everything lestappen

Max thought he wasn't the jealous type. Max knew he wasn't the jealous type. Was he possessive? No, not really, at least he never thought so. Was he possessive at that moment? Yes. Absolutely. Was he mad at anyone or did he have any regrets? No, but he sure as hell wanted to drag Charles away and mark his territory for everyone to see.

When he heard that Seb was doing a little return at the Nurburgring, he knew his already obvious plus one just became even more sure. He was about to bring Charles around, not for sponsors or anything of that sort but because the Ferrari driver was his boyfriend. Their relationship might looked unsure from the outside, but that was not the case on the inside at all. He loved and trusted Charles more than anything, and in return he knew just how much Charles was in love with him, how attached they were to one another. So when Seb started teasing and flirting with Charles he didn't think much of it. It was clear that Charles' old, early crush on Sebastian returned when they met again, and if Max wanted to be honest he got it. The blonde man got back his curls, which were longer now, he looked less tired and more like a cute, young DILF than anything. He got it. He allowed it. It was harmless really.

What he was never ready for was the effect Charles bashful, giggling and blushing, almost losing his English had on him while another man was flirting with him.

Seb was glancing at him now and then to see if he was still okay and Max noded all the time. Maybe he was a masochist after all.

Seb was called away and Charles stayed alone, sipping his water fast, trying his best to get rid of the red tint on his cheeks when Max stepped next to him.

He wanted to greet his boyfriend, tell him about a story Seb just told him, but it wasn't an option. Max's hands grabbed his waist, pulled him flush against his chest and kissed him hard and possessive. The surprised noise was muffled by the lips hard against his own, but he didn't protest. It was good to be wanted so passionately by Max.

Even after Seb's return Max stayed at his side, his hands on Charles and it fell more than a kiss on a whim. Max's hands were everywhere and by the end of the afternoon Charles was desperate. Seb's teasing still had an effect on him but nowhere close to the way it did early on. Max's hand was on his lower back, on his thigh, on his shoulder and arm and occasionally brushed against the swell of his ass when they thought no one was looking.

Saying that it was salvation to get back to the hotel was an understatement.

Max was desperate to have Charles only for himself and Charles wanted to be Max's just as badly. He didn't notice when they started to undress each other, it was all frantic, fingers digging into the taut muscles and the soft flesh, roaming each other's bodies, pulling and holding. Closer. Closer. Closer. That was the only thing Charles could think about even when Max pushed his thighs against his chest and pushed into him, pressing his body into the soft mattress. It was maddening. He was sure Max's back would be full with marks from his nails the next day, and he knew he would feel the thick cock pounding deep in him as well. His pleasure felt like it was coming from his bones, consuming everything in its body as Max suddenly slowed down a little.

"Are you mine?" His voice was weak, panting. "Are you mine and only mine?" Max repeated when he didn't get an immediate response.

Charles needed a second to collect himself, lickig his chapped, dry lips. "I am, you know I am, you know I love you." The sweet reassurance washed over Max, coaxing a muffled sound from him.

"I know you love me." He kissed along the long neck, swirling his tongue across the dark spot he left. "But are you mine?" There was something in the question, something neither he or Charles could name in that moment, but they both felt it.

Charles had to close his eyes, because Max picked up the pace, his pleasure suddenly skyrocketing. "Yes." He tried to meet with the desperate trusts. "I am." He whimpered, trying to open his legs even more, feeling Max sink just a tad bit deeper. "I am yours, all yours." He only hoped Max understood him through the heavy breathing. It was hard to hear everything right in that moment, because Max hit his prostate hard for a few minutes now and he couldn't hold it together any longer. He came, his body seizing up, his cock making a mess between their bodies while there was only one word stuck on his lips. "Yours."

Max came fast and hard right after him, it was about furking time.

Charles felt Max pumping him full between the aftershocks of his own orgasm and he felt his cheeks heat up even more.

It wasn't until later when Charles stood in front of the full body mirror, digging his fingers into the dark mark at the junction of his neck with a hiss. "That's very visible, Max." His green eyes found the blue ones through the mirror.

"I know, love." Max tipped his head down a bit while walking behind Charles, circling his arms around the thin body. "But I won't apologise for marking you up, everyone should know you are mine."

After a little huff Charles looked him in the eyes. "Could have chosen a less scandalous way to do it."

"I'd give you a ring, but I didn't bring it here." Max blurted out and it was way too late when he realised what the fuck did he say.

"You what?" Charles chipped, voice high, spinning in Max's arms, eyes searching if he heard it right.

There was silence, and it was perfect.

Charles was stil waiting, eyes frantic to hear the fucking question then finally, while Max was coming to terms with his own words.

"You heard it, baby." Max started quietly. "I wanted to do so for a while, I just never knew how." Admitting it made Charles smile until it reached his eyes, giggling even a little.

"So you basically asked me while we were having sex? Out of all the options?" The question made Max pause a bit before nodding. Yes, he knew it, he felt it when he asked Charles in the bed. They both felt the weight of that promise even in the frenzy of that moment.

"It looks like it." With a small smile Max looked at Charles. "I am not gonna kneel because I can't let you go now, but Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc," he inhaled and he barely heard his own voice from the adrenaline. He saw Charles' face change, from tense anticipation to the biggest happies smile, nodding, tearing up and ultimately pulling him into a bruising kiss. The kiss felt endless, and Max felt his legs bringing him somewhere while he was holding Charles tight, pressed to him.

He only came back to his senses when they were in bed again, Charles in his arms, their naked bodies tangled together in a second post-orgasm haze.

The next day's meeting with Seb was a spectacle. The older driver walked to Charles with the smuggest grinn. Charles was clearly tired, needed to sleep, and looked like he was having the best sex of his life last night, still mentally recovering from it.

"Looks like you had a good night."

Charles shot him a look tugging on the top of his shirt, bringing Seb's attention to exactly where he didn't want it to.

"That looks new." Seb grinned, raising his eyebrows, earning a tired laugh. "You know, the two of you came a long way." He started, his arm around Charles' shoulder detouring themselves from the busy part of the paddock. He saw the cupid bow lips tug into a shy smile, and those supposedly yellow eyes sparkling only the thought of the other boy. "I remember when I asked you if you thought he was pretty."

"Hard to forget." Charles grumbled with a little laugh.

"So what do you say now?" Seb stopped walking, looking at Charles, standing in front of the admittedly taller man. "Is he pretty?" the question left his lips with the biggest teasing grin.

"Who?" Charles' eyes had a glint Seb couldn't really pinpoint.

He rolled his eyes with a laugh. "You know who?"

"Now, Charles," snaps Max.

"One second," says Charles, fingers tapping a hole through the table. "Just— done!" He snatches the USB from the port with a shake of his hips. Max would like to be ensnared by their sensual shake, Charles is sure, but he only snorts. Grinning, Charles slips it into a zip pocket.

Together, they shoot out one of the windows until it spiders. This is the part Charles hates. But he doesn't have time to psych himself up because—

"Forced entry, eighteenth floor!"

Because.

Eyes closed, he throws himself against the glass. The sound of shattering fills his ears, jagged on his skin even through the texpro. For a while, he is weightless.

Then arms wrap around his waist, drag his body back into itself. He lands on top of Max with a harsh oompf, pain shooting up his funny bone. "Ow."

Max grunts. "No shit."

"Bet you didn't expect to be under me again so soon," says Charles, rolling onto his knees. He can see Max's glare from here, blue bright behind his mask.

"We all know who's the bottom here," he replies, getting to his feet. Charles can't help the grin as Max leads them crawling through the hole in the wall they made earlier. "And stop staring at my ass."

Charles pulls the slat of plasterboard over the entrance. "But your head looks so pretty up it."

"Better than yours."

"You wish," says Charles as he hauls himself into the back of the wardrobe. He layers a Janitor's uniform over his protective gear while Max shrugs on a suit. Charles glances away at one point, just to check he hasn't dropped any stars — never mind the fact they're strapped so securely to his person, it would take an earthquake to jolt them.

"If we die," starts Max.

"I'll play Staying Alive at your funeral," vows Charles.

"You'll be dead too, idiot." He says it like a promise.

"Sorry," says Charles, "our funeral."

Max deigns not to reply.

It's easy going from there. With all of the manpower focused on the broken window and the bodies leading up to it, Charles and Max quietly make their way down the floors, Charles a little ways behind.

"Coming up from fourth."

He pulls out a mop and mops the floor. Gotta stay true to the character. And Bill likes to mop apparently. The tactical gears all pass him without a second glance as Charles presses himself flat to the wall like he's trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

"Get off this floor," one of them says.

Which— Charles picks up his mop — Bill stays true to his mops, always — and hurries as uncoordinatedly down the stairs as possible.

When he gets to the Audi, there's no one there. There are about three seconds available to not panic, go through every single possible place Max could be when he hears the shouting.

Charles slips into the driver's seat just before Max comes tumbling into shotgun. "Bonsoir, monsieur," he greets, twisting the ignition. "Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?"

"Va te faire foutre," replies Max.

"Your accent is still appalling," muses Charles as he wheelspins out of the lot. "And is that still the only phrase you know?"

"Only one I need," says Max, rolling down a window. "Straight around the fountain. Lewis says you're an idiot by the way."

"He's the one that wanted the fucking thing so bad," says Charles, shoving the gear up before taking the line against the curb. Max twists with it and shoots. Charles hears a bang, grins.

"So you get nothing out of this?" asks Max, settling back into his seat.

"I get you," says Charles. It is meant to be a joke. "And money of course," he adds because he thinks he failed.

"Of course" agrees Max after a few seconds. Then, "What the fuck are you— Charles!"

Charles U-turns on the crossroad, pushes the gas pedal all the way down until he can drive right at the cars chasing them. Max groans. "I hate you," he says, "I hate you, I hate you." But he doesn't close his eyes, instead reaches over into the space between Charles's legs and pulls out his slashgun. "Okay," he says and Charles shoves the handbrake up, back wheels skidding round in a semi-circle.

He can't look because Designated Driver Duty. But the sound of slicing through air, crunch of metal, sudden shouting is enough. "You are so very, very dead," Max tells him when he heaves back against the headrest. "Seb is going to give you the disappointed eyebrows and I am not defending you."

"You would let me go through that?" asks Charles, definitely breaking the speed limit now. He weaves around an abnormally slow BMW — abnormally slow for a BMW that is. They're out of the city, into the backlogs. "How many are—"

"One," says Max. "Yes, you deserve it, and clutch." Charles obliges, instinctively sets his hand on the gearstick even though he has no idea where to push it. It doesn't matter; Max does it for him. Hand wrapped over his, sliding it down into third like a hot knife through butter. "Left."

The car protests a little, and then tilts with it, tamed. It's a sharp enough bend that the large SUV can't make it, goes careening into the side of a halfway refurbished old furniture warehouse. Charles thinks he can see half a couch rolling in the street in the rear view mirror.

"Fuck, Charles—" swears Max, and Charles focuses forward again. Forward, where a massive barn side is coming up on them, looming larger in the night. He makes a wild grab for the handbrake, yanks it up. The wheels skid violently to a stop, car shouting against it. His heart crashes back into his chest like a cliff-face into the ocean. He feels electric, alive like a power line.

In the sudden stillness, his mouth feels unbelievably dry.

He glances to the right. Next to him, Max's grin could light up a city. He catches Charles looking, shakes his head as he pulls his hands back to himself. They're just shy of steady with adrenaline. His head thumps back, breaths heavy. "I swear I’m over you," he huffs, "but if you ever do shit like that again, you’re going to set me back to square one."