#wolffstappen

You slam the door to Toto’s office so hard the flimsy motorhome wall vibrates behind you.

Max is right behind you. Naturally.

Because apparently the universe looked at your race weekend and decided you had not suffered enough.

“You pushed me wide,” you snap, spinning around.

Max laughs once, sharp and humorless. “I gave you space.”

“You gave me a postcard-sized emotional suggestion of space.”

“You braked too late.”

“You moved under braking.”

“I was defending.”

“You were being a dick.”

His eyes flash. “And you were being reckless.”

You step toward him. “Say that again.”

He steps toward you too, because of course he does. Max Verstappen has never seen danger and decided to respect it. He sees danger and gets closer to check if it bites.

Behind his desk, Toto stands completely still.

That is the worrying part.

There is no shouting, no dramatic hand gestures from him. Just Toto, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, watching both his drivers turn a double podium chance into a private war in his office.

The race had been a disaster.

Not a DNF. Worse, maybe.

A race you should have won.

A race Max could have won.

A race Mercedes should have controlled.

Instead: bad strategy call, aggressive defence, one nearly catastrophic wheel-to-wheel fight between teammates, radio messages that probably made PR age ten years, and a final result that tasted like ash.

P4 for Max.

P5 for you.

No podium. No champagne. No happy team photo.

Just two furious drivers and one very tired team principal.

“You both finished. Now.” Toto says finally, voice low.

You and Max turn toward him.

Toto’s eyes move between you. “That is the only reason I am not breaking something.”

Max mutters something in Dutch under his breath.

You fold your arms. “He started it.”

Max points at you. “You called me a selfish dick on the radio.”

“You were being one.”

“You said it in front of Bono and basically half the planet,” Max grumbles.

“Good. Bono and half the planet deserved context,” you fire back.

Toto closes his eyes for one second. One.

Then opens them.

“Enough.”

The word cuts through the room.

You both shut up.

Not because you want to. Because Toto’s voice has gone very calm, and that is always more dangerous than when he raises it.

He walks around the desk slowly and controlled. Angry in that precise way of his that feels like a locked door with fire behind it.

“You two have spent the last two hours blaming each other,” he says. “On the radio. In the garage. In front of engineers. In front of the cameras.”

You look away. Max’s jaw clenches.

Toto stops in front of you both.

“And now you are in my office, still full of adrenaline, still furious, still looking at each other like the only thing stopping you from fighting is the furniture.”

You glare at Max. Max glares back.

Toto’s gaze sharpens.

“Or maybe...” he says slowly, “not stopping you.”

The air changes.

You feel it before you understand it. The silence gets heavier.

Max’s eyes flick to you again, but this time there is something else under the anger.

Heat.

You hate that you notice. You hate more that your body notices too.

Toto sees it. His mouth curves, barely.

“Oh,” he says softly.

You swallow. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Use that tone.”

Max looks between you and Toto. “What tone?”

You snap, “The tone that means he thinks he has solved something.”

Toto steps closer. “Maybe I have.”

Max laughs once, disbelieving. “You solved the race disaster?”

“No.” Toto’s eyes move over you. “But I may have solved your attitude problem.”

Your pulse jumps. “That sounds like HR should be present.”

“HR would resign.”

Max smirks.

You point at him. “Do not look amused. You are the problem.”

“I thought I was the selfish dick”

“You can multitask.”

Then, unexpectedly, Toto’s hand lands at your waist. Firm and possessive.

Your breath catches. You look down, startled, at his hand resting so confidently on your waist.

“What the fuck?” you breathe.

Max notices. His expression shifts instantly.

Toto’s thumb presses lightly into your side.

“Both of you need to stop talking.”

You look up at him, furious and already feeling the pull of his hand through your entire body.

“And do what?”

Toto’s eyes drop to your mouth. “Use your imagination.”

Max’s laugh is lower this time. “Oh... that kind of debrief, huh?”

Toto looks at him. “Only if she wants it.”

The attention turns to you.

Both of them.

Max, still flushed with race anger, hair damp from the shower, jaw set, eyes bright with challenge.

Toto, controlled and severe, one hand still on your waist, waiting.

The question is not spoken. It does not need to be.

Your mouth goes dry.

Because yes. You have thought about this.

Of course you have.

Late at night. After races. After too much adrenaline and too little sleep. You have imagined Max and Toto in the same room, imagined that sharp mouth of Max’s and Toto’s calm, controlled one, imagined both of them turning all that anger and power on you until you forget every clever insult you have ever learned.

You have imagined hands. Mouths. Their bodies crowding yours.

Toto’s control and Max’s hunger.

Both of them watching you like they already know exactly how ruined you would be between them.

And, God help you, you have imagined their cocks too. Both of them in you at the same time, fucking you together, stretching you, filling you, ruining every last sensible thought in your head.

Your thighs press together before you can stop them.

Toto feels it under his hand. Max sees it on your face.

So there is no point lying now.

“Yes,” you say.

Toto’s grip tightens. Max’s eyes darken.

Toto leans closer, his voice low at your ear. “Say it clearly.”

You shiver. His voice at your ear and his hand on your waist are already enough to make you wet, your body betraying you before either of them has properly touched you.

“Yes,” you repeat. “I want it.”

Max exhales slowly. “Fuck.”

Toto smiles faintly. “There. First productive thing you have said all evening.”

You would insult him.

You really would.

You even open your mouth to do it.

But Toto kisses you. And every clever thought leaves your head.

His mouth is hard, controlled, demanding. He kisses like he is still angry too, like he has spent the entire race watching you and Max try to destroy each other and now he has decided to redirect the energy himself.

Your knees almost give out.

Toto feels it immediately. His arm slides tighter around your waist, catching you before you can even pretend you are steady. His hand spreads over your side, firm and possessive, holding you against him while his mouth takes yours with ruthless focus.

You grip his shirt.

You grab at him like he is the only solid thing in the room, fingers twisting in black fabric while his tongue pushes past your lips and makes your body go soft in places your pride would rather not discuss.

Then Max steps closer behind you.

You feel him before he touches you. That heat at your back. That challenge. That restless, furious energy that still clings to him from the race.

Your breath catches against Toto’s mouth when Max’s hand slides to your hip, opposite Toto’s.

Now there are two of them.

Toto in front of you, kissing you hard enough to make your head spin.

Max behind you, his body close, his hand settling on you like he has every intention of making the fight worse in the filthiest way possible.

Your body reacts instantly. Heat pools between your thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing as you feel them both holding you there — Toto controlled and possessive, Max rougher, hotter, still angry enough to make your skin burn.

“You’re still mad at me?” Max asks, voice rough.

You break the kiss just enough to look over your shoulder.

Your lips are swollen. Your breathing is uneven.

Toto’s hand is still locked around your waist, and Max’s fingers press into your hip like he wants to leave proof.

“Yes.” you breathe, the word coming out shaky as you try to catch your breath.

His smile turns sharp. “Good.”

Then he kisses your neck.

You gasp.

Your head tips back before you can stop it, giving him more space, and Max takes it instantly. His mouth moves over the side of your throat, hot and hungry, teeth grazing just enough to make your pulse jump under his lips.

Toto’s hand moves to your jaw. Possessive. Immediate.

He turns your face back to him.

“Eyes here,” he says, voice low and absolute. “On me.”

Your body nearly folds under the sound of it.

Max’s mouth is still on your neck. Toto’s fingers hold your jaw.

Both of them touch you at once, and something inside you gives way completely.

The anger is still there. The race is still there. The disaster, the shouting, the blame, the ruined podium chance.

All of it burns under your skin.

But now Toto is in front of you, Max is behind you, and your body has decided surrender is apparently an excellent strategy.

You look at Toto. Because he told you to. Because his hand is on your jaw. Because Max’s mouth is making you weak and Toto’s eyes are making it worse.

Toto’s gaze drops to your mouth. Then lower.

He sees everything. Your flushed face. Your shaking legs. The way your hips press back slightly into Max’s hand while your fingers cling to Toto’s shirt.

His mouth curves.

“There... that’s better. Stay exactly like that,” he murmurs. “Pressed against me, pushing back into him, pretending you are still angry.”

His thumb drags slowly over your lower lip.

“Good girl. Your mouth can lie, but your body knows exactly who is in charge.”

Your stomach flips.

Max laughs against your skin. “Bossy.”

Toto’s gaze flicks past you to him.

“You like it.”

Max says nothing. Interesting.

Toto’s mouth curves.

You almost laugh, but Max bites gently at the side of your throat and Toto swallows the sound with another kiss.

It becomes messy fast. Hands. Mouths. Anger turning into heat so quickly it almost scares you.

Toto presses into you harder, crowding you back with his whole body, and Max steps aside just enough to watch him steer you toward the desk like you already belong spread across it.

Toto reaches the desk behind you and clears it with one sweep of his arm. Max groans when a folder hits the floor.

“There goes the strategy review.”

You laugh breathlessly. “It was terrible anyway.”

Toto lifts you onto the desk effortlessly, like you weigh nothing.

“Do not remind me.” he says, lowering you onto the desk and spreading you out with calm, infuriating confidence, leaving just enough room for Max to step in between your thighs.

Max takes the invitation immediately.

He moves between your knees, one hand landing on the desk beside your hip, the other gripping your thigh as he kisses you hard, competitive even in this, like he wants to prove something with his mouth.

His kiss is different from Toto’s. Less possessive. Less controlled. Much angrier.

Max kisses like he is still arguing with you, like every press of his mouth says you pushed too far, you braked too late, you made me want this. It is rougher at the edges, impatient, full of that race-day fury he has nowhere else to put.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer between your thighs.

He tastes like mint and anger and bad decisions.

And God help you, it works.

Your body reacts to him with the same stupid honesty it reacted to Toto, only differently. Toto makes you feel claimed. Max makes you feel challenged.

You want to bite him. You want to pull him closer.

You do both.

Toto stands behind him for a moment, watching. Quiet. Too quiet.

He watches Max between your legs, watches your fingers tighten on Max’s shoulders, watches the way you drag him closer like you are still furious but your body has already changed sides.

Max’s hands slide to your thighs. Too fast. Too hungry.

Like he saw Toto kiss you, saw the way your body softened under Toto’s control, and now he wants to pull the same reaction from you by force of will alone.

Then Toto’s hand slides into Max’s hair and pulls him back.

Max’s eyes flash.

Toto’s voice is quiet. “Do not rush her.”

Max’s breathing is already uneven. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his mouth still wet from yours.

For one second, they just stare at each other. Max angry because Toto stopped him. Toto calm because he knows Max stopped.

And you sit there between them, legs spread on Toto’s desk, lips swollen, pulse racing, watching two impossible men argue over how you should be touched.

Your stomach twists hard. Because this should annoy you. It does.

It also makes you wetter.

Max’s gaze flicks back to you, and you can see it there — he knows. He knows you liked Toto’s command. He knows you liked being held in place. And now he hates that he wants to hear that voice again too.

Toto’s mouth curves slightly, like he reads the same thing.

Bastard.

You look between them, heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Oh,” you breathe, half laughing, half doomed. “This is going to be fun.”

Toto’s eyes return to you.

“You,” he says, “are in no position to be smug.”

“You sure?”

Max drops to his knees between your thighs.

Your breath stops.

Toto smiles. “Quite sure.”

Max pushes your pants down your legs with impatient hands, followed by your underwear. He looks up at you, still angry, still flushed, but the moment he sees how wet you are, his expression turns dark with satisfaction.

“You were fighting with me while this wet?”

You glare down at him. “You are so annoying.”

He grins. Then his mouth is on you.

Your head falls back with a sharp moan.

Toto steps behind you immediately, one hand bracing the back of your neck while the other slides over your chest. He unzips your hoodie fully and pulls it off your shoulders, stripping away the last layer of your fake composure with terrifying ease.

Your bra goes next.

One quick motion of his fingers at your back, and then you are lying completely bare on his desk. Naked. Open. Spread out beneath both of them like this is exactly where Toto planned to put you the second you slammed his office door.

Max groans against your pussy when he sees you like that.

Toto’s hand moves to your breast, warm and possessive, fingers closing around the soft flesh before his thumb finds your nipple. He teases it slowly at first, then firmer when your body arches into the touch.

Max is still between your thighs, licking you with rough, hungry strokes, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to keep you pinned open on the desk.

Toto’s mouth lowers to your neck. Then to the sensitive place behind your ear.

His lips drag over your skin while his fingers work your nipple, rolling it, tugging it lightly, making every lick of Max’s tongue feel sharper.

“Fuck,” you gasp, hips jerking when Max starts sucking harder on your clit.

Max’s hands tighten on your hips, holding you down as his mouth gets messier, more determined.

Toto’s mouth brushes your ear. His tongue traces the shell of it slowly, filthy and warm, while his hand squeezes your breast again.

“Still angry?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you answer, voice shaking.

Max hums against your clit.

The vibration shoots through you, hot and brutal, and your whole body jolts.

Toto laughs softly. “Liar.”

His fingers tighten around your nipple just enough to make your back arch off the desk, the sensation hitting straight between your thighs, adding to the heat Max is dragging out of you with his mouth.

You grip the edge of the desk, breathing hard, body already chasing more from both of them.

“I hate both of you,” you moan, even as pleasure rolls through you in a thick, dizzy wave.

Max laughs against your pussy.

Toto kisses your neck, smug and warm. “No, you don’t,” he says. “You are dripping all over my desk.”

Max pulls back just enough, his eyes flick up to yours, dark and shameless. “You can lie with your mouth all you want. Your pussy is much more honest.”

You kick lightly at his shoulder.

He catches your thigh and sucks your clit into his mouth.

Your moan breaks.

Toto’s hand tightens in your hair.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “That’s better.”

Max works you hard, no patience, no mercy. His tongue is firm, his mouth relentless, and then he adds his fingers, pushing them inside you while his lips stay locked around your clit.

Your whole body jerks.

Every time you try to move away from the intensity, Toto holds you in place with one hand at your chest and the other at your jaw, keeping you exactly where they want you.

“You can take it,” Toto says.

Then he kisses you, deep and hungry, swallowing your broken little sound while his hand moves back to your breast. His fingers tease your nipple, rolling it slowly, cruelly.

You whimper into Toto’s mouth.

Max groans against you, his fingers pushing deeper, curling inside you as his tongue works your clit.

The vibration nearly sends you over the edge.

Toto feels your body tightening.

He breaks the kiss just enough to look at you, his mouth still brushing yours, his eyes locked on your face like he wants to watch the exact moment you lose control.

“Already?”

You glare weakly. “Shut up.”

Max laughs against your pussy.

You almost scream.

Toto leans closer, his mouth brushing your ear, voice dropping low and filthy.

“Come on his mouth.”

That does it.

Your first orgasm hits fast and violent, your body arching off the desk, thighs shaking around Max’s head as he keeps licking you through it. Your cunt clenches hard around his fingers, pulsing again and again while he refuses to stop.

Toto holds you steady, lips at your temple now, his hand still warm and possessive on your breast.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Let it out. Very good.”

You collapse back on the desk, breathing hard, small aftershocks still rolling through you. Your body feels heavy in that sweet, ruined way, limbs loose, thighs trembling, cunt still pulsing around nothing after Max’s fingers.

For a second, you can only stare at the ceiling of Toto’s office and try to remember why you were angry.

Something about Turn Four. Probably.

Max rises slowly between your thighs, mouth wet, eyes bright with victory.

You point at him weakly, still breathing hard, still embarrassingly satisfied.

“Do not look smug.”

“I made you come in under five minutes.”

“I was stressed.”

“Sure.”

Before you can insult him properly, Toto leans down and kisses your temple. Soft. Almost tender enough to be unfair.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin. “But we are not finished.”

Your stomach flips.

Then his hand leaves your breast.

His warmth disappears from your side. The loss hits you immediately.

You are still lying spread open on his desk, naked, flushed, thighs parted, Max’s mouth still shining with you, and Toto simply steps away from you like he knows exactly how much you will feel the absence.

Your eyes follow him.

Toto moves toward Max with that calm, dangerous focus that makes the room feel smaller.

Max notices. His smile fades slightly. Not from fear. From anticipation.

Toto grips Max’s jaw and turns his face toward him.

Then kisses him. Hard. Controlled. So calm it makes your pulse trip over itself.

A low sound leaves Toto, almost a satisfied hum against Max’s mouth, like he can still taste you there — the mess of your orgasm, the proof of what Max has just done to you.

Your breath catches.

You are still spread out on Toto’s desk, still wet, still shaking and now you have to watch Toto take that same mouth for himself. The mouth that was between your thighs seconds ago.

Max freezes for half a heartbeat.

Then he kisses back with all that sharp, furious energy still burning under his skin. He kisses Toto like he argues, like he races, like he refuses to give ground even when someone stronger has already decided exactly where the line is.

And you just stare. Completely caught.

Your body reacts before your mind catches up.

Heat rolls through you again, low and sudden, your thighs pressing together on the desk, you are still half-wrecked from Max’s mouth, as you watch Toto hold Max by the jaw and take control of his mouth. There is something filthy about it. Something too dangerous. Max, who never shuts up, Max, who snaps and pushes and fights every centimeter, going still for Toto’s hand and mouth.

Then Toto’s other hand drops.

Right to the front of Max’s trousers.

Max inhales sharply into the kiss.

Your stomach flips.

Oh.

Oh, that does something to you too.

The sound is small, rough, almost swallowed by Toto’s mouth, but you hear it. You feel it somewhere deep in your own body.

Toto does not rush.

His palm presses there slowly, just enough to make Max’s fingers tighten in his shirt. His thumb moves once, deliberate and maddening, and Max lets out a low, broken sound straight into Toto’s mouth.

Your lips part.

The heat between your thighs turns unbearable.

You should look away.

You absolutely do not.

Toto keeps kissing him while his hand works over him through the fabric, slow and controlled, like he is proving a point with every touch.

Max tries to push closer.

Toto tightens his grip on his jaw.

Max groans again. This time louder. This time impossible to miss.

Your whole body clenches.

Toto pulls back just enough to look at him.

“There,” he murmurs. “You can be quiet.”

Max’s eyes flash, dark and furious and turned on enough to make your skin burn.

“Fuck you,” he breathes.

Toto’s mouth curves. “Maybe later.”

Your breath breaks.

Max looks at you then.

His mouth is swollen. His breathing is uneven.

And Toto’s hand is still at the front of his trousers.

You feel your face heat, but there is no hiding it now, no pretending. No clever comment sharp enough to cover the way your body has gone soft and needy again from watching them.

Toto sees everything. Your parted lips. Your flushed cheeks. Your thighs pressed tightly together.

And it is not only the aftershock of your orgasm.

It is the sight of them. Toto’s mouth on Max’s. Max groaning into him. Toto’s hand on his cock through his trousers, rubbing him just enough to make the shape of him obvious beneath the fabric.

Heat gathers between your thighs all over again.

“Oh,” he says softly, still holding Max. “You like this.”

You swallow. “No.”

Max laughs under his breath, but it turns into another rough sound when Toto’s palm moves again.

“Liar,” Max mutters.

Toto leans closer to Max’s mouth, eyes still on you.

“She is not the only one.”

For one filthy second, nobody moves.

Then Toto kisses Max again. Shorter this time, rougher. Like punctuation.

Max gives in for one breath, groaning into him as Toto’s hand presses once more, slow and possessive.

Then Toto releases him.

Max stands there breathing hard, jaw tight, mouth wet, looking like he wants to fight, fuck, or both.

You are not doing much better.

Toto turns back to you with calm, devastating satisfaction.

“Now,” he says, “where were we?”

His expression is far too calm for the heat burning through the room.

“On your knees.”

The command falls from Toto’s mouth, calm and absolute.

Your pulse jumps.

You slide off the desk, still shaky, and kneel between them on the carpet. Toto steps closer in front of you, Max behind you, both of them opening belts, undoing trousers, the room filling with the sounds of zippers and heavy breathing.

Toto’s hand cups your cheek.

With the other, he frees his cock from his trousers, already hard, heavy in his hand. He strokes himself once, slowly, like he knows exactly what the sight does to you.

And unfortunately, he does.

Your mouth goes dry.

Toto notices. His eyebrow lifts, and that faint, unbearable half-smile touches his mouth.

“You know what to do.”

Your pulse jumps again.

You look up at him through your lashes, still kneeling, mouth already watering, thighs pressed together because somehow even this is enough to make heat gather low in your body all over again.

“Yes.”

He guides his cock to your lips.

He is big, already slightly wet at the tip, and the first brush of him against your mouth sends another sharp pull of arousal between your thighs.

Toto’s thumb strokes your cheek. “Open.”

You do.

You take him slowly, tongue sliding over the head first, tasting him, teasing that sensitive place until his breath catches. Then you draw him deeper into your mouth, centimeter by centimeter, while his hand slides into your hair. Guiding. Holding. Careful in a way that only makes it hotter.

“Mein Gott,” he murmurs, voice roughening. “That mouth.”

Behind you, Max kneels close, his hand sliding between your thighs, fingers pushing into you from behind.

Your ass arches back toward him instinctively.

Max notices. His other hand lands on your ass, gripping hard, squeezing the flesh before delivering a light slap that makes your whole body jolt.

You moan around Toto.

Your hands fly to Toto’s thighs, fingers digging in so you have something solid to hold onto while Max works you open from behind and Toto fills your mouth.

Toto’s jaw tightens. He feels the way your mouth reacts around him, the way your throat moves with every broken sound Max pulls out of you.

Max laughs softly. “She likes that.”

Toto looks down at you.

“She likes being useful,” he says, voice rough, and strokes your cheek with almost cruel tenderness while his cock moves slowly between your lips.

Your whole body clenches around Max’s fingers.

Toto smiles. “Yes. Exactly.”

You take Toto deeper, your lips stretching around him, your eyes locked on his while Max keeps pushing his fingers into you from behind. His touch is rougher than Toto’s, impatient, matching the rhythm of your mouth on Toto’s cock.

“Fuck,” Max mutters. “She’s dripping again.”

Toto strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“Of course she is.”

You moan again, looking up at him from your knees as you take him deeper into your mouth. Your lips stretch around him, your hands tightening on his thighs while the heat between your own only grows worse.

Toto’s eyes darken.

His fingers slide into your hair and tug gently, just enough to make your scalp prickle and your body clench around Max’s fingers again.

“Look at you...” Toto murmurs, his breathing getting heavier as he starts moving faster, fucking your mouth with slow, controlled thrusts that are becoming less patient by the second. “So eager.”

The words go straight through you.

Then Max pulls his fingers out. The loss makes you whimper around Toto’s cock.

Behind you, you hear Max spit into his palm, then feel his hand return between your thighs. His fingers spread the wetness over your already sensitive cunt, rubbing slow, filthy circles over your clit before the blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance from behind.

Your breath stutters.

Toto watches your face closely while he fucks your mouth, one hand still cupping your cheek, the other buried in your hair.

He holds you there, guiding you with firm, careful control, his rhythm slowing just enough to make you feel every centimeter of him against your tongue.

His breathing is rough now.

His thumb strokes your cheek.

“Do you want him?”

Your stomach twists hard, arousal building low and sharp in your belly.

You pull back just enough to breathe.

“Yes.”

Max’s hand grips your hip.

Toto’s thumb brushes over your lower lip.

“Ask properly.”

Your cheeks burn.

Max groans behind you. “Fuck, Toto. Don’t drag it out.”

But Toto does not look away from you. Of course he does not. He waits. Calm and cruel. Perfectly aware of what it does to you.

You swallow, lips still wet from him.

“Please,” you whisper. “I want Max to fuck me.”

Toto smiles. “Good girl.”

Max does not wait after that.

You feel the head of his cock drag once through your wetness, rubbing over your swollen clit before pressing back to your entrance. Then he pushes into you from behind, slow enough to make you feel the stretch, hard enough to make your hands grip Toto’s thighs even tighter.

Your moan breaks as Max fills you.

“Fuck,” Max breathes, both hands locking on your hips. “She’s so wet.”

Toto’s hand tightens in your hair.

He guides his cock back to your mouth.

You open for him instantly, taking him again while Max starts moving behind you, each thrust rocking your body forward onto Toto. Your eyes water slightly from the fullness, from the rhythm, from being caught between them like this.

Toto exhales roughly above you.

“There,” he murmurs. “Take him. Take us both.”

And you do.

You take Toto deeper into your mouth while Max fucks you from behind, your body moving between them, your head spinning with the heat of it, the anger, the praise, the filthy perfection of finally being exactly where all three of you have been pretending you did not want to be.

The office disappears. The race disappears.

Everything becomes Toto in your mouth and Max inside you, the two of them moving in brutal, perfect rhythm until you can barely think.

Max’s hands grip your hips tighter.

Toto’s hand stays in your hair.

“Look at me,” Toto says.

You do.

Your eyes stay on his while Max fucks you harder from behind, every thrust driving a muffled moan around Toto’s cock.

“That’s it,” Toto says, voice rough now. “Let him use that attitude properly.”

Max groans. “She feels insane.”

“She looks better when she is not shouting,” Toto says.

You glare up at him. Or try.

It probably loses power with his cock in your mouth.

He smiles. “There. Still angry.”

Max thrusts deeper.

Your body jerks.

Toto inhales sharply. “But not for long.”

Max’s hand slides around your hip to find your clit, rubbing fast, rough circles while he keeps fucking you from behind. The pleasure builds again, sharp and mean, your body still sensitive from the first orgasm.

You whimper around Toto.

He pulls out just enough to let you breathe.

“Are you close?”

You gasp. “Yes.”

Max’s fingers move faster.

“Come on my cock,” Max says, voice strained. “Come on it, then.”

Toto’s hand tightens gently in your hair.

“Do it.”

Your second orgasm crashes through you on your knees, your body clenching hard around Max while you cry out, forehead pressing against Toto’s thigh. Max curses loudly, hips stuttering as you tighten around him.

“Fuck— she’s squeezing me—”

Toto’s voice turns darker.

“Don’t come yet.”

Max groans, but he slows, his cock still hard inside you, buried deep enough that your whole body trembles around him.

“You’re joking.” Max says.

“I am not,” Toto says, serious and calm in that terrifying way of his.

You laugh weakly, ruined and shaking, forehead pressed against Toto’s thigh while Max’s hands stay locked on your hips.

Toto pulls you up from the floor before your legs can properly remember how to work. His arms close around you immediately, strong and steady, holding your trembling body against his chest as if he already knows you would collapse without him.

Then he kisses you. Deep. Filthy. Tasting himself on your mouth.

You melt into him, fingers clutching his shirt, body still pulsing from Max, still too sensitive, still caught between both of them.

Behind you, Max pulls out slowly, breathing hard.

The loss makes you gasp into Toto’s mouth.

Max curses under his breath, one hand still wrapped around his hard cock, looking like he might actually murder Toto now.

“You are evil,” Max says, voice rough.

Toto smiles against your mouth.

“Efficient.”

Then he looks toward the sofa, still holding you tightly because he can feel how badly you are shaking.

Your stomach flips.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Max says immediately, because apparently he has recovered enough to be annoying again.

Toto lifts you with terrifying ease and carries you to the leather sofa. He sits first, pulling you down onto his lap before your shaky legs can object.

Then he strips off his shirt in one quick movement.

Your back meets his bare chest. Warm skin. Hard muscle. That solid, familiar strength beneath you.

Your body melts into him instantly, sinking back against him with a helpless little sound when you feel his cock still hard against your ass.

Toto’s mouth brushes your ear. “Comfortable?”

You swallow. “You are asking that now?”

His hands slide over your hips, then your ass, then up your stomach with slow, possessive care.

“Yes.”

Max pulls his shirt off too, throwing it somewhere behind him before kneeling between your legs, completely naked now, eyes dark as he looks at you spread open on Toto’s lap.

You look from one to the other. “What now?”

Toto’s hands keep moving, gentle and maddening, stroking your ass, your hips, your stomach, then higher until his palms close around your breasts. His thumbs brush over your already sensitive nipples, and your breath catches.

His mouth touches the shell of your ear.

“Now we stop wasting the office.”

Max grins. “Finally.”

Then Toto reaches calmly into the drawer beside the sofa and pulls out lubricant.

You blink. “You keep that in your office?”

He looks entirely unbothered. “I keep many things in my office.”

Max laughs. “Respect.”

You would make a joke, but Toto’s hand slides between your legs, fingers spreading you open slowly, then moving lower, between your buttocks with careful, deliberate pressure.

Your whole body tenses against him.

Toto kisses your temple. “Breathe.”

You do.

Or you try to.

Max lowers his mouth to you again, but not where you expect him first. He kisses your neck, then your collarbone, then lower, dragging his mouth over your chest while Toto holds you open and steady from behind.

When Max reaches your breasts, your head falls back against Toto’s shoulder.

His tongue circles one nipple slowly. Then he sucks. Gentle at first. Then firmer when your body arches against Toto’s.

Toto’s chest rises beneath your back, solid and warm, his skin pressed fully to yours, his breath steady at your ear while his fingers continue their slow, careful work between your thighs and lower.

You feel surrounded. Toto behind you. Max between your legs.

Skin against skin. Hands everywhere. Max's mouth on your breast. Toto’s cock hard against your ass.

Your breathing turns deeper, shakier, every inhale dragging the scent and heat of Toto into your lungs while Max’s mouth keeps teasing your nipple like he has finally learned patience and decided to use it against you.

“Oh no— fuck—” a soft moan slips from you.

“Oh yes,” Toto murmurs, one arm wrapping around your waist. “You wanted to fight both of us. Now take both of us.”

Max’s mouth leaves your nipple with a wet sound, and you almost complain.

Then he starts moving lower. Slowly. Kissing down your chest, your ribs, your stomach, dragging his mouth over every centimeter of skin like he suddenly has all the patience in the world and intends to make it your problem.

Your head falls back against Toto’s shoulder.

His hand spreads over your stomach, holding you firmly against him, keeping you steady while his other hand continues working carefully between your thighs and lower, slick with lube, slow enough to make your body tense and soften at the same time.

Max finally reaches your pussy.

He looks up once. Dark eyes. Mouth slightly swollen from your breasts.

Then his tongue drags through the mess of you. Slow now. Less angry.

Your whole body jerks.

Toto kisses your cheek. “Breathe.”

You do.

His voice stays low and steady at your ear.

“Good girl.”

Max’s tongue circles your clit slowly, almost carefully now, like he knows how sensitive you already are. That makes it worse. The gentleness, the precision, the way he watches your body react while Toto keeps you pinned safely against his chest.

Then Toto presses one finger inside you slowly.

Your fingers dig into his thigh.

“There,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “That’s it.”

His arm tightens over your stomach, holding you close while your body trembles between both of them.

Max watches from between your thighs, eyes dark.

“She looks good like that.”

“She does,” Toto says. “She looks beautiful when she lets go.”

The praise makes you tremble harder.

Toto works you open carefully, one finger, then more, patient despite the heat burning through the room. Max keeps his mouth on you, tongue slow over your clit, lips teasing, making it impossible to focus on anything except sensation.

Toto behind you. Max below you. The sofa beneath you. The room blurring at the edges.

By the time Toto shifts beneath you, your body is trembling, open, desperate.

He lifts your hips slightly.

You feel him then. Hard against your ass. Heavy. Hot.

Your breath breaks.

Toto’s mouth brushes your ear again.

“Slowly,” he says.

Then he guides you down onto his cock, entering you from behind, filling your ass centimeter by centimeter.

Your mouth falls open.

It is intense. Full. Almost too much.

Toto’s hands hold you steady.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well.”

You shudder.

Max watches you like he wants to devour the expression on your face.

“Fuck,” he says softly. “You look incredible.”

Toto bottoms out and stills, buried deep inside you, his arms wrapped around you, chest solid at your back.

You are panting. Overwhelmed. Full of him in a way that makes your brain flicker.

Toto kisses your temple. “Still with us?”

You nod.

“Words.”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I’m with you.”

Max positions himself between your thighs.

Your heart kicks hard.

Toto’s voice drops. “Do you want him too?”

You look at Max.

He is hard, flushed, eyes fixed on you with that same reckless hunger from the track, except now it has nowhere to go except into you.

“Yes,” you say.

Max’s mouth curves. “Good.”

He pushes into your pussy slowly while Toto stays buried in your ass.

Your whole body locks. The stretch is overwhelming.

Your hands fly to Toto’s arms around you.

“Oh my God—”

Toto kisses your cheek, voice rough but gentle. “Breathe. Take him slowly.”

Max groans as he sinks deeper.

“Fuck, she’s so fucking tight now.”

Toto’s grip tightens around your waist.

“Careful.”

“I am.” Max says.

“You better be.”

Even now, even like this, they still sound one second away from arguing.

You laugh breathlessly, but it turns into a moan when Max pushes fully inside.

There is no room left for thought.

Toto behind you. Max in front of you.

Both of them inside you.

Your body stretched, filled, held between them.

You lift your knees higher, legs tightening around Max’s back, pulling him closer before you can even think about pretending you are still in control.

Max pushes deeper.

Your whole body shudders. The fullness turns sharper, hotter, almost too much, Toto buried behind you and Max sinking deeper into you from the front, both of them stretching you until every thought in your head breaks apart.

“Fuck,” Max breathes, voice rough. “That’s—”

“Yes...” Toto says, voice strained.

Because he feels it too. The way your body tightens around both of them. The way you clench from the overwhelming pressure, from being so completely full, from having both their cocks inside you at once.

His arm locks more firmly around your waist.

“I know,” Toto murmurs, his voice softer now, before pressing a gentle kiss to your sweat-damp forehead.

Then they start slowly.

Max moves first, drawing back and pushing in while Toto holds still beneath you. Then Toto shifts his hips up just slightly, and the double sensation makes your head fall back with a broken cry.

“There she is,” Toto murmurs. “That’s my girl.”

Max’s hand slides to your throat, gentle but firm enough to tilt your face toward him.

“Look at me.”

You do.

His eyes are wild.

“You were so angry with me,” he says, thrusting into you slowly. “Still angry now?”

You try to answer. Nothing comes out.

Max grins.

Toto’s hand slides down to your clit.

Your entire body jerks.

“Oh— fuck—”

“Apparently not,” Toto murmurs, his mouth brushing your shoulder in a soft kiss that makes your whole body tighten around them.

Then they find a rhythm.

Toto lifting into you from behind. Max thrusting into you from the front.

Not too fast at first, but deep, heavy, devastating. Every movement fills you completely, every stroke grinding pleasure through your body until your fingers clutch at both of them.

Max kisses you hard.

Toto’s mouth is at your neck.

Their hands are everywhere: your waist, your breasts, your thighs, your throat, your clit. You cannot tell where one touch ends and the other begins. You only know you are full, stretched, adored, overwhelmed.

“You take us so well,” Toto says, voice wrecked now. “So fucking well.”

Max groans. “She’s perfect.”

Your cunt clenches around Max.

Your ass tightens around Toto.

Both men curse at once.

You would laugh if you had any air.

Max’s forehead drops to yours. “Do that again.”

Toto’s hand moves faster on your clit.

You do not do it on purpose. Your body does it for you.

They both groan.

Toto’s voice turns darker, rough with control slipping.

“You like being full of us. You like being between us like this.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes— fuck— yes—”

Max’s hips snap harder.

Toto follows, and the rhythm turns rougher, less careful now that your body has adjusted, now that every sound you make tells them you want more.

The sofa creaks.

Your thighs shake.

Your third orgasm builds fast and brutal, fed by the double fullness, Toto’s fingers on your clit, Max’s mouth on yours, both of them praising you like they are trying to ruin you permanently.

“Good girl,” Toto groans.

“So fucking good,” Max adds.

“Taking both of us.”

“Look at you.”

“Perfect.”

You break. Hard.

Your orgasm rips through you, body locking around both of them, pleasure so intense you almost sob. Max swears loudly, hips stuttering as your pussy clenches around him. Toto’s arms tighten around you, holding you through it while he keeps moving just enough to drag every aftershock out.

“That’s it,” Toto says against your ear. “Come for us. Good girl.”

Max’s jaw is tight. “I’m close.”

Toto’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Not yet.”

Max makes a strangled sound. “Fuck off.”

You actually laugh, broken and breathless, which turns into another moan when Toto thrusts up into you.

Toto’s mouth brushes your ear.

“Where do you want him?”

Your brain is useless. Your body is not.

“Inside,” you gasp. “Both of you. Inside.”

Max groans like the words nearly finish him.

Toto’s grip tightens.

“Oh yes— fuck— ” Max mutters, voice rough, almost laughing.

You try to glare at him.

It fails.

Toto’s hand slides to your jaw, turning your face toward him.

“You want that?” he murmurs. “Want both of us to fill you?”

Your whole body clenches again.

“Yes.”

Toto’s eyes darken. “Then take it.”

Max loses it first.

He drives into you hard, groaning against your mouth as he comes deep inside you, his body shaking, hands gripping your hips like he might fall apart otherwise.

You feel it. The hot rush of him filling you. The hard pulse of his cock buried in your pussy, spilling into you in deep, uneven waves while his mouth stays open against yours.

The feeling sends you spiraling again. Not a full orgasm this time, but a sharp, broken wave of pleasure that makes you cry out and clamp down around him.

Max curses into your mouth.

Toto follows seconds later.

His thrusts turn rough and uneven beneath you, his mouth at your neck, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to keep you pressed down against him. He drives up into you one last time, deep and firm, his cock buried in your ass as his body tenses beneath yours.

Then he comes.

A low groan breaks from him, rough against your skin, and you feel him fill you from behind while Max is still pulsing inside your pussy.

The fullness is obscene. Overwhelming. Perfect.

You collapse back against Toto, shaking, your body trapped between them in the best possible way. Max leans forward against you, breathing hard, his cock still inside you. Toto stays buried behind you too, his arms locked around your waist, holding you tight against his bare chest like he has no intention of letting you slip away.

Your thighs tremble around Max.

Your hands clutch weakly at Toto’s arms.

All three of you are tangled and ruined on the office sofa, still joined, still breathless, still surrounded by heat, sweat, and the filthy proof of what just happened.

For a moment, nobody moves.

Nobody can.

Toto’s mouth presses to your damp temple. Soft, possessive and grounding.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

You close your eyes, still feeling both of them inside you.

Toto’s arms are locked tightly around your waist, holding you pressed back against his bare chest. Your body lies heavy against his, boneless and trembling, while his mouth drifts softly over your temple again and again.

His hand moves to your stomach, stroking slow, grounding circles over your skin.

You breathe because he tells you to. Because he is warm beneath you. Because his voice still sits low in your ear like something you would follow anywhere.

Max is above you, still buried deep, his breathing rough against your neck. One of his hands smooths over your hip, no longer rough now, just careful, while his mouth brushes the side of your throat in small, heated touches.

For once, neither of them fights for control.

They just hold you there. Full. Shaking. Ruined between them.

For a long moment, nobody says anything.

Then Max lifts his head slightly. “I think we fixed the tension.”

You laugh weakly.

Toto exhales against your shoulder. “You two are still not allowed to crash into each other next weekend.”

Max groans. “Team debrief ruined.”

You manage, “Worth it.”

Toto kisses your temple. “Are you okay?”

There it is. His voice soft now. Grounded. Back to you.

You nod, still trembling. “Yes.” you whisper. “I’m okay.”

Max’s hand strokes your thigh, gentler now. “Too much?”

You shake your head. “No. Just… no brain.”

Max grins. “That was the goal.”

Toto gives him a look over your shoulder. “Do not be smug.”

“You’re smug.”

“I am allowed.”

“You always think that.”

You lift one weak hand. “Please do not start another argument while both of you are still inside me.”

They both go quiet.

Then Toto laughs. Low and warm. Actually amused.

Max follows, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Fair.”

Aftercare is awkward for exactly six seconds because no one wants to move.

Then Toto takes control. He eases out first, slowly, one hand steady on your waist when you shiver. Max follows, pressing a quick kiss to your knee when you make a soft sound.

The emptiness hits you immediately.

After being so full of both of them, the sudden loss makes your body tremble all over again. You feel their cum start to slip out of you, warm and messy, mixing between your thighs, and instead of embarrassment, another sharp pulse of arousal goes through you.

Your breath catches.

Toto sees it. So does Max.

For a second, all three of you look down, and the room goes quiet in a way that is filthy, satisfied, and far too pleased with itself.

Max’s mouth curves first. Toto’s hand tightens gently on your waist.

“Still greedy,” Max murmurs.

You should deny it.

You absolutely do not have the strength.

Toto leans in and kisses your temple, slow and warm.

Max follows a heartbeat later, pressing his mouth to your other temple, softer now, almost tender.

The two of them stay there for a second, surrounding you again, smug and warm and entirely too proud of what they have done to you.

Toto reaches for tissues, then warm wipes from the private bathroom, practical and careful while Max grabs your discarded Mercedes hoodie from the floor and drapes it over you like a blanket.

“Your idea of aftercare is terrible,” you mumble.

Max looks offended. “It’s a Mercedes hoodie. It’s expensive.”

“It smells like sex and rage.”

“That is basically our brand.”

Toto’s mouth twitches.

He cleans you carefully, murmuring soft praise when your thighs twitch from overstimulation. Max sits beside you, rubbing lazy circles over your calf, oddly quiet now that the heat has faded into something softer.

“You really okay?” he asks.

You look at him.

His face is open in a way it rarely is. There is no challenge, no bite. Just concern.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m okay.”

He nods. “Good.”

Toto wraps you in his jacket next, because apparently hoodies are not acceptable blankets in his office. He pulls you against his chest on the sofa, and Max settles on your other side, close enough that your legs touch.

You are warm, sore, boneless. And absurdly satisfied.

Toto’s hand strokes your hair. Max’s thumb moves over your knee.

For a while, the office is quiet.

Then you murmur, “We still need to talk about Turn Four.”

Max groans. “Are you serious?”

“You pushed me wide.”

“You were late on the brakes.”

Toto’s hand tightens in your hair. “Do not make me solve this problem again.”

You and Max both go quiet.

Then Max mutters, “I mean…”

You laugh into Toto’s chest.

Toto sighs like a man who has won eight championships and still cannot control his drivers.

“Unbelievable,” he says.

But his arms tighten around you. And nobody moves.

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Max pulls back to look at him again, heat pooling in his stomach at the way Toto’s face is twisted in some sick amalgamation of desire and hesitance, pupils blown wide. 

He wants this. Wants him. 

Max smiles, a little mean, flexing his thighs and grinding down on Toto’s erection, relishing in the gasp it wrenches out from Toto’s unwilling lips. 

“What you said during dinner. You weren’t lying, were you?”

Toto purses his lips, fear flickering in his eyes, combatting the obvious arousal he feels. His palms are spread on Max’s thighs, fingers long and grip strong, fighting the way Max’s muscles strain against his jeans. 

“W-we want you at Mercedes, Max—”

“Ah, no, Toto.” Max interrupts him, palms sliding up Toto’s chest, creeping towards the buttons of his shirt. He smooths out the collar, a needless motion, just to feel the way Toto’s pecs jump under his touch. “Not that.”

Toto visibly swallows, tongue darting out to lick his lips. Max can’t help the wolfish grin from spreading on his face. 

“I—I want you, Max.” the words come out a deep rumble, cutting off into a low, throaty groan when Max rewards him with a roll of his hips. 

“Mhm…” Max hums his approval, grinning. 

His fingers finally find the buttons of Toto’s shirt and he begins to unbutton it, one by one, rutting down on Toto’s cock harder and harder, reveling in the way Toto writhes in pleasure. 

Toto’s hand shoots up, gripping Max’s wrist painfully tight, when he gets to the fourth button, the haze of pleasure cut-through by panic. 

“We cannot do this, Max. This is not right—”

Max doesn’t stop the motion of his hips, the way his ass pushes down onto Toto’s growing arousal. He smiles coyly, free hand working to finish unbuttoning Toto’s shirt. 

“It’s not if we can or not, Toto,” Max purrs, deliberate in the inflection of every word, knowing the effect he has on Toto. He holds the power right now, on top of Toto, the older man completely at his mercy. “It’s about if you want to.” Max says, cupping one of Toto’s pecs. His chest is smooth—waxed. The muscle is soft, giving way beneath Max’s grip. “Didn’t you say you wanted me?” Max tilts his head, lips pulling into a slight pout. 

The way Toto curses under his breath says he’s hit the jackpot. 

“Fucking hell, Max.” Toto abruptly lets go of Max’s wrist, hand finding purchase on Max’s thigh again, digging into the flesh. If he weren’t still wearing jeans, Max is sure there’d be red marks on his skin. 

“Yes?” Max says, affectedly guileless. He stops rolling his hips, lifts up off Toto’s lap, the ghost of his warmth torturing Toto. 

Toto’s face twists into a pained look, but Max won’t play into his hand. Max is still the one with leverage here. 

“I want you, Max. Please.” Toto chokes out, chest rising and falling with his harsh breaths. 

“Then show me.” Max breathes out, leaning close to Toto until there’s only a few centimeters between them, until they’re sharing the same air. 

“Shit.” Toto exhales before surging forward, closing the gap and catching Max in a searing kiss. 

He can taste the wine they had for dinner; Max didn’t really like it then, but tasting it on Toto’s tongue makes it a lot more palatable. 

The kiss is messy in a way Max didn’t expect from Toto, but controlled nonetheless, every touch from Toto’s large hands calculated, experienced. Max moans at a particularly hot swipe of Toto’s tongue against his, his cock twitching painfully in the confines of his jeans. He shoves Toto’s shirt off his shoulders, desperate to feel more skin, burning against his touch. 

Toto quickly takes charge of the pace, and Max is too kiss-dumb to fight it. He’s already got Toto where he wants him. 

Toto makes swift work of ridding Max of his shirt, hands running up his thighs and clutching the sides of his waist. Max has never felt small before, but the way Toto’s large hands almost seem to meet at the small of Max’s back makes him feel petite. 

Max whines, half from how insanely hot that is, the other from how annoyed he is at still being in his too-tight jeans. His hands sneak down Toto’s torso, not forgetting to feel the ridges and valleys of all his muscles—Toto is unfairly fit for his age and that’s driving Max a little insane—and he starts fiddling with Toto’s belt buckle, too consumed in the kiss to pull back and properly take it off. 

Eventually, Toto takes mercy and helps Max unbuckle his belt, breaking the kiss with a pained hiss when Max shoves his boxers down and grabs his cock, twitching in Max’s grip. The glide of Max’s palm down his shaft is dry, bordering on painful, but the way Toto throws his head back, neck bared to Max, tells him that he’s definitely into it. 

“Fuck, you’re big.” Max says, half absent-mindedly, staring down at Toto’s cock while he strokes him. 

Toto’s hands cup Max’s ass, kneading the flesh, thumbs slipping into the hem of his jeans. He tugs them down, leaning in again to burrow his face in the crook of Max’s neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that brand his skin. 

Max raises his hips to let Toto yank his jeans down the rest of the way. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him when Toto jerks back to look at Max with wide eyes upon realizing that Max doesn’t have boxers on. 

“You are crazy.” Toto says, and it sounds a lot like reverence, and Max can’t help the way goosebumps break out all over under Toto’s heated gaze. 

“I try my best.” Max responds cheekily, the effect lost with how breathless he is. 

He feels the air get knocked out of him when Toto finally wraps those long fingers around his cock, hips jerking up against his control. He moans at the friction—moans louder when he feels the way Toto’s cock leaks out precome at the noises he makes. 

Toto’s back to working at his neck, nipping at the skin, alternating between filthy kisses that rush straight to Max’s cock and the sharp drag of his teeth. Toto’s stroking him at a medium pace, not slow enough to lose the arousal but not fast enough the way Max is desperate for. Max whines, a little petulant he knows, but he’s too horny to feel any embarrassment. 

“Tell me you want me.” Max says, words coming out rushed and a little slurred as Toto nibbles at a particularly sensitive spot on his jaw. 

The deep baritone of Toto’s voice vibrates through Max’s very being as he speaks, lips moving against his skin as he says, “I need you, Max. So fucking bad.” 

His words are emphasized with a certain flick of his wrist that sends Max keening, back arching and chest pressing into Toto. 

“Fuck me. I need you in me, please—” Max begs, voice breaking on the last word. 

He lifts his hips again, about to get off to fully take off his jeans but suddenly he’s being lifted up, huge hands bracing the backs of his thighs. He automatically loops his arms around Toto’s neck, shocked and so fucking turned on at the show of strength that he whimpers, looking into Toto’s eyes, the way they’re almost completely black with how blown out his pupils are. 

Toto carries him to the bed a few steps away from the couch without much preamble, dropping Max down on the mattress and yanking off his jeans in one sweeping motion. Max arcs off the bed, hips kicking up in desperate need. 

Toto kneels on the bed, right between Max’s thighs, gripping them and spreading him wider. The way Toto keeps squeezing his thighs has Max trapping a garbled noise at the back of his throat. 

“Lube?” Toto asks, voice a low whisper. 

Max manages to crack a grin, spreads his thighs a little wider and flexes them. “No need. Already prepped.” 

Toto pauses at that, and Max giggles at how he manages to keep getting that bewildered reaction out of Toto. 

“Fucking hell.”

It happens a little fast—Toto kicking off his slacks, the garment landing haphazardly somewhere on the carpeted floor, Toto leaning over Max, palms splayed out right next to his head and bracketing him on the mattress. 

The tip of Toto’s cock pushing against his hole and for a split second Max is wondering if he’ll even fit, if he should’ve prepped more, before Toto’s thrusting inside, right up to the hilt, Max’s breath lodging in his throat as his mouth falls open on a wordless scream. 

Toto groans, sweat glistening on his skin where he hovers over him, breaths labored as he stays stock still inside Max, letting him adjust to the intrusion. 

“You’re—ahh—so fucking big, fuck—” Max groans, hands grabbing onto Toto’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to ground himself. 

It’s almost too much as Max feels the way his walls rearrange to fit around Toto, relaxing further with every forced breath. His nails dig into the meat of Toto’s shoulder, eliciting a quiet hiss from the older man. 

Toto doesn’t move despite how obviously he’s exerting himself in trying not to, fighting his instincts to thrust into Max, to take without letting Max catch his breath. 

It feels like centuries pass before Max mutters out a broken, “Move,” winding his leg around Toto’s back and arching his back a little, feeling the heat of Toto’s chest against his. 

Toto does without wasting any more time, pulling out slowly, the both of them groaning at the drag, before thrusting back inside, harder and deeper than before. He sets a brutal pace from the start, now propped up on one elbow while his other hand goes back to Max’s thigh, shifting his leg in a way that changes the angle and—there. 

Fuck. 

The moan Max lets out is wanton and completely out of his conscious control, stars bursting in his vision. He rakes his fingers down Toto’s back, attempting to pull him closer, cock throbbing where it’s hanging uselessly between their bodies. 

“Fuck, Max, you’re so tight.” Toto grits out, teeth clenched as he grinds his hips in a way that presses into Max’s prostate repeatedly. 

Max throws his head back, another high-pitched moan ripped out of his very core, the heat coiling up, condensing into something he knows he can’t hold back for long. 

“Shit, Toto,” he mewls, eyes stinging with tears he doesn’t have the mind to suppress, “tell me—”

“Need you, Max, want you so bad—shit—you’re so—” Toto beats him to it, bowed over Max, face buried in the crook of Max’s neck as his thrusts grow more erratic, fucking into him harder and harder, jolting Max’s body up the bed with each stroke. 

And that’s what pushes Max off the edge, the coil snapping as he comes between them, completely untouched and with a loud cry. 

Toto fucks him through it, moaning low against Max’s skin as Max clenches around him, body still shaking from possibly the most intense orgasm of his life. 

It isn’t long before Toto’s unloading inside him, hips stuttering through shallow thrusts, fucking his own cum inside Max’s ass, the both of them reduced into panting messes. 

They stay like that for a long moment, catching their breaths before Toto pulls back, taking the warmth of his body with him much to Max’s chagrin, and slowly pulls out of Max. Suddenly, Max feels way too empty, weakly clenching around nothing, already missing the fullness of Toto’s cock filling him up. 

He whimpers into Toto’s mouth when he catches Max’s lips in a kiss, something a lot gentler and softer than before. 

With a grunt, Toto rolls off him and to the side, laying beside him. Max turns towards him, knowing he must look like a mess with dried tear-tracks on his face, flushed to a bright scarlet. Toto smiles at him, something tender, so different from the mood earlier, the hesitance from before gone. 

Max’s hand finds its way to Toto’s chest, and he can’t help the way he curls up a little, making himself smaller as he tucks his face below Toto’s chin. 

Toto hugs him closer, content to lay there with Max in his warm embrace. 

They’ll probably talk about it whether Max likes it or not, but for now Max is content enough knowing that he’s wanted.