part eight of the maxiel corporate au! slightly plot driven again, sorry. Max POV, Rico POV, 2.5k words.
explicit content discussed but not happening.
Max has been unfocused at his desk- can't keep his attention on one thing or another, and he's feeling weird, like he wants to curl up inside himself where no one can see him.
It's when he missed his name being called for the third time that Scarlett stops at his desk, propping her hip against the edge.
"Max, kid, how about you head home, yeah?"
Max blinks, looking up at her. He can stay- he can get work done, he'll be good, he can-
She sets a hand on his shoulder, and he leans into the contact without thinking about it.
"Seriously Max, take the rest of the day off. Head home."
There's something ugly twisting in him- he's not good, he can't even do his fucking job-
But he's listening to Scarlett, logging out of his desktop and collecting his things. She keeps an eye on him, and when Max stares blankly at his laptop in front of him- could've sworn he put it in his bag already- she gently rests a hand over his own.
"I'll call you taxi, kid."
She's his supervisor, so Max just nods, lets her handle things. She walks with him to the front, makes sure he gets into the taxi and that he has the right address, and then Max fights the urge to curl up in the backseat as they're driving through the streets.
The cab driver is nice, doesn't try to engage Max in any kind of conversation, simply lets him out in front of the complex. Max fumbles for his keys on his way up the stairs- just wants to fall into bed and stay there.
Their floor is quiet- Martin has left for the night for the club, and Isack is probably still at class. Rico has a flexible schedule, at the whims of his manager and the ring.
Max struggles getting his key into the door, and it's just-
It's one more thing he can't do, adding to the stack of failures he's had today, and he's humiliatingly close to tears, and he can't even get the stupid fucking door open-
There's footsteps before the door swings open, and Max trips forward, startled. Immediately there's steady hands supporting him, and he's confused-
"Max? Shit, what's wrong?"
He's being tugged inside, and it's Rico's studio, gloves tossed on the table, kinesthetic tape scattered around the room.
Max can't even get into his own fucking flat right.
He takes a shuddering breath, intending to apologize, and Rico just wraps his arms around him, holding Max tight to his chest.
"It's okay, Max, I've got you."
Max starts crying.
------
Rico had been finishing his early dinner, scrolling through the matchup list later this week, icing his knuckles when he heard Max. He hadn't been sure it was Max at first, but the fumbling of the key at his door wasn't dissimilar to how Max gets when he's drunk.
Confusing, sure- it's 5 in the evening on a workday- but not concerning. Rico had opened the door intending to make fun of him, only to find Max, close to tears.
It'd been immediate, after that. Bringing Max inside, gently walking him back to the bed, arranging them so that Max is resting half on top of him- but Rico slings a calf over the back of Max's legs, a grounding weight as he tugs a blanket over them.
He's not even sure what he's saying- whatever soothing things come to mind, trying to calm Max down from where he's quietly crying into Rico's shirt.
Max hasn't said anything- but Rico has a feeling he knows whose fault this is, and he's got a set of knuckles that still work just fine.
He's running his hand down Max's back, breathing steady as Max starts to calm down. He's dazed, unfocused- Rico hasn't seen Max like this since he first moved in, when he floated through their building like a ghost, unmoored and lost.
It makes his blood boil seeing it again.
He holds Max tighter- it doesn't escape him that it makes Max relax, having a weight on him.
Max tucks his head under Rico's jaw, nose pressing into his neck. His fingers are curling into Rico's shirt, and he's starting to relax on top of him, losing the tension in his limbs. Rico keeps holding him, fingers stroking down his spine.
It's always surprised him, how small Max can be. He's bulked up since he moved in, finally put on some healthy weight compared to when he and Rico first met, but still- he's almost entirely on top of Rico even now, feels more like a weighted blanket than anything.
His hair tickles at Rico's nose, messy compared to how it's normally styled when he leaves for work. The thought of what happened to it burns through Rico's brain.
Max is smart. He's smart, and he's clever, and he's an incredible conversation partner. He gives everything he has into a task, so single minded and dedicated to doing a good job. He was an incredible student in uni, and Rico is positive that he must be an incredible employee as well, but-
That fucking sleazebag doesn't see it. Doesn't see any of it- all he's seeing when he looks at Max is some kind of toy, something to pull out of a drawer on a rainy day.
Max deserves better than that. Certainly doesn't deserve to be used, not the way his boss is using him.
Clearly he's not being taken care of either- discarded when he's done being fun, neglected to the point of this- Max in his arms, sleeping it off.
Once was bad enough, and Rico hadn't even really realized what was happening yesterday. He'd thought Max was just having an off day, so he'd had no problems crawling into bed with him, tucking him under his arm and playing FIFA, letting Max fall asleep against him mid-game.
And then Max had needed to go in, to reprint some report that he'd already given-
Rico had taken him to dinner, after that. Mostly because if he wasn't busy, he isn't sure he would have been able to stop himself from marching right back into that building, and slamming that smug cunt through the fucking desk.
He still might.
Max whimpers into his neck, eyes scrunching up, and Rico realizes absentmindedly that he's hard, hips making aborted half circles into him.
He settles a hand at the base of Max's spine, applying pressure.
"Max."
He's putting pieces together in his head about what might be happening here, and he doesn't like the end result- doesn't like it at all.
He shakes Max gently.
"Max."
Max makes a sleepy hum, eyes blinking open, looking at Rico in a haze.
Rico runs a hand through his hair, brushes his thumb across his hairline.
"We should talk."
Max's eyes shutter, and he drops his head back down.
"I don't want to."
Rico runs his hand down his back again, presses his fingers down between the knobs of his spine.
"We really need to. I don't think you should be handling- whatever this is- just on your own."
Max curls his fingers tighter into Rico's shirt, breathing out a long sigh.
"It's not bad, Rico."
"I didn't say that- but you just did, which is really not easing my anxiety here."
Rico sits them both up, Max's eyes going wide and surprised as he ends up half in his lap, thighs splayed wide over Rico's.
"I think you should start from the beginning, Max."
Max swallows, fingers fidgeting with Rico's shirt.
"It was- I met him when he was walking the office with Blake, and he was just- he was nice, asked me what I thought of the office and the job. And then I got some special reports that needed to be written up, so I'd bring them up to his office for a week or two, and-"
Max cuts off, cheeks flushing red.
"-and then I gave him a blowjob."
Rico keeps his face neutral, even though he's having several thoughts about the whole thing already.
"What did he do when you were done?"
Max tilts his head, confused.
"What do you mean?"
Rico smooths his thumb across Max's thigh.
"When you were done getting him off, what'd he do after?"
"Oh, he just sent me back downstairs- said if I wanted to come I would have to come back the day after."
A muscle in his jaw ticks. Vile man. The edging is one thing, if it's done right- sending Max back to work afterwards is not doing it right.
Hell, doing it at all is bad- Rico doesn't like the situation from the jump.
"Did you?"
Max ducks his head. He's clearly flustered, and Rico understands why. He was never much of a party animal, still isn't, and Rico's always been under the impression that he's relatively inexperienced.
"Yeah. The next morning."
His voice is soft, shy. The two of them don't talk about sex much, despite how long they've been friends- beyond a few drunken ramblings from Rico he doesn't quite remember making, it doesn't come up much.
Still- Max needs someone taking care of him, if he's somehow ended up in a fucked up BDSM relationship with his boss.
"Did he take care of you then?"
Max shakes his head, thighs tensing.
"No, he, uh- he said I could come back later in the evening, and I could go home with him."
Rico is thinking of a late night taxi, of Max being the last one onto the floor- he's kicking himself for not checking on him, even though he'd thought it was weird.
Max must see the murderous expression on his face, because he hurries for some kind of damage control.
"But he did! Take care of me, I mean. Back at his place- I got to come then."
Rico has a feeling it wasn't as simple as one stop sex, based on everything else.
"And what about after, huh? When he was done?"
Max shrugs.
"I don't remember much after the second time, honestly. It got fuzzy."
Rico's eye is twitching. Not only is Daniel using Max, toying with him in the office, taking him home and wringing him dry, tossing him in a cab when he's done- there's no aftercare.
He's never personally been into the BDSM thing, but he had an ex a while back who was- she'd been a total spitfire, rocked his world in more ways than one. She'd taught him a lot before they split ways, and one of them that she'd always emphasized was aftercare.
Max isn't getting it. Max is doing fucking scenes, doesn't even realize it, and he's not getting it.
Rico's going to kill him.
"That was the night before you got the day off, yeah?"
He's still trying to feel out the situation.
Max nods.
"Right. And then, today-"
His lips turn down into a self deprecating frown, the same kind Rico has seen after long nights studying and subpar assignment grades.
"-today he called me upstairs, and I am-"
Max goes violently red, and Rico resumes the soothing strokes of his hands on Max's thighs.
"Sorry Rico, this is probably more than you want to know, but I am supposed to be- he, uh, he wants me open all the time, so it was very easy to just-"
Max makes a little motion with his hands. It's not very helpful, but Rico has a feeling he knows what he's implying. Unfortunately for Max, his brain is still stuck on the easy access thing.
That's the kind of thing you talk about. It's certainly not the kind of thing you just spring onto your inexperienced younger partner.
"He fucked you over the desk."
Max's ears are red.
"Yeah."
Rico fights to keep his voice even.
"And then he sent you back downstairs, I bet."
Max nods again, but now he looks ashamed, frustrated and upset.
"He did, but- I am being stupid about it, I could not focus on my work or the reports, and Scarlett sent me home. Because I cannot get my shit together."
It takes deliberate, targeted thoughts to remind himself not to squeeze at Max, even if he kind of wants to peek inside his brain to figure out how the fuck it works.
"No, Max. That's not- none of that is your fault."
Max furrows his brows.
Rico takes a deep breath.
"Max, what you two are doing- you're having scenes. And Daniel isn't communicating, or checking in with you, or giving aftercare-"
His blood turns icy.
"Max, do you have a safe word?"
"A what?"
Rico is going to kill him, and he's going to enjoy it. He'll break every fucking tooth, send them in a little bag to the corporate office.
"Okay. I'm going back to the beginning for a second- Max, you need to talk to him. You both need to be on the same page about what you're trying to get out of this relationship."
His gut rolls in his stomach.
"Do you even- Max, do you want this?"
If Max says no, Rico is going to end up in jail.
Max's eyes blow wide, hurrying to reassure him.
"Yes! Yes, I want it- it's-"
He's bright red, shifting on Rico's lap, but he puts his hands on his shoulders, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.
"I like it. Even though it's embarrassing and I shouldn't- I am still wanting it."
Rico breathes out slow. It's the only positive thing to come out of this conversation.
"If that ever changes, you tell me. Okay?"
Max nods, looking at him fondly.
"I appreciate you caring, Rico."
Rico's not done yet.
"You need to talk to him, Max. Until then- or maybe after then, depending on how it goes- I think maybe you should come see me, after you've had a scene. You still need to be getting aftercare."
Max frowns.
"I'm not sure I get what you mean by 'scene', Rico."
He's settling back onto his lap, eyes curious. Max loves to learn, soaks in new things like a sponge- Daniel may not appreciate that quality, but Rico does.
"From the sounds of it- basically any time you and him interact in a way that isn't strictly business. I don't even care if it's just a phone call to me in the bathroom, okay?"
Max looks nervous.
"Is that going to make Daniel mad?"
Rico tries not to grind his teeth.
"If he has a problem about you being taken care of- he can come to me about it."
He runs his thumb across Max's thigh again- he's not sure if it's to sooth Max or himself.
Max nods, tucking his head back under Rico's. He lays them both back flat, smacks his hand around to the left until he finds the TV remote.
"Go ahead and pick something- we'll order food in a bit, yeah?"
Max hums, flicking the TV on.
Rico pulls up his phone in his other hand, behind Max's back.
Rico: Hey, can I get a VIP ticket for a friend? Front seats, right in the action?
Karim: Of course! Got a name for me?
Rico: Daniel Ricciardo. Thanks!
Karim: No problem! Do you want some time to chat with him after the match? Or would you rather go straight to any media?
Rico: Oh mate, I would LOVE to chat with him! Appreciate it 💪
Karim: Anytime!
