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The thing about Charles, Max decides, is that he pretends to be normal but he is, in fact, very much not normal.
Max has always known this. There was a period of time where he forgot, when Charles pretended to be a perfect little PR princess who always smiles and never bites any ankles—Max remembers differently, thank you very much—but then he’s forcefully reminded of Charles’ deeply wired insanity by his latest instagram post.
[Image ID: Charles lying on a large, plush bed, propped up against some pillows against the headboard, wearing only a pair of plain white briefs. His abs are on display, slick with sweat. On his stomach is a bright red dildo, his fingers brushing against the base. He’s staring directly into the camera, eyes smouldering.]
@charlesleclerc: Introducing my newest collaboration with LELO.
The entire collection combines my two favourite things: racing and coming first.
Everyone knows I’ve never been sensitive to bottoming, so this collection was carefully curated to include items that make you feel like you’re porpoising harder than the ground effect era Mercedes.
‘POLE’ is the first item in the collection, a 6-inch toy that will get you there faster than you can say lights out. Securing pole position has always been important on track … but it’s even more important off track. ‘POLE’ brings the climax of a race weekend to a whole new level, and I always come first. 💦
#LELO #LELOAmbassador #CharlesLeclercxLELO
He’s added a song, too, the lyrics swirling through Max’s brain as he stares at the picture.
Come right on me, I mean camaraderie
Said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be
Where art thou? Why not uponeth me?
See it my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy
Who's the cute guy with wide blue eyes and the big bad mm? Like
What in the ever loving fuck.
Max is a progressive guy. He’s totally cool about all manner of things, and he doesn’t like to make a big deal about it. He’s proudly out, but he doesn’t flaunt it; at most, he’s been caught in a couple sloppy make-out sessions with guys over the years.
Charles has always been different about it. He likes to shout about his sexuality from the rooftops; even though he’s not the type to sleep around, is always in a serious relationship, those relationships have been with both genders. Always someone gorgeous, typically a model, someone who looks perfect beside Charles’ pretty face as they walk through the paddock hand in hand.
Max never thought that even he would do something as outrageous as partner with a sex toy company.
But Charles doesn’t seem to care.
He blows into the paddock the day after the post drops, cool as a breeze, sunglasses perched on his face and bright red Ferrari shirt making him stand out like a lighthouse.
Max tries not to stare at him, obviously, but it’s kind of hard when Charles looks like that and also he posted a picture of himself holding a 6-inch dildo less than 24 hours ago.
“Are you trying to be subtle?”
Max startles, whipping his head away from the general bustle of the paddock—obviously not away from Charles specifically, because he was never looking at him—to see Pierre standing beside him.
“Subtle?” Max asks, voice croaking.
“I don’t blame you,” Pierre says. He’s looking out the paddock—who is Max kidding, he’s looking at Charles. “If I’d known he was doing that collaboration, I would’ve sent a warning out to everyone.”
“A warning?”
“Come on, everyone in the paddock wants to fuck him.” Pierre rolls his eyes, like he thinks Max is being obtuse. Maybe he is. “Even the drivers who swear they’re straight want to fuck him. Now he’s posing half naked and talking about bottoming? If we’d had warning, maybe we could have all kept our sanity.”
Max blinks, rolling that over in his mind. He has always wondered about Charles and Pierre. Charles is always so touchy with him, and Pierre has always seemed to soak it up. If Max is being honest, he’s always been jealous of Pierre, because he figured he must have had a chance with Charles at some point.
Unlike Max, who has been hopelessly pining away for years.
“You want to fuck him?” Max asks evenly, trying not to let that pit of jealousy turn into a raging fire that will engulf them all. “Or you want to fuck him again?”
Pierre laughs, then slaps Max on the back. “I just came over to tell you to pick your jaw up from the floor,” he says, patting him on the shoulder. “And to warn you that I’ve now actually seen the other pictures from the shoot. It’s only going to get worse from here.”
Pierre slips away quickly, Max’s alarmed, “Wait, what the fuck does that mean?” disappearing into the wind.
Unfortunately for him, he says it too loudly, and suddenly he has Charles’ attention right on him.
“Max!” Charles calls, in that happy little voice he always has when they greet each other.
Max swallows heavily. He can totally pretend to be normal around Charles. He’s had years of practice.
“Oh, hey, Charles,” he says, like he hadn’t even seen him before now. “What’s up?”
“How’s media day treating you?” Charles asks, head tilting to the side. His eyes are so green and round and pretty. Max wants to see them rimmed red, tears leaking out and come painted over his—
“Shouldn’t I be asking you?” Max asks, brow raised. “Are you getting eaten alive?”
He realises a beat too late that he should’ve found a different metaphor. He’d fucking love to eat Charles.
Charles laughs, loud and bright. It makes his cheeks flush a little pink. So beautiful.
“So you saw?”
“I think everyone saw.”
“What did you think?”
Max swallows as Charles looks at him. What did he think? He thought about putting Charles on his knees. He thought about making Charles cry for him. He thought about stretching him open with his fingers, then pushing inside with his cock, making that stupid toy pale in comparison. He thought about fucking Charles so hard he couldn’t sit still for days.
“People seem receptive,” he says slowly. Like he’s in the media pen, trying to talk around the truth.
“I don’t care about them,” Charles says. His eyes are focussed on Max, and it makes him feel pinned in place. “I asked what you think.”
Do not say what you think, Max tells himself furiously. Shut your fucking mouth, Verstappen.
“I would buy something to support the cause, but . . .”
“Taking six inches up your ass isn’t of interest?”
Fuck his life. It would’ve been better if he’d said he’s had invasive fantasies of his dick disappearing inside Charles’ tight hole.
“I prefer things the other way around.”
Shut up? What the fuck?
“Hm,” Charles hums, head tilted the side. His eyes are bright and happy. “Your loss.”
Max keeps his lips firmly pressed together, determined not to say anything this time. A smile spreads over Charles’ lip, sultry and beautiful, and, God, what Max would give to see his cock slide between those pretty pink lips . . .
“But maybe my gain?” Charles asks, and then he skips off, like he hasn’t just given Max unbearable thoughts.
Max stares at his ass as he walks away, and wants to shoot himself.
[Image ID: Charles lying on his stomach on a large king bed with cream bed sheets. He’s looking over his shoulder towards the camera, back arched slightly, hair damp. A large red dildo is on the bed beside his hip, and he’s holding a bottle of lube in one hand.]
@charlesleclerc: Every race we come prepped with full wet tyres . . . though using them always leaves me full, wet, and tired.
Paired with ‘POLE’ is a water based anal lube, ‘WET WEATHER’. Seeing ‘POLE’ for the first time left me intimidated, but using it with ‘WET WEATHER’ made me feel like I was following the safety car in wet conditions, liquid spraying everywhere while we struggle to keep it on track.
The only con … you’ll be screaming as loud as a V8 engine.
#LELO #LELOAmbassador #CharlesLeclercxLELO
The song Charles has chosen blares loudly.
Adore me
Hold me and explore me
Mark your territory
Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one
Adore me
Hold me and explore me
I'm so fuckin' horny
Max drops the phone beside his head, groaning into the blanket beneath him.
The irony of it all is that he probably could have handled Charles becoming a sex sponsor. He would’ve had some naughty thoughts, but then he could’ve gone about his daily life without feeling like his balls are going to fall off.
But, no, instead Charles just had to do a photoshoot. He had to get sweat-slicked, mostly naked, and look into the camera like it’s about to give him the best dick of his life.
And seriously? Intimidated? By only six inches?
Is he actually trying to kill Max specifically? This is just all one big ploy to have Max drop out of the WDC because of a severe case of blue balls, he’s sure of it.
Max shoves his hand between the mattress and his body, lifting his hips just enough to hurriedly unzip them.
What would Charles say if he saw Max’s cock? Bigger than that stupid toy, that probably doesn’t even feel good anyway, so far more intimidating.
He squeezes it tightly, then ruts into the mattress below, letting Sabrina Carpenter sing about being horny as he does.
Max comes rutting against the bed like a kid having his first orgasm. He props his phone up against a pillow so he can look at the picture of Charles while he does it, and the post-nut clarity almost makes him scream.
He hurriedly locks the phone, then decides that’s not enough and throws it off the bed. It hits the floor with a clunk, and one of the cats screams and then darts away.
Fuck his life.
Unfortunately, having a shower seems to somehow undo that clarity, and by the time he's clean and finished and changed the blanket cover, he's curious and kind of horny again.
Seriously, what the fuck else can he expect from this stupid collection?
He opens the group chat Pierre made the day after the first photo dropped. Max has been looking at the messages—mostly just the lot of them in varying levels of disbelief over the photos—but hasn't actually sent anything for fear of giving himself away entirely.
He's pretty sure even being included in the group chat means that he's been read like a book, but whatever.
Group Chat: Personally victimised by Charles Leclerc
Members: Pierre Gasly, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Sebastian Vettel, Oliver Bearman
Max Verstappen
So does anybody know what else is in the collection?
Almost immediately, Pierre sends back a simple link. No accompanying text.
Max takes a deep breath, then clicks on the link.
The LELO website loads on the screen, and Max carefully lays back down on the bed, phone cradled between his hands.
At the top of the page is a banner with a picture of Charles. Of course. It's not one he's posted yet, but honestly it’s more tame than the ones that have ended up on Charles’ Instagram so far. Still makes Max’s spent dick stir. Pathetic.
In the photo, Charles is laid out on a red velvet French chaise. He’s lying on his side, one knee slightly bent, and his head is propped up on his palm. He’s wearing only a pair of white briefs again, and is staring into the camera with that stupidly sexy intense look of his.
The picture’s been taken from the front, and captures the obscene curve of Charles’ waist. Max wants to put his hands on it and pull him back on his cock.
He absolutely can’t get hard again. He can’t.
Hurriedly, he scrolls away, forgetting that not looking at the picture anymore means he’s going to be slapped in the face with all the sex toys Charles apparently so carefully selected.
The first one is the dildo. POLE, or something. Max definitely doesn’t have it memorised.
The bottle of lube is under it, Charles’ logo branded right next to LELO’s. There’s a blue walled F1 tyre sitting on top of the words WET WEATHER. Idly, Max wonders whether Pirelli approved this.
Max takes a deep breath before he scrolls again. The next item is an unknown. He could be about to see anything.
Carefully, he scrolls down. The next item looks similar to the first, though with a base that Max is very familiar with, and a tiny remote controller next to it. Sure enough, the title reads ‘CORNERING SPEED Remote Controlled Prostate Massager’.
Max might be having a heart attack.
He clicks on the item, going into the description page, then flicks through the images to see if there’ll be one with Charles. Fortunately—unfortunately, who is he kidding—there isn’t. He does see a video of the massager in action, though. The tip of it swings around, rotating in a tight circle.
Even though Max isn’t huge on bottoming, he knows from experience that it would feel good. The silicone is bright red, which is a little garish, but it doesn’t have Charles’ face on it or anything. If he bought it, nobody would even know, right?
No, he shouldn’t. He can’t buy sex toys from Charles’ collection, that’s . . . that’s insane. Unprofessional.
He scrolls down a little further to read over the description, filled with more racing puns about going hard and fast. His eyes halt on the bit about the remote being used by a partner, lip between his teeth as he pictures sitting across from Charles and watching him writhe around while Max flicks through the settings.
Is Charles noisy? Does he move around a lot? Would he beg?
Down the bottom of the description is the worst part.
Charles says…
‘The movement is fantastic and powerful enough to stimulate the p-spot consistently, allowing for long-lasting waves of pleasure. My orgasm lasted longer than any other I have ever experienced.’
Max adds the stupid thing to his cart, then goes back to the menu.
Luckily for him, it only gets worse, because the next item is a fucking fleshlight.
‘MASTERSTROKE’ it’s called, featuring vibration and apparently realistic blowjob sensations. It’s fairly long, with a nondescript, neutral opening, and the description says it envelops your penis in smooth silicone, for satisfaction where you want it most.
Max skips down to the bottom.
Charles says…
‘As much as I like giving a blowjob, receiving them can be the best pleasure you can find. This toy is small and discrete, easy to pack with you, and trust me—you’ll want to bring it.’
As much as he likes giving a blowjob?
What the fuck, what the fuck, whattheactualfuck!
Max adds that to his cart, too. He wonders if they modelled it after Charles’ mouth, and then immediately wants to jump in front of the RB24.
When he goes back to the menu, he’s relieved to see the page looks like it’s almost finished. Hopefully that means there’s only a couple of toys left. He scrolls down, ready to have this nightmare be over with, but then.
Oh, but then.
The final item is actually items. A collection of—of things, things designed to make Max have a mental breakdown and a raw cock. First is a blindfold, red silk with Leclerc embroidered in white on one corner. Second is a set of nipple clamps, joined together with a chain.
Third is a collar, with bright red leather.
Max immediately exits out of the page without checking out, then rolls onto his stomach and screams into his pillow.
Charles isn’t going to model those, is he?
Group Chat: Personally victimised by Charles Leclerc
Pierre Gasly, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Sebastian Vettel, Oliver Bearman
Max Verstappen
Fuck.
The text gets seven likes within minutes.
Max is glad he’s not alone.
[Image ID: Charles sitting on a backwards chair, legs spread. His arms are crossed over the back of the chair, one hand resting on the edge, the other holding a matte red prostate massager. It dangles from his fingers enticingly. Only in briefs, his abs, biceps, and thigh muscles are on full display.]
@charlesleclerc: Introducing ‘CORNERING SPEED’, a delicate massager that rotates like a chassis through a high speed corner.
It’s remote controlled, and can even be connected to an app so your partner can dial in on your pleasure from continents away. Using it while travelling constantly allows me stay connected with my partners… And keeps me feeling as good as taking 130R at high speed.
‘CORNERING SPEED’, along with the rest of my collection, are available on LELO now.
#LELO #LELOAmbassador #CharlesLeclercxLELO
Group Chat: Personally victimised by Charles Leclerc
Pierre Gasly, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Sebastian Vettel, Oliver Bearman
Oliver Bearman
Drinks on Sunday night?
I might be going to lose my mind
Need to vent about the latest post
Oscar Piastri
God yes
Sebastian Vettel
I’ll be there in spirit
Carlos Sainz
I’ll find a place
Max Verstappen
I’ll be there
This evening was supposed to help Max relax. He wanted to listen to everyone else’s complaints about Charles, and worry only about keeping his jealousy in check.
He was supposed to be among likeminded, tortured individuals.
But instead it’s making everything worse. Instead, he’s trapped in this tiny booth, squished in between Ollie and Lewis, while Charles commands the attention of the entire table.
And he keeps touching Ollie.
Fuck Pierre for inviting Charles. Fuck him to hell and back.
“You think he knows what he’s doing?” Lewis asks under his breath.
Max tries not to look at Charles, but it’s hard not to. He’s beautifully decadent, shirt unbuttoned down his chest, hands waving in the air, sweat dotting his temple and laughing loudly at something Oscar has said.
A little too loudly, in Max’s opinion. Oscar is not that funny.
Max is trying not to be jealous, because he’s purposefully trying to keep everyone’s attention off himself, but fuck. Fuck, he hates that anyone else dares to make Charles laugh like that.
“Probably,” Max admits quietly. If there’s one thing he knows about Charles, it’s that he’s always aware of the way he’s being perceived.
“You think he knows everyone here wants to fuck him?”
Max glances at Lewis, and then at Charles again.
“God, I hope not.”
Lewis laughs under his breath.
“Did you know he was going to be invited?” Max asks quietly, trying to distract himself from the way Charles’ eyes are shining as he listens to Ollie with his complete attention.
Max is going to kill everyone if this was purposefully kept from him.
“Fuck no,” Lewis says, shaking his head. “I’m being tortured at work daily, you think I would’ve come just to be tortured some more?”
Max feels a little better, honestly, knowing that even Lewis Hamilton isn’t immune to Charles’ charms.
And if he’s being tortured, then surely Charles hasn’t let Lewis into his bed.
Across the table, Carlos clears his throat loudly.
“Mate, we have to talk about the new sponsor,” Carlos says, beer clutched loosely in hand.
Max straightens a little, trying not to be too obvious in the way he glances at Charles. He’s so curious himself, even though he’s been determined not to bring it up.
“You want me to hook you up with something?” Charles asks, smiling around the mouth of his own beer. His other hand is sitting on Ollie’s shoulder. Ollie looks delighted, fuck him.
“Me?” Carlos laughs. “God, no. But, seriously. What’s the deal?”
“The deal is ten million euros,” Charles answers, shrugging. Max almost spits out his beer. “And ten percent of every item sold, of course.”
Across the table, Pierre actually chokes on his drink.
Carlos, who was probably being a bit judgemental about it all despite being in the same damn group chat, is struck silent.
“Seriously?” he manages out. “What the fuck.”
“And isn’t the design so cute?” Charles asks, leaning forward to fold his arms on the table. He finally stops touching Ollie to do so, and Max follows the movement with his eyes, watching the way Charles’ chest presses into his forearms. God, what he would give to have a handful of those tits. “They let me have a lot of input.”
“Yeah?” Pierre manages out. Max narrows his eyes at him, and wonders what Pierre knows. What he’s seen. What he’s touched. Pierre said Charles showed him the other pictures, right? Were there any where Charles was . . . naked? “Like . . . colours, or, uh, sizes?”
“Both,” Charles says, eyes twinkling. Max swallows deeply. “They gave me a range of products to try, and I picked the best ones. The ones that were fast and dirty, like racing.”
Fast and dirty. Kill him right the fuck now.
“That move fast?” George asks. “Or ones that made you . . .”
Max can’t believe the audacity of him; he’d slap him, if he weren’t desperate to know the answer.
Ones that made him come fast, he begs the answer to be. Fuck, what he would give to see Charles tumble over the edge quickly and unexpectedly, eyes glassy, sweet little moans coming from his red lips . . .
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Charles asks with a little smirk.
Jesus. Max is actually going to die.
Oh, God, now Charles is touching Ollie again. He lifts his hand up to put it behind Ollie’s neck, fingers curled a little in his collar. Why can’t Charles touch him like that? Ollie has gone bright red, and because they’re next to each other, Max can very easily see through his jeans that he’s hard.
Max hopes his dick falls off.
“How many did you try?” Carlos asks. His voice is a little tense now. Max glares at him over the table.
“A few,” Charles answers, completely nonchalant. Surely he’s not oblivious to the way he’s being looked at right now. “Some multiple times. Those are the ones I shortlisted, of course. And everything had to be Ferrari red, because that’s the sexiest car on the grid, no?”
“I think it’s great, Charles,” Oscar says from across the table. Max turns his glare to him. He knows how much Oscar wants Charles; always following him around, sending him pathetic, desperate glances. Hasn’t he gotten the message by now that Charles isn’t interested? “It’s nice to see something a little more progressive on the grid.”
Fucking suck up. God. Only Max should be allowed to be that pathetic.
“Thank you, Oscar,” Charles says, sending him a beaming smile. Max wishes that smile were directed at him, and him only. “I can send you something, if you want. Maybe the fleshlight?”
Oscar flushes bright red. Charles, the fucking menace, just grins wider.
“It’s very realistic,” Charles continues on, practically pinning Oscar in place with his stare. “Feels almost like a blowjob.”
Oscar’s eyes widen. Poor thing. Max can’t blame him for the reaction; he’s known Charles for twenty years and still reacts like that when he gets the full force of Charles’ attention.
“A blowjob from you?” Max blurts out, before he can stop himself. It’s the first thing he’s dared to say in the entire conversation, and of course it had to be that.
Slowly, Charles turns his head to stare at him.
Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck.
That’s so inappropriate. Max is going to kill himself.
“If that’s what you want to picture,” Charles says. The smile he gives Max is much more predatory. “But my mouth is far better than a toy.”
Max’s knuckles go white around his beer. Across the table, someone whimpers quietly, but Max doesn’t know who, nor does he care to find out. His eyes are fixed on Charles’ mouth, on the way it wraps around the lip of the beer bottle. His tongue pokes out to lick a drop that rolls down the neck, and he keeps eye contact with Max the entire time.
Max might actually be about to come in his pants.
“Fuck,” someone breathes.
“I think that will have to be my choice for toy,” Carlos says, more bold than the rest of them. “I don’t think I could stick anything up my ass. Sorry, mate.”
Charles just shrugs, shifting his gaze away from Max and back to Carlos. Fuck Carlos.
“That’s just because you haven’t experienced it,” Charles says, clearly amused. “Stretched out and nowhere to go . . . There’s nothing like it.”
Max swallows heavily, shifting in his seat. He can’t help but picture Charles like that: on his shoulders and knees, hands tied above his head, Max’s fingers in his ass as he forces him to come again. He’d make such beautiful noises.
Max looks around the table, at the faces of the other drivers. He recognises the look on their faces, because it’s probably on his own: hungry, ravenous, desiring something they can’t have. It’s not a joke anymore—maybe it never was.
When he glances at Charles, he can tell he’s pleased with himself. He probably has them all right where he wants them, damn him. The thought of any of them getting to touch Charles sends Max half mad.
“Who wants another drink?” Charles asks, standing from his seat. He finally releases Ollie to put his hands on the table top, bending forward slightly. It makes his back arch, just enough to be suggestive.
Max needs to get the fuck out of here before he explodes. Or actually kills someone. Probably Ollie. Or Oscar.
He stands abruptly, knees bumping against the table, hoping his hard on isn’t obvious to everyone. It probably is. The movement shoves Ollie into Charles; he’s probably delighted about that, the motherfucker.
“I think I’m going to head out,” he says, voice a little strangled. He has to go and rub one out, otherwise his dick might fall off. It might also fall off because of how raw it is—Max hasn’t masturbated this much and this vigorously since he was sixteen.
Unfortunately for him, the object of his fantasies hasn’t changed since then.
Seriously, absolutely fuck Charles Leclerc to hell and back. Figuratively. Not literally. Though if the opportunity arose—
“Okay, goodnight,” he says, then shoves past Lewis—who is laughing quietly—so he can get out of this godforsaken hellhole.
Group Chat: Personally victimised by Charles Leclerc
Pierre Gasly, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Sebastian Vettel, Oliver Bearman
Oliver Bearman
Fuck you I’m going first???
You’ve all had years to shoot your shot and you didn’t
Losers
Now it’s the rookie’s turn
He was TOUCHING me last night, he clearly wants me to make a move
George Russell
You’re not a rookie
Oscar Piastri
Yeah and you’ve waited less time than the rest of us
Wait your turn
Lewis Hamilton
You’ve also waited less time than the rest of us
Pierre Gasly
As his oldest friend
Carlos Sainz
Don’t even finish it
YOU had years too
My turn
Lewis Hamilton
As his current teammate, I know for a fact you’ve had the chance to shoot your shot
Back off
Max Verstappen
What the hell is going on?
There are 200 messages
I’m not reading all that
Pierre Gasly
Max settle this for us
Who gets to try and hookup with Charles first
Max Verstappen
WHAT
Lewis Hamilton
You missed it last night mate
Charles left pretty soon after you
We’ve been trying to settle since then who gets to make a move first
Max Verstappen
Surely there’s no order to who gets to make a move?
Wouldn’t it just be whoever Charles picks first?
Oliver Bearman
Fuck he’s right
Gtg
Pierre Gasly
Oliver get back here right now
Carlos Sainz
@Lewis when does Charles fly back to Monaco
Lewis
LEWIS
[Image ID: Sunlight streams down on Charles, leaning over the hood of a vintage Ferrari. One hand is braced against the hood, fingers lightly gripping the red metal, while his other hand is holding a sleek black fleshlight. His shirt is loose enough that it’s gaping down, giving a perfect view of his chest.]
@charlesleclerc: ‘MASTERSTROKE’ is more powerful than a four-stroke engine, for my gentlemen who would prefer something a little more… tight.
It vibrates, it’s easy to get wet, and it’s warmer than the track in Abu Dhabi.
Paired perfectly with ‘POLE’ or ‘CORNERING SPEED’ for enhanced performance, and don’t forget a little dose of ‘WET WEATHER’ to slick it up.
One of my favourite pieces in the entire collection, ‘MASTERSTROKE’ is all about getting your heart racing. Oh and did I mention … it vibrates more than the AMR26. 😉
#LELO #LELOAmbassador #CharlesLeclercxLELO
Max glares from the window of the hospitality, looking down at the bright orange and red in a sea of colours.
He can’t hear them, obviously, but he can clearly see the way Charles is laughing and Oscar is looking very pleased with himself. Only a few metres away is Ollie, who is waiting anxiously—Max doesn’t see his patience lasting much longer.
Fuck that kid. See if Max ever defends him again.
He’s been watching his fellow drivers fall all over themselves all weekend trying to get Charles’ attention, and it’s pathetic. The group chat has been buzzing during the week, with the lot of them bragging about the gifts they’d bought or the outings they’d planned. Pierre had even sent a picture of Charles, sitting on his lounge and scrolling through his phone. That had caused enough rife that George had had to mute everyone for 24 hours.
Then Charles’ latest post had dropped, and they’d all gone back to lamenting how pretty Charles looked.
Like any of them are worthy of sweet, maniacal Charles.
Max hasn’t really taken part in any of the planning or bragging. No, he’s not rushing to get his heart broken with a rejection.
And that’s another thing, actually!
None of these fuckers even like Charles.
They just want to get in his pants now that Charles has become the sex symbol of the paddock.
Max doesn’t want that. Well, okay, he does, but it’s just a huge side bonus to what he actually wants, which is to spend his entire life following Charles around like a puppy and then eventually die within an hour of Charles dying because he can’t live in a dark, dreary world that no longer has Charles Leclerc in it.
What do any of them know about the way sun shines a little brighter when Charles is under it? What do they know about the way his eyes shift colour, or the way his cheeks get a little pink when he messes up his English, or the way he leans into you a little when you make him laugh?
Fucking nothing. Fuck all of them. Horny pieces of shit.
Out in the paddock, Ollie clearly gets sick of waiting. He shoves in next to Oscar, beaming widely at Charles. Charles looks surprised, but puts his hand on Ollie’s shoulder anyway.
Max turns away before he can find out whether it’s possible to make Ollie and Oscar explode with his mind.
“Hi, Max.”
Max startles, backpack almost slipping off his shoulder as he whips around.
Charles is standing right there, looking like a God—a very sexy God—with a sweet little smile on his face. Max wants to kiss him. Twist him round and press his back into the door of his SUV, hands slipping beneath his shirt and feeling that golden, smooth, muscled skin—
“Hey, Charlie.”
Charles’ smile gets a little bigger. Max thinks his heart is about to bleed out of his chest.
“How was your day?” Charles asks, rocking on his feet. Max isn’t really sure why Charles has cornered him when they’re both about to leave for the day, but he’s not complaining. “P1, you must be happy.”
Max shrugs. “Points come tomorrow. You’re P5? Car feeling shit?”
“I could have made a mistake,” Charles points out, but now he’s beaming at Max. Max loves it when he looks like that. Loves it especially when he looks like that because of him.
Max just rolls his eyes at the blatant lie. If Charles made a mistake, if was only because the car is shit.
Charles laughs, then says, “Yes, the car feels like shit.”
“How was the rest of your day?”
Charles shrugs, then takes a few steps to lean his hip against the hood of Max’s car. Max tries not to short circuit, tries desperately to stay in the moment, but his brain instead very unhelpfully supplies him with an image of Charles bent over the hood of a bright red Ferrari, holding that godforsaken blowjob torture device.
“It was fine. Oscar invited me around to his hotel this evening for drinks.”
Fuck Oscar. Max is going to shove that son of a bitch off the track so hard he never even dares to look at Charles again, let alone tries something so outrageous. Where is the finesse? The romance?
“Yeah?” Max says, trying to play it cool.
“Mm. I said no.”
Okay. Good. Charles deserves way more than some dirty, late night romp in the sheets after qualifying.
“Oh,” Max says. He’s not really sure why Charles brought it up if he turned Oscar down anyway.
Not that Max is complaining about being kept abreast of the situation. He hopes all those fuckers crash and burn, and that he gets to hear about it. He’ll dance on their fucking graves.
“What are you doing later?” Charles asks. He tilts his head to the side, tongue wetting his bottom lip.
Look away, asshole, Max screams at himself. He’s better than the rest of these guys, drooling over Charles and unable to appreciate him as a person. A very pretty, crazy, lovely person who deserves to be wined and dined. Not invited around for drinks and a quick fuck.
Seriously, what the fuck, Oscar.
“Uh, I don’t know. Playing some FIFA, probably.”
“I love FIFA.”
Max knows. He’s heard all about Charles’ tantrums as a teen when the game didn’t go his way.
“And what are you doing tonight, then? If you declined Oscar’s invitation?”
Charles looks pleased with the question, though Max isn’t sure why.
“Me? Nothing.”
He seems to wait a moment, looking at Max expectantly. Max has no idea what he’s supposed to say to that.
You could do me. Yeah, absolutely not.
“Maybe I’ll break out of those toys,” Charles continues after a moment.
Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, abort, abort, abort, shit, fuck, do you want to come to mine and I can use them on you shit fuck get the fuck out of here Verstappen ABORT!
“Cool.” You fucking idiot what the fuck is wrong with you get in your fucking car and get out of here right now! “Well. Enjoy. See you tomorrow.”
Enjoy? Enjoy?! You absolute cunt you might as well have said you want to make him come and then lick it off his stomach while the stupid fucking vibrator keeps going against his prostate until he’s helplessly writhing on the bed.
He quickly hurries to the other side of the car, pointedly ignoring Charles’ face so he doesn’t have to see the disgusted expression that’s probably there.
[Image ID: Charles kneeling on the centre of a large bed, legs spread slightly so he’s sitting on his heels. He’s wearing sheer red lace briefs, with the crotch covered by opaque silk. His eyes are covered with a red blindfold, Leclerc printed in one corner. The fingers of one hand are brushing the leather of a collar that’s snug around his throat, head tilted back slightly. His other hand is splayed over his abs, where the chain connecting the nipple clamps is brushing against his index finger. The clamps are tight on his nipples, which are red and puffy.]
@charlesleclerc: You know I had to save the best to last. To celebrate the final race of the season, the final item in my collection with LELO is a kit sure to get your hearts revving.
Clamps tighter than a wheel nut, a collar to keep you in place like a HANS device, and a blindfold to keep things as suspenseful as the final lap of AD21.
The car may not have come first this weekend, but I certainly did.
#LELO #LELOAmbassador #CharlesLeclercxLELO
Sabrina Carpenter is going to kill Max, he thinks. Her sultry voice croons out while he stares at the most obscene picture he’s ever seen in his life.
You make me wanna make you fall in love
Oh, late at night, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout you, ah, ah, ah
Wanna try out some freaky positions?
Have you ever tried this one?
Fuck. The red lace. The collar. The clamps.
That should be Max’s hands on Charles’ throat. That should be his mouth on Charles’ nipples.
Goddamn it, he needs to get a grip. Now he’s jealous of sex toys. He takes a deep breath, trying to will his interested dick to soften. A little hard, considering he’s still staring at the picture and Sabrina is still singing her siren song.
Have you ever tried this one?
No, I fucking haven’t, even though I would literally pay a hundred million euros for the chance.
“Hi, Max.”
Max squeaks loudly, phone flying through the air and landing on the ground with a loud thump. Face down, thank fuck, though Wanna try out some freaky positions? blaring out in the small room is damning enough.
He whips around to see Charles standing in the doorway to his driver’s room, a little box in his hand and a grin on his face.
“Hi,” Max breathes, hoping he doesn’t sound like too much of an idiot. Sabrina Carpenter’s stupid sex song continues to play. Loudly. “What are you doing here?”
Adore me
Hold me and explore me
“I didn’t know if I’d get a chance to see you after the race, and I wanted to give you your Christmas present.”
Mark your territory
Max’s eyes immediately drop down to the box with a little bow around it. He didn’t know he and Charles were doing gifts this year.
Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only, one
“It’s nothing big,” Charles says, like he knows what Max is thinking. Then he pauses, head tilted to the side, and says, “Well, it’s nothing expensive.”
Adore me
He holds the little box out, so Max takes it carefully.
“You can’t open it yet,” Charles warns, twitching back towards the door. He seems a little nervous, which is odd for him. “After the race, when you’re back in your hotel. I’ll text you when you can open it.”
Hold me and explore me
Max stares down at the box, then back up at Charles. What kind of gift requires a waiting period?
“What?”
I’m so fuckin’ horny
“You have to wait,” Charles says again, a little impatiently. Max wants to bend him over his knee. “Otherwise it won’t work.”
Right. Whatever that means.
Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one
“Okay,” he says. He’s pretty sure Charles could have just given him the gift later, but he has it now.
Glancing at Charles, he goes over to his backpack, then carefully puts it inside. When he looks back, Charles is giving him a pleased grin.
“I’ll text you,” Charles reminds him.
“Okay,” Max says again. It’s all so odd.
Charles hesitates, fingers curled around the doorjamb, and then he says, “Bye, Max,” and floats away.
I know you want my touch for life
If you love me right, then who knows?
I might let you make me Juno
Max scoops his phone up and exits out of the post that almost ruined his life.
Group Chat: Personally victimised by Charles Leclerc
Pierre Gasly, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Sebastian Vettel, Oliver Bearman
Max Verstappen
Did anyone else get a gift from Charles?
Carlos Sainz
No what the fuck
Pierre Gasly
He gave you a gift???
What is it???
Max Verstappen
I don’t know he said not to open yet
Pierre Gasly
And you LISTENED?
Open it now!!
Max Verstappen
He was pretty clear that I had to wait
Oliver Bearman
Whipped
Max Verstappen
Shut the fuck up
I will kill you
So nobody else got anything?
Sebastian Vettel
I don’t know whether to be curious or jealous
Carlos Sainz
I want a gift
Oscar Piastri
Charles just came by
I got a gift
But he didn’t say anything about waiting?
So I already opened it
Carlos Sainz
WHAT THE FUCK
Lewis Hamilton
I got one too
Also with no attached instructions
It’s a set of his nipple clamps
Max Verstappen
That he’s been …wearing?
Oscar Piastri
I wish
No
It’s just something from his collection
I got the dildo
Lando didn’t get a gift though?
Bit weird
Carlos Sainz
I just saw him 😇
I got one too 😇
The blowjob machine 😂
Wait Alex also didn’t get anything?
This feels targeted
Pierre Gasly
Uh so
Charles MIGHT know this group chat exists….
Max paces at the foot of his bed, waiting desperately for the text from Charles.
Humiliatingly, he’d had to extend his stay in Abu Dhabi for this. He had intended to go straight home, but with Charles’ instruction to wait for him, he’s changed his plans.
He’s got no clue what could be inside the box.
All the others had been gifted toys from the collection, though they had seemed to be personalised. The consensus among the group seems to be some bewilderment and embarrassment, especially at being found out by Charles. Max has no idea why he's apparently different.
When Max's phone finally lights up, he dives for the end of the bed, knees slamming into the ground and chest digging into the end of the mattress as he clutches the phone between his hands.
Charles Leclerc & Max Verstappen
Charles Leclerc
Okay, you can open it now
Fuck. Into the lion’s den, he supposes.
He tries not to get his hopes up as he grabs the box that he had pre-laid next to his phone. The temptation to just open it had burned Max from the inside, but Charles' otherwise it won’t work had stayed his hand.
Now the time has arrived, and he's kind of terrified. He's got no idea what to expect, though it must be one of the toys. Charles was very clearly targeting the group chat.
But why did he make Max wait? Why couldn't he open it in the paddock? Why did he get specific instructions and nobody else did?
Breath tight in his chest, he carefully pulls open the ribbon of the box and then lifts the lid off.
Inside, fitting neatly into the little square, is a small, handheld remote in the shape of an egg. It has a power button on the top right hand corner, and then a plus and minus button in the centre.
Fuck. Max knows what that is.
But where is the massager? Why does he only have the remote?
He tips the box upside down, remote falling into his hand, followed by a small, folded up piece of paper.
It crinkles loudly in the otherwise silent room as he unfolds it.
Merry Christmas, Max.
P.S. I'm already wearing it.
Max blinks, trying to comprehend that for a moment. He's already wearing it. Charles is already wearing a massager. No, he’s not fucking wearing it, it's inside his ass. The prostate massager, that is attached to the remote that is now in Max's hand, is inside of Charles' ass.
Where he can turn it on. To make him come.
Max dives for his phone again.
Charles Leclerc & Max Verstappen
Max Verstappen
You’re already wearing it?
Charles Leclerc
That’s why you had to wait
Want to see?
Okay.
Okay, that's not a big deal.
This is just a single greatest thing to ever happen to him in his entire fucking life.
Max Verstappen
God
Yes please
Max isn’t really sure what he expected to get in return. An invitation to his room? A picture?
What he didn't expect was a video to come through less than thirty seconds later.
Max might be having a heart attack. Or maybe all his blood has rushed to his dick.
His entire body is trembling as he presses play.
It's only a short video, twenty seconds in total, but it changes Max’s life completely.
On the screen is Charles, though Max can't see his face—not that he blames him, considering the compromising position he's in. The camera is instead angled down, focused on his spread legs, hard dick resting on his abs, and slick, stretched open hole. The bright red massager from his collection is slicked up and shiny in the light, and as the video plays the tip of it presses against Charles' hole.
Charles wiggles slightly, hips pressing down onto the mattress beneath him, and he lets his legs spread open a little wider. His breath hitches as he pushes the tip inside slightly, and from this angle Max can see the way the muscles of his ass twitch.
Max can't breathe, eyes glued to the screen as Charles slowly presses the toy further inside. He wiggles more as it goes further in, sweet little huffs of air escaping him.
As soon as it's fully seated inside him, Charles' body relaxes, melting into the bed.
“Max,” Charles sighs, and then video ends.
Max is frozen in his spot.
Charles just sent him a video. Charles just sent him an explicit video. A video of him putting a prostate massager inside of him. A prostate massager that Max has the remote control of.
Max snatches up the remote, and presses the on button.
Less than ten seconds later, he gets another text from Charles.
Charles Leclerc
Oh.
Max needs to see him, right now. They're in the same hotel, Max just needs to know what room to get his ass to in the next five minutes.
Max Verstappen
Can I come over?
What room number?
Charles Leclerc
1409.
That’s only three floors away. Max can be there in two minutes.
Then another text from Charles.
Charles Leclerc
Higher?
Max immediately clicks it up a notch.
Charles Leclerc
Thank you.
Oh, god.
Oh, god, he’s a good boy.
Max is going to have the best night of his life.
Charles has always loved playing with his food.
He likes to watch it squirm, likes to watch the panic before he inevitably goes in for the kill. He especially loves the realisation crossing their faces when they understand that they've been trapped.
Maybe he shouldn't like it so much, but he's not claiming it’s a good thing. It's just the truth.
For his mastermind ways to work, however, he has to actually be playing with food that has more than two brain cells.
Max, he’s long since realised, has one brain cell. And it's used for racing.
Exclusively.
When the offer comes through from LELO, Charles laughs.
He's not going to represent a sex toy company. He’s certainly not going to make a collection with them, or ever post anything about sex on his Instagram at all.
They increase their offer to ten million euros.
It's his most lucrative sponsorship deal to date, by a significant margin, though it does come with some considerable strings attached—being half-naked on the internet while holding a dildo being the most important one.
Then they say he can curate a collection with them. That on top of the ten million euro, he’ll get ten percent of every item sold from his collection. Then they say he can have complete creative control over the toys, how they’re marketed, even the pictures that he posts on Instagram.
You can be completely clothed, they say. Obviously there has to be some sex appeal, but you have so much already that there's a lot of work with. Think of it like a Bonds commercial, but holding a dildo.
Everyone on his team tells him not to do it. Ferrari, for some reason, actually love it. He told them expecting them to laugh as well, to maybe threaten him for even daring to think about tarnishing their brand, but instead they get oddly excited.
Sex sells, they say, practically salivating. You, sex, and Ferrari? Don't you want everyone to think you're the most desirable person in the paddock?
He is the most desirable person in the paddock. He doesn't need to do a fucking porno to prove it.
It’s just . . . Well.
There is one person that he would like to convince he can be an object of desire, and not just a childhood friend. That person happens to be kind of an idiot, who has literally never succumbed to any of his advances.
And he’s done a lot. Pulled out all his best tricks, yet none of them have worked.
Max still looks at him with the same expression he always has.
So.
If he has to partner with a sex toy company to finally get Max’s attention, then so be it.
Charles's fatal law is hubris. He's always known this.
He thought posting in his underwear on the Internet, holding a couple sex toys, would be enough to convince Max that he’s worthy of being bent over the nearest hard surface and getting destroyed.
He thought it would be a hole in one. Post one photo, have Max send him some kind of DM on Instagram, then bam.
Max will fall madly in love with him.
Apparently not.
Clearly, he overestimated Max’s single braincell.
Then he learns from Pierre that there's a group chat. Of drivers in the paddock who are into him. Well, plus Sebastian, which had been extremely flattering. If it doesn't work out with Max, Charles is still considering that option.
Then, he learns the most important part—that Max is in the fucking group chat.
That means he's always seen Charles as an object of desire, not just as the silly little boy who used to get so angry he’d push him in puddles.
But because Max is the biggest idiot on the entire planet, who apparently doesn't understand the Charles has been mentally undressing him for a decade, and also has been scribbling in his notebooks Charles Leclerc-Verstappen with little hearts around them since he was ten, he's held back.
Refused to act on the raw tension between them.
God. Charles got naked on the Internet for him.
What the fuck else does he have to do?
“Everyone's freaking out about today's post,” Pierre smirks from where he’s lying on Charles’ bed.
Charles glances at him, then back to his own phone.
He's not really sure why Pierre is in that group chat if it's only for people who want to fuck him. The obvious answer is, of course, that Pierre wants to fuck him, except he did, like, fifteen years ago, and it sucked so bad Charles temporarily swore off men and only dated women.
“It was a good picture.”
Charles had quite liked it, actually. Even though he looked sexy as fuck sitting on that chair, the massager dangling from his hand, it had still been a little more modest than the others. Not as suggestive as lying on his stomach with his ass sticking in the air.
God, he’d been so convinced that that would be enough to do Max in.
Charles had basically done all the fucking work for him! Laid on his stomach, looked over his shoulder all demure, begged with his eyes to be fucked. He’d been thinking about Max the whole time.
Still. Nothing.
“They all want to go out after the race to lament over how much they want to fuck you.”
Charles’ nose scrunches. Men.
“You should come.”
“Absolutely not. Come on, Ollie is like a son to me, I don’t want to watch him drooling over me!”
“Charles, Ollie is barely ten years younger than you—you know what, not the time. Max will be there.”
Charles pauses.
If Max is going to be there . . .
“You need to make him jealous.”
Charles puts his phone on his chest, staring up at the ceiling.
He’s never had to make anyone jealous before. Usually if he wants someone, they already want him back, and all he has to do is give them a little smile and then suddenly they’ve fallen into bed together.
“How?” Charles asks, brows scrunching together. “Will that work?”
“Will that—Jesus. Obviously. Make it Ollie or Oscar, Max is particularly miffed about them.”
Charles doesn’t think he really likes that sound of that. He likes Ollie and Oscar—not like that, but he thinks they’re sweet.
“I don’t know . . . Won’t that confuse them? Give them false hope?”
Charles has to wield his powers for good and evil. If he gives Ollie and/or Oscar that smile, won’t they want to fall into bed with him? He doesn’t want to break their little hearts.
“You have to be cutthroat!” Pierre says, rolling over to face him. “Go for what you want.”
Charles groans loudly. Seriously, if he has to turn down Oscar and/or Ollie, Charles is going to murder Pierre.
“Can it be Oscar? Ollie is so . . . young.”
Pierre sighs loudly and dramatically. “If it has to be. But you and Ollie have a narrative mirror thing going! You know, you with Seb, Ollie with you.”
Charles blinks. “Wait, why am I always the bottom in those situations?”
“That’s an existential questions I can’t answer, Calamar. But just know, if your hand is forced, then make it Ollie. Max will be very jealous.”
Max leaves early, damn him.
At the very least, Charles is very sure he’s a little hard, bulge straining against his jeans slightly more than usual when he stands and shoves away from the table.
Charles watches him disappear through the crowd, feeling an unfamiliar curl of rejection, then stands as well.
It was useless to flirt with Ollie and Oscar. Now they’re going to get brave and Charles is going to have to break their hearts. Max didn’t even get jealous!
This is all Max’s fault, obviously. Maybe even Pierre’s. Charles takes no responsibility for it.
“Well,” he says, “been a great night. I’m going to go to bed.”
“What?” Ollie asks, like he’s surprised Charles doesn’t want to sit here while they all look at him. “We only just got here.”
For fuck’s sake.
“I’m tried,” Charles says. If he’s fast enough, he might be able to catch Max. “Big race today. Okay, bye.”
He doesn’t catch Max. By the time he gets out on the street, Max has disappeared.
“It’s hopeless, Pierre!” Charles groans into his pillow. “He’s an idiot! Or he doesn’t actually like me.”
“Of those two options, I’m very sure Max being an idiot is much more likely.”
Charles groans again, then props up onto his elbows. His face feels red and hot.
“I was basically begging him to invite me over,” he whines. “I said I’m not doing anything! I said I like FIFA! I said maybe I’ll use a toy! He’s not that much of an idiot. He just must not want to fuck me.”
Pierre snorts. “I have his text messages in the group chat that prove otherwise.”
Charles sighs. Pierre hasn’t actually let him see this group chat; Charles suspects it’s because Pierre really is horny for him.
Charles has decided against doing anything about it for now. He laments about Max and his huge cock enough that Pierre must know he’s got no chance.
“None of my usual tricks have worked,” Charles grouses. “I laugh at his jokes, I make suggestive comments, I bat my eyes at him like an idiot! I had to make up a whole new trick of getting sponsored by a sex toy company, and nothing. Nothing! He cannot be this stupid.”
“Charles, calamar, this is Max Verstappen we’re talking about. The only thing he knows is racing.”
Yeah, Charles fucking knows. He branded an entire collaboration after racing just to get Max’s stupid attention. He painstakingly came up with racing puns because he knows Max loves that stupid shit. The situation is dire.
“There’s only one post left,” Charles says, toes wiggling around impatiently. “If he doesn’t lose control in a blind fit of passion seeing me wearing nipple clamps, then it’s a lost cause.”
“That is a good photo.”
Charles should probably have more sympathy for Pierre’s unrequited attraction, considering he’s in the depths of his own quagmire, but he can’t worry about that right now. The only thing he can worry about is that there is only so many times he can shove POLE up his ass and pretend it’s Max. Six inches had been a rough guess of Max’s size, based on what it seems like he’s packing under that race suit, but he hopes he was close.
“Look, Calamar, I just really think you’re underestimating how stupid Max is. I think you’re going to have to be more obvious.”
“More obvious than the sex toys?”
“Yes, more obvious than the sex toys. Clearly you’re dealing with a man far below your own intelligence, but that’s okay. You have to accept that you’re the smart one in the relationship, march right up to him, kiss him, and then demand he fuck you. It’s the only way.”
“But that’s humiliating!” Charles whines. “What if he doesn’t want to?”
“You know, maybe that’s what he thinks.”
How could Max not realise?
He posed naked. He themed the entire collection after racing. He added specific, Max-themed songs!
There was literally a song with the words wide blue eyes and big bad mm. There was a verse that said I bet the thermostat’s set at 6-9, an obvious nod to Max’s ridiculous desire to have 69 as his racing number!
He even referenced Max’s first Championship in one of the posts. How much more obvious can he be?
He’s such a fucking idiot. Charles needs to protect his naive baby from the cruel, harsh world. Sweet boy.
God, Charles is going to have to tell him, isn’t he?
“Okay, fine,” Charles sighs, sitting up from the bed and getting his phone. “But I reserve the right to complain!”
“You’re the one who wants his dick,” Pierre says, rolling his eyes. Charles ignores him, and selects the perfect song for the occasion. “If you didn’t want this specific man, you’d have an easier time. Need I remind you of the group chat!”
Charles hums along to the familiar melody of the song as he rolls his eyes.
“If I wanted someone to just dick me down, then I’d go through the group chat like it’s Grindr,” he says. “I want to marry him.”
“Yeah, you’re on your own,” Pierre mutters. “And turn this damn song off.”
Charles narrows his eyes, then sings, “Or is it slow?”
Pierre rolls his eyes as Charles stands up on the bed.
“Maybe it’s—Pierre! You were supposed to say useless!”
“I think somebody’s useless, and it’s not Max,” Pierre says wryly.
Charles ignores him, then twirls around on the bed and sings loudly, “Half your brain just ain’t there, manchiiilld!”
“Charles, get off the bed.”
“Why so sexy, if so dumb, and how survive the earth so long?”
“Actually, this is a bit of a scary resemblance, isn’t it?”
“That’s because all men are the same! Manchiilldd, why you always come a running to me? Fuck my liiiife!”
“I’m taking a video and playing it at your wedding.”
“Oh, I like my boys playing hard to get, and I like my men all incompetent! And I swear they choose me, I’m not choosing them—”
“Don’t lie, you absolutely chose that dumbass.”
“But he’s such a cute dumbass,” Charles laughs, then flops down on the bed. “He’s my dumbass.”
Pierre pats him on the back as he sighs loudly. “So, how are you going to do it?”
Charles figures he should put the sex toys to use, so he thinks through what each of the men in the group chat are probably going to like, then carefully packages them all up.
He’s decided to give something to the rest of them just to throw them a little bone. If Max rejects him after this, then he’ll pick one of them to make himself feel better. Make himself feel pretty again.
For Max, he decides he might as well complete his humiliation and turn full porn star.
It helps that he doesn’t have to actually be there when Max opens the gift.
If he’s going to get rejected, at least he can lick his wounds in private over winter break without seeing Max’s stupid, sexy face.
When the race is over, and he’s back at the hotel, he has a long everything shower, making sure every square inch of skin is completely hairless and smells pretty—vanilla scented, Max’s favourite—and then he gets out WET WEATHER and lays on the bed.
He’s quick and perfunctory as he stretches himself open, and then he props his phone against a pillow to record a short video for Max. When the toy is safely seated inside him, he sits back up to collect his phone. He feels hot under his skin and in his tummy; a little bit of nervousness, a little bit of anticipation.
He can still back out.
Sure, Max has the remote, but Charles can explain it away. Once he sends this text, it will all be deliberate. Max will know.
Probably. If he’s not stupid. Charles is really hoping that single braincell of his also has a healthy—if suppressed—sex drive.
With trembling fingers, Charles sends the text.
Charles opens the door to a half-crazed looking Max.
He’s barefoot, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and his cheeks are flushed. He looks so beautiful.
There’s an intense look in his pretty blue eyes as they sweep down Charles’ body, clad in a loose robe. They’re both breathing too loudly to hear the vibration of the massager, but Charles can certainly feel the low-level movement and the little tingling feeling it leaves every time the head rotates gently against his prostate. It’s had him delightfully frustrated since Max turned it on—enough to feel it, for feeling to start to really build, but not enough for it to do anything.
Max lifts his hand, remote clutched in his palm, then presses down.
Immediately, the vibration sharply increases, and the toy starts spinning hard and fast.
Charles chokes, body going taut at the abrupt sensation, hand uselessly clutching at the door.
“Max,” he gasps out.
Max pushes inside, kicking the door shut, then grabs Charles’ hips and shoves him up against the wall.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fucking fuck, he’s not stupid at all, he’s the hottest, smartest, sexiest man alive—
Charles’ entire body and mind shuts down as Max presses their mouths together, lifting his hands from his hips to his face, tilting Charles’ head up and moving his plush lips so deliciously. It’s wet and messy, and Charles opens his mouth before Max can even demand it, letting Max slide his tongue inside and lick behind his teeth.
Charles moans, loud, the massager and the kiss making him feel weak in the knees. Max only seems to be encouraged, groaning against him, and then he releases Charles’ face to tug at the belt of his robe. When it falls undone Max shoves his hands under it, big, delicious, hot palms sliding over Charles’ naked waist.
Between the kiss, the massager, and now Max’s hands, Charles is going to come. So fast.
Max’s hands grope his ass, moaning into the kiss, and then his fingers sneak between his cheeks to press against the base of the massager. Charles whines loudly, mouth going slack as heat builds in his stomach.
“Did you already come?” Max asks against his lips, warm breath fanning over his cheek.
“No,” Charles whimpers.
Max shoves his thigh between Charles’ legs then angles his hips down, so Charles’ cock rubs against his jean-clad leg. Then he uses the grip on his ass to forcefully roll his hips forward.
Charles’ entire body goes tense as he comes, breath coming out in short, sharp gasps then stopping all together as his muscles lock up and heat spreads through his entire body. He shudders in Max’s grip, head tipping forward to rest against Max’s shoulder as he whimpers through it. Max’s hands don’t stop wandering, leaving scorching hot brands all over his back and ass as his palms drag over his skin.
The stupid fucking massager just keeps going and going, so Charles keeps going and going, orgasm long, drawn-out and so intense tears gather in his eyes.
When it’s finally over, and his muscles unlock, he shudders violently in Max’s arms, slumping forward into his body.
“Turn it off,” he cries out softly. The toy feels like it’s burning him from the inside out, still rubbing against his prostate and making his knees shake involuntarily.
“Okay, sh, sh, I’ve got you,” Max murmurs.
A moment later, the toy blessedly goes still.
Charles slumps against Max entirely, trusting him to catch his weight, and he does. He breathes heavily into his neck, fingers loosely clutching the shirt stretched over Max’s shoulders.
Fuck. Holy fuck.
Max is a damn good kisser.
His hands continue to slide over Charles’ body, though less hot and heavy now and more soft and comforting. Charles trembles as they go, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Okay?” Max murmurs eventually, pressing a kiss just below Charles’ ear.
Charles shivers.
“Yeah,” he mumbles out. The toy is starting to feel heavy inside him, but not uncomfortable.
Gently, Max guides him back so he’s not slumped against him. Charles has to go to effort to try and hold his weight on his trembling legs, and leans back against the wall to help.
Max’s face is so soft and adoring as he stares at him, making Charles’ heart swell. Slowly, Max lifts a hand to his face again, cupping his cheek as his thumb smooths under Charles’ eye.
Max leans in for another kiss, and Charles lets him, moving their lips together gently. The slow brush makes Charles’ face tingle.
When Max pulls back, thumb still drawing little lines on Charles’ face, his blue eyes have sharpened with intensity.
“I’m not just in this for sex,” Max confesses quietly. Charles’ heart stutters and trips. “Not like the other guys.”
Oh.
Charles hadn’t dared hope for that. He had figured his first obstacle was making himself someone Max could look at with sexual interest. Then he was going to make Max fall in love with him.
“Me either,” Charles confesses, buoyed by Max’s own confession. “I . . . I only did all this for you.”
Max pauses, surprise blooming over his face.
“What?”
Charles laughs awkwardly, trying to hide his own uncertainty.
“I was trying to make you want to have sex with me.”
“By . . . doing an ad with a sex toy company?”
“Well, nothing else was working!”
Max blinks at him. “Charles . . . I’ve wanted to have sex with you for, like, twenty years. I wanted to have sex with you since before I even knew what sex was.”
Well why was he so stupid about it, then! Making Charles beg like a dog for his dick. It’s humiliating.
“All you really made me do was think I was going to die from all my blood constantly being in my dick instead of my head,” Max continues, so seriously it makes Charles laugh.
Max may be stupid, but he’s Charles’ stupid. Charles really does just adore him terribly, even if he made him act completely crazy. Which is, of course, entirely Max’s fault and not at all Charles’.
“You did also make me terribly jealous,” Max admits after a moment. “I was trying to make Oscar and Ollie explode with my mind.”
Charles bursts into loud laughter. He can’t believe that worked! He also can’t believe it worked and Max still resisted him.
His laughter only makes the toy jostle around in his ass. He breaks off with a choked gasp, trying not to laugh any more at Max’s terrible misfortune.
“I’m serious,” Max says, though he’s smiling now. Charles reaches up to push his fingers through the hair at his nape, twirling the soft strands between his fingers. “You had half the grid following you around like lost puppies.”
“You’re the only puppy I care about,” Charles says, very seriously.
Max’s smile widens, fingers tightening in his waist.
“Pierre?”
Charles rolls his eyes. Great, so other people have noticed that. “Trust me, I’ve talked about your dick enough that he gets the message.”
He shuffles forward slightly, pressing his own spent cock against the ridiculous bulge of Max’s. His come is spread everywhere on Max’s jeans, gross wet patches that are probably going to be difficult to get out, but whatever.
“We can keep going,” Charles murmurs, pressing his leg forward enough to get some real pressure on Max’s dick. “Talk more after.”
Max lets out a deep, wobbly breath, cheeks flushing even pinker.
“Yeah,” he agrees, laughing a little awkwardly. “Sorry, I—I know I shouldn’t interrupt sex with talk about feelings or whatever.”
Somehow, Charles softens even further, petting Max’s hair again.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I liked it.”
“I just wanted you to know I love you, because I’m going to fuck you like I don’t.”
Charles takes back every time he ever called Max stupid and every word he sang along to Sabrina Carpenter, Max isn’t stupid, or an idiot, he’s actually the sexiest, hottest, most amazing man on the entire planet and now he’s Charles’ until they die, actually.
“Please do,” Charles agrees eagerly, curving his back to arch closer into Max.
Max bends down slightly, lips brushing against Charles’. Charles, eager to kiss him again, doesn’t realise what he’s actually doing until suddenly Max’s strong hands are gripping his thighs and hoisting him up. Charles gasps loudly, tightening his legs around Max’s waist and his arms around his neck, staring down at him as Max starts to walk them back.
Shit, fuck, Charles better be about to get completely ruined.
He’s pretty sure he is, which he can tell by the way Max shifts Charles’ weight mostly into one hand—fuck—so his other can slide up to his ass, pressing against the base of the toy again.
Charles chokes on his breath, leaning forward so his cheek rests on top of Max’s head.
“Did you bring the others?” Max asks, then carefully tips Charles back.
He falls on his back on his bed, then purposefully lets his legs spread wide.
Max’s eyes are glued to the toy nestled into his hole when Charles answers, “Yeah.”
“The nipple clamps?”
Charles nods quickly.
“The blowjob torture device?”
Smiling, he nods again.
“Where are they?”
“In my suitcase.”
Max lingers for a moment, still staring down, and then bends down quick enough to press a kiss to his inner thigh. Charles’ eyes flutter closed at the sweet touch.
This is the best thing that ever happened to him. The crowning achievement in his manipulative games, too—though he’s not sure he can really claim this one, considering Max didn’t fall for his manipulation and instead Charles had to resort to sending him a video gasping his name.
Whatever. Max is still going to fuck him. He’s the winner either way.
Max digs through his suitcase, carelessly throwing clothes to the side. If he were anyone else, Charles would get angry at how they’re crinkling his expensive shirts, but it's Max. He wouldn't care even if a Charles did get mad.
“Seriously, Charles? A collar?”
Charles grins as Max holds up the red leather.
“What?” he says innocently. “It was Leo inspired.”
It absolutely wasn’t. It was inspired by wanting to have Max’s big hands around his neck. Max drops it back into the suitcase with a muttered promise to use it one day.
When Max stands, triumphantly holding the toys he was looking for as well as a bottle of lube, Charles beckons him over.
Max quickly returns, throwing the items on the bed beside Charles and then settling between his legs, elbows either side of his head and body pressing him down into the mattress. Charles doesn't know who goes in for the kiss first, he just knows he wraps his arms and legs around Max to hold him tight, never wanting to let him go again.
“Charles,” Max grunts against his mouth, hips rolling in. “Baby, I'm sorry, but you've been teasing me for weeks. Need to get inside you.”
“Yeah,” Charles gasps, releasing him. “Yeah, yeah, please.”
Max pulls back, spit connecting their mouths, then leans in again to lick Charles’ bottom lip to lap it up.
Fuck. He’s a freak.
Charles is going to love this.
Max stands from the bed, quickly pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it to the ground. Charles props up on his elbows to watch and admire, eyes trailing down Max’s pecs and abs.
He needs to be ravished, like, right the fuck now.
“Take the toy out,” Max says—orders—while he unzips his jeans.
Charles breathes in deeply, mouth going dry as he reaches between his legs, simultaneously keeping his eyes on the prize of Max shoving his jeans and underwear over his hips. Between the pressure of slowly pulling the toy from his slightly re-tightened hole and watching Max’s huge cock be revealed it him, his own dick starts to get a little hard again.
And God it’s huge. Charles had thought six inches was realistic, not fucking conservative.
“Intimidated?” Max asks with an arrogant smirk as his hand closes around his cock to stroke it a couple times.
Charles scoffs and throws the still-slick massager at Max’s head. He catches it easily as he laughs, then throws it on the bed.
“You’re the one that said you were intimidated by that dildo,” Max says, brow raised.
“I was playing it up,” Charles lies.
He’s had a couple bigger cocks inside him before, it was just never that good. At that point, they get so big they’re not even really pleasurable anymore; it’s a just feat of physics to have it inside him.
“Sure,” Max says, clearly disbelieving.
Now he clues into unspoken cues. Asshole.
“Condom?”
“No, thanks.”
Max laughs again, then reaches over to pick up the bottle of lube. “I meant where are they, but, sure, we can go without. You take PrEP?”
“Obviously. And I’m otherwise clean, I only just tested.”
“Yeah? You letting a lot of guys fuck you without a condom?”
“Not—” Charles gasps as Max flips him over easily, suddenly sprawled on his stomach. He’s not used to being so out of control; even when he lets a guy manhandle him around like this, it’s usually because Charles has manipulated them into giving him what he wants without them even knowing. “Not usually.”
“So I’m special?” Max asks, yanking him back so his knees are on the edge of the bed. “Put this leg down.”
Breathless, Charles does as Max asks, putting down the leg he tapped so his foot is flat on the ground. His other knee is bent on the edge of the mattress, hands flat on top. He looks over his shoulder at Max, flushed and eyes wide.
Eyes locked together, Max puts his palm on Charles’ lower back and gently presses down.
Charles moans loudly, letting his knee spread a little further on the mattress so his chest touches the blanket. It puts his back into an obscene arch and makes him grab at the sheets where his hands are splayed above his head.
“Fuck, Max,” he breathes, resting his cheek against the blanket. His dick is almost entirely hard again now, which is quite the feat these days.
Not that it would’ve mattered. He’d have let Max fuck him if he was completely soft and oversensitive.
He hears the slick sound of more lube being poured, and then Max touching himself again.
Then—
Charles moans loudly, turning his face into the blanket as the head of Max’s cock presses into his rim. He’s stretched out from the toy, but it’s going to be a tight fit; Max is lucky he likes that.
“I’ll go slow,” Max swears. His voice is tight and breathy, like Charles’ probably is. “Christ, Charlie.”
Charles can’t think of anything to say; his mind is completely blank, a black hole of need. All he wants to do is cry and thrash around under the stretch of the head of Max’s cock sliding inside him.
Max pulls out entirely, hand smoothing over his lower back, then after a moment pushes back in with slightly more length. Charles breathes in deeply, trying to relax as much as possible. Fuck, he’s big.
“Still with me, baby?”
Charles whimpers at the name. He didn’t picture Max as a pet name kind of guy, or really much of a talker. He’s not going to complain about it, though—far from it.
“Yeah,” Charles breathes, slumping down for a moment when Max pulls out again.
“Look so fucking good like this,” Max says. His palm travels down Charles’ spine, to the back of his neck, where his hand spans the back of it.
Charles moans again.
Max presses in again, further, further, inch by inch, holding the back of Charles’ neck as he goes. Charles’ fingers twist in the sheets at the burn, trying to keep as relaxed as possible.
“God, wish you could see this,” Max mutters. He’s still pushing forward, a slow but persistent movement. “Taking me so well. Nothing to be intimidated about, huh, baby?”
“Shut up, Max,” Charles chokes out. “Fuck, how much more?”
“Not much.” Max releases the tight grip on his neck to instead circle his palms over his lower back comfortingly again. “Want me to stop?”
Charles groans, then shakes his head as much as he can, a tiny movement. Max pulls back a little, not all the way out like before, and when he pushes in again it’s a little faster, a little harder, a little further. Charles body sings from the inside out, muscles giving way to Max’s intrusion.
Back out again, then in a little further. His cock is already rubbing his prostate with each movement, so overwhelming Charles tries to arch further into the mattress for some respite.
“Okay?” Max breathes out.
Charles clenches the sheets even tighter.
“Yeah,” he chokes out, even though he’s really, really not. This is the most overwhelmed he’s ever been during sex. It’s not bad, it’s just a lot.
Max’s fingers dig a little tighter into his hips, and then he pulls out slowly; when he thrusts back in, he yanks Charles’ hips back in time, sending a sharp bolt of pleasure up his spine.
“You motherfucker,” Charles gasps out, as Max does it again, and then again. He’s clenching the sheets so tight he can’t feel his hands. “What the fuck, holy shit, Max!”
Charles can’t stop the way his body writhes as Max fucks him fast. He twists and turns, feeling hot in his entire lower half, and then Max catches his hands and pins them down by his body, leaning his weight on his biceps so he can’t move.
Charles cries out, eyes rolling back as his foot slips on the ground. It makes Max’s cock slide out of him; Max curses, but Charles slumps in relief, trying to breathe now that he has a moment of peace.
It doesn’t last long. Max flips him back over, leaning to the top of the bed to grab two pillows. Charles is so out of it he chokes on his own spit when Max yanks his hips up and shoves the pillows underneath.
The relief is short lived, however, when Max leans over to pick up the nipple clamps he’d discarded earlier. Charles watches with hazy eyes as Max adjusts the pin in one of them.
“Can I?”
Fuck.
“Yes,” he breathes.
His chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath, so he’s not sure how successful Max is going to be. He tries to slow his breathing down to make it easier, watching as Max presses the clamp open and holds the legs either side of his nipple.
Charles squirms a little as it pinches in, making his nipple sting.
Then he does the other side, the cool chain resting over his chest a contrast to how hot his nipples feel now.
“Aren’t you a good boy,” Max says, finger tracing along the chain.
Oh, fuck him to the moon and back, what the fuck—
“Yeah,” Charles moans.
Max groans, then he pushes back in, and Charles whines again. Max grabs his ankles and puts Charles’ calves on his chest, then he leans forward to grab Charles’ wrists with one hand. He pins them above his head, weight heavy enough that Charles can’t move them.
“Fucking—fuck,” Charles whimpers, face screwed up tight. There are tears in his eyes and a fire in his stomach but he can’t feel his toes. His nipples are burning.“You fucking maniac, what the fuck, fuuuck, Max!”
Max laughs breathlessly, head dipping down so his hair tickles Charles’ chest as he pistons in and out. His tongue licks a line up Charles’ pec, then over his clamped nipple. The combination of the pinch and the hot, wet tongue make his entire chest tingle.
“What was it you said that night? Something about being stretched out and having nowhere to go?”
Oh, fuck him, Charles can’t believe he remembers that but also he’s so goddamn delighted he remembers that because that entire night was just a show for Max anyway.
“You’re gonna come again,” Max says. Not a question, not even a promise—a command.
“Can’t,” Charles wails. He feels too numb and hot to come again. He’s never felt like this in his life.
Max grunts, sweat dripping onto Charles’ chest.
Charles tries to wriggle his hips away, because something is about to explode out of him, but Max holds him firm, continuing to fuck into him. Charles sobs loudly, body twitching uncontrollably. Every time he moves, it makes the clamps jolt a little, pinching so tightly at his sensitive nipples. The sensation takes his body to a whole new level of overwhelmed.
“Can feel you clenching around me,” Max grits out. “Jesus fucking Christ, come on my cock, baby.”
Charles doesn’t think he has much choice. He wishes he was holding something, holding Max, because he needs something to dig into. The muscles of Max’s back would be perfect.
“Max, Max, Max,” he chants, abs tightening involuntarily. “F-fuck, ah, you—Max, Max.”
Max releases his hands, and Charles flings his arms up and around Max’s neck, one fisting his hair so tight he might accidentally be pulling some out, the other dragging down his back so hard it makes Max arch into him.
“Shit, baby, you’re fucking feisty, God.”
Charles is completely cross eyed as Max continues to completely rearrange his stomach.
Then—
An inhuman sound bursts from his mouth as the tip of his cock is enveloped in a tight, wet channel. His entire body flinches away from the overwhelming sensation, but it’s too late, he’s already coming, waves of tight heat washing over him from head to toe. He clenches so hard it feels like his eyes are going to burst from his head, and the whine that leaves him is like nothing he’s heard before.
He can’t even care.
The vibration disappears from around his tingling cock, and then the clamps are pulled from his nipples, and the blood rushing back in makes them throb terribly, achingly, amazingly.
“Fuck, fuck, baby, fuck,” Max pants.
He slams in again, then stutters. Charles is so hot and numb that he can’t even feel Max come inside, which he’ll be pissed off about later because he loves the feeling of it so much. It’s one of his favourite parts of sex.
Max finally stopping is both a relief and a travesty. Charles absolutely can’t take one more second, but he’s devastated that it’s over.
He tries desperately to catch his breath as Max pulls out, but he might actually be hyperventilating. There’s a cramp in his hamstring that he couldn’t feel before now, but is actually hurting so badly he whines.
“Leg, my leg,” he gasps out.
Carefully, Max lifts his legs off his shoulders. Charles groans as he curls up into a loose ball, trying to massage his hamstring. He catches sight of the fleshlight, come leaking out of it.
So that’s what Max put on him. He should’ve fucking known.
God, and his nipples. They feel bruised. They feel amazing.
He feels amazing. Light, floaty, happy.
Behind him, Max flops down on the bed, the mattress bouncing as he does.
“What is wrong with you?” Charles breathes out. He can’t move. He might never be able to move again. “What the fuck was that? You’re an animal, Jesus.”
His ass aches. His dick is numb. His nipples might actually spontaneously fall off. The cramp in his hamstring is making his toe involuntarily twitch.
Max huffs out a laugh.
“Me? What’s wrong with you?” he says, much less accusatory than Charles. “You partnered with a sex toy company to get my attention.”
Charles wants to say it worked, but all that comes out is a low hum.
Max is panting heavily behind him, barely catching his breath. Charles can’t blame him—he worked fucking hard. Nobody has ever put that much effort into fucking him before.
“Max,” he mumbles.
“Mm?”
Blindly, Charles reaches behind him, hand smacking against Max’s spent dick. They both hiss, though probably for different reasons. Max must be sensitive; Charles doesn’t want that thing near him again for at least three business days.
“Sorry for saying you’re stupid.”
“You—what? When did you say that?”
“Not important,” Charles sighs, then finally finds Max’s hand. He squeezes as tight as he can, which really isn’t that tight. “And I love you, too.”
“Next time—” Max breaks himself off with a groan. The bed creaks loudly, and then Charles has a sticky, sweaty, heavy Max plastered against his back. It’s perfect. “Next time you want to say that, please do it in a sane way. No more sex toy sponsorships.”
A little smile tugs up his lips.
He’s totally got the perfect idea for a second collection, actually. Now he knows just how big Max’s cock is, he’s totally going to pick a bigger dildo. One with a thrusting tip, maybe. CHEQUERED FLAG, he’ll call it. For when you need a little more to finish first.
“No promises.”