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Max sat on the oversized bed of the winner's room like it was any other post-race ritual, because for him, it was. He was already down to just his boxers, legs loosely spread, scrolling his phone with the same boredom he’d have during a rain delay. The room smelled faintly of expensive detergent and new sheets.
Most drivers came in jittery their first time, but Max had stopped feeling anything like that long ago. The winner's room wasn’t sacred to him. It wasn’t taboo. It was just… procedure. Another checkbox after parc fermé, after the media pen and the cool-down room.
You win, you pick a partner from the other podium finishers. Simple.
Choosing tonight hadn’t taken him more than a second: he wasn’t sleeping with Kimi. The kid was still too young. It felt wrong in a way Max couldn’t quite articulate. So that left George. Easy as that.
Now he just had to wait for George to finish signing the waivers. It was all legal nonsense Max could probably recite by heart if someone woke him up at 3 AM.
The door clicked open. Max didn’t look up at first, just stopped scrolling through twitter. He only flinched because the hinges were unusually loud.
George stepped in with a sigh, arms crossed over his chest.
“Why me, exactly?” he asked, chin tilted down but eyes sharp, studying Max.
Max scoffed. “Should I choose Kimi instead?” He raised an eyebrow. “And besides, you chose me in Singapore when Lando was right there.”
George’s expression shifted from irritation to something more smug. “I chose you in Singapore because you were fucking insufferable all weekend.” He came closer to the bed, unfolding his arms, confidence had never been a problem for him. “And hearing you beg for my cock was a really nice compensation.”
And then he broke out into that grin he only ever showed behind locked doors. The one that never failed to get under Max’s skin.
A flash of Singapore hit him. The slick heat, George’s hand gripping his jaw, the sound of his own angry tears hitting the sheets under him. His spine tingled with the ghost of it.
Max exhaled through his nose and tossed his phone aside, the thud louder than necessary. “Just get over here.” He didn’t have the patience for George’s theatrics tonight.
“Bossy today, aren’t we?” George’s tone was mocking, but his hands were already moving. He reached behind to pull off his Mercedes kit in one smooth, practiced motion. His shirt fell away, revealing lean lines and pretty muscle, the kind of body that always reminded Max of a housecat: elegant and deceptively strong.
“How do you want me, winner?” George purred, slipping his belt free of his chinos with a snap that echoed in the quiet room. He let it fall to the floor, buckle clinking against the polished wood. Then he stepped out of his chinos too, folding them neatly (of course) and setting them aside.
Max gave a pointed look at the briefs. Adidas. Who the fuck wore sponsor-branded underwear? George Russell did, apparently.
“Right now I mostly want you to shut up,” Max muttered, rolling his eyes even as heat pooled low in his stomach. “And lose those too.”
George smirked, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. “Impatient much?”
He shimmied out of the briefs and kicked them aside, now completely naked, unabashedly comfortable in his skin and somehow still looking like he was standing on a podium above Max, even though Max was the one sitting in the winner's bed.
The half-hard cock in front of his face looked… tempting, in that way that made his stomach tighten, but Max wanted this over with already. So he grabbed George’s hips and hauled the man into his lap, his grip firm a little punishing. The sharp little hitch of George’s breath was a warm, wicked satisfaction spreading like honey on Max’s tongue.
Max would get something back for Singapore. He wasn’t beyond acting petty.
“I’m not deaf, you know.” His fingers danced along George’s ribs, light enough to annoy, pointed enough to remind George whose lap he was in. “You liked that, didn’t you? Getting manhandled. That’s what it’s called, I think.”
The little twitches under George’s skin were a thrill for Max. He savored the tiny betrayals of George’s perfect composure.
“God, Max, stop being a twat and say what you want.” George’s impatience was delicious, especially because Max knew he’d helped create it.
“I don’t know yet. Give me some time to think.” Even if he wanted to be done, even if the whole thing made something inside him simmer, he also wanted his payback for Singapore. Wanted George as needy as he was back then.
“As the winner, I should really make use of you.” Max flicked the condom packet off the bed, watching it skid across the floor. “So how about we ditch this, and I fill you up?”
He barely finished the joke before George clamped down around his thighs, legs tightening like a reflex. Max blinked, thrown.
“What?” he breathed. “Holy shit. You’re into that?”
George couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m not.”
Which was a lie so pathetic Max almost choked on a laugh. George Russell was shy. And about this. Something warm and sharp bloomed in Max’s chest. Something that made him sit up straighter, pulse quickening.
He circled a finger over George’s already-wet hole. “Did I have to wait that long because you fingered yourself before coming here?”
George gasped, betraying himself instantly. Max stared. Gobsmacked. A little dizzy with it.
“You’re that desperate?” His cock twitched in his boxers, humiliatingly eager, because apparently the idea of George needing him was something Max’s body had opinions about.
“Knew you’d take forever,” George muttered, attempting a scoff but sounding way too breathless to pull it off.
Max dragged his boxers down with George still in his lap, skin brushing skin, and stroked himself slowly. Partly for effect, partly because he genuinely needed a second to recenter.
“What if I just told you to take what you want?”
George wanted orders, but Max wanted the confession.
“Whatever you need,” Max murmured, leaning back on his hands, a deliberate offering. “Take it from me.”
George looked ridiculous like that—off his axis in a long-limbed awkward way. Max loved seeing him like this, loved that George’s control had shifted so fast and so completely.
“Fine,” George muttered through gritted teeth. A shaky hand raked through his hair. A few strands fell into his face before he steeled himself again, pulling that smugness back on.
He lined Max up, held the base, and sank down slowly. Max bit his lip hard, because George was warm and tight and Max wasn’t going to embarrass himself by moaning George’s name this early.
When George bottomed out, Max opened his mouth to tease and George slapped a hand over it.
“Give me a minute.”
His voice was spaced-out. His eyes glossy. The hand on Max’s mouth was still firm, grounding and restraining all at once. It made the breath in Max’s lungs backfire.
His muffled moan vibrated against George’s palm. Max's fingers curled against the sheets. Watching George savor it—eyes closed, chest rising and falling too fast—sparked something desperate in Max.
“Will you just sit there all day, or…” His voice sounded ruined, even to his own ears. “Come on, just use me.”
George’s eyes snapped open, the lust there so intense Max’s whole body tightened.
And Max clung to the control anyway. “It’s alright. Take what you need. I’m your breeding bull.”
He couldn’t stop the grin. Couldn’t stop the thrill of pushing.
George twitched around him, visibly shaken. “Piss off.” But his voice was strained, almost broken.
Max flopped back against the soft bed, boneless. He was perfectly fine with George doing all the work. In fact, the way his muscles ached pleasantly, he felt like he’d earned the luxury of being taken apart. Let George move him however he wanted. Max could take it.
George planted his hands on Max’s chest, fingers spreading wide, and shifted the angle.
“Oh… fuck,” he groaned as he circled his hips, Max still buried deep inside him. George looked illegal like this. Pink flush spilled down from his sharp cheekbones to his collarbones, almost the same color as the tip of his cock. Max’s breath stuttered.
George bit into his bottom lip to muffle the sounds escaping him, and kept rolling his hips in unpredictable little patterns that left Max gasping, whining, helpless under him. Then George did something. Some angle or twist that took Max impossibly deeper, and there was a visible bump low on George’s flat stomach.
“Holy shit—I can see how deep I am.”
Hearing his words, George stared downward, mouth falling open, and his breaths turned ragged. His movements lost some precision. Max’s mind blanked out. He’d never seen anything hotter.
“Gonna fill you so deep,” Max managed, hips giving a small, involuntary twitch. “You have to make sure… ah… nothing goes to waste.”
George’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and dark. “Max.” A warning, low and stern. “Stop talking unless you want me to come already.”
That look alone fried Max’s brain. It struck him then, how much control George held right now, how Max’s body was just… a thing for him to take what he needed from. And the truth was that Max liked it, liked being used until he couldn’t form coherent thoughts.
“Use me,” he whispered, wrecked. “Please, George. Use me for my come. I—”
Two fingers pushed into his mouth, shutting him up instantly. “I was… ah—not kidding, you know?”
Max nearly choked on the sound he made. God, Max loved those hands, bigger than his own, so good on his body…or in it. He sucked hungrily on the fingers, trying to pull them deeper into his mouth, desperate to give George anything he wanted.
And in the haze of everything, the weight of George above him, the heat around him, the steady, claiming grind, it sank in fully. Max wasn’t leading anymore. George was using him. Taking what he wanted. And Max? Max was letting him. Gladly.
With that dizzying realization, his orgasm hit him in hard, a sharp, humiliating rush as he came deep inside George. George trembled, his free hand splayed over his lower stomach as if he could feel Max pulsing inside him, claiming him.
Max was still twitching, still dazed and unfocused from the aftershocks when George came. The words reached him late. He had to hear them twice before they made it through the static in his mind.
“Don’t pull out.”
Max nodded immediately. Of course he wouldn’t. He had to stay inside, keep his come in George, make sure he really… filled him. The thought alone made his hips jerk weakly.
George, breathing hard and looking just as wrecked as Max felt, smiled at Max’s obedience.