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It’s bold. Energetic. Playful, and still serious. Something no other person had figured out before him. George Russell’s next business move, and the leap into the world of fashion comes as a surprise to everyone.
On Thursday he struts to the paddock, proud, beautiful, collecting hopeful gazes from younger alphas who can't hide their honest desire. A Mercedes hoodie covering his frame, and a pair of sunglasses resting on the top of his head. George’s hair is freshly washed, and fluffy, and he is wearing a tiniest smile like he’d be holding a lovely secret.
He is collared, the piece of soft black leather gently hugging his neck. The tag is silver with a small star, and three letters. Max.
Social media has exploded before he has had time to say one word at his first interview of the day.
The journalists are eager to get comments from Max too, pushing to his face, but he makes a smart move, telling them to take all their questions to George. His omega is his own person, his new accessory line is his. Max has nothing to do with that even though he is always proud of his partner, and everything he does. His only statement is that he hasn’t ordered his omega partner to wear a collar.
George smiles for cameras, natural and easygoing, talking about omegas taking history back, and making something that was forced on them back in the days a personal choice. Is he going to start wearing a collar regularly? No, but now it’s a little piece of his alpha partner he is carrying with him, a reminder of the support he receives from Max.
Max had learned to love him, understanding his limits and boundaries. George hadn’t always had the best experiences with intimacy and alphas, but slowly he started tolerating Max pulling his chairs out, holding him close in crowds, and sending him little texts. Do you have enough water and fruit? Remember to take a jacket. It’s chilly today. I bought you new blankets.
It was feeding his need to protect and provide without George finding it too suffocating and overwhelming.
They only have a private moment hours and hours later. Max’s dick had been making brave attempts to get up when he saw George, or remembered the black leather against the paleness of his throat.
He is carrying a late lunch or an early dinner, chicken salad, and drinks. George comes a few minutes later, they both always appreciating this quiet spot on the second floor of the Red Bull hospitality. They have a good view of their surroundings, knowing in time if someone else is approaching the space.
”You haven’t said anything”, George smiles, smug, letting two fingers touch the tag on the collar.
Max had been feeling so overwhelmingly in love, and a little horny through the day. He had had more than enough to do with getting through his media duties, and appearing decent.
”Okay, yes, it’s hot. So hot.”
”I perhaps have a treat waiting for you, when the race weekend is over”, George grins, eyes teasing, but fingers soft, when they hold Max’s face.
He only hugs his omega close, breathing in his warm scent of Shea butter that’s hiding under his brand cologne. Max is not finding his words, but hopes George understands him anyway. He is a lucky man.