29. WARM THE SOUL

/Charles/

"Our lips intertwine trembling and timid at first, then slowly everything becomes more normal and relaxed; he's the first to open his and move forward with tongue. I move toward him and we deepen the kiss while I raise my head, placing myself halfway above him; I lean on one elbow, with the other hand I caress his hair wet from the towel that remains over his eyes, forgotten as if it weren't there.
As we kiss, I remember other times when I've been so overwhelmed and lost; my father, Jules.
Flashes of specific moments, the bitterness of my tears as I swallowed the pain that was pouring out of me in torrents, until I managed to keep it inside and resume my life, even off the tracks.
But was it life?
Pierre's hesitant hands embrace me, I climb completely on top even with my hips and when we're touching, despite the jeans that separate and bother us, the excitement rises, the heat begins to replace the cold.
I know what it takes when you feel like this, when that cold is internal and not external.
You can do what you want, but until you warm your soul, you'll never feel better.
The groin tightens and the tongues quiver in our open, joined mouths, everything rises: sensations, fire, desire.
His hands slide between us, he opens his jeans and pulls them down frantically, pushing his ass up just enough to free himself from the constricting fabric, unable to resist, unable to do anything at all.
When he attaches mine, my eyes suddenly widen.
What are we doing?
I straighten up suddenly holding my breath and I find myself straddling him still lying underneath me. I'm panting with excitement and panic. My jeans are unzipped by him, but still on.
My brain has shut down. It's one of those moments when I'm out of my mind and don't know what I'm doing. I want him too much now, but isn't he himself as much as this?
The erection presses swelling more and more excited, I can't take it anymore. He's turned me on and I can't turn it off, but I shouldn't. A part of me knows I SHOULDN'T.
Pierre pulls the towel from his eyes and looks at me imploringly devastated, still breathless; my open mouth filled with his taste. His hands slide up my thighs and up my hips, caressing me gently, leaving my jeans alone.
The tears crystallized on his lashes, his blue eyes that seem transparent, his pain still there, ready to explode if I pushed him away and left him alone. His fingers slip under my shirt.
- Please, Charlie... - that name, the way he says it. The way my father called me. Everything he did for me in that moment two years ago.
His voice cracks again, on the verge of another burst of tears.
You've found my only weakness. I can't bear that you cry and even though a part of me KNOWS it's not right, your trembling caresses and your liquid eyes give me the final blow and I take off my shirt myself while simultaneously going down on him, I roll over on the bed and take off my jeans and boxers; he does the same by finishing taking them off his feet, seeing that they get stuck I help and pull them out.
When we're both naked, I stand in front of him, open his legs and without hesitating for a second, I dive in between, into the center of pleasure. I go on his groin and devour him without going step by step.
I had never imagined having sex with another boy like this for the first time, not with all the obsession I've had up until now.
I imagined myself enjoying it, going slowly, tasting, seducing, playing.
I imagined it with someone else.
Instead it's like I'm on a track. I run and I don't understand why. Maybe because I'm afraid my mind will activate before I finish and damn it, now that I'm here I want to do it.
I want to have sex with a guy.
Now that I'm here, I won't hold back. How much have I thought about it? How much have I wanted it?
I always knew I could do it with Pierre if the opportunity arose, but I was afraid. Why was I afraid?
We're friends. I didn't want to ruin the friendship.
But he wants it too.
Yes, but he wants it because he likes you. What do you feel?
I don't know, this isn't the time to think about it.
Why not? Shouldn't you think about it before fucking him?
His cock grows in my mouth throbbing with pleasure and I go down to forcefully take care of his little entrance which is not at all inviolate.
My fingers enter easily after my tongue, he pulls his knees up to his chest to give me all the access I want.
It's not the first time for him, it is for you. You're doing it because you've wanted to try it for a long time and he's cute and perfect, and you you trust him blindly. He, on the other hand, does it because he's hurting and he really likes you. And you know it.
You're using the situation to your advantage. You're using his pain.
I speed up.
Suddenly I climb up and cover him with my body holding his legs up and fold between us, I hug him and squeeze him, devouring his mouth. I suck his tongue and lips as I rub myself against him moving, playing with our cocks growing together. I rub between his ass cheeks open for me. Ready for me.
He sighs with pleasure against my mouth and I speed up even more. My brain is rebooting. It's practically already active, but I won't stop. I just have to hurry and go where I want, where I need to go.
Because I feel like shit, too. I also lost a friend, I'm going through yet another loss in my life and I'm here surviving because I'm simply used to the pain and it doesn't seem right. I'm 21, I shouldn't be used to the pain. I shouldn't, damn it!
Without saying anything, I enter with a firm thrust guiding myself with my hand. It takes a while to get in properly; I have to do it again, use more saliva, try again and then when it gets harder, it gets better.
Pierre's hands reach my arched back rising from my narrow waist, grasping my protruding shoulder blades and digging in his nails. There may be unmistakable scratches, but now I don't have to hide from anyone, I'm free to do whatever the fuck I want without thinking.
Finally it's better, finally the thrusts are looser and with each thrust I go deeper and it's all a crescendo in the right direction.
The right direction, the right intensity, the right rhythm. We're synchronized with the thrusts, our bodies finally finding each other and merging and the world disappears, only the sensations explode.
Beautiful, mind-blowing sensations. Shivers run through me, and my brain is shut down again.
Once again I don't know what I'm doing, I just know that I like it and that I'm happy doing it. All I know is that up until now, I've been missing out on something that I won’t be able to do without now.
As I come I feel my entire body like I've never felt it before, and it's nothing but pleasure: complete, absolute, wonderful pleasure.
It's my thing. This is my thing. Sex like this, with guys, is my thing. Just as I'd always suspected. There's absolutely nothing I don't like or that stops me. Nothing.
At least until I back breathing hard with my body on fire, all sweaty and throbbing against Pierre.
His lips on my temple, his hands on the back of my neck, his gasps.
Then my brain fires like a flash, a bolt from the blue that rips through the sky and falls on me with a sharp crash, devastating me.
I had sex with my best friend; I never should have.
Not so much because he's my friend and this isn't our dimension; not because living it makes me realize it, I see the discord that I purposely didn't want to see before. Or rather, yes, it's all true, but it's not just that.
There's something else that makes me realize it was wrong and I never should have.
He's not Max.

I made a mess. I made a damned mess.
I remain still, wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling with him sleeping on top until I hear his slow, regular breathing and realize he's been asleep for a while. Considering all the crying he's had and how tired he must have been, I think he'll sleep like a log until tomorrow morning.
I gently take his face lifting from my chest and slipping away, placing it back on the pillow. After that, not without a sinking feeling in my stomach because I haven't eaten since lunch, I slip on some comfortable light sweatpants I stole from Pierre, throw on one of his T-shirts and, grabbing only my phone and my keycard that I'd left on the bedside table, I leave his room.
I need to breathe, but I'm also incredibly hungry, which I risk not being able to satisfy due to the hour it is. Everything is closed now, so without thinking twice, I head for the vending machines I've seen in one of the corners of the floor. This is near two armchairs and a small table, a mini relaxation area for night owls who crave refreshments during quiet hours.
I stop in front and stare at the glass that lets me see what's on offer. There's a hot drink stand nearby, but I need something cool and filling.
I look at the chocolate bars which I should avoid because Andrea says I can't devour as much as I'd like. But right now I really want that damn chocolate. And I also want that nice can of cold beer, which obviously I can't drink the night before a race. Especially one where I'm in pole position.
It's late at night and the great thing about hotels is that there's not a dog after a certain hour, especially on Saturday night. All the drivers and teams are asleep ready to have a great race tomorrow and this immaculate silence is lovely, but I still feel suffocated and it's not because of the summer: there's air conditioning here.
When I finally make up my mind, I say "fuck you" in French, but then I realize I have nothing with me. I look at my phone and key card in my hands; no change, bills or cards.
- Stupid idiot! - I growl again in French through gritted teeth, stamping my foot on the floor.
I'm about to turn and go to my room in search of change when a hand reaches behind me and insert a considerable amount of coins into the designated slot, making me jump and have a stroke.
I tense like a violin string and while I mutter: - Who the hell... - returning to English, I turn to look at the owner of the hand, who withdraws it before saying in a low, hoarse voice: - Please, help yourself.
Before I can focus on Max's face, I'm already covered in shivers from head to toe, both from his voice and from the fact that he whispered in my ear, revealing that not only had he crept up behind me silently and unnoticed, but he was also glued to me. We're only a few inches apart and I want to slip away, run away, but my feet remain rooted to the spot and he only takes a half step to the side, pointing to the vending machine.
- It’s on me. - he adds, surprisingly kindly. He has a half-smile that seems more embarrassed and uncertain than mischievous.
More shivers run through me. His voice here in the dim light and silence has a strange effect on me; in a moment I remember everything that happened that day, that night.
Monte Carlo, an exclusive club, a squalid bathroom, the two of us embraced but probably as exhausted as we are now. He, that time, more than me.
My eyes widen and I blush realizing something that makes me turn back to the vending machine and randomly press buttons. I don't realize I've got the chocolate and the fucking cold beer. So I also add a water.
- Are you sure this is enough? - he asks, seeing me pick up my things. I nod without saying anything, still frozen in my shocking realization and the awkward encounter.
Lately we've always been running into each other when one of us is out and this time, specifically, I'm the one who just fucked someone I shouldn't have; and I don't know if I did it to vent like Max did last time, or if I just wanted to, or because the fuck I know. But I know I shouldn't have, that's the only thing that's clear.
Tonight he's the one who could lecture me.
How karma works.
Especially because I thought about him first, as soon as I finished fucking Pierre. That's the really shocking thing.”

/Max/

“Him and his French!
When I left the room to get something from the vending machines during my usual late-night online races, I certainly never imagined I'd end up running into him.
- I was just thinking of you. - I say sincerely watching him sit in one of the two armchairs in this relaxation area. He's particularly stiff.
He opens the chocolate and gives me an embarrassed nod of thanks.
Is he unaware that I was thinking of him? Doesn't he ask me why?
The last time we were alone, I took advantage of my gin and tonics and hugged him and he pretended to be tipsy. We'll never talk about this, I guess. It's not hard to understand, since it's the first time we've seen each other since then and it's pure luck.
I see him devouring the chocolate as if he hadn't eaten in ages, so I raise a skeptical eyebrow. I never thought he was that greedy.
- Did you have dinner? 
The question crosses my mind and I immediately blurt it out.
He shrugs and shakes his head opening the bottle of water; I frown not even keeping this other question to myself.
- Don't you drink the beer?
He shakes his head and downs half the bottle in one gulp revealing his thirst.
He looks at it on the table between us as if it were a monster. It's a small can of cold Stella Artois beer, what's wrong with that?
- What do you expect a beer to be? - I ask doing what I do best: reckless!
Charles doesn't dare look at me or the beer, he's staring elsewhere.
- I shouldn't have even eaten the chocolate...
- Then why did you take it?
Charles shrugs.
- I don't know, you caught me by surprise and I took what I wanted without thinking, but I can't...
I half-smile and take the beer in his place opening it for him. The noise makes him turn around and when he sees me sipping it, I notice out of the corner of my eye that he's staring at my lips as they land on the condensation-filled aluminum.
- Mmm... it's fresh! - I exclaim pretending to quench my thirst more than he actually does.
This guy is an idiot. He must have spent the worst evening of his life consoling Pierre and he doesn't allow himself a fucking stupid beer?
But I know what to do with him.
Charles continues to stare at me surprised and perhaps still lost in the world I pulled him away from a moment ago, so I'm about to drink again, but he snatches it from me with a force and arrogance that only I know he possesses. However, instead of drinking it, he simply presses it to his lips; he places his where I placed mine, close to the opening, but he doesn't drink. He just stands there seemingly struggling with himself about whether to drink or not.
I look at him chuckling with a mischievous grin.
If you want a kiss, just ask.
I'll give it to you right away.
But then with him it’s never what it seems, you may have your own intuitions and ideas about him, but 90 percent of the time you're wrong and risk misinterpreting.
Or maybe, more simply, I tend to see what I want to see.
I wish he would like me, but in the end I just don't think so. Or maybe he likes me, but no more than he hates me.
In the end he doesn't drink, he rests the can on his forehead and then on his cheek as if seeking coolness. Only now do I look at him more closely.
He's physically disheveled.
His hair is disheveled, he looks like he's escaped from bed after a struggle. Even his clothes seem improvised and have a scent that doesn't suit him; even earlier, when I approached him from behind, I could smell it. It wasn't really his scent, but his shirt.
Sweet. Very sweet. A scent I'd never smelled on him.
Then the epiphany. If he was comforting Pierre, which is a hundred percent certain, do you really think they had sex? You see, they're together in the end? I knew it! But why deny it? What does he have to be ashamed of? He knows about me and Daniel.
Well, even if there's nothing left to know about me and Daniel.
- Is everything okay? - I finally ask him, it was inevitable and perhaps necessary. Even though I know isn't okay.
- Nope. - his frank answer reminds me of that day in the elevator at Silverstone, right after I broke up with Daniel.
The desire for him to hug me.
- I need to breathe. Is there a terrace somewhere on this floor? - he asks exhausted. He seems like a lost soul and not knowing a damn thing about him or what he's up to, I can't help, but I stand up and point to the door at the end of the corridor.
- There’s always one, for smokers. 
Without thinking for a second, he gets up with me and rushes over clutching the can of cold beer, forgetting the bottle, his phone and the Room key. I take everything and shake my head following him.
He's completely out, even if he doesn't seem to show it. Only if you know him well do you know that.
But it's not hard to imagine what's wrong with him. After all he's suffered yet another loss. I know he was a friend of Hubert's, which is why I've been thinking about him so much. How is it possible that some people have to suffer so much loss? You get used to pain, at a certain point?
Looking at him now I honestly can't understand.
He seems lost.
As soon as we step outside, the cool night air hits us. It's August 31st in Belgium, it's hot like anywhere and it's chilly at night, though not that much.
I instinctively shiver, but he instead heads straight for the railing.
The terrace is quite large though not enormous, with comfortable plastic chairs with a little padding, stylish tables and a few plants to make the setting more charming. Charles ignores everything, sets his beer on one of the tables and heads straight for the railing overlooking the city at night, which is a little more lively than usual on a Saturday.
Take any city and step out onto any balcony at night and you'll inevitably fall in love. I'm not a romantic who appreciates the beauty of nature, but I think there are times when you can't look at it and not hold your breath for a moment thinking 'Wow.' I do it again now, after I've put down his things and mine along with the beer, I reach Charles and look at him.
Wow.
He's also breathtakingly beautiful and the way he stares at the world unseeing, as if desperately trying to... I don't know what? What is he searching for with such desperation and disturbance?
Out here we can't see much; there are only small, low LED lights set into the floor near the plants, between one group of chairs and another.
It's very atmospheric, but it's not distracting and allows you to see without being blinded.
Now I can admire.
My gaze never leaves Charles, brazen as only I can be.
- Better? - I ask referring to his need to breathe.
He shakes his head and sighs rolling his eyes. He closes them, then shakes his head again hunching over until his face rests on the arms he's folded on the railing.
I wanted to be hugged, that's what I needed, but we're different, very different. He seems incapable of feeling emotions, or perhaps even showing them. It's as if he could only be sad; even when he laughs and seems to be having fun, he's sad.
Now that melancholy will never go away. As I think about it, a surge of rebellion and regret overwhelms me and I want to do something.
In fact I HAVE to do something.
- Did you know Hubert well? - I remember they used to go-kart together, they were friends. After that we lost touch and I don't know much, but it seems to me they were close.
He nods, then shakes his head and makes a strange gesture. Finally, sighing, he straightens up and turns toward the terrace. He spots the table where I've put our things and it's as if he remembers it now.
He goes to the table and sits at one of the two chairs, so I follow him and sit there.
The forgotten beer that neither of us will finish. He takes the bottle back and drinks, then hands it to me.
I'm not thirsty, to be honest, but I take it and drink from where he put his lips, like he did with the can before. He looks at me when I do it staring intently, then once it's finished I crush it and close, he distracts himself by looking away.
- Pretty good, we were friends, even if he was more with Pierre. But we grew up together on the same tracks. Pierre was his roommate for a while.
- Is he bad? - I ask aware of the sensitive person he is.
Charles nods, we look at each other again and every time we do, I shiver.
- He's a wreck. I spent the evening comforting him. - his eyes flicker as he looks away from mine again, trying to hide something from me.
They definitely had sex. The burning sensation and jealousy come rushing uncontrollable, but it’s out of place and I forcefully stifle it.
- I’m sorry. - I mutter. - For Hubert and for Pierre. And for you. - for you I'm sorry you're suffering yet another loss. I'm sorry you'll be sad again and again and again.
I remember you used to smile for real. Will you ever do that again?
- I’m not feeling bad, you know? Not like him. - I look at him again to see if he's serious; obviously he is and he looks at me daring to disagree, but I don't. If he says so, so be it.
Seeing that I don't speak, he continues almost harshly to himself.
- This is what gets me so turned off. I feel bad, of course, but not as bad as I think I should. It's as if... - Charles searches for the right words and pauses, looking up at the night sky. Will we see the stars? I didn't look up for a single second, I just don't want to miss a second of him.
I wish this night could last forever.
- It’s like I've gotten used to the pain. And now I no longer have sharp peaks that make me cry and lose my mind and feel like a wreck. I can handle it because I've been through it too many times.
My God, no one should have to go through something like this, but it was like I felt it.
He must have fucked Pierre to feel something and now he's more confused than ever.
He wouldn't be out here if he was really with him, this truth hits me like a revelation from above and with the same intensity, I feel better. The jealousy becomes more bearable. Jealousy of what?
Don't be an idiot. You didn't leave Daniel for him, even though he was the one who pushed me to do it. I wanted to be free to die for him and possibly kiss him if I wanted. And I want it. I want it now. But I can't.
- You’re not a monster, Charles. - I whisper under my breath, as if I knew what he feels. I can't know, we're different, but it's as if we're somehow the same. Something about us is similar.
I'm a devil on the surface, he’s under the surface. Yet, neither of us is truly that.
After all, there is something alike.
Charles looks at me suddenly surprised, as if I'd just burned him.
- It’s just that the pain has created this hard shell that filters everything.
I wish I didn't know, but unfortunately I do because I've been there.
Charles stares at me in shock, his wide eyes fixed on mine, motionless in his chair, his back leaning, his elbows on the armrests, me in a similar pose.
We freeze for a moment, then he speaks in a faint voice.
- How do you know?
I shrug apologetically, almost ashamed.
- I feel it too. It's not like yours, mine is different, but in the end it's the same.
My heart is pounding. Faster than ever. Not because I'm having a strange, intimate conversation with him, but because of what I'm saying out loud for the first time. Why am I doing this?
I've never even said it to myself.
Do I want to impress him, to hit him?
Or maybe I want him to know that I understand, that I know?
- What pain is yours?
For the first time he's interested and I think that this, perhaps, is what I wanted.
I feel a thousand conflicting things. A thousand things I don't want to forget.
I really don't want to talk about it, I never have, but tonight with him, I do.
- When they hurt so much that at a certain point you don't feel it anymore. But that's not true. You feel it, you're just used to it. You get used to pain, you're right. Any kind. And that habit becomes a shield that stops you from feeling the new pain.
For a moment his eyes have a revelation; he knows precisely that I'm talking about actual pain, not emotional pain like his. He's about to say it. He's about to ask, "Your father?" But then he doesn't. It's no use.
The relief I feel is obvious, I think I don’t hide it. I give another apologetic, shameful smile. I don't want to be like this, I don't like being like this.
Like what?
Weak? Human? Capable of feeling something?
- We're not heartless monsters, Charles. - I repeat. He purses his lips unreadable, unsure of what to feel, but perhaps a little grateful for what I've said. - We’re just people who've already had to suffer too much, but we're still capable of loving and caring.
Even if we ruin everything in ways we don't even realize and hurt others unintentionally.
But we’re capable of caring.
- We’re capable of loving... - he repeats under his breath, almost as if speaking to himself. He lowers his eyes, but I remain gazing at his beautiful face.
- Are we really? - he asks himself.
At this question, posed to himself, I freeze.
- I’d say so...
Maybe I don't know what I feel for you, but it's definitely something.
- I left my girlfriend almost without batting an eyelid. - he says surprising me.
- You love Pierre. - for me the fact that he left his girlfriend is irrelevant, that was obvious. It has nothing to do with him. But I'm happy about it, but there's no point in showing it. He rolls his eyes and looks back at me.
- I don't know, I care about him. - he whispers as if confessing to a priest. I shrug without asking him what I want.
Are you together, damn it? And did you fuck tonight? No, that's none of my business.
- You loved Jules and your father for sure. - he nods immediately. - You love them, they're in your heart. - he nods again, his eyes shining. Eyes that seem to have some sort of revelation.
- So you're capable of love. - I blurt out concluding dryly, not allowing for any reply, nervous that he might have these doubts.
- Thank you. - he says after a while staring at his hands. Then he repeats it, looking up at me. He doesn't believe me, but he wants to. - Thank you so much.
He's surprised, I feel it, and it makes me smile because I know why. He didn't think I could be so sensitive and profound, huh?
Look, what a surprise!
I smile spontaneously and he smiles back without thinking and there's one of those moments between us again. One of those where we could do something we normally wouldn't. Like that night in Singapore, or in Monte Carlo.
I'd stay here with him all night talking seriously for the first time, but unfortunately the wind comes and it gets too cool. We both shiver holding each other in our arms, sighing reluctantly, and we talk together.
- I think it's time to go to sleep. - we laugh embarrassed at having said the same thing, even though, as always, he spoke with his delightful French "r" that drives me crazy.
Before we leave, I grab the crushed bottle and the can with the remaining beer, while he retrieves his key and his phone. I empty the beer into a plant; he shakes his head chuckling. I make a stupid joke.
- Plants are adults, they can drink every now and then too... 
- Luckily they don't have to drive tomorrow! - he comments lowering himself to my level. I look at him surprised that he had the guts to talk nonsense. For me it's normal, for him it wasn't a given. We laugh together as we walk back inside and when I reach my room, I said him goodnight.
Charles pauses before going any further, unsure how to respond. We look at each other, me standing at the door of my open room. We remember Singapore. I could step aside and wave him in, but somehow I feel like that would ruin everything that happened between us. Whatever it was, I know it was much more important and very beautiful.
Beautiful and intimate.
So I don't try, even though part of me is itching to invite him in and he's expecting it, but he's thinking the same thing, I'm sure of it. So, no. Let's just things happen.
- See you tomorrow. - I whisper. He nods.
- Thanks again.
Then he reaches out, looking at the can.
- I throw it away? - It was supposedly his, even though I held it for him as if I were his boyfriend. I shake my head and shrug. He nods again and walks on, then I go into my room and close the door. I turn on the light, take off my slippers, put the empty can on the nightstand along with my phone, then go to the bathroom and throw away the crushed empty bottle, do my business and lie down on the bed looking at the white can with the red 'Stella Artois' writing. Here I smile stupidly happy.
I will never throw this can away.”

NOTES: Sorry for the long wait, but I was on vacation and unplugged more than I expected. Anyway I'm back now and the publication pace should be back to normal. Now every chapter is interesting for the lestappen, even though there's also the piarles part, because if there was Maxiel, there had to be piarles too. However there's progress between Charles and Max, even if it's due to a loss we never wanted to experience. I can only imagine what it means for him; obviously I don't pretend to know anything, but for the Charles parts I also relied on his interviews where he talks about this sort of "habit of grief," which really struck me. Until next time. Kisses, Akane