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A pale morning found Lewis waking up on the rise and fall of Max’s warm chest, the world still soft at the edges. Max breathed slow and deep, one arm loosely draped across Lewis’s back like he had fallen asleep that way and simply stayed.
Lewis recognized the soft, unmistakable click of paws against the floor. The faint thump of a dog body brushed the side of the bed. He didn’t jump out of bed straight away.
He listened, already smiling because he knew exactly what it meant. Roscoe got up first, always, patient for about five minutes and then not at all. Coco wasn’t far behind, pacing in smaller, quicker loops, energy already building.
Lewis exhaled softly, blinking his eyes open as the room came into focus, light just starting to push through the curtains. Max was sprawled and completely unbothered, mouth soft with sleep. Lewis turned his head, watching him for a moment. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
Max made a faint, disgruntled noise but didn’t wake.
Lewis eased out of bed carefully, mindful not to disturb him, grabbing the first shirt he found and pulling it on as he moved toward the door. Roscoe fell in step with him immediately, tail nub going, while Coco darted in and out of his path with far less patience.
“All right, all right,” Lewis said quietly. “I’m coming.”
He grabbed the leads by the door, slipped his shoes on without thinking. He was halfway through clipping Roscoe’s lead on when he heard movement behind him. Lewis glanced up, surprised.
Max stood there in the doorway, hair sticking up in every possible direction, drowning in one of Lewis’s shirts, feet shoved into a pair of Lewis’s Adidas slides that were slightly too big for him. He looked half-awake at best.
Lewis blinked. “What are you doing up?”
Max didn’t answer, just shuffled forward, eyes barely open.
“I’ve got it,” Lewis said, softer now. “Go back to bed.”
Max ignored him completely. He reached out, took Roscoe’s lead from Lewis’s hand, and turned toward the private lift with a low, sleepy grunt like that settled it.
Lewis watched him for a second, amused, something warm tugging at his chest. “All right, then,” he murmured.
He finished with Coco’s lead, following Max down the hall. The private lift slid open with a quiet hum, and Max stepped inside without hesitation, Roscoe sitting neatly at his side like this was all perfectly normal. Lewis joined them a second later, Coco settling at his feet, the doors closing softly around them.
Max leaned back against the wall, eyes closed again, one hand loosely wrapped around the lead. Roscoe sat steady. Coco looked up at Lewis as if he could explain the situation. The lift descended.
By the time they stepped out onto the street, the air was still cool, the city not quite awake yet. It was quiet in a way Monaco rarely was later in the day.
They walked without urgency, just around the block. The dogs walked ahead, purposeful and content, Max matching their pace, still not entirely awake but present enough. Lewis glanced at him once or twice. Max didn’t say anything, only stumbling once in the too-large slides.
Max rarely missed an opportunity to walk with the dogs. There was a softness to him brought out by his love for animals. He wore it on his sleeve, Lewis found, never pushing for more than he was given but taking everything he was offered like he treasured every moment with them. Lewis was helplessly endeared; he was only mortal, after all.
By the time they made their way back upstairs, the apartment had fully woken as light stretched across the floors, the quiet hum of the place settling into the day.
Coco tottered to the kitchen immediately. Roscoe stuck to Lewis, anticipation written into every movement.
“Yeah, yeah,” Lewis murmured, already moving toward the kitchen. “I know what comes next.”
The routine picked up where it always did. He fetched their bowls out, measured their food. Behind him, Max followed more slowly, still half-asleep but determined in his own way. He brought the dogs’ water bowls and dumped them in the sink before refilling them from the fridge dispenser without a word.
Lewis glanced back at him, amused. “You’re really committing to this, aren’t you?”
Max didn’t answer, setting both bowls back carefully, his hair still doing whatever it liked. He nudged one of the bowls into place with his foot, then stood there for a second like he had forgotten what came next.
Lewis smiled to himself, finishing up. “All right,” he said, setting the food bowls down.
That was all it took. Roscoe and Coco lunged instantly, the soft, content sounds of them enjoying their food filling the space. Lewis watched them for a moment, pleased with their happiness. He didn’t notice Max moving until there was a hand on his wrist.
“C’mon,” Max muttered.
Lewis blinked. “What?”
Max didn’t elaborate. He just tugged, gentle but insistent, already turning back toward the bedroom like it was obvious.
Lewis let himself be pulled, laughing quietly under his breath. “They’ve only just started—”
“They are busy,” Max said, glancing back at him, entirely unconcerned.
Lewis shook his head, but he followed anyway.
Max didn’t stop until they were back at the bed, and then he all but dragged Lewis down with him, pulling them into the sheets. Max sighed contentedly, the light softer here again, snaking one arm around Lewis like it belonged there, eyes drifting shut again.
Lewis huffed a soft laugh, but he didn’t move away. “Unbelievable,” he murmured.
Max made a small, satisfied sound, pulling him closer. Lewis let himself sink into it, but they didn’t stay alone for long.
The familiar rhythm of dog paws came from down the hall, followed by the faintest snuffle as Roscoe appeared in the doorway, pausing just long enough to assess the situation. Lewis cracked one eye open, already smiling.
“Finished?” he murmured.
Roscoe gave a single, satisfied huff.
Coco trailed in behind him, slower now, the earlier energy spent. She made an investigative loop around the room before selecting one of the many dog beds scattered through the space before circling once, twice, then settling with a dramatic sigh that turned, almost immediately, into the softest snore.
Roscoe, on the other hand, had somewhere else in mind. He padded over to the side of the bed, paused, then climbed up using the small set of dog stairs Lewis had long since installed. Lewis smiled watching him bound up the stairs until he reached the mattress, deciding.
Roscoe turned and settled at Max’s corner of the bed, close enough that he was part of their tangle of limbs, far enough away that he didn’t have to be touched. That was always his way. He got too hot, otherwise.
Roscoe stayed there, quiet and content. It had become a pattern, over time. He didn’t want cuddles, not really. But he liked being near. And, for reasons Lewis hadn’t quite figured out, or maybe had and just didn’t say out loud, he seemed to like being near Max.
Lewis huffed, smiling into the pillow. “Traitor,” he murmured under his breath. He couldn’t blame the pup, though.
Lewis liked being near Max, too.
He traced idle patterns against Max’s skin, content to drift, letting the morning pass without needing to account for it. At some point, without either of them really noticing, sleep took him again, pulled under by the warmth of Max curled against him.
They settled deeper into each other as it happened, limbs tangling instinctively, Max’s leg hooked over his, Lewis’s arm tightening loosely around him in something familiar and well-worn. Max shifted in his sleep, pressing closer, and Lewis followed without fully waking, their bodies fitting together in that quiet, unconscious way they had established without ever naming.
On race weekends, they were something else entirely, competitors, opponents, whatever the moment required them to be. The softness stayed behind, tucked away somewhere private, something neither of them risked bringing out into the open.
But in Lewis’s bed, Max was different. He was open in a way he wasn’t anywhere else. He was softer, quieter, his edges worn down by the absence of everything else pressing in on him. He looked to Lewis sometimes, not for answers, exactly, but for something close to reassurance. Lewis could see it in the way his gaze lingered, in the way he asked things that didn’t matter and waited for the answer anyway.
Lewis didn’t ask for that. He didn’t think he wanted it. But it was there. And he didn’t push it away.
But he could feel the gnawing pit in the younger driver growing deeper, even when Max didn’t say it out loud. All drivers had it; it had been there from the moment Max first burned rubber in a Toro Rosso, as much a part of him as bone or blood or sinew. But it was different now, threaded with frustration, building as the seasons stretched longer, as things tumbled out of Max’s control.
They didn’t talk about racing, not here. It wasn’t an agreement they had ever made out loud, nothing they had ever needed to define, but it held all the same. When they were like this, in quiet spaces, in rooms that belonged to neither team nor paddock, the rest of it simply didn’t follow.
They weren’t those versions of themselves here. Lewis didn’t think Max wanted that any more than he did. Out there, everything was measured in margins that mattered too much. Every conversation was edged with something underneath it, even when it wasn’t obvious.
In here, Max didn’t ask about setups or strategy. He didn’t circle back to races or decisions or what could have been done differently. Lewis didn’t concern himself with Max’s diet or daily training. He much preferred keeping Max tangled in his sheets to seeing Max run himself ragged, sweaty and sticky, still frowning at the scale.
Early on, Max was so serious in the kitchen. Lewis had laughed at him the first time, caught off guard by the line of questioning. Max watched him closely, eyes wide in a way that didn’t quite fit the rest of him, waiting to see what Lewis put in his breakfast smoothie like it might actually matter. Lewis only ever threw in what Angela had told him to that week, sometimes seeds, or powders, things he barely had a clue what they were supposed to do. He didn’t have any secrets to give him.
Max knew that reliability was better than any smoothie. Seven retirements that season had made that clear enough. Lewis didn’t say it out loud. He hadn’t needed to.
He could see it in the small moments, how quiet Max went after certain races that didn’t go his way, how his answers clipped even shorter in interviews, the line of his shoulders tighter when things weren’t going right. Max didn’t bring that edge here, but it didn’t disappear, either.
Lewis was all too familiar with the waiting, boiling just under his skin for years between the first and the second, when nothing felt certain anymore. The first had proven he could do it, but not whether he would ever do it again. He suffered through the same scepticism every other weekend for years while quiet doubt crept in where confidence used to fill every crack.
Max didn’t have that first one to fall back on, though. At least Lewis had had that. He felt a flicker of something close to guilt, though he couldn’t quite justify it. He hadn’t taken anything from Max. That wasn’t how it worked. And still—
He wondered, sometimes, what it would look like if they weren’t divided by machinery, or luck, or timing, if they fought for it, properly. He wondered how it would feel to battle head to head, both of them with something real to lose, what it would draw out of Max. What it would draw out of himself.
He wondered whether this, whatever this was between them, would hold. Would it shift into something else entirely, something less forgiving? Would Max still look at him the same way? Would Lewis let him?
What if Max won?
He didn’t want to think about how it might change him, how it might change what they had. He told himself he didn’t have to worry about it as long as he kept winning.
They stayed like that for a while, curled around each other, breathing slow and even, held together by habit and comfort. By the time either of them properly surfaced, the room was full of light.
Lewis never minded morning breath, kissing Max in their sleepy haze until broad hands wrapped around his back, sliding a warm thigh between his legs. The rest of Monaco hummed faintly beyond Lewis’s floor-to-ceiling windows as his fingers drifted absently through Max’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and Max made a low, contented sound that felt more like instinct than thought.
The season would start again soon. The break never lasted long enough to forget what it demanded from them. There would be interviews again, obligations, long days that blurred into each other, the constant awareness of being watched and measured and compared.
They would fall back into it. They always did. And when they did, this didn’t follow them there. They kept it carefully separate.
Eventually they migrated to the shower, Max getting in first. Lewis wrapped his twists in a silk scarf to keep them dry before joining, washing away the last of the sleep without any real urgency. Max leaned in, forehead brushing the back of Lewis’s shoulder, arms sliding around him.
Lewis laughed softly, hands coming up to steady him. “You’re awake, yeah?”
“Barely,” Max said, voice muffled.
Lewis tilted his head back, careful to keep his head out of the spray, letting the water run down his shoulders instead. Eventually he turned around, facing a sleepy Max who had closed his eyes, just standing there, letting the heat sink into him.
Lewis leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to his cheek, then another just beneath his eye. Max’s grip tightened slightly in response, like he was waking up through touch rather than anything else.
“Morning,” Lewis murmured.
Max huffed, but his mouth curved faintly. “It’s not morning.”
“Feels like it,” Lewis said.
Max tipped his head just enough for Lewis to kiss him properly then, his mouth warm and soft and entirely too kissable, in Lewis’s expert opinion.
Lewis reached for one of the glass jars lined neatly along the shelf, unscrewing the lid with practised ease.
Max cracked one eye open. “What’s that?”
“Sugar scrub,” Lewis said, like it was obvious.
Max made a vague, unimpressed sound. “Sounds unnecessary.”
“Mm,” Lewis hummed. “Stay there.”
Max didn’t argue. He held Lewis’s hips loosely, trusting in that easy way. Lewis dipped his fingers into the jar, scooping out a small amount before stepping closer again. The scent was warm, clean, something faintly sweet that softened the air between them.
“Cold,” he warned.
Max barely had time to react before Lewis’s hands were on him, spreading the scrub across his shoulders first, working it in with slow, firm circles.
Max inhaled sharply at the initial chill, and then completely melted. His head tipped forward slightly, shoulders dropping under Lewis’s hands, the tension draining out of him in real time. “That’s—” he started, then stopped, sighing into the massage.
Lewis smiled to himself, continuing, thumbs pressing just enough, hands moving with the kind of familiarity that came from knowing exactly how much pressure to use, where to linger, where to ease off.
“Unnecessary, yeah?” he murmured.
Max made a low, wordless sound that very clearly disagreed.
Lewis worked his way down slowly, over his arms, across his back, letting his chest brush against Max’s. The water ran over both of them, rinsing away the sugar as quickly as he applied it, leaving warmth in its wake. When he kneaded Max’s thighs, a groan ripped from Max’s chest and startled them both. Lewis slowed his ministrations, kneading deeper, seeking knots in the muscle across Max’s legs.
Max barely moved. He leaned into it, into Lewis, into the grounding touch of it all, like he had decided that this was exactly what he wanted. His breath came shallow, gripping Lewis’s back, hips twitching with each stroke.
Lewis rinsed the last of the scrub from Max’s skin, guiding the water over him with one hand, watching the fine grains dissolve and disappear under the steady stream. His palm followed after, smoothing over where it had been, like he didn’t quite want to let go of the feel of it.
When Lewis stepped back just enough to give him space, Max reached for the soap behind him. He worked it between his hands before bringing it to Lewis, touching him with a kind of careful attention that felt almost reverent in its own way.
He found Lewis’s neck, lazily mouthing under his jaw while his hands worked a steady pattern down his back, slippery and easy over the deeper muscle there. Lewis tilted his head back slightly, humming. Max let one hand drop shamelessly lower to grope at his arse, causing Lewis to chuckle quietly.
The steam had thickened around them, softening the edges of everything. The only real points of focus were the warmth of the water, Max’s hands expertly working over his back, his tongue hot on Lewis’s neck.
By the time they stepped out, the room was thoroughly fogged, the mirrors opaque, the world outside reduced to light and blur. Lewis automatically opened the bathroom door, letting Roscoe toddle in. The pup worried just outside the bathroom door when anyone showered.
Max reached for Lewis again, tugging him back in just enough for one more kiss, softer this time. Lewis dried them both off with his towel, fluffing Max’s hair gently as Max’s kisses moved lower between Lewis’s neck and shoulder. He tried not to shiver with the contrast of Max’s hot mouth as the cool air dried them both, pulling their hips together.
Max looped his arms around Lewis’s neck, and Lewis felt the tip of Max’s tongue tracing over his chest, hot and wet.
“Don’t get carried away, now,” Lewis chided.
“Not,” Max said, already halfway there. “Just testing.”
Lewis looked down at Roscoe. “This guy,” he chuckled, tilting his head at Max like he and the bulldog were sharing a private joke. Roscoe tilted back like he was in on it.
Lewis untied his silk scarf and left it on the bathroom counter, hanging their towel to dry. After depositing Max onto the bed and ignoring his grabby hands, Lewis pulled out some clean, loose clothes for them to wear around the flat.
They dressed without much thought, something easy against skin that still felt a little oversensitive from the shower. Max stole one of Lewis’s oversized jumpers without asking, sleeves too long, hem falling just past where it should, and Lewis didn’t comment on it beyond a quiet smile.
The dogs were already waiting by the lift. Another walk around the block made them properly happy, the city awake now, sunlight brighter, the quiet replaced with Monaco’s activity of the day. Max stayed close, one hand occasionally brushing Lewis’s arm, the other wrapped carefully around Roscoe’s lead, Roscoe moving ahead of them like he knew the route better than either of them. It was unremarkable and perfect.
They made their way back up eventually, the lift carrying them quietly back into the stillness of the penthouse. Coco disappeared almost immediately, claiming another spot in the shade, while Roscoe hovered, waiting to see where they went first.
Lewis headed for the kitchen. “Sit,” he said absently, already pulling things from the fridge.
Neither Max nor the dog sat.
Max hopped up onto the counter instead, like it was the most natural place for him to be, legs dangling, watching with idle interest as Lewis moved around the space.
“You’re in the way,” Lewis said mildly.
“I’m not,” Max said, not moving an inch.
Lewis glanced at him, unimpressed, then turned back to what he was doing.
Max lasted about thirty seconds before reaching out, nudging something on the counter, picking up ingredients just to look at them, asking questions he didn’t really care about the answers to.
Lewis handed him something to do. “Do the coriander, at least make yourself useful.”
Max tore leaves from stems briefly, half-heartedly, before abandoning it entirely in favour of leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to Lewis’s cheek, then another to his jaw when Lewis didn’t immediately react.
“Max,” Lewis said, warning, but there was no real weight behind it.
Max just smiled. He drifted in and out of helping after that, handing Lewis things when asked, getting distracted midway through, eventually sliding off the counter altogether to crouch down beside Roscoe instead. That held his attention longer.
Lewis watched him from the corner of his eye as he worked, the careful way Max scratched behind Roscoe’s ears, the way Roscoe leaned into him just slightly, accepting it.
Max appeared immediately as Lewis finished plating his lunch, like he had been waiting for exactly that moment. Lewis didn’t look up straight away, just reached for another plate, portioning it out with practiced ease before sliding it across the counter toward him.
He rolled his eyes as he did it. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.
Max leaned forward, all interest now, like he’d been deeply involved the entire time. “What?”
“You didn’t help,” Lewis said, finally glancing at him.
Max blinked, affronted. “Excuse you.” He resumed his position on Lewis’s counter.
Lewis raised a brow.
Max gestured vaguely toward the floor where Roscoe panted with a dopey smile. “Roscoe and I were actually quite important to the process.”
Lewis huffed a laugh, turning back to the stove. “Yeah?”
“Probably more than you,” Max went on, entirely serious now, mouth full. “You just finished it off.”
Lewis laughed properly then, completely unrestrained, turning back towards him with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Get off my counter.”
Max grinned, not moving.
Lewis slid his own plate down beside Max’s, close enough that their arms brushed as he leaned in. “You’re lucky I’m feeding you.”
“I earned it,” Max said, pointing at Lewis with his fork.
“By doing what, exactly?”
Max shrugged, taking another bite. “Moral support.”
Lewis snorted. “You’re worse than him,” he said, gesturing to Roscoe, still hovering nearby, hopeful.
But Lewis sat close anyway, elbow nudging against Max’s knee as they ate, the earlier quiet settling back around them, punctuated by Max’s occasional commentary and Lewis’s low, amused responses.
~~~
After clearing away the dishes from lunch, Lewis let Max drag him back to the sofa for a few rounds of Mario Kart on the Switch.
Max didn’t even hesitate, he dropped straight to the floor beside Roscoe like that was where he belonged, legs stretched out, one hand absently scratching behind Roscoe’s ears as he navigated the menus with the other.
Lewis snorted under his breath and took the sofa behind him, controller in hand. Max didn’t look back as he selected Bowser, the madman. Lewis scrolled for a second, then settled on Toad, as he always did.
Max huffed. “Did they pay you to pick him?”
“Sounds like someone’s jealous,” Lewis said mildly.
Max shot him a look over his shoulder, unimpressed.
The race started.
Max leaned forward immediately, all focus, shoulders tensing as if it mattered in any real way. Roscoe stayed sprawled out at his side, perfectly content, occasionally huffing when Max moved too much, but never leaving.
Lewis, for his part, played well. He let Max take the lead early, made a show of trying to catch up, held back where it counted, or told himself he did. Max crossed the line first.
“Yes,” he said, satisfied. He ruffled Roscoe’s ears. “You picked the right team.”
Lewis shook his head, setting his controller down for a second. “You’re welcome.”
Max frowned. “For what?”
“For letting you win.”
Max scoffed, immediate. “You didn’t let me win.”
Lewis raised a brow.
Max turned back to the screen, already queuing up the next race. “If I win, you let me drive tonight.”
Lewis exhaled sharply through his nose, something almost like a laugh, though there was a hint of disbelief in it. “Absolutely not,” he said.
Max didn’t turn around. “You scared?”
Lewis’s eyes narrowed faintly, the corner of his mouth pulling up despite himself. “Of you?” he said. “Always.”
Max snorted. Lewis leaned forward then, resting his elbows loosely on his knees, gaze fixed on the back of Max’s head, on the way he had already committed to it like it was a done deal.
“All right,” Lewis said after a beat, voice going lighter, but with an edge now. “If I win—”
Max finally glanced back at him.
Lewis met his eyes, steady. “I drive,” he said simply. “And I pick what we play next.”
Max frowned slightly. “That’s two things.”
Lewis tilted his head. “House rules.”
Max squinted at him, trying to decide if he was being serious.
Lewis just held his gaze, calm, entirely unbothered. “Thought you were fast,” he added, mild as anything.
Max turned back to the screen immediately. “Fine.”
Lewis smiled to himself, leaning back into the cushions again, picking up his controller.
It took more effort than Lewis would have liked to admit.
Max didn’t make it easy, locked in, like it mattered as much as an actual grand prix. Lewis, for his part, stopped playing around. He focused properly this time, clean lines, tighter turns, timing everything just right. It was closer than he expected.
But in the end, Lewis crossed the line first. He didn’t celebrate, just set his controller down, a satisfied smile spreading as he leaned back into the sofa.
Max protested immediately. “All right, that was—” he started, already halfway into an excuse.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Lewis cut in, sitting forward, a hand lifting just slightly to stop him. “My turn.”
Max frowned. “That doesn’t count, you—”
“My turn,” Lewis repeated, lighter now, but final. He didn’t give Max much room to argue.
He leaned over, reaching for the older console he kept tucked neatly beneath the unit, pulling it out with an ease that came from habit. The familiar weight of it, the controllers, the faint click as everything came together, it all settled into something instinctive.
“N64?” Max said, suspicious.
Lewis only smiled. “Trust me.”
He handed Max a controller, shoving in the game cartridge. The screen flickered to life, colours brighter, simpler, the kind of familiarity that didn’t need thinking about.
Lewis picked Toad again without hesitation, settling back just slightly as the race loaded. Max huffed in front of him, still not entirely convinced, but game enough.
They started. And immediately, it showed. Lewis didn’t even have to think. The lines came naturally, muscle memory guiding him through turns, timing his boosts without effort. Years of repetition sat quietly underneath everything.
Max, on the other hand, was not quite as practised.
“Why is it doing that?” he complained, somewhere midway through the first lap, voice edged with frustration as his kart clipped something it probably shouldn’t have.
Lewis huffed a quiet laugh. “Skill issue,” he said.
Max shot him a look. “Shut up.”
Lewis felt the flicker of it before he could stop it. He thought of a hotel room, a younger, more nasal voice, a different accent tilting the words. Shut up, complaining in that same way, the same lack of bite, the same refusal to admit fault, the same N64.
Might as well have been a lifetime ago.
Lewis blinked and pushed it away. The track pulled him back in, the rhythm of it familiar. He didn’t let the thought settle, didn’t let it take shape. By the time the race ended, Lewis crossed the line comfortably ahead.
And the next one.
And the next.
Max tried, for a while, then less so.
By the final race, his attention had drifted almost entirely, one hand still loosely on the controller while the other had found Roscoe again, turning one of his paws over gently, entirely absorbed in it instead.
Lewis glanced over mid-turn, catching the sight of it, and shook his head under his breath. “Unbelievable,” he murmured.
Max didn’t even look up.
Lewis finished the race anyway, setting the controller down with satisfaction. Max, for his part, didn’t seem particularly bothered.
Roscoe, it seemed, had won something far more important.
~~~
Sometime later, the light had begun to change; it was softer now, stretching longer across the floors, the edges of the day starting to blur.
They had ended up back in the bedroom. The late afternoon light had shifted there too, warmer, deeper, settling across the bed where they had started the day.
Lewis reached for the jewelry box on the side table, dragging it onto the bed between them. It opened with a soft click, catching the golden afternoon light with rows of rings, chains, earrings, and watches laid out in careful order.
Max propped himself up on one elbow, peering in like it was something faintly ridiculous and entirely fascinating. “You’ve got more options than I do for a whole season.”
“That’s because you’d turn up to this thing in trainers and call it a day,” Lewis said, picking up a ring and turning it between his fingers.
“Wouldn’t I?” Max said, unbothered.
Lewis smiled, glancing at him. “You’re lucky you’ve got me.”
Max hummed, like that much was obvious.
Lewis held up a pair of earrings then, angling them toward Max’s ears. “What do you reckon? Too much?”
Max squinted at them, then at Lewis. “Mm. They look better on you, I think.”
Lewis laughed softly, lowering them again.
Max didn’t seem remotely interested in the jewelry. Lewis had the box open between them, turning a ring over thoughtfully, weighing it against a chain laid out beside it, but Max’s attention had drifted somewhere else entirely, specifically, to Lewis.
Max leaned in, pressing a slow, absent kiss just below Lewis’s shoulder, over the twelve on the clock of his tattoo, then another further down, over the six. His fingers followed after, tracing along the lines of ink there, appreciative.
Lewis glanced down, amused. “You’re very fascinated by these, aren’t you?”
Max hummed, not looking up, thumb brushing over one of the clouds. “They are part of you,” he said simply. “Hard not to be.”
Lewis’s chest glowed warm and pleased. “All right,” he said after a moment, closing the jewelry box with a soft click. “Hold on.”
He slid off the bed before Max could question it further, disappearing into the bathroom. Max watched him go, frowning faintly, then flopped back against the pillows with a quiet huff.
Lewis came back a moment later with a small, glittery bag in hand, already digging through it as he climbed back onto the bed.
Max eyed it. “Is that yours, mate?”
Lewis snorted under his breath. “No. Just things people have left here.”
Max went a little quiet at that, watching him more closely now.
Lewis didn’t answer right away. “Aha,” he said instead, pulling out a slim black tube and uncapping it.
Max squinted. “That looks dangerous.”
“It’s eyeliner,” Lewis said, already moving closer. “May I?”
Before Max could protest, Lewis maneuvered over him, bracing one hand against his chest to steady himself as he leaned down. The position was close, and Max went still instinctively, watching him with a flicker of curiosity.
“Don’t move,” Lewis murmured.
Max opened his mouth to respond and then laughed instead, high-pitched and surprised, as the first cool stroke touched just below his ribs.
“That tickles,” he protested, squirming slightly.
Lewis pressed him down more firmly with his free hand, laughing under his breath. “Stay still.”
“I am—” Max twitched again, grin breaking across his face. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Lewis said, fond but firm. “Behave.”
Max huffed, biting back another laugh as Lewis continued, slower this time, careful, deliberate strokes against his skin.
After a moment, Max tilted his head back against the pillow, still smiling. “Don’t draw a Mercedes logo on me,” he said.
Lewis rolled his eyes without looking up. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No,” Max didn’t stop smiling. “You’ll draw a dick or something.”
Lewis’s hand lifted for a second, tilting his head, then resumed, just as precise as before. A few more strokes, a final careful line…
“There,” Lewis said, leaning back.
Max immediately pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at his ribs. For a second, he just stared. Then he broke into a grin, almost boyish in how pleased he was.
Lewis watched him, smiling. “Now you’ve got your own little lion,” he said.
Max looked back up at him, eyes shining, laughter still caught in his chest. “You’re serious?”
“Very,” Lewis said.
Max laughed properly then, delighted, looking back down at it like it might disappear if he didn’t check again. “Matching.”
Lewis shook his head, still smiling, something soft and fond settling in him all over again.
Max, for his part, looked like he’d just been handed something far better than he’d expected. And Lewis found himself caught there for a moment, taking him in properly.
The colour of his eyes was that strange, shifting blue-grey, like it couldn’t quite settle on one thing. Freckles lay unevenly across Max’s nose, familiar to him now. The shape of his eyes, the way they curved when he smiled—And his lashes. God.
Lewis blinked, sitting back slightly, struck by it all over again. They were ridiculous. Max’s lashes were so long and pale and clearly only for Lewis’s benefit since Max couldn’t see them most of the time.
Max finally looked up and tilted his head. “What?”
Lewis didn’t answer straight away, something clicking into place in his mind. “Wait.”
Max barely had time to question it before Lewis was reaching for the glittery makeup bag again, digging through it with more purpose this time.
“Now what?” Max asked, teasing.
“Ah,” Lewis said, triumphant, pulling out a larger tube. “Here we go.”
Max sat up fully, wary. “What’s that?”
“Mascara,” Lewis said, like it was obvious. “For your eyelashes.”
Max blinked. “My what?”
Lewis glanced up at him, suddenly aware of how it sounded. He smiled, just a touch bashful. “Your lashes. They’re—” He hesitated before committing. “They’re really long. Thought it might… I don’t know. Look nice.”
Max just stared at him for a second, processing. “I don’t know how to—” he started, voice uncertain.
“I’ll do it,” Lewis said quickly. “Don’t worry.”
Max’s mouth pressed into a line, chewing at his lip, thinking. “You sure that’s… a good idea?”
Lewis’s expression softened immediately. “I think you’re gorgeous either way,” he said simply. “This is just for fun.”
Max exhaled, then gave a small nod, going very still, like he was bracing for something unknown. “All right.”
Lewis shifted closer, knees brushing against Max’s, steadying him lightly with one hand at his jaw. “Look just over my shoulder,” he murmured.
Max did, eyes flicking obediently past him.
Lewis uncapped the mascara. He brought the wand up slowly, brushing it through Max’s upper lashes on one side with a steady hand.
Max twitched.
“Hey,” Lewis said, laughing softly. “Stay still.”
“I am,” Max protested, immediately blinking again.
“You’re not,” Lewis said, fond. “Stop it, love.”
Max huffed, but held still this time, jaw tightening slightly as Lewis worked.
“Good,” Lewis murmured. “That’s it.” He finished the top lashes, then tilted Max’s chin gently. “Look up.”
Max did, though his nose wrinkled faintly in suspicion.
Lewis applied the lower lashes, lighter this time, careful not to smudge. Max’s fingers curled slightly against the sheets, but he stayed put.
“There,” Lewis said, pulling back. “One side done.”
Max blinked rapidly. “Feels weird.”
“You’re strong,” Lewis reassured him. “You’re doing great.”
Max rolled his eyes. “Don’t patronise me.”
Lewis grinned. “You’re being very brave.”
Max snorted, but the tension had eased.
“Other side,” Lewis said, already moving in again.
This time Max barely flinched, settling into it, trusting. Lewis finished, then leaned back, taking him in. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.
Max frowned slightly. “What?”
Lewis smiled, soft and a little awed. “Told you.”
Max’s lashes were darker now, framing his eyes in a way that made the blue even brighter. All of it pulled forward like it had been waiting for this. Max blinked again, slower this time, then looked at Lewis properly.
Lewis felt something in his chest pull. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That works.”
Max studied Lewis’s expression for a second longer, then smiled. “All right,” he said.
And Lewis, still looking at him like this, thought distantly that maybe Max had ruined him for good.
“Right,” Lewis said eventually, like he’d made a decision. “Come on.”
Max frowned faintly. “What?”
“You’re not wearing whatever you showed up in,” Lewis said, already sliding off the bed again. “Not to this thing.”
Max flopped back against the pillows. “I was going to.”
“I know,” Lewis said dryly, disappearing into the wardrobe.
He rifled through a dozen different hangers, opening a handful of drawers before returning with an armful of clothes, a crisp button-up, dark jeans, a belt that looked better than Max not wearing one at all, like he would be if left to his own devices. Lewis laid them out across the bed with care, smoothing the fabric.
Max pushed himself up on his elbows, eyeing the spread. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”
“It’s exactly enough,” Lewis said, already stepping back, head tilted as he assessed it.
Looking at Max, there was one other thing he was dying to add. He crossed to the dresser this time. Max watched him, curious now, as Lewis pulled open a drawer, flipping through softer garments before he found the ones he wanted.
There we are.
When he came back, there were a couple more things in his hands. He laid two smaller pieces of fabric, mostly lace, out on top of the shirt, unmistakably red.
Max blinked. “Er,” he said slowly, sitting up properly now. “Are those for you?”
Lewis glanced down at them, then back at Max, and smiled. “They’re mine,” he agreed lightly. “But they’re for you tonight.”
Max stared at him before huffing an incredulous laugh. “I’m not a girl, mate.”
Lewis climbed back onto the bed without missing a beat, closing the space between them until Max had no choice but to lean back slightly under the press of him. Lewis’s hand came to his jaw, and then he kissed him, softly at first, then a little firmer, like he was answering something Max hadn’t quite finished saying.
Max’s hands came up automatically, settling at Lewis’s waist, holding him there. Lewis lingered, then pulled back just enough to speak, mouth still close to Max’s.
“You’re not a girl,” he murmured.
Max blinked up at him, breath caught.
“You’re my date,” Lewis went on, voice low, certain. “Don’t you deserve to feel beautiful?”
Max’s cheeks flushed immediately, colour rising fast across his skin. He didn’t answer straight away, just looked at him wide-eyed before leaning in again, almost instinctively, chasing the warmth of Lewis’s mouth. He sighed softly into the kiss.
When Lewis pulled back this time, Max let his head fall back against the pillows, still a little dazed. “It’s—” he started, then faltered, voice quieter now. “It’s Ferrari red.”
Lewis laughed, bright and easy, the sound breaking the tension cleanly.
Funny, that.
Lewis reached out, grazing his knuckle lightly over Max’s bottom lip, eyes soft as he looked at him.
“They’ll match,” he said quietly, “your pretty lips.”
Max made a small, helpless sound, almost a protest, and turned his face slightly like he didn’t know where to put himself.
Lewis just smiled before reaching for the clothes again, entirely pleased with his work. He handed the lingerie to Max, sliding off the bed to pick out his own outfit for the evening.
Max picked up the bra, a delicate, unstructured lace bralette, all sheer floral panels and fine straps, holding it up against his chest with a deepening frown. He looked down at it, then at Lewis, then back at it again like it might explain itself if he stared long enough.
“…Right,” he muttered.
His fingers found the clasps at the back, fumbling with it for a moment before he managed to unhook them with a small, triumphant huff. He slid his arms through the straps, careful but slightly awkward, shoulders tensing as the deep red lace settled against his skin. Then he paused.
Max reached behind himself, blindly searching for the clasps, fingers brushing over his own back with increasing frustration. He twisted slightly, tried again, failed again, and finally looked over his shoulder at Lewis with a deeply unimpressed expression that didn’t quite hide how lost he was.
“Don’t,” he said, preemptively.
Lewis was already smiling. “Turn around,” he said, fond.
Max huffed but obeyed, shifting so his back faced Lewis, shoulders still a little stiff.
Lewis reached out, fingers sure as he fastened the clasp with practiced ease. He adjusted it gently after, smoothing the red against Max’s skin, tugging it just right so it sat properly.
“There,” Lewis murmured, more to himself than anything.
Max glanced down, then reached up to touch it, testing the fit like he didn’t quite trust it yet. “Feels—” he started, then stopped, brow furrowing as he tried to place it. “Different.”
“That’s the point,” Lewis said lightly.
Max snorted under his breath but didn’t argue. He grabbed the knickers then, barely a scrap of red lace, movements hurried and unceremonious in a way that contrasted with what he was putting on. Max seemed surprised by the high placement of the straps of the thong on his sides, how much thigh showed under the fine straps. Sheer lace framed his hips, fitting him far better than he seemed to expect. The silk crotch fit snug over his soft cock and Lewis had a hard time looking away.
Max looked down at himself again, tugging lightly at the fabric, turning slightly like he was trying to figure out what to make of it.
Lewis watched him, quiet now, something softer settling in his chest. “Come here,” he said after a moment, gesturing toward the mirror.
Max hesitated, then stepped over, stopping just in front of it. For a second, he didn’t react.
“Huh,” he said softly.
He turned slightly, then a bit more, looking at himself from one angle, then another, like he was trying to reconcile what he expected to see with what was actually there.
Lewis reached for Max’s hand, guiding it down to his own hip to where the strap sat across the jut of his hip. He pressed Max’s fingers there lightly, letting him feel it for himself.
Max’s breath caught, just slightly.
Lewis smiled. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s it.”
Max traced idly along the line, feeling it, something assessing in his expression as the lingerie became more real, more his.
Lewis watched him for a second, then leaned in, pressing a kiss to Max’s shoulder, voice low and warm. “Shame no one else gets to see you like this,” he said.
Max exhaled slowly, his eyes finding Lewis’s in the mirror, a little wide, a little caught off guard.
Lewis’s thumb brushed once at his waist, just above Max’s hand. “How unlucky for them.”
Max’s mouth twitched, the beginnings of a smile breaking through the uncertainty, colour rising again across his cheeks. “Oh, I’m sure,” he drawled.
“I’m serious,” Lewis said simply. “Gorgeous.”
Max flushed again, but this time he didn’t look away. Then he finally glanced down at the rest of the clothes laid out on the bed. He moved through them with that same unceremonious efficiency, buttoning the shirt, tugging on the jeans, threading the belt through the loops with a faint frown of concentration.
By the time he was done, the lines of it all sat just right, softened only by the knowledge of what lay underneath.
Max looked back at himself again, adjusting the collar slightly, then glanced over his shoulder. “All right?”
Lewis pushed himself off from where he had been leaning, crossing to him slowly. He took him in properly, the fit of the clothes, the set of his shoulders, the way the red was hidden now, just a secret between them.
“Yeah,” Lewis said, warm and certain. “That works.”
Max nodded once, like he would accept that.
Lewis left him there and stepped into the wardrobe, pulling together something for himself that matched without trying too hard, something that belonged in the world they were about to walk into. He dressed quickly, movements automatic, mind already on the evening ahead.
He tied his twists back carefully, still opting for the small diamond hoops he had been favouring lately. A simple chain tonight would suffice, along with a few of his favorite rings.
When he stepped back out, Max was still by the mirror.
Lewis paused. “Ready?” he asked.
Max turned, and whatever uncertainty had been there earlier had melted away. “Yeah.”
Lewis made up the dogs’ dinner, letting them eat their fill before automatically handing Roscoe’s lead to Max, taking them on one last trip around the block before they left.
Max kissed both dogs on the tops of their heads goodbye, and when Lewis shot him a look, Max gave him a kiss on the cheek, too, laughing.
~~~
Monaco at night was a different kind of theatre.
Lewis drove, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting briefly on Max’s knee when the road allowed it. The city slid past in lights and reflections, the marina already alive with movement, noise, the low hum of expensive people doing extravagant things.
They pulled up, and the car was gone almost as soon as they stepped out, keys handed over without thought, the transition seamless in the way Lewis was used to.
Max wasn’t. Lewis could feel it in the way he paused, just slightly, taking it all in.
Lewis stepped closer, his hand settling at the small of Max’s back. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You’re all right.”
Max glanced at him, nodding, but his eyes were still moving.
“It’s just a party,” Lewis went on, softer. “No one’s here for us. No one cares about anything except themselves and who they’re talking to.”
Max smiled faintly at him, but it did reach his eyes.
Lewis’s hand stayed where it was as they walked, thumb brushing lightly against Max’s back. Beneath the fabric of the shirt, he could feel the faintest suggestion of the straps at his hips, quietly thrilling as a secret only between them.
Max shifted slightly under his hand, noticing it, too. “Alright,” he said.
“We can leave whenever,” Lewis added. “Doesn’t matter when. Doesn’t matter why.”
Max looked at him properly then, the tension in his shoulders easing. He nodded again. “Yeah.”
Lewis reached for his hand then, squeezing it once, firm and certain.
Max’s mouth curved, small but genuine. “Thanks,” he said.
Lewis smiled back, easy, confident in a way that had nothing to do with the setting.
“They’re going to love you,” he said.
Light spilled over polished surfaces, glass and gold and water reflecting back on itself until it all blurred together into something unreal on the yacht. The music was low enough to talk over, but loud enough to feel. People looked like they belonged there, and for a moment, Lewis remembered feeling just as unfamiliar and out of place as Max, despite having lived here for years, despite having as much claim to fame as anyone present, if not more so.
Lewis didn’t hesitate. He stepped on like he had done it a hundred times, which he had, one hand still resting at Max’s back as he guided him forward, through the easy crush of people and conversation.
“Stick with me,” he said lightly.
Max nodded, taking it all in, the scale of it, the way everyone seemed to know where to stand, how to move. Lewis didn’t slow; he knew a drink would help them both.
The bar was lined with bottles that didn’t bother advertising what they were, and Lewis leaned in, exchanging a few quiet words before coming away with two drinks in hand, one amber in a short tumbler, one clear and fizzy. He automatically handed the gin and tonic to Max, all too familiar with his drink of choice after so many years, and then they were moving again, slipping into conversations that opened and closed around them without much effort.
Lewis introduced him when it made sense. “Max—you know Max.”
People nodded and smiled. Some looked twice.
Max handled it better than he expected, answering when spoken to, offering something back, finding his footing in a way that was understated but engaging.
Lewis drifted in and out. He was always between conversations at these things, spotting familiar faces, exchanging easy greetings, long-time-no-sees. But he always came back.
Each time, his hand found Max again without thought, brushing hands as the crowd gathered closer, bumping shoulders when they laughed, lightly touching the small of his back, like his hand just belonged there.
Truly, given his knowledge of what lay underneath Max’s outfit, it was impressive how much restraint Lewis showed. He only let his fingers wander slightly. He only let the barest tips of his fingers dance idly over the line where the bra strap sat beneath Max’s shirt twice, maybe three times. Practically an angel, him.
But the way it made Max’s breath catch, just barely, the way his shoulders seized, like he was trying not to react and failing by degrees. Lewis picked up on a faint stutter in his voice when he picked a conversation back up, just a tenth too slow. No one else would’ve noticed, he thought. He wouldn’t have, if only drivers didn’t live or die by fractions.
Lewis hid his smile behind the rim of his tumbler. God, Max was easy. Everything he felt lived right at the surface if you knew where to look. And Lewis knew exactly where to look.
They settled eventually at a small cluster near the edge of the deck, Max perched on a stool, Lewis standing beside him, angled in like he wasn’t going anywhere. The conversation flowed around them between laughter and shared stories.
Lewis wasn’t listening, not really. His attention was elsewhere, on the slow drag of his fingers across Max’s hip, tracing a low strap over his hip again, just enough pressure to remind him it was there before removing it, then stroking again, a slow, torturous rhythm.
Max’s hand tightened slightly around his glass. His plush lip caught between his teeth. Lewis felt it like a current. The presence of other people only made the tension thicker, every flicker through Max a jolt of electricity. The fact that this was happening here, in the open, unseen and entirely theirs only made Lewis bolder, not less. He leaned in slightly, close enough that only Max would hear.
“Want to try this?” he murmured, lifting his glass just enough to indicate it.
Max didn’t look at him, only nodded, a little too quickly.
Lewis’s mouth curved. He tipped the glass toward him, letting Max take a sip directly, close enough that he could feel Max’s thighs rub together, just barely, the way his breath came just a touch uneven.
“Good?” Lewis asked softly.
Max swallowed, then nodded again. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarser now.
Lewis pulled back, taking a drink himself, eyes still on him.
People around them began to drift, someone was heading back to the bar, someone else pulled into another conversation. The circle loosened, thinning, until it was almost just them again.
Lewis really couldn’t care less. All he wanted was to kiss his date. He didn’t need to, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t have him later. But because Max was sitting there, flushed and trying not to show it, looking at him like that, blinking up at him with those—those lashes, God.
It was making him a little bit insane, honestly.
Lewis didn’t make a scene of it. He just leaned in, murmuring low against Max’s ear, and let his hand guide him, warm at his back, through the edge of the crowd. Max followed instantly.
The second they slipped down a narrow corridor, the world got quieter, the music dulled in the enclosed space. Lewis found a cabin without thinking, pulling Max in with him before turning to shut it behind them. The click was barely audible.
They could still hear the party, the voices and laughter, the low pulse of music bleeding faintly through the walls, but it felt distant now. Lewis barely had time to turn back before Max was on him.
His mouth, his hands felt urgent, immediate, like he had been holding it in for far too long. The kiss wasn’t careful, wasn’t measured. It was need, plain and unfiltered, pressing Lewis back against the wall with a force that made him laugh under his breath before the sound disappeared into Max’s mouth, knocking teeth, as if Max wanted to devour him.
“Easy,” Lewis murmured, but there was no real resistance in it.
Max didn’t slow down. He couldn’t.
Lewis could feel the way it poured off him now, all the restraint from earlier gone. The tension, the wanting, everything that had been building all evening was finally spilling over. His hands were everywhere, pulling at Lewis’s hips, his shirt, one hand at the back of his neck to kiss him properly.
Lewis answered in kind. His hands moved quickly, sure, working open the buttons of Max’s shirt, one after the other until the fabric parted under his fingers. He needed to see.
The shirt fell open, and the flash of red against Max’s skin, the lace cutting clean lines across muscle and broad shoulders, stark and striking, made Lewis’s breath catch. Max’s fresh ink surprised him, black lines carefully drawn over his ribs.
“Christ,” he murmured.
It was better than he had imagined.
Max didn’t give him long to look. He surged forward again, hands firm on Lewis’s waist, pressing in close, and Lewis met him, hands sliding up his milky stomach, palms flat against warm skin. He cupped Max’s gorgeous tits with reverence, thumbs ghosting over his nipples through the bare lace.
Max’s breath had been uneven, but gasping into Lewis’s mouth was always so delightful, like it was the first time all over again. Max was always so sensitive, so surprised. His hips twitched against Lewis’s, his movements still urgent but edged with relief at finally being touched, being kissed.
Max’s mouth slipped from Lewis’s, trailing down along his jaw, then lower to his neck, and that was worse. Each press of his lips sent sparks down Lewis’s spine, like he had learned exactly how to unravel him and was making up for lost time.
Lewis’s head tipped back against the wall.
“Jesus,” he breathed, fingers tightening in Max’s open shirt, the words catching halfway out. “Max—baby—”
Max only hummed against his skin in response, like that was answer enough.
There was no patience left in him now. He pushed his thigh between Lewis’s legs, directly against his half-hard cock, his hands flat on the taut planes of Lewis’s stomach under his shirt. Max was chasing what he had been denied all day. It bled into the way he kissed, the way his hips rolled mindlessly into Lewis’s, groaning softly into his neck at the friction.
Lewis understood it. He dragged in a breath, trying to steady himself, but Max’s tongue at his neck made that nearly impossible.
“I need—” Lewis started, voice rougher now, less controlled than before. He swallowed, tried again. “I need to feel your mouth.”
Max paused, pulling back to look at him, eyes blown dark with lust. He nodded like he had been waiting to hear it.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
Lewis barely had time to process before Max was moving again, dropping to his knees.
“Shit,” Lewis heard himself say, though this was hardly the first time he had seen Max on his knees.
Lewis’s hands dropped instinctively, working at his belt with quick, practised movements, breath still uneven, pulse loud in his ears. One hand found Max’s jaw while the other undid his fly, pulling his jeans down enough to pull out his cock.
Lewis thumbed gently over Max’s cheek as he stroked himself, and the wide-eyed look on Max’s face looking up at him caught Lewis off guard all over again. The mascara had smudged just slightly beneath his eyes, darkening the edges, making the colour of his eyes almost startling in contrast. His lashes looked even longer now, uneven in that way that made it better, not worse.
And his mouth—Max’s mouth was always pretty. But right now, pink and softened, lips parted slightly like he had forgotten to keep it closed in awe of Lewis above him.
When Lewis gave the barest indication of his head, Max practically lunged forward, fingers digging into Lewis’s thighs, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock. His narrow fingers were long and pale wrapped around him, and Lewis found they made quite the pretty picture next to the soft pink of his lips as he swallowed Lewis greedily.
Lewis’s head thumped back against the wall, pleasure surging down his thighs. “Good girl,” he groaned, almost automatically, and Max moaned around him in response, vibrating along his length.
Lewis slid his fingers into Max’s hair, his eagerness by far the most enjoyable part. It was as if Max genuinely wanted to taste him, his tongue constantly moving as his head bobbed, licking the underside of his head, flattening to swallow him deeper. He twisted his hand slightly when he stroked up, and Lewis had to bite his lip to keep from whimpering.
He braved another look down to find Max looking up at him again, and his hand tightened in Max’s hair when they locked eyes. Max’s eyes were shining, glassy, wet at the corners, like everything he was feeling had nowhere else to go.
Lewis slid his hand along Max’s jaw, eyes wanting to roll back at feeling himself through Max’s cheek, but his hand slid lower, holding his jaw gently. Max’s eyes curved in the way they did when he smiled, slightly blurring at the waterline. His lashes clung together just a little more. Spit dripped down his chin, down Lewis’s balls, and Lewis twitched helplessly against the roof of Max’s mouth.
“So beautiful,” Lewis breathed, threading his fingers through Max’s hair.
Max dropped the hand separating his lips from Lewis’s pelvis, working Lewis deeper into his throat, centimetre by centimetre. Lewis’s breath came ragged now, face screwed up in pleasure as he fought to keep from shooting down Max’s pretty throat so quickly.
“Fuck, ‘m not gonna last,” he muttered, breathless. “If you keep that up.”
Lewis felt his head nudge against the opening of Max’s throat and a sound tore from his chest, low and vulnerable. His hips snapped forward automatically, shoving into the tight throat fluttering around him, Max reflexively gagging.
Lewis pulled back immediately, eyes snapping open, slightly horrified he had gotten carried away. To his surprise, though, Max didn’t pull off. He took a couple deep breaths through his nose, hands fisted in Lewis’s jeans, and slowly started sucking him again, taking him gradually deeper.
When he finally looked up at Lewis, Lewis thought his knees might buckle completely. Max’s eyes were no longer shimmering, they were overflowing. Tears were slipping down over his flushed cheeks, dragging the mascara with them in soft, dark streaks, his face becoming something messy and human and completely devastating.
Max didn’t seem to notice, or didn't care.
Lewis could only moan as his dick pulsed a few times in warning, the heat in his stomach pulling, coiling tighter, too close to the edge to stop now. He tapped Max firmly, colour high across his pretty cheeks, practically panting like one of the dogs.
“‘m close, fuck, I’m close,” he groaned.
Max tightened his grip on Lewis’s thighs and sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks. Lewis kept his eyes locked on the man currently sucking the life out of him. Max’s mouth looked obscene wrapped around him, spit slick and swollen red, puffy lips perfect for sucking cock.
He had thought he understood what Max looked like. He hadn’t, not fully, not with tears slipping down without resistance, the mascara softening everything into something almost unreal. Max’s eyes looked bigger somehow, brighter, like they couldn’t contain what he was feeling.
It made the sharpness of him stand out more, the cut of his jaw, the strength in his shoulders, the soft curve of his tits in the deep red lace, all of it thrown into contrast with the fragile, fleeting beauty of the moment.
Lewis spilled harshly into Max's mouth, hips twitching uncontrollably, cursing under his breath. Max’s throat squeezed him rhythmically as he swallowed, milking him of every last drop. Lewis’s head tipped back and his eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed for a beautiful handful of seconds.
When he got his knees back under him again, he pulled out of Max’s mouth slowly, hissing a breath from sensitivity because Max always kept sucking, even as he pulled off, the git.
Max’s face was flushed and open, lashes clumped slightly now, his lips red and softened, like everything about him had been worked loose. Lewis’s hands found Max first, pulling him gently up, guiding him back to his feet like he needed him closer, needed him upright, needed to see him properly again.
“Hey—hey,” Lewis murmured, voice softer now, the edge gone from it. “C’mere.”
Max came easily, a little unsteady but willing, letting Lewis draw him in.
Up close, it was worse. The tears still clung to his lashes, the mascara smudged faintly beneath his eyes, tracking where it had spilled. His face was flushed, open in that same way, like he hadn’t quite put himself back together yet.
Lewis’s chest tightened. “Look at me?” he asked quietly.
Max did, blinking slowly.
Lewis’s hand came up immediately, thumb brushing under his eye, catching the tear there before it could fall further. He wiped the faint streak of mascara from his cheek with the side of his thumb, then did it again on the other side.
“There we go,” he murmured.
Max blinked slowly, lashes still damp, watching him like he was trying to wake up.
Lewis took his time with it, smoothing what he could away, though the dark had already settled in deeper at the edges, caught along his lashes and smudged faintly beneath his eyes. He couldn’t get all of it like this. He didn’t try to.
“We’ll sort the rest later,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Get you cleaned up properly.”
His other hand stayed at Max’s jaw, holding him close as he finished, brushing his thumb once more beneath his eye, gentler now, more reassuring than anything else.
“You all right?” he asked softly.
Max nodded, a little breathless still. “Yeah.”
Lewis searched his face for a second longer, like he needed to be sure. Then his gaze dropped, instinct kicking in.
“And your knees?” he added, quieter now, a touch more practical. “You okay?”
Max blinked at that, clearly not expecting it, then huffed a faint, almost disbelieving laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”
Lewis frowned slightly anyway, hand already moving, brushing lightly down Max’s throat, checking without making a fuss of it and somehow still managing to fuss entirely.
“Didn’t hurt you?” he pressed.
“Lew,” Max said, softer now, a little amused despite everything. “I’m all right.”
Lewis looked back up at him, still not entirely convinced. Max hadn’t been the same after Lewis had found him alone in that hotel room in Brazil years ago, in ways Lewis still didn’t have the language for. Lewis had changed, too, if he was honest about it. They didn’t talk about that, either. Still, it was difficult for him not to fuss.
Max’s mouth curved, just a little. “I promise.”
Lewis exhaled quietly, some of the tension leaving him. “All right,” he said. He pressed his lips softly to Max’s cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Max blinked at him, then rolled his eyes immediately. “Mate,” he complained. “Don’t say shit like that.”
Lewis pulled back just enough to look at him, a smile already forming. “What?”
“That,” Max said, gesturing vaguely. “Don’t thank me.”
Lewis huffed a quiet laugh. “I can’t be a gentleman?”
Max muttered something under his breath, looking away.
Lewis caught it anyway. “What was that?”
Max glanced at him, expression tight with embarrassment and something else underneath it. “I said I don’t want you to be a gentleman.”
Lewis could only grin. “Oh, yeah?”
Max’s flush deepened instantly, colour spreading across his cheeks, down his neck, impossible to miss now.
Lewis’s hand found Max’s waist without hesitation, pulling their hips flush until there was no space left between them. Max made a small, involuntary sound, breath catching just slightly.
Lewis quickly unfastened Max’s belt and fly enough to sneak his hand into his jeans, enough to feel the hard ridge of his arousal through the thinnest layer of lace.
Max shuddered, sharp and immediate, like it caught him off guard every time. He exhaled unevenly, head tipping just slightly towards him.
Lewis’s hand moved again, barely stroking over the darkened lace, damp with precome leaking from Max’s neglected cock.
Max’s breath hitched. God. Lewis smiled against his skin.
“But you’ve been so good,” he went on softly, the words almost lost in the space between them. “Don’t you think I should be sweet to you?”
Max made a low sound at that, groaning in protest, fingers tightening instinctively at Lewis’s side. “No,” he said, voice rougher than before. “I don’t want you to be sweet,” he muttered.
Lewis’s brows lifted slightly, interest piqued. “No?”
Max shook his head, just once, breath still uneven. “No.” He swallowed. “I want you to be bad.”
For a moment, Lewis just looked at him, taking in the flush still high on his cheeks, the way his hands trembled slightly where they rested.
Lewis smiled. “Oh,” he said quietly. He gripped Max’s waist harder, rolling their hips together slowly. “Is that right?”
Max’s hips stuttered, pressing into his hand, insistent.
“Mhm,” he breathed, the sound thin and unsteady, like it had been pulled out of him rather than offered.
Lewis felt the way it trembled through him, the way Max was already halfway gone, balanced on the edge of something he couldn’t quite hold onto. Lewis leaned in again, voice low and controlled, almost conversational in contrast to the way Max was unraveling in front of him.
“Wouldn’t you rather wait?” he murmured. “‘Til we get back to the flat?”
He stroked lightly over Max’s throbbing cock, more precome dripping into the knickers by the minute.
“Where we can take our time,” he went on softly. “Do whatever we want.”
Max shook his head immediately. “No,” he said, breath catching on the word. “No, I can’t—” He swallowed, eyes flicking up to Lewis, still smudged and watery. “Please, Lew.”
Lewis exhaled slowly through his nose, heat still lingering despite emptying every bit of lust into that pretty mouth not five minutes ago.
“Yeah?” he asked quietly. His hand tightened just slightly, stroking a little more firmly. Max’s hips bucked immediately into his hand.
“You want me here?”
Max nodded, a little desperate. Lewis liked him a little desperate. He leaned closer, brushing his mouth just near Max’s ear, words slipping in low and close.
“There’s a whole party out there,” he murmured. “Anyone could walk in. Anyone could see you like this.”
Max made a small, helpless sound at that. Lewis would call it a whine, but Max probably wouldn’t ever admit to it, not that he had any control left over it, anyway.
“Yeah,” Max said, quieter now, almost breathless. “Yeah.”
He shook his head faintly, like he couldn’t quite believe himself, but the words came anyway. “That—that would—”
He cut himself off, a soft, strained exhale taking its place.
Lewis smiled against his skin. “Reckon it would drive you mad,” he posited.
Max didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The way his dick blurted precome hot into Lewis’s hand was answer enough.
Lewis pressed a slow kiss to his neck, a contrast to everything else, like he was choosing to take his time now that he knew exactly where Max stood. Max shuddered again. Lewis lingered there, then spoke against the overheated skin of his neck.
“You want that, don’t you,” he murmured. “Want to be seen like this.”
He kissed lower, towards the base of Max’s throat. He could feel it hum with each groan Max let slip out.
“Want to be seen looking like this.”
Max’s breath broke slightly, fingers tightening where they held onto Lewis.
Lewis pulled back just enough to look over all of him, drinking in the flush creeping down his neck, his chest, beautifully soft under the soft edges of the bra. Max’s nipples were just barely visible through the red lace, stiffened little peaks tenting the sheer fabric.
“So beautiful,” he said softly. “All pink and soft for me.”
Max made another small, helpless sound, eyes dropping like he didn’t know what to do with himself under Lewis’s gaze. Lewis’s hand stroked faster, Max’s hips rabbiting against him, chasing the pleasure. He needed the release, Lewis could see that, but at this point, he needed someone just to hold him up.
When Max started whimpering against his neck, Lewis wrapped his arm tighter around Max’s back, pulling him in against his chest. He could feel Max’s dick tensing under the lace, knowing he had to be close.
“Such a good girl, Maxie,” Lewis murmured into Max’s hair as Max clung to him, his face buried in the crook of Lewis’s neck. “Gonna come in your knickers for me?”
Max’s moan was high-pitched and needy, rutting against Lewis’s hand, hot come soaking slowly into the lace with each thrust of his hips. Lewis wished he could sneak a taste.
Max sagged into him, enough that Lewis felt the full weight of it, the way his body gave without resistance, breath still uneven as he pressed his face into the crook of Lewis’s neck.
Lewis tightened his arm around him instinctively, steadying him, hand spread firm across his back.
“Hey,” he murmured, softer now. “I’ve got you.”
Max nodded against him, a faint, breathless sound slipping out as he tried to get himself back under control.
Lewis stayed where he was for a moment, letting the world come back gradually. When Max’s breathing evened out enough, Lewis drew back slightly, just enough to reach for Max’s shirt, fingers working the buttons closed again one by one. Max stood there, letting him, eyes still a little unfocused.
“There we go,” Lewis said under his breath, smoothing the fabric once it was done.
Max blinked, then looked down at himself like he was catching up. His hands moved to his belt, fingers not quite steady as he threaded it through, fastening it with trembling hands.
Lewis watched him, something soft pulling at his chest again. He leaned in, stealing a quick kiss. Max exhaled into it, so soft and sweet like this. Lewis pulled back, brushing his thumb along Max’s jaw.
“C’mon,” he said, voice low again but easy now. “Let’s get out of here.”
Max nodded immediately.
Lewis reached for his hand, squeezing once, then moved to the door. The sound of the party rushed back in as soon as it opened, music, voices, the world they had stepped out of still turning without them.
They didn’t stop. They moved back through the corridor without breaking stride, past the lights and the laughter and the clusters of people who barely noticed them leaving.
Everything felt louder than it had before, like the night had narrowed around them. Max stayed close at his side, close enough that their shoulders brushed as they walked, every point of contact somehow burning through their clothing.
Neither of them said anything. There wasn’t space for it. The air between them felt thick with it, stretched tight, like something waiting to give. The night air hit cooler when they stepped off the yacht.
The car was brought around quickly. Lewis was handed the keys with a brief nod, then slid into the driver’s seat, Max beside him, the door closing with a quiet finality that didn’t quite cut through it.
Lewis could feel the restless energy in Max, the way he sat just a fraction too still, like he was holding himself in place on purpose. His hand stayed in Lewis’s, like he hadn’t quite decided what to do with it. Lewis didn’t let go.
The engine turned over, smooth and familiar beneath everything else that wasn’t. They pulled away from the marina.
It felt like a physical thing between them, the anticipation, something they could both feel but neither of them could touch yet. Lewis thought of privacy, of closed doors, quiet flats, bedrooms for his eyes only. He thought of beautiful, delicate red lace sketched across pale skin, dotted with moles.
He thought of watery blue eyes framed by long, long lashes, and dark streaks of mascara. Lewis exhaled slowly, tightening his free hand on the steering wheel.
~~~
The lobby was too quiet for how loud everything felt.
The polished floors faintly echoed their footsteps, carrying just enough to make Lewis aware of it, aware of how close Max was walking beside him, how easily his own hand had found its place at the small of Max’s back the second they stepped inside.
Lewis could feel every breath, every small movement as they crossed the space toward the lift. Max leaned into it, just slightly. Lewis kept his gaze forward, expression composed, like there was nothing out of the ordinary about the way his thumb traced once, idle, along Max’s side.
The private lift sat tucked away, discreet, separate from the main bank. Lewis stepped up, tapping his key against the panel. The doors slid open immediately. They stepped inside together.
Lewis hit the button without looking. The doors closed with a quiet, final thud. The second the space sealed around them, Lewis turned.
His hand came up, catching Max at the waist, pulling him in without hesitation. Max met him just as quickly, hands finding Lewis’s hips like he had been waiting for it, gripping, pulling him close.
Their mouths met, heat finally given somewhere to go. The lift was dim, low light reflecting off the mirrored walls, catching fragments of them, the way Max pressed him back without thinking until Lewis felt the cool surface at his shoulders.
Lewis let himself be pushed, let the angle change, one hand sliding up to the back of Max’s neck, their mouths sliding together, locked as if they hadn’t gotten enough at the party, barely stealing breaths between kisses.
There was too much tension from earlier, too much held under quiet restraint, after the way Max had been looking at him all night, the way Lewis had been holding himself back. Max kissed him like he didn’t care where they were, like he had waited far too long.
Lewis answered in kind, one hand sliding up Max’s taut stomach under his shirt, fingertips skating over warm skin. When the lift doors opened into the quiet of the flat, neither of them seemed to notice at first, Lewis tilting their faces to lick deeper into Max’s mouth, hand tightening around the nape of his neck.
Lewis realized they had an audience when a presumptuous huff alerted him to the two pairs of eyes watching from just outside the lift, Roscoe’s head slightly tilted, expression decidedly unimpressed.
Lewis blinked at them. “Not now, guys,” he said, a little breathless.
The doors eventually slid shut with a soft, final click. Max huffed a quiet laugh first. Lewis followed a beat later, the sound low, a little breathless, a little disbelieving.
“Right,” Lewis murmured.
Max shook his head slightly, a grin tugging at his mouth, still too close, not letting go.
Lewis reached for him again, hands firm at his sides as he turned Max around, guiding him back until Max’s back met his chest. Max settled against him without hesitation.
The mirror wall of the lift stretched in front of them, catching the whole picture now, Max in front, Lewis behind him, arms bracketing him in, the night long gone in favor of their reflection held sharp in the glass.
Lewis’s hands rested at Max’s waist, thumbs brushing slowly, like he was reminding him he was still there. Max exhaled, shoulders easing back into him.
Lewis leaned in slightly, his mouth near Max’s ear, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the quiet rise and fall of his breathing.
“Wanna see how gorgeous you look for me,” he murmured into Max’s neck.
For a moment, he just looked. Max’s hair was a bit out of sorts, shirt slightly rumpled from the night, sleeves pushed up without thought. Pink crept up Max’s face at being looked at so directly, so purposefully.
Lewis could feel the heat of him easily through the thin material, the faint lines of the lace underneath raised just enough to remind him without looking.
Lewis leaned in, pressing a slow kiss just beneath his ear, then along the line of his jaw, pleased to feel Max’s cheek warm with embarrassment under his lips. Max exhaled softly, trembling under his touch.
Lewis found the buttons of Max’s shirt, working them open one by one, pressed up against his back. It was lazy, letting his fingers trail down Max’s chest with each bit of revealed skin, watching through the mirror as sheer red lace peeked through, stark against Max’s pale chest. Fine straps and delicate lines cut across his chest and under it, tracing shapes that drew the eye sinfully downward without asking permission.
Lewis let his hands settle at Max’s waist, tracing a finger lightly over the little lion inked under the bralette before he eased the shirt off his shoulders. It fell without resistance, pooling somewhere on the floor, leaving the red lingerie fully exposed.
Lewis leaned in, dragging his mouth up the side of his neck, letting it build instead of rushing through it. Max tipped his head slightly, giving him more space. Lewis smiled faintly against his skin. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Max had always been responsive. He always felt things quickly, fully. It made him easy to read, easy to guide. Lewis liked the way Max reacted, the way it never felt rehearsed, the way Max never held back. He liked how quickly Max unraveled. With Max, it wasn’t a matter of if, only a matter of when. Lewis knew where to touch, how long to tease, exactly where the lines were.
Max’s hips twitched slightly against him, breath catching just enough that Lewis felt it through his chest. One of Lewis’s hands slid to Max’s hip, fingers pressing in, holding him there, firm enough to keep him still through his sensitivity.
A soft sound slipped out of Max anyway, caught somewhere low in his throat. Lewis’s free hand moved lower, fingers finding Max’s belt. Swift fingers made quick work of it, undoing his fly and pulling his jeans down enough to see the red floral pattern covering his already half-hard dick.
Lewis’s palm spread there, thumb brushing over the edge of the lace, along the line of muscle through the wet fabric. He wondered how it had felt, spilling into the soft satin, pressing tightly against Max’s softening cock after he had come whimpering against Lewis’s neck on the yacht. He imagined Max’s jeans rubbing harshly against the damp fabric with every hurried step to the car.
No wonder Max had been so quiet on the ride home.
Lewis groaned softly into his neck as his fingers trailed lower, palming Max’s rapidly hardening member, shamelessly smearing come with the red knickers. He watched Max’s lip catch between his teeth, brow creasing with concentration, maybe, or frustration at not getting enough. He watched Max’s flush darken as his breathing quickened, grinding slightly against the hand tormenting him.
Lewis’s mouth curved faintly. His other hand followed, lifting from Max’s waist to his chest, fingers splaying over him, tracing his curves. The lace sat there red and delicate, all fine straps and soft lines, and Lewis let his fingers explore over it, reacquainting himself.
Max visibly swallowed. His eyes were a little unfocused now, his mouth parted slightly, like he was trying to stay ahead of it and couldn’t quite manage it.
Lewis never took his eyes off Max. His hand over Max’s arousal stroked lazily, dragging a slow line upward before easing back down, thumbing over his slit through the delicate red floral pattern, newly slick with precome. Max let out a pained sound at that, pushing his hips back against Lewis’s, no doubt feeling the thick bulge pressing against him.
The hand at Max’s chest brushed fingertips over thinly covered nipples, almost like an afterthought, and Max’s mouth dropped open with a soft cry, hips twitching harder into his hand. Lewis leaned in, letting his lips touch over Max’s pink ear, feeling the younger driver rock into him, caught in that push and pull between wanting more and having to wait for it.
“Fucking hell, Max,” he breathed, delighting in how Max shivered at just his words. “Can’t even stay still, can you?”
Max groaned softly, mouth still parted, shaking his head dumbly at the question. His hips were grinding harder, trying to force Lewis’s hand further into his jeans, hissing a breath when Lewis ran his fingertips lightly over Max’s balls, the skin between his legs, following the strap of the thong like a path straight to heaven. Or to hell, Lewis guessed.
“Easy, love,” he murmured, watching him in the mirror. Max’s eyes were half-lidded, throbbing against his wrist. “I’ve got you.”
Lewis caught Max’s wrist, fingers wrapping around it with quiet certainty. He didn’t rush, guiding Max’s hand down his own stomach.
“Go on,” he murmured.
Max hesitated. Lewis could see the flicker of uncertainty in the mirror, the way his eyes dropped before lifting again, meeting his own in the reflection.
Lewis held his gaze, not letting him look away. Max’s fingers pressed down, tentative at first, then a little firmer as he followed the path Lewis set, sliding lower, over his lace-covered cock, slick with his own come.
Lewis’s breath slowed, too focused on the erotic sight in front of him. Max’s reactions were written plainly across his face now. His pupils were blown with lust, staring at his own hand in the mirror, watching himself stroke, every twitch, every flick of his wrist reflected back at him in the glass.
Lewis’s hand stayed loosely at his wrist, guiding without taking over, letting Max feel for himself.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s it.”
Max swallowed, his hand gripping more firmly, wrapping the lace around his cock. He winced slightly, stroking faster, eased by the glide of his own release, breath coming shallow and a little needy.
Lewis’s mouth curved. He liked this more than he should, probably. Max was responsive, sure, but Lewis loved how he couldn’t quite hide how affected he was by it. It surfaced so easily, no matter how hard he tried to keep it contained.
When Lewis’s hand slipped into the bralette, cupping Max’s warm flesh, kneading it gently the way he knew felt good, Max gasped, his hips bucking into his hand, little moans slipping out between panting breaths.
“Oh, love,” Lewis murmured, watching him in the mirror. “You can’t even help yourself, can you?”
One hand still in the bralette, Lewis pulled his other hand along the strap of the thong around Max’s back, tugging sharply when he reached where it joined the string between his legs.
Max startled, jumping up at the pull against his rim. A small, breathless sound escaped him, closer to a squeak than anything else, his hand stuttering but not stopping entirely.
Lewis grinned, wrapping his hand around Max’s, slowing his frantic jerking. The contrast was stark, pale, long fingers beneath his, and over them his own, darker, warmer, inked skin and rings flashing in the light as he moved.
Lewis felt Max’s hand twitching under his closing fingers, slowing him down. In the mirror, Max’s eyes dropped immediately, drawn to their joined hands, whining softly.
“Don’t look away,” Lewis said softly, his mouth just brushing the edge of the words. His thumb pressed lightly over Max’s hand, encouraging. “Mm—that red on you,” he murmured. “Suits you more than me.”
Max’s gaze flickered, not quite ready to stop watching Lewis stroke him slowly with his own hand, but his gaze pulled, slowly, back up towards the mirror anyway.
Max huffed softly. “I prefer blue, really,” he muttered.
Lewis saw the colour rise across his cheeks, deeper this time, harder to hide. His lips parted slightly, and a breath slipped out of him before he could catch it, soft and unsteady. Max clearly wasn’t used to the sight of himself like this.
Lewis felt something tighten in his chest. He loved seeing him like this, flushed, caught off guard. There was no pretence in it, no effort to hold it back. Max felt everything as it came, and Lewis could see every bit of it reflected back at him.
Lewis smiled faintly against his skin. “We’ll see about that.”
He leaned in again, unable to leave it alone, pressing his mouth to Max’s neck, then lower, sucking on the skin where his neck met his shoulder. He took his time, kissing along the line of his shoulder, lingering just enough to feel the reaction beneath it, the way Max writhed under his attention.
Lewis’s hands moved as he did, turning Max toward him, guiding him from reflection to something closer, more immediate. His hands slid under Max’s thighs, lifting him easily, bringing him up just enough to settle him back against the corner rail of the lift.
Max’s arms came up instinctively, wrapping around Lewis’s shoulders, holding on as the position changed, as the space between them disappeared again.
Lewis reached down for Max’s shoe, fingers working at it with quiet focus, easing it off with a slow pull. Max helped instinctively, toeing it loose the rest of the way, letting it fall somewhere behind them with a forgotten sound on the metal floor of the lift. The second one followed just as easily.
Lewis’s fingers worked at Max’s jeans, easing them off entirely. He crowded close enough that there was no separating where one ended and the other began, his hands under Max’s strong thighs, kissing him hungrily, pushing Max’s head back against the glass with a soft thud.
His mouth found Max’s neck again, tongue laving over his pulse just under his jaw, less patient. He followed the line of him down slowly, relearning it with his mouth instead of his hands.
Max shuddered, his legs trembling as Lewis pressed the thick outline in his own jeans against the slick dark red of Max’s thong. Max’s breath slipped out uneven as Lewis kept going. His hand slid up Max’s stomach, palm flattening there, feeling the smooth heat of his skin beneath it.
His mouth traced lower, leaving his neck for his chest, one finger pulling the bralette aside to kiss over his tits, the edge of hunger pushing his mouth further, whispering for him to tongue at Max’s nipple, just to hear him moan.
Lewis kissed hot and wet over his chest, then lower, sliding gracefully to one knee, still supporting Max’s thighs, spreading them wide. His hand slid down, pulling the sopping knickers easily to one side, only pausing for a moment to admire Max’s perfect cunt, pink and tight and fucking dripping just for him.
The moment Lewis’s mouth latched onto his hole, Max broke. A quick, startled cry slipped out of him, his hands coming down to Lewis’s head, gripping with trembling hands. His back curved instinctively, lifting into the contact before he could think better of it.
Lewis groaned, licking into him slowly, deeply. His thumbs dug into Max’s thighs, pulling the soft flesh even wider, shaking his head side to side, letting his tongue drag heavily over every bit of Max, hot and wet.
Max was so sensitive; he couldn’t contain it. His rim fluttered under Lewis’s attention, thighs trembling against his shoulders. He squirmed, muscles tensing with each broad swipe of thetongue, fingers tightening in Lewis’s hair. A change of tactic, then.
Lewis eased his thumb against the ring of muscle dancing under his tongue, a sound punching out of Max’s chest between a groan and a cry. It almost felt like Max was trying to pull away from the pressure, twitching under the added pressure of his thumb.
Lewis tightened his grip with his free hand, gripping Max’s thigh more firmly against the glass of the lift. His thumb circled between swipes of his tongue, teasing, working him open slowly with a steady push.
Max groaned low and hurt-sounding when he finally dipped the tip of one finger in, and Lewis wished briefly he could have his tongue in two places at once.
A restless shiver ran through Max; Lewis felt it more than saw. He pressed his finger deeper, up to a single knuckle, humming against Max’s wet cunt just to feel his hands tighten in his hair, trembling.
Lewis’s finger twisted slowly, pushing in and out slowly as he patiently tongued Max’s slowly expanding rim. His finger sank deeper, Max keening at the stretch, and Lewis let his teeth graze lightly over his inner thigh just to hear it again.
When he finally bottomed out, pushing as deep as he could into Max’s tight heat, Max’s thighs quivered in the most delicious way. Lewis disconnected his mouth, ignoring the long string of saliva between them to suck a love bite on Max’s inner thigh, satisfied when he pulled back to see it blooming red and wet under his mouth. Max jolted hard under his mouth and he stroked his free hand over his thigh, soothing.
Lewis pumped his finger deeply, curling and twisting, angling for Max’s prostate, wriggling his tongue in with his finger as much as possible. Max’s quivering intensified, tugging on his hair again, and Lewis paused, waiting until Max calmed.
But the movement didn’t smooth out, it felt twitchy. Max’s grip wasn’t just reactive, it was tight, almost uncertain, his breathing uneven in a different way. Lewis frowned slightly, just starting to register it—
“Lewis—” Max’s voice came out thin.
Lewis stopped immediately, pulling back, lifting his head, easing his hand off just as easily.
“Hey,” he said, softer now, searching his face.
Max’s eyes were squeezed shut, his breath still uneven, his body tense in a way that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t the same kind of reaction, not the one Lewis had been reading, not the one he had been leaning into.
Lewis recognized too much as soon as he saw it clearly. His hand came up, gentler now, brushing lightly along Max’s side, not pushing, not asking for anything in return.
“Shit,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Max, I’m sorry.”
The words came out quick, instinctive, his hands already easing off him, giving him space without fully letting go.
Max shook his head immediately. “No—no, it’s not—” His voice caught, still uneven, his grip tightening briefly like he didn’t want Lewis to move too far. “It’s not your fault. I just—”
He exhaled sharply, frustrated with himself. “I’m the fucked up one,” he muttered.
Lewis stilled. “No,” he said, firmly in a way that cut through everything else.
Max blinked, caught off guard.
Lewis’s hand came back to him, steady at his side, grounding him there. “No,” he repeated. “You’re not.”
Max looked away for a second, jaw tight.
“Hey,” Lewis said, softer, but still insistent. “Look at me.”
Max hesitated, then did.
Lewis held his gaze, a finger under his chin. “I’m glad you said something,” he said, calmly. “That’s exactly what you’re meant to do.”
Max’s expression faltered slightly.
Lewis’s thumb brushed over his cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he added. “Not even a little bit.”
Max exhaled, some of the tension easing out of him.
“Come on,” Lewis murmured. “Let me get you to bed.”
Max hesitated before nodding.
Lewis slid his hands further under Max’s thighs, lifting him from the rail in a surprisingly easy move.
Max reacted immediately. His arms came up, tight around Lewis’s shoulders, clutching hard with his legs around his back, no space left between them as he was pulled up against him. His face buried into Lewis’s neck, like he needed somewhere to hide from it, from how much he was feeling.
Lewis held him there, secure. “Probably can’t do this next season,” he murmured, more to himself than anything.
He turned around, reaching forward with one hand, hitting the door control. The lift chimed softly, doors sliding open onto the quiet floor beyond.
Roscoe’s head popped up immediately, stationed right outside the lift doors as if on duty. Coco had clearly given up the cause, long since gone to bed.
Lewis stepped out, careful not to step on the pup, Max still held close against him, his grip firm and certain as he moved through the penthouse with quick, unbroken strides. Max stayed tucked into him, holding on, his breath warm against Lewis’s neck.
“Soon they will need a wheelchair for you to get to the grid, I think,” Max whispered, cheeky even now.
Lewis could only laugh at him, shifting his grip to keep him from sliding down.
Behind them, the lift remained open for a moment longer, Max’s shoes, his shirt, everything left scattered where they had fallen, forgotten. Lewis didn’t look back. He headed straight for the bedroom.
He pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder, the space beyond dark and quiet, the city outside doing all the work. Light spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows in soft gold and scattered white, Monaco stretched out below like something distant and unreal.
Lewis adjusted his grip slightly as he reached the bed, one hand sliding higher along Max’s back, the other tight beneath his thigh.
“All right,” he murmured, quieter now.
He lowered him carefully, easing Max down onto the mattress, guiding him back until he was properly settled, making sure he didn’t jolt or lose his balance in the shift.
Max giggled, startling him a bit.
“What?” Lewis asked, smiling down at him.
“He licked my foot,” Max grinned, and Lewis spun around to see Roscoe helping, too, in his own way.
Max didn’t let go of Lewis immediately. His hands lingered at Lewis’s shoulders for a second longer, like he needed to make sure he was still there, still close.
Roscoe settled on one of the beds in the room, content to sleep now that everyone had been accounted for.
Lewis stayed where he was, leaning over him, one hand braced beside him on the bed, the other still resting against his side, steadying him even though he didn’t need it anymore. The red lace still stood out stark against Max’s skin, dappled in soft light from the windows. The ink of Lewis’s eyeliner creation had smudged, resembling less of a lion and more of a vague lion-cloud.
Lewis reached for the hem of his own shirt and pulled it off slowly, barely bothering to look where it landed as he tossed it somewhere across the room. His shoes followed, kicked off without care, then his socks, then his jeans, each piece discarded as quickly as possible, the need to get back to Max overriding everything else.
The second Lewis was close again, Max reached for him, hands catching at his sides, pulling him down, closing the space between them like he couldn’t stand to be alone.
Lewis let himself be pulled. Bare skin rested against bare skin now, Max’s hands sliding over his back, warm and soft, holding on with a kind of softness that hadn’t been there before. It hit differently like that, without anything in the way.
Max tightened his grip in response, pulling him closer still, like there was no such thing as too close, like he needed every bit of contact he could get.
Lewis’s hand came up automatically, threading gently through Max’s hair, slow strokes, the same simple rhythm over and over. His other arm stayed wrapped around him, holding him close.
“It’s all right,” Lewis murmured, low against his temple. “You’re all right.”
Max’s breathing had started to even out, but he didn’t loosen his grip. He shifted closer, face tucked into Lewis’s chest now, voice quieter when he spoke.
“I didn’t want to stop,” he said, almost under his breath.
Lewis’s hand didn’t pause. “I know,” he said softly.
Max swallowed, then added, a little more strained, “Didn’t want to—let you down.”
Something in Lewis’s chest tightened. He tilted his head slightly, pressing a light kiss into Max’s hair.
“Hey,” he said, quieter still. “You could never do that.”
Max didn’t answer straight away. Lewis felt the way he hesitated, the way he tried to find the words.
“It just—” Max started, then stopped, shifting slightly against him. “It got too much.”
Lewis’s hand smoothed through his hair again, slower now.
“Too sensitive,” Max said finally. “The lace—it just… and then your mouth, and the fingers—”
Lewis nodded, even though Max couldn’t see it. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s all right.”
He tightened his arm around him just slightly, reassuring. “We stop when it’s too much. Always.”
Max exhaled, a little deeper this time. Lewis pressed another soft kiss to his hair, fingers still moving gently, patiently.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he added. “Not even close.”
Max loosened a bit further, shoulders relaxing under his hand.
Lewis didn’t think about anything. He lay on his back, one arm wrapped around Max, the other moving slowly through his hair in the same rhythm they had settled into, not worried about anything. Nothing mattered. This was enough.
Max was warm against him, his weight draped over Lewis’s side, breath slow now, evening out where it had been uneven before.
Lewis let himself focus on the weight of him, Max’s implicit trust in how he curled in close. But the rest of it hadn’t gone anywhere.
He could still feel heat that hadn’t faded away just because they had stopped. His body hadn’t quite caught up. He let his eyes close for a moment.
He saw Max in the mirror, flushed, a little breathless, nipples hard under the bare lace against his pale skin. He imagined how Max had felt under his hands, smooth and warm, fucking squeezable.
Lewis exhaled slowly, steadying himself. It would have been easy to follow that feeling, to let it pull him back into wanting, craving more. His cock, throbbing inches away from Max’s hip, was evidence of that.
But he didn’t, he wouldn’t, not at the expense of this. He valued Max’s comfort, his trust. Max had relaxed into him now, safe enough to let go of everything else. Lewis tightened his arm around him slightly, shifting his hips slightly, just enough to keep his arousal pointedly away.
He let the heat settle where it was, unanswered, unimportant compared to Max feeling safe in his arms.
Lewis couldn’t have said how much time passed like that. It slipped by quietly, measured only in the soft rise and fall of Max’s breathing, the dim city light stretching across the room.
Max shifted eventually, tucking himself in tighter, pressing into Lewis’s side, his head finding the space at his neck like it belonged there. Lewis felt the change immediately, the warmth of his breath against his skin.
Lewis hummed softly, pleased. He liked having him close like that, close enough to feel every small movement, every breath.
Max’s leg slid over his without warning, hooking around it, pulling him in further. One arm tightened across Lewis’s middle, holding him there, a loose kind of bear-hug that felt instinctive more than anything else.
Max always ran warm, but like this it was different, close, pressed in, heat shared between them with barely anything in the way. Lewis’s hand kept moving through his hair, unconcerned.
The first kiss barely registered. It was just a soft brush of lips at his neck, light enough that Lewis almost missed it, more breath than touch. He assumed it for what it was, something quiet, a leftover softness, Max settling into him, grateful, affectionate. He didn’t comment on it.
When he felt Max’s lips a second time, brushing near his ear, his breath warm against the edge of it, Lewis felt heat bloom under the touch. Max’s fingers followed a moment later, trailing lightly across Lewis’s stomach, absent at first, then a little more deliberate.
Lewis stilled. Then his hand dropped from Max’s hair, catching his wrist gently, still careful, still calm.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice low, close to his ear. “Max… really. I’m fine.”
Max didn’t pull away. With his mouth dangerously near Lewis’s ear now, his voice was quiet enough that Lewis felt it more than heard it.
“Just because I wanted to stop,” he whispered, “doesn’t mean you do.”
Lewis exhaled softly. “Max…” he murmured, low and uncertain, his grip still gentle around his wrist.
Max’s mouth grazed the edge of Lewis’s ear again, sending shivers up his spine. “I want to,” he whispered.
Lewis was quiet for a second. “You sure?” he murmured.
Instead of responding, Max’s hand slipped from Lewis’s wrist to his hips instead, fingers tightening there, a quiet insistence in the way he pulled at his waistband. Lewis lifted his hips, allowing the briefs to slide down his thighs before kicking them off the rest of the way.
“Max—” he started, softer now, protesting weakly.
Max tugged on his hip, stronger this time, guiding rather than asking, his leg shifting against Lewis’s, making space, making it obvious what he wanted.
Lewis exhaled. Then let himself be moved. He followed the pull, shifting his weight forward, one hand bracing briefly on the mattress as he came over him. His knees settled on either side of Max’s waist, caging him in without pressing down fully, leaving room, leaving choice. Max’s hands stayed at his hips, holding him there.
Lewis hovered for a second, looking down at him, the low city light catching across Max’s face, still a little flushed, still soft in a way that hadn’t faded. There was nothing coy about it now, Max looked up at him with want, plain and immediate, written all over his face. His eyes were darker, focused, his mouth slightly parted like he hadn’t quite caught his breath back yet. Lewis felt the pull of it, the way it drew him in without effort.
Max’s hands moved first. They slid up along Lewis’s thighs, fingers spreading as he went, gazing at Lewis’s quickly stiffening dick, practically salivating. Lewis didn’t stop him. He couldn’t have, even if he had wanted to.
The red lace still sat against Max’s chest, delicate and out of place in a way that made it impossible to ignore, all fine straps and sheer lines against skin that was still faintly flushed. His hair was a mess now, softened from Lewis’s earlier touch, falling where it wanted, no structure left to it.
He fisted himself slowly, stroking until his thick cock stood out from his body, throbbing with need. His free hand cupped Max’s jaw at first, brushing his thumb over his cheekbone, until Max politely removed it from his face and cupped it around his soft tit instead, eyes bright.
Max held his hand there, slowly rolling his palm around, grinning when Lewis groaned and squeezed himself a little tighter.
When he removed his hand from his cock to hold his palm in front of Max’s mouth, smiling faintly, Max looked at him, waiting for instruction.
“Spit, baby,” Lewis murmured.
Max was so eager to provide, Lewis had to bite his lip to keep from groaning at the spit pooling in his palm, hot and messy and slick enough to stroke himself raw.
It wasn’t fair how round and soft Max was underneath the Mad-Max persona he had perfected in the over world. It was all about contrast with him, Lewis had learned over the years, the sharp cut of his jaw right next to the softest lips he could imagine, the coldest blue eyes that crinkled so sweetly when he smiled.
Lewis tipped his head back, tightening his thighs around Max’s middle. His wetter stroking couldn’t replace Max’s mouth or the delicious stretch of Max inside of him, but Max moaning when he flicked his thumb over his nipple still felt pretty damn good. For a moment, he imagined painting those gorgeous tits with his cock, coming all over Max’s alabaster skin with no regard for how messy he got, ruining the bralette, maybe even getting some on his pretty face.
Lewis’s hips twitched, a groan punching out of his chest immediately at the thought. He squeezed the base of his cock quickly, not wanting to ruin the fun too quickly. As if reading his thoughts, a hand slid over Lewis’s own over his aching arousal, stroking him slowly until he relinquished his grip.
Helplessly, Lewis’s hand found Max’s other tit, palming him gracelessly, the spit-slick friction over Max’s nipple making him whine so sweetly. Lewis’s thrusts were mindless and wanton, grunting in time with Max’s feverish stripping of his cock.
Max’s breathing had grown ragged, Lewis’s focus flicking between Max’s eyes, hungry and wanting and Max’s tongue darting out to wet his parted lips.
He tensed in Max’s hand, inhaling sharply. He had dripped over Max’s knuckles, clearly overdue. Max pulled him closer, down, down, until his cock was pressing between Max’s tits, soft and covered in delicate lace, and—oh, fuck, Max wanted him to—he wanted Lewis to—fuck him, like this—
Lewis moaned.
His hips moved without instruction, hands automatically pushing red-covered mounds together, everything halfway slick with spit, drooling more precome into the red lace, but all Lewis could see was the tip of his dick pushing through the pale cleavage of Max’s tits pushed together, his own hands wrapped around them, thumbs flicking over his nipples.
“Christ,” he groaned, rolling his hips a little deeper, fucking down into Max like he could somehow get further in. “D’you want me to come like this? Mark you up—make you all pretty?”
Max’s breath came ragged, biting his lip. “Please, Lewis,” he whimpered. “Wanna be pretty for you. Nuh—need it.”
He stammered as his eyes rolled back, Lewis having pinched his nipple. Fuck, he looked so good like this.
Max’s hand slid up his chest and Lewis inhaled sharply as long fingers wrapped around his neck, cutting off just enough blood flow to make his thoughts hazy, to make fucking Max’s tits feel like singing. He leaned into Max’s hand, groaning with the increased pressure in his head.
His hips stuttered and Lewis fucked in hard, watching, enraptured as his come spurted over Max’s chest, darkening immediately in the lace, some of it landing on his neck, his lower lip. Max immediately sucked his lip into his mouth, and Lewis had to brace himself against the headboard to keep from toppling over.
“Fucking hell,” he said, voice cracking.
He let his hands ease away from Max’s chest, from where they had been squeezing, before he pulled back enough to really look at him. Max looked completely spent.
His skin had a light sheen to it now, faintly damp, the flush still sitting high across his cheeks and down his neck. His hair was completely undone, soft where Lewis had been running his fingers through it, falling into his eyes in a way he didn’t seem bothered to fix.
He looked tired but pleased, content. Lewis felt nothing but that quiet, overwhelming affection that came in after, when everything else had burned itself out. He let his gaze linger for a second longer, taking him in, the red lace still against his skin, the rise and fall of his breathing, the way he stayed open under him.
“Hey,” Lewis murmured softly.
Max’s eyes flicked up to his, slower now, heavier.
Lewis leaned down briefly, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder, then shifted back, pushing himself up off the bed.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
Max made a small sound in response that wasn’t quite words.
Lewis crossed to the bathroom quickly, returning a moment later with a warm flannel in hand. He came back to the bed without hesitation, sitting beside Max again.
“C’mere,” he said quietly.
Max didn’t argue. Lewis pressed the damp cloth gently to his skin, starting at his eyes, gently cleaning off the mascara, then wiping him clean of come, spit, and tears with slow, careful strokes. Max exhaled softly under his touch, eyes half-lidded now.
Lewis worked his way down, then back up again, smoothing over his shoulders, his chest, gently cleaning off his faded ink until Max’s skin cooled under the cloth.
“Better?” Lewis asked, low.
Max nodded faintly. Lewis set the cloth aside, then helped Max turn onto his side, reaching for the clasp at the back of the bralette. He eased it off him carefully, pulling it off his arms before tossing it somewhere to the side. The thong followed just as easily, slipped down his thighs without comment. He cleaned off the remaining traces of come with the damp cloth, careful not to rub too hard or linger over sensitive areas. When he finished he pulled Max back to his chest.
Max came easily, settling against him again, fitting there like he had before, limbs heavy now, body relaxed in a way that hadn’t been possible earlier.
Lewis wrapped an arm around him, drawing him in properly this time, one hand coming up to his hair again, returning to that same, slow rhythm. He pressed a soft kiss to Max’s temple, then rested his cheek lightly against his head.
The last thing Lewis registered was the rise and fall of Max’s warm chest, the world still soft at the edges.