https://archiveofourown.org/works/88106876/chapters/234968396
Here are two extracts from two different chapters of my fanfiction✌️🫰:
“The weight of Max's body dragged Charles forward, forcing him to take a step to hold him up.
"Hey! Wait—" The words died in Charles's throat. He felt like he was about to snap; it was all too much for him.
Max had slid even lower, his face just inches from Charles's neck, his warm breath smelling of alcohol and mint brushing against the bare skin of his collarbones. Then, to steady himself, Max's right hand slid off the shirt and anchored itself firmly around Charles's hip, right on his waist, tightening his grip.
Charles felt like he was dying. He didn't particularly like physical contact with people he knew, and he absolutely hated it with strangers. He was panicking. Charles was so shaken up that he couldn't even move; he was starting to hyperventilate...
"Fuck..." Max muttered against his chest, his forehead resting tiredly on the brunette's shoulder, his grip on his hip growing weak, vulnerable. "Sorry... fuck... everything is spinning."
Charles's breath caught. He found himself looking into the guy's eyes again as Max slightly lifted his head.
After a few seconds of being unable to move, Charles tried to gather what little dignity and courage he had left to guide the honey-blonde toward the exit.
The fresh air of the Monaco night hit them right in the face as soon as they walked out the back doors of the venue. Charles breathed in deeply, trying to steady his racing heartbeat while supporting part of the blonde's weight.
Next to the sidewalk, a line of taxis waited for the nighttime crowd. Charles pointed to one of them, but Max wasn't particularly cooperative. His grip on Charles's waist loosened, turning into a weak push to pull away.”
———-
-Nobody had ever dared to target Max Emilian Verstappen, the CEO of Red Bull Holdings, with such sharp, unfiltered words.
Everyone braced themselves for the Dutchman to explode, but the outburst never came.
Instead... he smirked.
A razor-sharp gaze accompanied by a tight, mocking smile.
Once again, Charles's breath caught in his throat.
*What a spoiled little shit,* the Dutchman thought as his blue eyes locked onto Charles's proud, trembling figure. *But bold. Incredibly fucking bold.*
He couldn't wait to hear what else the "pretty boy" had to say, and frankly, he couldn't wait to fire back, destroying those stupid ideas that had entirely too many frills.
"A work of art, you say?" Max began, his voice dropping an octave, dripping with provocative superiority. "Too bad works of art don't have to pay the salaries of hundreds of workers, Mr. Leclerc. Tell me, how exactly do you plan to justify these months of delays to the shareholders?"
