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The post-race debrief had barely wrapped before George cornered Max in the hospitality corridor, jaw clenched, still buzzing with heat and frustration.
“You deliberately cut me off in Turn 9,” George snapped, voice low but sharp. “You saw me in your mirrors.”
Max didn’t even blink.
“So what?” he said, cold as ice. “You backed out, didn’t you?”
“You drive like a fucking lunatic when I’m ahead,” George hissed.
“You don’t do that with Lando. Or Charles.”
“Because they don’t provoke me with that smug little golden retriever act,” Max replied. “You think you’re clean and fair and above all this, but you’re not. You love the game.”
George stepped back like he’d been slapped.
“What is wrong with you?”
Max didn’t answer. Just looked at him. Looked through him.
Later, the sun had gone down and the paddock had emptied. George was walking alone toward the lot, helmet bag slung over one shoulder, when Max’s voice came from behind him.
“You know,” Max said, cool and deliberate, “those beautiful eyes of yours… and those lips—such a shame. You’re wasting them.”
George turned, stunned into silence.
“Come on,”
Max went on, voice low and mocking, the venom under control.
“Don’t you want to put them to good use? Be useful for once. Please me. I’m the world champion.”
George turns away, swallowing hard. His hands twitch. He looks like he might actually cry.
And Max —Max wants him to.
Because when George cries, when those piercing blue eyes fill up, he looks ruined in the most beautiful way. Fragile. Breakable. Honest.
And Max loves it.
“You should really work on that temper,” Max adds with a laugh. “What are you even mad about? The race? The fact that I lapped you? Or just the fact that you’ll always be second-best?”
A pause. Then a smile, cold as steel.
“Maybe you can suck me off And finally be useful for once Or is that too gay for you, George?”Silence stretched between them, heavy and ugly.
“Yeah, thought so,” Max said, turning away like nothing had happened.
George spun around. “You think I fantasize about sucking you off? Jesus, Max—get over yourself.”
Max took another step toward him, voice dropping.
“I think you’re obsessed with being righteous. Good. Straight. Whatever label keeps you safe.
But if I asked—really asked—you’d kneel for me. You’d want to. Just once. Just to know what it feels like to be beneath something real.”
George flinched.
“You’re sick. You treat people like they’re yours to break.”
Max smiled, sharp and merciless. “No. I treat people how they let me. You’d let me.”
A beat of silence passed. George’s jaw clenched. His throat bobbed.
“You’re wrong.” His voice cracked just slightly.
___
Lando was already half-asleep, slouched across the hotel room’s sofa in his hoodie, when the door slammed open.
George walked in, stiff and pale, like he’d just come back from war.
Lando sat up instantly.
“Hey. Everything alright?”
George didn’t answer at first. He dropped his helmet bag with a thud and just stood there — breathing too fast, jaw tight, hands shaking slightly.
“George?”
“He—” George started, then swallowed hard. “Max. He said…” He trailed off,like the words wouldn’t leave his mouth.
Lando stood, cautious. “What did he say?”
George looked up, eyes bloodshot, voice cracking through rage and confusion.
“How can someone be that fucking cruel?”
Lando blinked.
“What did he do?”
George paced, running his hands through his hair, fighting something inside his chest.
“He… joked. About me. About my mouth. Said shit that—”He choked out a bitter laugh. “Said I was wasting it. That I should get on my knees. Like I’m just some… thing.”
Lando froze.
George’s face was breaking open, piece by piece.
“Does he really see me like that? Is that what I am to him? A joke? A sick fantasy?”
Lando stepped closer. “George—”
“No,” George snapped, turning away, voice rising.
“Because he says it like it’s a joke but it’s not. He meant it. And then he just walked away like nothing happened.”
Silence filled the room.
George dropped to the edge of the bed.
hands gripping his knees like he was holding himself together physically.
“I have a girlfriend,” he whispered. “And so does he.”
Lando sat beside him gently.
“You didn’t deserve that.”
George shook his head, staring at the carpet.
“I don’t know what’s worse. That he said it. Or that I didn’t leave when he did.”
Lando didn’t speak. He just put a hand on George’s shoulder and stayed quiet — because sometimes silence was the only thing soft enough for shame.
_____
(leaning against the wall, arms crossed)
“Wow. You’re really hanging out with Lando a lot lately.”
George stiffens. He doesn’t answer at first — just keeps his eyes forward.
MAX
(voice laced with venom)
“Is that your future plan? Since the driving thing isn’t working out?”
George slowly turns.
GEORGE
“What are you talking about?”
MAX
(shrugs)
“You know. After not being a good enough race driver. After the disappointment sets in. You could just… slide into something softer. Maybe be his sugar baby or something.”
George’s jaw tightens. Max smirks and steps closer.
MAX
“He’s got money. Not as much as me, obviously, but… maybe just enough to keep you in designer clothes and out of the headlines.”
GEORGE
(quietly)
“You’re disgusting.”
MAX
(grinning)
“And you’re predictable.”
There’s a long pause — tension sharp in the air like static. George doesn’t move. Max leans in, voice low.
MAX
“Just be honest, George. You don’t want a career. You want comfort. And I scare the shit out of you because I don’t give it.”
__
The storm howled outside the motorhome. Rain battered the thin roof like war drums.
Inside, silence.
George hadn’t moved since Max’s last words
George’s eyes were distant, lips parted slightly. He looked like he hadn’t heard it — but he had.
The words sat somewhere behind his ribs, heavy and slow.
Max stepped forward. “You gonna cry?”
Nothing.
George blinked once.
“You always look like you’re about to,” Max added, voice flat.
He sounded almost bored, but there was something sharp behind it.
“It’s pathetic. And kind of hot.”
George let out a quiet exhale — not quite a sigh. Not quite anything.
Max moved closer, stopping inches away.
He tilted George’s chin up with two fingers.
“All that pretending. Meanwhile, I’m the one everyone remembers. You’re just the guy who didn’t quite make it”
George didn’t answer.
Didn’t nod. Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t meet his eyes.
“Right,” Max muttered. “That’s what I thought.”
He pushed George backwards until his knees hit the couch and he dropped into it like a doll.
Max followed, slow and precise.
He tugged George’s jacket open, then his belt. His touch was methodical, impatient.
George stared over Max’s shoulder at the ceiling.
“You’re quiet,” Max said, voice low near his throat.
“Not going to beg? Say ‘please, Max’? Nothing?”
Still nothing.
“Typical.”
George says,”Do you even feel anything? Or are you just… cruel for fun?”
Max pressed his mouth to George’s neck.
biting—not tenderly, but to mark him.
There was no affection in it. Just ownership.
George didn’t react. Didn’t move.
His eyes were glazed, far away.
“You think everything revolves around you.”
“These pretty veins,” Max murmured, almost conversational. Bet they’d look better bruised.”
Then, with a bite, cold and calculated: “No one’s going to see it. You’ll still smile in the media pen, won’t you?”
George didn’t flinch.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
You’re going to destroy me,” he whispered.
Max looked at him with that same unreadable expression. “You were already halfway there.”
The room felt too quiet after the shove. George’s chest rose and fell, breath uneven. Max didn’t retaliate.
Max inserts himself inside george.
George ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking slightly. “Why do you always push like that?”
Max tilted his head, his voice softer now, quieter.
“Because you never say what you want.”
George blinked at him. The silence hung thick between them, like fog.
“I’ve taken everything from you. And you let me. You just watch.”max says calmly.
Then, without warning, George kissed him.
It wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t even romantic. It was desperate, all teeth and heat and repressed frustration. And Max let him—at first. Then responded like he’d been waiting for this, his hands pulling George closer with an intensity that bordered on violent, but stopped just short of it.
Jackets fell. Words got lost.
Somewhere between the first kiss and the bed.
the energy shifted. The cruelty dulled. The game faded.
The rhythm of max inside George was not safe at all.
Max keeps going harder after every thrust
Max’s hand cupped the back of George’s neck.
Steady. Grounding. “You don’t have to pretend now,” he murmured. “No one’s watching.”
George swallowed, eyes wide. His voice cracked. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Max brushed his thumb across George’s jaw. “You don’t have to.”
They sank into the bed like they were both collapsing under something heavy.
“You treat me like I’m disposable.”George says
There was no rush. No power games.
Just skin. And moans And the quiet confession that neither of them could say out loud — that despite everything, this felt inevitable.
Max kissed him again. Slower, this time.
And George didn’t stop him.
Max’s rhythm still being violent inside George
“ You look at me like I’m unreachable. Like I’ve taken something from you. And maybe I have”
There was something sharp in that. A challenge. A surrender.
He leaned in.
“I like it. There’s something beautiful about how broken you are around me.”
Their bodies came together like gravity — all heat and pressure, mouths finding each other with the urgency of all the things they hadn’t said.
“I will be remembered — immortal, unstoppable. You will be just the guy who couldn’t quite catch me”
Max moved over him, and George opened beneath him, trusting, trembling.
The sheets shifted. Skin pressed to skin.
And in that breathless space where words no longer fit, max claimed him —
“You’ll never be as good as me.”
He said it like a fact. Calm, casual, cruel. “Not on track. Not in life.”
George finally broke. “Do you get off on treating people like toys?”
Max turned his head lazily, gaze flat.
“Only the ones who let me.”
___
after the final media duties, waiting for the others to settle into the restaurant. He needed buffers. Distance. Space.
He spotted a seat between Lando and Alex at the long table and moved toward it quietly.
Max was already there.
“Oh,” Max said loudly.
looking up as George reached the spot. “Sorry, mate. Took the last one.”
He smiled, faux-innocent. “You know how it is — first come, first serve.”
There were at least three empty chairs. But Max didn’t budge.
George gave a tight, fake smile. “It’s fine.”
He sat at the far end instead.
where the conversation didn’t reach.And George realized:
the only place he was wanted by max was in rooms without windows.
Not in front of cameras,public.