Work Text:
George was vibrating with frustration and fury.
P13.
Not even in the previous season did he get screwed over this badly. He drove with all the confidence he lacked on Saturday and yet. P13 And it wasn't even his fault. The garage had screwed up the serving of the penalty, and well, here he was. At least he was done with the day, finally walking into their apartment. He took a moment just to ground himself. It was cold; the air conditioner was working hard; it was quiet except for the soft padding from the living room. He couldn't help but smile. Max was here, of course; he was having a worse day than George.
Quickly, George took off his shoes and left them in the rack by the door just in time to see their dog, cats, and Max waiting for him in the doorway that separated the foyer from the rest of the penthouse. He looked so soft, already bathed and in his favorite grey sweatpants.
“Schat,” Max exhaled as he opened his arms.
That was all he said, and all George needed; he just walked the rest of the way to his boyfriend and buried his face in the crook of his neck. He inhaled, and his knees buckled, finally relaxing. The only reason he didn’t fall was because of Max’s arms around his waist, half holding him up, half walking him to their bedroom.
The car was finally decent, and his hopes of winning the championship this year had yet to evaporate in thin air. But it was so hard when it felt like his own garage was against him. George was tired. He believed he was capable of fighting for the championship; it was his dream, and he was ready to fight tooth and nail for it. But right now he was just tired. And he wanted Max to fill every space in his brain—just Max, nothing and no one else.
“Why don't you take a shower, baby?” Max prompted.
That did sound enticing. George nodded, and Max nudged him toward the en-suite bathroom. He helped him take his clothes off, and then he was in the shower. He washed his body with his coconut milk body wash, quickly but effectively, and then his hair and face too. After he was done, he enveloped himself in his fluffy towel, soft and comforting, and applied his moisturizer. When he was finally done, he made his way to the bedroom.
George stood in front of Max, who immediately sprawled one of his hands over his waist. “George,” Max said, eyes shining with hunger.
George smiled softly, “How are you feeling, darling?” he asked as he got himself on Max’s lap. “I’m so sorry about your race.”
“I’m sorry about yours, too. Dudley, really fucked you over, didn't he?”
George let out a shuddering exhale, “I don't really want to talk about it right now, Maxie.”
Max raised an eyebrow at him, “Okay,” he raised his hands and settled them on his thighs quickly after. “What do you want, baby?”
George couldn’t help the warmth that crawled through him; his ears and cheeks turned pink. The way Max was looking at him always did it for him. Made him a little bit more eager, too, a little easier to deal with.
“I just want you to make me forget about everything and everyone except you. Just fuck me and hold me until I fall asleep.”
George smiled softly and nodded, “I can do that.”
Then they kissed.
Max’s hands traveled over George's thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. George settled comfortably in Max’s lap, arms thrown over his shoulders as he played with the hair by his neck. He just relaxed into the kiss, letting Max set the pace and take each and all of the air in his lungs. George was panting, moving his hips in small circles, feeling the delicious hardness under him. Max's mouth was at his neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. Then he went lower and gave George a series of small bites at the base of his throat. Hard enough to sting and be purple in a couple of days.
George's fingers were still in Max’s blond locks, pulling him closer. He got the message and bit the skin under his collarbone. George moaned. He loves being marked, and he can't wait to see the bruise in the morning and press it. Press it. Press it. Press it until he remembers who made it, remembers the pain.
“Max, please. Can I suck you off?”
“Oh, love. Whatever you need.”
George smiled, and with one last kiss, he sat on the bed. He moved around until he was on his belly in front of Max, legs dangling over the end of the bed.
He moved his head around, getting comfortable, and rested his hand on top of Max’s cock. He was wearing a pair of grey, unassuming boxers, sweatpants discarded before he got into bed. George gave the area a slow rub with the palm of his hand, applying enough pressure until he felt it grow even harder.
“George…” Max said softly, and when he looked up at him, Max was looking at him. Just at him.
Then George kissed him through his boxers. There was a wet spot where the tip lay beneath, and he wrapped his mouth over it, messily and gently, until the fabric was all wet and clinging to Max’s skin.
“Max…” he said and tugged the boxers down with his help. “Thank you,” he murmured, and Max hummed as he looked down at him, smiling.
“You are so polite, schat.”
George didn't respond, just kissed him on his cock; Max shuddered under him. George took the cock in his hand and gave it a few strokes until it was hard enough to stand tall, flushed and glistening at the tip on its own.
George licked his lips in anticipation, then kissed the head. He left a trail of wet kisses from base to tip and then down again. George looked up at Max while his tongue played with his cock’s head. He swirled it around, making Max move one of his hands to his head.
The room was silent except for the sloppy wet sounds and Max’s groans and moans. Then George took Max in one go, the head hitting the back of his throat, making George gag.
“Fuck, George!”
He pulled off slowly, looking at the one thread of spit that connected them until it snapped. Then his eyes, moist with unspilled tears, locked on Max’s stormy blue eyes. “Just fuck my mouth, please. I will tap you two times if I need a break. Please, please,” he said, voice rough with the way he deep-throated Max seconds ago.
“Whatever you need, princess.”
George whined at the shock of the simple nickname, to think he hated it a couple of years back. With one last look, he started to suck in earnest. Max’s fingers held tighter on his soft curls, and he moved George’s head up and down. Up and down. Using George almost like a fleshlight.
Max set a nice rhythm that had George gagging randomly and making a mess of spit on the corner of his mouth, his shin, and the bed. George’s hand gripped the strong thighs under him, and he let himself be used. His ears filled with Max’s grunts and moans while his eyes focused on the flex of Max’s muscles. Then Max’s hand tugged at his hair, and George’s eyes found him. They were such a deep blue right now, almost completely consumed black by his desire.
“Look at me. Can you be a good boy and do that for me, baby?”
George just blinked once. Yes. He could be good and do that. Max smiled and resumed his movements. This time harder and faster, his hips meeting George’s mouth.
George was so hard that he could come like this. Used, adored, with all attention on him. He started to grind on the bed. His dick was trapped between his own weight and the bed, the friction delicious and sweet. He saw the exact moment Max noticed what he was doing. George was afraid Max would tell him to stop, but all he did was mouth, "Good.” And that was all it took; he came between the bed and his own body.
“Fuck, baby,” Max said with a ragged voice. “You are such a good boy, aren’t you? Letting me use that pretty mouth of yours until all you can think about is me.”
Then Max was coming, nails scratching George’s scalp and eyes on George, like he couldn't bear the thought of not witnessing George’s open mouth with cum spilling around his cock. George swallowed all that he could, and then Max’s fingers relaxed, but neither of them moved to pull away. George was happy to stay like that all night. Max was heavy on his mouth, slowly getting hard again. If he was lucky, he could get him to fuck him silly, until he was dripping with cum.
But his eyes were heavy, which Max definitely noticed, and so he tugged him off of his cock. George sighed and rolled until he was lying beside Max. Then he got up and went over to the bathroom. Faster than George expected, he was back beside him, washcloth in his hand. Without uttering a word, Max wiped his face, then his belly where his cum had ended–hand lingering longer than necessary on his cock.
“Good?”
“Yeah,” George whispered, voice wrecked.
Then Max made his way to the bathroom and back. He got two water bottles from their side table, and they both drank in relative peace, the tension from the day completely melting away; the only sounds were the hum of the air conditioner and a night after a race in Monaco—some party in someone’s yacht.
“Ready for bed, schat?”
“Yes, Maxie.”
After that, Max got into bed on George's side—where the sheets weren't soiled with cum. George pressed himself close, half of his body on top of Max; he would melt into Max if he could. Max's hand made its way to his curls as George’s head finally settled on Max's chest, and they fell asleep.