mostlyasidehoe
Recent bookmarks
-
Tags
Summary
He knows George is not walking out of this one. He knows he has exerted every ounce of measure that he had available to him, and what remains now is the moisture at the bottom of the cup, the echoes of his composure, a ghost image of the person that Max hadn’t yet carved open.
Max has never felt this patient, this calm in his entire life.
And what George is going through seems to be the exact opposite; his hands are shaking as they roam over Max’s clothes, seeming, supernaturally, to know what exact spots underneath them Charles has bitten and pressing his thumbs there while whining low in his throat, as if asking Max why, just why he would do this to him.
-
Tags
Summary
“He is not my boyfriend,” Charles nearly spits the words into his drink. He remembers that clip of George saying the same about Alex, that half-determined half-resigned hue to his voice as he said he might be my mate, but he is not my boyfriend, hands gripping that little bit harder on the wheel of his rig.
He prays to God that it is not how he sounds like right now. God hardly ever listens.
“Sore spot, that, huh?” George smirks, front teeth nibbling on his straw like it tastes better than the drink, the fruity yet flavourless things he sips through all of the offseason like they have electrolytes in them.
Charles gets Max, he really does. He’d want to hit the guy too. And if he had four championships to spare, he would not mind that much, costing himself one extra in the process.
-
Tags
Summary
three times someone from the grid told charles they loved him + one time charles told someone he loved them
-
Tags
Summary
And then the sweetest little word falls from Max’s lips, dripping honey and mountain-lake quiet, and Charles might come even with his eyes closed.
“Please,” Max whispers, body tensing so tight he’s almost vibrating with it, as if saying it cost him more than Charles could ever imagine. Breath stutters in Charles’ chest, coming out staccato to brush over the thin, pink skin of Max’s throat. Max shudders, head tilting further back.
“Baby,” Charles says, satiny soft and barely audible, his hand running down Max’s side to grip possessively at his waist. He takes another chance. “Want me to fuck you, yes? Want me to put my cock in you, feel how deep it goes?”
about the first night, which max kind of wishes he could forget, and the second night, which neither will ever, ever forget.
Series
- Part 11 of lestappen sundays (fic collection)
-
Tags
Summary
“Why won’t you kiss me properly?” Max whines, poking at Charles’ chest as the man pulls away from him again after barely a peck.
Okay, more than a peck. But still. A mere few seconds are not what Max deserves.
“I kiss you properly,” Charles says, wriggling back on the couch to get comfortable, careful not to spill the bowl of popcorn in his lap. “I kiss you all the time.”
“Yeah,” Max grumbles. “Very softly, very shortly.”
or, how max's mouth drives charles insane in all the right ways
Series
- Part 17 of lestappen sundays (fic collection)