Archive of Our Own

The 2026 Formula 1 season sucks. The new regulations suck, Mercedes can go fuck itself - especially George, in Charles' humble opinion. And the Miami race can go die in a ditch somewhere, in his professional evaluation.

Thus, when Charles wakes with a tail swinging behind his back and disgruntled ears twitching on top of his head, he doesn't even bat an eye.

—

The sun is warm on his skin when he wakes up, Leo cuddled up to his chest in the hotel bed sheets, a tiny source of heat pressed right into his form. There's a strange sound coming from the back of his neck, rumbling in his throat, vocal chords vibrating so hard that he can physically feel it ringing through his limbs.

He's purring, he suddenly realizes, his eyes flying open with a start.

"What the fuck," Charles murmurs under his breath, ignoring the twitching of his nose and the tickling whisper of whiskers brushing against his skin and over the pillow nudged below his head. It takes a lot of effort to keep himself from whining when the realization sets in: "Not again."

Leo is still snoring gently, deep breaths rattling his tiny body, paws twitching in his dreams. His dog couldn't care less about anything happening right now, and Charles has never been so jealous of his own pet.

He still just buries further into the sheets, pressing his head - ears included, even as they're twitching, picking up sounds all the way from Lewis' room down the hallway - further into the pillows and groaning pitifully.

At least the race is over, he thinks mournfully, his 8th place still stinging when he thinks about it, thinks about the way his Ferrari had snapped, crashing into the barriers and then limping all the way back to the finish line. Being overtaken by both George and Max in the last corner.

The purring stops, dies off mournfully and is replaced by an unhappy rumbling echoing in his chest.

"Aw, putain," he mumbles as the tail coming from his tailbone is crushed below his body, twitching in discomfort. There's no way he can turn or toss that would alleviate the painful pinch in his backside, at least not without waking Leo as well.

With a loud groan, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up regretfully. His eyes are still blurry when he grabs for the phone sitting on the nightstand. There's no new messages, fortunately, but that might just be because there's the do-no-disturb-symbol blinking lazily at him.

He wouldn't want to hear from anyone but Max right now, either way.

His fingers are slow where they brush across his screen, scrolling until he lands on the contact he's looking for, pressing the green caller button before he can talk himself out of it.

"Hello?"

"Don't ask why," Charles starts and his voice sound tired, even to his own ears, "but when is your flight out of here?"

"Good morning to you too, schatje," Max chuckles, his voice warm and soft, like a cozy, soothing blanket on a cold day that settles over his soul. "If you want to fly with me, you have an hour and a half. But I'll let my pilot know to wait for you, if you can't manage that."

"Great, I'll see you in an hour," he retorts, not even caring how disgruntled he sounds. He feels like a rumpled kitten, if he is being honest with himself, but he doesn't want to admit it to Max yet. "Make sure there's no press, and no pictures, though."

"Should I be worried?"

"No," he hisses. Actually hisses. He's going to kill himself actually, Charles decides, before he gets onto a plane with Mr. Cat Dad himself. He has to take a deep breath to calm himself, his bushy tail calming down and wrapping around his own thigh in a way to comfort himself.

"Okay, kitten," the Dutchman retorts, and he sounds so smug that it makes Charles mourn the fact that he doesn't have claws to match his ears and tail. He's going to scratch out Max's eyes anyway, if the blond man makes any sort of comment. "I'll see you in a bit."

With a sigh, he ends the call and drops the phone back on the nightstand. "Well, shit, Leo," he mumbles to himself, turning around to stare at his still sleeping pup. "At least I'm not fully feline this time."

You have to see the positives, his therapist would surely tell him. And then she'd smile at him as if she cured the entirety of the depression and stress Ferrari has caused him over the years.

His ears twitch at the sound of a door opening further down the hall and it is the push he needs to finally get up from his bed. Leo wakes with a start, a disgruntled noise tumbling from the disheveled looking pup.

"Good morning to you too," Charles mumbles, as Leo's tired eyes land on him. Almost immediately, he can watch as his purse dog realizes what is going on, the tiny body being shaken by the intensity with which his tail starts wagging, his ears perking up in excitement.

This will be a long day, he can tell.

—

The cap is uncomfortable on his head where it presses his ears down into his hair. As are the jeans he pulled up and over his tail. Every step Charles takes, there's another sensation sparking across his skin, another limb that wants to move in a different way than it is instructed to by his brain. A deep sigh escapes him as he slides into the cab to the airport.

Leo, sitting primly on his own seat in the back of the taxi, is staring at him attentively, as if waiting for one of his extra appendages to come back into focus. While they were getting ready, the golden dog had only been all too happy to chase after Charles' swinging tail, yipping and jumping uncontrollably, to Charles' absolute horror.

"We're not playing now," he reminds the pup softly, extending his hand to scratch behind Leo's ears in apology. "But Max will be happy to entertain you once we're on the plane, buddy."

The driver doesn't pay any attention to him, and with Leo being so obviously ready to pounce, Charles simply decides to scroll through his Instagram feed instead. His phone chirps happily at him, notifications pouring in, from his maman, and Arthur, to Andrea who's confused about his whereabouts.

"Ah, putain," he curses softly under his breath, opening the email Ferrari sent him about his flight's departure. It takes him two minutes to spot the fact he should have been at the airport half an hour ago. The phone is pressed to his ear, the call signal ringing within seconds.

"Charles? Where are you?" Andrea's tired, panicked voice questions, setting guilt loose in his stomach. "What happened? Why aren't you here?"

"So, uhm," he starts, words escaping his brain before he can string together a full sentence. With a deep breath, he tries to calm himself, even though he can feel his tail and ears twitch with nerves under his clothes. He rushes to add: "I'm flying back with Max."

"What? No! You are supposed to be in Maranello-"

"Something came up," Charles interrupts with single-minded focus. "Make something up, anything. Say I am sick. Or… or family emergency. I will come when I can."

The line goes silent for a few seconds, long enough for him to pull the phone from his ear to check that their call didn't drop.

"Andrea?" he asks hesitantly, voice quieter than before. "Are you okay?"

The silence stretches on, until the other man clears his throat awkwardly, the sound of people in the background filtering out of the call. "…is this a more feline problem you're experiencing, Charles?"

The way it is phrased, the pure knowledge in Andrea's voice is enough to sent a fiery blush rushing through his veins, painting his entire face a deep maroon. He has to swallow several times and fight the heat coursing through him, before his voice works again: "I guess you could say that."

A heavy sigh echoes across the line. "Tell Verstappen to keep you in one piece, please. I know there's a three week break until Montreal, but we need you in the sim whenever you're… ready, again."

Shame grows like a led ball in his gut, pushing him deeper into the backseat of the taxi. He doesn't want to agree, but there's not a lot he can say in his position that would make this any better. Last time anything related to his cat adventures happened, Max had gotten him a collar - beautiful and with the Ferrari logo on it, "property of Max Verstappen" engraved on the tag.

That was also when Max had gone and spilled the beans to everyone who had listened at Red Bull. Charles can still remember Christian's face, when Max had joked about all of that.

Needless to say, Ferrari had long been made aware of Charles'… tendencies to turn into a cat from time to time.

"Okay," he finally brings himself to say, though the word is half choked out, half bitten off at the end. "Just call it a family emergency and we both move on now, yes?"

"Mh-hmm," Andrea hums from the other end of the line, and Charles knows there is a smug look on the other man's face. He can clearly picture the teasing grin and wiggling eyebrow. "Good luck surviving the plane ride back to Monaco, Charlo."

With that, the line goes dead, his phone beeping angrily at him, as if it is his fault.

There's an unhappy grumbling coming from the back of his throat at even the thought of Max's reaction to all of this.

If the taxi driver looks disturbed by the clearly animalistic sounds coming from his side of the backseat, he'll blame Leo.

—

Max is grinning when Charles steps out of the cab. It already makes him want to raise his hackles and hiss at the blond man, when he catches sight of the smug aura around the Dutchman.

"Fuck off," he immediately yells over to his partner, even as he's bending back into the taxi to get Leo. "Get that look off your face."

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Max teases back, stepping closer, the distance between them vanishing in the blink of an eye. Before Charles' brain can even catch up, the older man is already in his space, leaning in to press their lips together in a soft kiss. "Hi, schatje."

In his arms, Leo wiggles rapidly. The dog's tiny legs are everywhere, paws hitting his arms, claws digging into his skin, as Leo tries to get closer to Max. Under any other circumstances, this would be cute and a testament to how well his partner and pet - bébé, his brain wants to correct - get along.

But instead, the thought of having to share Max, even with his beloved Leo, makes his skin crawl, and an ugly hissing sound wretches forth from between his teeth. It is aimed at the dog trying to escape his hold, but it somehow ends up addressing both Leo and Max. While the tiny golden pup simply pulls back, ears folded back and eyes huge and watery with crocodile tears, Max seems to be entirely surprised by the sudden turn of events.

"Woah," the Dutchman breathes out, his grin slipping from his face. A seriousness enters those blue eyes and Charles feels the weight of the world on his shoulders, the urge to explain and apologize already bubbling up in his throat. But then, Max's face turns giddy, a teasing smile sliding onto his lips. "Such a hissy kitty, aren't you?"

"Ugh," Charles groans, hiding his face in the still slightly wiggling body of Leo, bringing the golden pup up to his head to really nuzzle into the fur. Still, it doesn't do anything to hide his twitching ears below his cap, the hat immediately tilting dangerously on his head. Again, and more pathetically, he finds himself whining: "Fuck off."

"Oh, absolutely not," Max laughs, Charles can hear it in his partner's voice. That smug teasing tone that only ever comes out when the Dutchman is ready to ruin his life. "I am going to enjoy this as much as I can. Where's your collar, baby? Need me to put a leash on it?"

This time, the strangled sound escaping his throat is somewhere between a groan and a whine. The tail hidden below his joggers twitches where it is wrapped around his leg. If at all possible, the heat rushing through his veins paints his face even redder than before, and Charles just hangs his head, muffling his sounds into Leo's fur.

But it seems that the other man takes pity on him. "Come on," Max mumbles, voice strangely soft and affectionate, "Let's get on the plane. You can get comfortable, and then we're going home, yes?"

"Yes, please," he mumbles, entirely defeated from the race weekend, all the weight on his shoulders and the confusing emotions running through his body at the moment. "Thank you for letting me fly with you."

The Dutchman snorts ungracefully, even as his hand fits perfectly over Charles' lower back, already pushing and guiding him gently towards the plane. "You never have to ask, schatje. It's just because you have to fly with your sponsors that I stopped offering to take you everywhere."

"They do pay me," Charles sighs, as he finally pulls his face away from Leo's body. The dog has gone still and relaxed in his arms again, and even though there are still big tears threatening to fall from the puppy's eyes, the situation seems to have been deescalated. However, the guilt of having hissed at his bébé still sits deep behind his sternum, so he bends lower once more to press a gentle kiss to the golden fur, right between Leo's ears. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I didn't mean to hiss. You did nothing wrong, mon amour."

Max's thumb swipes back and forth over his lower back in a soothing gesture, soft pressure keeping him grounded, even as a pleasant tingle starts up over his tailbone. Their footsteps echo over the tarmac as they trundle over to the plane. "Do I also get an apology? You hissed at me too."

"No," Charles decides, his voice clipped, even though he can feel the corners of his mouth lift the slightest bit. If his tail wasn't hidden, it would be swaying behind him happily. "You teased me. You deserved it."

"Mhhh, yes, of course," Max relents, hiding his own amused smirk and the glint in those ocean blue eyes by dipping his head to blow raspberries at Leo. But the Dutchman's voice stays mocking and condescending. It makes the hair at the back of Charles' neck stand on end. "You are so right, kitten. Of course I was being mean to you."

He fights down the urge to hiss again, or to turn around and sink his teeth into the side of Max's neck and bite down, to leave a mark the size of his mouth. Instead, Charles keeps his gaze straight ahead, even as he takes the steps up into the private jet. He only mourns the loss of Max's body heat pressed against him for a moment, until the warm interior of the plane surrounds him.

A happy sound rumbles behind his sternum, his nose twitching at the familiar scent of Max filling his nostrils. It is almost heavenly enough, but then his eyes zero in on the pile of fluffy blankets and warm hoodies all strewn over the seats, a cozy nest just for him, and the purrs fall from his throat in loud abundance.

The vibrations are enough to have Leo release a heavy sigh and close his eyes in contentment as the tiny dog snuggles further into his chest. Charles can feel himself shake almost out of his skin, even as the body of his partner slides up behind him, pressing their forms together as tightly as they can fit.

"I haven't heard you purr like that since you were an actual cat," Max whispers, the Dutchman's lips grazing the side of his neck, leaving the tiniest of kisses in his wake. It sends a pleasant shiver down Charles' spine and makes his ears twitch heavily on top of his head. "Do you think we can make it back to Monaco before you jump my bones, baby?"

"Mhhhh, shut up," Charles murmurs, though his eyes have closed in bliss, head rolling to the side to expose more of his vulnerable throat to the Dutchman. Though the purring does take away from the threat in his voice. "I'm not the horny one between the two of us."

"Sure, kitty," Max hums, lips still painfully close to Charles' pulse point, the blond's stubble still scratching over his sensitive skin, leaving the faintest red scratches behind. It's an ice-cold shock to his system when the Dutchman's hand lands on his ass cheek, petting it twice as if urging him to move forward. "Take off your pants."

"Huh?"

The demand is obvious in Max's voice, but the plane's door behind them is still open. The flight attendants aren't even fully on board yet. The wheels in Charles' brain start turning, trying to figure out what exactly his partner is asking of him, but there is no recognition, no eureka moment where the answer comes to him.

Does Max really want to-? On the plane?

In his pants, his cock twitches hard.

"I meant to get comfortable," the Dutchman laughs, pressing another lasting kiss to the side of his neck. "Your tail and ears are probably restricted where you've kept them hidden, no? There are enough clothes for you to find something you can relax in. Go get changed, baby."

He has to fight down the urge to whine loudly, as his feet are rooted to the ground, keeping his body pressed right up against Max's form. Every cell in his body is frozen, awaiting the next impulse, the next words that will send shivers down his spine.

But the Dutchman only chuckles, before stepping around him, to put away their luggage and find the nicest spot on the plane. In his arms, Leo whines, the dog wanting to curl up in his own designated space. It is finally what has Charles moving his limbs, taking one slow step after the other.

Every muscle in his body feels tense, shaking with exertion where he keeps still, waiting. His eyes flit from the body of his partner to that of his dog and back, and there is nothing he can really do but snatch a pair of shorts and one of the stinky hoodies from the seats before him.

When he gets back, dressed in comfortable clothes and wrapped entirely in Max' scent, soft fabric brushing over his sensitive skin, he finds himself purring again. The ears on his head twitch happily, as his tail swings lazily behind him, giving away every single emotion running through his body.

"Better now, kitten?" Max smirks from where he's sitting, stroking his fingers through Leo's soft fur. "You look more relaxed now."

Immediately, the irritation from before rises back up in his chest, a funny feeling squirming behind his sternum. The urge to hiss comes back at full force, especially when the blond man continues petting their dog lazily, eyes twinkling with mischief where he's staring at Charles.

He can feel his ears twitch and lay back against the top of his head, his tail standing entirely on edge. "Don't you even dare, Max Emilian."

"Sure, princess," Max grins, the man's fingers still running through Leo's fur. "I didn't say anything, you definitely imagined something there."

This time, he does actually hiss, the sound loud in the otherwise silent air of the private jet. His lips pull back, baring his teeth, his canines feeling more pointed than before.

If he looked in a mirror and found his pupils shaped like slits, he wouldn't even question it anymore. Fuck his life.

"Such a hissy kitty," Max repeats, laughter ringing in his voice. "Are you going to come cuddle up to me, or are you going to pout?"

Charles doesn't deign to answer. Another hiss flies from his lips, even as he steals one of the softest looking blankets to curl up in a seat across from the plane from where his partner is sitting. Defiantly, he stares out of the window, entirely ignoring the other man and their dog.

"Oh, so you chose pouting," the Dutchman teases. "Such a perfect cat, as always. Just come over whenever you need to, baby."

The rumble of the plane starting saves Charles from having to answer, the unhappy rumbling inside his chest too low to be heard over the noise. However, just as it had been when he had first been turned into a cat, his body is weighed down by a heavy tiredness, the lids falling closed over his eyes.

With the scent of Max surrounding him, he falls into a dreamless sleep as soon as they are in the air.

—

When he wakes, it is to the feeling of a hand stroking through his hair, fingertips brushing gently against the base of his cat ears. It sends shivers down his spine, a tingling sensation rushing through him that leaves his back arching, his head falling back in search of the fingers' touch.

"Good kitty," the voice of his partner filters into his consciousness, soft and gentle, right beside his ear. It feels like the softest caress when Max's lips brush against his skin, the words ringing through him, unleashing heat in the darkest depths of his gut. "There you are, sweetheart. Take your time waking up."

"Mhhhh," Charles hums, a happy purring rumbling from his chest. Without his consent, his body searches for the other man's heat, pressing back into Max's form. The fingers brushing through his hair press down harder into his scalp, nails scratching over the sensitive skin and eradicating any coherent thought inside his head. "Wha-hah."

A soft moan spills from his lips, as Max's fingers tangle in his hair, actively pulling his head up to rest against the blond man's shoulder. "Are you being sweet for me, darling?"

"Hng," rumbles from his throat, his mouth falling open awkwardly. It is hard to fight through the fog descending over his brain, the intensity of the scratching feeling overwhelming all his senses. His brain shuts off entirely, when fingers creep up over his back, brushing against the bottom of his tail, setting his nerves on fire. "Oh my-"

Max's voice is husky, brushing against his ear with hot breath that sends shivers down his spine, tingling deliciously right where his bushy tail springs from his skin. "That's right, schatje," the blond teases, a smirk present in his voice, even when Charles can't see it for himself, "I know what you need. Let me take care of you."

"Max," he chokes out, voice breaking pathetically, a purr mixing its way into the word somehow. "I-"

"Shhh," Max hushes him, fingers tightening in his hair, the other hand trailing across the very end of his tail, brushing over the sensitive skin right over his ass. Inside, his body is entirely burning up, heat rushing through his veins like lava bubbling to the surface. If this is just a simple touch, he doesn't want to know how much better it can be. "Just relax, katje. I am here."

Another burning kiss is pressed into his overheating skin, right over his thundering pulse, and a low whine rips from his throat at the sensation. It breaks something within his brain, aching to be released, to be owned. Everything else can wait. There is no question in the world that could make him want to stop whatever has gotten into Max now.

He has to blink his eyes open, barely having noticed that they slipped shut during his partner's ministrations, however, everything in sight is slightly blurry. Wetness slides over his cheeks, as overwhelmed tears slip from his lashes. Instead of fighting the feeling, he leans into it, letting his eyes slip back closed again.

Time seems to pass him by, as only sensations filter into his brain. The rumbling of the plane below them, the feeling of the seat below his fingers, the twitch of his cat ears on top of his head. The heat of Max's body pressing into his back, pulling him up from the luxurious seats, right into the Dutchman's form.

Max's stubble scratches over his cheek when the blond leans down and for a fleeting moment, Charles hopes it will leave a burn behind, red and angry and so undeniable, it leaves him with nothing to do but wear it with pride.

There's so many things all overwhelming his brain, it doesn't even occur to him to pull back. He simply melts into a puddle of human-cat-hybrid, fitting right into the grasp of Max's wandering fingers, staying where the Dutchman puts him. The grip in his hair loosens ever so slightly, as fingertips brush against the sensitive skin of his ears.

A quiet purring starts up in his chest, rumbling deep and sending vibrations through his entire form. He can feel the way his skin rubs against Max's own body, the thick fabric of the hoodie gone. There's only the barest hint of a t-shirt wrapping around him, separating him from the Dutchman.

"Please," he finally whispers, sure that his voice is barely audible in the space between them. But then again, Max's mouth is still latched onto his throat, nibbling and sucking and leaving a dark bruise. If nothing else, the blond man will be able to feel the vibration of his vocal chords. "Max, please."

"Such a tiny kitten, aren't you?" the Dutchman teases, gravelly and smug as only Max Verstappen can be. It is the perfect blend of degradation, tease and sincere concern from his partner that sets his blood boiling, his cock hard and weeping inside his joggers. "You need me to do everything for you, no? So helpless, and entirely mine."

It rips a loud moan from his throat, echoing in the space. "Yes," he whimpers, "yes, yes, yes. Please."

"Useless," Max spits, but the smile pressed into his neck is wolfish, revealing all of the Dutchman's teeth. Just the thought of them sinking into his soft skin makes Charles whine needily, twitching further into the blond's body heat. "Can't do anything on your own, but look pretty. And even for that, you need me - need my cock in your mouth and my cum dripping from your face to be stunning."

He can feel his muscles tighten, ready for the pounce, trembling in anticipation. Yet, his body is entirely caged in by Max's figure on one side, and the seat on the other. His brain screams at him to start begging again, because barely anything has happened, but he is hard - oh so hard - and it hurts to be in this position, waiting for Max-

"Stop," Max barks, hand closing around the base of his tail, not pulling but keeping it still where it was swaying angrily before. Sometimes Charles forgets how easy it is for Cat Dad Extraordinaire Max Verstappen to read him when he looks so much like their beloved pets. "I decide what happens with you. It's me who chooses when you get my cock, and how."

He wants to protest, yet his words get cut off as he is unceremoniously flipped around, back hitting the soft cushions of the seat below him. The air is knocked from his lungs, a twinge erupting from where his tail is caught under his body.

Instead, the intensity of Max's stare above him catches him off guard, freezing the blood in his veins and making his cock twitch violently.

"Oh," he finally breathes out, as he can feel his heart speed up in his chest, ears pricking up. "But-"

"Shut up," the Dutchman grins, one of his hands coming up to stroke over the little furry triangle on top of his head. "You want my cock, katje?"

The voice dies inside of his throat, the breath catching in his chest. There are a flurry of words inside his mind, all somehow amounting to yes and please, but his tongue feels tied into a knot, as his brain tries to catch up with what is happening.

There's a tingling sensation where Max is still teasing him, fingers brushing through his hair and inching closer to his ears, eradicating any thoughts. He can feel the whine breaking through the jumble inside his throat though, high and reedy and so embarrassing, he'd hide his face if Max's body wasn't in the way.

"Answer me," the blond man demands, his face stony, eyes intense where they are focused on Charles. However, there's the slightest twitch around the corners of Max's mouth, as if he's fighting the urge to smirk. "What do you want, huh?"

"You," he finally chokes out, despite all his nerve endings being set alight, synapses misfiring again and again.

It brings a chuckle out of the Dutchman, amusement dancing across the blond man's face. "No, baby, tell me exactly what you want. Otherwise you don't get shit."

He can't stop the whine emerging, not when Max's hand finally drops away from his ears, brushing over his cheek and dancing across his neck. The feeling of a single fingernail scratching over his exposed throat is enough to have him panting like a dog, cock twitching violently in his joggers without anything to rub off against.

"I want-," he starts, only to cut off abruptly, stuck on the intensity in the Dutchman's gaze. He has to swallow hard, feeling his adam's apple dip below Max's fingers. It sends a shiver down his spine, all the sensations mixing into one in his scrambled brain. "-want your cock inside of me. Want your fingers in my mouth, want to suck on them, please. Need you to fuck me, Maxie."

"Such a slut," the blond grins, canine teeth on display, glinting dangerously in the lights of the plane. "Begging for me so sweetly, because you can't come without my cock inside you. Isn't that right? You're such a needy whore when you are like this."

"Mhhhh," he hums, arching his back slightly to get closer to Max's body heat. Charles only succeeds in pressing his neck further into the blond's grip. Deliriously, he hopes it'll leave prints, make Max tightens the fingers pressed into his throat, cut off any air supply. His mouth drops open without his consent, agreeing without a single second thought: "Yes, daddy. Yes, please."

The fingers loosen around his neck, as the Dutchman's body moves back, taking all the heat with him.

"No, please," Charles whines, as his brain struggles to keep up with what is happening. "Come back, please. I've been good-"

"Shhh," the other man shushes him, fingers immediately landing in his hair again in soft, soothing strokes. "Get undressed, katje. I'm just taking off my clothes. It's alright, I'm right here."

Maybe it's the way Max's voice washes over him, calming everything inside him down, or maybe it is the way the Dutchman's fingers brush against the base of his ears again, but there is a full moment where the world around him stops, and his consciousness blacks out for a few seconds.

When he comes back to, cold air is brushing across his chest. It takes him a bit to figure out that it is the cool breeze from the air conditioning, meaning his chest is naked. It feels like coming back into his body inch by inch, especially when the sensation return inside of his tail, its end swinging lazily back and forth over the ground of the plane.

"Oh," he breathes out, as his eyes focus back on Max, the Dutchman leaning over him, a smug smile on the blond's face. "Coucou."

"Hello, schatje, welcome back," Max chuckles, leaning down ever so slightly to push their lips together sweetly. The kiss is way too short in Charles' professional opinion, as the blond pulls back, a mischievous twinkle to those ocean blue eyes. "You still want my cock?"

"Yes," shoots out of him, as if he doesn't have to think about it. He can feel his ears twitching at even just the suggestion that he could have changed his mind. "What a stupid question."

"Sorry, I had to check," his partner breathes out, pressing another sweet kiss onto his cheek, making his way all the way down to the hinge of his jaw. "You just zoned out on me, darling."

A tiny unhappy grumble escapes him, the delay furthering even more, as Max's hand shimmies down his side, fingers gripping right onto his hips, digging in ever so slightly. "Get on with it," he finally demands, "or I'm leaving."

"You can't leave this plane," the older man chuckles, sounding so happy it puts a smile on Charles' face as well, "We're still in the air, you would fall."

"Shut up and fuck me."

"Oh, are we back to being my hissy little kitty?"

Max grins, so smug that Charles wants to wipe the expression off the man's face. Even though he blacked out for a moment, his cock is still rock hard, barely getting any relief where it rests against his stomach, cool air blowing over it where Max's body heat is just a few inches too far away from his overly sensitive skin.

"Get on with it," he grumbles instead, grabbing onto the Dutchman's shoulders instead, pulling their chests together.

It doesn't help him at all, because in a matter of seconds, Max's hand wanders from his hip all the way down to the back of his knee, pulling and pushing until Charles' leg wraps around the Dutchman's hip instead. The position has the advantage of spreading him open, easy access to Max and Max only.

His brain shuts off once more when the blond leans down, their lips connecting in a heated kiss. Almost immediately, Max's tongue brushes over his lower lip, searching for an entrance, a way to guide Charles into what Max wants from him.

A soft sigh escapes him as his entire body relaxes, falling back into the soft seats, except for his thigh, which is still being held back by Max's fingers. It's always a pleasure to be kissed by Max, because he can feel the love being pushed into it. Even when Max calls him a slut, even when the older is teasing him, there is always a layer behind it that screams worship and adoration.

So, with his tail swishing excitedly below him, he decides to enjoy the taste that is so distinct to Max, the sweetness of their kiss lasting on his tongue.

It is almost enough to distract him from the click of the bottle of lube. Almost.

With his cat ears, he picks it up easily - the sound almost echoing in the silence of the plane, so much louder than their panting breaths. It is enough to send excitement through his veins, the adrenaline rush leaving him breathless as his hips angle themselves ever so slightly to present himself for Max.

"Good kitty," Max mumbles against his lips, the slightest hint of mischief to his voice, yet the words tasting so sweet on his tongue. It makes him ache for more. More praise, more contact, more kisses - he doesn't even know, he just wants it, wants more of everything.

The finger breaching him doesn't surprise him, doesn't push the air from his lungs, but it does make him moan as his partner finally makes a move. It honestly feels like nothing - the stretch barely enough to get a rise out of him. He knows Max knows he can take it, so there is only one reasoning coming to Charles' brain of what's happening.

"Stop teasing," he finally punches out, words slurred and all tangling together where he presses them into the Dutchman's skin, huffed out between tiny kisses.

"Ask sweetly," the older man teases now fully, finger moving ever so slowly inside of him. "I can do this all night, baby."

He stops himself from what he wants to say. Charles can curse the other man out later. And oh, how he'll take pleasure in calling him a bastard. Especially after the weekend they've had. Instead, he takes the plunge, sounding entirely petulant when he mumbles out: "Please."

Without another word, a second finger enters him, finally giving him the stretch he so desperately craves. Between breathy moans, he throws his head back into the soft seat below him, his eyes slipping closed. Max doesn't waste a moment, lips finding their way onto Charles' exposed throat, teeth sliding into soft skin and leaving bruises in his wake.

"Yes, yes, yes," Charles chants, with each brush of the fingers against his walls, each move of Max's wrist against his thigh. His brain is entirely empty, no thoughts, only the feeling of the blond on top of him, pressing into him again and again.

"Another?" Max finally whispers, lips brushing against the shell of his ear and sending a shiver down his spine, goosebumps erupting all over his skin.

He thinks he hums something of an affirmative sound, but he can't quite tell. There are so many sensations all firing up inside him, all of it clouding his brain, making it hard to focus on anything in particular. By now, he simply lets all of it wash over him, even as a third finger enters him, punching a loud moan from him.

Something occurs to him then, something that makes him feel cock-drunk even without Max's dick inside him yet: "Where's your crew?"

He has to brace himself against the seat as Max bursts out laughing above him, rattling both of them and slipping the tiniest bit at the unexpectedness of the situation. "Seriously?"

"Huh?"

"Are you seriously asking me that right now when I'm about to put my dick inside of you?"

That makes his brain stop for the tiniest moment, rewiring something inside, a single thought being produced by his last two brain cells rubbing together: "I just- yeah? I guess? You're about to fuck me and usually there are people?"

The older man bursts out laughing again, using the distraction to pull the fingers from inside Charles and lube up his cock instead. "I told them to fuck off. Simple as that. You think I won't fuck you on my private jet when you're practically purring in my lap?"

There's the slightest frown of concentration appearing on Max's face, a tiny dip between the blond's eyebrows.

Still, the conversation doesn't leave Charles, even as his legs are spread wider, taking up all the space available on the seats, as Max rearranges him. "I wasn't purring in your lap, that's slander, you don't know what-"

"Deep breath," Max interrupts him, for just a moment.

Without thinking about the command, he pulls in a deep breath, ready to continue his tirade. But then, without warning, Max pushes in, his cock fitting perfectly into Charles.

"Ohhhh," he moans out, entirely taken by surprise, eye bulging out of his head as the breath is punched from his lungs. "Oh, fuck you, that was playing dirty."

"Mhhhh," Max hums as the blond bottoms out, hips flush against his cheeks. It seems like there's something else going on, because the older man is twitching ever so slightly, pressed against Charles as he is, but it feels like the Dutchman wants to bury even deeper, carve out another perfectly fitting place inside of Charles for himself. "Was it?"

"Ye-"

His words get cut off by a bitten-off moan, as Max pulls out and pushes right back in. The drag of the older man's cock is delicious inside him, hard and fast, the stretch just on this side of painful that sends sparks through his nerves. Ever single cell inside of him is on fire as another push shoves him up the length of the seat.

"Fuck you," Charles spits out, but his lips pull into a smirk nonetheless at the animalistic growl ripped from Max's throat as the other man's cock buries into him again and again. Inside him, the urge to hold on crawls up his chest, pressing against his sternum, as the heat inside his guts boils over. As quickly as he can, his hands fly up, fingers tangling into the blond hair.

"Brat," the older man retorts, picking up the pace significantly, fucking into Charles roughly, but so precisely. After all this time that they've been dating, Max seemingly knows exactly how to angle his hips and hit his prostate on every single stroke. "You were begging for my cock just a few minutes ago."

"Fuck me like you mean it and I might beg again," Charles smirks, wiggling his hips again, just to be a tease. It has the added effect of brushing his tail against the seat below, a tingling sensation sending sparks towards his brain.

But then, a smug grin rises on Max's lips, as the older man stops moving entirely, cock buried deep inside him, nudging right up against his prostate. "You think you're in charge here, do you?"

It's teasing, but underneath it, there's an edge of something serious, as if Charles' answer is crucial to the rest of this flight. Suddenly, the hand on his thigh tightens, pressing it up, further and further until his knee hits his chest. There's the tiniest ache inside his muscles, a pull that will remind him every time he takes a step later pf what Max did to him.

Above him, the Dutchman leans closer, pressing his leg further against his form, as Max grins down at him. There's the tiniest movement of the blond' hips, small circles pressing into him without ever pulling out. It's an insistent pressure against his prostate, almost as if a vibrator is shoved up there, tiny motions that keep him on the edge, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

It punches the air from his lungs with the pressure on his chest, something hot stirring behind his sternum. A high whine leaves his lips, just barely keeping himself from asking for more, even though he wants to so badly.

"You are just my fuck toy," Max continues, as if his previous question was entirely rhetorical, completely ignoring the sounds coming from Charles. "You're my tiny little katje, mine to fuck whenever I want. Get that through your head, slut. I am in charge."

"Shit," he chokes out, brain going blank at the consistent pressure on his prostate, the teasing twitch of Max's cock inside of him. It leaves him aching, so full yet lacking so much.

It doesn't get any better when the Dutchman's hand slides from his thigh, leg being held in place by the blond's chest, lips only a few centimeters apart, hot breath hitting Charles' mouth with every exhale, just for the older's fingers to brush against the base of his tail. All of his muscles tense up at the sensation, waiting for the move that will push him over the edge.

Max's body angles even closer, lips touching right against Charles' own when the Dutchman speaks: "What are you?"

"Yours," comes out of his mouth without another thought. It is like second nature to him to fold, to give Max what the older man wants. "Your kitten."

"Good," the blond praises, voice raspy and low. "Now ask me nicely for what you want."

"Please fuck me," he whispers, barely aware of the words, running on pure instinct as his eyes flutter shut. The proximity of the older man is enough to pull him into a kind of trance, tail swishing lazily, thoughts falling from his brain. "Please, daddy."

Max's answering groan is swallowed almost immediately as the blond finally connects their lips, not wasting any time before his tongue brushes against Charles' teeth, licking into his pliant mouth.

It shouldn't surprise him that the Dutchman immediately picks up where he left off, pulling out hastily and pushing back in with a force that speaks of hidden strength, of Max holding back even though Charles wants everything the older man has to give.

Words fail him though, there's no way to ask for more, except for his fingers tangling in Max's hair and yanking on the short strands. His partner responds beautifully though, fucking him deliciously as heated kisses are pressed into his skin, against his slack lips, muffling the panting breaths and low moans tumbling from him.

It feels like he loses all his inhibitions, ignoring anything besides the feeling of Max inside him, above him, all the points where their bodies are in contact. Every thrust that hits his prostate sends sparks tingling through him, every cell in his body being electrified by the pleasure surging through him.

"So good, kitty," Max whispers, hips stuttering slightly as the older man's hand wanders from his tail around to his cock. It's so wet already, pre-cum spilling from his slit and leaving a tiny puddle on his abs where Max's fingers glide through it, picking it up. Charles watches with heavily-lidded eyes as the Dutchman seems to ponder the idea before bringing his fingers up, pressing them against Charles' lips. "Suck them clean."

His mouth falls open around a loud moan, and he can feel himself clench down on Max's cock, but the Dutchman doesn't wait for a single second, taking the chance to push his fingers inside. The salty taste hits Charles' tongue immediately, so different to the sweetness of Max's kisses before, but it makes something inside his chest snap.

Suddenly, a hunger breaks out inside him, his tongue swiping over Max's fingers, searching for any trace of pre-cum left. It makes him ache for another cock inside his mouth, to be used and abused from every side, in all of his holes. It makes him want to preen and present himself, to have Max praise him, to have Max use him as the older man has said before.

"Please," he mumbles around the fingers in his mouth, even though he doesn't quite know what he's begging for anymore. For now, he has everything he could want, Max fucking into him quickly, hitting his prostate, his fingers in his mouth, the ache in his thigh still burning deliciously.

Though the words are mangled by Max's fingers, the Dutchman seems to hear whatever he asks anyway. The blond pulls away slightly, cold air rushing between their bodies, cooling the sweat across his chest. "You're doing perfectly for me, Charlie," Max praises, fingers easing from between his lips to slide through his hair, scratching his ears as if the older man can't help himself. "I'm close, schatje. You want my hand?"

He doesn't trust his voice, even as he clenches down on Max's cock in agreement at the suggestion. Still, he doesn't speak up, simply nodding his head instead.

It doesn't take a single moment before his partner's fingers find themselves wrapping around his aching, drooling cock, stroking him so perfectly it feels like he's ascending to heaven. This will be over soon, he can already tell, especially with the way Max's hips are now rabbiting forward, jack-hammering into him, losing their perfect rhythm from before.

There are stars clouding his vision, little fireworks going off inside his brain, as he watches the sweat gathering on Max's temple. There's a tiny rivulet rolling over the blond's cheek, and falling from the sharp angle of the older's jaw, landing with a wet splash on Charles' chest.

It makes him release a sound somewhere between a moan and a whine, as his cock jumps inside Max's grip.

"Cum inside me," he begs, somehow managing to enunciate the words properly. He doesn't know where they come from, but it doesn't matter. The hunger behind his sternum screams, roaring to get what he wants.

"You first," Max groans, the physical strain audible in his voice as the Dutchman's fingers twitch, tightening around his cock, hand speeding up to match the older man's thrusts. "Go on, kitty, cum for me. Paint your stomach in your own cum, baby."

It is exactly what he needs, the permission rushing like adrenaline through his veins, fireworks exploding inside of his brain. It feels like falling from a cliff, jumping with excitement without a parachute because he knows that Max will catch him, will hold him through it and only then take what the older man needs for himself.

It happens so fast, between one stroke and the next, suddenly Charles cums with a loud moan, his voice breaking off into a quiet purr as the sensation of hot cum lands all over his stomach, spattering all the way up to his chest.

Judging by Max's reaction, he must make a stunning picture, because the blond man freezes for just a moment, as Charles can feel himself clenching down rhythmically, milking the older's cock.

It feels like time slows down for him only as he gets to watch his partner unravel - Max's eyes grow large and round, unseeing for a moment, even though that steely blue gaze is all intensely focused on him and the cum covering his body. For just moment, the Dutchman freezes, before his hips piston forward, seemingly without coordination or any higher brain power from Max, as the older man continues to fuck into Charles with brutal thrusts.

Still, his partner hits his prostate with every stroke, even though it feels like Max is trying hard to angle his hips differently, but the stretch inside him and the constant pressure make his dick spurt out even more cum, pathetically dripping over Max's fingers where the older man is still holding his cock gently.

"Fuck," Max finally whimpers out, as the older's hips drive forward one last time, further and harder than the last strokes before, burying deeper than any of the times before. It takes his brain a moment to catch up with the feeling of hot cum being spilled inside of him, filling him up perfectly, but even where he lies on the seats, he can feel the twitch of Max's dick inside of him. "So good, schatje."

The words come out a garbled mess around a low groan, animalistic in its intensity. Charles would be lying if he said it didn't make his cock and tail twitch, eager for more already.

They're a mess of sweaty limbs and cum sticking to skin where they rest on the plush seats of Max's private jet, the blond's hard panting breaths hitting right over Charles' collarbone, sending goosebumps spreading all the way down to the v of his hips. The heat between their bodies is turning somewhat uncomfortable now that Charles isn't focusing on the feeling of being fucked anymore, as slowly the rest of the world trickles back into his consciousness.

"What even-," he tries to ask, but he is interrupted by the way Max groans as the older man heaves himself up, balancing one on the back of the seats to stare down at Charles with brightly twinkling eyes, a mischievous grin painted onto his face. "Max?"

"Shhhh," the Dutchman shushes, as the blond leans down to connect their lips in a gentle kiss, slipping Charles the tiniest hint of tongue immediately.

As far as distraction techniques go, this one is very good, as Charles is almost entirely oblivious to the fingers swiping over his chest, nails scratching over his skin, dipping into the mixture of sweat and cum mingling over the dip between his pecs. Almost, being the key word here.

Because as soon as Max pulls back, the tiniest bit of space appearing between their bodies, the Dutchman's long fingers press against his lips, right where his partner's mouth had just been. The sensation is wet and sticky, like sugary syrup dripping down onto his tongue, but the explosion of saltiness makes him grimace slightly.

Almost as if in a trance, he watches the way Max's eyes darken, watching the way his tongue swirls around the long digits in his mouth, cleaning them of both of their cum. "So good, kitten," Max praises again, the older man's jaw having gone slack at the sensation of Charles sucking on his fingers. "Perfect for me, little toy. Well done."

He has to work hard to keep the whine trapped inside his throat, but somehow he manages with the help of Max's fingers kept between his teeth. He debates nipping on them for just a moment, right before the blond pulls them out and away.

With a huffing groan, the Dutchman pulls out, immediately tumbling to the side and down onto the plush carpet in between rows of seats. "10 out of 10, would fuck you again here."

It startles a laugh out of Charles, even though his breath is still lodged inside his throat. Somehow, reality doesn't seem quite as tangible yet, as his head is still far too scrambled, brain far off in the clouds.

"What even happened?" he finally questions when their breathing has calmed down, a serene silence having descended over them, only interrupted by the soft hum of the plane.

"Mh?" Max hums from the ground, sounding faraway, as if ready to drift off. It takes an enormous amount of effort to turn his head and glance down, only to find the Dutchman already staring back at him with wide eyes and a big smile on that smug face.

Charles takes the tiniest moment to gather his thoughts back into a sensible order. "What made you want to fuck me right here, right now?"

The blond laughs, breathless and disbelieving, if Charles can read it right. It makes the ears on top of his head twitch again, irritation settling under his skin.

"Katje, you got up, took off your sweater and laid down on top of me," Max deadpans, humor in his voice. "You didn't even notice how much you were purring, you simply drifted off to sleep, half-hard and hot like a furnace."

"That-" can't be true, he wants to say, but when he takes a glance around the space, he has indeed moved from where he first sat down. But then again, he doesn't remember getting up. He doesn't know where his sweater went. But- "Huh."

"Yeah," Max grins, the smug bastard, as if this is all Charles' fault, "Sorry that my patience ran out, but I had to take the opportunity."

It makes him huff out the smallest laugh. His partner is so predictable.

He can feel his tail swiping over the ground lazily, brushing against Max's arm ever so slightly. His eyes have grown heavy, lids slipping closed without his consent, as he takes another deep breath. "You can fuck me again, when we're back in Monaco," he murmurs, unsure whether the words can be heard above the rumbling plane, "until then let me sleep."