s head just kind of gave up and exploded. 

“Christ. You- you feel amazing.” It was nothing but truthful. He hadn’t felt anything like this in his life before. It was as if Max’s walls were specifically made to fit him, perfectly hugging him in explosive warmth. He could feel himself twitching inside, and how deep that was causing the stretch to be. 

Oscar’s earnestness was rewarded with another loud moan as he started to thrust, pushing Max forward against the car, watching him lose his stability a little as he was forced to take all of Oscar’s length in at once.

“Y-yr - mm - big.” He got the general idea of what that meant. 

“You like that? That I’m big? 

He stilled deep inside, making sure his hips were flush against Max’s thighs. Mind blending pleasure ricocheting through his body as he felt no resistance. 

“Mmmh. F-eels good.” 

“I bet. Such a slut Max. You take it so easy.”  

Either the use of his name or the degradation or both made Max whine and push back against him, trying to force him deeper still, which wasn’t actually possible. Oscar just put his hands on either side of Max’s hips and kept him locked in place, then started setting a pace he felt was appropriately punishing. Apparently, Max agreed, because his voice had started to get much too loud for the small space. Oscar vaguely registered through the pleasure that there might still be people walking past outside.

“Mm. Might want to keep your voice down. Not sure if- mm.” One of Max’s hands moved behind his body to press into Oscar’s waist, trying to move him impossibly closer. God, was there anything this guy couldn’t take? “-If you want Lando’s friends to hear you like this.” 

“I’dnt care.” 

Oh? Was that an exhibitionist streak? Noted. 

Oscar hadn’t stop thrusting forwards, and was enjoying the way Max didn’t seem to be able to make his words work properly, while he was feeling very much in control of his. He let them play around in his mouth without really bothering to vet them. Being able to speak freely was additive, and while this did feel incomprehensively amazing, he wasn’t in danger of coming too quickly if either of them said something overly heated. He just wanted to get caught up in the honesty of this moment, and reveal in Max’s neediness. Make it worse, push him further into losing himself.

“Aw. You want them to hear us, huh? Want them to know who’s railing you?”

Max’s bent head nodded the best it could. “Hmmh.”

“That’s cute Max. But I need you to be quiet for me. Can’t have next door hear you screaming my name.” 

Max just moaned louder. Oscar should probably do something about that before his neighbours called the police. Looking over to the door of the garage and seeing his phone and keys, he had an idea. Maybe he could use Max’s exhibitionist tendencies against him.

“Wanna record you like this.” He pushed in, making sure to aim up and hit Max’s prostate. “Fucking gorgeous. Wanna watch it later.” The hand on his waist tightened, fingerprints pressing hard into his side. It seemed like Max was still listening. “Do you want that? Want me to show you how good you take it?” 

“M-hm. Yes. Fuck.” 

“Then be quiet, and I’ll consider it."

Max made a frustrated noise, but relented, moving his hand from the car to his mouth and biting down to stifle the sounds. He was being so obedient, such a different beast than what Oscar had been tangling with in his bedroom. This Max was cock-drunk and slipping into subservience, and Oscar wanted more than anything to see it on his face. He pulled out all the way, leaving Max empty against the car but keeping an arm on his shoulder. 

“Turn around.” 

Max was NOT happy about the sudden emptiness, and turned to face him fast, something deeply dangerous on his expression. That small bid for power on Oscar’s behalf might have been a mistake. 

Max put one hand to the side of Oscar’s neck, the other on his lower back, and forced him forwards again. Oscar had no choice, he was pressed against him and locked in tight before he could think. Jesus, he’s strong. 

Max used the car to support his back as he lifted a leg to wrap around Oscar’s waist. “Don’t you dare do that without warning me again.” 

Looks like he’d found his words now. Oscar might be screwed. 

Max lined himself up this time, looking down between them to get the right position, and then pushed Oscar forwards and into him. His head fell forwards onto Max’s shoulder as strong hands forced him inside so fast he didn’t even realise what had happened until he felt it. His head went fuzzy for a moment, his body caught fire.

“Uhnm. Fuck. Like that.” Max threw his head back against the car, clearly this new angle was working for him. His eyes rolled back when Oscar started thrusting again, his mouth fell open, his fingers dug into Oscar’s neck and waist, forming accidental scratches where he hadn’t cut his nails. It hurt, and the sting was beautiful, and Oscar felt owned. Wanted.

"Yeah? There?"

He doubled his pace, letting the thrusts get sloppier, feeling Max react to each one. The taller driver was starting to tighten up when it got too deep, flexing his stomach muscles and arms, moaning unrestrained against Oscar’s ear, which really shouldn’t have made Oscar want to hit him out of spite and arousal, but it did, so instead he just raised a hand and pressed it against Max’s mouth, attempting to quiet him, for the sake of the entire street. It did not work, Max’s voice was still very audible. 

“Osc- touch me.” 

A pause. Not in their movement, but in Oscar’s brain. Three thoughts had happened at once in Oscar’s mind hearing that. 

The first one; Lando. Only one person called him Osc. The nickname rang through his ears like a gong. The second one; that had probably been an accident. Max had probably just cut himself off by accident. Right? The third one; a pressing need to commit violence. 

He pulled back from Max’s shoulder. Max saw it on his face immediately. When he spoke next, it was a demand.

“Hit me.” 

Oscar was only pushing into him out of pure rhythm and muscle memory now. His head was elsewhere. Max pulled his hair, forcing his eyes to focus. Forcing him to process and respond to the request. 

“Osc! Hit me.” 

Oh. So it wasn’t an accident. Yeah. That did the trick. 

Oscar backhanded him. Hard. The force of the impact moved Max’s face to the side and he groaned in pleasure. His hips hitched in Oscar’s lap, his dick twitched in between their bodies. Max’s entire frame jolted as Oscar’s thrust got more and more brutal.

“Hhrm! Again.”

The demand made his head hurt - and Oscar couldn’t focus, and his second orgasm was building against his will in the stem of his abdomen. Max didn’t like that he wasn’t paying attention.

“Again! Oscar! Come on! Please- hhmf. I want to come.” 

The implications of that were dizzying. Oscar had to double check he’d understood it correctly.

“You can come from that?”

“Just fucking!- DO IT, and I’ll prove it!”

Woah. Okay. No no. This was slipping out of Oscar’s control again. The quiet electrical sounds of the garage were suddenly extremely audible as reality slipped into the space around them. It helped Oscar clear his head enough to figure out what was going on. 

Max was close, and he needed Oscar to hurt him to make it happen. 

No. As much as he would have loved to hit him again, he wasn’t about to let Max get what he wanted that easy. Not again. The whole reason he’d done this was to bend Max to his will. He wanted him back in that subservient headspace, and was prepared to do whatever it took to make that happen.

“I’m pulling out. Stay here.” 

“What?! Noo! wh-"

Oscar pushed himself out of Max’s firm hold, stumbling a bit as he forced his hands off and falling back a step. He walked quickly over to the storage unit, grabbing his keys from on top as he pretended like he couldn’t hear Max’s groans and objections ringing out from behind him. Fumbling a bit in his urgency, he looked for the button that unlocked his car. Finding it, he turned back around and pressed it down. The car made a small beep, and the rear lights flashed orange against the wall. 

“Get in the back seat.” Oscar gestured at the door and crossed over to it. When Max didn’t move, he went and opened it himself. He stood to the side and waited. Max was all confusion and dishevelment, flushed all over and leaking against himself a little. His hair was sweaty, his skin was glowing. A beautiful nightmare of a man. Anyone with a brain would have just done whatever he asked of them. Luckily, Oscar’s was empty. And he had enough anger left in him to know he wasn’t going to ask Max again. He just tilted his head at the open door, not backing down.

Max seemed to sense this wasn’t up for debate, and he cautiously made his way over, looking over his shoulder at Oscar as he climbed into the back. Oscar ran a careful hand through Max’s hair to shield it from being hit on the doorframe. 

“Lie down, if you can.” 

“Oscar…?” 

“Don’t worry. You’ll still get what you need.” 

Max shuffled, lowering his back until it hit the seat, using his hand to steady himself against the passenger side. He lay there, breathing hard, looking up at Oscar who was still stood in the doorway. He reached out an arm for Oscar to take, and opened his legs as far as the seats would allow. 

Taking all of him in, Oscar had the realisation that once they got started again, he wasn’t going to last long. It was a bit like looking directly at an eclipse, burning and transcendent and dark, all consuming, only he doubted the moon and the sun had the ability to take dick the way Max could. Vulgar thoughts aside, Oscar took Max’s hand and following him into the backseat, resting his body as needed between his spread legs. He threw his keys on the floor, as well as any caution that might have been left in him.

“Can I mark you up?” 

The way Max was biting his lip made Oscar want to bite his neck. And his chest. And his stomach and his thighs and anywhere else Max would let him. 

“Yes. Please, you can. It’s off season anyway.” 

Max smiled at him, and that did it. Oscar put his arms either side of Max’s torso and bent into him, connecting his mouth to the side of the beautiful man’s well trained neck and biting down hard. Max made that the same noise he’d made when Oscar hit him, all pain and pleasure, and reached between their bodies to guide Oscar back into himself. It took nothing. He’d created a perfect carving in Max’s body that welcomed him back with open arms. And Oscar had been right. This wasn’t going to last much longer. 

He focused of creating a maintainable pace, something that still sunk him all the way inside without causing Max to jolt too much or send himself over the edge too quickly. Something that meant he could still suck deep red bruises along the Dutchman’s collar and clavicle, and feel it when Max’s nails cut ribbons into his back. He let them stay like that, slowly killing one another, until Max was practically screaming for him to speed up or hit him or do something other than fuck him equal parts gentle and hard.

“Please- please! Oscar! Harder. Ik heb meer nodig.”

Two guesses as to what that meant. Oscar removed his mouth from Max’s neck and leant back a bit, trying to keep his words even as the pleasure threatened to break him.

“Want me to touch you? Or you wanna come like this?” 

To show Max what he meant by ‘this’, he leant forwards and put a hand to his neck, dark bruises and strong muscle disappearing under his delicate fingers as he squeezed lightly. Max’s hips lifted, not enough to knock Oscar out of him but just enough to make it obvious which option he was going to choose.

“Yes! Like that. But properly- please.” 

Fuck. That might have been the most orgasm inducing string of words Oscar had ever heard. He didn’t need to be asked again, he just pressed down hard, timing the squeeze of his hand with a well placed thrust into Max’s prostate. Max tried to scream, but it got caught under Oscar’s hand. 

Looking between their bodies was a mistake. Max was leaking precome onto his stomach, clear and glistening and smearing between them, a visible puddle starting to form on the side of his hip bone. He was fucked out and choking and his eyelashes were fluttering, he was pushing his hips forward for friction, and Oscar couldn’t help himself. He let the remnants of his anger guide his words.  

“Does that feel good, champion? You’re such a whore, Max. Look at you, leaking all over my fucking car.” He lifted his hand a bit to let Max breathe, and then shoved it down again, picking up the pace of his thrusts so he could chase his own climax. 

“Come for me.” He pressed harder into Max’s neck. “Show me how fucked up you really are.” And Max looked like he was about to, so Oscar took his hand off his throat and used it to slap Max so hard across the cheek that the sound reverberated out of the car and into the garage. Max made a sound that was only measurable in the make believe world, and then he was coming against his own stomach, thick white pearly ropes hitting the top of his sternum, each thrust from Oscar pushing another out of his body until it was simply obscene. He wasn’t stopping, his chest was shaking with the effort, his hand had flown back against the car door while he tried to work through it. 

Oscar couldn’t watch this happen and stay sane. It set off a chain reaction where he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus his eyes, and then all of a sudden and he was following Max off the edge. 

Chasing instinct instead of logic, he pulled out at the last second and ripped the condom from his body, giving himself two quick tugs that finished the job before he was spilling his own orgasm across the one still happening to Max, a perfect match of milky white come against milky white skin. His second release of the night felt more like his 5th, it was so overstimulating and intense that he almost couldn’t breathe. His hand let go of Max’s throat and his entire body gave in under the intensity.

-

The garage was humming low static sounds, only just blocked out by their equally flawed attempts to catch their breaths. Oscar had his head on Max’s chest, Max had his hands in Oscar’s hair, gentle fingers drawing small circles into his scalp. 

“Thank you.” Oscar whispered, in between panting, and he’d never meant anything more in his life.

Max wasn’t much better, his voice was horse from the asphyxiation, but he was trying to at least sound more put together than he felt. “Mm. Feel a bit better now?” 

Oscar studied his body for signs of anger or pain. There was nothing to find, just relaxed bones and a blissed out head. “Yeah. A lot better.” 

“Still got energy left?”

Oscar lifted his head at that, meeting Max with a questing look. “No. Yes. Why?”

“I want to go to that party.” 

Oscar laughed. The fact that he had any energy left at all after sex like that was a testament to the kind of athlete he was. “Dude. Your neck looks like an oil rig explosion. No way.”

“Don’t call me dude. We’re not children.” 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Okay then, sir - your neck looks like someone tried to use it for golf practice. We can’t go to a party right now.” 

Max looked thoughtful, his hands still tangled in Oscar’s hair. “No one will say anything. They’re all shit scared of me.” 

He took a second to consider that. “That's true I guess. Do you actually want to go?”

“Yes. I think you can handle it. And I’ll be there if you can’t.” 

Oscar collapsed back down on Max’s chest. After everything they’d just been through, he didn’t have it in him to lie anymore. Not even to himself. “I do kinda want to go. I want to see him, you know? I miss him.” 

Max ran a soft hand down his back, stopping to trace some of the cuts his fingernails had made. “I know.” 

Then he took a breath in, and pushed against Oscar’s shoulder. “Well get up then. We need a shower.” 

-

The fairy lights at the house party were glowing green blue and purple, draping the giant garden area in a technicolor haze that obscured most people and faces. It was late, maybe 2am by this point, and majority of the crowd was either beyond smashed or headed that way. 

Oscar and Max sat side-by-side next to the pool on one of the deck chairs, it was too cold for anyone to be swimming but that hadn’t stopped the drunken crowd. There were at least 8 people in the pool flirting and shouting around the two drivers, helping them to stay essentially ignored amongst the myriad of other rich and famous guests. Max had a glass of gin in his hand that Oscar had offered to make for him, and Oscar was trying his best to get down a beer. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but after the events of the night, he needed it. 

There was a shout from their left, as a small curly haired man and a blond woman ran through the pool area together and cannonballed into the water, leaving a huge wave of displaced water to collect around the deck chairs.

“One guess.” Max said, taking a sip of his drink. 

Oscar didn’t need to guess, he knew that shout anywhere. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hi fellas!” George’s posh accent and overly friendly demeanor caught Oscar off guard for a moment, and he jolted at the physical contact. “Didn’t think I’d see either of you tonight.” 

He watched as George tried to awkwardly maneuver himself down to sit next to them, one hand still on Oscar’s shoulder. 

“Fuck off George.” Max said, a quiet bluntness to his voice. “He doesn’t need you tonight.” 

George just put both his hands up in surrender and started to back away. Clearly the two of them were in on something that Oscar hadn’t been made privy to. Well, something he’d sort of been made privy to. He could take a good guess that it had to do with Max’s presentation. 

When George was gone, he spoke low, entertained by the power Max seemed to have over his fellow drivers. “Are you going to do that to Carlos and Charles as well?” 

“If I have to. Yes. Although those two are generally better at reading a room.” 

Oscar smiled at the water. “Can’t tell if you’re just taking this whole induction thing super serious, or if you’re maybe feeling a bit possessive there Max.” 

“It’s not possessive. You just owe me a recording still is all. You said you’d consider it.”

Oh? Max still wanted Oscar to record him. Mm. 

“But you weren’t quiet enough, were you?” Oscar let his hand find the Max’s neck, fingers pressing a little, just enough to make him turn his head. “You’ll have to try harder next time.” 

“Osc!!” Oscar’s head snapped back to pool and his hand left Max’s neck. Lando was swimming over to greet both his rivals, smiling hugely at them. He pushed his hands over the ledge and forced his way out, leaving the blond girl who’d jumped in with him looking extremely put out. 

They watched as Lando shook water from his body like a dog and came to meet them. 

“Hey!! You came! I thought you sai-"

He cut himself off when he took a moment to properly look at Max. His eyes darted to Max’s neck, along the very visible bruises, over to where their knees were pressed together, then to Oscar, and then back to Max again. 

“Hi Max.” 

Max just nodded at him. “Having a nice night mate?” 

“I… um. Yeah. Thanks.” 

Lando wasn’t particularly good at masking emotion. The smile had disappeared of his face. He was blinking at them, clearly trying to figure out if what he was thinking was in any way feasible. 

Oscar ended his suffering. 

“How are you? Haven’t really seen you since the Yas Marina.” 

“I’m… good.” He seemed to recover a bit after that, straightening his chest and running a hand through his hair. “Champion life suits me.” 

Max put his hand on Oscar’s thigh. “Cool.” 

Lando seemed to visibly deflate as the dots connected and solidified. Oscar felt the need to get up and hug him, but he stayed seated. This was a test after all, one he knew he’d have to pass if he wanted a shot at surviving next year. The only thing he didn’t know is if it was Max who was testing him, or if the tight grip on his thigh was more personal then educational. 

“Um. Okay. I’m going to go get a drink.” Lando started to turn and walk away, but he paused, looking like he wanted to say something else, and then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he just tried to cover his frown with a smile, and said “Want anything?” 

Oscar just shook his head. “Na. Thanks. We’re set.” 

“Okay.” And he left them to go wonder off inside, looking over his shoulder occasionally.

Once he was out of earshot, Oscar hit Max on the shoulder. “What was that?! You didn’t need to do that.“

“Maybe not. But it’s for the best he knows.” 

His tone shifted to something softer, and he leant into Oscar and put an arm around his back.

“Want to just run away and become Supercars drivers? I’ve always thought they seemed like fun guys.” 

Oscar laughed and buried his head in the crook of Max’s neck. “Yeah. I’d like that. Maybe next lifetime, hey?” 

“Yes. For now, let’s just try and cope with this one I suppose.”

-

Oscar woke up in his own bed at about 12pm the next day. The first thing he did was check his phone for any missed texts from Lando, and finding none, he opened Threads out of habit. Max stirred in his sleep next to him, and he reached a hand out to sooth him while he regained his consciousness. 

F1Insider: Spotted - last night in uptown Monaco. Looks like these WDC losers are closer than we thought

The attached photo was a picture of Oscar with his head on Max’s shoulder and Max’s hand on his thigh. Green, blue and purple lights shining through their hair. Dark bruises only just visible around Max’s collar. They looked… happy. Pressed together and laughing.

Well, it was better than the convenience store photos. At least he didn’t look lonely this time.

By day three, Oscar was more scratches than skin. 

He let small droplets of hot shower water splash off the incisions along his shoulders and down his back, where he knew they were the worst, letting it sting pleasantly. He turned his waist until the water fell along the cuts on his chest, on his hips, and the various dark bruises that scattered his thighs where Max would attach his teeth or grip him too hard. He was covered in them. Beaten and bloodied and deeply in awe of the way it was making him feel.

There was a satisfaction, Oscar thought, in looking as battle worn as he currently did. His arms looked stronger when they had bruises from fingerprints etched along the biceps. His shoulders felt broader decorated by long red lines and dried blood. He wondered if warriors ever felt this way after a battle, if they looked down at their wounds and felt accomplished. He certainly felt accomplished, seeing as keeping the Dutchman happy was a full time job.

Max, as it turned out, didn’t just like it rough. He liked it to hurt always, wanted to bite and be bitten. He wasn’t just indulging in violence as a favour to Oscar, it seemed like he craved it. Needed it to be satisfied. A convenient coincidence, given their current situation. However, keeping him satisfied was a challenge in its own right.

Max wanted him twice a day, sometimes more. As a result, he hadn’t left Oscar’s apartment much except to grab some clothes and his laptop, once to visit a sponsor lunch. Three days of Max falling asleep next to him on the couch or in bed after their fighting sessions meant Oscar wasn’t spending much time on his own, or getting much of anything done. Max didn’t seem to be having the same problem. He was sitting on Oscar’s couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking entirely too comfortable. Entirely too at ease with taking up so much space in Oscar life. Laptop on his lap as he watched a playback of a rival sim team racing, taking notes for his own team.

Oscar walked into the living room with one towel around his waist and another rubbing at his still damp hair. Max didn’t look up from his laptop.

“Don’t you have to do your own practice at some point?” Oscar asked, watching one of the cars run up a virtual version of Eau Rouge from over Max’s shoulder.

Max kept his eyes fix to the screen. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.” 

Oscar considered pretending like the answer was yes, but not for long. He liked having another body in his space, he liked whatever it was that they were doing, ‘liked’ being an understatement. It was just a bit jarring how little Max cared that he’d already been here too long. He was always so confidant, so sure of himself in every space. Never doubted himself. Never explained himself or felt the need to. And he could read Oscar like a book, he knew he was wanted. He knew how much this distraction was helping with the heartbreak and the anger and the bitterness. Oscar just wished he was able to read Max the same way, so he wouldn’t have a constant loop of questions swirling through his head about why Max was still here and why he seemed to want Oscar so specifically. He was Max Verstappen for god's sake, he could have had anyone.

“Shut up. You know I don’t want that.”

Oscar threw the towel he’d been using to dry his hair over Max’s laptop to soften the honesty. Max just snorted a laugh at him and kept taking notes.

“You can use my rig if you want. It’s in the spare room.”

“S’okay. Gabi’s holding down the fort for me today anyway.” Max finally looked up from his laptop. His eyes wondered over Oscar exposed chest. Down to his waist. Along the lines of his hips. He moved his laptop off his lap. “Wait, actually-"

He got up and crossed over to Oscar. Max was all floppy hair and loose clothes today, and he would have looked extremely innocent if Oscar didn’t know what that look in his eyes meant by now. He put a hand out so his five fingers met the bruises along Oscar’s v-line - a perfect match. He looked down at the contact and smiled to himself. Then he pushed. Hard against the muscle, forcing Oscar to move backwards quickly until his back hit the wall. 

“Oof. Hey.” Oscar said as his brain caught up to his body and his back met hard plaster. Max’s eyes were all over him. After the shower, every raised line on Oscar’s marked body was hyper visible. He must have looked a bit like a car crash, and he was half expecting Max to say something stupid like 'does it hurt' or 'I’m sorry' but he just looked up and spoke in that soft demanding tone that Oscar loved so much. 

“You’re showing off for me.”

“I-"

“You’re proud of this.”

He wanted to deny it. But ultimately, what would that have achieved? Max was right. He could have put some clothes on before he came into the living room, but he hadn’t. A pretty big part of him was proud, and he wanted to hear Max say that he looked good like this. That it was impressive. It felt impressive.

Max ran a hand down his chest. 

“Show me your rig.” 

“…So you can practice?” Oscar asked, confused. He thought he had known where this was headed.

“No. You’re going to practice. I’m going to ride you.” 

Mmmmmfff. See it’s stuff like that that made it impossible for Oscar to ask questions. Questions like ‘why do you keep sleeping at my house?’ or ‘oh by the way, what the fuck are we doing?’ or ‘why is this starting to feel less like you’re helping me, and more like I’m helping you?’ were getting lost every time Max said shit like that.

“Terms?” Oscar asked.

The champion liked to play games, he was learning. He liked to make them both work for it, liked to win. No surprises there. But he also liked to be forced into submission, even when he didn’t win. Liked it when Oscar told him to get fucked and just did what he wanted anyway. 

“Whenever you crash, I get to add another one of these.” He ran a finger over the bite marks near Oscar’s collarbone. “If you don’t crash, I’ll let you come inside me.” 

Oscar’s brain made a pathetic sputtering sound. The next words he spoke came out very dumb.

“What? Like, raw?” 

Not even a moment of hesitation. “Yes. Sound like fun?”

“Jesus Max.” 

-

Max was already in his lap and stripped by the time that Oscar was able to get comfortable enough to start his session. His chest and neck told a similar tale to Oscar’s, completely covered in battle scars. Only, Max’s tended to be more bruises than scratches. Deliberate and precise blossoms of pain that Oscar would inflict when he felt like Max had earned it. He had more chest to cover than Oscar did, so the discolouration looked a little less intense but stood out so delicately against the yet to be marked places on his abdomen and pecks. Places Oscar was planning to get to later, depending on how long Max wanted them to keep doing this. They still had a good number of weeks before the season resumed. 

The distraction that was the transcendent beauty of a naked Max Verstappen wasn’t helping with the fact that this was not going to be possible. Oscar could hardly see the screen at all over Max’s shoulder and he couldn’t really move his feet on the peddles properly with a heavy human weight on both of his thighs. Max was already hard and trying to grind himself down on Oscar’s lap like he couldn’t stand being empty any longer. It was jostling them both a bit. 

“Stay still, I can’t see what I’m doing.”

“Mmh. Then hurry up already.”

“Be patient! I need to get my setup right.” 

Max groaned at him and shifted so that Oscar’s tip was pressing into him. He moved his hips back, wanting to catch more of it, and tried not to sound too desperate when he spoke. 

“Come on! You’re taking this too seriously. You’re just going to end up holding my hips and coming in me anyway.” 

That got Oscar’s attention. In part because of the vulgarity, but mostly because !!! OH. 

Oh. So he knew how this was going to end already. Of course he did. He was just playing this little game as an excuse so that he didn’t have to ask for what he wanted. Arrogant fucking bastard. God forbid he concede any power by just saying it. But no, they had to play this stupid game instead. Actually, no they didn’t. If Max wanted something, he could fucking ask for it.

Oscar’s hands left the steering wheel, and he planted them firmly either side of Max’s waist, letting his fingernails bite the skin. 

“So do it yourself. Make me come in you, if that’s what you want. Or will that hurt your pride too much? Can’t just tell me how bad you want it, huh?” 

Max gave him the kind of look usually reserved for someone who runs over a beloved family pet. For a second, Oscar thought he might try to kill him, but then he just reached down between them and lifted Oscar into a good enough position to sink down on. It happened too fast. Much too fast. Oscar’s eyes fluttered closed and he arched his back into the chair as an involuntary groan left his throat, unbearable heat exploding between his legs. They should have used a condom. This was going to be over way too fast.

“Fuck- mgmh. Max”

Max started to move before he could catch his breath, the angle of the chair meaning he needed to shift his hips backwards and forwards instead of up and down, hitting Oscar in the stomach with his erection and putting a hand on Oscar’s neck to steady himself. He seemed to be prioritising the pace of his ride rather than the pleasure of it, the angle was all wrong for it to be hitting his prostate and the only person that could have been doing anything for was Oscar, whose entire sense of self was being thrown off by the fast, shallow pushes. His fingers dug harder into Max’s side, and he focused on trying not to buck up into it. Max moaned softly when his fingernails started to draw blood. 

“Aw. Does it feel good Oscar?” His tone was all teasing and breathless laughter. He pushed a hand into Oscar’s hair and pulled hard, forcing Oscar to open his eyes. “How long can you last like this, do you think? 5 minutes?” 

Oscar tried to format a response but then Max’s hips snapped at an unbelievable angle and the words died in his throat, coming out in gibberish. 

“No-t- fuukmmh! Fuck. Hhm.” 

Max laughed at him, clearly enjoying inflicting this torture. He pulled Oscar’s hair again to get him to tilt his head back and leant in to suck his neck. Oscar felt sharp teeth on his jugular. 

“Answer me.” 

The teeth bit down, and his eyes lost focus for a second as the pain pricked and forced his tear ducts to water. His hands left Max’s hips, a small amount of blood under his fingernails, to grip Max’s shoulders and hold on enough to ground himself and make his words happen. 

“N-!. M’m cum if you keep doing that.” 

Max laughed again against his neck. “Well I’m not going to stop. So figure it out.” 

And he doubled the pace. Oscar almost cried. Max’s teeth bit him hard, he tightened his muscles to squeeze Oscar tighter inside him, and the only way he could fight back against the blinding pleasure was to push back against Max’s chest, trying to create some distance between their bodies. He pushed him backwards until he forced Max to release his mouth from around his neck, made him sit up straighter, bent him until his spine hit the steering wheel, dug his fingers into Max’s shoulders to keep him still, keep him away. It worked a little bit, but not nearly enough. Oscar was still dangerously close to the edge. 

“S-slow down.” 

“No.” 

Fuck. 

Oscar let one hand wrap around Max’s dick. If he couldn’t stop himself from coming too quickly, he would at least force Max off the edge with him. Max’s hips pushed up into his hand and he tilted his head to the side, trying to hide the pleasure on his features. Oscar wasn’t fooled, he made sure to keep his stokes in line with Max’s thrusts. 

“Os-car, you’re-"

Whatever he was trying to say, he couldn’t concentrate enough to make it happen. He had to slap Oscar’s hand off him in frustration so he could speak.

“Your phone’s ringing.” 

Oscar could not have cared less about anything in the entire world. Whoever it was could have been hanging off the side of a building and he still wouldn’t have answered. Max reached out an arm and picked up his phone from the table, stopping the attack of his hips for a moment while he turned the screen to show Oscar. 

“It’s Lando.” 

Again, WHO CARES. 

“Whatever! Put that down!” Oscar said, incredulous at the interruption.

“I’m going to answer.” 

“Don’t do that! OH MY GOD Max DONT-"

Max picked up the call. He held the phone close to Oscar’s mouth, still firmly seated on his dick and not looking like he planned to get off anytime soon. The only saving grace was that Max was still, thankfully, not moving.

Lando’s voice came through the line after a moment. Usually when you pick up someone’s call it’s polite to greet them. Oscar had failed to do this. 

“…Osc?”

He was currently trying to grab the phone from Max’s hand, which was proving impossible as Max had him pinned under his weight and kept lifting the phone above his head when he’d try and reach for it. 

Max mouthed ‘better say something’ at him and he grimaced. He didn’t have a choice. This conversation was about to happen whether he liked it or not. 

“…Heeey.” 

“Hey. Sorry to call you randomly, but I just got off the phone with Andrea.” Max shifted his hips, forcing Oscar to move inside him. He just barely managed to bite back a moan. He spoke through clenched teeth. 

“Mhm. What did he want?” 

Max smiled down at him. Evil. Evil man. Horrible evil slut of a man. 

“He wants us to come in for another round of tire testing, but like, I don’t really get why because we’ve already done two rounds and-"

Max started to move again, small circular gyrations of his hips that felt like a slow painful death. Oscar tried to hold him still and failed. Max was stronger than he was. He couldn’t help it, the moan made its way up his throat. Luckily he was able to trap it behind his teeth until it sounded mostly like a groan. Lando took this as frustration, thank god. 

“Yeah I know! I said I didn’t think we needed it either. But I figured I’d ask you because we didn’t really… um.. talk, after the second time. Maybe you- I dunno. maybe you have a different opinion. Or something.” 

Max snapped his hips and Oscar almost screamed. 

“Fuck! Urm.”

“..Are you okay?” Lando sounded worried. Probably because Oscar was being EXTREMELY WEIRD. 

“Yeah- just. Um.” 

Max had started to move faster. Oscar had already been close to the edge before Lando had called and was quickly finding his way back there. A pool of traitorous pleasure was gathering low in his stomach. 

“Ye-eh. S’fine. I don’t wanna do it either.” He just barely managed to get out.

“…Okay. I’ll er.. I’ll let him know. Oh! While I have you, are you coming to the specification checks thing for our new cars next week? Rob says he’s still figuring out the-"

SHIT. Lando was about to talk about their 2026 car. On speaker, in front of their biggest rival. 

“STOP WAIT! Sorry. I’ve actually- I’ve got Max with me right now-wmmn. We’ll- we’ll talk later okay?” 

“…What?” 

Oscar mouthed ‘HANG UP’ at Max, who finally, finally listened to him and lowered the phone to give to Oscar. He hit ‘end call’ before bothering to respond to Lando, let out a huge exhale and dropped his phone to the floor.

Fuck. That was.. there wasn’t even words for how stupid or close that was. When the relief faded, boiling rage replaced it. What in the ever loving fuck. He was going to kill a 4 time world champion today. 

“Get off.” 

Max pouted at him. 

“Get. Off.”

He smiled and removed himself from Oscar’s lap, climbing over the rig and releasing Oscar from his torture chamber. He sunk to his knees on the carpet next to the rig and waited for Oscar to get up, watching him move slowly. Looking at Oscar like he was more than a little pleased with himself.

“Ha. You liked that. I wasn’t sure if you would, but then you did.” 

Oscar swung his legs over the side of the chair. Didn’t respond. Just took in the sight of Max on his knees. 

“Was it Lando’s voice that made you jump inside me like that? Bit pathetic, don’t you thin-"

Oscar forced his hand around Max’s neck as fast as he could and tightened until the words got stuck. 

“Call me pathetic again. See what happens.” 

There was defiance in Max’s eyes. Oscar would need to do something about that soon.

He pushed down on Max’s throat until the older man was forced to lay back, head hitting the ground with thud. Oscar felt the little groan in his throat when his eyes became unfocused with the force of it. He made Max move his legs apart with his other hand and crawled over him, loosening his grip on his throat so Max could try it. Which he did. No surprises there.

“But it was kinda pathetic though.” He was trying to laugh.

Oscar leant in to speak quietly against his ear.

“Wrong move Verstappen. I’m going to fuck you until you cry now. Okay?” 

He lifted one hand behind his head, watching Max’s face for permission. Max gave him a small nod, the smile on his lips faltering a bit at the serious tone in Oscar’s voice. Good. He brought his hand down hard against Max’s face, open palm meeting the stubble on Max’s jaw so hard that it left a bright red mark against his skin. Before Max could even react Oscar pushed into him, forcing his legs to widen, forcing himself all the way inside with one brutal push. Max’s body was caught between reacting to the slap and fluttering around the new intrusion, he wasn’t able to do much except make a very long, very Dutch sounding sting of confused moans, and Oscar watched his face go bright red. 

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” Oscar taunted, burying himself so deep inside that it probably felt more like being impaled than being fucked, backed out and did it again, hard enough that Max’s hands started trying to grip the carpet to stop the jolting of his body. Oscar just let him flounder, enjoying the fact that it seemed like he was struggling to breathe. Refused to touch him, just pushed into him harder and kept his hands to himself. This seemed to frustrate Max, he was grasping at the air now, clearly trying to bring Oscar closer, create some contact, wanting to dig his nails in. He almost managed it too, but Oscar pushed his hand off and lent back.

“Touch me and die.” 

Max groaned in frustration and lifted his hips, wordlessly expressing to Oscar that he needed to be touched, bitten, hit again. Anything other than just the pure, brutal push of being lovelessly fucked into the carpet. In no universe did Oscar feel inclined to indulge this, not after his little phone stunt. 

He was so wrapped up in enjoying Max’s suffering that he almost forgot how close to orgasm he actually was as it built and built and built, working through his fingers, sparks flying through his nervous system, curling his toes for him, making his head spin. He caught himself just before it got too much, pulling all the way out to prolong the inevitable. 

Max did not like that. Oscar should have seen it coming. It was the final straw for the already extremely frustrated older driver.

Max used his superior strength to flip them, pushing Oscar off him and forcing Oscar’s back to hit the floor where his head had just been. As he lent in to line Oscar up to himself again, he forced their mouths to meet, open and filthy, as he sunk down until there was nothing left of Oscar to take. In a final moment of defiance, Oscar bit his lip so hard he could taste blood. The sound Max made was one of twisted pleasure, Oscar felt him tense with the pain. 

Max pulled back, wiping the blood off his lip and looking down. 

“You look good like this.” He moved the angle of his hips to press Oscar into his prostate and groaned, a noise that matched the one that left Oscar’s lips almost exactly. “Mfmh. Sound so good. So hot when you sound like that.” It was barely English, more mumbles than sentences. He seemed ruined.

Max pushed blood stained fingers forwards and against Oscar’s mouth, silently asking him to open, which Oscar did happily, feeling overwhelmed by being so close to an orgasm and the look on Max’s face that reminded him distantly of a predator animal feeding. A Lion, or something equally as cliché. Max pushed two fingers into his mouth, and Oscar tasted the metallic twang of iron on his tongue as his stomach tightened. 

“Want you to come in me. Want to feel it.” Max’s eyes were unfocused, lost in a haze of arousal and need, his riding becoming iritic. “Please.” 

It was the tone in his voice that did it. That and the fact that he’d finally asked for what he wanted. Genuine begging, or as close to it as Max tended to get. And Oscar was only human. Teared apart and devoured whole by the lion, he was happy to offer himself up as sustenance in that moment.

Max’s hips gave a final, painfully beautiful surge for power before Oscar was coming, back arching off the floor, fingers digging into his palms as he gave Max what he wanted in long drawn-out pulses. He could feel everything. The way it eased the push into Max’s body, the way it was filling him, the sheer force of his twitching and how it signaled to Max what had happened. He put a bent arm over his face to try and stop himself screaming, but Max moved it off immediately. 

“N-o. Watch.”

Max’s voice was broken as he demanded to be witnessed, and Oscar was glad he’d obliged because without any contact between them bar one point of connection, Max’s body started twitching and then releasing, just a few small spurts before he leant back, put his hands on the floor and rode out the rest of it, forcing Oscar against his prostate as the full impact hit him. He let come fall across their bodies as he tilted his head back and arched his spine, sweat on his chest, throat muscles working around desperate whines and curses, the wide frame of his torso sending shivers out to his arms and thighs. And Oscar could still feel all of it. Every shiver, every drop of wet as it hit his abdomen.

Not a single thought crossed his mind watching it happen. There was only overstimulation and awe. Shock and pleasure so thick it was suffocating him, bending his vision until Max was the center of the universe.

-

“That was…”

Oscar couldn’t find the words. 

“Mm.”

Max had collapsed down on the floor next to Oscar and closed his eyes, chest rising and falling softly, breath sounding much too peaceful for a man who had just… done that. Whatever that was.

“How did you-? I can’t even- what was that?”

Oscar couldn’t control the way his words came out stunned and impressed. He’d never seen someone come untouched like that. It was a thing of unmatched beauty, the direct handy work of the devil probably.

“Mmm.” 

Max wasn’t feeling very talkative. Fair enough. Oscar rolled onto his side and put a hand on his chest, hoping to gauge some of what Max’s emotions might be. He was rewarded with a small smile, and Max turned his head to look at him. 

“Neat trick, right?” 

Oscar was still in awe of this man. Still completely at his mercy. It didn’t make sense. Why? Why was he here? Why was he letting Oscar do these things to him? Why was he doing these things to Oscar? It couldn’t have been healthy, no matter how much it felt like it helped. He couldn’t even find it in him to be upset about the phone call anymore, he was so confused and adoring it made it head hurt. For the first time since Max had walked into his apartment three days ago, he finally found the courage to ask. Or perhaps it wasn’t courage at all, just pure necessity of understanding that opened his mouth. 

“Why are you here?”

Max raised his eyebrows in questioning. “I can go? If you want?”

“No, like- why are you… with me? This isn’t…I’m not..” he couldn’t find the words. He collapsed back down against the carpet, defeated. 

Max pushed himself up and leant over Oscar, put a hand in his hair, let his fingers trace along his jaw. “You’re not what?” 

Oscar sighed at the tenderness of it, and finally found the words. “Good. For you.” 

Max seemed to consider that for a moment. “No. But I knew what I was getting myself into. You’re hurt. And in love with someone else.”

“I’m not-"

“You are. It’s okay. I’m in love with someone else too. Yours doesn’t want you, and mine isn’t coming back to get me. Sucks.” He shrugged against the carpet.

After a moment of silence while Oscar tried to make sense of that comment, Max sat up, turning his head to send a glance over the mess they’d made and smiled small. All sad eyes.

“But this makes it easier, don’t you think?”

Like usual, he was right. 

“Mm.” 

-

“Say that again.” 

“You heard me.” 

“Wasn’t a question, actually.” 

Max sighed and put his phone down. They were driving along the back streets up the mountainous cliffs of the Alps near the city, looking for somewhere with a view of the ocean. It was the first sunny day they’d had in a week, and the rays were slipping through the trees like a waterfall, lighting their path along the winding roads.

“I said you’re too careful.” He looked over at Oscar, whose eyes were firmly planted on the tarmac ahead of them, maneuvering the car slowly through the twists and turns. “It’s a corner, not a kitten.”

Oscar smiled and hit the accelerator hard, pushing the car into dizzying action. Max’s head hit the headrest with the unexpected g-force and he put a hand on the dash to stop himself falling forward when the car slowed down again.

“WOah! Crazy bastard.”

“Do more neck training, then we can talk about my driving.” 

Max shook his head, huffed a laugh and lifted his phone up again to check directions. 

“You’ve been giving me more than enough neck training, I think. Should be around here somewhere.” 

Oscar scoffed at him. He wasn’t joking, Max’s neck was more blue and purple than white and pink today.

The plan was to find a lookout that Max had stumbled upon a few years ago, one he’d said was so beautiful that it made every day bullshit seem pointless. Kind of a bleak idea, in Oscar’s opinion, but he’d been enjoying being in Max’s company so much this past week, even if whatever they had become was completely unnamable. Oscar was pretty sure ‘friend’ is the wrong word for someone who likes to sleep with your cock in their mouth, and ‘lovers’ was far too romantic for the way they treated one another. It was familiar, but never fond. Kind but never caring. Tender only in its violence. They intertwined too easy, needed each other for things too specific to be reasoned with or fought against. He needed Max to survive at the moment, and Max needed him, his aggression, to cope. For some reason. It still wasn’t exactly clear to Oscar why he couldn’t find that elsewhere. And Max was protective, even if he’d never admit it. One morning ago, Oscar had caught him about to hit send on a Tweet back to someone who had said Oscar didn’t deserve his seat for next year. Max’s reply had a good amount of swear words for one sentence. Oscar had needed to remind him how that would look after that photo of them on Threads had gone viral. Max had told Oscar to bite him and tried to send it anyway. And then Oscar had bitten him. And then Max had pinned him to the floor with minimal effort and scratched his chest up so bad that Oscar had come in his running gear. Luckily, he’d managed to grab the phone this time while Max’s hands were busy.

“Yup. There.”

Max pointed to the left, and Oscar pulled down a small divot in the road that didn’t look like it was going to lead anywhere. Stones and sand scattered the steep decline of the hill face as the car bumped over the little divots.

“This better not fuck up my car.” 

“Relax, your ugly baby will be fine.” 

Max grabbed his thigh. “SEE?”

Oscar did see. The small road gave way to a clearing, scattered with trees and deserted except for a small hill covered in grass. The view was breathtaking, a completely unobstructed view of the entire city and its rolling mountains, the beach water glistening in the sun. 

“Wow.” Oscar said. 

“Like it?” 

“Yeah. Yeah I do.” It looked almost like home. Like the peninsulas and oceans Oscar was used to visiting with his family as a kid. He’d never seen Monaco look this beautiful before, never seen its oceans so sapphire or its buildings so small.

They got out and made their way over to sit down on the grass. Oscar was still a bit struck by the beauty of it and the homesickness it inspired, so he stayed standing for a while to take it all in. Max eventually grabbed his t-shirt and pulled. 

“Sit!” He pulled Oscar down so hard he tripped and fell to his knees, rolling on to Max’s folded thighs. He laughed at the suddenness of it. Looked up at Max. The sun made him appear softer than Oscar knew he actually was. All glowing skin and pouty lips. Oscar’s eyes traveled to Max’s neck. It was a stark difference, the softness of him in this moment next to the evidence of the pain he craved. Max caught him looking. 

“Wanna add to it?” 

“You’re crazy. That’s the whole city right there.” 

“Yes.” Max shifted letting Oscar’s head fall to the grass as he flipped himself so he could his put legs on either side of Oscar’s torso and look down at him. “Scared?” 

“Fuck off.” Oscar put an arm over his face, smiling. Max attacked him, bending down to press a kiss to his neck and blow a raspberry to the side of his face. 

“You’re so boring.” 

Oscar looked at him, incredulous. “You seriously want me to do that in front of like 40,000 people?”

“Yes.” 

“Kay. Well, I’m not gonna.”

Max made a thumbs down at him and blew another raspberry. “Fine. Guess I’ll just have to get you to do it on our next podium then.” 

“That’s!-"

Oscar cut himself off. Max had just implied they’d keep doing this into the next season. That was not what he understood this arrangement to be. He was pretty sure the concept here had been to get Oscar to survive UNTIL next season. Not beyond it. When they’d be back to being competitors. There was a small moment of confusion, then panic, then pride, then terror, all of which Max seemed to miss entirely. He’d started looking at the phone in his hand. 

“Mm. GP is calling me. One sec.” He got up from straddling Oscar’s lap and started to walk away. 

Oscar let him go and tried to work through his feelings quickly. 

Okay. First off, was that something he wanted? Complicated. Yes? Yes. Was it even possible? No. Not as things currently were. Not with the way they hurt each other. People would more than notice. So was it possible? Yes, as long as things were different. So yes. But also no. Was it a good idea? In no conceivable possible universe ever, it absolutely was not. And then there was the Lando complication. And the complication of Max’s who didn’t have a name. Fuck. This freak out might have to wait, Max was making his way back over. 

“Got called into the office. Sorry.” 

“It’s cool, I’ll drop you back at yours. Put a turtleneck on before you go please.” 

Another raspberry from Max. “Lame. I thought Australian’s were supposed to be chill.” 

“Yeah, well.” Oscar got his feet. “I’m not Danny Ric, but I have my moments.” 

Max crossed the distance between them. Something a little less joking in his eyes now. Not fond, but something. Soft. He took Oscar’s hand in his own and looked down at it. 

“You sound like him sometimes.” He raised Oscar’s hand to press a kiss the back of his palm. If Oscar had read it right, there seemed to be sadness in his tone. It was so hard to tell with Max, but Oscar knew that slight uptick in his vocal pattern, because he often made it himself by accident. Longing, not sadness. Or mixture of both. 

“Come on. We better go before GP quits.”

Hm. So maybe Max’s complication did have a name after all. And apparently, he sounded like Oscar sometimes. 

Oscar took a final look out over the ocean before turning to follow Max to the car. Maybe Monaco wasn't so bad. She looked beautiful today, and so did his heartbroken passenger princess. Max's words rung out in his head; But this makes it easier, don’t you think? He'd been right in more ways than one. His homesickness had started to flow through the river of rays, disappearing through the trees.

“Hey kid, how's the rain? You get in okay?”

Mark’s voice was all cheer and comfort, seeping through Oscar’s phone in broken connection as he tried to push his suitcase through the hotel door. 

“Hey. Yup. Just got in. Fucking England, taxis were all late cuz the weather.” Oscar left his stuff against the wall and went to go flop down on the bed, the short flight from Monaco to Heathrow had taken all the energy from him after batting to make it to the terminal on time.

“Who taught you to use language like that, hey?” 

Oscar smiled at the familiar joke, rolling the top sheet over between his thumb and forefinger. “Still you, Mark.” 

“Yeah yeah. Hey listen, tomorrow will be a bit shit, yeah? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it down for the regs test, but you got this. Just don’t let them forget who they’re deal’n with.” 

Oscar pressed the phone to his lip. Tomorrow was going to be shit, Mark was right about that. Things were hard at MTC these days, he’d never felt more like the second son, even before when he’d been asked to be second driver. Probably because back then he hadn’t had a chance to prove them wrong yet. Everyone was walking on egg shells around him, never saying more than a few words, like they could fix this whole mess as long as no one mentioned the elephant in the room. It wasn’t possible. Nothing could fix this. Nothing could change the fact that momentum had completely shifted at the team, and that he’d have to pull a miracle out of his pocket next season if that was going to change. Zack could call him a future world champion as much as he wanted, at the end of the day it was all just PR to drum up interest. 

“Yup. I know. Thanks.”

There was a moment of silence, and then

“Hhrm.” Mark cleared his throat in the way he always did before he was about to say something uncomfortable.

“Is someone..? Er. Someone’s taking care of you, right?” 

“…Define what you mean by that.”

“Ha. Okay, yeah. Thought so. Listen, you don’t have to tell me the details mate, but I…” he trailed off like the next thing he was about to say was too vulnerable. “I’m glad. It’s tough. But don’t let it, er. Just don’t let it get too out of hand. Almost made that mistake myself once.”

God knows what that meant, but Oscar could take a good guess. Mark had once had his own talented demon of teammate, for longer than Oscar had, and he’d prefer not to know what Mark had needed to do to cope with that. Or who.

“Is that something Ann needs to know about?” 

Mark laughed lightly. “No. No she knows. She got it. We have to do what we have to do and all that. I’m not judging you son. She wouldn’t either.” 

Oscar had left Max asleep in his bed before his flight. He’s stayed longer than he should have, tracing lines with his fingers into Max’s skin while he slept. Left a spare key on the dresser, hoping Max might choose to still be there when he got back. While he’d watched him doze, he’d thought about the way Max had looked at him on that grassy hill on the Alps. Heartbroken and soft. How much he’d wanted to help stop that look coming back. Keep trying to ease his pain the way he eased Oscar’s. He’d thought about what it would mean to keep this up into next season, and had found no answers or ideas for how they’d make that work. He was coming to the end of his tether for how to make it happen, and wanted someone to reassure him that everything would be fine. That it would work itself out. 

“What if… hey Mark, say it was someone you really like. And they, um. Wanted to keep helping. Like, beyond Melbourne maybe.” 

Mark didn’t respond right away. Oscar played with the hem of his jumper, anxious that his father figure might chastise him for being stupid. He was being stupid, he knew that, so it would have been fair.

“I’d probably have to advise against that mate. Nothing truly good is born under these circumstances. But… if you really like him…”

Oscar didn’t need to ask why Mark knew it was a him. Everyone had seen that photo of him and Max at that party, even if only a few people knew what it actually meant. 

“Na. You’re probably right. Sorry, stupid. Okay, I’ll talk to you when I’m done here then?”

“Oscar-"

“No it’s cool. Seriously, I’m all good. Just gotta focus on surviving tomorrow.” 

He heard Mark sigh down the phone. “Okay kid. Get some rest. We’ll chat more soon.”

Oscar fell asleep that night on top of stiff hotel bed sheets, wrapped in a too big Red Bull hoodie that had not so accidentally made its way into his suitcase along with some of Max’s other discarded belongings that had been laying on Oscar’s bedroom floor.

-

MTC was its usual quiet self whenever Oscar arrived, rain pattering against its floor to ceiling windows. There was orange confetti on the floor, and he didn’t need to wonder about how that had gotten there. 

Lando was here somewhere, had been since the early hours of the morning. The team had strategically spaced out their arrival times so that Oscar wouldn’t be there when they welcomed their world champion home again. It had happened during the first tire test, and the second, and now it was happening for the regulations check. He knew it was a kindness, they were sparing him from having to put on a brave face, but it did bring up feelings regardless. Feelings that stung a lot, ones that felt like the lack of a single McLaren team member at his podium in Qatar. There had been a good reason for that, he knew, but still. Pain is pain. 

He worked his way out of building 3 undisturbed, there was no one at reception, likely because most people who weren’t needed for the check had already made their way home. No cameras today, which was a relief. Just him, the track team, and whatever unlucky bastard the FIA had sent to do their dirty work. 

Downstairs in the basement of building 3 somewhere, there were two brand new F1 cars waiting to have their final designs approved. One of which belonged to Oscar for next year. Anxious as he was at being at MTC that day, the motorsport nerd in his heart was still giddy at the idea. There was still a 12 year old little Oscar in him somewhere, the same one that used to beg his dad to take him to car shows he was too young to attend out in the bush. He couldn’t wait to see the cars. He wanted to run a hand along the yet to be painted carbon fiber. To have one bonding moment with the mane of his horse before it was covered head to toe in papaya and sponsor logos.

And Lando would be there. Which was… fine. Good.

“Oscar! Welcome.” 

Andrea greeted him from the other side of the basement as the elevator door dinged closed behind him. He made his way over for their standard pat on the back, noting that the room was mostly empty bar some engineers and assistants today. No Zack, which wasn’t a surprise. This occasion wasn’t nearly glamorous enough for the American to be in attendance. 

Andrea put two hands against the sides of Oscar’s face and smiled at him warmly. 

“Excited?”

Oscar couldn’t help it. The giddy kid in his heart smiled back at Andrea blindingly. 

“Oh yeah. Can I see them?” 

Andrea pointed across the room where Lando, Will Joseph and Rob Marshall - their head engineer, were crowded around the dark black shapes of two very large, very car looking objects. “Enjoy.” 

He had to stop himself from running over. 

“Hey.” Rob greeted Oscar without looking up. The three men were completely absorbed in taking in the beauty of their new babies. “No Tom today?” 

Oscar’s race engineer hadn’t been able to make it in, so he himself was the only physical evidence of ‘team 81’ at the headquarters today.

“Na. I think he’s with family.” 

Lando looked up at his voice, finally noticing his presence. 

“Oh! You’re here. Wasn’t sure…”

Right. The last conversation they’d had about today had been… not very productive, to say the least. And it’d involved a lot of stuttering and groaning. He cringed at the memory and coughed. Not really able to meet Lando’s eye contact. Time for a change in topic. 

“Yeah, hey. Wow. They’re pretty.” He said, not a word of lie. The two cars looked entirely different from last year, with the new regulations meaning everything from the ride height to the engine cover had changed. It was a bit of a daunting concept, they still had no idea how these would perform, but god, they were beautiful. All slick black and low to the ground. 

Lando smiled and followed his eye line to the car closest to them. “That one’s mine. Yours is that one.” He pointed at the car furthest from them. “They’ll look even better when they’re papaya I think.” He shot a glance over his shoulder at Andrea.

Oscar didn’t agree. He wished they could just race them like this. Batmobile style. So he didn’t respond to Lando’s bid for Andrea’s approval, just folded his arms and tried to take it all in.

Eventually, the checks were over and done with. It only took 40 or so minutes before the FIA reps were packing up their equipment and making their way out of the basement. Rob was trying to get the poor guys to let him on the results of the check, which wasn’t working, and Will had Andrea in a chokehold asking about plans for pre season testing. That left Lando and Oscar to walk side by side to the elevator in uncomfortable silence. 

Lando tried to build a bridge over it. 

“So…excited to get in?” Oscar was still looking over his shoulder at the cars.

“Yeah.” 

“…” 

“How’s tricks? I’ve uh, I’ve kinda missed you. No one’s complaining out my music at the moment. Feels weird.” 

It was nice that he was trying, but Oscar didn’t let himself believe for a second that it was true. The last thing Lando Norris wanted for was company.

“Trust. I’m still complaining about it. You just can’t hear it.” Oscar complained about the music from Lando’s apartment almost every night in his own head, he just didn’t text him to turn it down anymore.

They stepped into the elevator and as the door closed, Lando turned to look at him. An expression of complete emotional honesty on his face. 

“Did… ? Have you.. missed me? At all? I didn’t see you after Abu Dhabi and then like- we haven’t talked, and I just thought-"

Oscar felt beginnings of old anger pulling at his muscles at the mention of their last race. Lando had been all mouth right after Abu Dhabi. Asking where he was in front of cameras, mentioning him at every opportunity, telling journalists ‘not to forget about Oscar’. Implying he’d let Oscar overtake him on lap 1, because he wanted Oscar to get a P2 in the championship. Wanted him to ‘do his job of getting P2’ were the poorly phrased words he’d used. It had felt like a slap in the face. And now he thought what, exactly? That it wouldn’t be awkward? That things wouldn’t be different? He had missed Lando. A lot. But these feelings weren’t safe for either of them to be ignoring. He could tell how badly Lando wanted him to ignore them, let water flow under the bridge, and that just made it worse.

“You thought what?” 

Lando looked a bit like a kicked puppy at the tone in Oscar’s voice. He almost felt bad. 

“Nothing. Never mind.” The elevator door dinged open again and they walked across the foyer together. 

“How’s Max, by the way?” 

That question was so unbelievably loaded, and Lando knew it.

“How would I know?” 

That was maybe too defensive. It hadn’t fooled his teammate, who gave him a small side eye. Something close to an apology for the intrusive question on his lips, but not quite.

“Okay, you’re just clearly spending a lot of time together. Wondered how he’s doing is all.”

“We’re not. Haven’t seen him since last week. And that was just for.. paddle. So.”

“Right. But that’s his shirt though.” 

Oscar looked down at the white t-shirt he was wearing. Shit. It was Max’s. He’d been so tired that morning that he hadn’t bothered to check which one of the identical 5 white t-shirts he’d pulled from his suitcase and put on. This one, embarrassingly, had Max’s lion logo printed on the tag at the waist hem. Jesus. Fuck their annoyingly similar dress sense. 

Wait. Oh god, who else had noticed?!

Lando seemed to register his panic. 

“It’s cool. No one else saw.” 

Lando flicked his index finger against the tag, dangerously close to where Max’s nails had left still healing scratches against his skin. Oscar felt the touch like an electric shock. It shouldn’t have made him shudder, but it did, and Oscar had to force himself not to visibly pull away. He hated when Lando touched him randomly, it never gave him enough time to prepare a normal reaction. The anger came back. 

“Ask him yourself if you’re curious. Or what? You guys don’t game together anymore?”

He knew Lando was sensitive about that. Him and Max had been pretty close at one point, but Max had quickly demoted him to ‘work friend’ when Lando wasn’t able to keep his mouth closed about him in the press. He craved Max’s approval, although he’d never admit it, and Oscar knew he could push on that soft spot if he wanted. That it would get Lando to back off, stop talking about it. Stop asking questions. Which it did. Lando seems to visibly give up after that. He shot the occasional glance in Oscar’s direction when he thought he wasn’t looking, but he still felt it on his arms. Shoulders. The side of his face. Lando seemed on edge, more than normal. They walked the rest of the short path back to the parking area in silence. 

Had that been the most mature or kind way to handle his feelings? No, maybe not. But without Max here as a crutch, it was extremely difficult to focus all these endless and twisted emotions. He was honestly impressed with himself that he hadn’t yelled. Or collapsed at Lando’s feet.

-

“Hi.” Max’s voice sounded as unbothered as usual tonight.

Oscar had been mindlessly scrolling the internet in his hotel room when Max had called, late for the hour, while he was laying stomach down on the bed trying not to look too closely at any posts that had papaya orange or the words ‘win’ in them. 

“Hi yourself. Wasn’t really expecting a call from you.” And he hadn’t been. He wasn’t really sure they were ‘phone call friends’, but apparently Max disagreed. He was glad he did.

“Welp. I’ll hang up then.”

“No no. It’s nice.” Oscar closed down Instagram to focus better. “Don’t hang up.”

“Okay, well I’m just calling to gain insider information anyway. For sabotage reasons, obviously.”

“Ahh of course.” Oscar rolled his eyes at no one.

“Regs test go okay?”

Max was doing a bad job at keeping the concern from his voice. Oscar had told him about how hard he expected this day to be, trusting Max with some of the relevant information about the internal politics of McLaren to make his point. Max had zeroed in on the fact that he was feeling self doubt, not that McLaren was a mess, and Oscar had known he could be trusted. It was sweet. That he worried. Felt protective. Even if Oscar hadn’t really done anything to earn that. But he didn’t need the concern tonight, the day hadn’t gone that badly, so he offered Max humour instead.

“Na. Car’s a shit box.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Super illegal. Spikes all over the front wing. They put a mini fridge in the cockpit incase Lando gets thirsty.”

Max’s laugh sounded like starlight coming through the phone. “You’re so full of shit.”

A moment of silence followed, Max sounded like he was trying to adjust his tone to something casual. “And how is he? Lando?”

“Mm. The same. He uh, he told me he missed me. Which like, sure. Then he asked about you.”

Max hummed in a very pretend nonplused way. “And what did you tell him?” 

Oscar rested his chin on the back of his palms. “To fuck off, essentially.”

“Fair enough.” Max didn’t seem to want to press that.

“So I was looking for my favourite hoodie this morning. Come to find out, it’s mysteriously missing… you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“I might know something about that.” Oscar played with the draw string of Max’s hoodie, lifting the end to place between his teeth.

“Ahh. Well you know, if you’re going to be a thief, the least you could do is send me a photo of you in it.”

The sound of Max exhaling as he relaxed back against a surface. Oscar smiled to himself, picturing that it was his couch. He could almost see Max’s overly strong g&t resting on Oscar’s coffee table.

“I could be persuaded to do that.” 

“And how am I to persuade you, oh great Oscar? I’d put on one of yours to show you but you’re so small it’s like trying to wear a dish cloth.”

“Oh, so you’ve already tried?” 

“Haha. Got me.” 

Oscar bit his lip and played with a crease in the sheets. “I’m not that much smaller than you, you know.”

“Really? Honestly I can’t remember, it’s been too long since the last time I towered over you. You know what would help with that?”

“Mm. Tell me.”

Max’s voice got louder all of a sudden, he must have put the microphone directly against his mouth. “A photo, Piastri!” 

Oscar laughed and flipped onto his back, adjusting the waist of the hoodie so it rose up past his bellybutton. 

“Alright alright. You’re not a very patient person, you know that?”

He lifted the phone to an angle that would catch the whole hoodie, plus the sliver of skin at his waste and (not so coincidentally) a few yellowed bruises that Max had left on his lower stomach as a parting gift. If he chose to include the waistline of his boxes, that was just because of the precarious angle. Obviously. They were sitting dangerously low on his hips, but he felt no need to correct that right now.

He took the photo and didn’t really bother to look at it before sending it to Max. Maybe he should have, because Max’s reaction was priceless. 

“Shit… Oscar.” A deep inhale. “Fuck. Look at you.” It was such an earnest reaction, breathy and completely at odds with their banter. Oscar felt the need to reward him with his own earnestness.

“I’d rather be looking at you, to be honest.”

Max didn’t even seem to register that comment. “Your waist is.. I mean fuck. I could hold it in one hand. That’s crazy. You know that’s crazy, right?”

Oscar gave him a slightly shy laugh. “So I take it you like the photo then.”

His phone dinged with a notification, Max had sent through a photo of his own.

“You could say that, yes.”

The photo was framed by a dark room, but Oscar knew the marital of his own couch anywhere. He’d fallen asleep on it enough times. Soft white waffle patterns lined the cushion where Max’s exposed legs sat in the middle, bent in towards his body. One large hand was in the center of his thighs, and Oscar could make out through the dark lighting that Max had his fingers wrapped around an object in his grey boxers. Oscar knew the shape of that object too well. He’d had it pressed to the back of his throat not 48 hours ago.

“All that, just from a photo?” Oscar asked. There was no way. Max usually took at least a minute to two to get that hard.

“No, I’ll be honest. It was a bit like this before I called you.”

Well, that would explain the hour of this phone call. 

“Ahh, so you didn’t actually call me for sabotage reasons then.” Oscar couldn’t help the stupid smile on his face.

“No, that’s just an added bonus. Wanted to hear you.” Max’s breath hitched, and Oscar had pretty good idea of why that might be. “Thinking a lot about that stupid waist of yours.”

“Really now? Just my waist?” 

“And lower. Your thighs. They’re incredible, do you know that?”

“I dunno. It’s starting to sound like you’re planning to eat me.”

“Oh. Yes. I do actually plan to do that once you’re back.” He sighed down the phone and Oscar’s mind was filled with the mental image of Max, hand working below the fabric of his boxers, trying to get himself off alone. It inspired a bit of envy, he would have liked to be Max’s hand tonight.

“Will you tell me what you’re doing?” Oscar asked. It was more a prayer than a question.

“Getting annoyed, mostly. None of my toys are you shaped.”

Fuck. The things that did to Oscar’s imagination needed to be studied by science. Max owned toys. And in all likelihood, he’d taken them to Oscar’s apartment. Tried to use them. Got fed up when they didn’t feel like Oscar. Mmmmf.

“Struggling to imagine that.” An outright lie. “Might have to show me.” Oscar moved a hand under the elastic of his underwear. 

He heard Max’s smile, the evil one, as it wrapped around his lips. “Do you prefer purple or blue?”

There was a very sudden, very loud knock at Oscar’s hotel room door. His hand flew out of his underwear and he jumped a bit, startled. Whoever it was apparently did NOT feel very much like waiting, the knocking continued. 

“Shit- sorry. I gotta get the door. Call u back in a sec.” 

He hung up the phone and jumped off the bed, trying to adjust Max’s hoodie to sit below his very obvious hard on. Oh, fuck. He was still wearing Max’s hoodie. He ripped it over his head and threw it on to the bed, frantically searching his suitcase for something big enough to replace it with. The best he could come up with was an oversized black McLaren t-shirt. The knocking stopped for a second. And then started again. 

“Jesus- okay! Yes! Coming!”

He just about made it to the door before the damn thing broke down. Swinging it open, he was met with the anxious expression and searching blue eyes of a small, curly haired man who looked a lot like Lando. 

Oh. Wait. No, that was Lando. 

What?  Why was Lando here? How did he know which number Oscar’s hotel room was? 

“Um. Hello?” 

“Hi. Can I come in?” Oscar hadn’t seen him look this nervous before, except for a few high-pressure moments on track. “Got your room number from reception, sorry.” 

Well. He would never be staying at this hotel again. Isn’t that a huge breach of privacy? Oscar had to physically shake his head to clear the surprise. 

“Er. It’s not a great tim-"

“Please? Won't take long.” 

Much like the rest of the world, Oscar found it very hard to say no to Lando when he looked like that. And said please. And his eyes were red. And his curls were out of place. And his hoodie looked slept in. He looked like shit, actually. But in that annoying way where it only added to his attractiveness and charm. Ugh. Don’t say yes Oscar. Tell him you need to sleep. 

“Okay.”

He stepped to the side so Lando could walk through the door, which he did, too fast to be considered calm or normal. 

“Okay.” Lando parroted as he walked purposelessly through the small hotel room. He stopped at the side Oscar’s bed, making eye contact with the very obviously Red Bull themed hoodie he found there, before turning again and walking in the other direction. He looked like he was using the pace of his body to psych himself up for something. Oscar closed the door and lent against it, watching him pace. 

“Just- hear me out. Okay? I have to get this off my chest.” Of course he did. Whatever it was couldn’t possibly have waited, that would mean he’d have to actually slow down for once. 

“I know you’re upset with me. Which-"

Oscar tried to interrupt, but Lando put a hand out in his direction to cut him off. 

“No. Listen.” He resumed his pacing. “You’re upset with me, and I get it. Maybe I don’t completely get it, but like- I sort of do. I know this is hard for you. I’m trying to be understanding. But you’re being so, SO weird, all the time, and I feel like you’re pushing me away, which again, I GET that, but also it’s not going to help anyone if we can’t be normal around each other anymore. And now you’re what? Sleeping with Max!? That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard!” 

He stopped pacing and turned to Oscar, anticipating another interruption. None came. Oscar was too caught off guard by this sudden attack of honesty, and Lando wasn't exactly wrong. 

As he continued, he took a few frustrated steps forwards.

“You don’t text me, you won’t hang out, you’re weird on the phone, you’ve got bruises all over you, and I’m worried!! And I can’t ask you about it because you won’t TALK to me, and I don’t understand WHY Oscar?! Was it THAT bad? Have I been THAT awful to you?” 

He was too close now. Only a few steps away. His eyes dropped down Oscar’s body like he’d just noticed he was standing there. 

“Just tell me what I need to do to fix this.”  

He closed the final few steps, and Oscar had to hold his breath to stop himself from... doing something. He wasn’t sure what. 

Lando reached a hand out to touch his arm. 

“I’m serious. I’ll- I’ll do anything. It can’t be like this.”

Oscar froze. Lando had a hand on his arm and was looking at him through big blue eyes and long eyelashes. They looked a bit like Max’s, except Lando’s were still wide with wonder. They hadn’t been lidded over by the world yet. Their colour hadn’t had the chance to be dimmed to grey by heartbreak. 

They searched him for a reaction, and found one when Oscar had to inhale sharply as Lando’s fingers tightened around his arm. They moved over his body, dropped down to where his t-shirt was no longer doing a good enough job at hiding the problem Max had caused earlier. 

“Oh.” 

Oscar watched the cogs turn behind the bright blue circles of hope. He watched as Lando reached a conclusion that Oscar had no words to stop him from jumping to. He saw the moment that Lando decided, only partially wrongly, that he had been the one to cause the obvious tent in the fabric, and did nothing when Lando leaned in. He didn’t have time to stop him. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He felt breath on his cheek. Closed his eyes. Did nothing to stop the small press of chapped lips to his. The world and everything it had stopped being real anyway. This wasn’t happening. He opened his mouth slightly, just enough to be considered a reaction, and felt it when this made up, dream version of Lando took that as positive. He pressed harder against Oscar’s mouth, but it was still so gentle. Still cautious. Softer than anything he’d ever experience. Every moment felt like a question, stretched over eternity. And Oscar was done with questions. 

He let his hands fly into Lando’s hair suddenly, using the tangle of it to deepen the kiss fast, urgently. Lando made a surprised noise and gasped against the harder contact. Oscar pushed forwards and turned them, moving until Lando’s back got pressed against the door, not letting him go or opening his eyes for a second as he allowed the dream version of himself to have all the things the real Oscar couldn’t. Lando’s hands found their way to his shoulders for balance, he responded to every small flick of Oscar’s tongue against his teeth, opened his mouth wide enough for their tongues to meet, moaned a little into it like was really there, really feeling it. Oscar touched his neck, like he’d always wanted to, and wasn’t surprised when the skin was softer than he’d expected. Warm and sweet and smelling of something deeper than whatever expensive cologne he usually wore. He wanted to taste it, see if Lando was sweet the same way he smelled, so he just did it. What did it matter, if this was all pretend anyway? He untangled their mouths and pressed himself into the crook of Lando’s shoulder, inhaling deep and letting his teeth gently graze against tanned skin. Lando’s hips pushed forwards only slightly, but Oscar still felt it. He lowered a hand to Lando’s hip, so he’d be able to tell easier if it happened again. Tasted burnt caramel.

“O-osc?”

That voice sounded exactly like the real Lando Norris, only breathier and quieter.

“Is- is this what you want? Will this help?”

Back to reality. Painfully fast. 

Oscar’s eyes flew open. He stepped back. Lando’s hands tried to stay on his shoulders, but Oscar had moved back too forcefully to allow that. 

“What did you just say?” 

Lando looked like he might cry. His lips were bright red, matching the blood vessels in his eyes. His neck was wet in spots. His chest was rising and falling too fast. Had Oscar done that to him?

“No I’ll do it. Please. I’ll do it. If it will fix this.” 

What. 

Oscar’s voice came out strangled and wrong. It didn’t sound like him. There was too much emotion behind it. 

“Are you offering because you think that’s all I want? To sleep with you?”

Lando just looked at him, hands starting to fidget with his pants.

“Well- yeah. Is it not?” 

Oscar’s heart broke all over again. 

“Get out.” 

“No- Oscar, please-"

“Seriously Lando! Get. Out.” 

It was a warning, one for Lando’s own benefit. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the smaller man just kept standing there. Clueless about the onslaught of pain he’d just inflicted. 

“I...” 

Oscar had to turn away from him. Clench his fists. Lando seemed to finally read the body language, and relented. 

“…Um. Okay.” 

He opened the door. Oscar heard him turn over his shoulder. It took everything he had not to turn around and beg him to stay.

“Good night Osc.”  

Oscar hadn’t called Max back that night. 

He’d just sat on the corner of the bed fighting the urge to break down in tears until the sun started to rise from behind the sliding curtains. 

He’d gone to the airport alone, bought a commercial flight back to Monaco, waited for the plane for a few hours, pulled the hood of his jumper up, put a mask on, and settled into the seat hoping he might just disappear into the scratchy grey fabric. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Tried to block it out. Tried to pretend Lando had never knocked on his door. Failed.

Heartbreak looked bad on Oscar. It wasn’t cute, he didn’t look lovably disheveled or moody and devil-may-care like Max sometimes did. His bathroom mirror stared back at him, cloudy daylight from the window framing the pale skin and stress blemishes of a man who wasn’t coping. One who hadn’t eaten or slept in 24 hours. 

Max hadn’t been at his apartment when he’d gotten home. He hadn’t texted Oscar to ask about why he’d never called back. There was no dirty whisky glasses in his sink or clothes on his floor. The spare key he’d left was still sitting on his dresser. It was as if no one but him had ever been here, it was empty and lonely in a way that had never bothered him before, because this emptiness felt like a rejection. 

Something twisted in his stomach at feeling of his phone buzzing in his hand. Another text from Lando. He’d doubled his efforts to get through to Oscar after last night, and there was upwards of 6 unread texts waiting for him with sharp, pointy teeth. From the small preview of the last one he could see, it didn’t seem like Lando was angry with him or anything, it was just confusion. 

4: So like? And I’m not sayin…………….

He wished Lando was angry with him. That would at least have meant he felt something. Anything.

The thing in his stomach twisted again and Oscar wretched over the bathroom sink. The stomach acid from not eating and the horrible reality that he wasn’t wanted by Lando or by Max was making him nauseous. 

Something felt deeply, deeply wrong. Broken. What had happened to all that anger? Where was it now, when he needed it? One kiss, one empty apartment, and all of a sudden there was no protective layer of rage wrapped around his brain anymore, nothing to shield him from the hurt. And it hurt. So badly. So entirely. He could feel it in his teeth and fingernails, pain that made his lungs ache with the effort of continuing to breathe.

Unwanted. Unloved. His reflection told him. 

Thoughts like that will make you crazy, because they don’t just stop there. They build on themselves, compile evidence to prove themselves. His family hadn’t asked him to come home for the break. Mark hadn’t been able to make it to a single event since Abu Dhabi. His team was nowhere. McLaren tolerated him. He had no friends in Monaco - bar Max who wasn’t here, bar his teammate who had just offered to sleep with him out of guilt, and he felt unwanted. And there was no one left to turn to. 

He went to bed, despite it being only 12pm. Max had changed his sheets, they didn’t even smell like Max’s aftershave anymore. He lay face up staring at the ceiling, and let his tired mind turn on him as the sleep still refused to come. 

Unwanted. Unloved. Still very scratched and bruised by loveless sex, but not wanting to put a stop to it. Why didn’t he want to put a stop to it? Maybe because he thought he deserved this. To hurt and be hurt. Because it was the only way he was wanted at the moment. And because Max deserved to have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. You earn that when you’re the kind of person he was. Confidant, beautiful, fast, generational. Kind, honest, commanding. A winner. Everything Oscar wasn't.  

Laying there, staring at the blank ceiling, Oscar realised the anger he’d had at Max for just taking what he wanted that very first night in this exact bed had been misplaced. Oscar hadn’t actually been angry with Max at all, or ever really. He’d been angry with himself. That he wasn’t the kind of person who felt comfortable asking for what he wanted unless pushed. And even then, even when the man he loved put his lips to his and asked him what he wanted, he still couldn’t tell him. It was pathetic. 

The shame he’d told himself he had no reason to feel during Max’s presentation tangled with the hurt. Why couldn’t he just say it? Why couldn’t he just ask his team for better support? Or his family if he could come home? Why wasn’t he able to tell Lando that he loved him and wanted to be allowed to keep loving him, even when he hated him sometimes, even if it meant they never touched one another? This was becoming too much. Too big. He hadn’t realised just how much the anger had been hiding. He was nauseous and spiraling and if he didn’t do something about it soon, it was only going to get worse. 

Baby steps. He told himself. Start with one thing. Just ask for one thing. Something easy, simple. His eyes drifted to the spare key on the dresser. He sat up and reached for his phone. 

Oscar Piastri: Feel up for coming over? 

Max Verstappen: I can’t actually 

Well. Time to die. 

Max Verstappen: But you’re welcome at mine. I’d like to see you

Hmm. It probably wasn’t a great idea. He still hadn’t slept or eaten, he still looked like shit, but anything was better than sitting in this misery. He needed to be with someone. 

-

Oscar knocked on Max’s door and tried fruitlessly to tame his hair back into a respectable shape while he listened to the sound of footsteps approaching. It hadn’t mattered in the end, because Max had opened the door and immediately walked off in the other direction, leaving him to make his way inside while he shouted his greeting from the hallway. 

“Hey! Fuck- sorry. I’m trying to make paella. It’s not going well! Put your stuff down wherever.”

Oscar had no stuff. So he just followed Max through the hallway and into the kitchen. It was a beautiful place. Huge south facing windows, exposed brick, a balcony with a view of the ocean. He stood in the open plan living room, looking across it in awe as Max moved something off his stove that seemed to be more smoke than food. 

“It’s not supposed to be a hard food to cook! I got the recipe from Carlos’s dad a few years ago. Not a single attempt to make this has been good. I am a failure.” He deadpanned.

Oscar made his way over to the kitchen. Max finally seemed to notice how quiet he was being and turned around. 

“Your flight back must have been early, right?- Oh. Woah. No offence but you look like shit.” 

Oscar pulled one of the stools out from the island table and sat down. He bent his arms to rest his head on them. When he still didn’t respond, just looked up at Max with eyes that were so lidded over with tiredness he could hardly keep them open, Max seemed to figure out something had happened. He turned the stove off. 

“What did he do?” He said and turned his back.

Of course. Of course Max could tell. He’d probably spent a good amount of time looking exactly like this for probably the exact same reason. If there was anyone in the world who might understand these feelings, it would be Max. He decided he had nothing to lose by telling him. How much worse could things get anyway?

“Kissed me.”

No visible reaction from Max. 

“He felt bad. Didn’t like that I wasn’t talking to him. Implied he’d sleep with me to make things better.” 

Max turned back around and walked towards the island table. Oscar watched him approach, watched the expressionless look on his face, and before he could think, Max was wrapping his arms around him. 

“That sucks. I'm sorry.” 

The hug was so warm. Max was heated from the flames of the stove. He smelled like spices. Where Lando smelled overly sweet, Max always smelled like a person. Someone who cooks bad food, buys whatever cologne is easiest, drinks liquor, wears his t-shirts for a day too long to avoid laundry. He was so real. So here. 

“Want me to kill him?”

Oscar laughed into the hug. It felt like friendship and love. Like being wanted. Oscar was powerless to stop the welling of his eyes. He hugged Max back like he’d die if they were separated and let the tears silently make their way down both of their clothes. 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay.” 

“And you weren’t there. When I got back you weren’t at mine and I’m an idiot because I didn’t tell you I wanted you to be there.” He mumbled against Max’s shoulder. 

Max smiled into his hair. “You are an idiot. I of course wanted to be there. I just have plans tonight.”

He felt it when Max’s hands made contact with his ribs. 

“Jesus. Have you eaten anything?”

Oscar didn’t respond, just tightened his grip.

“Okay. Let go koala. I’m going to make you eat some shit paella.” 

-

It really had been awful. But not awful enough to stop Oscar eating all of it without pausing for breath. Max had looked on approvingly, made him eat a second bowl which Oscar had happily taken, and then opened his fridge to get out a ginger beer for him to drink. 

“How did you…? They don’t sell these here.” 

Max just shrugged. “The Internet says that’s the one you people like. I ordered a few in last week.” 

Oscar looked down at the little glass bottle, endlessly touched at the gesture. 

“You people, huh?” 

“Yes. You, Mark, Valtteri. The small Doohan.”

Oscar smiled a bit and played with the label. Max had left out a pretty obvious name from the list. 

This weirdly generous and attractive person pretending to be Max had gotten him something warm to wear that wasn’t covered in tears and made him sit down on the couch. Draped a blanket over them both. Put his arm around Oscar’s shoulders. He let himself fall into it, into the comfort, as Max put on the Adelaide Supercars Grand Final which he’d never ended up being able to finish. 

This was new. Oscar knew that even through the fog of pleasant warmth and remanent sadness. They didn’t touch each other like this or do things like this unless it was after sex, and they’d definitely never cooked for one another or cuddled and watched TV before. It should have been weird or scary, or raised questions, but there was nothing. Just the heavy pressure of Max’s bicep around his shoulders. Maybe it was a Pavlovian response to the touch, or the fact that Max looked like the devil on vacation when he was being domestic, but Oscar just wanted to be closer. More of this. This was good. His thoughts sounded a bit like a monkey leaning to talk, no brain just feeling. He put a hand on Max’s thigh under the blanket. 

“Careful with that.” Max warned him, not looking away from the TV. “I’m trying to be sensitive and respectful.” 

“I don’t need sensitive.” It felt like a lie as he said it, since his eyes were still a bit puffy, although he hadn’t meant it as one. His hand drifted further in, rubbing gently at the inside of Max’s thigh. 

“I don’t know. You’re such cat Oscar, if I pet you the wrong way you’ll run.”

What did he mean by that? Oscar didn’t feel like running. And Max liked to bite him, so he wasn’t exactly sure how much more ‘wrong’ it could be. That could be interesting to find out at least. He would like the distraction very much right now. 

Oscar moved up, swinging one leg over Max’s hips until he was firmly planted in his lap. He looked down at Max, whose attention had shifted from the TV and was now zeroed in on the cat in his lap.

“And so what’s the wrong way then? How shouldn’t you pet me?” 

Max hummed at him while he pretended to think about his answer, clearly pleased with Oscar’s perseverant flirting. 

“Mm. Well, I probably shouldn’t put my hands here.”

He moved his hands to Oscar’s hips, rolling little circles into the small of his waist with his thumbs. A tiny movement that felt extremely careful and kind.

“And then I shouldn’t ask, really nice, if you would let me take care of you.”

He lifted his back a bit to lean forward, so he could press a small kiss to the side of Oscar’s ear. 

“Make you all floaty. Get you out of your head.”

The kiss made his stomach flip. Had his ears always been that sensitive?

“Hmm, I see. Then what?” Oscar was pretending to be a lot more put together than he felt. 

“Then I would want to make you feel really, really fucking good.” Max moved his hips slightly, and Oscar felt the evidence that he wasn’t the only one being affected by this moment. “Get you open on my lap like this. Show you what you’ve been missing with all that stubborn top energy.”

OH!

Don’t freak out Oscar. It’s just a beautiful man asking politely to fuck you. If you freak out you'll prove him right.

Max ran a soft hand through his hair. “I’d want to let you be lazy and enjoy it. Get you nice and full.” His hips moved again, making Oscar feel the need to groan. “And you would enjoy it. I’m really good.” Max gave him a wry smile. “Pspspspsp.”

“Ahh, he thinks he’s funny.” Oscar said, all dry sarcasm. “That’s big talk there, guy.” 

“It’s not talk. You know I never say stuff I don’t mean.” 

Max’s hips rolled under him. Up in to him. God. That did feel good. 

Oscar only needed to think about it for a second. It’s not like he’d never been on the receiving end, he’d been horny and 18 and alone too long with his fingers before. But It hadn’t felt right then. It had made him feel too vulnerable and exposed. For whatever reason, that didn’t seem to be a problem today. Maybe it was because he’d already cried on Max’s shoulder. That was already the most vulnerable he’d ever been with anyone, so the idea of letting Max fuck him was honestly not even that scary by comparison. Okay, It was maybe a little bit scary. But he trusted Max. And he needed to feel something good, anything else other than heartbreak.

“And what if, theoretically, the idea of that didn’t make me want to run?” 

Max smiled at him like he’d just won a prize. Oscar’s heart did something stupid in his chest. 

“Then I’d theoretically ask you to remove your clothing. Well, actually, that’s my clothing.” Max tapped his hips. “And to stand up so I can get us some stuff.”  

He returned Max’s smile and climbed off his lap, standing up from the couch. 

“I’m for sure not saying yes because of your cooking, so I guess you’re just lucky today.”

Max followed him up, bent in to kiss his neck. “Ahh, he thinks he’s funny.”

He started to walk down the hallway towards (presumably) his bedroom, but he turned back over his shoulder before he disappeared. 

“Stay here. I want you to be able to see the ocean for this. And I wasn’t kidding.” He pointed at the clothes Oscar was wearing. “Off. Before I get back, please.” 

Mmf. Thoughtful and polite Verstappen. 

Oscar walked over to the window, tugging the sweater Max had given him off and undoing his jeans. The ocean was grey to match the sky today, the wind was making it choppy, but not unpleasantly so. The way Max’s apartment was positioned meant you couldn’t tell that it was a bay at all. If he squinted, it looked like they were standing above a real beach. Calming and pretty and cozy. He got too distracted to finish taking off his jeans before there were footsteps behind him. 

He felt hands around his waist. Max rested his head on the junction of Oscar’s shoulder. There was no rustle of clothes. Max must have discarded his somewhere.

“Pretty, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it your first time doing this?”

“Um. Yes, sort of.” 

“Okay. Just tell me when you like something. And if you don’t like something.” His palm found its way to the front of Oscar’s half off jeans and pressed in lightly. “Yes?”

Not even a reprimand for failing to complete the ‘take off your clothes’ order. Who was this version of Max?

“Yes.” 

Max pushed his jeans and underwear the rest of the way down his thighs until Oscar could kick them off his feet. Talk about exposed and vulnerable, any ships passing by would be met with a pretty intense view the way they were standing pressed together like this.

“And this, does it feel okay?” Max’s fingers traced a gentle line down his lower back, stopping before they got too far. 

“Mhm.” Okay was an understatement.

“Good.” He heard Max open a bottle, and the small squeezing sound of liquid, and then Max’s hand was in front of his body, wet with lube. “Want me to warm it up?” He moved his fingers to the skin of Oscar’s abdomen to show him the temperature. Oscar hissed, it was pretty cold. But the contact was still nice. 

“Yeah. Please.” 

Max took a step back and rubbed his hands together, Oscar tried to turn around to watch him, but Max shook his head. “Keep your eyes on the water. It’ll help relax you.”

When he was happy with the temperature he moved back again and let his fingers finally run down and meet the ring of muscle around Oscar’s entrance. The press was sudden, even though it was expected, and he tightened up by accident, inhaling sharply. 

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Max soothed him by running his other hand down his back. “Use the window for support if you need it, but I’ve got you.” 

He was pretty sure he’d never heard anything that sweet before in his life. It wasn’t even the words that were honey-coated, it was the way he said them. Complete honestly. It worked, his whole body relaxed at the calmness in Max’s voice. The finger at his entranced pushed, and Max took his time working it forwards. Oscar put a hand against the glass and groaned. 

“So tight, mm?” Max mused.

“Mm.” No words. The finger inside him had taken them. The feeling was foreign. Not unpleasant exactly, just different.

“We’re just going to do two. I’m not huge, so that should be fine.” 

Oscar nodded, Max kissed his shoulder and curled his finger. Something inside him caught fire suddenly, nerves lighting up like electricity. Just briefly, but enough that the feeling took him completely by surprise and he moaned in an embarrassing falsetto. 

“Hhmn. W-what?” 

Max chuckled lightly over his shoulder. “Feels good, right? Want me to do that again?” 

“Mm. Please.” 

When it happened again, Oscar had to lean forwards and put his forehead on his palm against the window. Wow. He’d never been able to create that feeling for himself before. Did it stay that intense? Was it going to feel like this the whole time? He’d done that to Max enough times to know that yeah, it probably did. The moans that left his mouth were long and tangled as the finger worked him open and pressed into him just right.

“M-ax. Again.” 

“That’s good. Ask me when you want something.” And he did it again. Oscar felt himself go lose in Max’s grasp. The fire was additive, he needed more. 

“Can you? Another?” 

“Yes. Here, schat.” 

He didn’t even get a chance to process the fact that Max had just called him A PET NAME before the second finger made its way into his body and the thought got cut off. The stretch wasn’t bad like he’d been expecting, it was beautiful. A gentle burning pressure, wet and grounding and ohmygodffhhmm- Max’s second finger curled along with his first and the pleasure doubled. Oscar keened into his hand. 

“I know, I know.” Max was whispering little praises against his ear in a mixture of Dutch and English that shouldn’t have made him as happy as it did. “So good. Feels good. I know.” 

The fire was becoming a lot to deal with. No wonder Max was always so impatient, this could easily make him come if anyone so much as breathed near his dick right now. The curling was getting messier too, more demanding, pulling higher and higher pitched noises from a place he didn’t know he had inside him, and he started needing to rock back into them to chase more. He felt open enough to take more. And if he wasn’t? Whatever. It’s not like he was new to the idea of painful sex.

“Need more. S’good. But please.” 

Max seemed to think about that for a small while, pulsing in and out of him as though it helped him clear his thoughts. After a moment, he seemed convinced.

“You want more fingers or my dick?” 

“Want you. Please, Max. I can take it.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Fuck that tone in his voice. How was he so calm? Oscar’s world was falling apart and Max was calm. 

He heard the sound of foil tearing, and strangely, it made him panic. But not for the reason he’d expected it might. 

“No! Please don’t use that.” He tried to turn in Max’s arms but couldn’t quite make it happen with two fingers still buried inside him. “No- no. Want you like you had me.” 

It seemed like it took a second before Max realised what he meant. “You don’t want the condom?” He said through his teeth, which must have been what he’d used to rip the foil.

“No. Want to know how you feel.” Oscar managed to get out. 

“Shit- okay. Fuck, s’really hot to hear.” Max mumbled to himself. “Can you feel this?” 

Something blunt and hard pressed against the skin of his back. Yeah. He could feel that. He nodded.

“I’m going to take my fingers out now, okay?” 

Oscar didn’t respond, just rocked back against him harder. When Max left him empty, he finally understood why it pissed Max off so bad when he did that. It was horrible, a huge loss of pleasure and an immediate pause to the fluffy, floaty feeling that had started to take over his brain. 

Max registered his discomfort and worked quickly to line himself up. “This might hurt a little bit but I’ll go slow, tell me to move when you’re ready.” 

It did hurt a little bit. The stretch felt quite a lot stronger than before as Max pushed into him from behind, holding his hips in place to stop him moving too far. Oscar jutted forward anyway, his body subconsciously trying to back away from the sting. He bit back a pained noise, but Max could still feel it. 

“Give it a moment. Relax.” Max’s voice had stopped being unaffected. He sounded like the restraint was killing him all of a sudden. He might have been superhuman, because Oscar knew how hard it was not to just start moving and chasing your own pleasure. Max never complained when he did that, even seemed to like it most of the time, but why, Oscar might never know. Just taking it at all was already difficult enough. But then, all at once, it wasn’t difficult anymore. The pain subsided as quickly as it had come, and he felt himself twitch around Max like he was meant to be there, as if he was an extension of himself. 

Oh. Oh no. That felt amazing. 

He leant back off the window, arching up until he could feel the side of Max’s head on his neck, and pushed his hips back experimentally. 

Fuck. Wow. Amazing wasn’t a good enough word. 

“Oscar- Jesus. Stay still. I can’t- that feels-"

“Move.” The word was mostly breath. He was lucky Max heard him at all. He reached an arm behind his head to twist into Max hair, mostly for something to hold on to, and felt Max twitch inside him when his fingers got caught. Strong hands pulled him open, pushed him flat against Max’s pelvis, their bodies were impossibly close, every inch of Oscar was smothered in sex and he almost lost his balance when Max pulled back slightly so he could push in again, all the way until he was completely buried, slow and gentle and perfect. 

“Like this?” Max asked as he eased in again. It was so, so good. Oscar wanted more. 

“Harder.” His voice was still so small. 

Max picked up the pace slightly, until the sound of skin on skin wasn’t quiet anymore. It forced them both forward until a slightly too powerful thrust from Max made Oscar’s erection hit the window. It was such a small touch, but that combined with the fact that Max had now managed to find the angle that got to Oscar’s prostate meant that he almost yelled into the quiet room. 

“Fuck- so hot when you moan like that.” Max’s voice was raspy and sweet. He pushed forwards too hard again on purpose, trying to get Oscar to make contact with the window again. 

“So tight for me.” He reached a hand around to thumb at the precome that had started rolling down the underside of Oscar’s shaft, having the desired effect of making him loud as hell all over again. “Tell me how it feels.” 

The words were already on his tongue, Oscar didn’t need to dig very deep to get to them at all. 

“S’good- so good. Hhrm.”

His insides were burning. Every inch of his body felt like heat. And was that?- Oh. Oscar felt the tightening pool of arousal in his stomach, spurred into overdrive every time Max hit that spot inside him. The realisation hit him fast.

 “I-I think I can come from this.” There was surprise in his voice only barely concealed by the jumping his words had to do with the movement of their bodies.

“I know.” Max pushed him against the window again, smearing precome across the glass, making Oscar groan low in his throat. “Wanna watch it happen.” He put a hand on Oscar’s shoulder and stopped moving for a moment. “Come to the couch with me.”

Well and truly beyond the ability to do anything other than follow directions, he let himself be pulled from the window and turned around. He whimpered slightly at the loss of Max inside him but was quickly distracted when the Dutchmen bent down a bit and picked him up. Thick arms pulled him close, and Oscar’s legs flew around Max’s torso quickly to keep from falling. He yelped slightly, it felt weird. He’d never been picked up before. A bit emasculating, but ultimately incredibly hot and actually strangely comforting. He let his head rest on Max’s shoulder. There was no struggle, his weight seemed to mean nothing to the stronger man, who walked them over towards the couch at about the same speed he usually moved. 

He sat them down, Oscar in his lap. 

“Lift your hips a bit.” 

Oscar did as he was told and watched closely as Max lined himself up again. That stubble on his jaw looked so pretty next to his flushed cheeks. His dark eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. Before the resumption of his assault of Oscar’s sexual identity, he lifted his eyes. Had they always been so kind? Did they always look at him like there was no one else in the world? Was that a recent development? He didn’t get time to figure it out before Max was pushing himself back up into Oscar’s lifted hips. 

“Mmn. Mmn.”  Was the best Oscar could manage. 

The new angle meant that Max could get so deep inside now, and he was doing all the work, thrusting up into Oscar’s body while he tried to hold onto Max’s shoulders for dear life. Why hadn’t anyone told him this was how it was supposed to feel? Being fucked, but also sex in general? It had never felt like this before, never been so all consuming, pleasure reaching every single nerve ending. He’d never moaned this loud in his life, and the feelings. The way Max was looking at him. Fond and sweet and obsessed didn’t even touch the sides of the look in his eyes. It was so distracting, and holding the eye contact was only barely possible because of how hard Max was fucking him, and by the time he realised he was close he’d already been on the edge for god knows how long. 

It normally would have been a problem. He would have come without warning, and then felt embarrassed about it after, but without any contact to his dick he just could not find the way off the ledge. He was stuck on the brink of orgasm, and he couldn’t find the words to tell Max what was happening as it got worse and worse with every thrust to the point where his fingers had started tingling, and his thighs were shaking, and he couldn’t cope with the fullness anymore. He couldn’t hold his hips up with all the trembling, they gave out and sunk him all the way down in Max’s lap until Max couldn’t push up into him anymore. But he wasn’t done, he couldn’t stop chasing his climax, he started riding Max in earnest and the fond eyes watching him rolled back as Max made his pleasure known in short raspy breaths. 

“Hhnnm. Oscar. That’s- I’m going to come in you if you do that.” 

Oscar wasn’t listening. He was focusing too hard on making Max press against his prostate and trying to find the words to say what he needed. 

“Fuck, I think I need-"

Max’s eyes refocused when he heard the desperation behind the half sentence. 

“You need me to touch you?” 

“I- I don’t know- I” 

Max placed one, gentle finger on his tip. He didn’t even move it, just pressed it lightly against the slit, and that was all he needed. Oscar whited out. He fell forwards under the power of an orgasm that stemmed from so deep inside him he wasn’t even sure it was normal. The feeling was a freight train, and he couldn’t tell exactly how long it was. It just kept rocketing by him, through him, forcing inhuman amounts of come from his body to coat Max’s hand and stomach. He looked down at what was happening like he wasn’t sure it was real, Max’s name stuck to his lips as though chanting it might save him or ground him, but it didn’t. Something shook loose in his brain and he lost touch with his own body, a feeling of floaty nothing working its way into the crevices of his grey matter. Maybe Max noticed or maybe he didn’t, Oscar couldn’t tell, but he was trying to pull out, trying to check everything was okay using words Oscar couldn’t really hear over his own heartbeat. When he registered that Max was trying to leave him empty, he tightened his thighs around his hips and locked his arms over his neck in defiance.

“No. Come inside.” He heard himself say. And then the feeling of a hand on his jaw, moving him up into to a kiss that he was moaning through, or Max was moaning into, one or the other or both. There was wet were their faces touched, tears of overstimulation and satisfaction that likely came from Oscar. Then the wet was elsewhere. Inside him. Between his and Max’s bodies, on his thighs. Dripping everywhere as he mindlessly continued to fuck himself on Max’s lap. 

Max had come in him, somewhere during his orgasm, and now he finally understood it. This is why people do this. This is what falling in love is supposed to feel like. It’s what it did feel like. He was falling in love.

That was the last thought he had before there was nothing. 

-

Oscar woke up to a had on his shoulder. The room had gone dark, the only light now coming from Max’s TV, illuminating the living room in a cold glow. He tried to clear his head, figure out what had happened, but Max was speaking low above him and filling the space where his thoughts should be.

“Hey. We have to get up. Fernando will be here in 5 minutes.”

“Hhm? What?” Oscar said, voice dripping with sleep. 

“Yeah I- fuck.” Max had gotten up, and was walking around trying to pick up their clothes from the floor. “I invited him for dinner. But then you fell asleep on me, and then I fell asleep on you, and now it’s 8pm and I just woke up and he’s almost here.”

“Wait really? Alonso?” 

“Yes, koala. Keep up.” 

Max threw his sweater at Oscar, who caught it with quick reflexes that kicked in before his brain clocked that Max had used ANOTHER PET NAME FOR HIM.

He tried to move off the couch, but was quickly halted by a pain between his legs and the feeling of dried come on his stomach. “I- Max. I feel disgusting. I can’t see Fernando right now.” 

Max was zipping up his pants. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t hug him maybe.”  

There was a knock at the door. 

Oscar had to push aside his groggy thoughts and focused on putting on clothes as quickly as possible. Max flipped on the living room lights once his pants were zipped and headed towards the door. 

He turned over his shoulder to look at Oscar and gestured for him to flatten what was in all likelihood, pretty bad bedhead.

“Buenas noches.” Oscar heard from the hallway, and presumably the sound of Max hugging his guest hello. 

“Evening Max. Where’s your cat?” 

A small silence, and then Max said 

“Living room.”

“Ah, good.” 

He heard footsteps make their way down the hall. When Fernando emerged, he walked directly over to Oscar without blinking. 

“Hello Oscar. You should really buy a different deodorant. This one is much too recognisable.” His smile was his usual devious grin.

Oscar chose to actively ignore that comment.

“Um, hi. We were just… playing FIFA. Sorry, lost track of time. I won’t stick around. I’m sure you guys want to catch up and-"

“Nonsense!” Fernando tapped him lightly on the backside, something that would have been playful if he didn’t watch for Oscar for reaction, and then give him a knowing look when he got one. Oscar winced. He was still sore from their earlier activities. “You should stay son. Max and I would both be glad of your company. Wouldn’t we Max?”

Oscar looked over at Max to save him, but Max was refusing to meet his eyes. Or Fernando’s.

“Wonderful. Max, please amigo. Point me to your liquor.” 

The dinner went about as well as to be expected. Oscar wasn’t feeling hungry, Max wasn’t feeling chatty, and the entirety of the conversation rested on Alonso’s shoulders, which he didn’t seem to mind. He chastised Max for ‘another misguided attempt at Spanish food’, and Oscar had never seen Max so subdued. He didn’t fight back on the criticism at all. He smiled and nodded when appropriate, didn’t even attempt sarcasm. It was bizarre. He was acting like Oscar always did in Fernando’s presence. 

“Oscar, you got on well this season son. Shame about the end, but I’ve been there. I know the feeling. You’re lucky you have Mark.”

“Yeah. He’s been great.” Oscar moved a muscle around on his plate. 

“Have you ever met Jos?” He was talking about Max’s dad, with whom Fernando had a strong relationship. The details of that were unknown to Oscar, but he’d heard rumours of their famous nights out. 

“Uh, in passing. Once.” Oscar made eye contact with Max, who was still displaying an uncharacteristic reservedness. 

“He’s an unusual man. Not very open minded, would you not say Max?” And now, why had that sounded like a threat? Oscar thought to himself.

“We get on fine.” Max said to his drink. 

“Yes, but still. You’re lucky you have someone like Mark by your side Oscar.”

“S’pose I am.” 

“Now boys. I have a small favour to ask of you both.”

This time, when Max made eye contact with Oscar, there was something close to a warning in his eyes. He gave a tiny, almost missable shake of his head.

“My car will be fast this season, and I will not insult you both by pretending that I am not close to retirement age.” 

When neither of the younger drivers answered, he continued. 

“My only request is that we do not make life hard for one another. There is no need for Jos to know about your… friendship, or for the world to know about Mark’s affair with Vettel, just because we couldn’t play nice. Agreed?” 

Oscar was glad for his ability to keep a straight face in that moment, because his jaw threatened to break with the effort of not falling open. Max didn’t have the same skill, he went pale, and his hand tightened around his glass.

“You told me this would be fine. You encouraged this.” He said through gritted teeth. 

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” He downed the rest of his drink in one go and started to get up. “Thank you for the food Max. I hope you both have a good evening." 

He patted Max on the back, picked up his jacket from the back of the dining chair, and saw himself out of the apartment.

Oscar woke up the next day to very loud, very persistent music coming from outside his apartment down the street. He turned over and groaned into his pillow. Being friends with Lando wasn’t all fun and games. It FOR SURE had its downsides. He checked his phone for the time, 1pm. He’d massively overslept, but still. Who blasts music that loud in the middle of the day?

81: PLEASE turn that shit down man

A minute or so passed before he got a reply. Waking up against his will, he was starting to get properly frustrated now.

4: Ha! Welcome back mr Piastri

4: But for real that’s not me actually, I’m not home

Oh? Now that he thought about it, the music was louder than Lando’s normally was. And closer. Too much guitar, not enough beat.

Oscar swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed the sleep from his eyes. He stumbled out into the hallway and stopped in front of the intercom, selecting the camera view of the front of his house. 

In front of his driveway there was a beautiful, wet dream of a car. An Aston Martin Valkyrie. All green and neon yellow, softened edges to the racing style chassis. Oscar’s secret dream car. It also happened to be one of the cars that Fernando Alonso owned. But the man leaning up against the side of the car was too young and too tall to be Fernando. Handsome. White t-shirt, jeans. Red Bull cap. Max. 

Max!

Wait, Max? Why was he here? There had been no text from him this morning, and Oscar was very much under the impression that they might never speak to one another again. And then Oscar’s brain clicked, and he realised it was Max who was blasting music that loud. From the car speakers, for some unknown reason. Bad music. Was that Nickelback?

He didn’t even bother to grab his keys, just ran out through the garage without any shoes on and sprinted out of the driveway, stopping at the end. He called over to Max, not really wanting to approach since he was still wearing pyjamas.

“Oi! The fuck are you doing?!”

“Morning!” Max returned, not raising a hand to greet him.

Max was leaning on the side of the car with his arms crossed and sunlight in his hair. He looked like a memory, something directly out of Oscar’s lonely 18 year old imagination. Stupid handsome, stupid little smile on his face. Stupid cap sitting a bit wonky on his head. He wasn’t looking at Oscar, he had his face turned down the road, which was a crime.

“Turn that off!” 

Max finally looked at him. He pouted slightly, sarcastically, but didn’t make a move to do anything about the music. Okay. Time to end whatever strange little game was going on here. Pyjamas be damned. 

Oscar walked over to him fast, and Max barely reacted when Oscar got close enough to start tapping around his pockets and looking for his keys. 

“Where- are your- damnit!”

“These?” Max dangled the keys in one hand. Oscar tried to grab them off him, but Max just chucked them from one hand to the other before he could manage it. 

“Seriously?!” Oscar had maybe forgotten that this man was an absolute son of a bitch. 

Now that he was close enough, Max used his free hand to grab Oscar’s jaw and force it sideways. The surprise of the sudden movement and the light sting of pain left him essentially powerless to fight back, as Max’s fingers dug into the side of his face. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Max to grab his face and stare at his neck. Not move forward, not speak, not even look like he was going to start a fight. Max just tilted his head from one side to the other, closely examining Oscar’s face and neck for… something? What the hell was he looking at?!

After what felt like 10 years of being studied, Max finally seemed satisfied and dropped his hand. Oscar felt the need to kill him. Max knew how much he hated being physically subdued like that. He pushed Max’s chest, and he stumbled back against the car. 

“Fuck is wrong with you?!” 

Max hit a button on the keys and the car stopped blasting music. Finally. 

“Just came to say hi.” He looked back down the road again. “Anyways, I’ll see you around. Got stuff to do.” He tried to turn and start walking around the car.

Oscar wasn’t going to kill him, actually. He was going to blow up the entirety of Monaco and everyone Max had ever loved.

“Like hell.” He wrapped a hand around one of Max’s arms and pulled, forcing him forwards and marching him towards the driveway. 

If Max thought, after everything they’d said to one another, after everything that had happened at Max’s apartment, after a stunt THIS weird and unprompted, that he was just going to let him LEAVE, he had another thing coming. No. They needed to talk. His stupid games could wait. Oscar walked them both back through the garage and towards his unlocked front door, with surprisingly little push back from the stronger man he was dragging behind him.

He let go of Max’s arm once he’d had a chance to close the door to his hallway, spinning around quickly and being met with the wide chest of Max, who was still standing too close, despite no longer being forced to.

“Gonna tell me what that was?!” He gestured in the direction of the door. “I’ve got neibourghs, idiot!”

Max just looked at him. 

“What are you even doing here? I haven’t heard from you in over a week.”

Much too quickly to be noticed at first, Max’s hands snaked under the fabric of Oscar’s t-shirt, lifting the oversized fabric as he pressed in closer. Oscar slapped them off out of pure reflex, which made Max smile. 

“Nothing.” He pulled the fabric up again and ran a hand over the muscles on Oscar’s abdomen. Oscar pushed it off again. He seemed like he was looking for something. It was too purposeful a touch to be considered flirty. 

“You’re a shit liar Max.” 

That got him another small smile. “Fine, you got me.” He lifted a hand to Oscar’s collar and pulled it sideways. Tilted his head while he studied the skin that he’d exposed there. “Why don’t you tell your new best friends about it?” 

What?!

“What?” 

“Not judging, of course. A threesome with those two would be pretty funny I think.” 

Those two??? Who did Max think- oh. Lando’s story. Max must have seen it. And apparently he’d jumped to a pretty ridiculous conclusion. 

“One’s the size of your hands, the other’s the size of your dick. How cute.”

Cunt. No way he’d come out of just hiding because he was jealous. That would have been impulsive and reckless and thoughtless and- right. Now he was just describing Max.

“That’s seriously what this is about?!“ 

Max’s hand traveled up the back of Oscar’s shirt. Fingers probing the spots on his back that Max liked to leave scratches. After over a week of not feeling that, it made his body respond way too fast. He had to force himself to stay focused.

“What happened to ‘do what you want Oscar’?!” 

Max turned him quickly and pressed him into the wall. He held his t-shirt up, still scanning his skin. As Oscar tried to struggle, he finally realised what was happening. Max was checking him for damage. New scratches. New bruises. Evidence that someone else had been playing his role as Oscar’s crutch.

“Just doing my part to stop the spread of STDs.” He leant into Oscar’s ear. “You know George will put it in anything, right?” 

“OH MY- for fuck’s sake!” Oscar yelled at the wall. “I didn’t sleep with either of them!” 

Max dropped his t-shirt, and Oscar forced his way back around so he could meet Max’s eyes face on. The turquoise in them looked very black today. That was probably just the demon who lived inside him coming out to say hello.

“Clearly not.” Max’s demon eyes dropped down his torso, to where all that probing had already started to cause blood to collect below the hem of his pyjama pants. “Otherwise that would be pretty embarrassing. I barely touched you.”  

Oscar knocked the stupid cap off his head and it fell to the floor. It was meant to be aggressive, but it felt too silly as he did it. Max seemed to agree. He smiled wide and ran a hand through his hair to mess it up again. 

“Terrifying.” He said through the grin.

Something about this situation was so ridiculous, so completely absurd, that Oscar actually felt himself laugh. It came out a bit twisted, a little unsure of itself, but it wasn’t bitter or angry. A genuine chuckle. And apparently it was contagious, because it got him a laugh in return. Max’s black eyes turned back to turquoise. They dropped to Oscar’s lips. 

A hand on his face and the press of a mouth to his own happened at the same time. Max kissed him before he could think, deep and warm. Open. Working him through it, encouraging him to lose himself in it. It felt like water, and Oscar was thirsty all of a sudden. He moaned deep into the feeling, Max’s tongue on the back of his teeth. His body had missed this. His mind got soggy. His heart gave out. 

He let his hands tangle in Max’s hair. Used it to bring him closer. Felt a sound vibrate in the back of both of their throats. Seems like he wasn’t the only one who’d been needing this feeling, Max was practically licking his tonsils. Eventually he pulled back from Oscar, only slightly, just enough to speak between their mouths. 

“Missed you.” He said. And it sounded like I love you. 

“Want it?” Oscar replied, running a hand over the front of Max’s jeans. This was a terrible, awful, stupid idea. But Max was here. Showing him he was still wanted. That look still in his eyes.

Max nodded into their kiss. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, only breaking the kiss momentarily before he was back at Oscar’s mouth, hand travelling low on his stomach, fingering at the tent of his pants. This didn’t need to be slow. It wasn’t going to be possible for it to be gentle or sweet. It had to be heated, fast, before either of them could stop to consider all the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this, or think about what it meant. 

Oscar pushed him back across the hallway until Max was the one pressed to the wall. He dropped to his knees fast. Undid Max’s jeans faster, freed him from his boxers like it came as naturally as breathing. Didn’t really watch as he pulled them the rest of the way off his body. The only thing that mattered in that moment to Oscar was watching Max’s face. He would do just about anything, endure any hardship, if it meant he could see those eyes turn fond again. It took practically nothing to make it happen, just steady eye contact as he took the tip between his lips and forced Max to the back of his throat as quick as he could without choking. Max groaned when he felt himself bottom out. The eyes turned soft, they closed a bit, the adoration seeping from them as Max enjoyed the sudden wet and Oscar’s unusual eagerness to please. 

“Shit. S’good.” He gripped Oscar’s hair to pull him further down, and Oscar let him do it without a fight. He’d picked up a few tricks from Max, including how to hold perfect eye contact while relaxing his throat so much he could press his nose to someone’s stomach. Max seemed like he wanted to close his eyes and put his head back, but couldn’t make himself look away. Good. He wanted him to watch this.

Oscar used his tongue to work over the underside, constricting his throat, pulling back and sinking down again, perfect even pressure. Max seemed surprised and a little impressed, he put a knuckle in his mouth to bite down on before letting himself get loud, the other hand still pulling at Oscar’s hair a little too hard. 

“Such a quick learner…” he said around his forefinger.

Oscar didn’t like his tone, and Max knew he wouldn’t. He’d said it like that, patronising, just to get Oscar to do what he was about to do next. 

Letting himself be baited, he slipped a hand under Max’s legs and attempted to force a finger into him dry. It didn’t work. There was something hard and cold in his way. Oscar played with the… glass? Pushing it into Max’s body experimentally. His mouth was still full and preventing him from asking the question. What was that? After he felt Max jolt at the feeling of it moving inside him, Oscar didn’t need to ask anymore. He was wearing a plug. A big one, from what he could feel. Mmmmfff. 

Max smiled down into their eye contact like he knew exactly what he’d just done. 

Oh, fuck this guy. 

Oscar pulled off him. Spit getting caught between them as he stood up and wrapped his hand (finally, finally) around Max’s neck. Pressed in hard.

“D’you come here with that, thinking I’d give it up easy?”

He felt Max laugh around his hand. 

“On your knees.” 

He watched Max’s dick jump at the command. Saw the moment he decided to obey. Took his hand off Max’s throat. Watched him lower himself slowly, unblinking as he looked up at Oscar while he moved. He leant in a small bit to press a kiss to the front of Oscar’s still clothed erection, something that made him want to throw up from arousal. He chucked his shirt off, throwing it to floor.

“Take them off.” Oscar gestured at his own pants. 

Max did as he was told, lowering the elastic until Oscar could step out of them. He positioned himself so he was resting on Max’s face. That was a sight he’d never get used to seeing, no matter how many times it may happen. He put a hand on himself and slapped it against Max’s mouth. 

Christ. Oscar didn’t think he’d ever seen a demon look quite this transcendent before. Wrath and amity. Submission and dominance. Two sides of the same coin, each with Max’s face on them. On his knees with a dick pressed to his mouth, refusing to break eye contact, looking extremely hungry, the plug inside him waiting to be replaced with something bigger. 

Max let his tongue dart out, licking a slow strip across the underside. Not with any intention, just because he wanted to, probably. Oscar slapped him lightly across the cheek. With his hand this time.

“No. Beg.”

Max’s eyebrows furrowed. There was nothing he hated more than being made to beg, Oscar knew that. It was as if it short circuited his wires, the need to fight back and give in at the same time raging a war in his head. He didn’t respond. Oscar dug his nails into Max’s chin and raised it up. Defiance and adoration stared back at him.

“Say it. Say please Oscar. I missed you. Fuck me. I need it.” 

Max’s jaw ticked. Still nothing. 

Oscar slapped him again, harder this time. It managed to break their eye contact for a moment. Max moaned around a closed mouth.

“Say it!”

“…Please Oscar.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. Good enough. He fisted Max’s hair tight and pulled until he was forced to put his hands on the floor to stop himself falling over. Oscar leant down and shoved his shoulders, until Max got the picture that he wanted him head down, ass up. He took both of Max’s wrists and positioned them behind his back, pinning them in place for a moment, and looked over his work to see if he was happy with the position. 

Happy was an understatement. Max looked like a doll. Was acting like one too, which was pleasantly out of character for this particular monster. He must have wanted this pretty bad to give up the fight so easily, but Oscar should probably check just in case.

“You okay? Comfortable?” Oscar asked him. 

Max laughed, forehead pressed to the floor. Maybe comfortable had been the wrong choice of words. “Mhm.”

“Good. Stay here. Don’t move.”

Max made an annoyed sound, but when Oscar let go of his wrists, he didn’t move them. Okay. Good. Obedient Max. Wow. 

He was trying to be very normal about that.

Oscar practically sprinted to his bedroom, grabbing the lube from the nightstand and quickly turning to head back out. From his bedroom doorway, the darkness of the room was perfectly framing the white daylight and warm yellow light of the hallway. His mind wasn’t quite able to process the sight that it illuminated. The man of his dreams since before he could remember, resting on his shins. Hands behind his back. Head tucked into prayer position. Breathing visibly hard. Waiting for Oscar to come back to him. To touch him. It was surreal. He wouldn’t have believed it if it wasn’t in front of his eyes, and for a second there was panic, because what happened when it was no longer in front of his eyes? What happened if Max pushed him away again after this and he was left with no proof it had ever happened? 

His eyes shifted to the bed where his phone still rested. Max had said he could, once, what felt like a lifetime ago now. Maybe he’d say yes again. He picked up the phone and took it with him. 

Crouching down beside Max on the floor, he took hold of his wrists again, firm grip encouraging the muscles to loosen and his arms to go slack.

“Open up for me.” He used his other hand to tap the side of Max’s thigh in a request for him to move his legs apart. Max got the picture pretty quickly, and moved them as far apart as was comfortable, arching his back to help support the rest of weight better. 

The view from Max’s balcony had absolutely nothing on this. His muscular torso rippled more forcefully than waves ever could. The arch of Max’s spine was bowed deeper than any sand dune. Strong thighs and glutes held his weight better than any palm tree or shore line could hope for. Between his legs, a whirlepool. Max was dripping where he was pressed to against the floor, anticipation making him leak on to the wood. Only one thing seemed out of place, which was the clear glass object pressed inside him, shining between his stretched thighs. Not sea glass, it was too shiny, too perfect for that. Not nearly enough rough edges. And yeah, Oscar had been right. It was huge. 

“Let me record you?” He bent forward to kiss the base of Max’s tailbone, and felt the soft sigh it earned him. A force of nature as awe inducing as Max was right now should never go undocumented.

“Mhm.”

“No, Max. Need to hear the full word.”

“Yes.” 

“Thank you.” He gave another kiss to Max’s tailbone. 

Using the phone would mean he wouldn’t be able to hold Max’s wrists anymore, so he let them go, and helped Max move his arms to the floor instead. He bent them a bit on his own into a suitable brace position, getting impatient now.

“Hurry up.” Oscar heard, mumbled from the floor. 

Oscar just chuckled at him and opened his camera. Hit record. Let it drift over Max’s subservience for a moment before wrapping his fingers around the plug and pushing it in a bit. Out a bit. Oscar pointed his phone at it while Max made small desperate noises against wood.

“Wow. Look at that.” Oscar said, more to the camera than anyone else. Then to Max he added “Almost as big as me, hey? You want me instead?” 

“Oscaaarr.” He whined. “Hurry up!”

Fair enough. He’d told himself this needed to be rushed and heated, but here he was, admiring Max’s form like he had all the time in the world.

He put the phone down for a moment, squeezed some lube on one hand and warmed it on himself. Mmmf. The contact to his dick felt pretty intense with how hard this had all forced him to be. He picked the phone up again and grabbed the plug between his forefinger and thumb, yanking it. Max lifted his head to let a groan leave his throat. 

“HHMn.”

God, he sounded so beautiful. Oscar yanked the plug the entire way out his body, watching as Max fluttered around nothing and bent his head again to yelp.

“Oh god. Look at you.” 

Oscar quickly replaced the plug with his fingers. When two met no resistance, he added a third. Still no resistance. He curled them inside Max. STILL no resistance.

“Fuck. Taking this so easy.”

“Osca-"

“Shush. I’m working.” 

He pushed a fourth into Max’s body, finally meeting some push back and accidentally rubbing up against Max’s prostate in the process.

“Mhhnn! NOW Oscar!”

So much for obedient. He pulled Max’s hips up so he was on his knees instead of his shins. He made sure his grip was tight on his phone as he angled it to himself, lining up with Max before taking his fingers out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what would happen if he kept Max empty for too long today. As quick as he could, he switched the digits out for himself, pushing the full way in. He made sure the camera captured everything. From the way Max’s body swallowed him perfectly, to the strangled way he cried out against the floor, to the way his hands flexed along the wood. 

Oscar backed out and tried to push in again but his knee slipped a little bit when it met the part of the floor Max’s body had just been resting on. Precome had pooled there already. A lot of it. Like, an inhuman amount for someone who wasn’t even being fucked yet.

“You’re leaking on my floor, Jesus.” 

Max spread his legs wider an pushed himself back on Oscar, trying to force his concentration to where it was supposed to be again. It worked. Oscar put one hand on his hip and refocused on slamming into him. 

Over a week had been too long. Never again. It felt stupid they’d wasted so much time not doing this. All that really mattered was fingernails in Max’s hips and the angle it took to make him not even be able to moan anymore. He was just breathing loud, hitching with every thrust, unable to get enough air to force real noise. 

“Listen to him.” Oscar said quietly to the camera. “Panting like a dog.” 

He dug his nails into the side of Max’s back, making the camera watch as they cut clean red lines into the pale skin.

“Wanna bark for me, Max?” 

That comment made the demon rear its head. Max pushed himself up by his hands until he, ironically, assumed a pretty dog like position on all fours. Still pushing back into Oscar, messing up his rhythm a little bit.

“Fuck-fffn-off!” 

Oscar gave him a particularly brutal thrust forward for that.

“Yeah, just like that. Good boy.” 

Max whimpered somewhat pathetically. Try as he might to hide it, Oscar was giving him exactly what he wanted. Saying exactly what he needed to hear. It wasn’t hard to tell, Max was rolling his entire lower body in an attempt to get it deeper. He’d thrown his head back now, and Oscar got the pleasure of being able to lean over and grab him by the hair. 

When the stands got caught and pulled, Max made that sound. The one he’d made in Oscar’s car when he’d come just from a dick and a particularly hard slap to the face. Oscar felt extremely lucky to hear it again, there weren’t many things like that sound it in the known universe.

“Oscar-need-"

“You gonna come?” 

“Hhhmn! No, I need-"

Oscar lifted the camera to focus on where Max’s voice was coming from, showing off the hair caught between his fingers by tugging it again.

“What he’s trying to say, is his he needs me to come in him first. Rough him up a bit. Isn’t that right Max?”

“Yes! Fuck-justfuckingdoit!” 

He was pretty sure he’d heard that right. One more to be safe. 

“Say again for me?”

“FUCK. YOU.”

“Ha. Okay. On your back please.”

Oscar relented the brutality of his pushes for a moment to give Max enough space to turn around and lay on his back on his own time. It took a moment, he was panting hard and sweating now. Oscar put the phone down, wanting to let Max have a moment of privacy from it while he collected himself. He ran a hand along the dark scratches on Max’s back and hip, trying to sooth them before they would get pressed against cold wood. Beautiful. So, so, strikingly beautiful. He wanted them to be permanent. He wanted to see them still there when Max took his ice baths in Singapore next year. He wanted to march into the Red Bull garage and make more of them, screw whoever was there or watching. Max’d probably like that. He’d probably want Oscar to bend him over the pit wall too. Make him loud for the cameras. Make everyone watch while-

The intrusive thought got cut off when Max pushed himself up finally and his back met Oscar’s chest. He turned his head over his shoulder, and Oscar met him in an open mouthed kiss. Max didn’t even try to bite his lip. He just kissed Oscar like he meant it. Something in his heart went all floppy and jostled in his rib cage when he felt how genuine it was. Almost sad in its honesty. 

Max pulled away from him and turned, settling himself down on the floor and spreading his legs around Oscar’s thighs. Seeing him from the front was almost game over. Eyes red and heavy with sex, the puffy lips of someone who’d been biting down on them, chest flushed with sweat, angry erection pressed hard against his stomach. 

This was not going to last as long as Oscar hoped it might. He might not even make it to the point where Max could come untouched. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t at least going to try. 

Pulling Max’s legs apart until they could comfortably wrap around his waist, Oscar lifted his lower back up to meet his thighs. He shot a final look up at Max. They weren’t close enough. He needed to be able to taste the sweat on Max’s clavicle. So he lined up, pushed in and leant forward at the same time, feeling Max arch up into him as he sunk down. He caught the the moan that left Max’s mouth with his own, matching it 1:1 in the desperation department as the burning, perfectly fitted, completely his space in Max’s body opened for him again. 

“There.” Max whispered against him. And that was all the instruction Oscar needed. He buried his face in Max’s neck, attaching his teeth to the skin, and focused on hitting the same spot over and over and over. 

The body beneath him was starting to tremble, Oscar could feel it from his mouth to his toes. He reached for Max’s arms, intertwining their fingers and raising them to sit beside Max’s head on the floor. He pushed hard in to the wrists, pinning them down, trying to calm some of the shivers in Max’s biceps. It didn’t work very well. The shivering was coming from the way Oscar was striking him dead on every time, they were resonating from a place so deep in Max’s core that all he could do was struggle against the pressure of Oscar pinning him, inhale sharp when Oscar bit him, and mumble incoherent praise. 

“YehM-Mn. Please. Mmf.”

Max sounded close. Oscar wanted to watch it happen. Now, but also later. He leant back, releasing his grip on Max’s wrists, and picked up his phone again. He didn’t stop burying himself in Max for even a moment, he couldn’t have if he wanted to, so trying to open the camera app took a second. 

“Please. Please-Oscar. Vul me. gebruik me.”

There was the begging he’d been after. Oscar finally got the camera recording again.

“English, Max. Need you hear you say it. Tell me how bad you want it. How bad you want me.”

He grabbed Max by his shaft, not getting him off, just giving him something to rut into if he wanted it. 

“Mm. Bad!- couldn’t think about anything else. All week.”

The Max that Oscar knew best must well and truly be elsewhere, because his Max would have rather died than admit something like that. Their fight from last week was evidence enough of that. But this version of him was fucked out to the point of not being able to bite back his sins, and Oscar wanted play priest, hear every single one. 

“Yeah?” He tightened his grip on Max’s dick, gave one small tug. “Why’s that, you think?” 

Max threw his head back. “Beca-"

He cut himself off when Oscar leant back further, pushed into him harder.

“Mm. I- I need this. You. I need you.”

Oscar had been so caught up in listening to Max that he hadn’t noticed he was only a few good thrusts and one more confession away from losing it. It didn’t matter though. Max was ready for it. He’d asked nice enough. Done more than enough to earn it.

“Shit- m’close.” He said softly, maybe hoping camera wouldn’t pick it up. But Max did. He rolled down hard into Oscar’s lap, demanding and urgent.

“Please!! Need it. I want you. Always.” 

The poor man was close to tears. And hearing him say it like that, as if it was the only true thing in the universe, sent Oscar over the edge. 

He came somewhat unexpectedly. Brutally hard. He dropped the camera to the floor, unable to maintain his grip as he fell forwards onto Max’s chest, not able to do much of anything except keep rocking his hips into Max, spilling more, deeper and deeper, until it felt like his entire being had been emptied. Nothing left to give. He tried to pull back, but a hand dug so hard into his shoulder that he couldn’t move. 

“Nooo!!! Dontstopdontstop.”

Max still hadn’t come, but Oscar could see him trying desperately to make it happen. He didn’t want Max to have to try. He wanted to give him whatever he needed, now and until they were both dead. 

“Let go. You’ll like this.” He gently pried himself free from Max’s grasp.

Grabbing the plug from where it had been discarded on the floor, he pulled out as gently as he could and then pushed the glass back into Max’s body to keep him full and happy. He watched as it disappeared, locking Oscar’s come inside. Max did seem to like that, his back was barely on the floor anymore he was arching it so bad, still begging in high pitched gibberish.

Oscar bent down, put his hands on either side of Max’s hips and pressed in to keep him still. Looked up at the writhing body as he sucked Max down his throat.

That was essentially all it took. One well timed twirl of his tongue and salt hit the back of his mouth. Salt like a devil ward. Like ocean water. Like tears. Oscar drank deep from those tears. From that ocean, until Max was shaking.

-

After, Oscar had kept Max in his mouth until he felt him go soft and every tensed muscle relaxed, waiting for him to come down and open his eyes. There was a hand in his hair before it happened, and a soft laugh that rang out into the now quiet hallway. 

“Oh my god.” Max pushed a hand over his forehead and finally opened his eyes to look at Oscar. “Come here.” 

Oscar obeyed, releasing Max from his mouth and crawling over him slowly, pressing little kisses across every few inches of exposed skin as he went, before pecking lightly as Max’s shoulder, his neck, the side of his face, then his lips. He was still laughing a little bit, and Oscar couldn’t help but grin back. They were magic together. So ridiculously good at that to the point where yeah, it was actually pretty funny. 

“You missed me.” Oscar said through his smile. 

“No. I missed your stupid sized dick.” Max replied, not even bothering to make it sound believable. 

Oscar kissed a laugh to him and lightly bit his lip. “No use denying it. I’ve got video evidence.” 

The fond look in Max’s eyes was blinding, and as much as Oscar wanted to hear him say it, he didn’t really need to. 

“I did miss you. I do want this. I’m sorry about last week.” 

Oscar smiled at him. Pressed a kiss to his nose. “S’okay. You were scared. I don’t blame you.”

Running a hand down Oscar’s back, Max made a face like he was deep in thought. “It’s not just… sex. Anymore. Is it?”

Would you look at that? They were finally on the same page about something. 

“No. I don’t reckon it is.” 

Max rested his fingers on Oscar’s chin, the thoughtful expression slowly replaced with a devilish smile. “Then we should probably do something about Nando, don’t you think?” 

“What are you plotting, Verstappen?” 

Max laughed. “Nothing yet. But I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve got stuff to do today. And now you have to come with me.”

Oscar feigned indifference, jokingly leaning back, stretching and looking away from Max.

“Don’t feel like it, actually.” 

Max trapped him between strong thighs, not fooled.

“Come shower with me. I’ll let you take the plug out.” 

Mm. Game over.