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Being sheathed inside Andrea Kimi Antonelli-Wolff feels like heaven.
“Shhh, I know it feels good, baby boy, I know,” George soothes, his voice low and husky as he whispers with his lips right against the ear of the whimpering, writhing boy beneath him, close enough to taste the sweat on his sweet, shimmering skin. “But you have to be quiet.”
George pushes himself up just enough to take in the pretty sight beneath him. The edges of his vision are cloudy, and the silk sheets of the unspecified location have this glimmering, otherworldly quality to them. He can’t recall what hotel room or country he’s in, as his surroundings are a jumble of different memories - the art on the wall is from a hotel in Baku, the elegant bedframe from one in Barcelona, the distinct carpet pattern from another in Miami.
He doesn’t know where he is, or even when, and frankly, he can’t care less.
“But… But George, it’s so-”
The sound of Kimi’s voice, breathless and vulnerable, saying George’s name like it’s something sacred, while his pleasure is so clearly written on his face, has George wanting to hear it again and again and again, so he gives Kimi a singular good, hard thrust, earning a proper scream from him.
Faster than George could think, his large left hand is covering the bottom half of Kimi’s pretty face, muffling his little cries.
“Hey, what did I say?” George whispers gently, like he’s consoling. “None of that. When we go back to mine, and we do this again, you can scream the damn roof off the place, but not now, okay? Not when people can hear, I’m sorry, love.”
George looks into Kimi’s eyes that are peeking out from over his hand for a sign that the pretty thing understands. Usually brown, those eyes are now almost entirely black from blown-out pupils and want. If George looks hard enough, he can see what he thinks is his own reflection, but it seems fuzzy somehow.
Kimi nods, involuntarily letting out little squeak-like sounds that are muffled by George’s hand that’s resting gently on his face.
“Now be good,” George says, no longer whispering, but commanding, as he picks up a rhythm.
Given his position, with one hand holding himself over Kimi and the other covering Kimi’s apparently very loud mouth, it’s a bit awkward, but George doesn’t give a damn about finesse as he pounds into Kimi with the hunger of a man starved for centuries.
Kimi’s holding onto George for dear life, lithe legs wrapping around him and short nails trying to stake a claim in his back as the force from George’s thrusts rocks him further into the mattress.
It’s a good thing Kimi’s mouth is covered, because even with George’s hand to muffle his cries and gasps of pleasure, George is almost certain that someone down the hall would be able to hear Kimi screaming his name.
“Fuck, you look- you look so beautiful right now, love.” George pants, resting down to get even closer to Kimi. He wants to see every tiny way Kimi’s expression changes when he’s overcome by white-hot pleasure. “So pretty taking my cock, and you feel so good, too.”
Another high-pitched whimper is muffled by George’s hand, and he can see the effects of his words with how Kimi’s back arches to meet George even more.
Again, George leans in to whisper right against Kimi’s ear, his body taking a much more controlled rhythm.
“Pretty. Fucking. Boy,” he praises, each word punctuated with a slow, languid roll of his hips into blissful heat.
He removes his hand from Kimi’s mouth, figuring that keeping it there for too long would risk making him uncomfortable.
“You doing alright, baby?” he asks, brows furrowed in genuine concern as he places little kisses on Kimi’s cheek and the corner of his mouth.
“B- better than alright,” the Italian replies, his words shaky, and more accented than usual. He has this dazed smile on his face, and he’s looking at nothing in particular, and George knows that he’s completely lost in it. Brown ringlets of hair are splayed beneath his head, and he looks like a right angel in this bed, so thoroughly debauched.
“That’s good,” George says with an easy smile, wondering how he got so lucky. “You deserve to have a good time.”
As if to prove his point, he positions himself upright and grips Kimi’s hips, which is easier due to the pillow George doesn’t remember placing under him, and rocks into him nice and slow, so that Kimi can revel in every second.
Kimi starts with satisfied little sounds, but before long, he’s got one hand clinging to George and the other gripping the sheets for dear life, and his cries of George’s name are starting to reach worrying volumes again.
“Baby boy,” George says, trying to sound stern, but laughing just a little despite himself. “What did we say? I know it’s good, but we can’t have anyone hearing us.”
“And wh- why not?” Kimi stammers, trying to sound as defiant as one could be while being actively railed into a mattress. One of his arms is splayed over his head, and he looks like sin incarnate.
“Because, pretty boy,” George coos, tracing Kimi’s jaw like it’s a delicate, ephemeral thing. “Can’t have people knowing, about… about what I’m doing to…”
Kimi looks into George’s eyes, and he looks more aware than he has in the past… how long has this been happening?
“Can’t handle the consequences of your own actions, George?”
* * *
For the fifth time in as many days, George woke up sweat-drenched and thinking of his boss’ son.
He let out a frustrated groan and dragged his hands down his face, trying to rub away the sleepiness and… other things that he was feeling.
A dull light filtered in through the blinds, letting him know that it was early morning. A quick check of his phone told him that it was almost the time he was supposed to be waking up, anyway. Seemed his biological clock woke him up at the right time.
George was so hot that even the thin sheets had him feeling like he was sleeping in an oven, so he wasted no time in tossing them aside as he began what had, unfortunately, become his routine: waking himself up with a freezing cold shower.
Of course, it wasn’t that he wanted to begin his morning that way. He would much rather step into that shower after a Kimi-filled dream that was better than any real-life experience he’d ever had and finish what the dream started, letting his mind run wild with all the things the two could do together, but never would.
But George simply didn’t have it in him. Every time he almost gave in, when the discomfort of the borderline arctic water wasn’t enough to quell the fantasies that plagued him, the knowledge that he would have look Toto Wolff in the face on a regular basis after jerking it to thoughts of his teenage son was enough to remind him that he was the most deplorable person on the planet, and the self-loathing spiral that followed was always enough to kill the mood.
Not to mention, the thought of having to look Kimi - poor, sweet, innocent Kimi, who didn’t ask for any of this - in the eye after having done such a thing sent George down trains of thought that were probably listed in the DSM-5. Hell, the thought of just looking at the kid - man, George, he’s eighteen - now, after only having dreamt of him in various positions on George’s bed, and not even acting on it, was hard enough.
For the fifth time in as many days, George emerged from his cold shower feeling unsatisfied, and like nothing short of a monster.
* * *
It was supposed to just be a normal morning, really.
Just another day at the paddock. At least George could throw himself into the work and forget about Kimi, whom George hadn’t seen since the Team Dinner Of George’s Sexual Awakening, likely because Kimi was occupied with school and soccer practice and whatever young people did.
So imagine his surprise when he waltzed into the hospitality unit first thing in the morning to get something to eat, only to be met with the sight of what was undoubtedly Kimi’s lithe body facing away from him, trying to reach something on a shelf. His usual graphic tee was replaced with a polo that was less shirt and more body paint.
Like a magnet, George’s gaze drifted down to the inches of skin from where Kimi’s shirt had ridden up, and suddenly George wanted to send a personal thank you letter to whoever invented the concept of low - low - rise jeans.
Christ, what was he, some deprived Victorian man, so turned on by a few fingerwidths of a midriff? Hell, he had literally seen Kimi shirtless before, at a pool party here and there. Only, back then, George could not have cared less about what Kimi was wearing. Or not wearing. Oh, how he wished he could go back to not caring.
Then, to make things just - so! - much better, Kimi decided that was the perfect moment to look behind him, and for a second, George thought that he was done for. He wasn’t even pretending to look at Kimi’s face, and he couldn’t have been more blatant about his ogling if it was written on his forehead.
Yet, instead of being met with a disgusted sneer and a reminder from Kimi that his eyes are up here, he said George’s name with such genuine joy in his voice that it only made George feel, somehow, even worse.
“George!” Kimi exclaimed, his voice adorably accented as usual. “You’re tall, can you come help me with this?”
He wouldn’t have said no with a gun to his head.
“Yeah, of course,” George said, practically having to drag his gaze to Kimi’s sweet face. He was smiling, as usual, and the few spots of teenage acne dotting his face made him oddly more adorable - a reminder that he was this pretty in spite of supposed flaws, rather than for a lack of them.
He stepped forward to where Kimi was, expecting Kimi to step out of the way to let George reach whatever he needed. But he didn’t, didn’t even fully turn around, so George was stuck right behind Kimi, looming over him.
“What, uhm, what am I looking for?” George asked, trying so hard not to sound like he was being actively send to an early grave.
“My phone charger,” Kimi answered, completely unperturbed. “Papa said he left it in here for me, but I think he forgot that I’m normal person sized, unlike you people.”
“You people,” George mocked, easily taking a cable from the top shelf. “Here you go, Little Wolff.”
He handed the charger to Kimi and ruffled his unruly curly hair, as he so often did, only now he was desperately trying to regain a sense of normalcy, trying to remind himself that this was Toto’s kid, and not the otherworldly fantasy his subconscious conjured up that took it like a damn champ in George’s dreams every night.
“I’m not little!” Kimi protested with a whine, trying to fix his hair after George had mussed it up.
“You just needed help getting something off a high shelf,” George replied, fond laughter in his voice.
“Yeah, but that’s not because I’m ‘little,’ that’s because you and Papa are freakishly tall,” explained Kimi with a ridiculous amount of conviction, gesticulating at the offending high shelf beside them. “No normal human being can reach up there!”
“Yeah, okay, Kimi,” George replied, eyes crinking with his smile.
“Oh, hi, by the way! Sorry, I forgot,” Kimi said, and naturally went in to hug George the same way he always did: arms around George’s neck, leaving the man no other option than to touch Kimi’s waist.
Kimi was either completely oblivious or an evil mastermind. George figured the former, even if a messed up part of him preferred the implications of the latter.
“Hi, Kimi,” George said softly, his arms going to their rightful place around Kimi’s waist. “Didn’t expect to see you here, thought you’d be busy with school.”
Kimi still hadn’t broken the hug, and as much as George was loving the feeling of Kimi’s body pressed against his, his fear that someone would notice just how intimate this hug looked was growing with every passing picosecond.
“I’m meeting Mama for breakfast before I have to run off for the morning. And for the record, I don’t spend nearly as much time on my schoolwork as you think I do,” Kimi said with a little laugh, his accent so charming it was a miracle that he was - at least to George’s knowledge - single.
Kimi again pulled the same move from the restaurant, leaning back, resting his hands on George’s shoulders, and inadvertently making George put his hands intimately on Kimi’s lower back.
“You look nice today,” Kimi stated, his voice even and casual - not the knowing, seductive tone that it took in the nightly guilt tripping sessions George called dreams. “Get a haircut?”
“Yeah, yeah, just the other da-”
“Ah, Kimi, there you are, sweetheart!”
At the sound of Susie Wolff’s voice, George took his hands off her son like he was actively on fire.
Kimi didn’t seem to mind George’s hands off him, as his face lit up and he exclaimed, “Hi, Mama!” as he met her halfway, giving her a hug and accepting a kiss on the cheek.
Watching Kimi so openly seek affection from his mother, like the teenager he was, made George want to crawl into a hole and die a guilt-induced death.
“I was just catching up with George,” Kimi explained, as if ‘catching up’ was an accurate phrase for ‘sending Papa’s driver into a crisis.’
“Morning, Susie,” George said politely, his arms crossed as if to say, ‘Look at my hands. Notice how they’re not wrapped around your kid’s waist, because that would be weird, and inappropriate, and if that’s what you think you saw then you’re totally just seeing things. Please don’t kill me.’
“Good morning, George!” Susie greeted. She made direct eye contact with him, and he was almost certain that she knew, that she knew every thought about her young, precious son that had crossed his rotten mind and was surely about to go to tell Toto so that he could kill George in a way that would ensure the body was never found. Or better yet, maybe she’d just do it herself. She was resourceful like that.
George was working himself into a proper state when she told him, “Come join us for breakfast!”
And so he did. He spent his breakfast with Kimi and Kimi’s mom, the teen leaning into her side like it was second nature, and suddenly, gone was the boy who was just pressed up against George and telling him how good his hair looked.
When they went their separate ways, George’s food was cold, and his appetite was gone.
* * *
The next Kimi related ambush came days later, on another day where George was expecting to just go about his day and throw himself into his work.
Well, ambush is a strong word. Kimi was quite literally minding his own business and bothering nobody, sitting in the back of the room and jotting things down in a notebook during a team briefing, as he had several times before.
When George saw him there, he was reminded of the first time Toto had allowed Kimi to attend. He had made Kimi wait until he was seventeen and had sworn the kid to secrecy, which everyone thought was overkill, because who would he blab to anyway? Would his friend sitting next to him in his math class care about whether Mercedes would run mediums or softs for the first stint?
Kimi had been so excited that day. He had pulled up a chair a little behind George and was constantly fidgeting and asking him questions, to which George would answer them the best he could while trying to pay attention.
Oh, things were so simple back then, when George had never considered Kimi and romance in the same thought apart from that one time a couple years ago, when Toto had sheepishly told him, ‘Think my kid’s got a bit of a crush on you, or something, but don’t tell him I told you. He thinks he’s doing a good job keeping it secret.’
George had laughed it off then.
He rested his chin in his hand, tuning out whatever Marcus was saying - which he really ought to be listening to - as he took Kimi in.
It was really quite cute, the way Kimi fully leaned into his writing, his face close to his notebook so that George could only really see the top of his head. His curls weren’t as tamed as they were doing that dinner. Instead the loose tufts were in their usual messy and uninhibited style that was so distinctly him.
George wanted to run his hands through them. Not the quick ruffle he usually gave Kimi, but to really thread his fingers through the dark locks, and watch Kimi relax in response. Wanted to take time twirling individual strands around his long fingers, and maybe even try braiding a few that were long enough.
He envisioned himself doing just that - resting Kimi’s head in his lap and seeing him giggle and blush as George tried to braid a few strands of his hair, treating them so gently, as if they were sacred, holy relics.
The want that staked a claim in George’s chest physically hurt, and he had to close his eyes for a second.
When he opened them again, Kimi was gazing around the room, his adorable brown eyes wide and searching as he tapped his pen against his knee.
The two made eye contact, and though George should have immediately looked away and pretended he hadn’t been caught staring, he didn’t. He kept his gaze on Kimi, and suddenly all of his surroundings meant nothing. A bomb could have gone off in that room and George wouldn’t have noticed nor cared.
Kimi smiled at him and gave him a little wave, clearly so elated that George was staring at him, giving Kimi his undivided attention in the midst of something so important.
The sight was, objectively, the most adorable thing George had seen in his entire life.
He smiled back at Kimi, and took great pride in watching a pink hue color his cheeks in real time.
“-eorge? George… George!”
George was so occupied with staring at Kimi like a lovestruck fool that he didn’t hear his name being called with increasing impatience, and was caught completely off guard when Lewis reached over and nudged George’s elbow so that it was no longer supporting his head, making George snap his head up and look around dazedly like a dog who had just been awoken from a deep sleep.
Turned out Kimi wasn’t the only one staring at him.
“Christ, George,” Lewis said with an exasperated laugh. “We must’ve called your name, like, ten times, what gives?”
“Nothing,” George replied, words coming out inhumanly fast. “Nothing gives.”
A chorus of chuckles filled the room, and George thought that if his feelings for Kimi didn’t kill him, the embarrassment would.
“Oh… kay,” Marcus said wearily, looking at George with an expression that was clearly weirded out. George recognized it as similar to the look he gave himself in the mirror very, very often these days. “Anyways, your thoughts?”
“My what now?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically high.
“Your thoughts. On the strategy we’ve been discussing for this entire meeting.”
“Yes, of course,” George replied, regaining his composure as he looked down at his notes that could generously be called notes and more accurately be called the scribblings of a complete madman, with the phrase ‘Andrea Kimi Russell’ unhelpfully staring him in the face in swooping, sloping, cursive letters.
“Might you be able to run that by me again?” George yielded.
Several people groaned.
When the meeting - which had ran longer than usual due to George basically having to have the whole strategy explained to him again - ended, George was organizing his things when Lewis appeared at his elbow, leaning against the table in an attempt to look casual.
“So,” he started, sounding much younger than his years. “What was that?”
“What was what?” George replied automatically, deliberately not making eye contact.
“You know,” said Lewis, very pointedly gesturing to where Kimi had been sitting earlier, and George’s legs nearly gave out right then and there. “You seemed pretty lost in the sauce there, man…”
“I don’t know what you mean,” replied George, sounding so forced, so rehearsed.
“You spent half the meeting staring off into space and grinning like an idiot.”
“I was just… just dozing off. Haven’t been, uh… sleeping well,” George said, and thought about how that technically wasn’t a lie.
“Uh huh,” Lewis said with what George feared was a very knowing smirk as he walked away.
George let out a cartoonishly loud gulp. No, surely Lewis wasn’t implying what George thought he was implying - that would be crazy. Besides, what could Lewis possibly be thinking anyway? George was literally just looking. There was no way to tell that he was looking at Kimi of all people, and even then, there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s not a crime to look.
And yeah, maybe George had had a fleeting thought or two about just grabbing Kimi and using one of the desks in the room for very unintended purposes, but it wasn’t like anyone could prove that, surely.
George physically shook his head as if to make the thoughts in mind disintegrate. He hated how he sounded, even in his own thoughts. Who was he becoming?
Some people lingered behind, but George wasn’t one of them, as he was eager to leave the events of the meeting and his thoughts behind him.
He had a foot out the door when Bono of all people called out to him, “George?”
George stepped back in, walking the short distance to where Bono was laser focused on his computer, not even sparing George a glance - not that George could really tell, as he could only see the reflections of the spreadsheet on Bono’s computer screen in his glasses.
“Yeah?”
“You’ll sort yourself out if you know what’s good for you.”
For a second, George actually feared he would lose his footing, a feeling he was starting to know all too well. Jeez, was this his life now? Freaking out at every vague statement from his coworkers? Constant paranoia?
Though, was it even paranoia if he was actually, genuinely doing something worth hating him for?
No, surely Bono didn’t know, George reasoned. He sounded so normal about it, not even looking at George, and the accusation of checking out the barely legal son of one’s very scary boss isn’t an accusation someone makes lightly. He was just talking about George nodding off during the meeting, that had to be it.
“I don’t know what you mean,” George said for the second time in only a few minutes.
Now, Bono did turn to look at George, his face giving absolutely nothing away. He spoke casually, as if stating what time it was or what was on the catering menu today.
“You do,” Bono stated, and refused to elaborate further as he returned to focusing on his work.
George took that as his cue to leave the man alone. He couldn’t have been faster if he tried.
* * *
Days hemorrhaged into weeks of constant paranoia-induced hyperawareness. George was flinching every time someone at work said they wanted to talk to him, and feeling like everyone was staring at him every time Kimi’s name so much as came up in conversation - which was quite often when Toto was around, proud father that he was. It was all so exhausting.
Not to mention the dreams - oh, the dreams. He could barely go a couple nights without his subconscious conjuring up Kimi-related fantasies, more thrilling and erotic than any real-life experience he’d ever had. Worse, they were increasing in intensity, and in variety.
Sure, many of the dreams still involved various situations of intense, passionate lovemaking. One particular recurring one involving a beautiful villa overlooking the sea, and the young Italian on the floor of the bedroom, nude and on his knees, otherwordly in the golden sunset light, sucking George off with a reverence and determination that couldn’t be described as anything other than pure, devoted love.
It was a miracle George had managed to hold out and not cave when even cold showers couldn’t quell down the need brought about by that recurring dream, leading him to experiment with different, unorthodox methods of getting himself out of the mood (his most creative and effective one yet being biting into a raw head of garlic - most unpleasant experience of his life, but damn if it didn’t get the job done).
And amongst those dreams of passion and bliss and wandering hands, were other kinds of dreams. Ones where he would win a race and immediately pick up an elated Kimi and twirl him around for all to see, more excited about holding him than any trophy. Ones where he’d be the first one Kimi tells when he gets accepted into some prestigious college, and George is celebrating with him and telling him he never had a doubt, because Kimi’s so smart. Or the ones where they’d be on the couch cuddled together as they watched George’s favorite old American sitcoms - Kimi looking particularly adorable in fuzzy pajama pants and one of George’s t-shirts from Williams. And of course he couldn’t forget the one where he was having dinner at the Wolffs’, not as Toto’s driver, but as Kimi’s proper boyfriend, holding his hand freely and listening to him talk about his studies and gossip from school.
Those left George waking up with something worse than physical need: an ache, a malignant yearning that would never be fulfilled, and that couldn’t be remedied with any kind of cold shower or two a.m. garlic snacking.
* * *
After that thinly veiled maybe threat from Bono, George had told himself that he would ease up on the staring. He still wasn’t sure whether Bono had been referring to his lack of focus or his blatant ogling that day, but it had put the fear of God in him either way.
However, as time went by, no one had said anything to insinuate that they knew about what George was harboring. It wasn’t right to reduce it to just a crush - it was more like a secret George kept that was far bigger than himself.
So, without even noticing it, George allowed himself to appreciate Kimi rather than violently tear his gaze away whenever he entered a room.
Because, really, was anyone going to notice if George raked his gaze up and down Kimi’s body when he showed up in figure-hugging jeans and a tastefully unbuttoned polo? It was just a flick of the eyes, after all.
If anything, it was his reactions to other aspects of Kimi that were harder to keep under control: the way he felt something physically squeeze his heart when he heard Kimi laugh, the genuine pride he would feel when Toto not-so-subtly bragged about his son’s amazing grades in conversations.
And then there was the soul-crushing, all-consuming guilt George would feel when Kimi innocuously did or said something to remind him just how young he was, like when he would be intently playing on his DS while he waited for Toto to be done with a meeting so he could take Kimi home, or when he would grab a fistful of Toto’s shirt in a crowded paddock out of fear of separation.
All in all, constantly bouncing between guilt-induced depression and insaitable lust, on top of the already demanding race schedule, was getting quite exhausting.
Fortunately for George, he was more exhausted than depressed as he sat in the hospitality unit scrolling through sponsorship-related emails on his phone.
At least, that was what he was trying to do. What he was actually doing was gaining a sudden appreciation for vending machines.
Really. He found himself appreciating the good vending machine - the one right by the window - a lot at the moment. Namely, the design of the thing, how, like any standard vending machine, one had to bend down low to the ground in order to get what they bought. And often, things would get stuck in there, meaning people had to spend a short time bent over trying to fish it out.
Leaving George with just… the perfect view of Kimi. Namely, the wonders those jeans were doing for him.
If George was a good man, he would get up and help poor, struggling Kimi get the chocolate bar that was stuck in the machine, then make some remark about how having chocolate first thing in the morning really wasn’t good for him, and send Kimi on his way.
George had spent hours of sleepless nights establishing that he wasn’t a good man. He was scum.
But damn, was it hard to feel guilty when Kimi was walking around with that. Suddenly, George wanted to go to the Wolffs’ house and burn all of Kimi’s baggy jeans, so that he had no choice but to wear these every day.
He actually flicked his tongue over his lips like a proper creep, but that was just because he was dehydrated, really. Nothing else.
“Enjoying the view?” an all too familiar deep, accented voice asked from behind George, and he almost fucking died.
No, literally. He choked on the gum he was chewing and had to cough violently to dislodge it from his throat.
“Toto-!” he exclaimed once he regained his breath, turning around to see the looming figure of his team principal in his usual crisp, white shirt. Christ, had he gotten even taller? “I- I- uh-”
He continued to pathetically move his mouth like a fish ripped out of water, making incoherent sounds that had nothing to do with each other.
So, this was it. He had a good run, he thought. Would’ve liked to win a world championship, but a good run nonetheless. Such a shame his life had to end this way, really.
“The sky, I mean,” Toto said simply, nudging his head toward the direction of the large window beside the vending machine. “Beautiful sunrise this morning.”
George wasn’t looking at the sunrise, but rather at Kimi, who was pathetically walking back to his table empty-handed, looking around to see if anyone had witnessed him fight a vending machine and lose.
“May I?” Toto asked, gesturing to the seat across from George. “My kid’s studying hard over there, I’d hate to distract him.”
Any possible words stopped in George’s throat. He just nodded.
“Sorry about that,” he eventually managed, after remembering how to form words again. “Just startled me a bit there. I was really focused on my, uh… emails.”
“I’m sure,” Toto replied, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his usually warm brown eyes.
He pointedly moved his gaze over to his son, who was sitting a few tables away with his latest-model laptop open in front of him. It was littered in stickers representing countless of Kimi’s interests: the badge of his favorite soccer team, some colorful animated characters George didn’t recognize, a couple lyrics from Ariana Grande songs in fun fonts - all coming together in a collage of what make Kimi, well, Kimi.
The pretty thing was swinging his legs back and forth under the table, as if he couldn’t get any cuter. George wanted to wrap him in a blanket, kiss his forehead, and tell him not to study too hard.
‘For the love of Christ, George,’ he internally scolded himself, ‘His father is right in front of you.’
“Growing up fast, that one,” the team principal said fondly. “Feels like just yesterday I was taking him to the garage for the first time.”
George just nodded and hummed in response, not trusting himself enough to not say anything incriminating and expose himself for the kind of man he was.
“He’s older now,” Toto continued, “Starting to focus on new things. College. Boys. Et cetera.”
“Oh,” was all George croaked, hoping to God that the crack in his voice was just his mind playing tricks on him.
“He went through so much before he joined our family, poor thing.”
Toto locked eyes with George, and he actually felt his stomach drop.
“That boy has had enough upheaval in his life, George. The last thing he needs is more… complications.”
George just sat there and blinked like an absolute fucking idiot, his gum sitting like flavorless lead in his mouth. Quick, what was the proper response? What would a normal person, who wasn’t actively thinking about screwing his team principal’s teenage son, say in this situation?
“Couldn’t agree more,” George said wearily, feeling like a rotten deceiver.
Toto offered his driver a tight smile, and got up and walked away.
George felt more panicked sitting there still than he ever had in a car going breakneck speeds. No, there was no way Toto knew, no way he read that much into innocuous glances thrown his son’s way. Everything was fine, everything was f-
His spiraling was interrupted by a large, not at all gentle hand clapping down on his shoulder from behind, and a voice in his ear that was purely venomous.
He didn’t dare look behind him. Couldn’t if he wanted to - he was properly paralyzed.
“I like you, George, and I appreciate what you do for this team. But look at my son like that again and you’re a dead man.”
Toto clapped him on the back with far too much force than necessary, making the already sweating driver violently flinch.
The sound of Toto’s expensive shoes tapping on the floor as he walked away was George’s death knell.
* * *
By the next week, George was beginning to think that he had made that entire conversation up.
Since then, Toto had been nothing but kind and normal and warm to George, so unlike the man who had straight up threatened him with violence should George not manage to keep his eyes from wandering to his son.
So, seeing as he hadn’t been murdered by Toto Wolff, he took that as a sign that he had been succeeding in only looking at Kimi in an utmost respectful manner.
Fortunately for George, he was facing a Kimi-less day so far. It sucked not being around him, to not hear Kimi ramble and nerd out as he followed George like a shadow, but it really was for the better, considering everything.
His simulator session had gone smoothly, and George figured it was a good a time as ever to get a workout in before he left Brackley and went home for the day, where he would surely continue his routine of watching a sitcom, eating dinner, sleeping, being awoken by a Kimi-related dream, and having disparaging thoughts about himself.
He had the whole gym to himself, and was going about his business on the rowing machine when he heard the door open behind him, and the same Italian-accented voice he heard damn near every night pipe up to ask, “Mind having a little company?”
George turned around, and if he were a lesser man, his jaw would have physically dropped. George - kind, gentlemanly, respectful George - had never looked at anyone so disrespectfully in his life.
It shouldn’t have been nearly as sexy as it was, really. Kimi’s team-issued t-shirt was pretty standard, but those shorts - gosh , those shorts.
They weren’t necessarily tight - a damn shame, really - but boy, were they short, short enough to leave damn near nothing to George’s rotten, vile imagination. He didn’t even try to look away, as he’d literally never been more turned on by a pair of thighs.
“Ki-imi,” George stammered, grateful he had an excuse as to why he was so red in the face. “Hi! I, uh, didn’t know you came by here…”
“My father works here, I come by all the time,” Kimi said, leaning against the doorframe as he looked around the large, unfamiliar room. Maybe it was all in George’s head, but Kimi spoke so melodically, like something straight out of a dream.
“I know that, you muppet,” replied George, taking out his earbuds and turning towards Kimi more. “I meant here as in the gym.”
“Oh. Well, yeah, I usually don’t,” Kimi said with his cute, infectious giggle. “I was supposed to go to Pilates today, but my instructor got sick and cancelled, and I didn’t realize ‘til I was already at the studio, and since I was already out and about I figured I might as well come here.”
Kimi and Pilates. Fuck, George had no right finding that so hot. Then again, it seemed these days that he found anything Kimi related downright swoonworthy. He could probably get off to finding out how Kimi does his laundry- Christ, George, who the fuck thinks that?!
“Well, welcome in,” George said, getting off the machine. He was going to move onto something different soon, anyway. “I don’t usually have company, so happy to have you join, Little Wolff.”
It was in George’s best interest that he kept talking. That way, his mind wouldn’t wander to the thought of Kimi stretched out on a mat in tight clothes. Or, even worse somehow, the thought of picking him up from his class afterwards and telling him that he was getting so strong, and that George was so proud of him.
Kimi seemed to pout at the moniker George had given him years ago. Or maybe George was just seeing things.
“I, uh, only started doing weights recently,” Kimi mused, fingertips gracing over some of the equipment as he walked in George’s direction. “Before that, I mostly went on runs and stuff.”
“Impressive,” said George, still catching his breath as he took a swig from his water bottle. “Cardio’s a bitch.”
“Yeah, but it gets me away from my homework,” Kimi said with a cute smile, dangerously close to George now. “But anyway, figured I’d actually start going to the gym more, y’know?”
“Mm-hmm, that’s good,” George said casually, breath hitching as Kimi took a step closer, pretty into his personal space by now.
“Just wanted to work on my figure before I go to college.”
“Oh,” George stammered, having to actively try in order to keep his knees from buckling under him. “Y-yeah, that’s uh, that’s a great idea, Kimi.”
“Spot me?”
George’s wretched hands physically shook at the question. Again, he made a complete fool of himself, stammering out syllables that had nothing to do with each other.
He noticed the millisecond Kimi’s expression changed from a smile to a curious little pout, and when Kimi spoke again, his voice had dropped from the dreamy, almost seductive tilt to his natural, but still devastatingly adorable, tone.
“Have you been eating garlic?” he asked, nose scrunching like a bunny as he sniffed the air.
“NO,” George insisted, immediately leaning back and gingerly covering his mouth with his fingertips.
“Alright, damn, you don’t hafta shout at me.”
“Sorry,” George said, the word coming out broken. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I uh… no.”
“To eating garlic or to spotting me?”
“Uh, to the garlic, mate,” George replied with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, now c’mere and spot me,” said Kimi as he headed to one of the racks right in front of the mirror, George’s eyes glued to him as he followed.
Sometimes, George would forget that Kimi was the son of a billionaire, then he would go and use that demanding, yet endearing tone.
“So, I kinda just do workouts I see on TikTok,” Kimi explained, adjusting the bar so it was lower and would rest on the level of his shoulders. “One of them is this thing where you take the, uhm, come si dice...”
“The barbell.”
“Right, that. You kinda put it, like, on your shoulders, but kinda not, and you kinda go down.”
Ah, yes, quite possibly the best possible workout to appreciate Kimi in those shorts. Getting the opportunity to watch Kimi squat down again and again handed to him on a silver platter… This was shaping up to be the best and worst day of George’s life.
It was also just… really damn cute to watch Kimi explain workouts as if George wasn’t literally a professional athlete who knew fully well how these things worked. There was something so intriguing about the way Kimi just spoke, with the Italian accent that never faded from his youth, and how he spoke with his hands, one gesticulating wildly and the other playing with his necklace. George would happily watch Kimi recite the phonebook if he ever got the privilege.
“But, uh, I tend to lose my balance when I come back up and when I’m putting the bar back,” Kimi explained. “Which is where you come in! Basically, uh, make sure I don’t fall and embarrass myself. Or hurt myself. But frankly, I’m more worried about saving myself from embarrassment.”
“Well, you’re in very good hands,” George said with a playful little salute as Kimi set himself up, applying light weights to each end of the bar. “Seeing as I’m very motivated to keep you safe and all. Your father would kill me if something happened to you on my watch.”
‘He’d also kill you if he knew that you were hanging around me dressed like that,’ George thought, but didn’t say, as that would have been a right fucking weird thing to tell the teenager whose father signed George’s paychecks, figuratively speaking.
“Nah, Papa loves you!” Kimi replied, getting himself into position.
‘Not anymore,’ George thought bitterly, genuinely hoping his recent Kimi infatuation hadn’t effectively ruined the good relationship he’d spent years building with Toto.
George stood back, but close enough to help Kimi get the bar on and off the rack and to hypothetically steady him should the need arise.
“Here, your grip’s a little wide,” George muttered, intuitively leaning forward, gingerly taking Kimi’s wrists and guiding them closer to each other. “There, like that.”
“Thanks,” Kimi said with a little laugh, even though nothing happening was particularly funny, and smiled at him through the mirror. Still, it was the most beautiful thing George had ever had the honor of hearing.
What followed was several minutes of borderline torture. There Kimi was, squatting down right in front of George over and over again, in that little thing that was less a pair of shorts and more a strip of fabric.
This… this was not doable.
George tried to keep his gaze and his thoughts respectful and focus on Kimi’s safety. Really, he did try. But literally no man on Earth would be able to focus while having such a perfect view of what was undoubtedly the world’s greatest… asset.
To make things worse, it wasn’t Kimi’s body that was getting all the attention. George noticed the way Kimi’s curls bounced with each rep, the way he kept smiling at his spotter through the mirror as they made small talk, and the way he drank water in between sets - fuck, George had never wanted to be a teal Owala so bad.
George actually couldn’t do this. As much as he enjoyed Kimi’s company, and the view it was providing, his better judgement was in a race against his imagination and losing miserably. He wasn’t worried about actually doing anything - even he wasn’t that awful - but he really wanted to get out of this before the creative thoughts drove him completely insane.
Not to mention, the fear of getting caught lingered in George’s mind, nagging at him incessantly. Logically, he knew Toto didn’t work out here, but all he could think about was Toto, or literally anyone on the team for that matter, walking in and seeing George and Kimi like this. Then he would be well and truly dead.
Kimi’s request for help seemed to be genuine, rather than a ruse as George had lowkey suspected. He had a bit of a hard time getting the bar on and off the rack, which George helped him with, and he also seemed to have a balance issue, which really became evident on his last set, when he straight up almost fell back on the come up.
Attentive as ever, George was on him in seconds, stepping closer to him instinctively grabbing Kimi in the most accessible manner, which so happened to involve him wrapping an arm around Kimi’s waist from behind, and having his other hand steady Kimi by the hip.
“Gotcha, love,” George said instinctively, cursing his stupid English habit of calling everybody and their mother ‘love.’
Kimi, who had squeaked quite adorably when he lost his balance, tilted his head back, his big, brown eyes boring into George’s blue ones.
George almost audibly cooed at how adorable it was that Kimi had to physically crane his neck to look up at him.
“Grazie,” said Kimi, and George almost folded like a fucking lawn chair.
It was then that George realized the position they were in, and before he could even commit the feeling of Kimi in his arms to memory, he quickly relinquished him from his grip.
“Good thing you were on your last set,” George said hurriedly, gingerly taking the bar from Kimi and putting it back on the rack. “Wouldn’t want you to keep going - you could hurt yourself that way.”
“Gosh, I’m so sorry. Can’t believe I fell like that, that’s so embarrassing.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” George said, trying to sound as comforting as possible. “Besides, you technically didn’t fall, ‘cause I caught you.”
“My hero,” Kimi said shyly. As he stood there, scrolling through his phone, looking all sweaty and perfect, George felt an irrational, envious hated rise in him toward whatever undeserving college boy Kimi would eventually start dating.
George scrolled through his own phone as he panicked about how best to get out of this situation. He needed to get out, now, as he wasn’t sure how much more of Kimi in this state he could take before dropping dead. He didn’t want to rush out, though. Kimi had always been an anxious little guy, fretting over the smallest little faux pas, and George didn’t want to embarrass him further by immediately dipping out after Kimi’s little stumble.
“I’d love to stay and hang out with you some more,” George started. That, at least, had some truth to it, unlike the blatant lie that followed. “But I’ve got this Zoom meeting in an hour, so I should wash up and hurry back. Tell your parents and Jack I said hi, okay?”
George had gathered his belongings, and without even noticing, had gravitated closer to Kimi.
“Sure thing,” Kimi said, playing with his necklace again as he looked up at George. “I’ll spare you a hug this time, since I’m all sweaty.”
As George bid Kimi goodbye and left, he pretended his stomach didn’t sink with disappointment.
* * *
The showers were in the room right beside the gym, so George didn’t have much time to stew during his short walk.
The private stalls were nice - clean and spacious - with an area to change in before getting into the actual shower.
George slammed the stall door and locked it behind him, hands shaking like a madman as he dropped the duffle bag with his clothes on the floor and made quick work of stripping down to his boxers - he straight up forgot to take them off, mind frazzled by what felt like static electricity running hot through his veins, compelling him to move on pure instinct. He then turned the shower knob to the hot setting with such speed and force that it was a miracle it didn’t snap right off the wall.
Using his forearms to brace himself against the wall of the increasingly steaming shower, he panted deep, shaky breaths.
He shouldn’t. By God, he shouldn’t. George knew he shouldn’t, yet he wanted to so bad his hands were shaking with it.
‘You can’t go back once you do,’ he told himself. He’d never be able to go back to being a person who hadn’t touched himself to thoughts of his boss’ barely legal son. Not to mention, he’d never be able to look at Kimi without hating himself, without feeling like a monster who was hurting poor Kimi just by looking at him.
His thoughts became clouded with nothing but Kimi. Kimi, Kimi, Kimi-
Despite his better judgement, despite every instinct he has screaming at him that he’ll regret this, he yields.
“Fu-uh-” he breathed shakily, voice higher than usual as he finally - finally - palmed himself through his boxers while thinking of Kimi doing it, allowing himself to give in for the first time since this started, whatever it was.
More impatient than he had ever been in his entire life, George stripped his underwear off before they could get too wet from the hot shower water, tossing them outside the shower to the floor of the stall uncerremoniousy.
As he finally allowed himself to take his cock in his hand and imagine it was Kimi’s inexperienced, erratic, pretty fingers, his mouth opened in a silent moan as he turned around and leaned his head back against the shower wall with a bit too much force, hearing a good thunk, but he couldn’t have cared less.
There were so many Kimi fantasies running through George’s mind that he had previously forbade himself from entertaining, and now that he was finally allowing himself to, he didn’t know which to focus on first - the one where Kimi’s on his knees for him, being instructed on how to give his first blowjob, George telling him what to do:
‘It’s okay, love, don’t hafta take it all if you’re not ready.’
‘Here, just, you gotta cover your teeth - like this, okay?’
‘Yeah, like that, just use your hands for what you can’t reach. You’re doing great, Kimi.’
Or the one where he’s completely overtstimulating Kimi, making the pretty thing whimper and tremble and scream just from his long, nimble fingers:
‘Bet you’ve never felt anything like that, huh, angel?’
‘All worked up from just my fingers, imagine how it’ll feel when I’m actually in you.’
‘I know it’s a lot at first, I know, Kimi. But maybe you should’ve thought about that before walking around in those shorts.’
Or, if George really wanted to indulge, the one where he’s finally, finally, making love to Kimi, going gentle and slow and showing the first timer what it was like:
‘You comfortable, baby? It’s not too much, is it?’
‘You’re doing great, Kimi, such a good boy.’
‘Boys your age wouldn’t make you feel like this, y’know.’
George settled on simply imagining Kimi - every aspect of him. How his face would look when he was feeling good, how his lithe body would respond to George.
Fuck, he was probably so responsive, would probably arch his back and grip the sheets and whimper when George so much as touched him or said his name the right way. First timers were like that. Probably. Not that George would know - he really didn’t make a habit out of taking people’s virginities.
He wished he was imagininitve enough to mentally replicate what Kimi would sound like. Oh, George thought as he finally began to stroke his cock, aching with days of unfulfilled Kimi-related want, Kimi would probably sound heavenly, all high-pitched and wanting.
It was ridiculous, really, the speed at which George fucked into his own fist, wishing it was Kimi. He thought about doing Kimi on every surface of the Wolffs’ home - which was probably really fucked up, but he could unpack that later. Couch, floor, bathtub, Kimi’s bed - he would give it to Kimi wherever, whenever, and however the sweet boy wanted.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Kimi,” he whispered, closing his eyes. He was completely lost in it now, imagining how good Kimi would feel.
If he could just have one - just one chance with Kimi, the thought, he would make it worth Kimi’s while. He’d get the kid - no, fuck, he really shoiuldn’t call him that - he’d get Kimi addicted to his cock, keep him coming back for more. And boy, would Kimi want more. At his age, he’d probably want it every day, several times a day, and George would be more than willing to indulge his young, eager lover. Hypothetically.
George’s hand picked up the pace as he imagined himself being the one to take Kimi’s virginity. Fuck, how he loathed whatever boy would be the one to have such an honor; surely they weren’t worthy.
It should be George, objectively speaking. He knew how to please - a skill Kimi’s immature classmates surely lacked. If given the opportunity, he would put Kimi’s pleasure above his own every chance he got. He would make Kimi cum at least once before they even got started - not just the first time, but every time . He would suck Kimi off whenever the pretty thing so much as thought about getting off (which was probably quite often, given his age), and would take total control without Kimi having to ask him to.
Maybe, just maybe, he would let Kimi get on top every now and again as a reward.
George had to physically cover his mouth as he imagined the sight of Kimi riding him, essentially using George’s cock to make himself feel good. How sexy Kimi would look all confident up there, George gripping his hips for dear life.
It was a good thing Kimi wasn’t in this stall, really. Because, if he was, and if he was willing, George would have done him right there on the floor, and Kimi deserved a far better, much more gentle first time than that.
George groaned through gritted teeth as he thrust his cock into his own hand, imagining what sweet Kimi would look like when he was on the verge. The poor thing would probably be so overwhelmed, clutching the sheets and arching his back and screaming George’s name loud enough to be heard miles over.
Hell, George was currently on the verge of screaming just as loud himself.
Fuck, it felt good to give in. But as he inally let his imagination run wild, it only made him want more. He felt like he would genuinely die if he didn’t have sex with Kimi soon.
His mind wandered to what kinks Kimi might have. George was a sappy romantic, almost to the point of boring. He loved being face to face with his lover and telling them how adored they were. Yet, despite his vanilla tendencies, he knew that he’d try anything Kimi wanted to explore, so long as it didn’t hurt the sweet thing.
George rested his forearm against the shower wall, his hand working faster than ever before.
Oh, gosh, the thought of railing Kimi in the shower - having the boy all needy and compliant, legs wrapped around George’s midsection as he nipped and bit at George’s shoulder…
George couldn’t take much more.
“Fuck,” he whispered, hoping he was quiet enough to be muffled by the sound of the running water, not that there was anyone else in the room, to his knowledge. “Yes, yes, just like that, Kimi… Fuck, baby boy-!”
The sheer amount of cum that spurted from George at the thought of Kimi reaching his orgasm was downright embarrassing. But really, it just kept coming, just as George thought of railing Kimi through his first climax, going even harder and telling him what a good boy he was as Kimi saw stars for the first time.
Internally, George revelled in the idea of giving Kimi such an amazing first time that the poor thing almost passes out from overstimulation during his orgasm.
Pathetically, George was practically whimpering as he thunked his forehead against the shower wall tile. He had no idea how long he spent there, thinking about how he would comfort Kimi after his first time, how he would clean him up, cuddle him, kiss his forehead, and tell him what an amazing job he did. Going the full nine yards for Kimi’s aftercare was a fantasy in and of itself. He’d be so honored to give Kimi a nice massage to prevent any soreness, and spend the entire next day treating him like a prince and waiting on him hand and foot, especially if George got a little rough by accident.
The actual cleaning portion of the shower passed in a haze. George’s subconscious knew better than to actually think about what he just did, because if he thought about it too much, he just might have fucking drowned himself.
The thinking could wait until he got home.
* * *
George managed to hold himself together until he got to his bedroom.
The whole ride home, the walk to his room, he’d been a perfect example of calm and collected, thinking of everything except what he had just did.
Yet, he crossed the threshold into his room, and was fully bawling before he even hit the bed.
He skipped the light switch. The sun was setting, the last bits of natural light seeping through the blinds, and frankly, George didn’t care to bring any light into this.
He made some choked, sobbing sound as he crashed down onto his mattress, his shoulders shaking with the force of it all. He couldn’t remember the last time he had broken down and cried like this, probably back when he was still in school, over something stupid.
What had he done?
It was all he could think, over and over again. It was inherently irrational, after all - it wasn’t like anyone knew what George had just done, it wasn’t like anyone would ever know. To sweet Kimi, quite literally nothing will change.
But he still felt so guilty.
Yes, Kimi was an adult, but that fact didn’t make George feel any less awful. To him, it was still Toto’s kid that he had just taken immense, earth-shattering pleasure in imagining doing unspeakable things to.
It was a good thing George never bothered to make his bed, as he easily bundled up some of his comforter into his arms and sobbed into it, as if covering his face in an already dark room would make him seem less pathetic.
George didn’t know how he was supposed to just go on like normal. How could he go about his day, facing the cameras, facing himself, facing Kimi, after what he had just done?
Kimi. George felt his chest hurt to the point where he grabbed a fistful of his own shirt to ground himself at the thought of him.
He briefly thought about how Kimi would react if he knew what George had just did to him, but he shut that thought down quickly, as he felt his stomach lurch.
In his despair, he kept thinking of Kimi. Of Kimi in this bed with him, of George holding onto him instead of his rolled up comforter, of Kimi holding George right back and telling him things will be okay.
“Oh, God,” George tried to say, but some strangled, wounded sob came out instead.
The thought of Kimi in such an intimate, non-sexual manner only increased the force of George’s sobs. Because now he had an entirely new reason to be sad. Not only was he, well, scum, but he wanted Kimi, wanted to be the one to have the privilege of comforting him, and of being comforted by him, more than anything in the world, and guess what? He would never, ever have him.
How could he even have the nerve to look at smart, beautiful Kimi, who deserved so much better than a wreck like George?
He briefly thought of Kimi with someone actually worthy of him: a nice, normal guy who was actually Kimi’s age. The thought made George further curl in on himself and grip his hair in anguish.
Why did it have to be this way? Why did George have to be at an age where wanting to cherish Kimi the way he deserved to be cherished made him such an awful person?
Things could have been so different. If given the chance, George would have been so good to that boy, would have treated him with a reverence a prince would envy and made him feel honored and respected and loved every single day.
George spent the rest of the night weeping, both for what he did, and for what he would never get to do.