NOTES: Sorry for the delay in posting, but I had holidays in the middle and instead of having more free time, I had less! XD It's almost better to work! Anyway, let's pick up from the intriguing point where we left them, that is in a Milanese club, spending the night with the usual friends plus various others and a crasher Max, who isn't sure whether he was right or wrong to come. A lot of things happen in a couple of hours, but how many more will happen by the end? Happy reading. Kisses, Akane

37. ALWAYS A RACE

/Charles/

"After I get another jug ​​of alcohol, I go back up to the others who are still here.
Many have left without hearing from me again and when Pierre reunites with Caterina, explaining that we took the opportunity to dance a bit, she begs him to go because she's exhausted. At this point, seeing as he's probably gotten what he wanted from this night, he looks at me happy and satisfied, to tell me they're leaving. I assume he would have preferred to stay, but having fucked me, he's fine anyway, while I'm not.
I watch him leave with her, he’s still full of energy as if he were on cloud nine and I feel guilty: everything we have and that he's happy about isn't real and he doesn't even know it.
Having ‘lost’ my boyfriend, Max comes back to mind as the usual obsession of this period and I glare at the stairs, waiting for the asshole to come back; anger and annoyance mount at the thought of him leaving without telling me anything. I'd kill him, rather than cut him off or continue our stupid fights.
I'd kill him if he dared.
Although I understand it could be the result of my provocations: I knew I was playing with fire, I just thought I'd like his reaction, but instead he had another one.
Damn.
You'll see if he's gone, too!
It's basically just me, Alex and George left; they're waiting for me to give up, trying to figure out when I'll need to throw up. We lost Lando and Carlos a while ago.
- What the hell happened down there? We left you all happy and excited, you had fun all night... what's this sulking now? Is it Pierre who left or someone else who's missing? - Alex has no problem asking me certain questions, and this one is more specific than it seems; in fact I remember I was supposed to ask him what he knows about me and Max.
I light up remembering this little investigation I wanted to do and decide to take advantage of it now. Alex looks at me expectantly, but then I fade away again forgetting everything. I shake my head nervously and go to drink again, but George takes the glass from me and pushes it away, placing it on the coffee table in front of our sofa, which now only has the three of us.
- I think that's your limit. You've been dancing away the alcohol, but if you don't move anymore, that'll just be the final blow. I don't want abut cleaning up your vomit, you're a friend, but there's a limit! - he says with his typical, distinguished English grace. He poses a lot and I like that about him. So with the concentration of a drunk, I smile and immediately distract myself by realizing that these two are here with me to keep me from ending up in an alcoholic coma, instead of taking advantage and going off together to end the night like Lando and Carlos. They're good friends.
- You don't have to worry about me, go do better than babysit me... - they're together, they're a real couple, not like me and Pierre, who I don't know what we are but we're something, or like me and Max who wish we were something, but even then I don't know what and anyway we're definitely nothing.
As soon as I say it and think it, I get serious and cover my sweaty face with one hand, rubbing it. I'm just more confused and the weight of all the bullshit I've done and pretended not to see is falling on me. The world is crumbling around me. I want to cry and erase everything, but the knowledge that I can't is tearing me apart.
Sad drunk, now?
What a mess. That perverted one was better, but there's no one left to jump on.
I used Pierre, knowing I had to put a stop to us, but I wanted to fuck and I could only do it with him.
What a piece of shit I am. What a piece of shit.
- What are you talking about? You think we haven't already had it properly? - Alex asks at this point laughing and pushing me in a good way.
I look at them in amazement, I hadn't even noticed.
- You were too busy with someone else to notice, huh? 
Thanks to them, the atmosphere lightens and I feel calmer. That's how I remember when, more or less at the beginning of the evening, the two of them disappeared and Max caught them and made that funny 'wow!' face, and I told him pressing my mouth to his ear. Thinking back I smile softly and sigh. But just at this moment, just as I'm about to say we'd better go, a familiar, raspy voice reaches us from the stairs.
- Damn, she wouldn't let go! - Max appears as if nothing had happened, annoyed. 
- Guys, remember not to pick up complete strangers! Audition through some friends first, you can tell right away if they're psychopaths!
Max continues talking to us as if we were old friends and everything was fine. He sits on the couch with us and takes my half-empty glass that the guys took from me. He drinks without a care in the world.
- You could have talked before you had sex, huh? - Alex replies. He quickly imagines what he's talking about.
Max looks at him as if he's speaking heresy.
- Me talking to someone I'm only supposed to fuck? Why on earth?
- To see if they're psychopaths, maybe? - George replies equally amused, while I feel stupidly better watching him drink and laugh.
He came back here, after all. He could have left furious with me for who knows what, but he came back. What if he didn't find me? It's a good thing I stayed.
How pathetic I am.
- You didn't seem to mind her psychopathy when she was rubbing her nice, round ass against your nice swollen cock! 
This one comes out of me. Acid. Damn acid. Like a jealous boyfriend who can't be jealous because... wait, because I'm not his boyfriend!
As soon as I say it, all three of them stop and look at me in surprise and suddenly, as soon as my eyes lock with Max's, everything disappears.
I vaguely hear Alex and George say: - Okay, now it's time for us to leave!
And we both just say a vague 'bye,' I think. But I'm not even sure.
We're finally alone on the private couch, now reserved for us. Even the other corners around us are empty; it must be late. So, like a gust of fresh wind, the realization hits me that we won't be disturbed at all.
The depression and guilt from before are dispelled by the state of me I prefer.
The sexual maniac.
I'm still drunk, I haven't recovered. All it takes is a small touch, a gentle push, to get back where I want to be.
I take back my glass of gin and tonic and finish it. The sensation of the alcohol burns my throat again, while his eyes, fixed on mine, bright blue, warm the rest of me.
A heat runs through my entire body, concentrating on my cock ready to start again.
I immediately remember the moment I was in the bathroom, imagining him fucking that whore in a crude and vulgar way. I did it with Pierre just as I imagined he was doing it with her. To feel him somehow there, to have some kind of orgasm with him. I wonder how he did it, though? What was he thinking?
While I think I have everything under control and that it's all just in my head, but that my mouth remains closed, I hear my voice speaking instead.
- What were you thinking about before, while you were fucking her?
That's the little push I needed to let me go. You all want that, the unrestrained Charles, right? Here he is. Nice? Now reap the consequences, Max!”

/Max/

“I know how to play this game too, you know?
Without being shocked or surprised, knowing he's pretty drunk—especially pretty, but also drunk—I approach him on the couch; I let our hips and legs touch. Charles jumps but doesn't move, he wasn't expecting me to come closer. I rest an elbow on my knee and my chin in my palm, watching him, waiting for him to get into a similar position, and finally he imitates me perfectly, completely unaware of what he's doing, just that he doesn't want to interrupt this moment between us.
You want me like crazy.
- And you?
It's a game I know how to play well too. Like before. Like always. Like everything.
We provoke each other, we compete over everything, as if we couldn't just accept the simple truth. We want to fuck each other like crazy.
How long will it take for you to let go and jump on me? I have excellent resistance, my dear, because I don't stupidly try to hold back all the time. So when I need to control myself, I can. If I don't, it's because I don't want to.
His eyes are twinkling, we're so close now that we're about to kiss. I could do it and maybe he's expecting it, but I know that at the same time he wants to be the one to make the first move between us, because he likes to lead, to manage, to command. If I did it first, it would end up like Singapore.
He'd pull away.
And there's no way I'd tolerate another rejection from him.
Now it's clear he's gone to another planet, but there's a small part of him that keeps him here close to me, the desire for what could be.
What do you say? You can learn the truth from drunks and children.
- About you. About how I would have done it with you. If you'd been the one bent over in front of me with your jeans down.

Well, here comes my friend between my legs again, it was inevitable, but I'm staying quiet. He sure is damn good at pull me up. In every sense.
- And how would you have done it? - I ask softly and persuasively. It's nice to speak without restraints or filters, because alcohol allows us to. Tomorrow, perhaps, we'll forget it, but for now we're here, we’re ourselves and we’re what we want.
- Vulgar, harsh, strong. Without delicacy or feeling.
- Mmm... - I moan leaning toward him, our lips just inches apart, both of us staring at each other, waiting to meet. - Is this how you like it, then? Harsh and vulgar?
Charles, however, doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away or give in, doesn't move, doesn't retreat, but doesn't advance either. Because if he did, he'd kiss me and maybe lose some stupid competition we're having right now.
- That's how I'd do it with you. - Charles at this point comes a little closer, but doesn't touch my lips. We continue staring at each other.
- And what about you? What were you thinking? - he asks again. At this point, I can oblige.
- Who would have put it in the other one between us.
Charles gives a victorious smile, both because I finally told him and because of what I said.
- But it's easy. I'd put it in you!
At this response I laugh amusedly without moving, hoping the alcohol will finally push him to kiss me because there's no way I'm going to do it first. But he looks at me laughing, dazzled by what he sees and finally speaks with the same intensity as before, captivated and absorbed by me. Without moving an inch, his chin in palm, his elbow on knee, us sitting next to each other on this couch in a deconsecrated church. What a beautiful setting for the two of us, so wrong.
- Max, I want to fuck you, but I don't think I can stand up or take a step because I'm too drunk.
His disarming sincerity strikes me and makes every hair on my body stand up, as well as my already erect cock. I simultaneously curse and bless the alcohol that has reduced him to this state and with a knowing smile, apologetic for what could have been if only he hadn't exceeded the limit, I nod and wave to go.
- I’ll take you to the hotel. - I whisper remaining close to him in this pose, without taking my eyes off his.
Charles sighs and nods with the same kind of look, aware, there in his alcohol-induced fog, that it could have been a better night. But all in all, I don't think it's a bad thing. And perhaps, knowing him, he would have regretted it, backtracked and ruined everything.
Because if he can't play with me like that when he's sober and be open and direct, it means he's not ready yet.
Everything has its time, especially him.

The sound of the silence outside deafens us after hours of total chaos. It hurts, but slowly we calm down.
Even though he's perhaps more intoxicating than alcohol itself: having him so docile against me, letting me hold him, manage him and do what I wants, is devastating.
I retrieved his jacket and his things, put them on him and now we're outside waiting for the car to come pick us up. We've positioned ourselves in a corner of what, on the outside, looks even more like a church.
From the inside you almost don't even notice. It has an old-fashioned style, but there's nothing sacred about it, obviously.
From the outside, yes.
We sit a little further to the side, in a less obvious spot, but it's very late now and there aren't many people; those who are there are more exhausted and stoned than us. We were almost the last ones there, and no one notices us, sitting here on the floor. He's finally given up and is leaning completely against me, his head on my shoulder, his eyes closed. I think he's asleep.
I wish the driver would never come. I wish they'd forget us here. I'd like to stay here like this forever.
- But where are your two guardian angels? - I ask a little to test how far he's from here.
Charles groans and then, with difficulty and a slurred voice, murmurs: - They were at dinner, then they came because I begged them, but they didn't stay long. They trusted Pierre! - he chuckles at this,and I smile. He knows I was talking about his personal trainer and his assistant, whose names I still don't know.
- Jo and Andrea, by the way. - he mumbles against my shoulder as if he can read my mind.
I think the cool night air is doing him good, even if it might just give him the final blow.
- Are you okay? - I ask after a while.
- I don't know. - he replies sincerely. I chuckle in amusement.
- Do you have to throw up? - he shakes his head. - Tell me if you have to throw up. You'd feel better anyway, so maybe try it at the hotel later.
What am I worried about? He's not my boyfriend.
- I see you're an expert! - he mutters ironically, still not moving.
- Definitely! - I reply, continuing to joke with him.
Please, driver, be late. Please.
- But why are you so sober?
- I’m holding up better. I've drunk less and better than you, and anyway I pretend better.
- Stop saying better in relation to me! - I laugh even more heartily at this; I knew he'd say that!
- How predictable you are!
- And you, asshole!
But he's smiling too, even though I can't see him because if I move, he'd collapse. So I stand here absolutely still, feeling like an idiot for not taking advantage of him. I could cup his face and kiss him, he wouldn't react and he wouldn't remember, so it wouldn't be a defeat. But defeat of what?
Kissing him first would be a defeat?
You're such an idiot, Max.
No, I'm just terrified of him rejecting me again. That's all. That's why I won't be the first.
I'd like to ask him about Pierre, but it's better not to ruin everything. I already know what I wanted to know.
That's when the car arrives and frees me from the dilemma of whether to kiss him or not.
At least not now.
Calmly and gently, I help him up trying to do it slowly so he doesn't vomit. I hold him by the arm and he leans completely against me.
I manage to get him into the car, immediately opening the window and letting his head lean against the outside so the wind can help him and if he has to vomit, he'll do it outside.
We don't talk anymore; maybe he's really asleep now.
It'll be over as soon as I get him inside, but the truth is, it's already over. He's not even here with a fingernail.

Still docile like a child with his father, he lets me do it everything until we get to the room.
I hold him by the arm, put my around his back and he rocks his head against mine. He follows me like a sleepwalker and makes me laugh. I never in a million years would have thought I'd see him like this. But it's a beautiful secret, a beautiful memory. A sweet memory.
When I search his pocket, the first one I've come across in this position, I immediately find his electronic key with the number on it. All of us at the party tonight extended our stay by a day, obviously no one encountered any problems.
Once I lead him inside, I try to be as gentle as possible, even though he would have thrown himself like a sack of potatoes. Vomiting.
I first sit him down with the intention of at least taking off his jacket and shoes, but as I proceed I see him slump forward. To avoid splitting his head, I stand in front and catch him in midair. 
Holding him steady with my shoulder, which supports his head, I slide my hands under the sleeves of his jacket. Only as I do so, leaning over him, do I realize what it feels like.
Me undressing him in his room. Him yielding.
- If we had sex, it wouldn't be as harsh and vulgar as you imagine, dear Charlie. - I blurt out aloud. Hearing me, he lets out a moan that I can't interpret. Maybe he reacted to the way I called him.
The jacket comes off easily. At this point, my hands reach his shoulders, I grab him to lay him down, but just as I'm about to do so, I stop.
Charles turns his head toward me, toward my neck, and snuggles in. He can't even lift his hands and squeeze me, but he does this and even though I'm standing, leaning toward him in a fucking uncomfortable position, I stay there.
Motionless. His breath against my neck, on my skin.
While he's there he sniffs. I smile full of shivers, as I get excited again.
- You like my perfume, huh? It's Armani. I've been using the same shower gel lately. It's very long-lasting.
I'll tell him to test him out. How long is he around here and how long is he around there?
Maybe I'm also saying this to lighten my mood, because if he keeps this up, I'll climb on top of him and take advantage and fuck everything.
Charles moans and as he does so, he raises his hand, slips his finger into the waistband of my jeans and tries to pull them open, but without success because they're too tight, he’d have to use two hands and I'd have to stand up straight.
I smile, then bite my mouth.
- I see you're recovering, huh? Was it my perfume? - Charles moans again annoyed and then his voice takes on a vaguely meaningful tone, hoarse and deep.
- Why the hell are you wearing such tight jeans?
I smile.
- Don’t you like them? 
- Too much.
Well, if this keeps up, I'll give you my jeans. And I'll give you something else. But then his finger falls and he gives up. He's exhausted, so I take pity and make up my mind. I take his shoulders and gently guide him down to the side. I almost end up lying on top of him too, but I slip out, miraculously managing to stay upright. I feel better, but it's not like I'm sober.
I take his shoes and easily take them off, then pull his feet up.
How thoughtful I am. How noble. How stupid I am.
I take the other end of the blanket and pull it up leaving as it is, then I go to the bathroom and get the wastebasket and put it next to the bed.
- If you have to throw up, do it here.
An 'Mmm.'
He's not asleep, but almost.

I crouch down and take a closer look at him, calmly.
He's damned handsome, a real angel's face hiding a demon.
A demon who was finally happy this afternoon and tonight. So you see that if you want you can be?
Do you see that you can still smile for real?
You'll see, one day you'll succeed.
I'm sure you'll sort out all your shit and come to me to claim what you haven't had the courage to do sober.
His messy hair is all over now and he's fine anyway. I caress his face with my finger reaching his lips, drawing them just the way they are, with those sexy, well-defined curves, then fuck it, I'm drunk too.
I lean down and gently place my lips on his. That's all I do. I kiss him just like that, lightly as if we were in a dream.
- Goodnight. - I whisper, pulling away. He makes another "mmm."
With that I walk away, bitterly regretting not being drunk enough to jump on him without holding back. Why did I have to test him and tease him? Why did I fuck that girl?
I had to fuck him, damn it. I'm such an idiot.
But after all, it's nice this way too; a competition isn't nice if it's easy and he certainly isn't.
See you next time, handsome devil.”

/Charles/

“I wake up because my head is pounding like a drum, making it impossible to sleep. But even if I open my eyes, it takes me a while to really wake up.
I open and close them, I'm technically awake, I see a room, I realize I'm lying on a bed, but I don't realize anything specific. I can't focus on the room and above all, I don't know what day it is or if I have commitments or things to do. I usually always have things to do, even on my days off from racing, so it's a spontaneous thought that comes to me as soon as I open my eyes.
What should I do?
But now everything remains still and silent.
I don't know how long it will take me before I ask myself.
- Where am I?
I slowly try to move, but as soon as I do, besides hurting, my head starts spinning and since I'm lying down, feeling it spinning is even stranger.
I stay like that looking around and I recognize the hotel room in Monza; I haven't left yet. Well, last night I partied and asked to keep the room for another night.
Well, one thing's for sure. I'm in Monza.
I doubt I have any plans other than figuring out how to get home. I hope Jo and Andrea haven't abandoned me. Andrea, perhaps, but Jo wouldn't dare.
Thinking of him I turn my head toward the bedside table searching for my phone, which I can't see. My eyes widen and I snap my head up. I wish I'd never done that before. The pang that grips me is so excruciating that I groan in vain. I press my hand to my forehead, where a circle is crushing my skull, to force my brain out. When it seems to become bearable, I sit up more slowly and go back to searching for my phone, unsuccessfully.
A little light from outside comes through the badly drawn curtains, allowing me to see a little and realize it's late in the day.
If they haven't come to see if I'm alive, I think they imagine I'd have slept all day, even though I don't know what the hell time it is.
Meanwhile, let's find the phone.
The first thing my gaze falls on is the bathroom trash next to the bed. I look at it with a raised eyebrow, not understanding what it's doing there. It's empty, so I didn't throw up in it and I didn't put it there. It's not something I'd ever think of doing when I was drunk. I think so. Someone put me to bed. Who could it be? It's usually Jo.
Then I look at myself and realize I'm dressed, but my jacket is on a chair that seems very far away. I frown and only when the urge to pee hits me, making me feel like I have two liters in my bladder, do I decide to get up, but everything feels like I've just been drinking.
I know I'm hungover, but I don't remember anything about what happened. Before I seriously try, I need to figure out where the hell my phone is.
Struggling to cross the distance between the bed and the chair, I realize it was three feet and when I reach into my pockets, I immediately find my phone which I'm relieved to find. My phone. I sigh when I see it's dead due to low battery, so I plug it in with great difficulty and finally the charging light comes on. Immediately afterward, I turn it on and while it takes its biblical time, I go to the bathroom.
I crawl, rather than run, even though I think I'll piss myself if I don't hurry.
My head is really spinning, but that's because I haven't vomited. If I had, I'd be fine now.
Why didn't they stick their fingers down my throat? Who left me here like a sack of potatoes?
As I expel all the liquids while sitting down, because if I'd remained standing I could only have caused harm, the first sense of relief from waking up hits me and only now can I think back.
I remember the dinner, I remember the place, I remember the people, I remember that Max was there, I remember Jo and Andrea leaving at a certain point telling Pierre they recommended me to him, I remember Pierre's girlfriend and him, of course.
I remember that we danced and drank and then slowly the things are getting blurry, I have scattered flashes. I get up from the toilet and go to the faucet, wash and rinse while continuing to focus on the flashes that come in. A nice kiss with Pierre, strategically obtained in the middle of the crowd. Dancing. Drinking.
Max sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, me feeling the urge to kiss him but drinking instead and then we looking at each other, me dancing in front of him, the smoke erasing and us almost kissing for the umpteenth time.
But we didn't.
As the flashes advance, the anxiety rises. What if I've done something stupid?
I smile softly at the newly unlocked memory. Me dancing in front of him was nice. Only when I was drunk could I have done it, but he was definitely gone too, so I don't think I need to worry too much. I know I had fun and I have no regrets.
I hope.
Another flash then unsettles me. Us on the dance floor, me dancing against Pierre and Max with a woman. Us making out our respective partners looking at each other. Then again the smoke that erases us and his hand that slips inside my pants and grabs my buttock. Thinking back the same surge appears, for a moment my confused mind makes me believe I'm there.
I stare at my phone which has just turned on and I'm shocked.
Only he could be so bold as to actually put his hand down my pants to grope me. Exaggerated.
I grin and lick my lips.
I look at the messages and missed calls.
Jo: 'Sleep as much as you want and when you're alive, call me so we can go home.'
How wonderful you are. They were wrong about the Madonna; it was actually a man named Joris!
I wait to text him that I'm alive.
Another flash occurs as I open the chat I have with Alex, George and Lando.
A series of messages about Lando who happily made love with Carlos, I smile. Someone's wondering if I'm alive. I read that George and Alex left me... my eyes widen. To Max?
What did they do?
As soon as I read, the memory unlocks and it would have been better if it hadn't.
What the fuck did I do?”

NOTES: I have my own personal opinions about these two and their dynamics and I'll explain all calmly throughout the fic. Some of it has already been seen, such as Max, after being rejected by Charles, on principle doesn't want to make the first move to avoid being rejected again (which is normal for anyone living in this world), while Charles is the more complicated one: he wants to, he doesn't want to, but if the other one made the first move, it would be better. So things between them aren't easy. Plus, their personalities don't help. I hope you'll continue to follow me, especially now that my favorite things are coming up. See you next time. Kisses, Akane.