Work Text:
i'm outside
wanna go drive around???
btw
i can see your light from your opened curtain
close it
Drive and Max – Charles' everyday, forever perfect, simple plan.
He couldn’t stop his lips - loosely wrapped around a barely lit joint - from shifting into a loopy smirk as he stared down at his phone screen, comfortable enough flopped on his plushy couch; even if his shoulders did perk up a little when the name he’s been too busy texting lately appeared by the top of his screen, interrupting his senseless scrolling through Tik Tok.
creep
give me 10
Charles had dropped his phone on the couch carelessly, about to head to have a flash shower like he’s grown used to due to Max's easy habit of showing up unannounced.
Charles should complain – yet he doesn’t.
He leaned down to grab his phone once again on a second thought.
thought you forgot about me btw
He did hesitate before sending the last thread… but, unconsciously so, he’s been taking on Max's style of texting, blunt and honest, no misleads, no going around the subject, straight to the point, confident. Just Max's whole way of being in general, really.
What made Charles spiral with irritation and bittersweet infatuation the first few times they met; Max is just such a character. Charles loves it more than he hates it.
He straight away forgot about his phone on his bed on the way to the bathroom.
Charles was forced to take a quick body shower, careful enough to not wet his hair too much. He was throughout as he could – he just knows why, when Max is here.
Or wherever Charles is; Max will be.
He profusely sprayed on deodorant and cologne; not his favorite one. But the one that he’s discreetly noticed Max is keen to it by the way he nips and sucks at Charles neck and jaw even more when he wears that specific one.
Charles has learned what makes Max inevitably buckle, unavoidably succumb, silently, discreetly so, non-spoken but heavily noticeable, for both – all to Charles' complex, whole being.
To Max's exquisite doomed, silent obsession.
i’ve tried
but just won’t
Max texted back way too late, honest and blunt, as he often does. Still, it made Charles consider and contemplate, year fucking eternity with that man. Blue eyes, broad smile. Charles' as of late and mere, solemn infatuation.
Charles just sent him a lazy nude pic in front of his still foggy mirror before quickly getting dressed to meet him outside.
Charles reached the black McLaren rather confidently and fast, he’s never seen Max in that car before but Max often brings a different car when he picks up Charles, the ones they are testing and working at in the work shop. Max's cars always stand out. He has an specific taste.
Max and his cars – Charles' inexorable, adoring fixation.
He quietly knocked on the passenger's black tinted window, he can’t see shit from outside but he is sure Max is already watching him from inside; discreet as always. Tinted windows. He isn’t sure it’s legal, not in Monaco but it’s fucking hot and he solemnly wants Max to press him tight against that very door, fog it, taint it.
The door clicked, Max reaching over the seat to crack it open for him. Max could always just unlock the car to let Charles know that he can climb in – but he always just chooses to open the door for Charles too.
It smells like Hugo Boss late season cologne, weed, nicotine, expensive car deodorant and just Max, Max, Max; once inside the Mc'Claren.
Charles wants to just be stupid dumb and immediately lean in, over the gear shift to kiss Max's lips puffing out cloudy smoke but he has self-control and he refuses to make the first move.
Not tonight.
Not after they haven’t seen or speak to each other for over a week – he wants to see who’ll succumb, who’ll weaken first, who’ll lose the game they often play.
Charles wins most of the time, hardly so.
But Max is just irreverent, persistent, fucking shameless and bloody struggles to keep his hands to himself.
Charles would never, ever mind.
Max is looking at him, loose smile loopsided by holding a recently lit joint, one hand is holding his cel, the bright screen inside the dark car showed Spotify.
“Hey,” Max said, using his free hand to pass Charles' the lazy-looking rolled joint.
They often greet each other with casual back and forth, playful banter, a heated kiss -depending the place and abstinence from each other - or, with a godly-sent marijuana joint.
Charles rather have the kiss, honest – but the joint looks more than appealing too.
And, it’s rolled the way Charles likes it, he quickly noticed. Small filter, long shaft. Max hates them that way but he rolls his like that for Charles; just because.
Charles gladly took it, inhaling strongly, coughing just slightly, busy looking around the inside of the car and feeling the leather seats. The speakers sound very nice, they’re playing one of the song he’s shown Max. He often catches Max listening to the music Charles likes; he doesn’t even does it in purpose or to impress Charles, he just does it because he can, wants to.
“You like her?” Max asked.
“The weed?” Charles asked clumsily, eyes glazed, finally settling on Max. He’s been smoking too much today.
He just wants to giggle and stuff his tongue down Max's mouth and bite his bottom lip.
Max grinned, eyes small, bloodshot, he looks fucking gone but so, so hot, rough, cocky - Charles hates him so much he just wants to get on his knees and not talk for a while, until Max finishes - in just his basic white tee and dark jeans, his blond hair is messily brushed to the side and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days.
Charles likes the sensitive shafting Max leaves on the inside of his thighs and neck when he doesn’t shave – he’ll often send pictures of his reddened skin, intimate and too explicit. It always makes Max come back for more.
And more, more, more; all of Charles.
“That and the car. You like them?”
Charles nodded quite excitedly, handing Max back the joint, watching him clench his jaw a bit to smoke. Max held his gaze and Charles smirked a bit, eyes heavy, glued. Again, Charles just wants to kiss him.
Weed has always make him giddy and horny, just fucking intense, greedy.
Or, maybe that’s just all Max.
“She tastes good,” Charles pointed at the joint Max is holding close to his lips, then he pointed at the car's console, “And she looks pretty.”
“You too,” Max pertinently said, distracted by flickering off the ashes inside an empty Red Bull can, “Taste good and look pretty.”
Max stated as if it wasn’t obvious what he meant by the first words, casual.
Charles has always liked to have get stated the obvious when it comes to him. He knows his appeals, he is well aware. Max doesn’t care, he always confirms them. He’s a fucking glutton, feeding into Charles.
Charles falls just a little bit more.
Still –
“I know,” Charles leaned back against the comfortable, leather seat, still looking at Max.
“You know,” There, Max confirming it, slow blinking, joint in fingers, he is blatantly eyeing Charles' whole, mere physical being as if he hadn’t decency. He does not. Max doesn’t have decency. He doesn’t knows of it.
Never – even less when it come to Charles.
Charles just knows his unruly hair and fitted black tee looks maybe too good on him, Max's favorite. He often likes Charles to keep it on while fucking him in missionary, weird fixation, Charles is a glutton too, feeds into it. Charles doesn’t dress for anybody but himself – but forgive him; he does wear the things that he knows will get a reaction out of Max. Max is just too readable, for Charles, only for Charles.
He only lets Charles and only Charles read him that easy; he just doesn’t care, because it’s Charles.
And – Max, Max, Max. Oh, Max.
Charles' blatant, profound delusion and fascination.
“Usual spot?”
Charles hummed and Max handed him his cel, Spotify search ready to be typed in, a silent habit; Max giving his cel to Charles so he can choose the playlist and show him Tik Toks while waiting on red lights.
The McLaren has a nice roar –Max’s left hand on the steering wheel and his right hand widely settling on Charles' thigh as he drove around Monte Carlo was nicer.
Max is loosing the game so far, he always does.
So does Charles, really. He couldn’t help but lean over and shotgun a bit of smoke to Max on a red light, lips not quite kissing each other, barely touching.
Max'a grip on the inside of his thigh is constant, heavy and a tad too hot – Charles doesn’t want the drive to come to and end. He never does.
“I really did think you forgot about me, you know, Maximilian?”
Charles had said, teasing, joking – an innocent cover of the very truth of that statement. He narrowed his eyes at Max exaggeratedly and crossed his arms, the McLaren feels comfortable behind him where he’s leaning at.
He really hopes Max will let him drive it.
Oh, he will. He always does let Charles drive his cars; even if there’s nothing else that he hates more than being shotgun.
Max's eyes looks as dark and blue as the Monaco's salty, Mediterranean sea under them. The secluded hill, edging towards the ocean Max often takes Charles too is a bit too dangerous and a bit too high. But Charles feels just fine; he is with Max.
Max is a fucking asshole but he’s also the certainty Charles needs in his whole being whole being.
Max smirked, easy and sure but evidently struggling to light his cigarette. He is intentionally funny, always has been. Charles likes that a little much. It is very windy today, Charles regrets objectifying himself and neglecting a jacket. But he is okay, because what he can only hear is the sea underneath him and Max.
“Can’t live without me, huh?”
Charles narrowed his eyes even more.
Max finally lit the cigarette, standing before Charles, turning his head slightly to direct his exhale of smoke away from Charles' face; he’s starting to smirk again. Charles wants to hate him and bend for him at the same time. Fuck Max and all these mixed feelings he makes Charles survive.
“You’re just a good fuck, I guess,” Charles said bluntly, learned from Max too, he shrugged, mustering the most unbothered expression he could manage, looking down at his nails dramatically, just what endears Max deeply.
“Yeah?” Max muttered, smirk wide.
Charles hummed and shrugged again, trying to not let his smile slip, “Keeps me distracted or whatever but I get bored easily, yes?”
“Yes,” Max said, easily, leaning next to Charles, looking down at him, “I do know how to distract you. I’ll keep you unbored, always.”
I’ll keep you unbored, always – sounds like a promise. Charles shouldn’t really let his mind wonder that way.
Charles is pretty sure that word doesn’t exist but their English can be shit sometimes and it still made him smile a little.
“I think I’ve managed that so far,” Max said, blatantly eyeing the fading hickey barely hiding below Charles' tee neckline.
He left on on the inside of his thigh too. Charles will let him eye it later, consequently. He knows why Max picked him up.
It's their unspoken settlement – sex, no relationship. Easy enough, the best, really.
But is it, though?
That burdening thought in his mind, constant.
Charles enjoys the height difference, the mass difference. He wants Max to just destroy him, tear him apart, he often does. Charles is in too deep.
Charles rolled his eyes and got away from the car as soon as Max was on it and leaning against Charles a bit too much - Charles likes playing hard, Max likes a challenge, always -He took his former place, now standing right in front of Max, not really bothering to keep a mindful distance. Max could just lift his hand a little and touch Charles' face easily. Instead, Charles took advantage of the proximity and took Max's cigarette from his hand. Max didn’t resisted one bit to the robbery.
He always let Charles takes – and Charles takes, takes and takes.
Max watched him smoke from the cig intently, eyes dragging on Charles' slim fingers and pouty mouth liberating a cloud of smoke; he narrowed his eyes at Max again.
“Dickhead,” Charles clicked his tongue.
His voice is light-hearted, it’s not really an insult. There’s no hostility behind it. Just a word of frustration and catharsis – because he is ready to risk it all, forever and ever, just by looking at Max leaning on that McLaren, eyeing Charles, too high on weed and defeated and just absolutely, tragically infatuated.
Max grinned crookedly, not really responding, he just reached into the short distance with his hand to hook two fingers on one of the belt loops in Charles' baggy jeans; he stole his cigarette back from Charles as he pulled him closer by the loops.
Charles didn’t fight the distance this time.
But he kept his arms crossed, heavy lids looking at Max. Charles couldn’t hide his shy smile anymore; just hoping enough he doesn’t look ridiculously in love because he feels mad foolish right now under Max's assertive glare.
Max just knows how to weaken, affect, corrupt and allure Charles, doesn’t he? Even if it’s unintentional.
“You look like a doll,” Max commented with ease after blowing the cigarette smoke, eyes trained on Charles' features.
Max always gives him the most random, honest, abrupt compliments; as if he just spoke the first thing on his mind when contemplating Charles; he does that, really. He doesn’t even does it to flirt, he just says it, icy blue eyes, fixated and admiring.
Honestly, sometimes Charles just doesn’t know how to act before that. He finds himself losing his cool quite often with Max. Fuck Max.
He just shook his head and spluttered out an embarrassed chuckle, cheeks flushed and hot, he had to hide them by leaning in and resting his forehead on Max’s broad shoulder, right on his clavicle. He’s already loosing the game because he uncrossed his arms to hug Max's middle and plaster himself to him; suddenly feeling the chilly, sea breeze.
Max is warm and big, always.
Max draped an arm around Charles' shoulders, trapping his face in the crook of his neck. He smells too good, familiar. That scent lingers on his apartment by how often Max’s been staying over lately, or by the clothes he's left behind by accident.
“Tu m'as manqué,” I missed you. Charles couldn’t bring himself to say it in English, fearing the words would feel heavier. Still, useless, he felt like his heart was raw and opened. He didn’t look at Max.
They don’t say that. Not with words, at least. Charles is still clueless to where they stand, their situationship – Max is unpredictable and difficult like that.
Charles' doom.
“Me too,” But Max answered, again easy, blunt, honest. He understands French, has learned more since starting to see Charles.
Of course he is just improving his French because of Charles, because he wants to understand him more; not because he lives in fucking Monaco – that’s Max.
Again, Charles' mere fucking doom.
Charles smiled on the warm skin of Max’s neck before pulling away to look up at him, eyes narrowed; in challenge, Max narrowed his eyes the same back funnily, imitating Charles.
“Show me,” Charles taunted.
“Show you?” Max asked, eyebrows raised, but he was already taking a last drag of his cigarette and throwing it carelessly next to them. Charles would’ve scold him for that if he was on his right mind.
Because, now he just senses, smells, thinks and tastes Max.
Max, max, max.
Max kisses like it’s his mere fucking goal to kill Charles into ethereal satisfaction. Charles hungrily opened his mouth, searching for Max’s indecent tongue, his hands unconsciously moved to hold each side of Max's strong neck with slim, greedy fingers, pulling him down to the small height difference they have.
Oh, Charles is greedy.
But Max is in too deep, too, he must be – Charles doesn’t feel as dumb.
“Hey, baby,” Max murmured against Charles parted, breathy lips; just because he could.
Charles pulled away just slightly, devilish smile on his lips, green not leaving blue, he kitten licked Max’s lips slowly, hotly, “Hi.”
Max connected their mouths in a heated, wet kiss once again.
He let Max wonder his hands on the small of Charles's back, under his black tee, cold rough fingertips lifted goosebumps on the warm skin. Max is lifting his shirt a bit, belly showing, hands tight on his hips, widely gripping. Charles doesn’t care.
Max could undress him bare right now and he would never, ever complain.
Charles likes weed and champagne – but he likes Max’s ardent, strong kissing even more.
Charles doesn’t like Red Bull but he does like it when he can suck the taste off Max’s mouth.
Max flipped and pinned Charles against the McLaren and he just, honest to God, couldn’t ask for anything more.
Max did end up making Charles keep on the fitting black tee while he fucked him.
They started in doggy but Charles can barely keep himself stable and upwards with his arms, his elbows had given in a few minutes ago when Max hovered his back to change the angle and got in so impossibly deep that Charles wanted even more till he could physically feel him to his fucking throat.
A bit dramatic, yes – but fuck Max, man. He heightens every fucking thing in Charles wrecked souls, cells and burning loins.
He couldn’t hold the power in him to do anything else but take it almost limply, no longer rolling his hips back to meet his thrusts the way they both like, Max's grip on his hips is tight to hold them up. Max holds and manhandles Charles easily, too easily. Charles' blabbering of curses in French and English were muffled weakly by his face getting pushed off the mattress little by little with Max’s constant fucking.
He kinda wishes he was riding or in missionary, maybe; he likes watching Max fuck him and the way his hair falls on his sweaty forehead and Charles can do nothing but thug and moan against Max’s mouth– but doggy just hits different. Max knows what direction to go, every single time.
It actually drives Charles fucking crazy, on the verge of dying.
Max is being borderline rough; that’s how Charles been asking for it. He often does.
The sound of Max's thighs slapping against the back of Charles' makes his face flush a bit. It just makes him too hot. He almost feels self-conscious about the very view Max has of Charles, all to him, to his clemency and mercy. Charles in perfect, messy, weak doggy. They’ve like this more times than Charles can count by now; yes, he almost feels embarrassed.
But Max’s cock brushing inside where it needs to brush and the thick fingers pulling his head back by his tangled hair was enough to leave embarrassment as a second thought – Max just fucks him too good.
Too good; so much that the thought of realization that nobody has ever made Charles' whole being shiver and tremble the way Max does, scares him.
Because – no Max equals completely and utter dismay in all ways.
Charles is fucked.
Metaphorically and literally.
“Fuck, oh, fuck –” Charles moaned in-between hitched breaths that were just accelerating, the grip on his hips is perhaps a bit too tight but Charles can’t bring himself to get away from it.
Charles wished he could have Max's ragged breath hitting his face hotly as his chin dangles above Charles' face back and forth.
Max groaned just slightly; he’s not that loud, never. He rather Charles be louder, always, he gets off on that. He fucked in particularly hard, staying deep and inside, to the fucking hilt, grippy, greedy hands bringing him flushed to him by his waist.
Charles gasped brokenly, pained, it was good but it burned a bit much, and one of his hands flashed back to desperately hold Max’s hip, impeding him to move again, out of mere reflex because of the mere intensity and overwhelming ecstasy.
Max let on of his hands flop on the mattress heavily, next to Charles head, so he could lean down closer.
“Mhm – ah,” Charles literally mewled hoarsely when Max shifting cause him to move inside, he still is gripping Max’s hip, mindlessly.
“You good, baby?” Max asked, a little breathless, his free hand cupping Charles' on his own hip, he brushed the shaking fingers with his thumb.
Charles nodded quickly but just as he was doing it he shook his head immediately and let out a soft breath, “Too much.”
Max was immediate but careful as he pulled out, “Wanna change?” He brushed a rough hand down Charles' shaky ribs, stopping at the small of his back.
Charles just nodded again and sighed, flopping down on the mattress heavily, his hard cock trapped in-between his own body and cotton sheets but he was already flipping himself over with Max’s hands on his sides helping him.
His sight was blurry, he is a crier during sex sometimes when pleasure just hits just right and becomes almost unbearable; he used to be so ashamed of his flushed face and tears wetting the hot skin angrily, he used to wipe them off discreetly but Max brushes and licks them off him now. Always.
Bloodshot green met icy blue, pupils wide.
“You good?” Max asked again, in-between Charles' trembling thighs. He ran a wide hand over the side of Charles' flushed, sweaty face, holding it there.
Charles hummed, wiping at his own eyes and positioning himself more comfortably on the mattress, a little bit more under Max’s body. He can feel his heart up his fucking throat and Max soft, damp kisses on his jaw and lips aren’t helping decrease that.
Again, Charles would never, ever complain.
“Did I hurt you?” Max lifted his head a little, eyeing Charles, blue eyes concerned, guilty.
Charles shook his head and lifted his arms ,which were limply laying on each side of his own head, to run his hands up Max's large arms and settled them on his face, wiping the sweat on his forehead with his fingers gently.
He finds sweat a bit disgusting – but won’t complain about Max’s.
“You sure?” Max kissed his palm.
And, Max is just a little bit of a sweetheart, sometimes, always – Charles is fucking gone, succumbed, convinced.
“Mhm,” Charles' lips loosened in a shy, little smile, heart aching, heart bursting, “Stop worrying.”
It's the mere fucking minimal but Charles just keep falling, can’t help it.
Not when Max smiled at him the same way and kissed his lips to mutter, “I rather hurt myself than hurt you, sorry.”
Again, Max is so honest, casual and blatant to speak his mind, even if it’s right in the middle of fucking, right in the middle of teasing Charles' hole with the tip of his dick teasingly, licking Charles' lips, fucking his mouth in his tongue.
Charles wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Want you inside again,” He murmured hotly on Max's plumped-bitten lips, hips rolling down sensually.
Max began smirking, devilish, fucking in love, “Mhm?”
“Mhm,” Charles hummed back, grinning and biting Max's bottom lip at the same time, softly, “Push it in.”
“No pretty please?” Max spitted into his hand to wipe it messily on his his dick and Charles' entrance.
Max shouldn’t look so hot doing that and it bottled Charles' whole feelings up heavily that he could just swear at him, his little grin hidden behind his forearm.
“Fuck you, asshole–”
But his words were cut off brokenly when Max pushed in slow, dragging inside heavily, condom just so fucking unnecessary. Charles would like to feel him bare, pulsing, hot. He often gets off on that by himself. Even more when Max, a few weekends ago, mumbled drunkenly into Charles' ear;
“I wanna fuck you raw and watch my cum run down your pretty leg.”
That's an statement, a drunken, ardent, honest statement blurted out in the heat of the moment – right inside a small bathroom stall in a nightclub in Monte Carlo.
And, Charles, he just hasn’t stop thinking about that ever since.
“Fuck,” Charles mumbled, sighing at Max’s accelerating pace, rocking his body on the mattress.
Max brushed a shaky hand over Charles' messy, sweaty bangs, pushing them back; gingerly so, contrasting his snappy, hard pace of his hips. It made Charles open his eyes, Max already watching him, so fucking intensely, in a good way. Charles little sighs quickly got silenced as Max kissed him sloppily when Charles caught him staring.
Charles feels on fire.
“Deeper,” He moaned quietly, body rocking mercilessly, hands gripping, nails scratching down Max's sides.
Max did. Pushing himself to the hilt, slow but hard. It made Charles wince and open his mouth in nothing but sweet, ardent pleasure. Max lifted Charles' head and placed his arm under the crook of Charles' neck and almost completely plastered himself to him, lowering his front and shifting the angle.
“Max, ugh!” Charles gasped and groaned weakly, throwing his head back, getting supported by Max’s strong forearm.
Max’s other hand went down to grip one of Charles' toned thighs, wrapping his leg against his waist and keeping it there, his whole weight being supported only by his knees and elbow.
Charles couldn’t help but look at him, eyes hazy – Max, so strong, so firm, so intense; just Charles' dreams.
Max's eyebrows are furrowed, eyes closed, concentrated but enjoying too by the way his mouth parts to let out breaths. Charles couldn’t resist and moved his hands to hold each side of Max’s face; swiftly bringing him down for a breathless, needy kiss.
“You feel so fucking good,” Max’s voice was raspy and quiet; a little bit endeared too.
It made Charles grin with shut lips, against Max’s, “No baby?”
Max mustered out a broken chuckle, hips faltering when Charles clenched around him and started grinding his hips against Max’s thrust slowly.
“Like this, baby?” Max mumbled warmly on his parted lips.
Charles' grin died as Max started fucking him faster, a hard, swift snap of his hips. He was left panting against Max’s lips, mouths brushing together every time Max fucks in.
He had to let go of Max’s face to bring a shaky hand down his hard cock laying in his belly, wet and flushed. He started touching himself uncoordinatedly as his other arm hugged almost unconsciously desperate Max’s broad shoulders.
It’s just all and fucking Max, Max, Max and bloody Max in his senses, nerves, thoughts and loins.
But Charles doesn’t care because he is cumming and Max just looks so hot fucking pointedly through it, looking down at the inevitable mess on Charles' belly.
Charles should be embarrassed of his high-pitched, breathy moans but Max did place the side of his face against Charles' mouth to fully hear him, breathe him, consume him.
And, of course Max pulled out because he knows how sensitive Charles can get soon after Charles started calming down, eyes glazed and hazy, looking up at Max.
And, of course Charles put on a show and spread his legs hotly when Max slipped the condom off carelessly to roughly jerk himself off.
Charles rolling his hips slowly got Max’s breath faltering, eyes clenching and cum spraying all over Charles belly and cock – he could only kiss Max stupidly needy as he flopped down on top of him bonelessy.
He’d like to be Max’s show, always.