64. HINT OF REFLECTION

/Charles/

"As soon as I lift my head after managing to take off his shoes, the first thing my eyes catch are his soft, red lips. The lower one protrudes more, as if he were pouting or inviting me to take it and suck it.
It looks like a cherry.
There are those who have lips that are not only full but also naturally red. Max is one of them. Maybe it's because of his pale complexion, where everything stands out more, like his blue eyes, for example.
Eyes that look wonderful with this light blue shirt. It's a shade that suits him incredibly well, but he doesn't wear it often; he tends to prefer blue or gray.
Everything stops in this moment, my mind first. My intentions were very clear until just now. I'll be good and wait for him.
But I think I just lost that intention. Lost somewhere in my fog that I sometimes emerge from.
It's like driving in a a long country road where sometimes you enter fog banks and drive haphazardly without seeing or understanding a thing, then you emerge and keep looking until you're back in.
But now I have the distinct feeling that I'm not in it alone, like before.
Now I know he's here with me, in this fog, and he's always with me even when I emerge.
Before, I thought I had to take this journey alone because otherwise it wouldn't be effective. Now I understand that if I want to get out of it, I have to get help.
As I look at him curled up between his legs with hands on his knees, I'm breathless as I realize that he's the one I want to get help from, just as I want to help him in return.
I'll take care of him from his father; whatever he's done to him since birth, I'll take care of it.
I smile sweetly and reach out to him, my hands still on his knees, I stretch my back to his face, then I close my eyes and abandon myself to the heavenly sensation of his lips on mine. His soft, warm and pulsating, finally opening in wonder at what he hoped I would do, but didn't dare expect.
I like to amaze him; I could live just for this. To amaze him.
He holds his breath as I do and while I simply press my lips to his and take his beautiful lower and suck it briefly, just as I wanted to do before, my heart expands in my chest. It starts beating so hard that a powerful, infinite heat rises up behind my closed eyelids. I squeeze shut and hold back the emotion before it leaves my eyes.
If I cry now, I'd ruin everything and I don't want.
And besides, he's too drunk to understand what's happening.
It's just a little gift.
Maybe later, so we can both remember it well, we'll do it again when we're clear-headed; it’ll be the excuse we were looking for to unblock the situation.
Because if we wait for the perfect moment, we'll never get there and it's a shame to waste all this time, right?
A little push and here is the perfect moment.
I won't go any further than this, his hands never even reach my face, they remain firmly anchored to the edge of the bed where he's sitting, dazed and lost in the fumes of his gin and tonics, which are now fading without drama.
I separate and we both open our eyes, we look at each other and I lose myself in his irises, so dear to me. I smile again without the slightest sign of agitation or regret.
I'd like to tell you that you're mine and that I don't want to share you with anyone or anything because I'm possessive as hell, but there will be time for that.
- And this? - he asks softly and hoarsely. Of course, if you talk to me like that with your voice, which is always my weak point, so maybe my French is yours, I won't get very far.
Don't jump on him, Charles. Don't roll him over on the bed.
- Hint of reflection. - I then murmur with a sly, confident air. He curves his lips in a satisfied smile and nods. He'll have given himself the explanations he can, it doesn't matter.
Now that there's a real precedent we're both aware of—because even if he's not very lucid, he's still quite sane by now—it'll be easier to get to that point.
I swore I'd wait for you to take the initiative, because you had to be ready given how much I'd made you suffer, but I'm the usual selfish bully who wants to lead and command. I can't help it.
- The next one is yours. - I add, hoping he'll remember this when he's fully recovered.
Max smiles wider, but he knows that now isn't the 'next one.' Even if he's torn between the world of dreams and this, he knows it.
He closes his eyes with a sense of victory and tiredness at the same time, as if he'd resisted with all his might even though he was in pieces, and now that he's here, he can relax.
Max begins to stagger and realizing he's about to fall forward, I get up and take him by the shoulders, leading him to the bed. I lay him down and he gets up his legs on his own as he automatically did everything I suggested from the club to here. How good you are at following my orders. Do you see that if you disconnect your conscience you are sweetly docile?
But I like it better when I have to fight with you, so yes. I'll just wait for you to come to your senses.
Max completely shuts down as soon as he puts his head on the pillow, as if he's completely exhausted or his nerves have been cut.
I pull the covers I'd carefully opened over him and caress his face, which has become the center of my days.
How things are going.
I straighten up and look at him, smiling for another moment, then my gaze flits over the shelf where he's placed the famous can of Stella Artois.
I'm not at all good at sharing my things, never have been, but I think for everyone's sake, it's best if I learn. Especially because from now on, I fear it will be increasingly difficult for us to control ourselves in public enough to not appear totally lost in each other.
He's especially bad at it, but I think the more I humanize myself thanks to him, the harder it will be to control myself in his presence.
So, Kelly, welcome; I have to make peace with her, otherwise I risk just messing everything up as usual.
On my way out, I turn off the light and cast a last, tender glance at Max, who is now asleep in his bed.
Life is so strange; no matter what you do, it always comes back to you.”

/Max/

"The feeling of his lips on mine is so light that for a moment I think it's a dream and that I'm already asleep, lost in my hangover; but then the heat overwhelms me as I open my eyes and focus on him.
It's his face with delicate features forming just a few millimeters from mine, his eyes closed, his lashes long.
I want to touch him to be sure it's really him, but my hands don't move and don't respond to my commands. They remain tightly anchored to the edge of the bed, because if I let go now I'm sure I'd fall forward and instead of a beautiful intertwining of lips it would become a resounding clash of teeth.
Charles sucks my lower lip and I close my eyes, abandoning myself. Whether it's reality or fantasy I don't know, but it's beautiful anyway.
The truth is that this asshole always knows how to surprise me. He can't leave me with the illusion of winning something; he always has to be the one to decide what to do between us and if he knows I expect one thing, he has to do something completely different.
It'll always be like this between us, but I don't think I'd want anything different. I'm sure we'll mak it in the end, but in the meantime he'll drive me crazy.
I really want to take over, open my mouth and meet him with my tongue, but he escapes before I can recover. 
At this point we look at each other. His face takes shape before me in its delicate perfection. Every feature of his face is simply perfect and I just think that if he really likes me, I'm lucky. 
How can someone like me please someone like him?  What would he ever like about me?
I don't have even a little of his beauty. What do I have that's beautiful? My eyes, maybe? It's definitely not enough. My personality is still a complete mess and my physique has maybe improved a little since I started working out, but it's still nothing decent, nothing anyone would look at.
But he looks at me like I'm wonderful and he has such a sweetness now that I just want to be looked like this by him forever.
- And this? - I ask hoarsely. He smiles slyly.
- Hint of reflection.
His hands clasp my knees on which he's leaning. He's stretched out like a sinuous cat to reach my lips and now that he's pulled away, I just want to take him back.
I really want that.
- The next one's yours. - he adds softly and persuasively. I smile and nod happily. 
I don't think I've ever been this happy, even if right now everything's confused and foggy because I'm not completely lucid.
I wish that 'next' were now, but I couldn't do it. I wouldn't really enjoy it and besides, I need to understand, sober, what this ‘hint of reflection' means.
Maybe he wants me to know that he's still here waiting for me and that he hasn't given up on us.
In an instant, so many things overlap and become confusing, but my strength suddenly fails me and there's nothing left except his hands that hold me. They grab me by the shoulders, keeping me from collapsing on top of him.
The adrenaline rush from his kiss gave me the strength to stay awake a little longer, but at the same time it also gave me the final blow.
I'm exhausted between the race and the post-race; I don't even know what time it is or how much I've actually drank, I don't even know what time it is or how much I actually drank, and what's more, I drank badly.
I just can't take it anymore, but he grabs me and confidently leads me to the bed. My head finds the pillow and I want to keep my eyes open to focus on him and imprint everything in my mind forever.
Charles taking care of me in my room.
What a beautiful memory. What a beautiful situation.
I can abandon myself without hesitation, knowing I'm safe and that I can trust.
It's the first time I've felt this way. I've always felt good and safe with Daniel, too, but this was different. It was an instinctive and unconscious relationship that entertained me and allowed me to be myself. It was a breath of fresh air, an escape.
Now with Charles it's different. I'm more aware, it's something I can't quite define, I just know it's different. Maybe I'm trying to grow, I don't know. However, I don't want this to be a one-time experience.
I want his lips on mine again. And I want to grab him too, suck him, violate him with my tongue. I want Charles naked in my bed. I want him forever.
As I wander in these desires, I realize that sleep has taken hold of me and I don't remember when he left.
But I want to remember this little kiss, I want to remember because was he who gave it to me, not me who stole it from him while he was sleeping. I want to remember it, so I cling to it with all my being, remaining there in that warmth and softness.
I'm starting to be truly happy.

The morning isn't as dramatic as hangover mornings usually are. Although calling 2 PM a "morning" takes a bit of courage.
As soon as I focus on the room around me, Charles's well-defined lips immediately emerge and a smile appears on mine.
It's literally the first time I've woken up smiling goofily and happily; it wasn't a dream, it was real. The best thing is that I remember it well; I haven't forgotten it, turning into a confused mental moment during a hangover.
Charles walked me home and took advantage of my state to kiss me. I wonder if he thinks he's gotten away with it or if he knows I remember. Maybe he just wanted to stick it in my mind.
What did he say? Hint of reflection? It's my turn next?
Well, it would be easy like that. He just seized the best opportunity; I'm easy to catch when drunk, it didn't take much.
But I want to see what he'll do if I don't follow him.
Hadn't we agreed that I would decide when I was ready for us after how much he made me suffer?
Well, I'm not ready yet.
I mean, I am, but he doesn't know it. We said this to each other sober, right?
Why does he always have to decide everything?
He kissed me and told me it was up to me. It wasn't like that. I should have been the one to decide and I decide I'm not ready yet. I want to see what he'll do.
Charles surely now expects me to come over and stick my tongue in his mouth, ending this stupid suspension between us, but it can't always go the way His Majesty decides.
Let's see what he'll do if I continue to do nothing. Will he seduce me? Will he jump on me?
Let's see what happens when I tease him and drive him crazy.
After all, once we get together, this beautiful game of courtship will end. Then we'll be a couple and even though we may have ups and downs and break ups, we'll still be two people who are together.
The best time is before we get together and there's only one time. I want to make take advantage of it a little.
So far it hasn't been like that. So far, it's just been difficult between us. Because he resisted with all his might what he wanted from me and I was never enough, he fueled my complexes—and I already had enough of my own. He deserves a little tribulation, too, after all.
Now he's given up, he doesn't want to resist, there are no more important things to accomplish, like being someone else's boyfriend or getting over depression or embarking on a journey of humanization.
Now there's absolutely nothing else above me, just me. And I say I want him to show me how much he truly desires me and how important I am to him.
Before he was running away from what he felt, now he's there waiting to be able to experience it. 
Well, dear Charlie.
Experience it.
Let me see it.
I get out of bed, still dressed as he put me to sleep, and I smile at my shoes on the floor. He's the one who took them off.
Then I touch my lips like a teenager who's just had his first kiss and I sigh as a frenzy runs under my skin making me unstoppable.
I want to run, jump and scream.
What is this crazy feeling in my head? It's almost like being drunk without being. I'm so excited that I don't even have a hangover like usual.
I can't wait. This phase of my life will be the best.
Things seem to be going well in F1 too, I'm winning races, the car is getting better and better, and I feel like I can achieve great things.
And then Charles. Charles chasing me and courting me could be the best thing in my entire existence. I don't ask myself any questions about tomorrow; that's fine. We'll see. Charles is the one who plans everything and establishes the paths and steps he has to follow; I'm not capable of that. I improvise and see in the moment.
I don't know what tomorrow will bring, I just know that today I want to be chased a little more.
With this rational and clear decision, I immediately slip into the bathroom and, after turning on the hot water, I relieve myself with a goofy, enthusiastic smile.
I feel like an idiot, but a happy idiot.
I can't wait to see him again.”

/Charles/

"Ever since I woke up, I've been ignoring everyone, and by everyone, I mean everyone.
I ignore them for a very specific reason. Because they're all suggesting things to do, since we have a week off before the next race, and I usually take advantage to organize and do things.
Things that this year are still full of limitations and prohibitions, but other than that, you just need to know how to do it, but it's possible.
However, I skillfully dodge messages and calls so as not to say what I'm doing and what plans I have. Mainly because I'm waiting for a proposal from one person in particular. One person specifically.
I mean, he'll remember yesterday that I kissed him. Okay, it wasn't a real kiss, but my damn lips romantically landed on his.
He was drunk, so maybe not so romantically. Max was actually drunk and it was easy to kiss him in those conditions; he was so docile and almost asleep but basically awake. The ideal situation.
But it was a hint of reflection. Technically I should have waited for him to make the move when he was ready, so I shouldn't have, but I couldn't wait. I tend to override, I can't help it.
I sigh as I wander around my living room like a lost soul, even ignoring the piano, which I usually play when I'm at home with nothing specific to do.
I wander around and pretend to clean up the mess, but in reality I just pick something up from the floor and move it to another floor, so I don't really do anything.
And maybe he doesn't even remember. Maybe he was too drunk.
To remember the details of our evening in Monza, I had to smell his perfume and so it all came back to me, even if he doesn't know and shouldn't know. It's more fun that way.
Do you think he doesn't remember that I kissed him and that I told him it's his turn next?
There's a chance, actually.
I look at my phone practically constantly.
I open it, see that there’re no messages from him, I ignore all the others and put it down.
I go to the kitchen, drink a glass of iced tea from the fridge, return to the living room, get my phone and open it again to see that it still has the same messages as before. Max doesn't give a damn about me.
Is he in a coma? Come on, it's already afternoon. I'm wasting my precious free day waiting for the little gentleman to show up at my house and stick his damned tongue in my mouth. How dare he? I've washed myself thoroughly as if I were going out, even though I've put something comfortable back on. I don't intend to leave before he comes over and resumes the conversation.
'Your turn' doesn't mean 'whenever you want,' but as soon as possible.
Meaning today.
Come on, you damned bastard!
Come here. Text me!
I go out onto the terrace and look down at the street, especially in the direction he's supposed to be coming from. There's the usual frenetic coming and going of Monday morning, but he doesn't come. I know all his cars. They all pass by, but he doesn't come.
I should text him.
I could ask if he's alive. I mean, I left him in his room drunk, it might be my duty to see if he's alive.
In a frenzy I go back to get my phone and open his chat with the intention of texting him, but then I stop myself.
What the hell am I texting him?
Are you alive?
Well, yes, what else am I supposed to text him?
When are you going to meet me?
I'm at home waiting for you, asshole!
No, he's not coming to spite me. He should be the one to decide, I left the ball in his court. I mean, theoretically. But in practice I'm always the one who decides, we all know that's how it is.
What the hell is he waiting for?
All right, let's pretend it's still him who decides. I told him twice. After the first time, I kissed him anyway, but it wasn't a real kiss. It was just a hint. A little kick in the ass. Which obviously wasn't received. Does he need more?
Okay, Charles, calm down. It's been a few hours. It's four in the afternoon, so give him a break.
You're suffocating.
I finally text him, but luckily I hold back.
'Are you alive?'
It seems like a normal message, all things considered.
Everything what? Well, everything.
If he's asleep, he doesn't respond right away; if he's awake, I expect him to do.
He might ask me to tell him about last night, which he doesn't remember. I'd be disgustingly honest and tell him about my kiss so he should give it back to me so he could remember.
He's an idiot, anyway. He had the perfect opportunity that day two years ago.
'Everything's fine, thanks. I woke up an hour ago, but I'm fine. You?'
I look at his message, which has given me a stupid heartbeat. I read it and reread it incredulous.
What the hell is this?
Is he kidding me?
He's just answering me like nothing happened?
So you really don't remember and you have no doubts? Don't you think it's strange that I'm asking you how you're doing? Come on, Max, is your mind really that blank?
I'm going to kill him now. He's doing it on purpose, I know him and I know he does it on purpose. For sure.
Now he sees. Now he sees who he can play with!
I know you remember and that you know it's your turn now. Obviously, by 'your turn' I meant today sober. Today he arrived and we happen to be sober.
Get off your ass and come here!
I'm about to write this to him, but then I stop.
Come on, Charles, pull yourself together.
You told him you'd wait for him when he was ready, then a few months later you kissed him and, to make yourself feel better, you reiterated that it was his turn anyway.
You have to let him do whatever the hell he wants, right?
I sigh and roll my eyes.
All right, do what you want, you'll see if you don't regret playing too much.
'Good, thanks.'
Cold, icy, arctic, sidereal.
Then, after this short response, I open my friends' chat and organize something, answering the thousand questions about what we were doing this week.
Many of them work, but not all. Those who are free quickly get involved with my boat. I rented a small yacht, nothing serious, and I called it Monza, but with everything that happened last year I barely used it at all. Then came the fucking winter and now that the days are beautiful, it's May and I happen to live by the sea, there's nothing stopping me from going out and having fun.
Max, fuck himself!
And Charlotte will come too. And I'll show up so our photos will go around and he'll bitterly regret it.
He who doesn't have much to envy me with Kelly, on the contrary.
Oh damn it.
Will you move, you damn asshole?”

NOTES: Charles possessive and vindictive is a spectacle. I've always imagined him that way, because in reality he's not good, sweet and submissive; he shows it in how he always stood up to the worst Max of the early days. This part where they challenge to jump on each other was a lot of fun to write and I'm glad it got its moment. Until next time. Kisses, Akane