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“Hmm, you’re interesting, Piastri,” Max hums, still so fucking close, “I’ll be watching you.”
Oscar’s heart is beating ungodly fast, but it hurts in a good way, “I like an audience, keep your eyes on me, Verstappen. Won’t disappoint.”
The hand on his neck tightens its grip, and Max leans in close enough that Oscar can feel how his mouth moves as he speaks, “You won’t, I won’t let you.”
(Oscar likes to push until he gets hurt. Max likes to hurt until he gets pushed away. It's a match made in hell.)
Bookmarked by adhorstd
22 Jun 2025
