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The weight of the trophy was still a phantom pressure in his hands, the roar of the crowd a fading echo in his ears. But all Max could feel now was the frantic beat of his own heart, the hot heat of another body pressed against his, and the sweet taste of victory champagne on a familiar tongue.
He had barely managed to lock the door of his driver's room before he was pushing Charles against the wall, his mouth sealing over the Ferrari driver’s in a kiss that was all possession and pent-up adrenaline. Charles melted into it for a moment, a soft sigh escaping into Max’s mouth, his own hands coming up to clutch at the Red Bull logo on Max’s firesuit. The red of Charles’s own suit was a stark contrast under Max’s palms. The zipper was only half-done, and Max didn’t hesitate; he shoved his hand inside, past the fireproof material, until his fingers found a tight nipple. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, feeling it pebble instantly.
Charles moaned into the kiss, his hips stuttering forward. But when Max’s other hand went to the fastening of his racing trousers, Charles broke the kiss with a wet gasp, turning his head to the side. “Nein… not here, Max,” he whispered, the words shaky. “It is not safe.”
Max ignored him. His knee slid effortlessly between Charles’s thighs, pushing them apart. He could feel the heat radiating even through the layers of nomex and carbon fiber. His seeking fingers found the center of Charles’s briefs, and there it was—a damp softness that made his cock throb painfully in his own suit. He pressed down, and the fabric gave way, a warm depression forming under his touch.
Charles cried out, a sharp sound. “Max!”
“Quiet, schatje,” Max growled, using the momentum to drag Charles away from the wall and towards the black leather couch in the middle of the room. It was meant for post-race debriefs, not this. He tumbled them both onto it, Charles beneath him, and reclaimed his mouth. This kiss was deeper, messier, all tongue and teeth. He mapped the sweat-salted skin of Charles’s jaw, his throat, the hollow of his collarbones, leaving a trail of red marks that would be hell to explain later. Charles tried to push at his shoulders, but Max caught his wrists easily, pinning them above his head against the cool leather.
“You are impossible,” Charles breathed, but his eyes, that stunning green, were dark with desire, his lips kiss-swollen and parted.
“You love it,” Max stated, finally wresting his own upper body free from his firesuit. His cock sprang free, already fully hard, the tip leaking. It dragged a hot trail along Charles’s inner thigh as Max settled more firmly between his legs. He guided Charles’s still-pinned hand down. “Touch me.”
Charles hesitated for only a second. Then, his fingers, nimble and strong from years of steering, curled around Max’s length. He gave an experimental stroke, and Max hissed, his hips bucking. Encouraged, or perhaps just as lost to the need, Charles leaned his head down, his brown curls tickling Max’s stomach. His pink tongue darted out, tracing the swollen head, lapping at the pre-cum beading there.
“Fuck, yes, just like that,” Max groaned, his head falling back. The sight of Charles Leclerc, the pristine Ferrari prince, on his knees in spirit if not in fact, his mouth on Max’s cock, was enough to short-circuit higher thought. But he wanted more. While Charles worked his mouth over the tip, his tongue circling the frenulum, Max finally freed Charles’s trousers and briefs, yanking them down to his thighs. Charles’s own cock, a flushed thing, lay against his stomach. But lower, nestled between his thighs, was what truly made Max’s mouth water.
Charles Leclerc’s pussy was glistening, already wet and ready for him. The outer lips were pink, swollen with arousal, parted to reveal the darker inner folds and the tight entrance of his vagina.
Max didn’t bother with preamble. He pushed two fingers inside Charles’s cunt, and they slid in to the knuckle without resistance, met by scalding heat. Charles gasped around Max’s cock, his body arching. Max crooked his fingers, searching, and found that rough patch inside. He rubbed it relentlessly, the squelching sound of Charles’s arousal obscenely loud in the quiet room.
“Ah! Max, ah, there, please—” Charles’s words dissolved into a guttural moan as Max scissored his fingers, stretching him. Overstimulated and desperate, Charles released Max’s cock with a pop, throwing his head back against the couch arm, his throat working as he panted. A thin strand of saliva connected his lip to Max’s shining length.
Max seized the opportunity. He grabbed the base of his cock and guided it back to Charles’s mouth, pushing past his lips until the head nudged the back of his throat. “Suck, lieverd. Take it all.”
Charles’s eyes watered, but he obeyed, his throat fluttering around the intrusion. Max held his head in place, fucking his mouth in shallow, relentless thrusts. With his other hand, he continued to finger-fuck Charles’s dripping cunt, adding a third finger, stretching him wide, preparing him for what was to come.
“You are so greedy,” Max murmured, watching his fingers disappear into that slick hole. “So wet for me already. Did you think about this during the cooldown lap? While you were spraying champagne?”
Charles could only gag in response, tears tracking through the sweat on his temples.
Finally, Max pulled his fingers out. They were soaked, gleaming with Charles’s fluids. He wiped them crudely across Charles’s chest, smearing the sticky mess over his nipples. Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped Charles onto his stomach. Charles yelped, scrambling to get his knees under him. Max helped, pulling his hips up until Charles was on all fours, his perfect round ass high in the air. His pussy was now fully on display, his swollen labia glistening, his hole winking open and closed around nothing.
Max positioned himself behind, his heavy balls already tight against his body. He rubbed the broad head of his cock through the wet folds, collecting moisture, teasing the entrance but not pushing in.
“Max, wait,” Charles whimpered, trying to look over his shoulder. His back was a graceful curve, his spine a delicate line. “Someone could… they could come… we cannot—”
Smack!
The sound of Max’s palm connecting with Charles’s right ass cheek was sharp and crisp. The pale skin immediately bloomed a bright red. Charles cried out, more in shock than pain, and his cunt visibly clenched, spilling another trickle of arousal.
“No more talking,” Max commanded, his voice rough. He lined up and, with one powerful thrust of his hips, sheathed himself to the hilt in Charles’s tight channel.
Charles screamed, the sound ripped from him, as he was filled unbearably, completely. Max’s hand flew to cover his mouth, muffling the rest of the cry. He held himself still for a moment, buried deep, letting them both feel the incredible tightness, the way Charles’s inner walls fluttered and gripped him like a vise.
“God, you are tight,” Max breathed into his ear, finally beginning to move. He started slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, each thrust landing with a deep impact. He aimed for Charles’s cervix, that innermost barrier, and brushed against it with every penetration. “Always so tight for me. This perfect little cunt was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”
He felt Charles nod frantically under his hand, heard the muffled, desperate sounds of agreement. Max released his mouth, instead wrapping an arm around Charles’s slender waist to haul him back onto his cock with every thrust. The pace quickened. The wet, slapping sounds of their union filled the room, mixed with their ragged breathing and the creak of the leather couch. Fluids dripped from their joined bodies, soaking Charles’s thighs and darkening the couch.
Max leaned over him, blanketing Charles’s back with his chest. He mouthed at the sweat-damp nape of Charles’s neck, bit at his shoulder, then let his free hand wander to Charles’s chest. He found a nipple and pinched it, hard, twisting until Charles sobbed.
“You like that, baby?” Max growled. “You like being my dirty little secret in the Red Bull room?”
“Yes! Max, yes, please!” Charles babbled, his head hanging low. His body was rocking violently with the force of Max’s thrusts.
Max’s hand abandoned Charles’s nipple and slid down the trembling stomach, through the coarse thatch of brown hair, until his fingers found Charles’s clit. It was a hard, throbbing nub. He circled it with his thumb, applying firm, rapid pressure.
Charles shattered. His whole body seized, his back arching like a bow. His cunt clamped down on Max’s cock in a series of vicious, milking spasms, and a gush of warm fluid soaked Max’s pounding length. Charles’s cries were loud, raw, and entirely unrestrained.
The intense clenching pushed Max to the edge. He was seeing stars, his own release coiling tight at the base of his spine. He fucked Charles through his climax, the strokes becoming erratic, deeper, more possessive.
A sudden, metallic rattle froze them both.
The door handle jiggled.
Then, a knock. A voice, muffled but clear through the door. “Max? The team debrief is starting in five.”
Max’s hips stuttered to a halt, his cock still buried to the root in Charles’s convulsing channel. He turned his head, his voice emerging as a commanding bark, strained but controlled. “I am changing! Give me ten minutes!”
Silence. Then, the rapid retreat of footsteps.
The interruption, the sheer risk of it, acted like a catalyst. A possessive heat surged through Max. The moment the steps faded, he moved. He gripped Charles’s hips like vices, his fingers surely leaving bruises, and began to fuck him in earnest. These were not the measured, deep strokes from before. These were punishing, frantic jackhammer thrusts, aimed to bruise the cervix, to claim the deepest part of him. The couch rattled against the floor. The sound of skin on skin was brutal, wet, and constant.
He leaned down, his sweat dripping onto Charles’s back. He released Charles’s hip and instead grabbed his chin, forcing his head around. He crashed their mouths together in a open-mouthed kiss, swallowing Charles’s broken whimpers and sobs. He could taste salt, champagne, and himself on Charles’s tongue.
It was in that kiss, with his cock pistoning into that exquisite heat, that Max finally lost control. His orgasm ripped through him with blinding force. With a guttural groan muffled against Charles’s lips, he slammed home one final time and held, his body rigid as he pumped his release deep into Charles’s womb. He could feel it, the hot pulse of it, and beneath his hand on Charles’s lower belly, he imagined he could feel a faint, corresponding swell.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their heaving breaths in the humid, sex-scented air.
Slowly, carefully, Max pulled out. A thick stream of white, mixed with Charles’s own fluids, immediately began to seep from Charles’s well-used hole, dripping down his thighs onto the ruined couch. Max looked at the mess, a primal satisfaction settling in his gut.
Charles collapsed forward, boneless, a limp pile of limbs and stained racing leathers. His chest was heaving, his skin glazed with sweat and other bodily fluids. His legs trembled visibly.
Max cleaned himself with a towel from his kit. He tossed another to Charles, who made a weak attempt to catch it. Max walked to the door, pressing his ear against the cool surface.
He turned back. Charles had managed to pull his trousers up, but the wet patch of combined spend was already spreading, a blatant stain on the dark material. He was trying to stand, his hands braced on the couch, his beautiful face etched with exhaustion and satiation.
Charles finally stood, his legs shaky. He glanced at the door, then back at Max, a silent question in his eyes. What now?
Now, they had to face the world.
Max gave a short nod towards the private shower. “You first. Be quick.”