I have every intention of watch the England v. Argentina game tomorrow. If Argentina loses, itβs because I managed to pretend to like them. If Argentina wins, itβs because I absolutely fucking loathe Messi and couldnβt bring myself to even pretend I like the teamπ
I have every intention of watch the England v. Argentina game tomorrow. If Argentina loses, itβs because I managed to pretend to like them. If Argentina wins, itβs because I absolutely fucking loathe Messi and couldnβt bring myself to even pretend I like the teamπ
β³ A/N There's no better way to celebrate our newest World Champion than with something that brings both bookends of his career thusfar into one. And of course it's raunchy, because what else would it be? I dragged this out of the vault and blew the dust off of it...let's celebrate hehe
β³ Summary: 19-year-old Lando has taken up photography and it seems as though he has a bit of a habit of leaving his camera laying around. 26-year-old Landoβfar more confident and astute than his younger counterpartβjust wants to make some quality content.
β³ Pairings: 2019!Lando Norris x 2025!Lando Norris x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)
β³ Word Count: 7.6k
β³ Warnings: 18+, smut, basically pwp, ig the concept is magical realism vibes/timeline blending, two Landos (rookie Lando (sub/soft dom vibes Lando) & current Lando (dom vibes Lando)), threesome (mmf), recording/making a sex tape, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, degradation (use of 'slut' 'whore' etc), calling him 'sir', manhandling, brief anal play, edging, spanking, choking, restraining with hands, finger sucking, squirting, multiple creampies, sloppy seconds, unprotected sex.
The black DSLR sat aimlessly on the desk in the corner of the bedroom, resting only a few inches away from its open case with its lens cap off. It was only proof of the rush to put it away at the end of the day or maybe it was Lando's tendency to be a little forgetful, leaving things laying around. Regardless, the camera now sat in its shining glory in the morning sunlight that streamed through the glass doors adjacent to the desk, shimmering black that caught the twenty-six-year-old's eye.
He had been up since the birds and was only waiting for you to finish getting ready so you could all go on a drive up the coast to welcome the good-weather Saturday. Looking for something to busy his hands with, Lando sat down at the desk chair and picked up the camera. It was a recent purchase by his nineteen-year-old self who had been living with the two of you for a few months, having tinkered with your timeline too much on your first sporadic night together to be able to go back to his own.Β
It was a good cohabitation you had going onβsome sort of polyamorous relationship although both young men were technically the exact same personβeven if the younger Lando had to be extra cautious when leaving the house in fear of being spotted. The world wouldnβt quite be able to handle the fact that there were somehow two versions of Lando Norris existing at the same time. It would be equally as hard to explain.
So the younger had taken up photography to pass his time while his older self was working or training or travelling and while you had busy days of your own, meaning that said camera was around a lot. He was quite protective of it and no matter how much his older self knew about photography, the younger Lando would never allow him to so much as touch it.Β
Yet, alone, twenty-six-year-old Lando capitalized on this rare opportunity. Raising the viewfinder to his eye, Lando peered through it to see the framed reflection of his bedroom. The light from the ensuite was leaking across the floor from around the corner and he could hear your quiet chatter with his younger self as you got ready. He snapped a picture.Β
Slowly scanning the room leftwards, the viewfinder framed a second view of the messy king size bed that, nightly, held the three of you. It had been attempted to be made that morning with the sheets haphazardly strewn back across the mattress and pillows tossed into somewhat of a semblance of order against the headboard. The light from the sun made it look beautiful. Lando snapped another picture.Β
He then turned the camera around to face himself and pulled a huge, dramatic grin to snap a third picture, half blurry and out of frame. He chuckled to himself and then turned the camera back around to open the gallery of previously taken photos on the display screen. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, calling out in the direction of the ensuite as he flicked through the images, βAre you guys almost done yet?β
Your voice called back happily, βDidnβt know we were in a rush!βΒ
A few of the photos from the previous day were taken when younger Lando had gone up north on a hike: a few shots of the foliage and trails or the distant harbour and glistening sea. He was quite private about his newly found hobby so older Lando was treading in dangerous territory.Β
βWhat are you doing with that?β
The panicked voice of his younger self was no less than proof he got caught red handed but with a smirk and a quick raise of the camera again, older Lando snapped a few quick pictures of him.Β
The nineteen-year-old hurried across the room towards him, βStop! Donβt touch my stuff.βΒ
He then proceeded to have a bunch of unflattering photographs taken of himself getting closer and closer to the camera until his hand was blocking the lens.Β
βItβs technically mine too. We are the same person, you know,β older Lando reminded him, lifting his socked foot up to push his younger self back against his stomach.Β
βMate,β younger Lando huffed, βJustβ¦donβt look through it.β
βWhy? You have your nudes in here? Sorryβ¦our nudes?βΒ
βDisgusting,β younger Lando turned away from him and his blunt teasing.Β
Another picture was taken, indicated by the sound of the shutter through the quiet bedroom.Β
The light from the ensuite was turned off and you came around the corner yourself in only your jeans and a bra. Older Lando carefully turned the lens to zoom in and snapped a few candid photos of you as you checked your phone, half hidden behind his younger self who was pulling on his black hoodie.Β
βSmile, baby.β Lando sang softly, earning a few quick photos of your curious expression looking over at him and then smiling and then quickly turning away.Β
βStop, Iβm not dressed,β you tisked with a little chuckle.Β
βYou look good.βΒ
His younger self drifted past you and kissed your cheek on his way, agreeing softly, βVery good.β
βYou two are too much for me.β you said bashfully.Β
βWait, Lan, come back,β the twenty-six-year-old called after his younger self who had since disappeared back around the corner.Β
He popped his head back around the corner with an unimpressed expression, correcting him away from the nickname he hated, βLando, to you.β
Ignoring him, older Lando waved his hand towards you, βKiss her again.β
You and the younger glanced over at each other and you smiled softly at the way he shyly bit his lip. He looked back to his older self, suddenly all too aware of the attention and the camera pointed at him, βWhy?β
βBecause it was cute. But kiss her properly this time.βΒ
Never one to deny you a kiss, the sweethearted nineteen-year-old took the few short steps over to you and you welcomed him in for a brief kiss to your lips, barely touching you before he stepped back again.Β
Older Lando tisked, βOhβ¦do it again, I didnβt get it.β
His younger self stepped closer to you with a quick lick to his lips before he was leaning in to kiss you again.Β
Always wanting more, your boyfriend spoke from his spot across the room, βGimme some more hands; come on. Kiss her like you mean it.β
A small huff from the younger Lando fell against your cheek and you giggled at his flustered frustration as your lips locked and your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer towards you. His hands slid slowly around your waist and to the small of your back, holding your body against his as your lips moulded the sweetest kisses to be stained in morning sunlight and captured by the camera like a scene out of a movie.
βThatβs it,β older Lando spoke from the desk chair, zooming in a little more to take one more picture of the two of you with just your faces filling the frame. He habitually licked his lips at the sight of your perfect kiss and then he looked past the camera towards you himself.Β
Although the mini photoshoot was done, neither you nor the nineteen-year-old seemed quite ready to end as the warm touch of each other and perfectly delectable kisses were too addicting. It was quiet in the room for a second and your boyfriend just watched the moment progress.Β
But then his younger self went for your neck. Your eyes stayed closed and your fingers tangled in the back of his hair, the sunlight blessing your features to the point that older Lando just had to raise the camera up again. It had to be captured.Β
The bite of your lip, the rouge to your cheeks, the pleasure on your face as the feeling of his lips on your neck had your hands grasping tighter to hair and hoodie. Your small hum in appreciation.
Click of the shutter.Β
Zoom.Β
Click.Β
The viewfinder dragged down your body to frame the way his fingers pressed into the doughy flesh of your hip just over the waistband of your jeans.Β
Focus.Β
Click.Β
Your hand in the back of his hair.Β
Click.Β
Younger Lando lifted his head up just enough to dust his lips over the shell of your ear and his warm breath made you shiver. He whispered to you for only you to hear, βDo we have to leave now?β
βMm,β you hummed to the room, already in some sort of trance from his touch and his kiss, and you spoke his question aloud for your boyfriendβs answer, βLan, do we have to leave?β
He answered easily from behind the camera, βNot if weβre going to keep doing this.βΒ
βGood,β his younger self whispered against your cheek and pressed a lingering kiss there before leaving one more on your jaw. His hands slid to the front of your body and with his shy anticipatory breath on your face, he popped the button on your jeans.Β
With a proud smirk on his face, twenty-six-year-old Lando took one last picture before he was looking down at the camera in his hands and switching the setting to βvideoβ, sealing your desire to stay home just a little longer with a reassurance of, βThe coast isnβt going anywhere.β
He stood from the desk chair just as nineteen-year-old Lando guided you gently backwards to the edge of the bed and when you sat down, he helped to pull your jeans all the way off and to the floor. He then licked away his eager smile as he sank to his knees on the side of the bed and positioned himself between your legs, glancing up at you as he linked his fingers in the sides of your panties and pulled them down your legs next.Β
Twenty-six-year-old Lando pressed record, carefully fitting the two of you into the frame, and the little red light illuminated itself on the corner of the camera. He took a slow step closer, his heart already racing in his chest at how sudden and surprisingly arousing this was as he filmed his younger self going down on you. The nineteen-year-old had learned plenty since his first night with the two of you and he knew exactly what to do to make you happy, starting with a soft kiss to your stomach as his hands caressed your thighs and he draped them over his shoulders.Β
You giggled excitedly, toes curling in anticipation as he kissed down your pelvis and along your inner thigh before finally leaving a slow, open mouthed kiss right over your pussy with his sparkling eyes peering up at you from the floor. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you watched him kiss you teasingly before his tongue was dropping out and he licked right up between your folds, pulling back with a lick to his lips at the first taste of you.Β
Younger Landoβs gentle hands held your thighs as he started to eat your pussy, slowly, savouringly, enough to make you whine for more. You slumped back onto your elbows on the soft mattress, staring down your body to his face between your legs and he just kept your lustful eye contact with ease.Β
βOh my God,β you breathed quietly, shaking your hair over your shoulders and out of your face. You licked your lips as your head lolled to the side slightly as you watched him, letting yourself focus on the sweet sensations that grew within you.Β
βDoes that feel good, baby?βΒ
The voice of your boyfriend a few steps away had you looking over at him, glancing right into the lens of the camera for a split second, before looking back down at the nineteen-year-old with a sultry smile and blushing cheeks, βYeah, it feels really good.βΒ
Younger Lando sent you a little wink before he was pulling back with a soft slurp and he ran his fingers between your lips, stroking your pussy up and down a few times, finally swirling his fingers around your clit to hear how your breath caught in your throat at his touch. Older Lando stepped closer with the camera, zooming in at the same time just enough to get your hips and thighs in frame so he could film the way his identical fingers teased your pussy a little more.Β
You hummed softly and he took that as his invitation to keep going, shyly ignoring the thrill of the camera on him as he let a small drip of saliva fall from his lips onto your cunt before his tongue was following. You moaned quietly to the room and pushed yourself towards the edge of the bed a little more so he could reach more of you and your hand dropped to his hair to pull him closer.Β
βDirty slut,β older Lando tisked, βJust canβt get enough of getting her pussy eaten, huh?β
Younger Lando pulled away again, speaking to the room in almost a whisper and to the camera without looking at it, βGotta get her wet.β
βThatβs right. Get her even prettier for the camera.βΒ
Said camera slowly panned up your body before focusing on your face as you stared down at the younger Lando between your legs and your change in expression when his mouth was back on you was captured with ease. The slight scrunch of your nose, the furrow of your brow, the way your head fell back with a moan.Β
Your boyfriend reached down to touch your bra, his filming shifting slightly off centre as his large hands cupped your breasts one and then the other and then he was tugging down one of the straps. You obediently helped to slide your arm out and then the other and he nudged your bra down to let your breasts out, giving him ample room to pinch one of your nipples between thumb and forefinger.Β
Your breaths were falling shallow between one of their mouths on you and the otherβs hand tweaking at your hardening nipples. It wasnβt hard to get turned on around them. They were a pair to be reckoned with; so different with seven years difference between them and yet so wonderfully identical.Β
Older Lando slapped one of your breasts and then the other, pulling a strained gasp from your chest at the sting he left behind and his focus drifted back down to the task of his younger self. With your legs over his shoulders, his arms were nearly wrapped around your thighs and he held you right up against his face as he made out sloppily with your pussy and let his nose graze teasingly across your clit.Β
βYeah, just like that. Come on, mate, pin her legs back,β older Lando crouched down to get a better angle, βSpread her open for me and the camera.βΒ
Nineteen-year-old Lando slid his hands up your thighs to the backs of your knees and he pushed your legs towards your chest, allowing the camera to have a clearer view of you as his tongue worked your cunt sloppily. He moaned loudly against you and licked you out until you were falling flat on your back against the bed with a moan of your own, hands grasping the sheets above your head. His tongue only moved faster, movements more ungraceful, and your hips pushed up against his face pleadingly.Β
βFuckβ¦spit on her cunt,β older Lando directed easily as if he were letting his innermost fantasies spill from his lips.
His younger self pulled back with a lick to his lips and he spit loudly back onto your cunt before the tip of his tongue was following it closely and rubbing it in up and down and right up to your clit. He swirled it there a little, grabbing you tighter as you cried out to the ceiling as he finally tended to your most sensitive spot and your body arched against his touch. Your hands instinctively found your breasts and you squeezed them in your hands as he brought you warm waves of pleasure, forcing mewls and whimpers to tumble freely from your lips. His tongue flicked at your clit faster, his hot breath falling against your damp skin, and you let out a tight grunt to the ceiling, head tossed back against the bed.
βOh God, Lando,β you choked out shakily.
The nineteen-year-old pulled back from you with a slurp and his chest heaved, giving his jaw and tongue a break so he could take his left hand, spread his fingers in a v-shape and rub them warmly up and down on either side of your puffy folds. You were glistening wet and he spread you open between two fingers to show you off to the camera, giving his older self a few seconds to zoom and focus on your soaked swollen pussy and the way your muscles tensed and contracted with desire. Younger Landoβwith near wonder in his eyesβspit on you again and then slid his middle and ring fingers through it, slicking them up before slipping them inside you in one slow steady push.Β
Your shaky little gasp was caught by the camera and older Lando centered your pussy in the frame, nice and close, watching how his own fingers pushed inside you right down to the knuckle. Almost right away, younger Lando was curling his two fingers inside you and started to thrust them back and forth in precise little jabs right against your g-spot that had your eyes rolling and your mouth falling agape. But the sound was erotic and loud and the camera easily picked up the sloppy wet squish of your pussy.Β
βFucking hell, listen to that.β older Lando breathed. He reached one hand into frame to rub the pad of his thumb over your clit, making your body jolt. He chuckled lowly and took his hand back, giving all his focus to the camera and making sure it was filmed just perfectly.Β
Younger Lando was greedy with it and he could never get enough of you so he couldnβt help himself but lean in to let his tongue take your clit again in messy strokes while his fingers pumped inside you steadily. You moaned to the ceiling gladly and the camera zoomed back out to capture your entire body plus Lando still on his knees at the side of the bed, with a straight shot of your pleasured expression and writhing body on perfect display.Β
Older Lando kept a steady hold of the camera with his right hand while his left dropped to the button of his jeans and he popped it open easily. He kept his eyes on you as he nudged his pants and underwear to his thighs to let himself grab hold of his hard cock, giving himself a few gentle pumps just to take the edge off. He stared through the display screen of the camera as it showed the recording in progress and captured you angelically, every inch of your body with your legs bent back towards your chest to the blissful expression across your face. He couldnβt let all the fun happen without him.Β
The dip of the mattress forced your curious eyes open and you peered up at your boyfriend kneeling on the end of the bed right beside you, pants and underwear discarded so his dick was free and in front of your face. The camera was focused down towards you although you didnβt need that incentive to take what he was hinting at. With the nineteen-year-old still tonguing at your clit and fingering you messily, you propped yourself up on your elbow and used your other hand to wrap around your boyfriendβs cock. He shuffled a little closer and let his left hand drift into the back of your hair as you lowered your mouth around him slowly.Β
It was hard for you to focus on him with the ripples of pleasure that shot up your back from the younger of the two still working between your legs but you still kept your mouth moving lazily on him with a hand secure around the base to hold him steady.Β
βOh, good girl,β Lando said lowly, angling the camera down his body to watch how you took his thick cock in your mouth through the display screen. You moaned quietly around him and when you had to pull back to breathe properly, you let your hand around him pick up the slack. The camera caught your gaze for a brief moment and you licked away your blissful smile before letting the sensations of the youngerβs mouth on you take you over again and your eyes fluttered closed with bliss.Β
Older Lando panned down your naked body to get another shot of his younger self between your spread legs, his face smeared in your arousal as his fingers pulled more of that beautiful squelching wet sound from inside you until you were leaking down the side of his hand. The camera moved back to your face and the sight of your fingers wrapped around Landoβs cock and stroking him lazily like he was meant to be in your hand. Your expression was pure erotica and the whimpered moans that fell from your pouted lips were only slightly exaggerated for the sake of the film.Β
βDonβt let her come,β your boyfriend told his younger self sternly.Β
βNo, please,β you choked out, βPlease, Iβm a good girl.βΒ
Older Lando hushed you tauntingly and simply pulled your head back towards him, shutting you up with a mouthful of dick. You gagged around him as he held you deeper and let his hand in your hair start to move your mouth on him himself until you took over messily. He wiped your hair out of your face and caressed your flushed cheek, keeping your sweet gaze to the camera in the centre of the frame.Β
When younger Lando leaned away from you, you whimpered at loss of contact and pulled your mouth away from your boyfriendβs dick to look back at him with a pout. The nineteen-year-old tapped your ankle, βScoot back.βΒ
You did as told and older Lando moved back off the bed to let the younger do as he pleased. It was honestly a bit of a rare occurrence for the older Lando to be so lenient and drift to the backseat in such situations but the addition of the camera in his hand seemed to be the trick. Younger Lando wasnβt going to complain. He would gladly take this rare opportunity to take the lead.Β
He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them off and as he climbed onto his knees on the mattress, you reached up to pull his hoodie off for him. Strip naked, the nineteen-year-old dipped down to kiss you sloppily, letting you taste yourself on his tongue until he was shoving your legs apart again so he could get closer.
βMove her how you want her,β older Lando instructed from the sidelines, finding a spot that captured the entire scene progressing on the bed.Β
βJust like this,β younger Lando mumbled, keeping you on your back with your legs spread and bent.Β
He spit in his hand and dropped it down to stroke his cock a few times as he angled it against your pussy. You kept your arms draped over your head prettily and let your eyes flick between where he teased you and his lust filled eyes, waiting for that push.Β
βAsk nicely,β he whispered to you tauntingly, voice soft and kissed in inexperience and a slight lack of confidence, slipping the head of his dick between your slick folds.Β
You shuttered at his hints of dominance, βPlease, sir. Please, fuck me.β
Although the nudge of the tip inside you was slow, the rest followed quickly and your mouth dropped open with a stiff gasp at how he filled you, one of your hands raising quickly to the back of his neck to hold onto him.Β
βSh-Shit, you feel so good,β he shuttered, easing back out of you before shoving back in just enough to hear how you sopping wet pussy squished around his cock.Β
The soft moan from your chest only grew louder as he started to fuck you in a steady rhythm, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into you hard. He wasnβt fast with it but he was insanely deep and you were rendered speechless by it, merely gaping up at him as he fucked the moans from your body over and over, getting you louder and louder.Β
βOh my God,β you groaned loudly, face scrunched up in pleasure as you held onto him by the back of his neck and stared up into his sweet face.Β
The camera framed you professionally, your body cradled by the bed and laying back angelically under the nineteen-year-old's perfect figure. The strength of his every thrust was obvious and the way his teeth were sinking into his bottom lip was only proof of his efforts right down to the way he pulled his hips back again and again, only to shove back into you roughly in a consistent rhythm.Β
Tense with pleasure underneath him, your eyes were nearly rolling back in your head with one hand gripping the sheets and the other locked at the back of his neck, keeping him there. Your moans shuttered in your chest just long enough for you to cry out shakily, βYouβre so fucking deep, Iβm gonna cry. It feels so good.β
βYouβre so beautiful,β he told you lowly, moving one hand off the mattress beside you to wrap his fingers around your throat, just how you liked it.Β
βYes, please, choke me,β you pleaded, lifting your legs back wider for him in thanks which only had the clap of his balls against your ass growing louder with each thrust.Β
βGood girlβ¦β he whispered.Β
Hardly aware of the camera on you anymore, you were ignorant to the way your boyfriend stood just out of line of the sunlight, allowing natural warm light to bathe the scene on the bed. He was just out of your sightline, giving the camera a perfect view of your spread legs and welcoming pussy taking everything his younger self was giving you with just enough of an angle to still catch the dizzying look on your face.
Younger Lando shifted slightly and bent your legs right up to your chest, pinning you down in half with his hands on the backs of your thighs, shuffling a little closer to start to thrust into you again in those same hard, deep strokes. You were sopping wet and you all could hear it and your aching clit was pleading for attention, urging your left hand to drop down to touch it as the ninteen-year-old fucked you deliciously.Β
Your boyfriend drifted to the other side of the bed slowly, making sure to capture every angle on his way, until the lens was focused down your body from a top right angle to frame the look on your face, your hand rubbing your clit, and the full length of his younger selfβs cock ploughing itself inside you. His tight breaths were nothing compared to the moans he fucked out of you, filling the sunkissed bedroom with pleasure.Β
The shadow of your boyfriendβs toned figure by your head had your gaze shifting to peer up at him and the camera, licking away your bashful smile as he filmed you getting fucked by another version of himself. You reached your free hand up to stroke his dick messily, trying to keep the same rhythm as the thrusts from the younger of the two despite the way he took the air from your lungs.Β
But when younger Lando got faster, both of your hands reached up to grab onto his biceps instead, squealing as he fucked you rougher until your face was screwing up in esctacy.
βYes!β you sobbed out, βYes! Fuck, donβt stop! Thatβs so fucking good, baby!βΒ
βGood girl. Are you gonna cum?β the nineteen-year-old taunted.Β
βYes, sir. Yeah, youβre gonna make me cum!βΒ
So he pulled out.Β
Your thighs clenched together as you groaned in frustration to the ceiling, eyes screwed shut and lips pouted pleadingly as your pussy throbbed for orgasm. He shoved your legs to the side to urge you to turn over and he shifted you onto your hands and knees facing the full length mirror on the wall off the opposite side of the bed, just past where your boyfriend was standing You stared at your reflection with flushed cheeks and a flick of your hair over your shoulder, obediently spreading your knees wider so he could shuffle closer and spank you across your ass. Not quite as hard as your boyfriend might have, but just enough.
βOh-β you moaned out, flinching at the impact.Β
He spanked you again, this time a little harder, the sound echoing through the room and your boyfriend stepped around the bed and moved closer to capture one more full-handed spank across your ass right down to the way your flesh jiggled from it and a faint pink handprint was left behind. Younger Landoβs hands slid up your hips and your back and he grabbed onto your shoulders to slowly pull you back onto his dick.Β
βOh my God,β you withered, keeping your hands flat on the mattress as you arched your back for him.Β
He filled you again easily, the creamy sound of your pussy taking him in only urging him to move slowly to savour it.Β
Your boyfriend zoomed the camera with a request, βSpread her openβ¦let me see.β
Younger Lando took two handfuls of your ass and tugged at your flesh to spread your cheeks open for the camera, shifting himself slightly at an angle for a better view of his dick hidden deep inside you. The twenty-six-year-old zoomed in closer and shifted the lens to focus, earning a clear picture of his younger selfβs slick cock buried in your swollen, leaking pussy.
βFuck, thatβs hot,β he mumbled, spanking you once more for himself.
Whimpering, you started to fuck yourself back on the younger Lando messily, pleading for him to take you again as the camera zoomed out to capture the whole scene again. But he simply let you take control for a second, basking in how needy you were. It made for good footage.Β
Your boyfriend spanked you again, βTell me you like his cock in you.β
βI love it,β you mumbled.Β
He spanked you again, βYou love what?βΒ
βI love his cock in my pussy,β you whimpered, squaring your shoulders back to try and find yourself a comfortable way to push yourself back on him.Β
But younger Lando was easier to break than the olderβhe never liked to let you work for it for longβso he gave you one more hard slap to your ass before he was grabbing your waist and starting to fuck you himself again.Β
βOh, God, yesββ you groaned.Β
In that same addicting rhythm of depth and passion, he was back to fucking the moans from your chest as you stared yourself down in the mirror. The camera followed your gaze into the full length mirror and your eyes shifted to your boyfriendβs reflection and you smiled cockily at him through your uncontrollable moans.Β
βLook at that perfect little whore,β he tisked almost proudly, panning the camera away from the mirror again to see the real thing right in front of him, following the tumble of your hair over your shoulders and along the perfect arch of your back. He paused at your bum, zooming in slightly to capture the entire length of his very own dick pounding into your eager body time and time again, the rough impact making your ass jiggle with each slap of skin on skin.Β
βFuck, youβre so big,β you choked out, slumping down onto your forearms against the bed.Β
Your boyfriend was playing director again, instructing his younger self, βPut your thumb in her ass.β
Without missing a beat, the nineteen-year-old raised his right hand up to slide his thumb in his mouth to suck on for a second to get it wet before he was easily obeying the orders and slid it slowly into your ass. Your head dropped forward against the sheets with a loud moan, the camera and both young men focused on the way your muscles gripped around it snugly. It earned you another proud spank.Β
βSuch a good girl. Such a pretty little slut.β your boyfriend praised, taking a step back to get another shot of the entire scene again.Β
Your voice was wavering in overwhelm, βFeels so fucking good, sir.βΒ
βYouβre taking it so well,β younger Lando whispered, his voice barely picked up by the camera.Β
You reached one hand back to try and grab his thigh as he fucked you, pleading to him sweetly, βHarder. Faster. Please, give me more.βΒ
βNaughty girl,β he tisked quietly, spanking you with his free hand again before giving you what you wanted.Β
The sound of his skin clapping with yours only grew louder and your eyes literally rolled back in your head, mouth agape, and you gave him a pleasured moan through the bedroom. Your head fell forward onto the sheets once again and he held you tightly as he fucked you rougher just how you begged for it.Β
You were a mess of incomprehensible sounds, stumbling out for him a string of βUh, uh, uh, uh, uh, mm, mm-β in time with his thrusts, blind to the movement of your boyfriend until he was petting a hand through your hair. You lifted your head up only to see him directly in front of you, standing at the edge of the bed with his hard cock in your face. The way your body was being rammed into had your mouth easily falling around his dick and you moaned contently around it as the way the ninteen-year-old fucked you had your mouth nudging forward into a consistent pace.Β
The camera lingered on the way you took him in your mouth, messy moans and whimpers muffled by his size as you took him hands free. Your eyes were closed almost peacefully and the camera focused on your face and the curve of your lips wrapped around him for a few more seconds.Β
βIβm close,β the nineteen-year-old whispered from behind you.Β
βMm,β you pulled off your boyfriendβs cock with a sloppy pop, calling sweetly over your shoulder, βcome inside me.β
βF-Fuck,β younger Lando swallowed back, leaning over you slightly as his thumb was taken from your ass so he could rest one hand down on the mattress again for stability. His thrusts were getting sloppier and more desperate and you offered him your best whimpers and moans to spur him on.Β
βPlease, sir,β you pleaded, βPlease come inside me. I need you to cum inside me.β
He tensed for a second, his breath catching in his throat, and he shoved hard into you one more time before he was coming, filling you with warm spurts and making your head spin with sweet moans of his own from behind you.Β
βGood boy,β you giggled, wiggling your ass back against him, βKeep coming. It feels so fucking good.β
His hands tightened on the sheets as he almost slumped on top of you, grinding strongly against you to fill you up as much as he could offer. But your boyfriend didnβt waste a second before he was gliding smoothly back around the bed with the camera held steadily in his hand and he crouched down to get a perfect view of your swollen pussy as his younger self pulled out of you slowly with a little whimper. The nineteen-year-old shifted across the bed to give him room to his place behind you and without a word, the twenty-six-year-old was kneeling behind your flushed body.Β
He spread your pussy lips between two fingers and kept the camera still to focus on how a thick drip of creamy white slipped out of you and fell faintly onto the head of his cock that was right there, angled and impatient. You barely had a second to prepare yourself before he was pushing inside you himself, a perfect match to the one that had just taken you, and you arched your back lower for him.Β
βFuck, Lando, yes.β you whimpered.Β
Your boyfriend slapped his hand down hard against the blush red handprint that had already claimed your left ass cheek and he started to fuck your sloppy pussy. With you already having been filled once, he could glide so easily inside you and the wet warmth that encapsulated him had his eyebrows furrowing and teeth sinking into his bottom lip in near concentration.Β
His younger self held out his hand, offering quickly, βWant me to film? Pass it here.β
He didnβt wait for a response before taking the camera from the twenty-six-year-oldβs hand and turned it to capture the two of you perfectly. It gave your boyfriend two handed reign of your body and he grabbed your hips to pound you hard, letting the camera have a perfect view of the way your eyes rolled shut and your nails clawed at the sheets in perfect silence. The clap of his balls against your dripping pussy was dizzying and you spread your legs wider and arched deeper to feel them against your clit in steady rhythm.Β
βFuck, yeah,β you sobbed out.Β
Lando spanked you once more before leaning over you, one hand anchoring himself on the mattress while the other took your chin in a firm grasp and he forced two fingers in your mouth, holding your head up to look right into the camera lens right in front of you. His jagged breaths were panted against your ear and he spoke to you lowly, tauntingly, βSmile for the camera, sweetheart. Smile while I fill your pussy with cum just how you like it.β
βPlease,β you mumbled through his fingers, making you drool down your chin, βPlease come inside me.β
βThatβs my good little cumslut. Wanting us to fill you right upβ¦dirty whore.βΒ
βYes, please, sir,β you whimpered.Β
Landoβs words lessened as he got closer, his hand slipping from your mouth to grip your throat instead, βThatβs my good girl.βΒ
Younger Lando shifted across the bed to get a perfect angle of the position you were in and when his older self straightened up and nodded him over, he shuffled closer. You were held down by your boyfriendβs two strong hands as he fucked you roughly until you were sobbing into the sheets and clenching down around him. The nineteen-year-old held the camera above, angled down to get a perfect view of how deep his older self was getting inside you and the blush red of your ass from all that perfect pounding.Β
With a tight grunt, older Lando came inside you, tugging you right back onto his cock to get as deep as he could go. You gaped into the sheets, stretching your arms out to grab onto the edge of the mattress as you took every last drop gladly, moaning blissfully into the bed and the warm air of the bedroom. You felt so full with two identical loads inside you and you hid your smile into the sheets, grinding back on him sweetly to earn another proud spank.Β
βGood fucking girl,β your boyfriend caressed your hips tenderly.Β
He then grabbed his younger selfβs wrist and guided the camera closer, encouraging the nineteen-year-old to zoom and focus on your messy pussy as he slowly pulled out. The camera was held steady in place, waiting a few seconds, and as older Lando spread your glistening lips with two fingers, a thick drop of cum slipped out of you and fell onto the bed, quickly followed by a second.Β
βOh my God,β nineteen-year-old Lando breathed.Β
You were achingly sensitive and so edged that you felt like crying and even the fainted touches from your boyfriendβs hand had you jolting for more. He turned you onto your back smoothly and took the camera from his younger self with one more demand,
βHold her down. Letβs make our pretty girl come.βΒ
You licked away your excited smile as you situated yourself in front of him and gladly spread your legs, giving him permission to have you however he pleased. His younger self scooted across the bed to kneel beside you on the mattress and held down your wrists above your head. With the camera in his left hand and the shot focused on your messy cunt and glistening skin that had been claimed by both Landos only moments before, he used his right hand to slide three fingers inside you. They squelched inside you with how wet you were and the fullness they offered you and forced some more of their shared cum to slip out of you and down your puffy folds.Β
He didnβt hold back as he started to finger you roughly, keeping his fingers curled at that perfect angle to hit your g-spot head on every time. You shrieked to the ceiling, held down by the nineteen-year-old who watched intently with a lick to his lips as your flushed body drew closer to orgasm for the nth time that morning.Β
βFuck, Lando, please, baby!β you sobbed to the ceiling, βPlease, sir, let me come!βΒ
βWhenever you need, pretty girl. Come for us,β older Lando coaxed.Β
You could feel the tension pulling within you and it only grew more powerful as the seconds passed and your arms strained against the grip of the younger man by your head. It was coming on strong and you could feel the warmth filling you quickly and your toes curled with rising pleasure as your face screwed up in ecstasy, uncontrollable moans pouring from your lips, higher and louder.Β
βCome on, sweetheart,β Lando spoke beautifully, βCome for us. Give it to us, baby. Come on.βΒ
βYes-β you sobbed out through your teeth, letting yourself go for them.Β
You could feel it building inside you but you didnβt speak to it in order to let the clear bursts of liquid happily surprise them instead. You writhed on the bed sheets as the two young men moaned in appreciation for you and your boyfriend kept his fingers going, staying right where he was even as you squirted right up across the camera lens.Β
βGood girl. Good fucking girl.β older Lando praised loudly to top your moans, keeping his fingers going quickly to pull more bursts out of you.Β
βFuck!β you gasped sharply, pulling your legs up towards your chest in overwhelm, forcing his fingers to start to ease their attack on your throbbing pussy.Β
He chuckled lowly and pulled them out as his younger self let your arms go and he leaned down to kiss you upside down despite how you struggled for breath. The camera was zoomed out and refocused on the last of your few kisses and you turned your head away to breathe, your cheeks dusted red and your once neat hair and makeup a complete mess, your bra still wrapped meaninglessly around your middle.Β
βThat was so fucking hot, baby,β your boyfriend rubbed your shin. βAnything you wanna say to the camera before we turn it off?β
You shyly turned away to hide your bashful smile against the younger Landoβs thigh, βNope.βΒ
βYou werenβt so shy a few seconds ago,β he chuckled.Β
βIt served its purpose,β you muttered.Β
Lando smiled at you through the viewfinder and then stopped the video with the final frame of younger Lando petting his hand over your hair. The camera was set to the side and you were tended to adoringly by both young men, showered in kisses and praised until you had to nearly push them off you to let you get up and get redressed for the day. Walking back around the corner into the ensuite on wobbly legs, the two Landoβs watched you with identical proud smiles and when they looked at each other, all they could do was share a fistbump.Β
Sitting in the cramped backseat of the twenty-six-year-oldβs car, nineteen-year-old Lando was wiping the lens of his DSLR camera for the fourth time since leaving the apartment and you all hadnβt even left the parking garage yet. He had a frown on his face as the cloth wasnβt doing much to rid the smudge that had found its way onto the lens from your morning adventure. You passed him a small bottle of glasses cleaning solution from your purse which seemed to do the trick and he thanked you sheepishly.Β
When you were all setβonly an hour behind schedule for your Saturday plansβolder Lando pulled his car out of the parking garage and into the Monaco sunshine. It was a beautiful day and with the three of you still buzzing off pleasure hormones, the vibes in the car were immaculate and the music was loud as you headed for the coast.Β
You had barely gotten out of Monte Carlo before there was a grumbled βfuckβ from the backseat.Β
Glancing back at younger Lando, you asked him worriedly, βWhat is it?βΒ
He had his camera in hand and directed out the window as if in anticipation for a picture of the crystal blue ocean and view of the Monaco harbour in the distance. He turned it to show you the display screen housing a pop-up, explaining in an unimpressed voice, βMy memory card is full.β
His elder counterpart just smirked to the narrow road ahead.Β
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Summary: Monaco: one baby girl, seven self-appointed grid uncles, and one very protective Max.
A/N: Seven now... welcome Arvid! (Title change?)
4.8k words / Masterlist / Part 1
Youβre not even sure who first started calling them the βgrid uncles.β
Honestly it had probably started long before your daughter arrived.
Somewhere between seven months pregnant and waddling through the paddock with Maxβs hand permanently hovering at your lower back, the boys had stopped treating your pregnancy like something happening to you and started treating it like a group project they were all determined to pass with flying colours.
Ollie kept snacks in his bag βjust in case the baby was hungry,β which made absolutely no biological sense but was sweet enough that you never corrected him. Gabi was the one who always found you a chair before you ever said you needed one. Kimi had quietly started carrying your bags without asking, appearing at your side with that serious little nod like heβd been assigned a secret mission.
Liam never let you lift anything heavier than a water bottle, Isack kept sending you ridiculous baby name suggestions in the group chat, Franco insisted he could tell the baby was going to be funny because she always kicked when he spoke, and Arvid had been adopted into the chaos almost as quickly as the season had started, shyly joining in until he was just as invested as the rest of them.
By the final month they had opinions on everything.
Prams. Baby clothes. Nursery colours. Whether Max was being dramatic about people touching your bump. Whether the baby would recognise engine sounds. Whether she would prefer Red Bull, Mercedes, Ferrari, or, according to Max, βthe correct answer, which is whatever car her father is driving.β
They sent you voice notes when you missed races, asked for bump updates and once spent nearly an hour arguing over who would be the favourite uncle despite none of them having met her yet.
So really by the time she finally arrived the title had already been decided, Ollie was just the first one bold enough to say it out loud.
He announced it loudly and without consultation the first time he visited the hospital, appearing in the doorway with an enormous stuffed bunny tucked beneath his arm and a balloon that read ITβS A GIRL! in violently pink lettering.
βHer favourite uncle has arrived,β Ollie had declared.
βYouβve never met her,β Max replied flatly from the chair beside your bed.
βDoesnβt matter. Some connections are instinctive.β
βYou werenβt even the first one here.β
That honour had belonged to Kimi, who had shown up exactly four hours after you had announced visitors were allowed, pale-faced and nervous, holding a small gift bag in both hands. He was still standing several feet away from the crib.
Heβd brought her a miniature racing suit. It was bright red with her surname printed across the back and a tiny Italian flag stitched onto the collar.
Max had stared at it for a long moment, then without saying anything heβd reached out and squeezed the back of Kimiβs neck. Kimi had looked unbearably proud of himself for the rest of the afternoon.
After that the others had arrived in waves.
Gabi brought flowers for you and a collection of childrenβs books for the baby, explaining that his mother had insisted books were a better gift than clothes because babies grew too quickly. Isack brought clothes anyway, including a pink jumper that wouldnβt fit her for at least three years but apparently had βgood energy.β Arvid arrived with a tiny knitted blanket. Franco arrived with three different toys that all made noise, which Max immediately banned from the room. Liam brought food for the two of you, earning your eternal gratitude and Maxβs quiet respect.
By the time you left the hospital your daughter had seven self-appointed uncles, enough stuffed animals to open a small zoo and a WhatsApp group dedicated entirely to her.
The group had originally been called Baby Updates.
Ollie renamed it Princess Headquarters within twenty minutes.
Max changed it back.
Franco renamed it The Favourite Uncles.
Max changed it back again.
Isack changed the group photo to a badly edited image of the baby wearing sunglasses and holding a steering wheel.
Max threatened to delete the chat.
None of them believed him.
They were right not to, because three months later theyβre all crowded inside your Monaco apartment on one of the rare weekends when nobody has anywhere else to be and Max is pretending this wasnβt entirely his idea.
βShe needs to spend time around people,β he had told you that morning, carefully fastening the tiny buttons on your daughterβs sleepsuit with the intense concentration he usually reserved for race track.
βShe spends time around people.β
βShe spends time around us.β
βWeβre people.β
βYou know what I mean.β
You'd watched him lift her against his chest, one large hand supporting almost the entire length of her back. She had blinked up at him with sleepy blue eyes, her mouth making the soft little pout that appeared whenever she was deciding whether to cry.
Max had immediately started swaying, he did it without thinking now. Standing still had apparently become impossible for him the second he was holding her. He paced during phone calls, rocked gently while talking to his team and had once completed an entire video meeting with her tucked against his shoulder, his hand rhythmically patting her while she slept.
βI think you miss them,β youβd said.
βI saw them two weeks ago.β
βYou miss having someone to boss around.β
βI have you.β
You just snorted. βYouβve never successfully bossed me around in your life.β
Heβd looked down at the baby. βAt least one person in this house respects me.β
Sheβd chosen that exact moment to spit milk down the front of his shirt. You had laughed so hard youβd needed to sit down.
Now your living room looks as though a toy shop has collided with a Formula One hospitality unit.
There are bags scattered beside the door, takeaway containers covering most of the kitchen counter and seven pairs of shoes abandoned in the hallway despite Max specifically telling everyone not to leave them there.
Your daughter is lying on a padded mat in the middle of the floor, wearing a pale yellow romper covered in tiny ducks, completely unaware that six professional racing drivers are gathered around her.
βShe smiled at me,β Franco says.
βI think she just has wind,β Liam replies.
βNo that was a smile.β
βShe looks like that before she burps.β
βYouβre jealous because she hasnβt smiled at you.β
βShe smiled at me last time.β
βThat was definitely wind,β Isack says.
βI know her expressions.β Franco continues
βYouβve met her two times.β Liam says.
βAnd we have a bond.β
From his position on the sofa Max watches the argument unfold with your daughter tucked safely between his feet. His legs form a protective barrier on either side of her mat, preventing anyone from getting too close without his approval.
Heβs trying to look unimpressed.
He isnβt succeeding.
His hair is slightly messy from where the baby had grabbed a fistful of it earlier, his T-shirt is marked with a faint patch of milk near the shoulder and thereβs a muslin cloth draped over his thigh.
Your heart still does something strange whenever you see him like this.
Before she arrived you'd known Max would love her. You'd known he would protect her and worry about her and probably research every available car seat with the same obsessive attention he gave to racing data.
You hadnβt anticipated just how soft he would be.
You hadnβt expected to wake in the middle of the night and find him already leaning over her bassinet, one hand resting lightly against her stomach just to reassure himself she was breathing. You hadnβt expected him to learn every one of her cries within two weeks, somehow able to differentiate between hunger, tiredness and the outrage she expressed whenever a sock came loose.
You hadnβt expected him to whisper to her when he thought you were asleep. Sometimes it was Dutch, sometimes English. Occasionally you were fairly certain he was explaining sim racing regulations to her.
Mostly though he told her things he thought mattered the most, that she was safe, that he loved her.
That he would always come home.
It was the last one that broke your heart a little every time.
βCan I hold her?β Kimi asks.
The room falls strangely quiet. Kimi is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his hands resting carefully in his lap. Heβs been waiting patiently for almost an hour, watching while Arvid pulled faces at her and Ollie and Gabi performed an enthusiastic peekaboo.
Max studies him.
βHave you washed your hands?β
βYes.β
βRecently?β
βWhen I came in.β
βThat was forty minutes ago.β
You lean over the back of the sofa, resting your chin against Maxβs shoulder. βShe isnβt made of glass.β
βI know.β
βYou made Gabi remove his watch in case it scratched her.β
βIt has sharp edges.β
Across the room, Gabriel glances down at his bare wrist but wisely chooses not to involve himself.
βYouβre terrifying them,β you whisper. You press a kiss to his cheek before moving around the sofa and lowering yourself beside him. The baby notices you immediately, her legs kicking against the mat as her entire face brightens.
There it is.
The smile.
Itβs still new enough that every single one feels like a miracle, her gummy mouth opening wide and her eyes crinkling at the corners as though seeing you is the greatest thing that has ever happened to her.
The room erupts.
βShe smiled!β
βDid you see that?β
βTake a photo!β
βI told you she smiled!β
βThat wasnβt for you Franco.β
βIt could've been.β
βIt was clearly for her mum.β
Max doesnβt join the shouting. He just looks down at his daughter with the most helpless expression youβve ever seen on his face.
βSheβs so beautiful,β he murmurs.
These little moments when the others seem to remember that Max isnβt only a mentor or the driver they grew up watching. He isnβt the former world champion standing in the garage with his helmet beneath his arm or the man they go to when they need advice they donβt trust anyone else to give.
Heβs just a dad. A completely besotted, slightly overwhelmed, deeply emotional dad who still looks as though he canβt believe someone allowed him to take this tiny person home.
βShe looks like you,β Gabi says to him.
βShe looks like her mum,β Max replies immediately.
βShe has your eyes.β
βShe has her mumβs face.β
βShe definitely has your frown,β Ollie adds.
Max looks at him. βShe doesnβt frown.β
Every person in the room looks down at the baby, who is currently glaring at the ceiling fan with unmistakable Verstappen intensity.
You bite the inside of your cheek.
Liam clears his throat. βNo. Of course not.β
βSheβs observant,β Max insists.
βShe looks like sheβs analysing its weaknesses,β Isack says.
βSheβs three months old.β Ollie laughs.
βSheβs advanced.β
βThatβs my girl,β Max says, entirely serious.
Kimi returns with his hands held in front of him like a surgeon who has just scrubbed in.
βCan I hold her now?β
Max looks at you with the same look he gives you every time someone asks, even though he knows perfectly well that all of them have held her before. It isnβt permission exactly, more like reassurance.
You nod.
βSit properly,β Max instructs.
Kimi immediately moves onto the sofa.
βSupport her head.β
βI know.β
βDonβt lift her too quickly.β
βI know.β
βAnd if she criesββ
βItβs okay Max.β you jump in.
You scoop your daughter into your arms, feeling her warm weight settle naturally against your body. Her tiny fingers curl into the neckline of your top as you kiss the soft patch of hair at her temple.
For the first few weeks, handing her to anyone had felt strangely difficult, even people you trusted. Your entire body had resisted it, every instinct insisting she belonged against your chest, that nobody else would hold her carefully enough or notice the smallest change in her breathing.
Max had been worse. The first time Ollie held her, Max had stood directly beside him with both hands hovering beneath the baby as though expecting him to drop her at any moment.
Heβs improved since then.
Slightly.
You settle her carefully into Kimiβs arms helping position his hand behind her head. Every muscle in his body seems to go rigid as the baby stares up at him.
βRelax,β you tell him gently.
βIβm relaxed.β
βYou look like youβre being held at gunpoint,β Liam says.
βShut up.β
βLanguage,β Max says.
Kimi looks horrified. βSorry.β
βItβs okay, she doesnβt understand you yet,β you reassure him.
βThat isnβt the point,β Max mutters.
Your daughter studies Kimi with grave concentration, her eyes moving over his face. Then her hand rises and her fingers brush uncertainly against his chin before closing around the collar of his shirt.
βOh,β he whispers. Itβs such a small sound, quiet and startled, that your chest aches.
βShe likes me.β Kimi looks down at her again, his thumb carefully stroking the back of her tiny hand.
βYouβre going to come to races when youβre bigger, arenβt you?β he murmurs. βIβll show you the car. Not your dadβs car obviously. Mine is better.β
Max leans forward. βGive her back.β
βI was joking.β
Your daughter chooses that moment to make a small, delighted noise, something between a squeak and a coo.
Every head snaps toward her.
Ollie suddenly beams.
βShe said Ferrari.β
βShe absolutely did not,β Max says.
βShe made an F sound.β
βShe made a noise.β
βHer first word is going to be Ferrari.β
βHer first word is going to be Dada.β
You glance at Max. He says it with complete confidence, but you catch the hope underneath it.
Heβs been trying for weeks. Every morning he lifts her from the crib and carries her toward the window, murmuring, βDada. Say Dada,β as though repetition alone will accelerate her language development.
Youβve pointed out several times that babies donβt usually speak at three months old. Max in turn has pointed out that she isnβt an average baby. You worry he is going to be devastated when her first word is something completely random like lamp.
The afternoon drifts on in a warm, comfortable blur.
Your daughter is passed carefully from Kimi to Gabi, Isack, Ollie, Franco, Arvid and then to Liam, who turns out to be very good with her. She settles against his chest almost immediately, one cheek pressed to his shoulder as he gently pats her back.
βShe doesnβt settle that quickly for everyone.β
βMaybe Iβm calming.β
βSheβs falling asleep,β Gabi whispers.
Everyone collectively lowers their voice.
Your daughterβs eyelids flutter, her fist loosening against Liamβs shirt as her breathing deepens. Liam looks down at her with open wonder, barely moving except for the slow rhythm of his hand against her back.
βSheβs tiny,β he murmurs.
βYouβve only just noticed?β Ollie whispers.
βNo, butβ¦β Liam glances toward you. βItβs strange, isnβt it? That sheβs a whole person already. She doesnβt know anything about any of us, but one day she will.β
One day, she will know them. Not as rookies or racing drivers or names printed across the back of team shirts. She will know Ollie as the uncle who lets her eat sweets before dinner and Kimi as the one who teaches her Italian phrases Max pretends not to understand.
She will know Gabi always remembers her birthday and Arvid saves every drawing she gives him like theyβre priceless, Isack buys her wildly impractical presents. She will know Franco makes her laugh until she hiccups and Liam is the person she goes to whenever she wants to do something Max has explicitly forbidden.
She will grow up surrounded by noise and engines and people who have already decided they love her. Your eyes sting unexpectedly and Max notices. His attention never strays far from you, even while watching the baby. His hand finds your knee, thumb stroking slowly across your skin.
βYou okay?β he asks quietly.
You nod, swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat. βJust tired.β
He doesnβt believe you, but he doesnβt expose you in front of everyone. Instead he shifts closer and slides his arm around your waist, drawing you gently into his side.
βYou need to rest.β
βIβm fine.β
βYou were up twice last night.β
βSo were you.β
βI slept this morning.β
βFor forty minutes.β
βThat counts.β
βYou lie down and immediately start checking your phone.β
Youβre still arguing about Maxβs approach to sleep when your daughter stirs in Liamβs arms.
The change is immediate.
Her face scrunches and her mouth opens, a small warning sound escapes her.
Every person in the room freezes.
βOh no,β Ollie whispers.
βWhat does she need?β Franco asks, already looking around as though the answer might be written somewhere on the walls.
βShe might be hungry,β Gabi says.
βOr tired,β Kimi adds quickly.
βShe was asleep,β Liam points out.
βMaybe sheβs too hot?β Arvid suggests, glancing down at her little romper with genuine concern.
βIt isnβt hot,β Franco replies.
βIt might be hot for a baby,β Isack says, like this is suddenly a very serious medical possibility.
Kimi frowns. βDo babies feel temperature differently?β
Ollie looks between all of them, confusion written across his face. βWhy would we know?β
Her warning whimper becomes a cry, it isnβt a particularly loud cry but the effect on the room is catastrophic.
Liam looks terrified. βShould I stand up?β
βNo,β Max says immediately.
βDo I rock her?β
βNot that quickly.β
βIβm barely moving.β The baby cries harder.
Max is already reaching for her. βIβve got her.β
Liam transfers her with almost visible relief, and Max gathers her against his chest in one smooth motion. His hand cups the back of her head as he rises, bouncing gently on the balls of his feet.
βItβs okay,β he murmurs. βDadaβs here. Youβre okay little one.β
Her cries continue.
Maxβs brow furrows. He adjusts her position, checking her nappy through the romper with a practised hand before glancing at you. Your daughterβs tears strip through every layer of his composure, leaving him raw and helpless. He knows babies cry and he knows it doesnβt always mean anything's wrong.
That knowledge has never stopped him from taking it personally.
βHey,β you whisper, touching his arm. βSheβs okay.β
βI know.β
βYou havenβt done anything wrong.β
βI know.β
His arms loosen a fraction. βI just donβt know what she needs.β
The frustration in his voice is painfully familiar. Max has always needed to solve things, problems have causes and causes have solutions.
Babies donβt always work like that. Sometimes they cry because the world is enormous and confusing and being three months old is somehow exhausting.
You slide your hand around the back of his neck and move closer and begin humming softly, the same melody you use during late-night feeds. Max recognises it immediately, his shoulders lower as he matches the rhythm, swaying slowly while you rub the babyβs back.
Her cries begin to soften and Max presses his lips against the top of her head.
The room watches in silence. After another minute her cries fade into small, hiccuping breaths. Her body relaxes against Max, one tiny fist uncurling over his heart
The relief that crosses his face is so intense itβs almost painful to witness. βThere she is,β he murmurs. βThatβs my girl.β
You stroke her cheek, wiping away the single tear caught beneath her eye. βMaybe she was just a little overwhelmed.β
Max opens his eyes and looks accusingly toward the others.
βWe didnβt do anything,β Ollie protests from the kitchen.
βYou were all staring at her.β
βWell yeah of course.β Gabi says.
Maxβs expression softens, he tries to hide it by looking down at your daughter, but it doesnβt work.
βMaybe we should go,β Arvid suggests reluctantly. βLet you three rest.β
The others immediately look disappointed, but nobody argues.
They understand. Thereβs an ease to their presence in your home now, but theyβre still careful with the boundaries of your new little family. They hover while gathering their things, each one finding an excuse to pass close enough to say goodbye to the baby.
Franco lightly touches her foot
βGoodbye, favourite niece.β
Gabriel kisses two fingers and gently presses them against the top of her head. Isack crouches beside Max just long enough to make a silly little face at her, looking far too pleased when her mouth twitches in sleepy amusement.
Liam leans in next, carefully adjusting the blanket around her tiny feet. Arvid promises to bring her a custom racing bulls hat next time. Kimi lingers the longest, staring down at the baby tucked safely against Maxβs chest.
βSend a photo when she wakes up?β
βWe send photos every day,β Max says.
βI know.β
βIβll send one,β you promise.
Kimi smiles.
Ollie is the last to leave.
He stands in the doorway with his trainers finally on, glancing between you, Max and the baby.
βYou know,β he says, βwe were joking about the grid parents thing at first.β
βIβm aware,β Max replies.
βBut it wasnβt completely a joke.β
Ollie shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, suddenly looking younger than he usually does. βYou both looked after us before you had to,β he continues. βYou made sure we were all right, even when we were racing against you or being annoying or asking stupid questions.β
βMostly stupid questions,β Max says.
Ollie smiles faintly. βYeah. Mostly those.β
His eyes move to your daughter. βSo weβll look after her too. When sheβs older I mean. Not now, I donβt think any of us should be trusted with babysitting.β
βCorrect,β Max says.
Your throat tightens.
Ollie notices and immediately looks alarmed. βOh, God. Donβt cry. Max will ban me.β
βIβm not crying.β
βYou look like you might.β
βI recently had a baby. Iβm allowed.β
βIβll go before it happens.β
The door closes behind him and silence settles over the apartment, but after hours of laughter and bickering the quiet feels enormous.
Max looks around at the abandoned cups, plates and the crushed cushions.
βTheyβre messy,β he mutters.
βYou invited them.β
βThey could still clean up after themselves.β
βYouβd find it strange if they did.β
βNo I wouldnβt.β
βYouβd assume something was wrong.β
He considers that. βMaybe.β
You begin gathering the empty containers from the coffee table, but Max catches your wrist before you can reach the second one.
βLeave it.β
βItβll take two minutes.β
βYouβre tired.β
βSo are you.β
βIβm holding her.β
βI can hold her.β
His arm instinctively tightens around the baby.
You raise an eyebrow.
Max looks down at her, then back at you.
βSheβs comfortable.β You say.
βShe was comfortable with Liam too.β
You laugh quietly. βWere you jealous of Liam for successfully holding your daughter.β
βI wasnβt jealous.β
βSure.β You just laugh once more, leaning into him. He kisses your forehead, lingering there for a moment as your daughter sleeps between you.
This life is still new.
The bottles drying beside the sink, the muslin cloths hanging over every available surface. The small crib beside your bed and the impossibly tiny clothes folded in Maxβs section of the wardrobe because he had decided she needed more space.
The constant exhaustion and moments of panic. The way your entire heart now exists outside your body, sleeping in her fatherβs arms.
βDid you hear what Ollie said?β you whisper.
Maxβs thumb moves slowly over your waist. βUnfortunately, I hear most things Ollie says.β
βYou know what I mean.β
He glances toward the closed front door.
βYeah.β
βThey love you.β
His jaw shifts slightly. βThey love her.β
βBoth can be true.β
You know better than to push too hard when he gets like this. Affection still makes him uncomfortable when it arrives from anywhere he hasnβt prepared for. He knows how to receive trophies and applause and respect.
Love is harder.
βYou were wrong,β you say.
βAbout what?β
βWhen we were on the yacht, last year, you said you were worried you wouldnβt know how to protect her or that youβd be too hard. That you might get it wrong.β
His eyes drop to your daughter.
βI still worry about that.β
βI know.β
βMaybe even more now.β
Her face is turned toward his chest, lips slightly parted in sleep. Max uses one finger to trace the curve of her ear, the touch so delicate it barely disturbs the fine hair beside it.
βThere are so many things,β he says quietly. βThings I canβt control. I think about them all the time.β
βLike what?β
βEverything.β
βThatβs very specific.β
He gives you a look but continues.
βWhat happens when Iβm away. What happens when she starts walking and falls. When she goes to school. When someone is mean to her.β His mouth tightens at the thought. βWhen sheβs old enough to understand what people say about me.β
βMax.β
βWhat if she reads things online?β
βShe currently thinks her own hand is the most fascinating thing in the universe.β
βI know she doesnβt understand now.β
βThen we donβt need to solve it tonight.β
βBut one dayββ
βOne day sheβll know exactly who you are.β He looks at you.
βSheβll know the man who gets up at three in the morning even when he has training at six. Sheβll know the dad who checks the straps on her car seat four times and keeps buying her toys even though she can barely hold them.β
βTheyβre developmental.β
βSheβll know that you pretended not to cry the first time she smiled at you.β
βI had something in my eye.β
βSheβll know you love her,β you finish softly.
His eyes are shining now, though you know better than to mention it.
βI do love her,β he says.
βI know.β
βSo much it feelsβ¦β
He trails off.
βFrightening?β you offer.
He nods and you rest your palm against his cheek.
You smile. βOne day sheβll run toward the paddock without holding your hand. Sheβll have secrets and friends and opinions you donβt agree with.β
βShe might even support another driver.β
βAbsolutely not.β
You laugh at his expression. βOr maybe she wonβt like racing at all.β
βShe can be anything.β His lips press against your hair.
βAnything she wants.β Your daughter shifts between you, her face scrunching as she begins to wake. Her eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, before settling on Max. You rest your head against his shoulder as he gently rocks her, repeating Dada in three different tones while she stares at him with complete adoration.
The group chat begins vibrating on the coffee table.
Once.
Twice.
Then continuously.
Max glances at the screen.
GRID PRINCESS HEADQUARTERS
Ollie: Has she woken up yet?
Franco: Send photo.
Kimi: Please.
Isack: She probably misses us.
Liam: She does not miss you.
Arvid: Sheβs been asleep for twelve minutes.
Gabi: I think we should give them some space.
Gabi: But also please send photo when you can.
Max sighs as though the messages are an enormous inconvenience, then he carefully passes the baby to you, reaches for his phone and opens the camera.
βYouβre sending them a photo?β you ask.
βTheyβll keep messaging otherwise.β
βOf course.β
βItβs for peace.β
βAbsolutely.β
He crouches in front of you, adjusting the blanket around your daughter and smoothing one hand gently over her hair. You reposition her while Max takes approximately forty photos.
He finally lowers the phone and sits beside you. You shift the baby carefully between you, and Max wraps his arm around both of you, holding you close.
For a while none of you move. Then the phone vibrates again.
And again.
Max finally sends the photograph.
The responses arrive instantly.
Ollie: MY BEST FRIEND
Kimi: Sheβs so cute.
Franco: Sheβs smiling because she misses me.
Arvid: Maybe sheβs happy youβre gone.
Liam: Zoom in. She is nearly smiling.
Gabriel: Beautiful photo β€οΈ
Ollie: Tell her Uncle Ollie loves her.
Isack: Me too!!
Max reads the messages silently.
Then he looks down at your daughter and touches one fingertip to her cheek.
βYou have a lot of people looking out for you,β he murmurs.
She blinks up at him.
βAnd none of them are allowed to teach you to drive.β
You laugh. βYouβre impossible.β
He looks at you, the corner of his mouth lifting.
βYou love me.β
He kisses you slowly, carefully, mindful of the baby nestled between you. When he pulls away his forehead rests against yours.
Your daughter makes a small, indignant noise, apparently unimpressed by being excluded, and Max immediately kisses the top of her head too, and as you watch him tuck the blanket more securely around her tiny body, his expression soft and his arm firm around your shoulders, you know what you knew then.
He doesnβt need to become the best dad in the world.
Watching the Spanish broadcast for USA v. Belgium and this broadcaster gets so excited for goals, he really just goes goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallll. And heβll occasionally have to catch his breath while saying it, itβs just so much more fun than the English broadcast (partially because the English broadcast was super poor quality video)
[Fem Dom Puts Two Bratty Boys In Their Place (feat. Mad Max)]
Mr. Saturday's Library
β³ A/N George was honoured to be able to shoot this video with the illustrious Mad Max (and vice versa)! Both of them have such busy schedules; they had been meaning to collab for a while. Don't forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed the video ;)
β³ Pairings: Adult Film Star!George Russell x Adult Film Star!Max Verstappen x Adult Film Star!FMC
β³ Duration: 32 minutes
β³ Warnings: 18+, smut, basically an 'adult video' in text format, mmf, fem-dom goes by 'mistress', brat taming undertones, use of rope/tying wrists, use of a paddle for spanking, humiliation undertones, degradation, rimming, anal fingering, choking, spitting, crying, forced deep throating, pegging/use of strap on, overstimulation, edging, denied orgasm, use of a double ended dildo, anal sex.
INT. PENTHOUSE LIVING ROOM - AFTERNOON
In the centre of the living room, amongst modest luxury finishes and furnishings, the cream couch houses two men wearing nothing but their underwear. On the left is George, all familiar toned muscle and lengthy limbs, hands folded neatly on his lap, legs stretched in front of him, and nicely styled hair sideswept out of his face. Beside him, on the right, is Max, less lanky and more broad than his counterpart, filled out around the edges, with his jawline peppered with blonde scruff and a focused furrow between his eyebrows. There is an obvious gap between them on the couch and they are focused on something behind the camera.Β
Or, rather, someone.Β
Then comes a female voice, βIβve heard you boys havenβt been getting along.β
George rolls his eyes before she had even finished speaking, exhaling an exasperated and half-sarcastic, βWho told you that?β
Beside him, Max lets out a short laugh with a response of his own, βMaybe because you can't go five minutes without acting like an ass.β
βPot calling the kettle black,β George grumbles, picking at a stray fluff on the seat of the couch before folding his arms across his bare chest. His attention focuses back on the woman behind the camera. And does not so much as spare a glance at Max.
Before Max can crumple his face into a scowl and/or offer any sort of snarky rebuttal, the woman behind the camera speaks again, βAre you boys done?β
Neither of them reply. Instead, they both look to opposite sides of the living room, arms folded across their bare chests as if not quite realizing just how alike they truly are.Β
βIβm sure I can make you get along just fine,β she continues in that sultry, purposeful drawl. A promise, if nothing else.Β
The two men donβt flinch, donβt look her way.Β
Then there comes two quick snaps of fingers from behind the camera andβalmost instinctively, and yet visually displeased by itβthe two look her way. Now with their attention, she continues, a touch firmer now, βYouβll do as I say, wonβt you?β
The two squirm just a fraction as if both of them were struggling not to offer any hints of sass of defiance. George lets out an exasperated sigh. Max rolls his eyes to the floor. Then, at nearly the same time, they mutter a half-assed, βYes, Mistress.β
βSorry?β she cuts in sharply, βI couldnβt hear you.β
They both sit up a little straighterβreluctance seeping through their poresβand try again, a little louder, in unison, βYes, Mistress.β
A satisfied hum comes from behind the camera, βMuch better.β
For a moment, there is silence.
Then: βNow look at each other.β
Neither George nor Max move. One might have thought they had been asked to commit the most heinous crime by the way their faces contort and their bodies go rigid. She gives them five seconds but they, still, do not turn their heads.
So she says firmly, βThat wasnβt a suggestion.β
Slowly, reluctantly, George turns his head. Max follows a second later. The look they exchange could sour milk.
βThere they are,β she says, amusement threading through her voice, βI know you are good boys deep down. All that attitude is just a front, isnβt it?β
Georgeβs lips purse as if heβs smothering back the words that threaten to escape from his mouth, while Max keeps the most expressionless look on his face as if he is trying to look through George rather than at him.Β
Her next demand comes simply, calmly: βKiss.β
They react as if they had been anticipating it but not quite expecting it, flinching slightly as if they had been struck. They havenβt looked away from each other but still squirm under the intensity of their counterpartβs stare.Β
When they make no move to obey her, she continues, βYou have proved just how much you donβt like each other. The problem is that I donβt care.β
Maxβs jaw tightens.Β
βBecause right now,β her voice behind the camera is sure and methodical, βthe only thing that matters is whether you can follow a simple instruction.β
A loaded pause stretched between them.
βCan you?β
Finally, through gritted teeth, the two answer dully, βYes, Mistress.β
βGood,β a smile enters her voice, βGo on then. Show me.β
At first, it almost seems like they are going to defy her again as they sit there, staring at each other with mirrored frowns. But thenβas if they know betterβthey both lean in. Their lips touch stupidly slowly, pursed and ungraceful, as if they had never done this before. When they break apart just long enough for a breath, theyβre soon moving in once more.Β
βThatβs more like itβ¦β the woman speaks in a purr, βyouβre so much nicer to deal with when your mouths are busy, hm?βΒ
Once hidden behind the camera, she is suddenly emerging into frame, the click of her heels loud against the floors with every sway of her hips. She, too, is nearly naked, although far more dressed than her male counterparts in her one-piece lingerie set and thigh-high sheer tights that are clipped to a lace garter belt around her waist.Β
Behind her backβout of line of sight of the two preoccupied menβare two black ropes.
She is focused on them on the couch as she saunters in a slow circle around them, watching the way they share tight, closed-mouthed kisses with their hands clutched in their own laps.
βYou look like mannequins,β she tuts, βCome on, touch each other.βΒ
George makes a little displeased sound against Maxβs mouth and yet Max is the first one to make a move. He reaches a hand forwards and grabs the back of Georgeβs neck, giving him a bit of a tug into their kiss. It only takes a few seconds for George to give in and to slip his hand along Maxβs side, his head tilting just enough to deepen their kiss a little more.
The woman continues her slow strides around the couch, watching them from every angle, closely, almost analytically. By the time she stops just to the side of their shot, they seem to have melted more comfortably into their circumstance.Β
She rests a knee on the couch behind Max first and then out come the ropes from behind her back. The two men are preoccupied and do not stop. Not until sheβs grabbing Maxβs arm to drag it behind his back, urging enough curiosity from the both of them to turn their attention to her.Β
βAh, ah, I didnβt say stop,β she tuts, all without slowing the gentle twists and ties of the rope around Maxβs wrists.Β
Max grumbles something unintelligible but George is already leaning back in with a smirk he hides against Maxβs neck. He kisses wetly along the column of his throat, right up under his jaw, his slender fingers sliding up into the back of Maxβs blonde hair to give it a tug enough to earn a groan from him. When Max turns his face towards him, George is already there and ready, allowing their lips to lock like second nature.Β
βThere we go,β the woman praises, giving the rope around Maxβs wrists a gentle tug before asking him quietly, βHowβs that? Too tight?β
Max breaks away from Georgeβs mouth just long enough to answer with a breathy, βItβs fine.β
George nips at Maxβs earlobe, making his wrists pull taut against his restraints as he tries to grab for him. Georgeβs small chuckle does not go unnoticed, even as Max smothers it into a heated kiss.Β
Amidst their rivalry, the woman helps herself to the opposite end of the couch, now behind George, and she is repeating the same process with him. His hands are pulled behind his backβdespite his small huff of protestβand his wrists are bound with the second black rope.Β
When the final knot is tied and she gives it a testing tug, she asks him, βThis okay?β
βYeah, itβs good,β George answers softly.Β
βGood.β
She stands up once more, taking in the sight of them turned towards each other on the couch, leaning half-awkwardly against the back of it with how their wrists are bound behind them. Under her stare, they both shift to sit properly on the couch, as if they are awaiting instruction. Maxβs hair is a little mussed where George had his fingers in it.Β
βNow that weβre well acquainted, I think itβs time we see what weβre working with,β she says smoothly and steps closer to them.
The two watch her with attentive eyes, trailing her every movement as she draws nearer. George is her first victim as she reaches down to hook her manicured fingers in the sides of his briefs and begins to tug them down. He leans back awkwardly against the couch to lift his hips to help her, half-struggling to maneuver himself without the use of his hands. She isnβt deterred and she slides his underwear down his legs with ease, discarding them to the floor, and Georgeβs thighs naturally part once he settles.Β
He is already hard, cock swollen with a slight curve upwards, the glistening tip peeking out beneath the foreskin. Max is staring. George doesnβt flinch.Β
Without wasting a second, Max is next. Her purposeful hands guide down his underwear and he, too, wriggles ungracefully to help her take them off of him. Heβs an inch or so smaller than George but a touch thicker, flushed an unmissable red of arousal that stands out against his pale skin. George glances in return.Β
Oneβor bothβmight have reached for themselves but their binds prevent it. Instead, the woman sinks to the living room rug in front of them, right between them. Her hands wrap around the base of each of their cocksβpalm pressed against the trimmed hair of George and the freshly waxed skin of Maxβand she takes a moment to look between them, analyzing.Β
βHm,β she says, a tinge of degradation in her tone, βI guess thisβll do.β
She stands, leaving them untouched, and the two of them huff out a breath and they squirm at the lack of the pressure of her hand. But they do not argue.Β
βTurn around,β she orders simply.Β
George and Max hesitate for a moment, almost as if they are trying to figure out the least embarrassing way to turn around with their hands tied behind their backs. Really, thereβs no easy way. So they relent to wriggle themselves around like ungraceful fish, forcing their knees beneath themselves to push themselves around, flopping against each other to use each other for support. They grumble about it, snark at each other a little. She watches.
Finally, they make it onto their knees, facing the back of the couch, showing off their bare asses and bound hands still tied in that stark black rope against pale skin. Once they are in place, she approaches again. This time, she has a leather paddle in her hand. It looks inconspicuous enough and she gently caresses it over the shape of Georgeβs assβ¦and then Maxβsβ¦running the cold, smooth leather along the heat of their skin.Β
Then, suddenly, she smacks it down firmly against Georgeβs cheek with a sharp thwack. He flinches in surprise, oblivious to the pale imprint the paddle has left behindβthe word BITCH standing out against the angry red flush of his skin.
When he pushes his ass back against the paddle as if requesting more, she only gives him another caress with the leather, βGood boy.β
She doesnβt give him another. Instead, she reaches over to give Max the same treatment; a sharp spank of his own. Two matching brands of bitch.
Neither of them have any clue what has been labeled across their asses as they stayed there bent over the back of the couch with their hands tied. When she spanks them each once more, right over the same spot, they groan and squirm and arch for more.Β
βLook at you twoβ¦not so obnoxious now, are you?β she taunts, giving them each another swat with the paddle. The bitch label only grows more prominent against their pale flesh. βTaking your spanking like good boys. I knew you could be good for me.β
She takes turns between them, spanking one and then the other, alternating cheeks, brandishing them equally in rosy red. When she thought herself to be satisfied with her work, she then set the paddle aside to crouch down in her heels and rub her soft hands around the shape of Georgeβs ass.Β
Almost instinctively, he pushes back against her palms, arching his back the slightest amount. His head drops forward, almost disappearing behind his broad shoulders and toned back. She gives him a squeeze and then pulls at his cheeks, spreading him open to get a proper view of his asshole. Just like the front of him, heβs trimmed and tidy but not bare. She caresses his hole with the pad of her thumb, inspecting.Β
βSo perfect.β
When she pulls away, she spanks him once on one cheek and then once on the other, punctuating.Β
Then, she stands and mirrors her position on Maxβs side, crouching down beside him and repeating the same. She gropes his ass and spreads him open, getting a close view at his pristinely waxed asshole.Β
No sooner has she done so before she is speaking, βYou canβt grow pubes like George canβt grow a beard.β
βI can,β Max retorts, βI just chose not to.β
She spanks him once to shut him up, βUnfortunate, frankly.βΒ
George smirks at Max who frowns back at him.Β
Before Max can open his mouth to retort, she spreads him again and nuzzles her face between his cheeks, getting her tongue on him fast enough to have him choking over his next breath. He withers, eyelids fluttering, slumping forward against the back of the couch a little more. George almost looks envious.Β
She works her tongue over him in purposeful circles for a few more seconds before she is pulling away and giving him a second spank. The sharpness of her hand immediately after the softness of her tongue has him flinching. And then she is sliding two fingers into her mouth, moistening them up just enough before they, too, were swirling around the tight rim of his asshole.Β
As her two fingers push steadily into Maxβwho muffles his groan into the back of the couchβshe moves closer to George, and he instinctively slides nearer to Max to make room. Their thighs press together, but for once, neither man seems concerned by it. Her free hand tugs at the flesh of Georgeβs ass to spread him open as her tongue laps at him and prods at his asshole. Both of the men are making small, strangled sounds now as if they are trying to keep themselves composed, arms tensing in their restraints. And she just keeps her face buried between Georgeβs cheeks, absolutely devouring him with her fingers still tucked two knuckles deep in Max close beside.Β
Her fingers sink deeper into Max, moving in short thrusts to slowly work him open, pushing against the friction that has him arching. When she moves away from George for just a moment, she taunts Max, βYou like it when it hurts a bit, donβt you?β
His retort is immediate, βFuck off.β
His snark earns him a spank across the ass and she scolds him sharply, βTry again.β
Max swallows his pride and corrects himself, βYes, Mistress, I do.β
George chuckles and mutters mockingly, βYes, Mistress.β
It is clearly a mistake on Georgeβs side because no sooner did he utter those words did she stand up, leaving them shockingly untouched. George goes mute at the realization and Max shoots him a glare.
She wraps a hand around Georgeβs thick neck and tugs his head back so he is looking up at her, given no choice with his hands still tied. His eyes are wide and startled as he stares up at her upside down.Β
βDo you think youβre in charge?β she scolds.
He doesnβt answer but when she doesnβt continue, itβs clear she is expecting a response.Β
George swallows thickly, his throat bobbing with how his head is tilted back, just above where her hand is gripping him, and he manages, βNo, Mistress.β
βNo, Mistress,β she mocks right back at him, right to his face. His expression crinkles just slightly. Then, she continues, βYou wonβt be one to talk for long when I have you whining like a bitch on my cock.β
George swallows once more.Β
She tightens her hold on his throat and pulls his head back a little more, just to watch how he winces, βTell me what you are. Tell me youβre my little bitch.β
βIβm your little bitch,β George parrots through a shaky voice.Β
Max watches the interaction from where he was left knelt over the back of the couch with his hands behind his back. It is as if he does not dare to step out of line and suffer the same fate as his counterpart.Β
With George still under her control, under her hand, she spits on his face and he flinches in surprise, eyes shutting quickly. He has no hands to wipe it away and, instead, itβs left dripping down his face as she grabs him by his tied arm and manhandles him around to get off his knees and, instead, shoves him lengthways across the couch on his back. Max barely is able to scramble out of the way before Georgeβs head falls on his calves.
Max stumbles as he stands up from the couch, off balance after the beautiful tightrope of pleasure and pain they had been walking. Heβs naked and hard and thereβs a flush across his cheeks beneath his wide blue eyes, watching how all six feet of George is thrown around like a ragdoll.Β
Both men still have their hands behind their backs and, now, Georgeβs are trapped beneath his body. He squirms uselessly, trying to adjust himself more comfortably on the couch with how heβs bound, unable to even wipe her spit off his cheek. It would be a moot point anyway once she grabs Maxβs arm and tugs him back onto the couch so he is kneeling above Georgeβs head.Β
He is knelt so close that George only has to look straight up and heβd be able to see Maxβs cock above his face. Clearly that was the idea by the way she fists Maxβs dick and then guides it down towards Georgeβs mouth.Β
βLetβs make proper use of that snarky mouth of yours, hm?β
Max chuckles at her statement as if in agreement and adjusts closer to help guide himself into Georgeβs mouth without toppling over with his hands still bound behind his back. George groans around him, head tilting back a little more to help Max deeper, and his feet press harder into the cushion of the couch as his mouth gets filled.Β
βMuch better,β she praises as she moves her hand down to gently rub Georgeβs throat and just beneath his jaw as if to help him relax.Β
And then sheβs disappearing behind the camera once more.
Max seems unperturbed by being left to his own devices. Heβs got his entire cock stuffed in Georgeβs gaping mouth with his balls resting on his face and, frankly, he looks as though heβs right where he wants to be. Biting his lip, Max gives a testing little thrust and George gags around him.Β
Max mutters down to him with a smirk, βShould have figured your mouth would be good for something.β
Despite the fact that Georgeβs face is mostly hidden between Maxβs legs, itβs clear when he makes a disgruntled sound in response.Β
By then, the woman has returned to their set up on the couch; now with the addition of a harness and strap-on fastened over her lacy set. In her hand is a bottle of lube, already being squirted out onto her fingers. George seems to know what to expect without needing to see her and he sets his feet flat on the couch, spread enough for her to kneel between them. And she does.Β
βThis is how I like you,β she purrs as she slicks the strap-on up in lube, smearing it in with her hand along the silicone shaft until it is glistening, βQuiet and at my mercy, hm?β
George makes another little sound around Maxβs cock and when Max gives him another little thrust, his sound cuts into a jagged gag. His chest heaves desperately, back arching awkwardly with his bound hands stuffed beneath him, but there is no room to complain.Β
She gathers his legs and pushes them back towards his chest, manipulating him how she desires until she is satisfied. Then, she pushes two fingers inside of him to smear him in the remainder of the lube before she is aligning the tip of the strap-on with his glistening hole.Β
George writhes a little across the couch as she starts to sink inside of him bit by bit. Sheβs holding his thighs back against his chest with her gaze focused downwards to watch how his body accepts her purposeful invasion. At the same time, Max mirrors her short, testing thrusts with those of his own into Georgeβs mouth, taking him up on both ends.Β
In the middle of it all, Georgeβs cock is left abandoned, resting heavy up against his pelvis and leaking against flushed skin, untouched. It twitchesβneedy and wantingβbut is not given the satisfaction of the friction it craves.Β
Once sheβs nestled inside him right down to the hilt, she wastes no second before starting to thrust into him properly. George makes some gurgling noise around Maxβs cock and his legs instinctively spread wider to accommodate her.Β
βThatβs itβ¦β she praises lowly as she shoves into him at a consistent pace.
Max matches her from the other end of the couch, unable to move too much but still nudging just enough into Georgeβs mouth to keep him occupied. Still with his hands tied behind his back, Max wobbles on his knees on the plush couch as he tries to keep his balance and she reaches out a hand to press her palm against his chest to steady him.Β
βEasy,β she coos.
Max huffs out a breathless, βFuck.β
George whines from beneath them, chest inflating as he takes a deep, audible breath around Maxβs dick in his mouth. With one hand still steadying Max by his chest and her hips still shoving the strap into Georgeβs pliant body, she reaches down with her other hand to help to guide Maxβs cock farther into his mouth until heβs gagging.Β
βJust like that. I want you to take every inch.β she says.
Max watches the man beneath him as he keeps himself nudging into his throat, lips slightly parted and eyes dilated wide over flushed cheeks, watching. Georgeβs body is rocking against the couch with every thrust from the woman between his legs, arms still sandwiched beneath him, moaning and whining around Maxβs cock until heβs properly drooling down his own cheeks, rivers trailing along the veins of his neck.Β
The sight of him is something else and with her hand still steadying Max by his chest, she asks him, βIsnβt he doing a good job, taking your cock?β
Max only grunts in acknowledgment.
βTell him heβs doing a good job.β
Max has to take a second to get his wits about him before he manages to echo the words down to George, βYouβre doing a very good job.β
George preens at the praise, his swollen cock twitching up off his pelvis for a second, bringing with it a thin string of precum that breaks from his skin. Suddenly, he turns his head to the side, forcing Maxβs cock out of his mouth and to, instead, drag across his face. With an expression that almost looks pained, George whines, βChrist, I canβtβ¦canβt take much more.β
βNo?β the woman taunts, ignoring the way Max hisses at the sudden lack of Georgeβs warm mouth around him. She thrusts into him a little harder and George writhes on the couch with a pitchy groan, her words loud to be heard over him, βYou better not come. You better fucking hold it, understand?β
Georgeβs jaw clenches for a second and then he nods from between Maxβs thighs, βYes, Mistress.β
Max looks almost pleased by this view, staring down at George beneath him, watching him get fucked while he is simultaneously dragging his cock and balls across his face. Itβs a power trip, perhaps. A sense of winning. Seriouslyβ¦with the way George is whimpering and crying and writhing as she fucks into him harder, fasterβ¦who wouldnβt feel thrilled by it?
But then she stops. Pulls out. Immediately.Β
George heaves for breath like he had been drowned and just been allowed to come up for air. His cock twitches achingly in the air, precum dripping down the shaft.Β
She hardly gives him another look as she stands from the couch and slaps his thigh, βUp. Get up.β
George rolls off the couch, struggling to get his quivering legs underneath him with his hands still bound behind his back, but somehow he manages. When heβs out of the way, she grabs Maxβs arm and tugs him closer, uncaring the way he stumbles, forcing the men to switch places. Incredibly clumsily, she manages to get Max on his knees in front of her on the couch, right where George had once been. Since his hands are tied, he is forced to lay on his shoulders and face, ass up, bent at the waist and at her mercy.Β
βYou didnβt think you were in the clear, did you?β she taunts as she pops open the bottle of lube again.Β
Max groans into the couch cushion but offers no verbal response as she sinks two slicked up fingers inside of him.Β
Somehow, George ends up at the far end of the couch, lounging against the armrest; one leg stretching the length of the cushions, the other hooked casually over the front. His arms are still tied behind him. Maxβs shoulders are between his legs, his face awfully close to his thigh. As she presses the strap-on inside him slowly, his face contorts and he hides his face into the couch cushion.Β
It is never that easy and she reaches forward to grab a fistful of his hair and yanks his head up, forcing him to be eye level with Georgeβs dick as she warns, βDonβt hide.β
Max blinks languidly, staring at the man in front of him as he gets stretched and filled. When she gives him the last inch, she punctuates it with a firm thrust to bottom out, forcing him to jerk forward and his nose bumps against Georgeβs balls. Max grunts.Β
βThere you go,β she purrs, grinding into him deeply with her hand still in his hair to hold his head up, βOpen up. Iβm not playing favourites.β
Max opens his mouth and she guides his head in until he can take Georgeβs cock against his tongue. She shoves his head down and he gags around it loudly, half coughing. George sucks in a sharp breath, eyebrows pulled together in the middle and his bottom lip between his teeth, so clearly over sensitive that the simple addition of Maxβs warm mouth is enough to earn a reaction out of him.Β
Sheβs got one hand holding the back of his head and her other grabbing the ropes binding his hands behind his back as sheβs thrusting into him. His moans are muffled around Georgeβs cock, wet and lewd, but there is nowhere for him to go with his mouth entirely sheathed upon him in such a way.Β
Georgeβs breaths are ragged and heβs splayed across the corner of the couch and hardly has to move as the woman holds Maxβs mouth on him. He groans softly and his hips nudge up into his throat just a bit, hissing out a tight, βChristββ
The sound of wet skin on skin fills the living room with a steady rhythm as she thrusts into Maxβs submissive body. He takes it gladly; although it doesnβt appear as if he has much of a choice.Β
When she yanks his head up from Georgeβs lap, a thick string of spit drips down his chin and onto Georgeβs thigh but she doesnβt falter. Instead, she degrades him through her every thrust, βSuch a good cockslut, the both of you. Just my little toys, arenβt you?β
βYes, Mistress,β Max rasps through a cough.
When she shoves his mouth back down onto Georgeβs dick, he sputters. George tosses his head back against the couch with a gape to the ceiling, arms straining in his binds with his mouth hung open with silent pleasure. Every thrust from her seems to shove Max deeper into his lap and George almost looks beside himself with how he is trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control.Β
His lips move as if heβs trying to obediently reply too but it takes a second for his words to actually come out, βTh-Thank you, Mistress.β
She speeds up her thrusts a little more, earning a disgruntled squeak out of Max with his mouth still busy. He arches a little for her and the prick of a smile on her face shows that she noticed the slight change. Instead of pointing it out, she just pushes his face deeper into Georgeβs lap until his cock is entirely down Maxβs throat and his body is lurching from the invasion. Georgeβs eyes fucking roll.
βGood boy,β she praises loudly down to Max as he chokes and gags around it.Β
She makes him stay there for only a few seconds before she is pulling him up by the hair and he heaves for breath. George seems to do the same. And then suddenly, she pulls out and gives Max a spank across the ass.
CUT TO
George and Max are on their backs on the couch, legs spread, heads on opposite ends, hands now bound in front of their bodies. The shot is angled closer, downwards, with the woman knelt on the rug in front of the couch between them, beneath the camera. She holds into frame a long silicone dildo, both ends housing the familiar shape of a cock, already slicked up in lube.Β
βIs this what you boys want?β she taunts slowly, reaching it between their spread legs and teasing both of them with it simultaneously, βIs this why you were being so mouthy?β
Both George and Max are breathing hard in anticipation, bare chests flushed with arousal and glistening in a faint sheen of sweat. Theyβre both looking down their respective bodies to where she has the toy between them, the ends of it nudging at their well-prepped holes but not quite pushing in yet.
βJust wanna get fucked, donβt you?β she then demands, βAsk.β
The two of them chorus a breathy, βPlease, Mistress.β
But itβs not enough for her and so she corrects them, βSay βplease give me your cock, Mistressβ.β
Slightly out of sync with one another, they try again, parrotting pathetically, βPlease give me your cock, Mistress.β
She accepts their retry and begins by pressing one end of the dildo into Max before guiding the opposite end into George. Theyβre just far enough apart that only the tips are in. She wraps an arm around Maxβs thigh to urge him closer and he shuffles closer the best he can with his hands tied in front of him. The men are nearly entirely ass-to-ass, only enough space between them for her fist to fit around the shaft of the dildo.Β
She starts to move her hand side to side between them, guiding the dildo into one of them and almost entirely out of the other before mirroring the action in the opposite direction. Back and forth. The men are panting and gasping, legs spread wide and tossed aimlessly over each otherβs, fueled by lust.Β
βFuckββ Max grunts, fingers splaying wide from where his wrists are bound, clearly struggling not to touch himself no matter how tempting it is.
Opposite him, Georgeβs face is crumpled into that of pure pleasure and restraint, fists clenched over his chest with his wrists bound too. His mouth is slightly open in a gape, staring down at the way she tends to them.Β
βGood boysβ¦holding yourselves back like this,β she praises in nothing short of a purr, βI think I should reward you.β
Neither speak, as if not wanting to push too much.Β
She relents anyway, βStroke your cocks for me.β
Both of them huff out a breath of near relief as their tied hands drop down their respective bodies to grab hold of their cocks. Itβs slightly awkward whilst having their wrists bound but they manage, of course. After so long of holding back, they would certainly make do any way they could. Only from the first touch, they are already both moaning at the friction, gladly touching themselves to the same pace with which she is thrusting the dildo into them.
It doesnβt take long for George to speak up, voice shaky and pitchy, βPlease, can I come, Mistress?β
βNo.β
Georgeβs toes are curling and he genuinely looks like he might cry, βPleaseβ¦Please?βΒ
Opposite him, Max tosses his head back against the couch with a strangled groan, his jaw clenched and neck muscles tight with how heβs restraining himself despite the quick strokes of his hand on himself.Β
Her reply is immediate, βHands above your head. Both of you.βΒ
There is a delay in their responses, as if they donβt hear her. Or, donβt care to. Their hands keep going.
She orders firmly, using her free hand to yank at Maxβs wrist and then Georgeβs, βNow, or I stop.β
The men lift their bound hands above their heads; Max grabs the arm of the couch behind him and Georgeβs fingers thread through his own hair in tight fists. Theyβre both watching her, chests flushed rouge with arousal that stretches up their necks to their cheeks, uncaring of how entangled they are at the moment.
Her hand is still between them, thrusting the dildo back and forth, reaching just deep enough into each of them to have them moaning so loudly. It is almost as if they can hardly control themselves.Β
With a stern voice, she says, βWho should come first?β
Both of them reply at the same time, hurried and desperate, βMe.β
βNeither of you can come until you agree. Who should come first?β
Suddenly, the men say each otherβs names, uncaring of their own internal selfishness anymore for the sake of their long awaited orgasm. But their switch up is still not what she needed.Β
βYou have to agree,β she said, hand moving a little faster between them, βCome on. Who is coming first?β
βMax,β George answers again.
βGeorge,β Max pants at the same time.Β
βFucks sake,β George whines, fists bunching so tightly his knuckles are turning white, βMax.β
βFine, me,β Max groans, relenting, βPlease, Mistress.β
βThat wasnβt so hard,β she chastises before using her free hand to wrap around Maxβs swollen cock, helping him out the last little bit while her other keeps thrusting the end of the toy into him, βCome then.β
George is left watching in envy as Max gets his permission first, witnessing how his head arched back against the couch with a strangled groan just as he came all over himself in messy bursts. She just keeps stroking and thrusting, working him through it, praising him loudly through his moans. When he winces in sensitivity, she tightens her fist around the head of his cock just to squeeze out one final dribble of cum and he lets out a hiss.Β
Even when she lets go of his cock, heβs still stuck there, still taking the thrusts of the dildo as she then turns to give her attention to George. George, who has been nearly crying for it for minutes now.Β
Honestly, the second she gets her hand around his cockβslicked up more in remnants of Maxβs cumβheβs huffing out a shaky, βThank you, Mistress.β
And she only needs to pump him twice and heβs coming too, spurting up his abs in messy streaks of white, clenching around the toy tucked inside him. Tucked inside both of them. Heβs perfectly silent when he comes but the look on his face is enough; eyes nearly rolling as his whole body trembles right through it. His bound hands cover his face for a moment but then just as quickly pull away as if to show off the way his face falls into waves of ecstasy.Β
βThere you go,β she praises, slowing her hand down to also squeeze the last drop out of him.Β
She sits back on her haunches, leaving the toy tucked inside both of their clenching holes, cum splattered up their abdomens, their chests heaving. A sight. The men are panting but sated and they catch each otherβs eye from opposite ends of the couch and share a breathless smirk.Β
FADE OUT.
βBLACK SCREEN W/ TEXTβ
βStarring MrSaturday, Mad Max, MissFMC
Written & Produced by @chilling-seavey
Requested by Anonymous
This production was created for mature audiences.
All participants were over the age of 18 and consented to their involvement in the production. Boundaries, consent, and ethical considerations were communicated and respected throughout filming.β
βFADE TO BLACKβ
THE END
β‘ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)
β‘ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
summary: four hours outside the stewards' room. one hotel bar. one room key. several very bad decisions.
warnings: coworkers to lovers, secret relationship, race weekends, alcohol, tension, emotional avoidance, max being entirely too observant, mutual pining, poor decision making, late-night hotel bars, two people who should've gone to bed hours ago, SMUT
word count: 4.4k
author's note: inspired by shameless by the weeknd.
welcome to the consequences of spending three years working together and accidentally having your first real conversation at one in the morning.
Working in Formula One meant accepting certain realities.
Flights at impossible hours.
Coffee as a food group.
The occasional eighteen-hour workday.
As one of Red Bull's social media admins, you'd spent the last three seasons following drivers through airports, paddocks, media pens, and public relations disasters.
Unfortunately, Max Verstappen generated more than his fair share of the last one.
The race had ended four hours ago.
Four.
Hours.
Ago.
And yet somehow you were still at the circuit.
You glanced at your phone.
11:47 PM.
The paddock was nearly empty now.
Most teams had already packed up.
Most drivers had already disappeared back to their hotels.
Most social media teams had already posted their content and gone to sleep.
You, unfortunately, were still sitting outside the stewards' room with your lanyard twisted around your fingers and your laptop open to a document you hadn't typed a word into in forty minutes.
Waiting.
Because Max Verstappen had managed to get himself summoned after the race.
Again.
The details weren't even interesting anymore.
An incident.
An investigation.
A potential penalty.
An incident that had somehow become everyone's problem.
Including yours.
The social team had already gone back.
The media team had gone back.
The PR team had gone back.
You were the unlucky one who had to stay.
βJust in case,β you were told.
Just in case there was a statement.
Just in case there was media.
Just in case someone needed clips updated.
Just in case.
You hated those two words.
The worst part was that nobody actually expected anything to happen.
Not really.
The FIA loved taking hours to decide things everyone had already made up their minds about.
Which meant you were stuck sitting in a folding chair outside a conference room while the rest of Singapore moved on without you.
The door finally opened.
You immediately sat up.
You checked your emails.
Nothing important.
Checked Slack.
Three messages.
One meme.
One reminder.
One person asking if the decision had happened yet.
You replied:
no β€οΈ
Then immediately closed your laptop again.
A member of the FIA staff walked past.
You watched him disappear around the corner.
Five minutes later, another one did the same thing.
You considered throwing your laptop at the wall.
Instead, you checked the time again.
11:49 PM.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Only two minutes.
Fantastic.
You leaned your head back against the wall.
Closed your eyes.
Immediately regretted it.
Because the second you got comfortable, the door opened.
You sat upright, so quickly your lanyard smacked you in the face.
Nothing.
Just someone leaving another room.
Not the stewards' room.
Of course not.
You hated this place.
Ten more minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Then twenty.
At some point, even the cleaning crew seemed concerned for you.
One of them offered coffee.
You accepted.
The coffee was terrible.
You drank it anyway.
Midnight approached.
The hallway grew quieter.
Emptier.
Until eventually it felt like you were the only person left in the building.
Thenβ¦
Finallyβ¦
The door opened.
Max stepped into the hallway.
He looked profoundly unconvinced.
You hated that expression.
Mostly because it meant he was about to be difficult.
"Everybody else left."
"Congratulations."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
His eyes narrowed.
"You sat out here the whole time?"
You gestured vaguely at the hallway.
"What gave it away? The emotional damage?"
A laugh almost appeared.
Almost.
Instead, Max looked around again.
At the empty corridor.
The empty chairs.
The cold coffee sitting beside you.
Then back at you.
"You could've gone back."
"And explain to Christian why there wasn't a statement ready if something happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Yeah, now we know that."
A pause.
Then:
"Still stupid."
You stared.
"Incredible."
"What?"
"You spend four hours arguing with FIA officials and somehow I'm the thing you have a problem with."
"I don't have a problem."
"You literally just called me stupid."
"I called staying stupid."
"That's somehow worse."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Tiny.
Barely there.
You pointed immediately.
"There."
"What?"
"That."
"What?"
"You almost smiled."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"I definitely didn't."
"Liar."
For the first time all night, Max actually laughed.
Small.
Brief.
Gone almost immediately.
But there.
And suddenly the last four hours felt slightly less terrible.
The thing nobody told you about Max Verstappen was that away from camerasβ¦
Away from interviewsβ¦
Away from race weekendsβ¦
Away from the particular performance of being Max Verstappenβ¦
He was different.
Not nicer.
Definitely not nicer.
Justβ¦
Easier.
Not easier to deal with.
Not easier to understand.
Just easier to be around.
He had opinions about everything.
Strong ones.
Delivered without apology. The FIA's penalty structure. The way certain circuits had been resurfaced badly.
A documentary he'd watched on a flight to Bahrain about deep-sea fish that he described with more enthusiasm than he'd shown in any post-race interview you'd ever clipped.
You told him about the worst social media comment you'd ever had to screenshot for legal review.
He asked to see it.
You showed him.
He stared at it for a long moment.
"People are insane."
"Welcome to my job."
He admitted he read his own comments sometimes.
You laughed at him for a long time.
He called you annoying.
You pointed out that he was the one voluntarily reading Instagram comments at two in the morning.
He conceded the point.
The world did not end.
Somewhere in there you'd both finished eating, and neither of you had moved to leave, and you hadn't checked your phone in what felt like two hours.
You weren't sure when exactly it happened.
The shift.
One minute you'd been sitting across from Max Verstappen.
Three-time world champion.
Professional menace.
The guy whose face appeared on your laptop screen approximately six thousand times a week.
The nextβ¦
You were just sitting across from Max.
A version that never appeared in interviews.
A version that didn't seem particularly interested in being impressive.
Or careful.
Or likable.
He interrupted himself constantly.
Lost track of stories halfway through.
Went on bizarre tangents about things nobody else would care about.
And somehow expected everyone around him to keep up.
It was deeply annoying.
You found yourself liking it anyway.
That was unfortunate.
Very unfortunate.
Because it suggested you were developing a problem.
And you'd always been told those were easier to avoid than fix.
Not the way he looked at journalists. Not the flat, practiced patience of a press conference. Something more direct than that. Something that had no media handler standing just off to the side.
"What?"
"You always this nervous?"
Your drink nearly went down the wrong pipe.
"What?"
"You are."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I'm literally not."
A look appeared.
One that suggested he already knew he was right.
"In Abu Dhabi," he said. "You dropped your badge at the paddock gate."
You stared.
He continued anyway.
"Picked it up."
A pause.
"Dropped it again."
"Oh my God."
"Monza."
"Maxβ"
"You apologized to me twice in the same sentence."
"I don't think that's true."
"It is."
"You cannot possibly remember that."
"I do."
The answer came too quickly.
Too easily.
Like it wasn't something he'd had to think about.
Like he'd simply known.
Your stomach tightened.
Slightly.
Dangerously.
Then:
"You play with your rings."
Your hand immediately stilled against the table.
His gaze dropped to your fingers.
The thin gold one on your index finger.
The two stacked on your middle.
Then back to your face.
"You only do it when you're nervous."
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Warmer.
Quieter.
"How do you know that?"
The question escaped before you could stop it.
For a second, something shifted in his expression.
Gone almost immediately.
Then he picked up his drink.
"I pay attention."
The answer should've been simple.
Instead, it landed somewhere beneath your ribs.
Heavy.
Unexpected.
Because the problem wasn't that Max had noticed.
The problem was how many times he'd had to look to learn all of that.
By the time you reached the elevators, neither of you had said a word.
Not the tension.
Not the stolen glances.
Not a thing.
You stepped inside.
Max slipped in behind you.
The doors slid shut.
Silence.
Five.
Ten.
Twelve.
Fourteen.
You stared at the floor indicator. Refused to look at him. Because if you looked at himβ¦
βBad idea.β
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Max chuckled softly beside you.
Neither agreeing nor denying.
βProbably.β
The elevator climbed higher.
Fifteen.
Sixteen.
Seventeen.
Neither of you spoke again. Neither of you had to.
Your floor arrived. You stepped out. Turned back.
βNight.β
βNight.β
And then the doors slid closed, sealing you off from each other.
You lingered for a moment.
Then another.
Finally, you turned toward your room.
The hallway was quiet.
Mostly empty.
The kind of silence that only existed at three in the morning.
You dropped your backpack onto one shoulder and started digging through it.
Nothing.
You frowned.
Checked the front pocket.
Nothing.
The side pocket.
Nothing.
"Come on."
You tried again.
Laptop charger.
Lip balm.
A receipt from an airport three countries ago.
Still no room key.
Fantastic.
Absolutely fantastic.
You closed your eyes. Took a breath. Opened your bag again.
βLooking for this?β
You froze.
Slowly turned around.
Max stood a few feet away.
Your key card dangling between two fingers.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Your stomach immediately betrayed you.
"Oh my God."
"What?"
"You had that the entire time?"
A crease appeared between his brows. Then he glanced down at the mess of your backpack.
"Oh."
You stared.
"Oh?"
"I picked it up in the elevator."
"And didn't think to tell me?"
"I didn't notice until too late."
"Too late for what?"
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"For you to spend five minutes digging through your bag."
"You are unbelievable."
"I know."
He didn't sound remotely sorry.
You stared.
Max stared back.
Completely unbothered.
The worst person alive.
Which would've been easier if you could stop looking at him.
"Give it back."
His grin widened, crooked and infuriating.
"Make me."
You laughed despite yourself.
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
"That's usually my line."
"Shut up."
The hallway felt smaller.
The air heavier.
Neither of you moved.
Bad idea.
Very bad idea.
You both knew it.
That was the problem.
"Max."
A warning.
Or maybe not.
His gaze dropped, then snaked back up, landing on you. A quiet laugh escaped him.
"Probably."
Then you kissed him.
Not because it was smart.
Not because you'd thought it through.
Mostly because neither of you seemed particularly interested in making smart decisions anymore.
Just raw need: his lips crushing yours, almost desperate
His hand braced against the wall beside your head; yours curled into the front of his shirt, fingers digging into the soft cotton.
For a second, the whole world narrowed to breathless warmth, the slick slide of his tongue seeking yours
You pulled back first⦠barely.
Just enough to breathe.
Just enough to remember why this couldn't happen.
Neither of you looked convinced.
The corner of Max's mouth lifted.
Without taking his eyes off you, he reached past your shoulder.
The lock clicked.
The door swung open behind you.
"You gonna stand out here all night?"
You laughed again.
A terrible sign.
Then he kissed you.
Less hesitation this time.
Less thinking.
You took a step backward, kicking your backpack from the floor into the room, not caring where it landed or spilled.
Max followed.
Then another.
And another.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Inside the dark hotel room, city lights bleeding through curtains. You both knew it was a bad idea, but neither of you could stop.
His hands settled on your hips, firm, possessive. You pressed your palms to his chest, feeling the hard plane of muscle under his shirt.
His mouth traced your jaw, down your throat, fingertips brushing the swell of your breast through your polo. Your breath hitched; he smiled against your skin.
βOkay,β you whispered, voice thick with want.
He laughed against your skin, then crashed back to your lips, tongue sliding into your mouth, hungry and exact.
Less talking. Less thinking. No counting consequences.
Later, you told yourself youβd deal with later.
Right now, his hands moved, yours followed.
His fingers found the hem of your polo, easing it up. You lifted your arms, let him pull it over your head.
Your jeans followed, denim dragging down your legs until you kicked them free.
His shirt came off next. Then his jeans.
Skin met skin, warm and electric, and you arched into him, seeking more contact, more friction, more of this thing you'd both been pretending not to want.
He walked you backward, step by step, until the backs of your knees hit the mattress.
You sat, then lay back, pulling him down with you.
The city lights filtered through the curtains, painting him in stripes of amber and shadow.
His mouth found your neck, your collarbone, the slope of your breast.
Each kiss deliberate, mapping your body like he was charting territory. You arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair as he moved lower.
Past your ribs. Your stomach. The hollow of your hip.
His breath was hot against your inner thigh. You froze, suddenly aware of exactly where this was heading.
"Max-"
He looked up, eyes dark, asking without words. You nodded, small and desperate, already lifting your hips to help him ease your underwear down.
He spread your legs wider, settling between them.
His mouth replaced where his fingers would have been, tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles that made you gasp and buck off the mattress.
"God," you breathed, head falling back.
He didn't rush.
Just worked you open with his mouth, steady and unhurried, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread beneath him.
His tongue dipped lower, sliding into you, then returned to your clit with a pressure that made you see stars.
"Fuck," you gasped, voice catching.
He doubled his focus, tongue flat and firm, then flicking, reading every shift of your hips like a map.
You felt your pulse in your throat, your walls clenching around nothing, the emptiness becoming its own ache.
He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right while his mouth stayed where it was, relentless.
You cried out, the sound echoing off the ceiling as your orgasm hit, your body trembling, toes curling, thighs clamping around his head until he laughed against you, the vibration pushing you higher.
He paused, let you ride it out, fingers still moving gently until you caught your breath, limp and trembling against the sheets.
Then he rose from between your legs, already hard against your thigh.
The weight of him settled over you, and you felt the hard press of him against your entrance, still sensitive, still pulsing.
"Still think this is a bad idea?" he murmured, voice rough.
You pulled him down, kissing him, tasting yourself on his lips.
"Shut up."
He pushed inside in one slow, steady stroke.
You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, your body adjusting to the stretch of him.
He paused, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.
Then he moved, and you moved with him.
Finding a rhythm that built from the wreckage of what he'd already done to you, climbing again, higher this time, until you fully came apart together.
His name breaking across your lips like a prayer you didn't mean to say.
For a second neither of you said anything.
Then he rolled off, settling beside you.
Both of you stared at the ceiling, chests rising and falling, the silence thick between you.
Your heartbeat slowly returned to something resembling normal.
"Well."
You immediately groaned.
"Don't."
"What?"
"'Well' is never followed by anything good."
A laugh escaped him.
You stared at the ceiling.
"Okay, now I'm definitely sober."
"That's unfortunate."
"Tragic, actually."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
You looked over.
Immediately regretted it.
Because that wasn't helping either.
"What's your flight?"
"Seven."
You glanced at the clock.
5:12.
"Oh, that's awful."
"I know."
"You should probably leave."
"I probably should."
Neither of you moved.
You closed your eyes and silence settled over the room again.
"This was a mistake."
"Probably."
A beat passed.
Then another.
Neither of you sounded particularly concerned about it.
Which was probably a problem.
"Are you actually leaving?"
Max glanced over.
"Eventually."
You groaned.
"That's not an answer."
"It wasn't supposed to be."
A terrible sign.
Another terrible answer.
Another reason you should've kicked him out twenty minutes ago.
Instead, you laughed.
Which was probably how this whole thing started in the first place.
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