flip flop max pov for what’s a god to a non-believer pretty please 👉👈
flip flop max pov for what's a god to a non-believer at your service <3. Sorry for the fact this took me 131343253523 years tbh.
Charles kisses him on the lips before he goes up to Lando's room. Looks at Max very seriously, and tells him to go back to their hotel. To come and pick him up later.
He'd looked at Max, green eyes narrowed. "I am knowing how to handle him, Max. He is all bark and no bite, yes?"
Max hadn't been able to hold back the smile, squeezing Charles hand through the open window before Charles walked away without another glance back.
Max stayed.
Lando had made a comment to him once, about how Charles was Max's obedient dog.
Max had considered slapping him after the comment. Idly, in a way that didn't matter, because it wasn't something that would come to fruition. It was just nice to imagine it, the shocked look on Lando's face, the gasping little noise that would escape him.
"I think I am his loyal dog, no?" He'd asked, instead of resorting to the fleeting violent thought.
Lando had made the same choked, startled little noise, and it has satisfied something deep in Max's chest.
He doesn't think Lando really understands anything about his and Charles' relationship, and he can't be bothered to explain it, more than going over the basics. It's not Lando's business to know why Charles likes being on his knees for Max.
So Max stays, waiting for Charles' text message, jaw cracking as he yawns, checks his phone for the millionth time, tilts his head back against the headrest, staring at the ceiling.
It's oddly humbling.
It's oddly humbling that he, three-time world champion Max Verstappen is waiting in his car for his boyfriend to call him after a threesome that Max himself wasn't invited to.
He snorts at the thought of it. Thinks Lando would take too much joy in putting him in the cuck chair, in making Max watch Charles fall apart by his hand. In claiming he could do it better.
But there's a reason Lando has Oscar, and Max has Charles.
It goes far deeper than the fact that Charles and Lando can hardly stand each other on a good day.
Sometimes, Max just feels he doesn't need to prove himself in some things.
His phone rings, Lando's name flashing across the call display, and Max glances at the clock on the radio, ignoring the twist in his stomach as he slides his thumb across the screen to answer the call, pressing his phone against his ear.
"Come get your boyfriend."
Lando sounds uncharacteristically rattled, voice sharp, voice shaking in a way that's so subtle Max isn't even sure he's hearing it correctly.
"Is he okay?" Max's voice comes out harsher than he means it to, and Lando takes a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. "Lando, is Charles okay?"
"He's fine. We're done, though."
He hangs up a moment later, and Max's fingers flex around his phone before he shoves it back in his pocket, clambers out of the car, and makes his way to the hotel. The elevator ride feels like an eternity, and he regrets not taking the stairs. Thinks that ten flights would feel like nothing compared to the anticipation.
Lando's got the door cracked open before he can even knock. Greets Max with a cheap, blasé apology, and Max's jaw jumps as he pushes into the room.
"Where is he?" His voice is sharp, too sharp, and he swallows the urge to apologize for it, at the unimpressed look that Lando gives him. The bounds of their friendship has it's limits, though. Charles has always been more important, in the end.
Lando gestures further into the room, but Max is already nudging past him, walking to the bed, reaching out a hand. Charles reaches back a moment, clinging to Max like he's a lifeline.
The look on Charles' face isn't what he's expecting. It's frustrated more than it is devastated, but there's something reflected at him that he hates. A distrust.
He has to swallow down the bitter taste on his tongue as he smiles at Oscar, greets him, voice warm, soft, despite the swell of anger that rises up inside of him.
Oscar's quick to make space for Max, despite the blush staining his cheeks, despite the fact that he can barely meet Max's eyes. If it was another day, another circumstance, he'd put in more effort to put Oscar's mind at ease. But he can't think about anything other than Charles, other than getting out of this goddamned hotel room.
He dresses Charles gently. Pulls his hoodie off, before helping Charles into it with gentle guidance, helping guide his arms through the sleeves, his head through the opening. Can't stop himself from fixing the mess of Charles' hair. His fingers brush over Charles' bare skin as he pulls Charles' boxers back on, then his linen trousers, presses a kiss to the bone of his hip before he pulls back.
"Good boy," His voice soft, low, so only Oscar and Charles can hear it.
Charles' answering smile is a little warmer, but there's still distrust there, that Max wishes he could chase away.
"We'll talk later, Lando." Max knows his voice is harsh, a little too flat, knows that Lando can probably sense the anger there, but he can't bring himself to care. He wraps an arm around Charles' waist, until they're practically flush against each other.
“Yeah…Jesus, sorry, mate,” Lando sounds genuinely apologetic, but there’s still an edge to his voice, a cruel light in the way he looks at Charles, like he’s exposed parts of him he wants to exploit.
Max herds him out the door, before turning back, as Lando closes the door behind them.
“Don’t forget, Lando, that you wanted this too,” the words are sharp, designed to cut. “The consequences of your actions aren’t his fault,”
Max’s phone lights up with a text, after he’s herded Charles into the car, buckled him in, and slid into the driver’s seat. It’s a text from Lando, and the words just sear right through Charles, recoiling like he’s been slapped.
Control your fucking dog, next time, Verstappen
Max just replies with the cry laughing emoji and the middle finger emoji, before leaning over to kiss Charles soundly on the mouth.
“Fuck him.”