72. CATARTIC

/Charles/

“Max stares with his blue eyes at my finger pointing at his face. I wouldn't call myself inquisitive, but threatening. I feel like I have smoke coming out of my nose and red eyes like a hellish beast.
I haven't felt this way in a long time; the last time was always his fault, by the way.
What a fucking gift this idiot has.
Now it's time to clarify this concept because if there's this little secret he's been keeping from me, I'm going to destroy him.
- What? - he asks shrilly.
Wrong tone. Now I'm going to explode.
I'd grab him by the shirt if he had one, like I did in Belgium, but the star is shirtless and in a hell of a lot better shape than I remembered. I can tell he's been working out; his body is very well-shaped now.
Don't look at his pecs. Look at his fucking eyes!
However, since I need to grab him, I cup the lower half of his face with one hand—his chin and cheeks. The gesture is pure arrogance, I realize as I move closer to his body until I'm almost touching him; the shivers start inexorably, but I'm too angry to let them overcome me.
My heart races wildly and my brain is completely disconnected.
- Do you like Lewis? - I ask again, low and penetrating. I'm acting crazy, and maybe I am, and it's all his fault.
I've been doing everything for him ever since I realized I want him; I'm forcing myself to wait for his fucking convenience, even though I hate waiting and doing what other people want if it doesn't coincide with what I want, and he fantasizes about Lewis? No, thanks! You're not kidding me!
Max doesn't touch me, his hands remain resting on the edge of the desk where he's leaning with his ass; for a moment I don't know what's going through his head, even though he usually shows it very well and I've always found him easy to understand. But maybe it's the fault of me squeezing his face, so I let go and without thinking, completely out of me like I've never been, I slip my hand into the pants of his racing suit still on; it's open and hanging down his hips.
I also reach into the tight underwear he's wearing, then without hesitation I grab his cock and pull it out for better maneuverability. Then, still forceful, I masturbate him.
I open my mouth bringing it close to his, which reciprocates in the same way waiting for something I won't give him now; as I move closer, making him dream of a kiss that will never come, I move my hand up and down and he's already hard. It didn't take him long; he was already ready. Too ready.
Teased by someone in tight white boxers, perhaps?
Max remains speechless, straight and wide-eyed, staring at me; his hands still at his sides, gripping the desk. My mouth deviates from his and slides onto his cheek, I take his jaw between my teeth and bite lightly, then move to his ear.
- Be careful what you say, Max, because I'm really pissed off.
- You have a funny way of showing it. - he couldn't keep quiet, of course. No, he wouldn't be him if he didn't make a joke at the most inappropriate times.
My hand increases the pace on his groin and he throws his head back; he closes his eyes in pleasure, his face in the ecstasy I'm giving him.
- Who do you like, Max?
- You, I like you... - he murmurs hoarsely, sighing, totally involved in me.
I continue moving on his cock, which is now throbbing bigger and bigger; I think it won't take long for him to come.
I finally touch it properly. For a moment I'm distracted and the anger subsides as I remember that day in the showers in I don't even remember which city, when we were interrupted at the most exciting moment by the wonderful four just when I had just grabbed it. I was about to suck his tongue just as I want to kneel down and suck his cock, which, this time, I'm holding tightly in my hand; but that would be too much. This is already wrong, I'm going beyond my plans again.
My mouth presses against his ear and between bites and licks, Max moans and dares to do it with that damned erotic and naturally scratchy voice of his.
Damn.
But he's good, he doesn't touch me.
He abandons himself to me, allowing me to do whatever I want and while it happens, I have a flash, perhaps the missing piece, or just confirmation of what I'd suspected for some time.
He wants me to manage our relationship, to decide when, what and how; me to fuck him, me to kiss him, me to make him mine. But I'm still convinced that he should be the one to choose when. Then, obviously, I'll choose the what and how.
- And Lewis?
Hearing his name, Max moans and his hand ends up on my ass.
- Lewis what? - he asks, confused.
I go down with my mouth on his neck and I nibble and suck it, increasing the movements of my hand on his groin.
- Do you like him?
He seems to be thinking about it and this, strangely, makes me react differently than I thought. Instead of leaving him and kicking him in his balls, I rub my body against his while I continue to give him the treatment. He's completely offered to me and simply holds my buttock in his grasp, completely abandoned and addicted.
- Not as much as you.
- Not as much as me it mean you really like him? - I insist, licking more deeply along the line of his neck, starting from his collarbone and ending at his ear. Max is now at the limit and about to come. I slow down to get his response and he, understanding what I want, gives it to me.
- A little, it's an old erotic fantasy of mine, but no one is on top of you for sure.
At this sincere and satisfying enough response, I lick his ear again, smiling mischievously.
I start increasing the pace with my hand again.
- Do you like me more?
- Like crazy... - he whispers between sighs.
My hand is faster, my tongue still on him, my whole body on him, incredibly excited.
- Am I still above everyone else? - I ask presumptuously, exposing this extremely domineering and self-centered side of me. All the flaws I've always tried to suppress so as not to disappoint my father. Flaws I'm giving in to because that's simply who I am.
- Yes, you are... 
And Max knows it. He nods frantically, unable to take it anymore, and I, happy, make him come diverting the splashes to the ground in time, admits the loudest moans. His body shakes violently and his head lolls back, while I place my hand on the back of his neck, through his messy hair, and pull him toward my face. Max lets himself be docile and I feel it, I feel it with absolute certainty, he likes it.
It was everything he wanted and hoped for. That I'd take charge and dominate, just like he told me in Monza.
‘Bully me as much as you want,' he said, right?
Well, here I am. I hope you enjoyed it.
- Don't forget it. - I say, my lips pressed against his cheek.
Max curls his gorgeous mouth into an excited smile, turns his eyes toward me and from this suffocating closeness, we look at each other.
- Impossible. - he replies. With that I bite my lip, struggling enormously not to stick my tongue inside him. But this, dear Max, I still believe is up to you to decide, because it's your sacrosanct right.
Then there's no way I'll let you drive for the rest of our relationship! I'll grant you the privilege of only taking the decisive step between us, because it's a kind of important gift I want to give you, but hurry up, I can't take it anymore.
After that, I don't know with what force my legs move and my body separates from his, but I'm in obscene conditions, so obscene that I pray to all the saints not to meet anyone on the way out, and luckily my prayer is answered. Actually I shouldn't have been here either; I wandered around the paddock with the excuse of checking on Lewis, but I clearly wanted to see Max.
How the fuck twisted we are. Will we ever get together? Sometimes I have doubts.
Sometimes I think we'll go on like this forever without making a final decision. But I remember that day at his house a few years ago, when I was out of my mind and he made me come with his finger inside me, while I was rubbing against him.
I really had to give it back to him.
Even if it wasn't really "revenge," it simply brought out my overbearing, selfish and, as he says, domineering side. But I think he's doing everything he can to get it out of me, because I really think it's one of the things he likes most about me. Just as I like his shitty sides, he obviously likes mine. We're made for each other; only the two of us could like each other just the way we are.
Besides, no one has ever had the effect he has on me. It's absurd; sometimes I think I'm like a drug addict.
After I manage to get to the bathroom before heading to the car and then off to the airport, where a few people will be impatiently waiting for me to go home, I pull down the pants I'd already put on—thankfully, they're still baggy—and watch my toy bounce in the air. I bite my lip and curse, shaking my head and rolling my eyes.
Move it, you idiot. I'm going crazy.
Without thinking too much, I lick my palm and grab my cock now all ready. I think back to his, which I finally had in this same hand. With a toned, warm and perfect consistency.
It was wonderful. If only I'd knelt down, I could have had it in my mouth.
Oh, God... the orgasm is liberating, but only a faint consolation compared to what I demand as soon as possible. I can't resist much longer.”

/Max/

"I already knew that having Charles chasing me and hitting on me was sublime, but I didn't think it could reach such levels. I was ready for something, I expected him to burst into my room, but I honestly didn't think he'd reach the point of sticking his hand down my pants and giving me a handjob. He even washed my neck, half my face and my ear with his tongue.
He was really excited and on edge, I think he's at his limit and he's definitely doing to himself what he just did to me. I remain still, leaning against the table with my pants and boxers pulled down to my thighs, my cock hanging limp, the cum stains splattered on the floor, something has gotten into my lowered tracksuit.
I'm still panting hot and definitely red in the face, since my pale skin isn't taking long to get colored.
He was jealous of me and Lewis.
I rub my mouth. If only he'd kissed me now, we'd be done and together. As soon as his mouth ends up on mine, we'll fuck, It's just that we've become obsessed with this. We have to kiss first, but the first real kiss, one full of passion and tongue—and above all with intention—has to be done in a certain way. It's an important thing.
But he finally did everything I've always hoped for. Or rather, what I've been hoping for for a few months.
Before I was convinced that I wanted to decide, jump on him and do with him however and whenever I wanted, but now I've realized it's different.
I want the hug, the warmth, the powerful squeeze.
I want the sweetness, the excitement, the romance.
I want to be taken, loved, adored, possessed.
I want him to do whatever he wants to me, to decide about me and manage me, because I know that whatever he wants to do to me, I'll absolutely love.
Because it's a wonderful, sweet surrender, and I'm tired, so fucking tired of always fighting against someone or something. Of running faster to overcome everything at all costs and be first and win. What do I gain if I get there first in this relationship of ours?
I don't care. I just want to surrender to him and he has to take me. I want it to be him.
Now he's finally done it and I knew it would be wonderful. I just had absolute confirmation that this was exactly what I wanted, I wasn't wrong.
Surrendering to his mouth on me, his tongue, his hands, was the best thing that's ever happened to me. Feeling so wanted and desired.
When he cupped the back of my neck with his hand and pulled me toward his face, I thought he was finally going to kiss me, but His Majesty still has control and I'm starting to think he'll never compromise on this.
Our kiss.
He wants me to decide. I sigh dreamily, touching myself to put myself back in place, but I hesitate for a moment, thinking back to his hand that was there just moments ago.
Prevail again, my dear Charles, I'm here waiting for you to do it.

Honestly, I don't race with any convictions other than winning.
It's easy.
It's just a race to win, one of many this year.
That's all I think about. Not that if I win this one, I'll win the world championship.
My first world championship.
So the whole time I'm totally focused on this concept alone. Winning the race. One race. The last of the 2021 season.
A race like any other, I told myself before starting.
Just one like all the others.
But it's not, I know deep down that it's not, and it's not easy because Lewis and I have the same number of points, so it's essential to either win or at least stay ahead of him.
He who has won seven world championships like Schumacher, and if he wins this one, he’ll move into the lead as the greatest driver of all time. Even though, honestly, he already is.
No, it's not easy, because Lewis has always been a kind of reference in F1 for me—him, Fernando, Seb...— and apart from that, he's fucking good.
They had problems this year, but they recovered amazingly and at a certain point he was unstoppable; he recovered so many points that his season was absurd, just as I was damn good at not giving up.
The truth is we both deserve it, but I wouldn't share the trophy with anyone, and I want that fucking trophy. I want it like crazy.
So this time if it weren't for my dad, who knows how to push me, I don't think I'd be able to stay focused and race like I always have this year.
His words sound as if he were repeating them to me on a loop over the radio.
- We fought so hard for this, for this day. I was a real asshole to you, but I did it because I knew this day would come. The day you would be ready to win everything. You've suffered so much for this, Max. So now get in that car and show me we did it all for a reason. Show me I was right to use bad ways to get the best out of you.
I won't forget what he told me before the race. And I won't forget what I thought without telling him.
'I'll show you instead that you were always wrong when you told me I'd never do anything with the races, that I'd never win anything and that I'd end up driving a truck! I’ll prove you I'm not a fucking good-for-nothing!'
It was with this state of mind, which some might call murderous, that I got in the car earlier.
I like to think of myself as a predator. I've always been compared to a lion and I think I truly am. I stare at my prey and don't let go until I bite; once I catch it, I don't let go.
My race so far has been perfect, except for the start where Lewis proved to be incredibly good and passed me straight away. But I never gave up, I never made a damn mistake. I've always been right behind him and whenever the opportunity arises, we seize it.
Safety car, accident at the end, I go out to change tires even though I know they might not restart the race. There's a lot of debris to be removed, it's almost the end and by regulation they shouldn't restart it, but it's the last race of the season and a world championship is being played here, literally.
Lewis is ahead of me, but he hasn't changed tires, convinced it's over, I changed them instead.
I could do it. In fact, I definitely could.
They just need to restart the race and even if they are all negative, I know it can happen and I'm ready. I never lose focus for a single moment.
As soon as I get the green flag, I'll overtake him and win.
That's all I'm focused on. There's nothing else.
I'll leave the details of the rules to others. I don't know how it could happen, how they could do it. I just know that the fucking green flag is enough for me, then I'll do my duty as a driver and prove to everyone that I'm not some fucking Mad Max.
I stayed focused on the race the whole time and drove without thinking about anything except doing everything right and driving as hard as I could, but it was at the accident that I understood I could do it and as soon as I realized it, I got nervous. My nerves were on edge, for a moment. Just before I heard the announcement that they were letting Lewis and I finish the race for the spectacular nature of the world championship.
At this point I close my eyes, my heart in my throat. If I make this mistake, I'll never forgive myself.
But it's here that my father's thundering and contemptuous voice resonates only in my head, but this time he says what he should have said before.
'Prove me wrong. That you're not incompetent and that I've never really wasted my time and money with you.’
Yes, dad, I'll prove it to you so I can shut you up once and for all.
If I do this, you won't insult me ​​anymore, you won't piss me off anymore. I'll never suffer because of you.
After this I'll be free once and for all, because if you try to mistreat me again, I'll be able to tell you that I've already won a world championship.
As I think this, the green flag arrives and I go and damn it, I don't think about anything anymore.
Only about overtaking Lewis.
Only about going through all the remaining curves and straights.
Only about grinding out kilometers and speed.
I eat up the track with Lewis behind me trying, but without new tires he has no chance and that's how it goes.
I cross the finish line.
I win.
I win the race and the world championship.
My first world championship.
As I pass it, my father's voice spewing insults at me since I was a child, fades and gets lost among the screams of everyone, my engineer, Christian, myself.
I did it.
I did it.
I beat him.
I beat my father.
For all the punches I received, the insults, the pushes, the punishments. For all the desperation and anger and hatred he brought out of me.
For everything I suffered, I finally did it.
I beat him. I finally made it and I'm so out of my mind and stunned that I don't know what I'm doing, if I'm crying, if I'm screaming, if I'm cheering, if I'm still running.
I don't understand anything, to be honest.
Except that then at a certain point I get out, jump out of the car and run, jumping onto my team, all the Red Bull members gathered there for me. They all hug me and for a moment I don't understand anything, until I feel two strong, powerful hands forcefully grab me and squeeze me. He lifts the visor of my helmet and takes it, resting his head on the opening, and there I see his eyes filled with tears.
- You did it, Max! I'm so proud of you! I knew you could do it! You're the world champion. You're the strongest! You were good, perfect!
It was all for this moment. My life so far, the hardships, the pain, the anger, the shit I've swallowed, the punches and insults I've received. Everything for this moment. To hear him say these words.
It's here that the world disappears, the screams around me fade and only this devastating wave remains, giving me the final blow.
A final blow that comes out of my eyes.
I'm crying.
For the first time, I think, I'm really crying, and not out of anger or pain, not out of the desire to give up everything and run away.
I'm crying out of joy.
I cry and hang on his neck, hugging him for the first time in such a heartfelt and profound way. Maybe even desperate, because I feel that if he weren't holding me so tightly, I wouldn't be able to stand.
Hearing these words from my father is like making peace with him and forgiving him. I shouldn't do it, it wouldn't be right, but it's all so right and cathartic, somehow, that the most basic and instinctive feeling in me takes over.
I'm a damn fighter and I've won the hardest battle of all, the one against him.
Now I'm free and he's happy with me.
After hearing nothing but insults since I was born, nothing but dissatisfaction, nothing but corrections, nothing but things that weren't right, he said he was proud of me and that he knew I could make it.
Hearing him say that, is the most shocking and beautiful thing in my life. And devastating. And I don't know when I'll recover.

After the celebrations, which last I don't know how long, I take off my helmet and everything underneath and try to get my shit together to figure out what the fuck I have to do.
It's only here that I remember that I beat Lewis, taking away his well-deserved eighth world championship, and that I have to congratulate him.
I turn around to look for him and see that he's still in the car, some of his people are standing near him trying to figure out how to help him, but the truth is that no one dares touch him.
How the fuck has he been in there? It took me ages to celebrate.
Will he ever come out? I wouldn't come out. I don't think I could do it in his place.
I get through the things I have to do, giving him the necessary time. I have to shake his hand in a good manner, but I'd like to do it anyway. I know there will be controversy surrounding this race, in a corner of my mind I understand that, but anyway I won and I don't care about the details.
But I understand Lewis. Regardless of everything else, he still lost a title in the final kilometer and it's not easy. It wouldn't be easy for anyone. It would be unacceptable for anyone. I would bang my head against the wall.
Only after a few hugs, greetings and various maneuvers, when I'm in front of the cameras for the usual post-race questions, I see he's gone. He's exhausted, serious, tense and devastated. You can see he's been crying and he's just trying to be a man and do what needs to be done. And honestly I don't know how he manages it, I don't even know why he tries.
I don't even want to torment him. I was thinking of letting him do it when he felt like it, without forcing him, even though I know it's something that needs to be done. But he's the one who comes to me and he does much earlier than I expected.
While I'm answering questions in the parc ferme, stopped in front of the cameras, I feel a squeeze on my arm and when I turn around, I see him and I have a heart attack.
Lewis holds out his hand and I shake it back, shocked and upset. He congratulates me on the victory, the race and the world championship. He slips his arm under mine and wraps it around my back; I return the grip on his shoulders. We look at each other, I’m completely in disbelief that he's congratulating me. Me, of all people. The one who stole his eighth world championship, which according to the rules should have been his.
How does he do it? 
He compliments me and I reciprocate, and we exchange a few words. He says that it was a spectacular championship, and that today I've always raced like a champion. Hearing him say that, given who he represents, who he is and especially what he's going through right now, is touching and meaningful to me, and we end up hugging.
What I feel is strange, almost like a punch in the stomach. He has such strength of spirit that I don't think I've ever seen it in anyone. Despite everything, he's here in my arms, tired, exhausted, thin and destroyed, and he definitely hates me right now, but not only does he greet me and shake my hand, he even hugs me.
I don't know how he did it. I would have smashed everything in his place. I wouldn't have shaken anyone's hand, much less the rival who took the title from me. I wouldn't have spoken to a soul, especially not the journalists. I would have gone straight to hide.
Then it's all chaos anyway and there's time before the ceremony they have to prepare; we go into the tunnel in the garage that leads to the awards area. I see people walking past him, dodging him because he must be in terrible shape, and no one dares approach him.
No one except Seb, who is the first to go to him without hesitation.
When I see him go and that Lewis accepts his presence and then his embrace, I think, okay. He'll be better now. He'll take care of him.
Seb then congratulates me and hugs me with his typical warmth. Looking at them, I thought he'd never look me in the face again, but his grip is powerful and sincere, and his face smiles happily for me.
- I'm happy, you did great! I knew you'd win, and you'll see, it's the first of many, Max.
I can see he really believes in it and I'm happy to know it. I'm struck by how much he likes me and has taken me to heart, and once again I have the feeling I've been having with him lately.
If I could go back in time and choose a father, if that absurd possibility existed, I'd choose him.
I would have won the World Cup today anyway, I'm sure of it. But I would always have been happy.
But evidently things have to go this way, their own way. Shitty for a while, until finally something starts to go right and everything straightens out and redemption arrives.
You suffer, yes. And you always suffer to get to a specific point.
This was mine. Today. For that 'I'm proud' I never thought I'd receive.
I won and I'm finally free.”

NOTES: Charles being angry and provocative is always a good thing, especially if he then gets sexy and does dirty things to Max, who, being as cunning as anyone, knows exactly how to get what he wants. I love how Charlie has become so expressive over the years. If you look at photos of him from his early years in single-seaters, he's completely different than is now, and his evolution fascinates me.
The decisive victory race (Abu Dhabi 2021) was obviously important, but since it's well known how things went, I focused only on the details I liked and wanted to highlight. Since I've often included Lewis in that season, I wanted to, let's say, conclude this sort of narrative arc between them, given the previous stories I'd included and the related changes. Furthermore, the scene involving him is true, the drivers initially passed by him without approaching because he was suffering, at a certain point Seb started and then the others did too. Obviously, as a Sewis fan, I loved that moment even though it was heartbreaking.
The relationship between Max and his father is one of the most important themes of the fic, so I insert it every now and then and emphasize certain things (making them up because only they know the truth, I always repeat it), like for example that he was definitely Max's greatest motivator. Although, in my opinion, the way he motivated him wasn't always normal and positive. See you next time. Kisses, Akane