GP pounds into Max, quick and hard, his hands gripping tight at his sides, fingers digging into his waist. Max has an arm thrown over his eyes, and he's gasping with every thrust, whimpers high in the back of his throat.
"That's where you belong. On that podium. On every podium. Fuck, Max, they must have built them just for you, you look so perfect up there."
More perfect, even, than he looks below GP, hair wild, cheeks flushed, cock leaking precome onto his belly. (Though it's close—thousandth of a second difference across the line.)
GP tugs Max towards him from where he's been pushed up the bed, bunching the sheets. He folds himself over Max, trapping his cock between their bodies, sweaty and slick, and mouths at the lines of his collarbone. "So perfect; my perfect boy; so fucking good," he murmurs into his skin.
Max's heels hook around GP's waist; he takes his arm away from his eyes to claw at GP's back, forcing him closer. GP's hips are still pistoning—Max's whole body rocks with him.
"We're gonna get you to the top step again, Maxy," GP promises as he slips a hand between their bodies and wraps it around Max's leaking cock. "It's inevitable. You're fucking inevitable."
Max sobs, nails carving into the skin of GP's back, arching back pressed into the mattress by GP's weight heavy over him.
"Fuck, baby," GP groans. Max's entwined legs loosen slightly, and GP uses the freedom to pull nearly all the way out before slamming back in. Max keens. He digs his fingers into GP's back, clinging desperate. His lashes are damp with tears.
"Ah— ahh— When I do— fuck, godverdomme— you will, of course, join me up there."
"Fuck, Max—" GP yanks Max's hips towards him as he buries himself inside Max, coming deep inside him.
Max wailsas he follows. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, and tears trace down from the corners of his eyes. His nails rake down GP's back.
GP waits for Max's legs to untangle and drop from around him before pulling out.
Max whimpers pitifully, reaching up to grab at GP and try to pull him back towards him.
"Too empty, baby?" GP asks, soft. Max nods. His blue eyes are shiny and wide, and tears still cling to the ends of his long lashes.
"Can I grab the plug?" Max takes a moment to answer, fingers wrapped around GP's forearms. But after a moment, his eyes searching GP's, he nods to that, too.
GP pulls away slowly and goes to rummage for the plug (and a towel).
Max has been particularly clingy lately—ever since they agreed GP should go to McLaren, really. It had been Max who had pushed him so hard towards it, promising that it didn't change anything between them, just wanting what was best for them both. And GP trusted him—trusts him. Knows that Max really does want this for him.
GP also knows that Max is used to people leaving and used to people valuing the sport over him. And he knows that it's harder to shove down your deepest insecurities when you're coming down from an orgasm in the arms of the person you love.
GP scoops some of the come leaking out of Max with the tip of the plug before pushing it all into him. And because he loves the way Max always squirms when he does it, he takes a moment twisting it, pushing at the base with his fingers.
As soon as Max gasps, "GP," broken and breathy, though, GP lets go and slips into bed next to Max. He takes a moment to wipe Max clean of his own come before tossing the towel aside and nestling close, allowing Max to wrap himself around him.
Max nuzzles his nose into the crook of GP's neck with a contented sigh. GP runs a hand through his hair. the angle of his arm is awkward, but he doesn't care.
"You really looked magnificent up on that podium," GP says. His nails scratch lightly at Max's scalp. "It's not as if I had forgotten, but you're more intensely radiant than memory could ever capture."
Max's exhale is warm against GP's neck. He wiggles impossibly closer, like he's trying to merge completely with GP.
"You are hotter on the podium. I remember. You look so good in champagne."
GP's heart misses a beat as he recalls how Max had looked dripping wet earlier, sun catching in all the right places. He remembers Max's hands on him, ravenous, after Las Vegas last year; the way he licked into the dip of his neck like he might still be able to taste victory on him.
"Well then. I guess we have to get you that win this year."
GP needs to be up on that podium again, one last time. See Max up close as he glows. Soak him in champagne. Lick the victory off of his lips. Fuck him until he can't even remember the win or the podium at all.
for week 12 of the ggb weekly prompts: frost/warmth! played very loosely with the prompt but i hope this is still somewhat okay :3
"fuck, you're hands are cold, daniel!"
max shivers, batting daniel's hand away from where it's trying to sneak under his shirt. daniel just chuckles, trying to distract him by pressing kisses along the curve of his throat.
"what's wrong, baby, you don't like it when i touch you?"
"not when your hands are cold!" max whines, trying to push daniel off of him. "don't you dare put your hands under my shirt again, i swear, i'll push you off the bed, daniel."
it makes daniel laugh this time, loud and full bodied, and max can't help but be dragged along, laughing until they're both breathless, limbs all tangled.
and then daniel's cold hands slip under his shirt, cupping max's pecs, the thumbs deliberately pressing over his nipples, and max moans, eyes wide, his whole body tenses, pleasure shooting through him.
"yeah?" above him, daniel's grin widens, and he crowds max against the bed, pushing his thighs spread open. "you like when i play with your tits, baby?"
max feels himself flush, body lax as daniel undresses him. the brunette's hands roam all over his chest, somehow both hungry and worshiping, lighting fires all over max's skin. he feels feverish, burning up with pleasure, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach yet daniel's touch stays featherlight, just enough to make him go crazy, keeping him on the edge.
he doesn't realise he's whimpering, the sound of his blood rushing through his ears, covering everything else up, not until daniel leans down to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips, whispering, "alright, baby, you've been so good for me, i'll give you what you want."
two ice cold fingers suddenly press against max's rim, sending shivers down his spine as the slowly spread him open. daniel chuckles, wolfish, his free hand possessively curled around max's hip.
and then daniel's fingers curl upwards inside him, hitting his prostate dead on, and max barely bites back a scream, back arching off of the bed.
"daniel, daniel-" max whines, reaching out to clutch at daniel's shirt and pull him closer. "daniel, please-"
he barely gets to beg before he feels daniel's fingers disappear, leaving him empty and gaping and cold.
"just a sec, baby, let me get my clothes off," daniel rumbles, full of mirth, when max reaches out for him again.
daniel's hands settle on his hips as he lines up, and he leans down to catch max's lips just as he pushes in.
"Your snout is so wet from all of Mommy's juices, huh, pup?"
Max blinks up at Kelly, eyes blown so wide they're almost black.
"Come on, puppy," she croons. She loops a finger through the ring of Max's collar; pulls him towards her. "Such a good boy, making Mommy feel so good," she says against his lips. His panting breaths are warm against her mouth. "Does puppy want to feel good?"
Max nods desperately, nose bumping against Kelly's.
Kelly tugs on Max's collar again—not trying to pull him anywhere, just to watch his eyes flutter as he's forced to follow. With her other hand, she finds her phone and opens the app to control the vibrator with just a press of her fingerprint.
Max whines as she turns the intensity all the way up. Kelly feels him go tense and shudder—whole body, tip to tail.
"Be good and still, pup," she says, tone stern. "Mommy needs to clean you up."
Max keens as Kelly pulls him closer again and licks into his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue.
With her other hand, Kelly trails down Max's side, fingers dancing across his skin, nails scratching soft. She takes a moment to teasingly massage his ass before her fingers crook and she pushes the base of the vibrator in deeper.
Max's whine is high and reedy and long in the back of his throat. Kelly swallows it down alongside the rest.
When she yanks him away from her mouth, Max is shaking, chest heaving, eyelashes fluttering quick. His nose is slick with come; his mouth is slick with spit.
"Such a good boy," Kelly praises. "Such a good puppy. You'd stay still all night, right, pup? Sit here and let Mommy watch you squirm."
Max nods jerkily without opening his eyes.
Kelly groans. "Fuck, yes, my good boy." She threads her fingers into his hair and pushes him back down the bed again. "Come on, make Mommy feel good one more time. Oh, god."
Max's hands keep spasming where they're clutching at her thighs, momentarily pressing in, but he works his tongue between the folds of her cunt without falter.
When he noses up and sucks the top of her clit into his mouth, Kelly nearly sees stars. She wraps her thighs around Max's head and presses him in closer, keeping him there. "Fuck, yes, yes, pup, just like that." She grinds into his mouth, rocking in small circles.
Max shifts just a bit to get the angle better, and he must shift the vibrator too, because he suddenly keens right into Kelly's cunt. The vibrations tip her over the edge again, and she grips tight at Max's hair as he whimpers.
Her legs fall back into the sheets, strings cut. Max pants, shivering with the effort of not moving to get himself off.
"Come back up, puppy. Let Mommy see you."
Max crawls back up her body, eyes wide and dark and hazy.
Kelly pats her hip. "Right here, pup. Use Mommy's leg like a good boy."
Max hastily slots himself beside her. He presses his dick into the side of her thigh and starts humping against her, desperate and sloppy.
Kelly grabs the swinging ring of his collar and yanks him in close. "You gonna be all messy for Mommy, pup?" she asks. Max tries to nod, but her hold on him is too tight, pulling him down towards her. He keeps rutting, chasing the friction.
"Such a good boy; such a good puppy. Getting all messy for Mommy, making me feel so good. It's your turn, pup. Come on, be a good boy. Make a mess for Mommy."
Max comes with a whine. Kelly pulls him in to crash their lips together, teeth clacking, as he rides it out against her leg, smearing himself in his own come to chase the end of his high.
When he's all spent, he collapses against her, boneless, warm chest onto hers. They're both breathing heavy.
After a moment, he whimpers soft, shifting, and Kelly grins as she licks across the top of his teeth.
She pulls away for just long enough to grab her phone again. Unlock it with a press of a finger.
She doesn't turn the vibrator off. Teasingly, watching Max's eyes on her, she slides the setting down by a couple of notches—just on the edge of unbearably too much, Max's thighs still shaking slightly where they're pressed into the tops of her own.
Max whines when she tosses the phone just out of reach.
"I think..." Kelly says, voice heavy, as she slides her hands down Max's sides, and across the swell of his ass. She nudges the vibrator, and Max writhes, oversensitive. "...that Puppy needs to clean up his mess."
Charles is the one to slip the eyemask over Max's head, fingers carefully adjusting it where it sits a bit crooked on his nose, brushing his hair away where it catches funny in the strap by his ear.
"How does that feel, baby?" he asks once he thinks there isn't anything just slightly off that will annoy Max. He leans down and whispers into his ear, breath hot, "Do you like it?"
Max jumps. "Yeah. Yes. It feels good."
"Good," Charles murmurs, still close. He grabs the helix of Max's ear in his teeth as he pulls away, just a little tug and a nip. Max shivers.
"So sensitive, chéri," he teases, running his hands down Max's sides, ribs to hips, touch feather-light. Goosebumps prick in his wake.
He dips his head down and bites without warning, taking the skin of Max's beautifully soft waist between his teeth. Sucks a bruise into his skin. When he sits up, he rubs a thumb over the top of it, pressing it in.
"Charles. Stop teasing." Max's voice is so breathy that it takes away from any authority he may have had.
"And what should I be doing instead?" Charles asks, even as he leans over to the bedside table to grab the feather tickler. "Teasing you?"
He waits until Max opens his mouth and starts to respond—probably some version of "Shut up, Charles," or, "Yes, and get on with it, Charles," but he doesn't have the chance, because Charles sweeps the feathered end across the expanse of his chest, brushing from nipple to nipple, and anything Max was going to say gets lost in his surprised inhale.
Charles hums, amused. He keeps circling the bundle of feathers around Max's left nipple and ducks down to close his teeth around the right.
Max gasps. He isn't restrained, but he's holding himself so still that he might as well be. At his sides, his hands twitch, fingers curling into the sheets.
Charles smiles, nub of Max's nipple still caught between his teeth, and then gets to work sucking a bruise into his skin. The tickler curves around the swell of his pectoral and then circles back to tease at his areola.
Charles waits until Max lets out a faint whimper, fingers spasming again to grip at the sheets before he releases Max's nipple. He brushes the feathers over it, and Max whimpers again, louder.
Charles switches the tickler to his other hand and then bends over Max's other nipple; lets his warm breath ghost over it to build the anticipation until Max is tense and practically trembling. And then he licks a stripe up, long and slow, and bites instead at the soft flesh in the curve between his shoulder and his neck.
"Charles!"
Charles swirls his tongue around the impression his teeth have made.
"If you knew what I was going to do next, chéri, what would be the point of the blindfold? Now be good and squirm for me."
The minuscule movements that Max had been making, shifting his hips, pinching his eyebrows in surprise, immediately halt. Charles chuckles.
"Okay," he smirks, dragging his chin down the expanse of Max's chest, beard scratching. "I guess I'll have to make you." He stops right as he gets to the bottom of his soft tummy, breath barely ghosting at the base of his dick. He stays perched there, beautiful view of the swell of Max's chest as he breathes in and out, heavy, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
He twitches. Charles sits up.
He runs the feathers up the inside of Max's thigh, starting at the knee and moving slowly up, up—
He stops. Switches to the other leg. Up, up—
Charles grabs Max's sides, wand of the feather tickler pressed in a harsh plastic line against Max's side, and sinks his teeth into his tummy, right below the belly button.
This time, Max definitely squirms.
"Charles. Pleasepleaseplease, touch me."
"I am, baby," Charles says into his skin. He presses kisses at random across his belly as Max tries to formulate his next thought. "Do you want me to stop?" He pulls away.
"No! No." One of Max's hands comes up off the bedsheet, chasing. "Want you, Charles."
And who is Charles to deny him?
Charles shifts his weight up until he's properly straddling him, ass on his beautiful thick thighs, their dicks barely brushing. Max shivers.
"Ready to show me that squirming, love?"
"Make me," Max breathes.
Charles dips back down and fits his teeth back around Max's tortured nipple. He moans, hips bucking.
Charles carefully doesn't grind down. Max is going to have to squirm more than that.
He releases his hold and turns his attention back to the feather tickler, brushing it down Max's sides, and then trailing the fingers of his other hand in its wake, barely ghosting.
Turning his attention back to Max's chest, he traces the outline of Monaco over Max; follows every curve. Brands Max with his home, and even though the lines are invisible, Charles knows they're there. Sees home every time he looks.
Right at the start/finish line, he plants a kiss. Over at the podium, he bites.
"One day, chéri. We'll both be up there."
"What?" Max breathes.
"Of course," Charles continues without answering, "you'll be below me. Right, love?"
At that, he does grind his hips down. Bites again at the podium; hums the first notes of Hymne Monégasque into pale skin. Max cants his hips up desperately; tries to rub their slickening cocks together.
Charles keeps humming. He throws the feather tickler off to the side, and uses both his free hands to tweak Max's nipples simultaneously.
Max moans high and needy, sound punched out. "Fuck, Charles, please."
Charles doesn't release his grip. He stops humming; inches his tongue along down Max's ribs until he finds his waist, and bites again. His fingers keep working.
"Ah!" Charles can hear Max's head thrashing on the pillows above. He keens. Charles rocks his hips in smooth circles; Max keeps writhing erratically below him.
"Charles. Can I? Off. I want it off."
Charles immediately pulls away at the sudden subtle change in Max's tone. When he looks up, Max's face mask is askew, though the part of his eye Charles can see peeking from the corner is still squeezed shut tight.
He must have knocked it loose with all his moving. Charles smiles to himself.
"Of course, baby. Keep your eyes closed. There we go."
Charles tucks his thumbs under the face mask, by the corners of Max's eyes, and pulls it off his head. He can see Max's eyes moving beneath the lids, erratic, as the steady dark dissipates, but he keeps his eyes closed.
Charles puts the mask aside and then bends down to press a kiss to Max's lips before moving up and licking a stripe up his nose, from the tip along the ridge to where it dips down a bit at his eyebrows.
He can feel Max's startled exhale on his neck.
"You are so beautiful, chéri. My most beautiful."
Charles brushes the pads of his thumbs over Max's eyelids. Feels the flutter of his eyelashes. His mouth follows, first pressing light kisses to the center, and then lathing his tongue over, dipping into the crevice of his lacrimal caruncula.
Max's hands come off the bed; find Charles' waist. He doesn't pull him downward, though—just keeps his fingers pressed light by his hipbones. "Charles. Can I...?"
In reply, Charles pitches his hips downwards, brushes his dick against Max's. "Yes, baby, go ahead. You can do anything."
Max pulls him downward as he himself presses up. Charles restarts his rocking circles; Max, slightly calmer now, keeps up a rhythm of his own, dicks sliding together on every thrust.
Charles moves his mouth back down to Max's and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. Bites hard. Max moans in the back of his throat, and his fingers tighten on Charles' hips.
Charles runs his hands down Max's sides, up down. Fingers dipping down into the indents his teeth left on his hip. He runs his hands across Max's tummy, his chest. Caresses all the marks.
"Come on, baby. Beautiful baby. God, chéri, you should see yourself. All marked up. Mine. All mine." Charles swipes his tongue across the inside of Max's lip. He tastes iron.
"Yours," Max gasps out like a promise into Charle's mouth; against his tongue, his teeth.
"Oh, baby, fuck." Charles bites into the side of Max's neck as he comes. His fingers dig harsh into Max's waist.
Max tips his head back with a breathy moan and follows, pulling Charles down to him, bucking up into the friction.
Charles collapses against him, breathing heavy. Max's chest heaves below his.
When Charles catches his breath and shifts, looking up, Max's eyes are still closed. Charles presses a gentle kiss to his eyelid. "Can I see you, mon beau?"
Max's eyes flutter, lashes catching the dim light.
Charles smiles and kisses his lips, soft. "I love you, chéri."
Max's lips quirk up into a grin as he bites Charles' tongue.
gbb creative season round 10: feathers
NSFW, max/kelly, 1.1k
entire thing under the cut because it starts in media sex
“Please,” Max whines, voice reedy and about two octaves higher than he would normally go, but it’s involuntary, like his voice breaking.
“Wow, you are desperate for it,” Kelly purrs. Max gasps as her fingers move inside of him, circling.
“I need you,” he says, twisting around and making a grab for her. This won’t help his cause but something instinctive within him tells him to pull her close. It makes sense. He does want her closer to him, in a way. “Need you inside me.”
“Do you think you’re ready for it?” Kelly asks, running a hand through his hair. She scratches his scalp with her nails and he arches into it. Between the fingers of one hand in his hole and her other hand on his head, approving, he’s so overwhelmed he’s struggling even to keep his eyes open, wanting to narrow his world to only these two sensations, these two pleasures. Kelly’s words catch up to him and he nods, desperate, his cheek sliding, nearly frictionless, across the silk of the pillowcase.
“I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” she says.
“Couldn’t hurt me,” he mumbles into the pillow.
The fingers withdraw from his hole. Max hisses when the air hits the spot that had been warmed by her hand resting there, the knuckles pressing gently against the skin, as if he needed any more reminder she was there. Then, he feels the pressure from the strap, the blue one he picked out, as the tip meets his hole and, hardly needing any pressure at all since he’s gaping open, enters him.
He gasps as she hits his prostate. He wants to cry out, he stops himself by fitting his mouth over the edge of the pillow and biting down. Other parts of the pillowcase are darkened already–he must have drooled without realizing.
“You’re my good boy,” Kelly says, not letting go of his hair. She’s rocking into him. He must look completely undone, ass up on the bed, sweating and whiny and drooling all over the sheets. “You don’t have to be quiet,” she says. “You can let it out.”
Obedient, he releases the pillow from his mouth. Again, she prods his prostate, and his lips open to cry out–
Ah-choo!
–
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, baby?” Kelly asks as she’s shaking the duvet to even it out for bed.
Max nods, miserably. He’s actually still feeling pretty bad after the sneezing fit that effectively ruined their fun that afternoon, but he’ll live. He’s got a tissue box by the bed and fingers to rub his eyes with, even though he knows he shouldn’t.
“Okay,” she agrees easily enough, sliding into her size of the bed and patting the duvet over his side in invitation. “You just seemed to still be feeling pretty sick at dinner.”
Max does not want to remember how he sneezed into his soup and did not even manage to cover his nose. At least it made P laugh. He gets into bed next to Kelly and hopes that the tickle in his nose will go away.
–
“–and he keeps me up all night with his sneezing,” says Kelly. “And if I’m waking up, he must be waking up even more often. He’s a professional driver, he needs his sleep.”
“Honestly, I am getting enough sleep,” Max interrupts.
Kelly puts a manicured finger up to him without even looking away from the doctor. “And you already know how I feel about you gaming at all hours of the night. Listen, we just really need this handled.”
The doctor, a woman with a tight bun and glasses, if Max is seeing her properly through his swollen eyes, nods. “Well, I recommend conducting a skin prick test to test for allergies.”
“What does that involve?” Max asks.
The doctor rolls her swivel chair over to a drawer and pulls out a needle. She holds it up to him. The tip glints in the light, even through the plastic package. “I would prick you several times–there are twenty common allergens I can test for here–and each time inject a bit of a potential allergen, and we would monitor for skin reactions.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad, right, Max?” Kelly pets his head.
Kelly has several piercings and tattoos so maybe it doesn’t sound so bad to her, but Max has never been stabbed by a needle more than twice in a row.
“I guess not,” he agrees.
Half an hour later, Max has twenty holes in his arm and a list of twenty things he’s not allergic to.
“We’ll figure this out, Mashy,” Kelly says later, as she’s shaking out the blanket. Max sneezes three times in response and gets into bed. He squints at her out of irritated eyes and tries not to sneeze again as she kisses him good night.
–
Max hangs around the house the next day, gaming, playing with the animals, and suffering. Kelly is out of the house as well, running some unspecified errand she doesn’t elaborate on. She comes home with an enormous shopping bag and disappears into their bedroom with it, so Max assumes she was buying clothes for some event or other. He goes to bed still troubled with congestion.
When he wakes up the next morning, though, his nose is clear and his eyes don’t itch. He takes a deep breath. The air runs easily through his nose without so much as a whistle. The bed is empty. Max can hear the sink running in the ensuite, so he jumps out of bed to tell Kelly the good news when she gets out of the bathroom.
Kelly steps out, still barefoot in her silk pajama set, like she hasn’t been up long. She smiles at him like she has a secret when she sees him up.
“I can breathe!” Max announces. “I don’t feel sick at all anymore.”
She crosses the room, plants a kiss on his lips that bumps on his teeth because he’s smiling too broadly. “I figured out what you’re allergic to,” she says into his mouth, then steps back.
“What?” Max asks.
“Down,” Kelly says. Max drops to his knees. She laughs. “No, down feathers. I replaced all the bedding yesterday.”
“Oh.” Now that Max thinks about it, the duvet did feel a little thinner and the pillows a little less plush when he got into bed last night. “Thank you, you’re a genius.” He rises to his feet.
“Not so fast. Now that you’re feeling better,” she says, hooking her fingers around the waistband of her pajama pants like she’s about to pull them down, “get on your knees for me.”
For Max, they are, certainly. Try as he might, Charles is just incapable of giving him what he truly needs. He can fuck him for hours; can hold Max close, skin to skin, Max's hot as coals; can pump the silicone knot in and out of him when all that isn't quite enough.
It still isn't enough.
It never gets easier for Max to spend his heats without an Alpha, and it never gets easier for Charles to sit there, unable to do anything about it. Never gets easier hearing Max whimper in pain, never gets easier watching him writhe on the fake knot, never gets easier listening to him beg for a more that Charles just can't give him.
Near the beginning, after the first couple of heats, when Max was clear-eyed and clear-headed, Charles asked him if they should figure out a different system. Told Max, honest, that he wouldn't mind if Max found some Alpha to help him through his heats if it meant that he doesn't have to hurt so much.
Max just shut him down with a kiss, soft and sweet. Told him that he loves him. Told him he doesn't want anybody else. Told him he's enough. Asked Charles to trust him.
Charles kissed him back and promised he did.
But right now, Charles' wrist is aching, and his hand and forearm are wet with slick, fingers slippery on the base of the silicone knot he's working inside Max, and he certainly doesn't feel like enough—not with the way Max is sobbing against him, trembling like a leaf.
"H-hurts," Max whimpers after he comes again with a cry and goes completely limp in Charles' hold. His lips are chapped against Charles' neck.
"I know, chéri," Charles murmurs back. A tear drips down his nose and into Max's sweat-damp hair. He follows it with a soft kiss. "I wish I could do anything to make it better."
Max breathes heavy. He twitches just a bit, nose rubbing against Charles' scent glands—too weak, too bland; a road not even rained upon.
And then—only because Max will forget in the morning, when the heat has broken, and he's back in his own bones—Charles whispers, wet, fingers still loose around a silicone base, "I wish I could be what you need."
Max whimpers. Charles takes a deep breath, steeling himself, ready to go again, but Max doesn't start to grind down, moaning desperate. Instead, he pulls back from Charles' neck, swiping a long line across his scent glands, warm. Meets Charles' eyes with his own—hazy, cracked glass. "You are," he croaks.
Max's head lolls forward, his little energy spent. Their foreheads bump. Max's breath is hot on Charles' lips. "I love you. You are."
Charles lets go of the silicone and wraps his arms around Max, tight. Murmurs, "I love you, too, chéri. So much." Presses his own chapped lips against Max's. And chooses to trust him.
for this weeks gbb weekly prompts: mirrors/silicone. - max/gp, 1.2k, explicit
esi @lost-in-fandoms challenged me, so i had to get a little freaky. includes sex toys, sex tapes (i guess?), come play, (slight) come inflation, phone sex, mentions of rimming and mpreg, bits of daddy kink at the end. and god knows what else. i don't remember anymore
Max checks the angle of the video, making sure his back is visible in the reflection of the mirror behind him. His phone is balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, propped up with some barbells from their home gym — it's a poor setup, objectively, but Max just needs it to work for one video.
He wasn't planning to be doing this on GP's first day of working with McLaren. The package just coincidentally arrived today, and Max is too excited to wait any longer.
His new ejaculating dildo is suctioned to the floor, a little away from the mirror, lube glistening on the smooth pink silicon surface. It comes with a little remote, that Max clutches in his hand.
With a steadying breath, he presses record on his phone and kneels above the dildo. It fits nicely in his palm, even though it's a little smaller than GP's dick. Stroking it a few times out of habit, Max guides it to his hole. He prepped himself beforehand, so the rounded tip pops in easily.
The breathy moan Max lets out sounds loud in the empty room, and hopefully his phone picks it up — he wants GP to be able to hear everything.
Another moan slips past his lips when he bottoms out. Max gives himself a moment to adjust, the curve and the length of the dildo fitting inside of him so nicely. He rises on his knees, hoping that the reflection shows the way his hole is stretched around the dildo's girth, then drops down, looking for the right angle.
His cock is throbbing between his legs, bobbing up and down as Max rides the dildo; he strokes himself, feeling his orgasm starting to build up. The silicone tip hits his prostate right on, and Max scrambles for the remote that's laying next to him on the floor.
Slippery with sweat, his fingers slip on the tiny buttons, and Max accidentally turns on the vibration settings. It zings through him like electrical shock, and he collapses onto the floor, sitting himself fully on the toy.
"Fuck," Max shouts, fisting his dick desperately as it shoots come all over his hands and stomach.
With shaking fingers, he finally presses the pump button on the remote. The dildo jerks inside him, as Max feels the artificial come flood inside him.
He turns off the vibrations, then slumps down, catching his breath. His whole body is thrumming still, because this is the part he was most excited about.
Slowly, he rises on his knees again, letting the dildo slide out of his hole. The liquid silk drips out of him slowly, and Max hopes he looks as ruined as he feels — hole puffy pink, covered in thick globes of white.
He reaches for the plug he prepared earlier, then pushes it inside himself, trying to collect as much of the lube as possible.
Rewatching the video is a little embarrassing, even on the 2x speed; he'll never get used to this part, despite how many times he's done it.
After making sure the video is good, he sends it to GP with a simple "don't watch near people" message, then goes to clean up.
* * *
Two more videos later, GP calls him during his lunch break. Max grumbles to himself, swiping his thumb to answer.
"Is this your plan to get me fired on my first day for public indecency?" GP asks, "I don't remember being this turned on since high school."
Max presses his phone between his cheek and shoulder. He licks his lips, "Mhm. You should've called in sick, like I told you this morning."
"If I knew beforehand that you would be fucking yourself full of come today, I definitely would've stayed," GP's voice echoes on the other side of the calll; Max guesses his hiding in the bathroom.
"Yea-ah," Max's voice cathes on a moan, before he has a chance to stiffle it.
GP rasps, "Are you touching yourself right now?"
"No," it comes out breathy again.
"Fuck," GP growls, "Are you fucking yourself with the dildo again?"
Max gasps as the silicone tip hits his prostate. It's on the lowest vibration settings again, and Max's hand aches from the awkward angle. It's too good to stop, though, even if Max is slightly mad that GP interrupted the recording.
"Fuck," GP curses again, voice strained. "How many times is it now? Four? Your hole must be ruined baby. Is it that good?"
Max moans again, fucking himself harder. " 's good," he pants, "but not as good as you, mi- miss your dick."
"I miss you too, princess. Just a couple more hours and I'll be home."
There's shuffling on the other end before GP speaks up again. "The lube you're using, is it safe? Edible?"
"Yes, it's- yeah," Max speeds up his hand. It's getting hard to hear GP through his panting breath.
"Listen closely now," GP orders, "When I get home, I'm going to eat you out. I'm going to eat you out until your messy hole is clean again, and I don't care how long it takes-"
Max moans, biting his lip hard to stop himself from coming.
"-And then I will fuck you full again, make sure it's dripping out of your ruined hole. Understood?"
"Fuck," Max keens, nodding fast, and stroking his cock even faster, "yes, yes, please, want that, please."
"Good boy," GP rasps, "now come for me."
And just like that, Max seizes up, coming all over the sheets. It's so much less than the first time, and Max thinks he might come dry when GP fucks him.
The feeling of the lube pumping inside him is familiar now, and Max relaxes into the sheets, idly sliding the dildo in and out. He's so full already it drips out of him from the movement.
"I have to go," GP tells him softly, "I'll see you in a couple of hours."
Max hums, "See you," and hangs up.
* * *
Max is standing in front of the mirror, admiring the small bump just above his hips. It's hard to notice, but now that Max knows it's there, he can't stop looking at it. It's a little firm to the touch. He looks like he's- pregnant, and the thought makes his spent dick jerk.
His face is a mess too, flushed pink, lips swollen from biting on them. Max is thinking about taking a picture, when suddenly, he hears keys turn in the front door.
He quickly walks to the entrance, careful to not disturb the plug. He had to wipe some of the lube away and switch to a bigger one, because the last one couldn't keel it in anymore, and the come kept sliding down his thighs.
GP is standing in the hallway, dropping his backpack onto the floor.
"Da-" Max gets pushed into the wall, arms bracing to hold himself up, as he feels hot breath ghost over his ass.
"Do you remember what I promised?" GP growls behind him, rough palms spreading his cheeks.
Max can only nod, moaning as he feels GP play with the plug. As soon as he tugs it out, lube drips out of him in fat globs, sliding down his legs and onto the floor.
"You're so sloppy, princess," GP tuts, hooking his thumb over his hole. "If you didn't send me all those videos, I'd think you were a slut. But you're not, yeah? I'm the one who gets to fuck you."
Max trembles from trying to hold himself up against the wall. "Only you- daddy, please."
GP places a soft kiss over his messy hole. "Don't worry, darling. I will take care of you now.
"How many positions did you lose at the start again?" GP holds the paddle in both hands, right hand firm on the handle, left hand flexing the leather.
Max squirms, tugging at the rope around his wrists, rumpling the sheets slightly below him.
"Do I have to tie you up tighter?" GP snaps.
Max goes still.
"Nine, sir."
GP hums. He releases his grip on the paddle, smacks it down into his palm. Max twitches.
"And whose fault was it that you lost all those positions?"
An inhale. "Mine. Sir."
"And so what do you deserve?" GP traces the edge of the paddle along Max's spine, inching downwards, towards his ass, already painted a pale pink from their warmup with GP's hand, which tingles lightly.
"To be punished, sir."
"Hm. Smart boy."
The paddle comes down fast and hard. Max inhales sharply before babbling, quick, "Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir."
GP tuts. "How many was that? If I don't have someone keeping track, then how am I supposed to know when to stop?" The paddle drags across Max's cheek.
"One, sir; sorry, sir; thank you, sir."
"Good boy," GP purrs. "Are you ready for your next?"
He brings the paddle down before Max has time to answer. Once again, Max's breath hitches before he says, "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir. That's two, sir."
GP brings down the paddle again.
It takes until Max counts to "sixteen, sir," for him to stop breathing sharp and twitching; it takes another thirty or so after that for his words to start slurring together.
"F-fifty, sir. M'sorry. Thank you."
"How are you doing, Max?" GP checks in. He smooths a hand across the curve of Max's ass, the rosy red expanse of him. He's hot to the touch.
"Please don't stop, sir," Max moans. "Need to— Need to be punished. Need you to punish me, sir."
"You do, don't you?" GP muses. His fingers flex to squeeze at Max's cheek, grip firm. Max gasps.
"Yes, yes. Need you. Need you, sir, need you so much."
"Okay, Max." He releases his hold. "What do you say?"
"Please, sir. Please punish me."
And GP does.
The paddle swings downwards, three times, quick. Whack, whack, whack.
After Max moans and whimpers out, "S-Sorry. Seventy-one, sir. Thank you, sir." GP stops. Takes the paddle back into both hands; sets it down on the side table in the direction Max is facing, so when he cracks open an eye in a few moments, hazy with confusion about why the impacts have stopped, he'll see it.
Sure enough, a few seconds later, his eyes lock onto it, and he whimpers.
"Wh— What? Sir. Why'd you stop? You— I haven't been punished enough yet."
"You certainly haven't," GP agrees. He steps closer to the bed; brushes the backs of his fingers across Max's cheek. Max strains to twist his head to look up at him with his wide, wet eyes. "But, Max— I just don't know if you can handle it." GP takes his hand away.
Max's eyes go wider. He squirms, pulling against the ropes, trying to chase after him.
"I can handle it, sir, I swear I can handle it. I'm— I'll be good. I can be good, sir, I can handle it."
"Can you?" GP squats down until he's eye level with Max, but he doesn't move in any closer. Continues to let Max strain towards him. "Because seventy-one seems to be your limit. If you can't even get another win, then how are you supposed to handle thirty more swats?"
Max keens, high in his throat. "I can, sir, I can handle it, I need it, I need it, sir, I need you to punish me so I can be good, so I can win again, sir."
"Prove it."
Max blinks. "Wh— Yes, sir." He nods his head awkwardly, cheek rubbing against hotel sheets. "Yes, sir; anything you want, sir."
"Oh, Maxy," GP purrs. He reaches back out to trail his fingers along Max's cheekbone, down his cheek. Obediently, Max parts his lips. GP hooks four fingers into his mouth, pulling his mouth open, forcing his fingers into the back of Max's throat until he can feel it spasm around his fingertips.
Max only breathes deeply through his nose and stares up at GP, unblinking.
With his other hand, GP deftly undoes the knots keeping Max's wrist bound to the bedpost.
"Keep your mouth open, Max," GP commands as he slides his fingers out and wipes them clean on Max's cheek. "And stay still."
Max easily obeys, pushing his tongue out and waiting, panting, as GP brings his hand down and uses the rope to bind it to his own thigh, just above his knee.
"How does that feel, Maxy?" GP teases, knowing that Max won't answer after he's been commanded to stillness.
GP circles the bed and unties Max's other hand. He carefully maneuvers Max until he can tie his hand to the opposite bed post, and his head is right at the edge of the bed, open-mouthed and waiting.
"You're going to be good for me, aren't you, Max?" GP asks, cock in hand, as he lines himself up.
Max stares up at him and blinks twice, slow and intentional— yes-sir.
GP sinks into Max, sheathing himself right to the hilt, sliding past the back of Max's throat.
The spasm of his muscles as Max works to accommodate him feels even better around GP's cock than it does around his fingers.
He doesn't move for a moment; just lets Max breathe hard and struggle, reveling in the feel of him, hot and wet. But just as soon as a sliver of a crease starts to form between Max's eyebrows, GP pulls out, long and slow, giving Max the chance to breathe around him, before pushing in again.
He starts to set a steady rhythm, pushing slowly into Max and back out, always sinking all the way down, until Max is nearly choking on him, but not quite—always so good for him.
Max stays perfectly still, like he was asked, tongue wide and flat and dragging against GP's dick on every thrust, drool spilling down the side of his face, dripping onto the floor.
GP feels himself start to get close when Max blinks his damp eyes and a tear escapes, rolling fat down the side of his nose, curving, dripping into his other eye.
"So fucking good, Maxy, taking me so well. You can handle it, huh? You can handle anything. My good boy, you can handle your punishment, yes? You need it, don't you? You deserve it, don't you, Max? You were so bad today, weren't you, my boy, but you're so good, look at you, taking me so well. You need to be punished so you can show me how good you are."
Max's tears keep spilling. He makes the slightest of noises—a whimper in the back of his throat, and GP feels the vibration from where he's all the way pushed into him.
GP pulls out, and he has to grip the base of his cock to keep from coming. "Fuck."
Max twitches—barest movement to chase after him, mouth still open and wanting, eyes still wide and wet.
"You still have your punishment to finish, Maxy," GP reminds him once he's caught his breath. "Maybe I'll let you make me come once you've shown me how good you can take it. Would you like that? Speak."
Max's words are clumsy as he rasps, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Good." GP reaches to the bedside table; picks up the paddle. "Now. What number were we on?"
Max lasts until "Ni-inety, fuck, thank you, sir, sorry, s-sorry," before he starts writhing and begging, ass cheeks fiery red, tinging purple in the middle.
"I can't do it, sir, I— fuck I ca-an't."
"Yes, you can, Max," GP says, stern. "You told me you could handle this."
Max shakes his head frantically, cheek sliding against the bedsheets, fabric bunching. "I know, sir, but I can't, you were right, it's too much, I can't."
"Max," GP says, voice still strict and steady. "Yes. You can. How many laps did you run those tyres today?"
Max stops writhing. He croaks, "Fifty-one, sir."
"And where did you finish?"
"P— P5."
"Hmm. And where should you have finished, with that car?"
"P1, sir," Max replies, no hesitation.
"Max," GP says, tone warning. He slaps the paddle into his palm.
"P7!" Max amends with a gasp. "P7, sir."
"Right. Disagree with me one more time and tell me that you can't do it."
"I— I—"
GP rests a cool hand on Max's ass. Max moans.
"Max. It's only nine more. One for every position you lost at the start. You can do it. Be good for me."
Max takes a deep breath. Lets it shudder on the exhale.
"Can you do it?" GP asks.
"Yes, sir." GP sees Max's jaw twitch on the edge of the bed. "I can do it, sir."
"Good boy."
The paddle comes down again, no more gentle than before. Thwack.
"Ninety-one, sir. Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir."
Thwack.
"Ninety-two, sir. Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir."
Thwack.
"Ah— Ninety-three, sir."
Thwack.
"Ninety-four, sir."
Thwack.
A long moan. "F-fuck. Oh, sir, ninety-five, sir, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I—"
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Max's "Ninety-nine" comes out as a keen. "Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir, godverdomme, th-thank you."
GP comes around to the side of the bed. Sets the paddle on the table.
Max's eyes are screwed shut tight. His mouth is pressed into the bedsheets, and he's breathing hard through his nose.
GP squats down next to him. Runs a gentle hand through his hair. "Attaboy. I told you you could do it. So good for me, huh? My good boy."
"Thank you," Max pants, again, turning his head slightly. His hazy eyes meet GP's. "Thank you, sir."
"Are you ready to make me come now?" GP asks in the same soft voice.
Max nods.
"Do you want to do it the same as before? Or different?"
"Can I—" Max licks his lips. He's still breathing heavy. "Can you untie me, sir? Can I do it in your lap?"
"Of course, Maxy." GP scratches his nails light on Max's scalp for a moment before he pulls away to undo the ropes.
"So good for me, Max. My good boy."
GP sees a smile quirk on Max's lips.
He unties Max and lets him massage his wrists and shake circulation back into his legs as GP slides himself onto the bed, sitting himself up against the headboard.
As soon as he's settled, Max crawls towards him, eyes wide open in question.
"Come on, Maxy," GP says. "Be a good boy and make me come."
Max's fingers loop around GP's. "Use me?" he asks. He pulls GP's hand to his hair as he ducks his head over GP's waiting cock.
GP groans. He tangles his fingers, grips tight, and pulls Max down onto him.
He sets the pace faster than before, fucking up into Max's wet heat with abandon.
"Fuck, Maxy, so good for me, my good boy." Max's eyes flutter. His throat spasms. Drool slides down the length of GP's cock.
When GP comes, Max doesn't even swallow—GP's already so far down his throat that he doesn't have to.
GP pulls Max off him. His eyes are glassy; tears once again streaming down his face. GP tugs him forward until their mouths crash together in a sloppy kiss.
"Come on, Maxy," GP pants against Max's plush lips, moving his leg up between Max's, brushing against his untouched dick. "Make yourself come for me."
GP keeps his hand in Max's hair, keeps his forehead pressed to GP's own, as Max whimpers and starts to grind his cock against GP's leg. His breaths are hot in GP's mouth.
"Need me so bad, don't you, Maxy? Need me to punish you when you've been bad, so you can be good, huh? Need me so you can be a good boy? Need me to make you feel good? Come on, Max. Show me how good I make you."
Max comes with a cry; GP swallows it down. Feels Max moaning into his mouth, feels him shaking on his leg, feels him go soft and pliant against him as he collapses, spent.
When their lips part, Max whispers, blissful, "Thank you, sir."
for week 9 of the gbb weekly prompts: mirrors/silicone! @lost-in-fandoms this one is for you, hope you'll enjoy it!!
max sighs, tipping his head back and allowing the water to drip down his face, its warmth fogging up the shower cabin.
he picks up the shower gel, rubbing it between his hands and carefully lathering it all over himself. it's a nice shower gel, all silky against his skin and smelling like caramel. max hums, closing his eyes and letting himself relax.
"hi there, sweetheart. having fun?"
max's eyes flutter open just as daniel joins him in the shower. he smiles, turning around to wrap his arms around daniel and pull him into a kiss. daniel indulges him, grinning into the kiss.
"did you miss me, baby?"
max smiles back, cheeky, reaching down to wrap his hand around daniel's half hard cock.
"maybe i just missed your dick, how about that?"
"yeah?" daniel presses him against the wall, wrapping a hand around max's wrists and pinning them above his head. "did gp not fuck all the brattiness out of you, maxy?"
"you two have been teasing me all day," max says in what is definitely not a whine, no sir. "what are you gonna do if i say no, hm?"
"maybe we'll just keep teasing you some more then. at least until you learn to behave."
daniel lets him go and finishes washing up, stepping out of the shower and leaving behind a very dazed max. he blinks, the now tepid water making him shiver, and he contemplates breaking the rules and jerking off, but he knows it will not end well for him.
max takes a moment to compose himself before turning the water off. he pats himself dry with the towel, making sure to avoid his aching dick, and walks back to the bedroom to pick some clothes. he ends up settling for a pair of daniel's shorts and one of gp's shirts, but he doesn't manage to put them on before gp corners him against the dresser.
"little birdy told me you've been bratty," gp says, cupping max's jaw with his hand, imposing eye contact. "is that right, princess?"
"is that little birdy named daniel by any chance?"
gp's grip on his jaw tightens, and max bites back a groan. he knows he's playing with fire, but his boyfriends have been teasing him all week, he hasn't been allowed to come through it all, and he's pent up and horny, damn it!
"are you going to use your words now, max?"
"i- yeah… i was bratty, sorry."
"that's okay, darling," gp hums, leaning to press a kiss to max's cheek, the hand around max's jaw going lax. "we've been hard on you, huh? was it too much for our pretty baby?"
max whines, going all pliant against gp, like a puppet cut off its strings. the older's knee presses right against max's cock, right where he's leaking like a faucet, and his hands reach up to tweak max's nipples, playing with the little barbells going through them until max is a moaning, panting mess.
and then gp pulls away, right when max feels the orgasm building up.
he cries out, tears building up in the corner of his eyes.
"shh, shh, you're doing great, baby, it's okay," gp's arms wrap around him as he whispers gentle, encouraging words, carefully guiding him out of the bedroom. "come on, just follow me, we're gonna take care of you now, all right?"
max nods, hands clutching at gp's, taking shaky, slow steps. gp steers him along, matching max's pace, until they reach the playroom.
"go lay in bed, darling, okay? i'm just going to fetch daniel."
max nods again, feeling too jittery for words. he lays face down on the bed, snuggling in the soft, silky sheets, and waits like he was asked to. like a good boy.
he's a good boy. d gp said so. daniel too.
he feels the bed dip on his right, and turns around on his side to face daniel. the brunette cards a hand through max's hair, gentle, a fond smile stretching his lips.
"ready for some fun, princess?"
max hums, a barely whispered 'yes', letting himself go pliant when he feels gp's hands on his hips. gp moves him around until max is on his back in the middle of the bed, looking up at the ceiling mirror. it's only then that max realises how much of a mess he looks like. his hair is all disheveled, still slightly damp, he's pink all over, his nipples hard and perked up, and his cock is rock hard, flushed the color of a new bruise and leaking steadily against his stomach.
he whimpers, tries to wrap his arms around himself, but daniel is quick to catch him.
"no, baby, don't do that," gp tuts, stern, before leaning down, spreading max's thighs wide open and pressing a kiss to the soft, milky white skin. "you know we like to see how pretty you are, princess."
max whines again, more embarrassed than anything, letting his arms fall back down against the mattress. daniel rewards him with a heated kiss, his hands playing with max's nipples, pulling and twisting them, the piercings making the feeling even headier.
at the same time, gp pulls the silicone plug out of max, making him cry out. he shushes max's protests, instead pushing three lubed fingers inside the blonde, stretching him out.
"here's the plan, darling. i am going to fuck you until you can't walk, and danny right here is going to use your mouth. understood?"
"un- understood."
"good boy," gp grunts, pulling his fingers out and slicking his cock before lining himself up, one hand keeping max spread open and the other resting on his hip. "you're allowed to come now."
heads up! i originally had something completely different planned for today but changed it at the last minute. i don't think this is technically counts as sissyfication, i just wanted to talk about this idea (no fic, just me rambling)
thinking about max who likes makeup
not in like transgender kind of way, he's pretty confident in being a man, but also sometimes he wants to be pretty, so he puts on makeup
he also thinks it's very weird and there's probably something very wrong with him, because no normal boys like makeup. one time when he was a kid his dad almost yelled at him for playing dolls with victoria
i think he doesn't really gets to explore this part of himself before he gets into f1, because he's always traveling with his dad and basically has no personal time to himself, but he always liked watching his mom put on makeup and always thought women around him who wear it are so beautiful
somewhere along the way he started watching watching makeup tutorials and beauty bloggers on youtube? he feels very ashamed about it (because, again, he's a boy. boys are not supposed to like this kind of thing) but he finds these videos so comforting, likes to watch girls explain what each product is and how to apply it. thinks it's just another skill that he, hypothetically, can learn to be good at
and then one day one of the youtubers he watches invites her friend to the video, and it's a man? and max feels so weird, it throws him out of the loop completely, because thats a man and he's putting makeup on?
and it kind of gives him that little push to try it himself. by this time he already has his own apartment, so he could order something for himself. maybe that mascara he found while guiltily scrolling through an online makeup store
he's so scared to order it though. because what if someone finds out max verstappen bought a mascara for himself. so he orders it in vic's name. then doesn't pick it up from the front desk of the building because he's terrified he'll be found out
but max wants it SO much, wants to know how it feels to be pretty like that, and in the end he was never a pussy, so he orders it again and picks up the package when it arrives
feeling very very brave full of adrenaline, he immediately puts it on. but he also isn't very good at it, accidentally pokes himself in the eye and blinks a lot so the mascara smudges under his eyes. but when he looks in the mirror, with his eyes lashes painted with black smudged mascara, he finally feels so pretty. it's a very weird feeling and his face look so unfamiliar now, but he also loves it. and hates it that he loves it. maybe he cries a little too and the mascara runs down his cheeks, but he finally feels so pretty and special
after that, i think he becomes a little bolder with it. orders more products for himself: eyeshadow pallets, highlighters, blush, lipstick and lip gloss. through the years he accumulates a pretty stacked makeup bag
he also becomes better at putting makeup on, since it's a skill he can get good at. but he doesn't do it often, always waits until the feeling, the want is unbearable. then he locks himself in his bathroom with his makeup bag and a video of one of his favorite beauty bloggers. the process is relaxing, methodical. he always gets lost in it and feels so calm afterwards
after he's done putting it on, he doesn't look in the mirrors a lot. just goes to drive on his sim or sits in the living room and plays with his cats. knowing and feeling that he looks so pretty
one night after spiraling about being a freak, max ends up googling "is it normal for a boy to like makeup". spends a lot of time on reddit and other forums reading about transwomen and gender and sissyfication. but he doesn't think that's him
he likes being a man, he wouldn't want different genitals, already hates when his hair grows out too long. he doesn't think he would like wearing a dress or a skirt or lingerie but decideds to leave that question for another time
he tries to watch sissy porn, but it always makes him feel bad later. he doesn't want to be called a whore or a slut or a bitch, doesn't want to be hit or spit on
he wants to be called pretty or beautiful. wants someone to be nice and gentle with him. yearns for someone to love him and accept this weird part of him that sometimes makes him want to put makeup on
every time he puts it on, he wants it so bad for someone to see. to admire the work max did, and tell him he did good, how pretty he looks
accepting that he's gay comes a little easier. he already knew some men liked other men, even though he thought it was also wrong at first. sometimes max gets off imagining people he's attracted to calling him pretty. allows himself to touch himself when he has the makeup on. thinks about connecting with someone on grinder and sending them a picture of his face so they could say how beautiful he looks
but that would mean showing his face to a stranger. and he never stores the photos of himself with makeup on for too long
heads up! no fic today, just me rambling about an idea (how no pressure kinktober was supposed to look like lol)
on the party celebrating max's 20th birthday, daniel invites him to a threesome (for reasons he doesn't want to think about) he found the girl at the club they're in, asked if she's cool with it - she is
but when he asks max, pink and head bobbing to the music, he stops, scratches his ear and asks if he can watch instead
daniel is like haha what, you're a virgin, maxy? it's ok i will show you the ropes. but max shakes his head and asks again if he can watch
daniel, drunk to the point of asking his 20 year old teammate to a threesome, says um sure, alright. let's ask the girl though. so they go ask if she's cool with it, and she asks max only watching? no recording? and max nods and says yes only watching
and that's how daniel finds himself laying with half-naked- sara? sandra? sally? on his hotel bed kissing her while max sits by the headboard watching them with a pillow in his lap
daniel figures max is a virgin and treating this like watching an onboard and learning the track, so he does his best, pulls out all of his tricks and makes the girl come so max can learn
and when he invites max to a threesome again, daniel expects him to participate this time, but max again wants to only watch
so they kind of fall into this weird routine of max watching daniel have sex with a girl he picks up at a club
not all of them agree to be watched of course, but enough of them do so daniel starts picking up on stuff. like how max would take the pillow away from his lap if the girl asks daniel to be rough with her, or how he doesn't like to be touched by girls
one time the girl goes to kiss max after they get into the room. daniel sees max freeze, hands hovering awkwardly near his thighs, and has to tug the girl away and distract her
and most importantly daniel notices that max likes when he's nice to the girl, when he kisses her a lot or touches gently, or tells her she's being good. max always leaves after the sex is done, but sometimes when the girl asks for a cuddle, from both of them, he stays a little longer. the pillow still on his lap, awkwardly petting her hair or bringing them a glass of water
so one day after a very long summer break full of thinking, when they are both sitting in max's flat watching a movie, daniel says to max. hey you know the girl doesn't have to be there, right? it can be just the two of us
and max gets very still, asks, really? and daniel nods
they don't have sex that night, just make out with daniel in his underwear and max still in his shorts. and daniel kisses every inch of him and calls him pretty and a good boy until max tears up and daniel holds him and they fall asleep together
after that max stops seeing the couple he's met in a monaco club. max almost never got hard (because they are not daniel) and didn't always like watching, especially when the guy tied her up or they hit each other (although max knows they both like it) but he would always stay because after they were done, they would take care of each other and cuddle and, if the scene was particularly rough, they would cuddle max too
GP really shouldn't notice Max's hands as much as he does.
Really, he shouldn't notice a lot of things about Max as much as he does. The way he sinks down into the car, thighs flexing under his dark race suit. His breathy voice in GP's ear as he asks about the gap; curses out the strategy; celebrates over the line, whooping, thanking the team, lilting accent rough with gravel. The way he looks on the top step, hands clasped behind his back, jaw set, proud, staring down at the crowd. At GP staring back up at him.
But Max's hands... When all is said and done, and GP is alone in a hotel room under pristine white sheets, it's Max's pale fingers he sees in imprints behind his eyelids, mapping curves through the air, pressed delicate to his lips as he leans in close to GP on the grid, breath hot on his neck. His fingers, wrapped around a Red Bull can, wrapped around a wheel, wrapped around a trophy, fingertips dripping sticky with champagne.
GP's hand is a sorry substitute, wrapped around his cock in the dark. Palm too broad, fingers too thick.
GP comes, and it feels hollow, mechanical. Biological process complete—check. Victory behind the safety car, only on a technicality. Comm line dead—only the muffled sounds of the street outside the window in his ear.
In his dream, GP tastes Max's champagne-sticky fingers on his tongue.
--
Max's hands on GP feel like fire, points of contact roaming across his sides and shoulders and back; scrabbling desperately for the hem of GP's shirt and forcing it up and over his head.
On his bare skin, Max's fingers feel even better than he imagined. His thumbs print light indents into GP's waist as Max presses him into the wall and leans in to kiss him, open-mouthed and sloppy, panting.
GP groans. Max's fingers spasm, gripping momentarily tighter.
GP snakes his own hands under Max's shirt, pushing it higher, and that's all the invitation Max needs to move his perfect fingers away from GP's skin and start shucking his clothes off.
The moment their pants are untangled from around their ankles, GP is grabbing Max, pushing him against the wall, and dropping to his knees. Max stares down at him, lips parted, hair wild. Just like on the top step.
GP, like always, meets his gaze.
He takes him into the back of his throat.
Max groans, head thrown backward, knocking into the wall. His hands scrabble at nothing, and GP wants desperately to tell Max to put them on him—anywhere, everywhere, fingers like fire wherever he touches—but he's too busy dragging his tongue along the underside of Max's cock, savoring the taste.
It isn't long before Max is babbling. "GP, GP, fuck, wait, I do not want to come yet, I want you to fuck me, please, GP, god, fuck, please fuck me."
GP moans, and Max, still in his mouth, twitches as he lets out a high-pitched keen. "Fuck, GP, oh, fuck. I— please."
When GP pulls away, a line of spit connects him to Max's dick, and it's all he can do to stop himself from following it, going back in for more.
Max is still pressed flush with the wall, palms flat against it, pushing hard, eyes scrunched shut. His chest is heaving.
"Fuck," they say at the same time.
GP stands up and plasters his body against Max's. Feels his heaving chest under his own, hot. Feels the press of his slick cock between their stomachs. Murmurs into his ear, "You want to come on my dick, Max?"
Max's breath catches. He nods quick, back of his head rubbing against the wall, eyes suddenly blown wide, nearly black in the harsh hotel light.
"Hmm," GP hums. He grabs Max's hips—pries him away from the wall; walks them backwards towards the bed. Pushes Max onto the pristine white sheets, and he goes easily, eyes wide, spreading his legs to leave room for GP to slot himself between them.
GP doesn't.
"Open yourself up for me, then."
The thing about Max is, he's not afraid to argue—if there's something to argue against. If there's a flaw or a hiccup or an unknown. If he truly thinks he's right.
But when GP is right, when he's sure, when he tells Max, "we're pitting this lap, Max—box," voice steady on the comm, Max listens, no hesitation.
Unblinking, black eyes still locked on GP's, Max brings his slender fingers up and rests them on his tongue. Closes his plush lips around them; hollows his cheeks as he sucks.
GP's hand finds its way to his cock, and it feels anything but mechanical.
Max's fingers glisten with his spit when he pulls them free from his mouth, and he swipes his tongue across his lips to cut the string of saliva.
The sight of Max's index finger slipping inside of him makes GP feel light-headed. Max shifts his hips just slightly, hotel sheets dragging, before he starts to slowly pump his perfect finger in and out, the rest curled inward towards his palm, delicate.
GP wants to put his entire hand into his mouth. Lathe his tongue around each finger one by one. Taste Max on himself—never taste anything else.
Max adds another finger.
His next inhale is sharp; exhale long. GP manages to tear his eyes away from Max's hand for long enough to see the small crease formed between his brows, eyes shut.
Always trying to go so fast, this boy.
"Max. It's only the warm-up lap."
The crease vanishes as Max's lips quirk and he chuckles. "You are such an engineer."
"And you," GP says, eyes flitting back down to where Max's fingers haven't ceased their movement, curling in and out of his puckered hole, "are such a racer."
GP watches as Max's fingers crook before his whole body shudders. His fingers start pumping faster. "Oh. Oh, GP. Please, fuck, let me use the lube so I can finish this faster, I want you in me, I need you, I—" His other hand grips tight at the bedsheets, paling whiter.
It takes GP a second to tear his thoughts away from the way Max looks strung with tension on the bed in front of him; from the way he himself is tipping towards pleasure, his own hand speeding up on his cock. "Lube— lube? Max, I didn't plan this, I don't have—"
Max releases his hold on the sheets to flail a hand towards the wall they were pressed up against before. "Pocket of my jeans. I, of course, was planning for this."
GP doesn't have the time to think about the implications of that, not when his head is spinning with the new possibilities that lube presents, no longer imagining slowly pressing in and out of Max, close and gentle, but instead of Max's thighs flexing as he lowers himself into the cockpit.
"Yes. Copy." He hears Max snicker as he goes to their pile of clothes, rummages around in Max's jeans until he finds a small tube of travel lube tucked into the front pocket.
He doesn't hand it to Max; instead, he just uncaps it and squeezes it directly onto Max's long fingers as they continue to stretch him wider.
Max inhales at the sudden cold, but he adapts quickly, and it's not long until he's pushing his slick ring finger into himself with a groan. "Please, GP, I'm ready, fuck me, fuck me."
"Just a bit longer," GP murmurs, entranced by the way Max's pinky finger is shaking, bent back just a bit farther than normal, in the way that Max's fingers do when he illustrates the curves of the circuit. "Fuck, Max. You're incredible. So fucking beautiful."
His pinky curls. GP has to grab the base of his cock with a groan. "Yes. Yes. Yes."
Max pulls his fingers out; wipes them on the bedsheets, absentmided. Opens his legs wider, once again beckoning GP.
GP goes. Slots into the space between, like he belongs there. He leans over Max—captures his lube-sticky hand in his, threads their fingers together, pushes them down into the bed. Breath hot by Max's ear, his voice comes out as a growl as he murmurs, "I want you to ride me."
Max's head tips back onto the bedsheets. He nods, desperate. His fingers twitch in GP's hold. "Please, GP. Anything."
GP groans. Anything.
He climbs onto the bed. Straddles Max for just a moment—feels his head spin as he looks down at him, flushed pink and quivering beneath him, lips opening up to beg, "please," again.
GP settles against the headboard and drips lube over his fingers, working himself slick. Max crawls towards him, eyes roaming. Climbs over his legs, knees tucked up by GP's ribcage, feet tucked in by his thighs, radiating warmth.
GP hums in disapproval—reaches out, wraps his fingers around Max's calves, tugs him forward. "No. Like this." Max goes easy, lets GP pull him into position until his feet are planted by GP's sides. "Hands on the headboard. Attaboy."
Somewhat belatedly, GP remembers the concept of condoms. But when he asks Max if he brought one, Max shakes his head.
"You, of course, would not give me any diseases."
The thing about GP and Max—what makes them such a good pair, beyond the simple fact that they're both the best goddamn driver and engineer out there—is that they trust each other, truly and wholeheartedly.
"Never," GP agrees.
He grabs his cock; Max lifts himself, hands gripping tight at the headboard above GP. His thighs shake as he lowers himself, lips pursed in concentration as he works out the angle.
He slides all the way down in one movement, and they moan in tandem. "Fuck, Max. Yeah. Just like that." Just like sliding into the cockpit.
Max makes a noise high in the back of his throat. His chest is flushed bright pink. His parted lips are shiny with spit.
He shifts just slightly, his ass grinding against GP's thighs, before slowly lifting himself back up and sliding down, sheathing himself back onto GP's cock.
Max starts up a steady pace, making microadjustments on every thrust and whimpering high-pitched every time GP bottoms out. GP himself is uttering an unending litany of blissful nonsense—"fuck, Max, oh my god, oh my god, you're so fucking incredible, my Max, my Maxy, so fucking good, fuck."
When Max finally gets the angle perfect, it's immediately obvious. His whole body goes taut, and he throws his head back with a breathy gasp. "Godverdomme. GP." His legs are shaking. His rhythm doesn't falter.
GP brings up his hands, which had been tangled uselessly in the bedsheets, and grips Max's hips, tight. Pulls him down as GP thrusts up, fucking into him. Max gasps like all the air has been punched out of him. "Oh, fuck. GP. GP, please, please please please."
Their pace increases. Max slides up on shaking legs; GP pulls him back down, fucking up to meet him, hard and fast. Max is keening is high and constant, whimpers every time GP's hips meet his ass. One hand, he's taken off the headboard and brought to his mouth, perfect pale fingers pressing against his plush lips, doing nothing to muffle the sounds.
GP watches, mesmerized, as his fingers slide downward—catch on his bottom lip and stay there as Max opens his mouth and says with a moan, "GP, fuck, I—"
And then he's coming. Untouched by those perfect fingers on his lips; by GP's hands pressing bruises into his hips.
GP doesn't let go of him, but he gentles his touch. Guides Max downwards instead of pulls him; stills his thrusts.
Max pants for a moment, head hanging, long eyelashes fluttering. And then, with a long groan, he slides off of GP's cock, swings a leg over until he's no longer straddling him, and presses himself close to his side.
The hand he'd been pressing to his bottom lip is still slightly slick with spit when he wraps it around GP.
All it takes is one stroke, base to tip, the pads of Max's long fingers soft against delicate skin, and GP is coming, back arching off the bed.
Max's hand keeps working, stroking GP through the orgasm, coaxing out every bit of performance, like always. He presses his face into the crook of GP's neck, and his voice is gravelly in his ear, accent heavy, as he says, "Fuck. GP."
"Max."
GP's hips fall back to the mattress, dick fully spent. Max's hand is still wrapped around him, and GP gasps, overstimulated, as his fingers trail back up, brush against his tip.
Max's fingers are dripping sticky with GP's come when he brings it up to his mouth, eyes locked onto GP's, still blown wide and dark. He laves his tongue through the gaps in his fingers, smearing come around his mouth. GP groans, feeling heat pool in his belly.
Max smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching up just slightly, eyebrow quirking. Like he knows exactly what he's doing.
"Max. Please." GP keeps his lips parted after he begs, desperate.
Unblinking, without hesitation, Max slides his fingers into GP's mouth.
