NOTES: Be careful, I'm introducing a very sensitive part of Charles here, which I want to point out is my own interpretation, it's fictional, it's just a fanfic. Enjoy the read. Kisses, Akane.

40. INNER TYPHOON

/Charles/

"Damn, obviously I didn't want to end up with Pierre doing boyfriends stuff, but that idiot didn't immediately suggest something we could do together without arousing suspicion. He just had to suggest something before Pierre, you retarded idiot!
I don't know what, but I can't always do everything!
I organized the night at the club. Alex, a friend of mine, invited him. I was the one who got drunk, and it was my friends who left us alone in the end. Damn, he just had to take advantage of me and instead he waited until I was too done to do anything!
Why the hell didn't he do it? Even if I didn't remember, I would have made him do it again the next day. I mean, it would have been an opportunity for us to progress; once I know we've fucked, even if I don't remember, it's done, right?
But Max suddenly went stupid and went from being a selfish, arrogant asshole to being altruistic and honest. Who the fuck did he ask you?
Now, okay, Pierre was there too, but he was playing. He should have been ready to propose something to me before him. Officially, I'm not with Pierre and no one should know about us.
Well, I don't know if Pierre told anyone. We haven't talked about this, partly because I try to carefully avoid talking about ourselves, so as not to have to say things I don't know, or rather things I know but don't know how to say.
I don't know how to say that I want us to just be friends again, because I know I'd lose him and I don't want that, so I avoid the topic and carry on in tragic, cowardly resignation, waiting for something to fix the mess I've created.
But that "something" doesn't come, because he's become so correct that he won't lift a finger until I do it first. What the fuck does he think, that I want to marry him?
I just want to fuck him! Satisfy the desire to do it with him since he's become an obsession.
Before I thought it was just a matter of wanting to do sex with boys, that this was what obsessed me so much that I lost control at certain moments and went maniac with the first decent guy I trusted. But now that I've done it with Pierre, I know it wasn't that.
Or rather, maybe partly, but having established that I like fucking boys, now I want the guy I want, a specific one.
That retard Max!
I think a couple of proper hits from him would be enough to calm me down and stop thinking of him as a mentally unstable maniac. Then I'd be back to normal, the best version of myself, ready to handle Pierre without making him suffer.
While it's true that I don't know how to get out of it, I really have no idea; it's easier for me to think about how to fuck Max than to confront and fix Pierre. It's just that, knowing me, even if Max and I got to the point, I'd probably stop at the best part full of guilt.
I don't consider myself Pierre's boyfriend because I don't want to be, but in fact I am and ultimately I could never betray him or hurt him.
Maybe it's just a matter of accepting that for now and for a while, until I get my balls out, I'll be Pierre's boyfriend.
I sigh as Pierre pulls me with intertwined fingers toward the bedroom.
- Look, I didn't necessarily mean that... - I say when we go inside and he pushes me against the door, attacking my neck with his mouth.
He laughs against my sensitive skin and I shiver.
- You really didn't say that? And what else did you want to do? - he asks provocatively. For a moment this reminds me of Max and as soon as his face overlaps with Pierre's and I imagine him nibbling and kissing me there, I close my eyes abandoning myself to the heat that invades me, creeping under my skin.
Damn, I no longer have control over a single neuron in my brain and consequently, not even over my body. I'm totally addicted to an orgasm and as soon as Pierre gives me pleasure, there any fantasy about Max begins and I abandon myself like a docile and obedient lamb.
I'm pathetic.
I'm recovering for all the missed orgasms during my adolescence and youth. Everything I put aside to focus on my duties and racing, here it comes now.
Pierre's hands rummage under my clothes and I'm already here, imagining that it's Max's hands that are giving me so much pleasure, sensually slipping under my pants and boxers and taking my cock in his hand.
The winking look Max gave me earlier, looking at my belly which momentarily revealed itself when I stretched, penetrates my brain triggering the fantasy related to that perfect and epic moment.
I want to fuck you, Max.
That's all I want.
If only we'd been alone before, I'm sure you would have pulled down the waistband of my pants and boxers, you would have forcefully pulled me closer, placing me between your legs open and once stuck there, you'd dive with your face in my crotch moving down to lick my entire cock and then suck it passionately. I'm sure you'd do it like this, taking every part of me without fear, devouring me with passion and confidence.
How I wish you would.
Once immersed and sucked in by this fantasy, I take advantage of Pierre and penetrate him with the same intensity I'd use for Max, bending him forward roughly, without kisses or caresses, only with the need to explode with pleasure and lose touch with reality.
Luckily I don't call his name as I moan; I simply sigh and enjoy. Because if I were the type to call out my partner's names, I'm sure Max's would come out.
Fuck, I have to fix this mess.
But fuck, how long have I been saying this and not fixing it?
Fuck!

The typhoon hitting Japan, particularly in Suzuka, it makes us completely lose touch with reality.
My eyes remain transfixed on the window: it seems like everything outside is disappearing.
I don't even know what time it is, I can't tell what time of day it is, when it's time to eat and when it's time to sleep.
All of today's F1 activities have been canceled and we're stuck here in the hotel all together.
Qualifying tomorrow morning and then the race the afternoon. It will be a weekend we'll remember, very different from any other.
In Japan, there are often similar weather events; today it feels like the Apocalypse and it fascinates me. The fury of the wind and rain outside disconnects me from myself and my problems, especially from the fact that Pierre is hugging me after we had sex. He rightfully demanded a cuddle and I couldn't deny him that, just as I can't deny him anything.
Maybe it means something, but now my eyes are completely lost in the storm outside. I imagine what it would be like to be out there and for a moment I consider going, but Pierre's voice brings me back to reality.
I struggle to understand what he's asking me and in fact he repeats it after my distracted "Hmm?"
- How about we take advantage of all this free time stuck together to finally talk about ourselves? 
At this point-blank, unexpected question, which this time I register all too well, my eyes widen and I spontaneously stiffen. Pierre notices and lifts his head from my chest to look at me. I'm half-elevated on the headboard and pillow to look outside, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and he's resting low on my chest.
We both stood there looking outside, each pondering our own thoughts, but of the two of us, only he brought his own to the table.
I had no doubts.
- Now? - I ask not knowing what to say, not even having had time to think about it.
Actually he's been asking me this for a while  now and, of course, I'm completely ignoring it. He gave me time and patience, but it's obvious that sooner or later this will run out. For a change, I played it terribly.
Well, it could have been worse. I could have said I don't know how to tell him that I only see him as a dear friend and I don't want to hurt him or end our relationship.
His eyes stare at me inquisitively and for the first time I see annoyance. He hadn't been like that before; he'd always been very patient and understanding, but now he's bringing out everything he's suppressed for my own good.
I'm a horrible person, Pierre, how can you fall in love with me?
Damn, if only he hated me like Max once did.
Thinking about him somehow finds the strength to face the moment, but naturally if I think about him, I don't face it as I should, that is by finally telling Pierre the truth, even if it's brutal. No, when I think about him, only one question comes to mind.
Why the hell should I be forced to do something I don't want yet? This isn't something to be done lightly. He can't force me by catching me off guard.
- Yes, when do you want to do it? In ten years? Charlie, it's time to talk about it, don't you think? If there are problems between us, let's face them, but continuing like this, being everything without really being it, is unbearable for me now.
This typhoon is affecting him too, but not in the way I hoped.
It makes him impatient, nervous, as perhaps everyone is because it's normal, it's the wind.
The noise hits the hotel which fortunately is safe, but it could tear us away and maybe that would be better. It would spare me this damned scene that I don't want to experience. I don't want to.
And fuck you, he really can't force me.
I push myself up slipping my arm out of him, then putting my feet on the ground. I'm hard, thin and stiff; I search for my clothes, which I throw on haphazardly, with anger and confusion.
I don't want to argue with him, I'm not ready to give up on him, but I also can't lie and tell him what he hopes for but isn't true.
Can't we just stay suspended in this everything and nothing?
- Charlie... - he calls, pleading. I stay silent.
Not a sound comes out of my mouth.
My voice is stuck in my throat. I don't want to speak. You can't make me.
- Charles. - Pierre then exclaims crawling to the edge of the bed on my side, now less pleading and more rigid. I stand up like a spring, pulling on my baggy sweatpants.
- Why don't you want to talk about it? It doesn't matter what it is, sooner or later we have to, I feel bad like this...
Now he's really getting angry and it's the beauty of Pierre, who fully and fearlessly expresses each of his thousand emotions. I don't even know if I'm capable of feeling them.
Maybe I feel them, but I definitely can't get them out.
How the hell can you be like this, you want to tell me, Pierre?
My mouth remains sealed, my face is stone and I breathe deeply trying to maintain calm myself down, even though I'm in total turmoil right now and I hate it.
The typhoon is inside me.
Without saying anything, absolutely nothing, I slip on my slippers and leave taking only my phone, leaving the key card in the designated space that provides power to the room.
I'm in pants and a T-shirt, bare feet and slippers, maybe boxers, but I'm not even sure.
I hurry to leave, I don't know where, but I don't want Pierre to chase me. Leave me alone, let me breathe, let me stay a little longer. Please, Pierre, don't make me hurt you, I'm not ready, I can't do it.
I want to cry and scream and smash something. When I turn the corner at the end of the corridor, I suddenly find myself in front of a huge French window that looks out onto the terrace of this splendid top floor. A terrace that is currently empty.
The rain and wind are erasing this terrace too, everything is flying out there. Nothing exists anymore.
Again, the uncontrollable urge to go there and suffer the same fate as the world out there.
The rain and the wind, I need them. I have to feel them.
I'm shaking and can't breathe well and my head is exploding; I feel like I've just gone mad. Why must he force me to do something I don't want to?
I put my hand on the handle and turn it.
God, erase me.
I open the door and as soon as I do, it's immediately slammed open. I'm suddenly hit by a powerful wave of wind and rain that washes me all over and I would end up crawling on the ground for several meters, if it weren't for two arms from behind that grab me with incredible strength, holding me upright. Then, as he puts his arm around me, he closes the door again with some difficulty because he's still holding me and can't use his full strength. It takes him a while and in the meantime the rain comes in with the furious wind, soaking us both.
Finally, suddenly, everything stops. All that remains is the cold , the wet and a muffled noise compared to the one that had just exploded.
- Are you crazy? - Max's hoarse, scratchy and agitated voice roars from behind me.
One hand still on the doorknob, the other arm around my chest from behind. I'm soaked. For a second with the door wide open, I'm soaked, but I'm finally stopped. I'm no longer shaking, I'm not breathing hard, my head isn't exploding.
Everything is still, everything is calm, everything is silent.
The typhoon is outside again, no longer inside me.
I turn my head to look at it with no intention of moving from here, here where I'm finally okay.
I don't know if my storm has passed because I've been hit by a real one, or if it's because Max has stopped me, but the point is that here, in his arms, against his warm, solid body, so concrete, so strong, I'm finally okay and for a moment, I'm even happy.
- Charles, what were you doing? You don't joke with these things! It's a beastly typhoon! - he replies, still agitated. It's the first time I've seen him like this, even though I've never really had much to do with him beyond the anger the track makes him unleash, or maybe the happiness he always gets from a good placing or a victory.
- Sorry... I... I need to hide for a while... - my mouth moves on its own. I would never have said something so sincere under normal circumstances, but it seems his eyes and his presence always brings out such honest sides in me that I can't hold them back.
Our eyes meet and lock; his beautiful blue ones widen understanding perfectly, looking me in the face, that I'm out of my mind and that I need refuge.
Without arguing like anyone else would, he releases himself only to grab my wrist and pull me away to the other side of the corridor.
I realize his room is that way and I follow him without thinking. I just feel his hand coming down on mine and without resisting, I hold in return.
It's a shock of electricity so violent and hot that I don't feel cold because I'm wet. I don't feel any discomfort. I just wish he wouldn't let go.
That's what I wish.
But then I find myself in his room and he leaves me there, closing the door behind us.
His room engulfs us and hides us and without looking at me or saying anything, he goes into the bathroom and unkindly throws me a towel. Then he bends over his open suitcase on the floor and, pulling out a couple of things in bulk, he throws a few at me.
I look at him perplexed, not even realizing what just happened; he's on to the next stage, trying to solve problems.
I asked him for help hiding me and he did. I was about to throw myself into the storm and he stopped me. I'm soaking wet and he gives me a towel to dry off.
I'm left stunned watching him. He's so confident as he acts without even asking me a single question, as if everything is fine just the way it is, even if it isn't. Maybe that's why instead of drying himself, because he's a little wet too, he comes to me, picks up the things he threw and leaving everything on the bed, he grabs my shirt and pulls it over my head, grumbling in annoyance.
- Charles, you need to undress, dry yourself and put on dry clothes. Have you gone mad?
He's not gentle at all and by doing so, he shows me he knows exactly what to do with me.
Slowly I feel like I'm coming back; I let him take off my shirt and my pants too without thinking too much and it's only then that I realize I didn't put on my boxers.
As soon as he's crouched in front of me, with my pants down to my knees and my cock hanging free in his face, he stops and I finally come to my senses.
Precisely for this reason, I think, I remain still.
Still, motionless.
Wasn't this, in some way, my earlier fantasy? Mine and his, definitely. Because the way you stared at the strip of crotch that was visible when I raised my arms, left little to the imagination. It was just one thing you thought about. The same thing I thought while I was fucking Pierre.
I rub my lips slowly and with taste, remaining still with my arms at my sides, looking down at him.
He's crouched in front of me with my pants down and his eyes wide open on my crotch.
A porn scene, probably. One of those that later gives you a great orgasm.
Like that typhoon out there, Max also obliterates everything, just as I imagined he could.
Max is my typhoon, he hits me and revolutionizes my life, completely changing everything he touches.
For a moment there are no problems or uncertainties, no suffering or pain. There's no Pierre, there are no impediments.
For a moment there's only his mouth terribly close to the tip of my cock, which begins to pulse slowly as if it had a life of its own. In a certain sense it does, it has a life of its own. My cock would like to slip into his mouth, so fleshy, so close.
What would we have done if we'd been alone in the same situation as before? When I was standing in front of him sitting, my groin was almost exposed.
Well, now it's not almost exposed; it's completely at his mercy.
I raise my arms as before, crossing them above my head, as if to reenact the same scene, as if to serve myself on the same silver platter I tried to put myself on before. But now there's nothing and no one around.
Max understands, his eyes lift from my cock, which is swelling visibly and fearlessly, but with a clear question in his gaze he stares at me from below.
'Really?' he seems to ask. 'Are you sure?'
Where the hell do all these scruples come from? I expected that in a situation like this, you'd take selfish advantage without regard for anything or anyone except your own needs and desires, just as I hoped you would, just as I would like.
But you're still standing there waiting for what? What the hell are you waiting for to suck my cock?
Come on, Max, get a move on!”

/Max/

"What the hell are you waiting for? What the fuck are you waiting for to suck it? He's practically shoving it in your mouth. He's almost asking you.
Open your damn mouth, stick out your tongue and lick. Lick and suck. Slither your hands up his thighs, leave his wet pants on the floor, move up to his crotch, guide your mouth with hands, pleasure him, devour him. He wants it. It doesn't matter what he had before and that he practically tried to kill himself, I think. Now he's here and he's shoving it in your mouth.
Open and suck it.
It's so fucking sexy, so fucking beautiful.
So fucking fragile.
Realizing this, I move myself like an idiot, because that's what I feel like. An idiot. As my head screams at me to suck it and jump on him, I drop his pants to his ankles, stand up and take back the towel I threw him. I wrap it around his head and back, close it in front of him on his chest and then rub my hands over his arms, his shoulders, his head. I dry him calmly, slowly, gently. I don't want to break him. He's so fragile.
He's so hurt.
He's still so hurt.
His smile is so distant, so sad, he doesn't even try.
Charles doesn't say anything, he doesn't move, he lets me do it after lowering his arms. He lowered them when he saw me get up and not give him a blowjob.
There they remain. Down, devoid of life and intention. They don't fold over his chest to protect himself from me; he doesn't have to, he doesn't need to. He trusts me.
Perhaps because we're both so corrupt and broken, that we won't judge each other.
After drying him, I leave the towel on him and he bows his head; he leans against me as if asking for the famous hug we continue to steal from each other in the most absurd ways.
Why can't we ask for things in the most normal way?
I'm hurting, can you hug me?
Of course, I'm here.
Did you cry for Hubert or did you just console Pierre and that was it?
No, I don't want to cry because if I started, I'd never finish.
And what harm would that do?
And you? Have you ever cried for yourself?
Me? I don't have anything to cry about.
Is this what you tell yourself when you look in the mirror?
I don't look at myself.
This would be our conversation and I'm sure he's having it too, which is why no one speaks and he snuggles against me, in my arms, while I hold him from the front this time. He stays there completely covered by the towel, not an inch of his face is exposed and under there, he stays as long as he wants, as long as he needs.
I don't say anything, I don't know what he's going through, what's wrong with him, why he's like this, what the hell he's doing. I know nothing. I only know that he needs shelter, a hug and that no one asks why he was trying to hurt himself before.
- Please, don't do that again. - I murmur, my lips against his ear still covered by the towel.
I don't say anything else.
He finally nods and his arms rise, his hands rest lightly on my hips and he clings to me. He doesn't move his head, he doesn't drop the towel, he doesn't turn his head toward mine. He doesn't provoke the kiss we both expect. He knows it's not the right time and I understand and respect that.
He's right. It wouldn't be the same kiss we'd give each other if we were fine.
But when will you be fine, Charles? Will that moment ever come?
Fuck, how stupid have I become!
How the hell did you end up in this state?
Mister 'Free Practice', I just have no strings attached sex with whoever I want and I don't care about anything or anyone.
Here I am now, waiting for Charles to get better so I can jump on him, because if I did it now I'd be satisfied, but he wouldn't. He'd be destroyed. Because I know he'd be destroyed.
I don't know why, but that's how it is.
He hasn't fixed a damn thing about his messed-up life, I'd mess it up even more and even though from the way he's teasing me, it's clear he desperately wants me to be a selfish asshole, and that I try with him because he doesn't have the courage to do it first, then he'd regret it later because he loves Pierre too much to do that anyway.
- You don't have a deadline. You can do whatever you want whenever you want. You don't have to do anything, not now, not ever. You're free to do whatever you want. You have no obligations. But first, fix it with Pierre and then, when you're truly ready, I'll give you everything you want. You know if you did it when you're not, you'd regret it and we'd ruin everything, and I don't want that. This thing between us, Charlie, I really don't want to ruin it.
When did I become so pathetic, so proper, so fucking good guy?
When the fuck did I become that?
Shame on you, Max!
Pathetic idiot!”

NOTES: That typhoon really hit Japan that race weekend, stranding everyone in the hotel all Saturday. The rest is invented. As I always say, I interpreted Charles and Max my way. I think Charles was very sad at first, then slowly changed quite noticeably. Maybe my vision of Charles is rather extreme, but that's what brought that boy out of me. It's a chapter balanced between eroticism and depression. Max explains the situation well in the end. If he took advantage now and had that damned sex the way they both wanted so much, they'd regret it later and ruin everything else they could have. Needless to say, it's one of my favorite chapters. While I was writing it, I was there saying to myself, 'Wow, do I really want to include something like that?' and in the end, yes, I wanted to leave it and give the character that path. I don't know if Charles was ever truly depressed in real life, I hope not, but I don't think he was doing well in his first years in F1. I hope no one gets offended by my interpretation. Until next time. Kisses, Akane.