Chapter Text
As Charles stepped into the gym in the Thirty Nine Monte Carlo club, the familiar scent of sweat mixed with the faint hint of rubber from the equipment filled his nostrils, instantly evoking a sense of comfort and nostalgia.
He’d been a member of this club for a few years but only used its facilities when he needed a break from training with Andrea or just needed to be alone for a while.
The clang of weights being lifted and the steady rhythm of treadmills echoed throughout the spacious room, creating a backdrop of activity against which Charles’ thoughts could wander.
Dressed in his regular workout attire of a tight white t-shirt and some baggy black gym shorts, he felt a sense of relief wash over him as he temporarily escaped the intense demands of racing over the winter break.
The monotonous routine of track sessions and rigorous fitness regimens had left him craving a change of pace, a departure from the structured world of motorsport. And what better way to break free from the routine than by immersing himself in the raw energy of his favorite gym?
As he approached the weights area, he had a quick look around at the individuals near him, each one focused on their own fitness journey and not paying him any mind. Some were pushing themselves to the limit, muscles straining against the resistance of weights, others engaged in lively conversations, sharing tips and personal training sessions.
Most of the faces were unfamiliar, and he didn’t worry about being recognized or pestered in the exclusive gym.
Choosing a pair of dumbbells and setting up his station for the next hour, Charles began his workout with a set of shoulder presses, the familiar burn in his muscles serving as a welcome reminder of his hard earned physical prowess.
As he moved through his lazy routine, his mind drifted, reflecting on the past season. Memories of exhilarating battles and frustrating setbacks flashed through his mind, the highs and lows of professional motorsport.
Amidst the clatter of equipment and the rhythmic beat of his pulse, memories of a recent personal journey surfaced, bringing with them a mixture of emotions.
It'd been some time since Charles had come to terms with his sexuality, embracing his identity as a gay man with a newfound sense of freedom and authenticity. The weight of secrecy and suppression lifted, replaced by a sense of acceptance and self-love.
Now, as he stood in the gym, sweat glistening on his brow and muscles throbbing with exertion, Charles found himself at peace with the past.
The pain of his breakup in the previous year had mellowed into a bittersweet reminder of the journey that brought him to this moment. He may have lost a romantic partner along the way, but in embracing his true self, he gained something far more valuable: the freedom to live authentically, unapologetically, and fully as the himbo he always wanted to be.
Amidst the gym's familiar clangs and echoes, his focus was abruptly hijacked by an unexpected sight: Max Verstappen, striding lazily into the gym.
The mere presence of Max sent Charles’ heart racing, igniting a flurry of emotions he'd struggled to suppress for years.
Despite the poorly made facade of nonchalance he attempted to maintain whenever in the man's general proximity, he couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement and nervousness coursing through him as Max settled onto a rowing machine just behind him, apparently not noticing his presence.
His mind raced with a million thoughts, chief among them the dirty secret that he'd harbored for years: a profound and unrequited crush on the enigmatic Dutch driver.
Caught between the thrill of proximity and the fear of revealing too much, Charles struggled to keep his reps going steady.
He stole a few glances at Max’s focused profile in the mirror, before summoning every ounce of courage. Taking a deep breath and turning to the distracted man, with a hesitant smile, he offered a greeting, hoping to seem unaffected by the man's presence.
To his astonishment, Max returned the smile, eyes holding a glimmer of warmth in their familiar wrinkled edges, but only for a moment until he started his workout on the machine.
The surprise was twofold for Charles, not only because of the reclusive Dutchman’s rare appearance outside of his penthouse, but also due to the recent news of his messy breakup with Kelly before the season ended.
Max settled into his workout routine, and Charles continued to watch him in the mirror, admiring the subtle signs of strain etched onto the Dutchman's usually composed face as he worked out. His sweat glistened on his defined muscles and coated his god-like physique in a sheen that Charles couldn’t take his eyes off of.
Transitioning to squats, a mischievous idea flitted through his mind. With a subtle adjustment to his attire, Charles hiked up his shorts a bit higher on his thighs, a playful gesture intended to see if he could catch Max's attention.
Charles began his set, squatting low with practiced ease, gaze flickering towards the Dutchman in the mirror, eager to gauge his reaction.
However, as he executed his squats, he felt a pang of disappointment. Despite his efforts to subtly show off, the Dutchman remained focused on his own workout, attention seemingly fixed on the floor right in front of him.
Not once did Charles catch him glancing in his direction, and the realization dampened his spirits.
Finishing his set, Charles wasn’t sure what he'd expected or why he'd thought he might get a different reaction from Max than he’d gotten over the last year now that he was out. There were rumors in the paddock that the Dutchman was also gay, but there were always rumors about everything in the paddock.
All of his attempts to entice Max had fallen flat, leaving him feeling somewhat deflated and self-conscious. Without lingering any longer than necessary, Charles quickly finished his workout and departed the gym with a sense of disappointment.
Reflecting on the encounter walking home, Charles thought that maybe he was always too subtle and maybe not as noticeable as he’d hoped, or maybe Max was simply too absorbed in his own thoughts to take notice, or obviously not gay… Whatever the reason, he resigned himself to the fact that sometimes, despite his best efforts, things didn’t always go according to plan. He should have learned his lesson on that by now anyway.
Time for plan B.
Continuing his new regular visits to the gym, he became increasingly determined to capture the attention of the newly unattached man who kept appearing at the same time everyday.
With each workout session, he devised new and bolder tactics, hoping to elicit some sort of reaction from the typically reserved Dutchman.
During his next gym session, Charles strategically positioned himself near Max and engaged in exercises that accentuated his physique. He knew he looked good, and Ferrari thirst trapped him enough on socials to raise his opinion of his looks to a dangerously high level.
He performed sets of lunges with exaggerated movements, ensuring that his form was impeccable and impossible to ignore.
As he snuck subtle glimpses of Max in the mirror, he noted a shift in the man’s demeanor—a fleeting glance, a raised eyebrow—that hinted at a growing awareness of his general presence or maybe an interest.
Emboldened by this small victory, Charles escalated his efforts in the following days. He incorporated more dynamic exercises into his routine, showcasing his agility and flexibility with calculated precision. Lunges evolved into deep squats to show off his plump ass, push-ups transformed into one-handed variations showcasing his arms, and each movement was executed with an air of confidence and poise.
As the days turned into weeks, Charles' antics became increasingly audacious.
He donned attire that accentuated his body, opting for form-fitting tank tops and shorts that left little to the imagination.
He performed yoga poses with fluid grace, muscles flexing and rippling with each transition, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Max's reactions. A few times he swore he saw Max checking him out but never anything definitive.
And finally, after weeks of persistence, his efforts bore fruit.
During a particularly intense workout session, he executed a series of handstand push-ups, body inverted and balanced with remarkable strength and control. Completing the challenging exercise, he stole a glance at the Dutchman, expecting to find the usual indifference.
But to his surprise, Max’s gaze was fixed squarely on him, expression hard to read. Their eyes locked for a moment and Charles knew it was showtime.
He rotated his hands to bear more of his shifting weight and spread his legs wide open above him as far as they would go, and paused for a moment maintaining eye contact. He brought his legs down into a pike position before sliding the rest of the way down into a full split on the mat below him and turned his head to Max, biting his lip with a satisfied smile.
Max’s lips were parted and his stony mask of indifference slipped with wide eyes. With a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips, Charles took a moment to relish the accomplishment, basking in the fleeting victory.
However, as he leisurely transitioned to a standing position and adjusted his shirt that had ridden up, he noticed a sudden absence. With a furrowed brow, Charles scanned the gym, searching for any sign of Max, but to his dismay, the Dutchman was nowhere to be found.
Confusion clouded his features and he tried to make sense of Max's abrupt departure. Had he misinterpreted the moment? Was the Dutchman simply not interested after all?
Max didn’t return to the gym the next few times Charles was there.
Feeling disheartened by the man's sudden disappearance, Charles made his way to Pierre's apartment for dinner, eager to unload the burden of his perceived rejection.
Pierre noticed Charles' dejected demeanor and let out an exasperated sigh as he ushered him inside to sit down for dinner.
He wasted no time in recounting the events of his encounters with Verstappen at the gym between bites. He knew he was in for an earful from his friend.
"Cha, mon ami, not this again," Pierre said in frustration. "I thought we were past this obsession with Max."
Charles grimaced, knowing full well he was about to hear the same lecture he'd received countless times before.
"I know, I know," he mumbled, avoiding Pierre's gaze. "But I thought maybe this time...now that he's single—"
Pierre cut him off with a wave of his hand, annoyance palpable.
"Non, Charles. You need to let this go. It's been years, and Max clearly isn't interested or gay."
Feeling guilt for burdening his friend with his romantic woes once again, Charles banged his forehead on the table next to his plate.
Pierre's expression softened slightly as he sighed, "Look, Charles, I just want what's best for you," he said, tone gentler now.
"But you can't keep doing this to yourself. It's not healthy, and you could have any guy you want for fuck's sake!"
Charles nodded half-heartedly in reluctant agreement, knowing that Pierre was right. But deep down, a part of him still clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe , there was a chance for him and Max.
He knew he saw something in Max's eyes when they met in the gym, and there was always a special air between them in the paddock and on the podium.
Sensing Charles' inner turmoil, Pierre let out another sigh. Who were they kidding? They both knew Charles wasn't going to give up the chase easily.
"Fine," the Frenchman conceded, rolling his eyes. "If you're determined to keep pursuing this, then I suppose we'll have to come up with a new approach, yeah?"
Charles perked up at Pierre's begrudging acceptance, eyes brightening with renewed hope.
"Really? You'll help me?" he asked, unable to conceal his excitement.
Pierre shot him a skeptical look before relenting.
"Oui, oui, I'll help you," he said. "But don't get your hopes up. And for the love of God , we have to work on your strategy. I swear Ferrari has gotten into your head."
“Ayi fuck off!” Charles laughed and tossed a chunk of roasted chicken at the Frenchman.
They continued their dinner, chatting about their season preparations and who they thought was going to have a chance to challenge Red Bull this season. Pierre told him about Alpine’s grim outlook, and Charles felt for his friend.
As he lounged on Pierre's balcony, nursing a drink and lost in thought while watching the sun start to set, he was jolted back to reality by the sound of Pierre's hurried footsteps approaching and the sliding glass door flying open.
Before he could react, Pierre thrust his phone into Charles' face.
"Look at this, Cha!" Pierre exclaimed, practically shoving the screen into Charles' nose.
Blinking in surprise, Charles took the phone and focused on the Instagram post being displayed. It was a video of a guy in a tank top in his car talking animatedly about his gym crush and expressing that he hoped they would see the post and approach if they were interested.
Pierre's eyes practically sparkled with anticipation as he looked expectantly at Charles.
"This is it, Charles! This is what you should do!"
He furrowed his brow in skepticism, feeling uncertain about the idea of broadcasting his feelings so publicly.
"I don't know," he said hesitantly. "Isn't that a bit... desperate?"
Pierre rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Ohh and you're not? Mr. Ice bath,” he said, earning him a smack on the arm. “Desperate or not, it's worth a shot. At least this way, you'll know for sure if Max is interested or just oblivious."
Pausing to consider Pierre's words, Charles felt that flicker of uncertainty give way to acceptance. Maybe Pierre was right. Maybe it was time to be bold, consequences be damned.
Charles took a deep breath and reached for his own phone. "Alright, let's do it," he said, with shaky nervous hands. This idea was actually crazy enough to work.
Pierre's face broke into a triumphant grin as he watched Charles compose his post.
When Charles hit the 'post' button, sending his message out into the digital ether, he felt a surge of anxious excitement. At first, there was a sense of hesitation, a voice of caution whispering in his ear that such a video was impulsive, unconventional, borderline unhinged or perhaps even reckless—a far cry from the carefully curated image he and his PR team typically presented to the public. What if it backfired?
Nevertheless, even if it didn’t yield the desired reaction from Max, there was always an opportunity to spin it as a lighthearted joke or a glimpse into his off-track personality. After all, in F1 any attention was good attention, right?
Time for plan C.
_____
As Max focused intensely on his hot lap in his sim, his concentration was suddenly shattered by the incessant pinging of his phone. Irritation pricked at the back of his mind as he tried to ignore the distractions, determined to maintain complete immersion.
However, the pings continued, each one disrupting his focus and causing him to lose time in sector three of his lap. Frustration mounted as Max finally gave in and reached for his phone, expecting to see urgent messages from his team or perhaps some breaking news.
To his surprise, the messages flooding his screen were not from Red Bull, but from Lando. Curiosity piqued, he swiped open the messages to see what could possibly be so urgent. Did he forget a padel game again?
As he read through Lando's texts, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. Lando's messages were rude, mocking Charles’ recent Instagram post and belittling the Monégasque's apparent new level of desperation for attention.
Lando
Thought you might enjoy this little gem from our dear Charles… Ferrari must be looking really bad if they’re trying to distract from performance this early 😜
Max's curiosity got the better of him, and he clicked on the link provided to watch the video for himself.
As the video played, Max's initial confusion quickly gave way to surprise and shock as he listened to the message.
“This message is for my gym crush, the gigantic god of a man that I see in there almost every single day. Ummm who is probably straight, but just in case—just in case you’re maybe…a little bit not.
Ummm, I just want to clarify a couple things.
Is it really that gay if you just top every time? And I'm totally—toooootally okay with that. I don’t need to top you. Like I–I’ll do all of the gay things, okay like I'll do all of the taking and the… you know, doing the things with my hands and mouth.
I like doing all that stuff.
If you don't like doing all that stuff, uhhh because you’re not that gay… that’s–that’s fine.
But, like I see what you’re looking at, what I have behind me and you can have that. You can have that anytime… all day and allllllll night if you want and you don’t have to change your identity or anything. You can just have it.
If you are interested, wear red the next time you come to the gym.”
Max's pulse rate quickened as the video started over, mind racing a mile a minute at a loss for words. He stared at the screen mouth agape, head spinning until the video started over again , and he locked his phone.
At first, disbelief washed over him as he realized the video was undoubtedly about him. Charles had been glancing at him every so often in the gym, and Max struggled to maintain indifference, pretending he wasn't tracking the man's impossibly slim waist and every bounce of his perfect ass.
Max couldn’t keep his eyes off the Monégasque the last time they were in the gym together, and the erotic display felt purely for him. So much so that he’d immediately gotten half-hard and had to run out of the gym when Charles turned his back to try and save even a modicum of his dignity.
But beneath the disbelief simmered an undercurrent of longing—a longing that Max had spent years trying to suppress. From the thrill of wheel-to-wheel battles on track to the quiet moments of genuine friendship shared off it, he’d been silently, steadfastly obsessed with Charles, feelings growing stronger with each passing year.
Despite the depth of his affection for the man, Max had always feared the consequences of revealing his sexuality. The world of Formula 1 was unforgiving, and the thought of exposing his perceived vulnerability to someone like Charles—his rival, his friend, his unrequited love—was unthinkable.
After all, Charles was unattainable, the object of his dreams for years. But maybe the Monégasque wasn't as out of reach as he thought?
The realization sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Max unlocked his phone and played the video again, backing up multiple times over the parts where Charles said, “ doing the things with my hands and mouth…all day and allllllll night if you want…You can just have it.”
Mind racing with the possibilities, Max was getting hard again just thinking about Charles in his bed in some of the positions he’d seen the Monégasque in at the gym.
Deciding to call Charles’ bluff, there was only really one way to find out if the post was indeed about him. Max logged off the sim before grabbing his keys and heading for the door.
He needed to buy something red.
Max arrived at the gym the next day, anticipation coursing through him. Tossing his gym bag onto the bench, he unzipped it to reveal a red Ferrari hoodie nestled within. It was a clear message—one that he knew would catch Charles' attention.
Setting up at his usual station, he took a quick glance around the gym, searching for any sign of Charles' presence. Spotting him across the room, he knew the timing had to be just right, that he needed to wait for the perfect moment to don the hoodie and make his move.
Charles was distracted on a phone call and so far hadn’t noticed his arrival. Max seized the opportunity to slip on the statement piece.
With nervous shaking hands, he pulled the fabric over his head, the familiar prancing horse emblem stretching across his chest. God, who would’ve thought they’d see the day Max Verstappen put on a Ferrari hoodie.
But as he finally managed to thread his arms through the sleeves and toss the hood back off his head, his heart sank at the sight of another man in a red t-shirt interrupting Charles’ conversation.
For a brief moment, panic set in as he began to doubt his own judgment. Had he misread the situation entirely? Was the Instagram post for someone else?
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he decided to err on the side of caution.
Keeping his head down, he busied himself with his workout, pretending as though nothing was amiss and that he hadn’t even seen Charles. Disappointment gnawed at him, and he refused to let it show, focusing instead on the rhythmic cadence of his movements as he used the rower.
A few minutes later he observed Charles sending the other man away and briskly heading for the locker room seemingly without noticing him, looking disappointed.
It was for him, he thought to himself, and the unexpected turn of events presented him with the perfect opportunity to finally make a move and stop being a pussy. With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, Max waited for a minute, allowing the Monégasque a head start before he followed him into the locker room.
He’d come this far, and if he was honest with himself, he was just as unhinged as Charles was.
_____
Conflicting thoughts flooded Charles’ mind once he was in the shower after finishing his workout. Was Max really not going to approach? Was he fucking with him? He was wearing red… A fucking Ferrari hoodie of all things, but the man was still acting like he barely noticed his presence.
Even worse, some other stranger wouldn’t leave him alone convinced that Charles had made the post about him. He’d never even seen that man before in his life, and he just wouldn’t take no for a hint.
Charles hoped the drain would open up and swallow him whole. How could he have been so stupid? Putting himself out there like that on main .
Yet, there he was, working out in the exact spot he always had, trying to get his fellow driver to notice him, practically naked and on display in his painted-on skimpy shorts. His abs wet with sweat glinting in the light, hair damp and brown curls hanging messily in front of his face, lips parted as he grunted under the strain of the weights he was using.
He was never going to be able to show his face in a paddock ever again.
Running his hands through his hair, Charles let the water wash over him in an attempt to drown out his thoughts–
His death spiral was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.
Tilting his head up, he listened to get an idea of the direction they were coming from. They were approaching the private shower area for elite members and were followed by the rattle of the doorknob, which Charles may or may not have intentionally left unlocked.
He honestly wasn’t sure why he had any hope left at this point.
Charles' heart thundered against his chest like it did before the five lights went out, but instead of a blinding rush of color that was the start of a race, a figure dressed in red stood in front of the fogged glass shower, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.
Max's gaze raked over Charles’ naked body. The juxtaposition of such a sight was not lost on him. The seemingly outgoing confident man that would post a video practically begging his “gym crush" to top him, now stood there with eyes wide looking so vulnerable.
Charles tried to speak but before he could, Max slowly raised his arms over his head, lifting his hoodie and shirt off, revealing his abs and broad chest that Charles thought so much about.
His eyes were locked with Charles’ the entire time as he silently undressed the rest of the way, unveiling his body in perfect clarity. He wordlessly slid the shower door open and stepped inside, forcing Charles to back up under the spray to make room.
“Max—“
Before he could say another word, Max’s hands were in his hair, body pressed up tightly against him, pinning Charles against the wall. The Dutchman practically devoured him, full lips eager and hungry, hands in his hair traveling down the expanse of his muscled back before landing on his ass, squeezing both cheeks firmly.
They pulled apart just long enough to breathe in the cramped steamy stall before Max smirked and continued on to suck deep purple bruises into the tender flesh of Charles’ neck and jaw.
Keening at the contact, Charles almost felt drunk, letting his head fall back, eyes hooded and hazy as a deep moan escaped his lips. He couldn't believe Pierre's stupid idea had actually worked .
Max was everywhere, on his lips, his neck, his ear, his collarbone, and the Dutchman's hand smoothly raked up his abs making him shiver before lightly pinching his right nipple.
The water was deliciously hot and the air around them charged with electricity. Between that and the broad man greedily pressed against him, it was all deeply intoxicating to the senses.
His cock twitched from all the excitement and his member grew to its full potential, feeling Max’s erection pressing against his stomach. Charles looked down before returning his gaze to Max, eyes blown wide.
“Mon Dieu…” He whispered breathless.
Max's cock hung like a fucking tree trunk between his thick thighs. Not that Charles was lacking in this area, but the girth alone was enough to make his mouth water.
Pressing his throbbing length against Charles’, Max groaned softly at the skin-on-skin contact before reaching between them and squeezing Charles with a firm grasp.
“Fuck.” He breathed when Max’s fingers wrapped tightly around his member.
He was frozen, hands at his sides scrambling against the tile for purchase, overwhelmed by the sensation of Max's large hands on him, encompassing his length in the perfect grip. Max’s hand was much larger than his own, and the pressure sent fireworks shooting down his legs.
The Dutchman stroked him with precision like he’d done this before. Which raised the question, had he done this before? Been with another man? Or did he just practice on himself a lot?
Max looked so fucking tempting, and Charles would risk anything to get a taste of him and bear the consequences later.
Chuckling, Max whispered into his ear, “I thought you said you’d do things with your hands and mouth? So far you haven't touched me once.”
Charles smirked against Max’s cheek before forcefully backing the Dutchman to the other side of the small stall. Max moaned from the back of his throat when Charles sealed their lips together again.
His shaft rubbed against Max’s, and the two of them gasped into each other's mouths from the contact, sending more sparks up his back.
Without a word, Charles carefully dropped to his knees, grabbing Max’s thighs to brace himself against the slippery floor.
“Charlie, wa—” Max choked off when Charles without hesitation wrapped his mouth around him.
It'd been a minute since Charles had given head, but he was well practiced. With tight suction, his mouth snuggly fit over the thick length like a glove, before pulling back with a dramatic pop, circling his tongue on the head and running along the slit.
“Fuck, baby how are you so good at this?” Max asked while running his fingers through his hair.
Charles gently bit down on the meaty part of the shaft, showing his distaste for such a question.
“Ah!” Max jolted in a gasp, and smirked, apparently half enjoying it, “Sorry.”
Drawing back, Charles licked along the side of Max’s shaft and kissed the spot he’d bitten to ease any discomfort. The longer he worked his expert tongue around, the more shaky Max’s legs became and more precum dribbled out the tip in shining tears collecting on his tongue.
Charles took the weeping length back into his warm wet mouth, and Max almost instinctively brought his hands down to grip his brown curls tightly. Groaning around the Dutchman’s cock stuffed in his mouth, Charles nodded, looking up at him to let Max know he could continue.
Holding his hair firmly in response, Max thrust deeper into his mouth, and Charles opened his throat, carefully managing the transition to breathing through his nose. Max’s eyes rolled back in his head when he pushed forward all the way to the root, and Charles hardly even gagged, maintaining eye contact, squeezing his thighs hard.
Max gave a few tentative thrusts before saying, “God, that’s a bit slutty… so fucking deep baby—”
Charles moaned around Max's cock starting to stroke himself, matching pace with Max’s shallow thrusts. The Dutchman seemed to like the vibrations and his mouth dropped open with eyes fluttering.
He pulled off when Max’s grip on his hair faltered, causing the man to whimper from the loss until Charles spit messily on his dick and spread it up and down the girthy member with a tight fist. Latching back on in a well practiced motion, Charles worked him skillfully with both his hand and mouth, adding a slight twist with his wrist at the base on his downstroke.
“Y–you’ve been thinking about this h–haven’t you? Prancing around in your little s–shorts thinking I wouldn't notice.”
Charles nodded, mouth stuffed full and tears forming in the corners of his eyes. The Dutchman had no idea how much he'd thought about doing this over the last year. Every time they sprayed each other with champagne on the podium this very image flashed in his mind, getting him half hard in his suit.
Max’s hands returned to his hair, and Charles smiled at how out of control Max looked. His breathing was ragged, eyes unfocused and lidded with a constant stream of whines and moans spilling past his bitten lips.
Tightening his grip on his hair again, Max’s hips picked up speed, thrusting rhythmically and he quickly chased his orgasm.
Warmth started to pool in Charles goin as the pressure welled up inside from Max’s rough treatment of his hair and his own fist on his cock matching Max’s pace. Muscles in the Dutchman’s thighs contracted sporadically and Charles knew he wasn't going to last much longer.
“F–fuck Charlie,” Max squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head back thumping the tile. “You’re going to make me come.”
Charles doubled down, sliding that impaling length deeper into his throat, temporarily cutting off his ability to breathe. He tightened his lips and increased the suction, with spit and precum dribbling down his chin, expertly sending Max over the edge.
Arching his back off the tile and pressing Charles nose flush with the patch of hair on his pubic bone, Max exploded into Charles mouth and throat with a wail while the Monégasque continued to suck him through it.
The sight of Max lost in pleasure accompanied by the thick ropes of white painting the inside of his throat in warmth had Charles shuddering in his own orgasm and coming on the floor between the Dutchman’s feet.
He swallowed repeatedly, trying not to waste a single drop and drove Max to the point of overstimulation before pulling off with a loud slurp and rising up on shaking legs to meet Max’s lidded gaze.
The two men gasped and soaked in the afterglow of their orgasms leaning heavily on each other under the scalding hot spray.
After a few moments, Charles arched back and smiled, wrapping his arms around Max's neck, asking, “So… my place or yours?”
Max looked wrecked and darted forward, wrapping him up tightly in his arms and crashing their lips together eagerly as he began to suck on Charles wet lips.
“Mine is closer.”