74. UNLOCK THE SITUATION

/Charles/

“The song that comes on is like pulling a plug and putting another one on. As if it were necessary.
It's one of those recent releases that's been around a lot, but it's a Martin Garrix remix that just made my blood boil.
He's good, the guy, I admit, but what irritates me is his bond with Max. They even go on vacation together if they happen to. I mean,
How can I not be jealous, irritated, deeply irritable about this?
He's damn cute, like my Max.
Or baby, as I called him before—hopefully not too loudly.
Flashes of what I've done reach me late, just like now when I'm about to leave when I see Garrix at his private party.
I don't know why I do it, but my legs move on their own, making their way through the crowd, who aren't too many and, above all, not strangers. They're all people from Max's circle who are somewhat trustworthy. Not strangers, anyway.
My mind processes completely useless things as I move and consider things that are beyond my interest.
I just want to leave. I know I could be comfortable enough here to party, and I really like this song, I even dance to it when I hear in clubs, but now I want to punch him.
Was it necessary to make him come?
I'm going, I don't even know where, dodging people, when a grip grabs my wrist and pulls me, making me fall onto the asshole who dared to grab me.
Which I know who, obviously. But I'm confused. Damn confused. I don't even know where I am right now, my head is spinning from the hasty movements and the sprint, so I lean completely against him, trying not to spill what's left of the gin and tonic on him, even though I want to. I damn well want to.
But I'm good. I'm still.
Here, in his arms and against his body, against his chest, everything is better. Much better.
My mind is easily distracted by the feel of the toned texture of his muscles.
- Max, have you been particularly committed to the gym? - it's a totally out of place question right now, and he laughs surprised.
- Do you like me?
I soften, my knees suddenly weak; if it weren't for him I wouldn't be standing. I feel him holding me up completely by the waist.
He smiles and his face is so close that it's more intoxicating than alcohol.
- Of course I like you. - I murmur spontaneously, without turning my mind on. - Even without the gym, I liked you. I like you anyway. But congratulations anyway. - I finish uncontrollably.
When a mischievous smile appears on his face, which seems happy, it's as if I vaguely come to my senses and remember that we're not alone; with a delayed reaction, I realize that I've said and done too much.
I separate the essentials so as not to attract prying eyes, but as soon as I do I waver and struggle not to fall. Max, who was leaving me, grabs me by the waist again, but at this point he seems to be falling too, so I hold him back ending up laughing like crazy idiots.
We look into each other's eyes, but the music gets louder becoming particularly rhythmic, so we end up nodding without saying anything; we wouldn't be able to anyway, in these conditions. We've both drank too much and besides, tonight we're just here to celebrate. We'll leave the rest for tomorrow.
As if he understood it on his own and agreed—for once in our lives, we're in agreement about something—he takes my hand and leads me to the others in a less exposed area of ​​the yacht. Some are dancing, some are drinking and chatting, almost everyone is laughing, some are moving to the rhythm more, some less; I also notice that here with us are only people who know about us, all our friends among people who have something to do with F1, like colleagues drivers, and who that are completely outsiders.
Checo is also here with us because I know he had to tell him about us and he reacted very well; those who are here but don't know are left somewhere else on this enormous multi-story yacht, and I believe, in the fog of alcohol that grows out of all proportion as time goes by, that we can all be quite calm without overdoing it. As long as I remember the common concept of 'don't overdo it.' And that Max remembers it too. It's not a given. I don't know how drunk he is, but I know I'm pretty drunk!
The songs follow one another, one more beautiful and captivating than the last. Some people dance without hesitation because they like it, while others pretend to because they're embarrassed. Some then do it while clinging to someone else under the pretext of alcohol, daring a little more than usual, but the beautiful thing is that we all feel equal. No one is out of place.
It's beautiful, even if maybe it seems that way because I'm drunk like everyone else here.
The desire to let go and seduce this piece of asshole who drives me crazy is growing so much. As I dance trying to hold back, I glance around to make sure I don't risk getting into trouble.
It's presumably the last glimmer of pseudo-lucidity, but once I notice no one here has a phone in their hand and that we're not near the railing where someone outside might film us, I soften and stick to him permanently, moving the way I like to, as if he were my lap dance pole.
I don't do anything too wild or exaggerated, to be honest; I just move my hips against his, without overdoing the rotation so as not to attract attention. If someone isn't looking carefully, they won't even notice that I'm moving as if I were about to fuck him, but the person in question definitely notices.
Max lights up and becomes liquid and eager, he licks his lips and eats me out with an expression full of passion and desire. The same desire that's in his hands, which willingly grasp my waist, pulling me even closer than I've already done. I raise my arms and hold them wide apart without touching him with any part of me other than my hips and the area under his hands.
It feels almost as good as drinking, I feel like I'm still doing it even though my glass has been abandoned somewhere and I'm no longer gulping down any alcoholic beverages.
At this very moment I'm at the point where I know what I'm doing, I'm perfectly aware of it, but I'm not deciding it. It's as if someone is pulling strings and moving me at will, and I don't have the strength to fight anything, I just let myself be carried by the current. It's like catching a slipstream on a track and staying in it.
I'm completely instinctive and he loves it.
Max is happy here in front of me; I can see it in his eyes, an intense, intoxicating blue, that never leave mine.
I want you so much, Max, that I can't resist any longer.
When another song I really like comes on, I forget how jealous I am of Martin Garrix and end up being grateful for him being here, enriching the atmosphere so beautifully, warming it up even further, as if all the alcohol and our desire weren't enough on their own. 
My arms wrap around Max's neck, my body rubbing against his, while everything around me has disappeared. I feel like I'm alone, but when someone bumps into us, I realize we're not, and it's just as my mouth is about to land on his that I stop in time, heart in my throat, I pull away and rub my face and my sweaty, messy hair.
Shocked by what I was about to do here in front of everyone.
I'm not myself, I'm not myself at all. I drank too much.
Tonight if I'm alone with him it's a fucking disaster, because he's in my same situation and neither of us can stop from going further with the other.
I shake my head and fan myself.
- I have to go to the bathroom. - I blurt out, hoping that peeing and freshening up will be enough to recover.
It's when I turn and start walking that I hear his hoarse voice slyly announce: - Yes, I have to pee too! - and as soon as he says it, I know it's a bad idea.
But it's too late to stop him now, because he's following me and even though I turn and give him a stern warning, he returns it with a mischievous expression that just makes me laugh.
One of his slapping expressions that I would like to kiss.

Not knowing where the bathroom is, I end up following him and he leads me somewhere; we find one, obviously it's small and only for one person because it's not a place with public restrooms.
I go in first and he follows close behind, locking the door behind. It's exactly at this point that my heart jumps into my throat and pounding so hard that the adrenaline momentarily seems to wake me from my drunken stupor.
It's a moment, just enough time for me to actually feel the urge to urinate, so I shake my head and turn toward the toilet, giving him my back. I unzip my pants and try to pull my dick out to pee, when I feel myself wobble fearfully and without his hands promptly grabbing me from behind by my hips, I'd fall to the floor, probably pissing myself.
- You’re drunk, huh? - he asks laughing hoarsely into my neck.
- You too! - I reply annoyed, shivers running down my spine.
The music is quieter here and we can even hear each other, but the tension and desire take over and no words come out.
Max is holding me up from behind, but since he's drunk too he's quite unsteady and the result is that I can't keep still. And by not keeping still, and perhaps also because of the tension of having him on me, I can't pee even though I really need to.
- So? - he asks amused, waiting for something that doesn't come out even though it should.
I roll my eyes and curse, exasperated and heated.
- I can't!
- If you want, I'll hold it for you, maybe it'll melt... - he says low and persuasive, poking his chin onto my shoulder. His head rubs against mine, as does his body behind me.
I feel his hard groin still locked in his jeans and I can only mumble a halting: - Max, no... - as his hands slide from my hips to my groin and then reach my penis, grabbing it.
I think it's the first time it's happened. Is it possible? He's often seen me naked; I've rubbed myself against him, but always fully clothed, and then he slipped a finger inside me.
But I think... I think I've never had his hand on my cock so directly as it is now. So hot. So beautiful.
As I realize this, I relax against him resting my neck on his shoulder, close my eyes and sigh with pleasure.
This is where the pee finally decides to make its triumphant exit, and I don't even know if I'll get it in the hole. I hope Max is thinking about it, because at this point he could do anything to me that would be fine anyway.
The pleasure is strange because there's the relief of urinating mixed with the excitement of his hands directing on my cock. A cock that's now exclusively in his hands, because now one of mine is hanging down—the one I was holding myself before—and the other—the one that wasn't touching anything—on his face, directing it towards mine with my typical arrogance. How I bullying.
He told me to do it, right? I'm just pleasing him.
We look at each other while I think I've even finished pissing, though my hard cock is still in his hand, now moving up and down without restraint. Maybe he owes me a favor, I don't know.
I feel him masturbating me while our eyes lock onto each other at this millimeter-deep proximity, we inhale our gin and tonics, continuing to get drunk.
The music comes muffled from outside and I lose myself in his face, so close, so sexy.
Everything I want is here with me.
In the end I don't know what it is, if it's the alcohol, if it's me, or if it's him.
I don't know what takes over and who makes the first move, but finally our mouths are moving closer without stopping and this time we both stick out our tongues just before the lips meet and fuse, while the hand that's not busy jerking me off slides down my chest, moving up my neck and then my face to hold me close, just as I'm already doing with him.
I'm as drunk as Max is and maybe if we weren’t, this wouldn't happen, not now, not like this, but fuck it. We're finally kissing.
We're really kissing.
And this time it's a real kiss. That kiss we've been waiting for to break our deadlock.
Exactly that one.
Fuck it, nothing matters anymore. You're mine now, Max.”

/Max/

“I would never, ever dream of moving, stopping or doing anything other than playing with his tongue.
I'm completely drunk and I have no control over my body, so I don't know if it was me who took the initiative or him, but I know what's happening.
I know we're kissing, finally, and that only means one thing.
Finally I’m his and he’s mine.
We’re finally together.
Not knowing what we’re doing but doing it, is a bit like catching someone's slipstream on a track, giving it our all in pursuit of that stretch of road that makes you pick up speed. Do everything the car in front does and stay as close to it as you can to go faster and faster, more and more until you overtake it and go in front of it.
It's been that way since we joined. It was like we were both  taking each other's slipstream.
His tongue and his mouth taste like Gin Tonic and it's like continuing to drink, this instead of calming us down turns us on even more; my hand moves frantically on his cock which is getting harder and harder and which I can finally touch without having to limit myself.
It's wonderful. He's my Charles and he's here in my arms.
His mouth, his tongue, his cock, his body, everything is on me loose and hot and he holds me against him with his hand on my face as if to keep me from withdrawing and running away.
But don't worry, at this moment I don't have the slightest strength to break away from you.
The movement of my hand increases as does our kiss which sucks us in more and more; when he starts pumping unequivocally I think 'ok, I'll stop now, he's about to come' but before my body responds to the order of my brain, he shoots I don't know where and as he comes he leans on me trembling tensely full of spasms, panting. He stops kissing me and closes his eyes abandoned in my arms, on my chest, on my neck, against my own cheek.
I would like to look at him but in this position I can't, so I just hold him and caress him under his black t-shirt. We're sweaty and hot and I still have my hard cock pressing against his nice firm ass.
Were you top with Pierre, huh? So no one ever put it in you?
Well, but if you want we can... but I can't finish when Charles recovers and suddenly overtakes me at the last corner at a point that is totally out of logic, he slips out of my grip, grabs me and pushes me against the sink which I suddenly lean on so as not to fall. I hope I don't break it, but it's a very vague thought because then Charles occupies every little mental residue, attacking my mouth which he takes into his, sucking frenetically and hungrily, as if the gin and tonic was produced directly by my lower lip. A mischievous and blissful smile appears as I simply let him do whatever he wants, like this year in Monza.
But there he limited himself to masturbating me, now he goes down without hesitation.
He bends over his wide legs and unzips my pants.
I don't remember why we were dragging it out and maybe now it went exactly the way I wanted, but everything fades away with his fingers pulling out my cock and his face stopping for a second to contemplate it. I think he likes it, after all I'm already hard and ready.
I just wait for his mouth and his tongue and while he hesitates admiring me, I hold my breath with a rush of anxiety and excitement.
There's this very brief moment that precedes the one I've wanted most since I realized I wanted to fuck him.
His mouth on my cock.
In this very brief moment when I know it's about to happen, I get even more excited. His sexy as hell face still inches away, his hand on me already hard. He moves and looks and his eyes shine full of desire and I'm about to come like this.
I moan his name almost begging, and luckily that's all that's needed for him to make up his mind.
Charles opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue and reaches the tip. Shivers cover me from head to toe and I try not to lose eye contact with this show that I enjoy from up here.
Charles goes down the entire length with his tongue and wraps his lips around it to the side going up, then when he reaches the tip again he takes it all in his mouth and continues with his hands where he doesn't reach. He comes out and licks again and comes back to take it, squeezes and sucks and I ose myself. I lose myself completely.
I roll my eyes and let my head fall back, letting every moan and sigh fill the bathroom. My hands slide onto his disheveled neck and accompany the increasingly faster movements of his head.
Fuck, he sucks great. You can see he has gained experience. Pierre was of some use after all.
With a mischievous grin I let Charles' name fall from my lips again, and with his hand wrapping around my cock and swollen balls from underneath without the slightest hesitation—as if he were telling me that every part of me is his without question—I think I'm warning him that I'm about to come, but maybe I'll just grab his hair and pull to get the juice out.
Not that I'll ever avoid coming in his mouth, but I'm just afraid he'll end up vomiting and I don't want it to end like that now.
Charles stiffens for a moment annoyed, then seeing me squirt on the floor he abandon himself on my legs and rubs getting up satisfied. When he reaches my face, he grabs my hair and pulls too, though not using excessive force. The result is that I enjoy it instead of hurting, and I smirk understanding why he does it.
- Next time you pull my hair, I'll rip your balls off! - with this delicious threat, thanks to his French accent and his adorably fluid "r," he pulls my lip between his teeth, but again it's too sensual to hurt, especially since he ends up sucking it while I abandon myself to the intense pleasure that floods me everywhere, completely disconnecting me.
My body trembles and it's his turn to hold me up. I feel as if someone is pulling the plug on me, and I think I'd faint if it weren't for Charles now invading my mouth, kissing me forcefully.
This is where I regain my composure. Or, perhaps, I lose myself completely.
In fact, us kissing in the bathroom is also the last vivid memory I have.
From here on, everything becomes chaotic and dark.

The light returns after an indefinite amount of time, at an equally indefinite time.
Lying in a reasonably comfortable bed, a bed that moves. There are two explanations for this clue: either I'm still drunk or I'm still on the yacht from last night.
But before I can focus on anything around me by opening my eyes, I use my hands to feel the bed and only when I do so, do I realize that I'm not alone.
The sensation of my completely naked body under those precious sheets of who knows what expensive fabric essentially makes me realize that I must have fucked someone, and only as soon as I realize it, the terror of having screwed up yet another time gives me such an adrenaline rush that I wake up suddenly and feeling reasonably well.
I open my eyes with anxiety skyrocketing and my heart in my throat, as well as a terrible headache that reminds me so much of the one I experienced during the 51 G a few months ago.
I hope I haven't fucked anyone other than Charles!
A twisted prayer, but after the night I suppose I've had, I challenge anyone to have a better one. When I turn my head toward the presence sleeping on top of me, I'm about to pull his hair and lift his head to look him in the face, but I stop myself with my hand on the back of his neck and the flash of his threat from last night to never dare do that again. The last thing I remember, by the way.
I don't pull any hair or lift any head, I sigh with relief and roll my eyes, suddenly relaxing as I realize it's Charles.
I let my hand caress him instead of pulling roughly and let him continue sleeping while my mind regains a pace appropriate to my condition.
Anyway I just woke up after a night of pure debauchery, to say the least. I drank every gin and tonic I can reserve and I don't think I even vomited, so it's still all in my body.
I'll have to take three hundred hours in the sauna to expel the toxins, which I'll take care of before I go home.
What the fuck time is it?
My eyes wander around the cabin; it's a typical yacht cabin, so I think it's the same one from last night. Luckily, it's just the two of us and luckily... my eyes widen, realizing it with a rather delayed reaction.
Naked!
We're naked!
Both of us!
I feel his foot hooked onto mine, my hand sliding down under the sheets in search of obvious confirmation.
Yes, his ass is all naked and warm.
With a wild look, I lift the sheets and look to be definitively certain of what I fear and that even in these conditions, albeit with a delayed reaction, I can understand.
We're lying naked in bed.
Don't tell me we fucked and that I was so drunk I didn't remember, I could shoot myself!
Take the slipstream, I thought last night. But look here!
Did we go from not even kissing to fucking in one night? It wouldn't be a problem if I remembered.
Please, don't let it be true, it can't be. I can't have fucked Charles and not remember it.
I bite my lip in annoyance and grimace, trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to find out.
Maybe he remembers, but I'd like to be aware of it before I make a fool of myself and ask him.
I try to move around to see if I'm in pain and when I bend my legs, slightly raising my hips, I get tragic confirmation.
I haven't had a dick in my ass in too long to not feel the effects the next day. Besides, it's hard to forget the feeling.
Shit! Shit! Shit! 
We fucked and I don't remember. SHIT!
I slam the bed without thinking too much, pissed off with myself, and that's how the handsome prince wakes up.
I'm furious, wanting to tear the whole yacht down, but as soon as Charles moves his head, resting his chin on my chest and looking at me from up close in this state, so beautiful and confused and above all crumpled, everything in me falls apart.
The anger, the annoyance, the regret and everything else suddenly give way to wonder and this ridiculous serenity brought by his beautiful face up close.
A face as beautiful as it is confused.
In an instant, looking at myself in his green eyes, I realize that not even he has the faintest idea what happened last night after the bathroom.
And here comes the chaos. If at least one of us remembered, that would be one thing, but like this... what do we do?
We pretend nothing happened even if we know?
What's the point?
- Max? - he asks in his hoarse little voice and his even more pronounced French accent. Which makes me start the hard of a good morning. Slow, but inexorable.
My hand is still on his body, even though I've already noticed his nakedness, it's as if I don’t want to let go of his soft skin.
He prefers dogs, but from the position on his stomach with his bent leg entwined with mine and his butt arched, he reminds me of a cat.
Okay, Max, come to your senses and don't get distracted.
- Good morning? - It was supposed to be a normal greeting, but it ends up being a question.
- It depends. - he says, as if for once we were perfectly synchronized.
His hand moves from my chest to my groin, searching for what I'd found earlier. When he realizes it, he looks at me hesitant and terrified at the same time.
- Have we fucked?”

NOTES: So, if anyone has read my other fic, "Sweet but Psycho," you'll notice another similarity in the bathroom scene, if only because it's again the location of their first actual kiss (albeit in different years). Coincidentally, I just published that chapter, as if I'd planned it on purpose.
Abu Dhabi 2021 remains one of the stages of their relationship where I'm sure something must have happened (even if in the other fic it's just an erotic outburst and in this one it's their first kiss and subsequent union).
In general, this fic differs because I decided to do much more and much earlier than the other, where I tried to hold back and be more "realistic," as much as that can be with those two.
The scene in this chapter had been deeply implanted in my brain when I planned it, so at the end I couldn't help but write it that way. It wasn't supposed to be romantic, because they weren't yet, but just extravagant like the two of them are. I hope I managed to add enough eroticism despite the situation.
They finally got together, too bad they don't remember the most important part. What will they do? See you next time. Kisses, Akane.