58. MAKING YOURSELF HUMAN

/Charles/

"From his look, with his ironic eyebrow raised, I understand that perhaps it's too late not to show jealousy, perhaps because I don't usually bombard him with such obsessive and specific questions.
He seems about to ask me a question that's extremely uncomfortable and extremely direct—one of his, in short—but then he thinks better and responds still seeming amused by my attitude.
- The fact that we're Dutch allowed us to get to know each other; it's an old story that dates back to 2014, I think. Since he was a famous young Dutch talent like me and was supposed to give me a virtual award, they had chosen him to give it to me. From there, somehow, our friendship began. If you're interested, I'll tell you more.
Nothing, he's not capable of not giving me a jab. Which isn't what he says, but how. Mischievous doesn't do it justice. His eyes are full of that light that makes him even sexier. When I looked at his face a moment ago, all the blood rushed into my dick. His blond hair is all messy, this light thread of beard, the air of just waking up and now his hand behind his neck as if he's waiting for me to do something to him other than lean on like I'm his boyfriend.
This thing is driving me crazy, I can't take it.
Luckily for him, I don't know what Martin Garrix looks like, but if he says 'young talent' in 2014, I bet they're the same age and he happens to be cute, too.
- Don’t you like him? - he asks curiously, reading my expression too closely, which I deduce at this point I'm no longer able to control as well as I always have.
- I like almost all music, but I prefer Coldplay and the kind of music they make.
Max raises an expressive eyebrow, asking what that kind of music is.
- You know what Coldplay play! - I reply acidly, partly because he can't touch Coldplay, partly because I feel a little too exposed and I don't like it.
-And how do I know? You know I don't listen to music...
- Okay, it doesn't matter. Anyway, we'd already talked about music and I'd even played you some of the ones I like, including Coldplay; I thought you remembered.
This one slips out and so does my even more acidic tone, mingling with disappointment. So I roll onto my back to get away from him and leave. I immediately regret because as soon as I'm lying on my back, you can see the pole sticking out on the groin under the trousers. I didn't come first and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I didn't stain his bed and I didn't stain myself, but it's still all there that demands relief.
I don't even stop to see what he's looking like; I slip away very quickly, cursing with a French ‘shit’ under my teeth, in a clear and obvious display of discomfort brought on by a combination of things, the last of which is the clearly visible erection.
I reach the end of the bed and my feet are on the floor, but then I hear him say: - Hey! - that doesn't stop me.
I immediately get up as if bitten by a tarantula, feeling crazy, but as I rush to the bathroom I glance at him briefly and it's even worse. Max is still lying there, shocked and surprised, his arms outstretched in a gesture that demands explanation.
He's completely taken aback and doesn't understand what's wrong with me now, but he must have seen the pitiful state I'm in, and in any case he can't be so stupid as not to understand that I'm upset that he doesn't remember what music do I listen to. We talked about it in Japan, one of our first real conversations. He's keeping the empty can from our evening in Belgium and doesn't remember what we talked about that time in Japan when he hosted me in his room and we ate together on his bed?
He dried me off when I was soaked, lent me his clothes and even undressed me to put them on. It's the first time he's seen me completely naked and he didn't take advantage of me. I was out of my mind at that moment, but I remember it. I remember him wrapping me in a towel and hugging me. He could have taken advantage of me, but he didn't.
How can he not remember that conversation? Everything we talked about, and then how I hugged him when he read my thoughts like he'd cast a mind-reading spell? That night left a deep mark on me. Maybe that's when I realized I liked him. I'm not sure.
I slam the bathroom door behind me and immediately pull down my pants to assess the extent of my damage, not with the intention of venting now, but of slipping into the freezing shower and recovering. But just then, with my pants down to my thighs and my big, hard cock standing tall right here in the center, the door opens again and there's Max on the warpath, who begins with a thunderous: - Come on, Charles! - that immediately dies in his throat. But Look. So something's stopping you!
His stormy eyes immediately focus on the most obvious thing about me. I'm practically standing in front of him because I'd only taken a half step from the door, so I'm also turned toward him.
Max remains still in the open doorway and stares at me. From a frown he opens up and spontaneously exclaims: - Oh. - the sound of someone who finally understands. - Was that the problem? - he adds, as if a normal person couldn't figure it out on their own.
I still have my pants down, but now I leave them where they are and straighten up, spreading my arms imitating his earlier irritated gesture of someone asking for explanations.
- Do you think so? - I ask polemically.
But he doesn't seem have the slightest inclined to move from there and give me my privacy.
- It’s nothing I haven't already seen clearly. In fact, I can see it again whenever I want! - it reminds me that I took a photo of myself for him, with which I bought his silence with Pierre for that damned time in Japan, when I ran away from him and was with Max. But that's not why I wanted him to keep quiet. It's because of what I did before I was dragged into his room.
- Then go look at it and let me fix myself! Soon Jo will start calling me anxiously because I'm not in my room. I don't want to be unprepared for when he starts to... - but my voice dies in my throat because Max, in response, grabs his shirt from his neck and pulls it off.
So I lose my mind and stare at him in shock.
- What the fuck are you doing? - I ask choked.
In response Max also takes off his pants and with them his boxers, and for the first time I see his erection. I was usually the one who showed myself naked like mom made me. Now that I think about it, it's happened many times, but the little gentleman has always remained well-dressed.
With his cock in front of me for the first time in all its glory—and it’s not just to say—I go haywire. Like, a lot. And on fire, too.
- I have to get ready too, Sarah's not a pain in the ass, but if I'm late, she'll come get me in my room too!
It makes sense, after all I'm in his room, occupying his bathroom.
- So? - ​​I ask dazed completely in disarray, still standing with pants down and the friend between the legs in heat. Not that his is any less so. He's enjoying the scene I've offered him and perhaps even more appreciating the idea that just occurred to him.
Max goes to the shower and turns on the tap.
- So we wash together, so neither of us will be late!
An impeccable solution, except that I can't take my eyes off his cock.
Average size and length, perfect shape, which is not a given as we know, especially with no erection problems, another plus.
As for the rest, I know he's naked, but I can't take my eyes off him. I stand still like a statue and while the water gets warm, seeing he's already naked, he comes back in front of me, grabs the shirt I'm still wearing, and takes it off.
This wakes me up properly and that thing down there starts throbbing again as if it were alive.
I blush and emotion, along with the most powerful arousal, overwhelms me. As soon as it happens, Max looks at me and smiles, but no longer sly or mischievous, but sweetly. He changes his mood in an instant, a snap of his fingers. I don't know how he does it.
- Anyway, if you were worried about your ability to feel emotions, know that you don't have to worry about that. Both before, when you were jealous, and now that you're excited and moved, your face expresses it very well. So I'd say you feel and show it like everyone else. Maybe not with everyone, as you say, but it's clear that you feel. It's a positive thing, right? What you did at home worked.
When he says that, it's like he wakes me up, somehow. I don't move and I don't know what I want to do, I know I should wait, but instead I just want to jump on him.
For Christ's sake, he's naked in front of me and I'm naked too. I bend slightly to one side and then the other, as if swaying sensually even though that wasn't the intention; with my hands, I give at pants a final tug to make them fall. They slide down to my feet easily and when I feel them reach my ankles, I straighten up. I never even took my eyes off his. I didn't mean to seduce him, but in the end, maybe I did.
If I take a half step forward now, our cocks will touch.
Do it, Charles. Take that half step. Let your erections touch.
Be satisfied. He's teasing you, you see? If that's not a tease, what is it?
But then the hurt I've done him comes back, the memory of what we said to each other last night resurfaces.
I have to wait until he's ready. I owe it to him.
So I melancholy sigh and take that half step back, stepping into the shower and turning the faucet to cold water that flows over my body, taking care not to wet my head. Not that this bothers me any less, since I let out a completely spontaneous cry.
Hearing Max laugh, I turn to look. His face lit up with laughter as he looks at me makes me feel less frozen. I almost don't even notice that the water is cold.
Shortly afterward he joins me, but he doesn't change the water, he leaves it as it is; I immediately move aside to give him space without touching, so he rinses himself off too, like me, only on his body and, again like me, screaming with a curse, and it's my turn to laugh.
- You could have changed it. - I say grabbing his shower gel to hurry up. As soon as I see it's the famous Armani, I bite my lip and consider going back under the cold stream, but Max closes it, steals the bottle and squeezes it, splashing me as if it were something else, exactly the same thing we both stopped just before.
The scent makes everything start over again. This scent drives me crazy, but more than anything, perhaps, because it's associated with him. It's his.
I remember when I smelled him earlier, he couldn't smell it. If I smell Max now, I will smell that scent. I might not be responsible for myself, I think he knows that. If I look him in the face now, he'll definitely have one of his provocative expressions and I might fo back to being that uncontrollable maniac. Maybe I'd rub shower gel all over him.
The bastard splashes some on himself and luckily he avoids rubbing his hands all over me to soap me up. Luckily he washes himself and lets me do the same.
I concentrate on the tiles of this nice, big, comfortable stall, rather than on him, his hands and whatever he's washing so well. I try to wash myself down there quickly, turning my back. Not that showing him my ass is any better, but honestly I need that cold water again.
It'll never be okay until we fuck and then the rest can be whatever we want, but this desire won't change or diminish. It won't be enough to give ourselves a thousand good reasons to hold back and wait, it won't be enough to stay away. I think we'll always want each other.
I'm showering with Max and I just saw him completely naked. I'm walking down a very dangerous path; I don't know where I'll end up, but I can't stop now. I can only try not to rush too fast, but now there's only one direction and it leads to him.”

/Max/

“Getting naked in front of him and taking a cold shower certainly wasn't my plan, but I'm known for never planning anything and improvising everything. I don't think it's something about me I'll ever change, no matter how hard I try.
I admire every inch of Charles's beautiful body with pleasure and attention and I'm very happy to do so.
His physique is perfect, even if it's not as athletic and muscular as Daniel's; it's slimmer and its lines are more sinuous. Especially those of high, firm ass, which he shows me to avoid letting me see that he's still getting excited.
It's hard to shower with your erotic dream, at least we're all sure of that.
I give a satisfied smile. It's the best morning of my life. Even before, when I woke up with him sleeping on top of me, it was incredible. He was on top of me like he was my boyfriend wrapped around me and then we were talking and looking at each other like that, so close, so natural.
Thinking back to that moment and how it ended abruptly, I resumed the conversation where I'd been chasing him without thinking.
- Anyway, I remember that night well. Even all the times we hugged and when I saw your dick. I also remember what we talked about, but not the details about the music because I don't give a fuck about that. But I do remember that you like fashion, chess, golf, diving, climbing, the mountains...
I repeat everything we said that time.
- And don't you remember what music I played that night? - he asks still sulking turning to me, hesitating with his hand on the faucet. We remain soaped up in front of each other, careful not to touch even though we both want to.
- I remember how sad and anguished your eyes were. Two pools of sadness. And I'm happy to see that they're not so sad now. In fact quite the opposite. - I look at him more carefully, tilting my head to the side as I place my hand on his. He tenses, his eyes wide, but he doesn't move, I turn the faucet to hot.
- You were happy before, right? There was a moment when I saw you serene. Am I wrong?
I know how to hit and sink, I've always been good at it.
Charles opens his beautiful hazel-green eyes wide again, which I can see so well from this close up, and turns the faucet to cold making me smile in amusement. He does the same and finally we turn it to warm.
We turn on the water together and he nods indecipherably, still beautiful.
- Yes. - the jet doesn't wet either of our hair; the receiver is at a height that allows us to avoid our heads and to rinse ourselves we have to take turns under the jet. We do it like a dance, but we don't touch each other anymore. We share a strange shower, which isn't really erotic, not in the classic sense. Nobody touches anybody, we almost touch all the time and do everything we can not to collide and maybe this is sexier than if we really touched; I don't think I'll forget.
- I thought you didn't remember anything about that night and I was disappointed, not jealous.
Finally he answers as I put one of the hotel's white towels around him, just like I did that night in my room. I show him that I remember it well. I cover his head and almost his entire face, but then, with two fingers on his chin, I lift it toward me to look him in the eyes up close, without fear, this time, of touching him.
- And you weren't jealous of Martin? - I insist because I know what I sensed before and I loved it. At this point Charles takes the edges of the towel and pulls it under his chin, that I leave, in a tender, protective gesture; then makes that little, annoyed pout again, so human, so expressive.
- Maybe I was a little... - he finally concedes. I think that for him to admit something like that, especially with an expression appropriate to what he's expressing, is a huge step forward and I smile happy both for the admission itself and for what it means to him. In the end Charles smiles too, without realizing it, banishing his tender pout and embarrassment, as if he has no choice, as if he can't control himself around me.
I'm therefore one of the chosen few on his famous white list. One of the few destined to receive his emotions and feelings.
I'm truly lucky and it's the first time I've thought so.
Thank you, Charles, for coming into my life. You're making me human and I think better than before.

After that, we try to control the conversation and keep it on general topics like the usual COVID, F1 being different from the pre-2020 one and various other topics until he, wearing a couple of my clean clothes since his ended up under our feet on the bathroom floor, jokes about how it's starting to get full of my things.
- I think I'll have to dedicate a section of my closet to you if I don't start giving you back the stuff you lend me!
Charles laughs about it and his face gets prettier every time he does it.
I laugh too until he receives a text reply to the one he'd just texted, perhaps a way to get out of my room without being noticed by our guardian friend. As soon as he reads it, he nods as if to say "it's time" and grabs the door handle to leave.
Before letting him go, I reply without thinking too much: - Who knows, maybe one day I'll actually have space in your closet!
As soon as I say it, I see him stumble as he crosses the threshold where he's holding onto himself to avoid falling flat on his face; I burst out laughing and he turns around giving me an embarrassed look at the not-so-subtle implication.
Finally, without saying anything, and therefore without denying it, hysterical, red as a boy with his first crush, he slips out like a thief, saying: - See you later.
Yes, Charles. You've truly revolutionized my life, even though something tells me you're just getting started. I'm really curious to see how it goes from here.

Everything was fine until I read his text, which arrived as I exited the elevator.
'Let's try to start this sixth season in F1 off right and not suck like the other times.'
His text is a wonderful, shitty good morning. He couldn't help but remind me that he's father of the year and that he brought me into the world only to make his dreams come true, the ones he never achieved, and that if I'm never able to do it for him, then there's no point in having me and spending so much on me.
He didn't want a fucking child, but a fucking winning driver. He was supposed to be Lewis Hamilton's father. He would have been happy!
But I think if Lewis had had my father, he wouldn't have even been able to win a world championship! No one could.
My mood immediately turns sour as soon as I read it, and I visibly huff and puff as I came in the corridor towards the breakfast room. As I enter I run into Charles, standing with Lando and Carlos, waiting to be seated at the reserved tables, which are also set to be 'legal' at breakfast.
What the hell is this all about? When the fuck will it end?
- Come on, all four of us want to be together! - I blurt out rushing in with my brilliant mood. The other three look at me, while the dispatcher looks at me as if I were swearing.
I know you understood correctly. Are you looking at me like that? Look, I'm really crooked right now, thank my dad.
I think I'm staring at him so badly that he's actually careful not to hit me head on and is trying to approach me more diplomatically. Diplomatic with me? Please!
- But Mr. Verstappen, I can't allow that. There's a pre-established program here for your safety.
- So what are these for? - I ask annoyed, slamming the mask into my face with the elastic band, which actually hurts me.
- For your safety.
- And the fucking swabs done before coming here?
- Always for your safety... - the guy is cornered and shitting himself while Charles, Lando and Carlos chuckle, amused by the scene, but Charles's gaze is also attentive, as well as amused. He must have realized something's happened.
- Then let us sit together and don't be a pain in the ass, we're already pretty safe!
With this I step forward and head straight for the first four-person table I come across, the guy even dares to chase me and say: - Not that one, it's reserved for Mr....
- Give me mine, what the fuck is my fucking table? - I almost bite him, I'm really pissed off now. If he doesn't stop, I'll shove his face up his ass.
Finally the guy gives in and points to mine, letting Charles, Lando and Carlos come with me, who follow me still giggling under their masks.
As we walk away, Lando doesn't bite his tongue.
- Good morning, huh? The usual ray of morning sunshine, I see!
Carlos looks at Charles questioningly and Charles shakes his head in response, as if to say he has no idea what's wrong with me.
Fuck my dad, fuck Covid, fuck everything!
- Did you guys shower together, anyway? You smell the same! - Lando then says as he sits down at one of the four seats at the table. We each take one and I see Charles staring at him, his eyes wide. He can barely contain his embarrassment, but he's making the chair slide too much, making a huge mess. This stops me from wanting to tear someone to pieces.
- And then Charles's shirt... Max, isn't that one of yours? - at this outburst, again from the idiot I have for a friend, Charles almost falls off his chair sitting badly, while Carlos slaps his idiot boyfriend on the back of the head, warning him.
- Shut the fuck up, for God's sake, Lando!
Because apparently it's obvious to Carlos, but apparently not to Lando.
But it's not seeing their little scene that magically brightens my mood, but rather Charles is trying to make the mask he's wearing even bigger than it is. It actually covers, but not as much as he'd like and this ends up making me laugh and feel better.
He's really embarrassed, but look at that! He's starting to lose control, huh?
So you can tell we spent the night together?
At the thought that it's clear enough, I light up as if no one had just dared to bust my balls.
- Hey, we can lower our masks at the table! - I tease him as I lower mine too, followed by the other two who also end up laughing. Charles disagrees staying with his mask on and shaking his head.
- I‘m not hungry anymore!
At this all-too-clarifying answer—which, fortunately, is only truly so for the three of us; perhaps it would be for Alex and George, but I don't think for the others—I start having a mental trip of Charles and I having breakfast together in the middle of everyone, but as a real couple, not just friends.
Even though, even as friends, it's nice to be together.
Friends. Charles and I. Who would have thought?
How much we hated each other?
How much has happened since then? Last year we barely spoke and now... now we're friends?
And isn't my scent on him like marking my territory?
Charles is trying like crazy to look everywhere but at me, while I, with my chin resting on my palm and my face turned completely towards him, stare at him cheekily with a rather irritating, demented, amused smile. Something that doesn't at all resemble the me of a few minutes ago, when I was about to tear that poor guy to pieces, who was only following his director's orders.
I realize it now and I'm even happier. Stunned, perhaps, but happy.
Charles was enough for me to get over my father. His mere presence here beside me. Once upon a time there was Daniel and all his commitment, accompanied by his smile and his splendid body, then after him there was a long period where I struggled not to bang my head against the wall.
Now, it's enough that Charles is beside me. This and my perfume on him, along with my shirt. I don't know why, but I like this.
This year, to hell with everything and everyone, my father first and foremost.
This year I want to fly, both in the car and with Charles. Yes, I really want to fly.”