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In hindsight, Max probably should have thought this through more than he initially had. While he is known for his instinctive driving on the track, off it, he’s more levelheaded than one would expect. Right now, of course, is not a good example to make that case. In fact, he would very much prefer it if this moment were to be considered a side story in his life. Not really part of the main plot. A pocket of time where anything and everything goes.
The shallow gin and tonic in his hand is cold and slipping away from his fingers due to the water coating it. He has barely sipped it; the one time he did, it tasted like ash and only the burn ripped through his throat. The sun beats down on him from every direction, even reflected off the water and the tinted windows of the yacht. Perspiration gathers on his forehead and nape, soaking through his plain white t-shirt. He is quite certain that his face looks like a red cherry right about now.
The whole area is silent, only the soft lapping of the waves against the boat’s hull and the odd screech of a bird flying overhead can be heard. It is this silence that helps Max to immediately pick up on the footsteps behind him; loafers upon marine plywood. He doesn’t need to turn to know who it is. There were only a couple of people on this yacht when he boarded it and only one who would, for the lack of a better word, saunter across its front deck.
“You should come inside,” the man says, voice light and relaxed like he has all the time in the world. Maybe he does. “The upper deck has both the views and some shade.”
Max has half a mind to retort that his own boat has great views, thank you very much. But he’s not currently on his boat. He turns to the left and yes, his one’s docked a few yards away. He turns all the way around to look at the man through his sunglasses, a light smirk, more reflexive than thought-out, playing across his lips.
“You called me here to show me some views?” he asks, free hand slipped into his shorts’ pocket. He doesn’t miss the way the man’s head tilts downwards slightly, then slowly back up again in a dragging motion.
“No, I called you here to give you a gin and tonic.”
It’s said in a serious tone, but Max catches the ghost of a chuckle behind it. He doesn’t break eye contact as he takes a slow sip from the glass in his hands, plum lips wrapping unnecessarily around the rim of it. If the man hadn’t been wearing glasses, Max would’ve seen his pupils dilate. He does, however, see his jaw clench.
“I’ve tasted better,” Max comments finally, waving the glass around like it’s the least interesting thing he’s even seen.
“You’re well experienced then?” the man asks. Suddenly, he doesn’t sound so relaxed. Or maybe he never was to begin with.
Max almost replies with, “In gin and tonics?” but doesn’t. Because he knows they aren’t talking about alcohol anymore. When he doesn’t dignify the question with an answer, the man walks forward, slowly, calculatingly, until they’re toes are almost touching. Until it’s just the affronted gin and tonic keeping them apart.
Max has been in much closer proximity with many men before but this, it feels more personal. Maybe because he’s secretly planned it for a while. Or maybe because he hasn’t planned it at all. He feels both in control and lost at the same time. Like he’s floating with no clear direction to swim in.
“That was the onboard chef’s attempt at it,” the man tells him and by God, if that isn’t the best aftershave Max has ever smelled. “I am sure I could impressive you more… if you give me a chance.”
If you give me a chance.
Max likes that. Likes the way it’s phrased. Where the possibility of him not giving a chance is also entertained. It helps him to retain some sense of control.
Or maybe it doesn’t matter who’s in control of the moment. Maybe it doesn’t even matter if this is the main fucking plot twist of his story either. Because if there’s one thing Max Verstappen loves to do, and has been doing for the past few weeks, it’s fucking with the media. And if he can get fucked while fucking the media over… well.
“Lead the way to the top deck then,” he replies finally and with that, he follows Toto Wolff into his yacht.
Max admits, rather grudgingly, that the views here are better than the top deck of his own boat. Or maybe that’s just because of the way they have docked. Either way, he doesn’t care as he sets the glass down, glad to be rid of its slippery surface and biting cold. The top deck is about the size of an average living room, with one side lined with cushioned benches adorned by pearl white pillows and the other by a counter hosting an impressive array of alcohol. Max catches a few labels that pique his interest, but he puts that off for later.
Because right now, Toto is standing behind him. Wordlessly, he turns around. They’ve both abandoned their sunglasses and are now staring at each other; Max’s turquoise blue against warm brown. Max stalks towards him, smile playful but eyes borderline desperate. He would rather not admit how many nights he’s dreamt of this.
When he’s close enough, he reaches out and pinches the triangular end of Toto’s white collar. His eyes trail along the Austrian’s face, his jaw, his neck. He twists the collar, edging it to the side to reveal taut chest muscles. It’s teasing, it’s infuriating. He fucking loves it.
Toto clearly doesn’t because in the next second, he’s yanking Max flush against him by the waist. Through the thin fabric of their clothes, Max can feel Toto’s defined abdomen. And against his hip, he can feel a raging hard on. He feels a bit lightheaded when he takes a moment to gauge the size of what Toto’s packing. It takes a lot of restrain not to dop to his knees right there. Instead, he brings his free arm around Toto’s neck and pulls his head lower, closer. Until they’re breathing each other’s inhales and exhales.
Max is pleased to see that Toto looks absolutely feral: eyes blow, breathing laboured and grip bruising on Max’s hip. It’s something he takes great pride in; making men lose their absolute shit with just a teasing glance or a flirtatious word. He loves to test their limits; see how far he can tease them until all logical reasoning leaves their body and their only mission is to get Max into their bed. Not that he always follows, sometimes he just does it for the fun of it. He’s left more men hanging than not. But sometimes, he reaps the fruits of his labour.
Now, is one of those times.
Toto looks down at him like he wants to devour him and Max leans up on his tiptoes and darts his tongue out, running it slowly along Toto’s bottom lip.
“Come on then,” he whispers, “impress me.”
He said he loved to test men’s limits and that seems to be Toto’s.
With a growl that resonated from his throat, Toto crashes their lips together. It’s hot and messy and all painful. Max can do little except wrap his arms around Toto’s shoulders. He opens his mouth eagerly as the older man’s tongue slips in, hot and wet and exploring every corner of Max’s mouth. He moans into the kiss as Toto grinds their hips together, the friction reminding Max of how hard he himself is.
Toto’s hands slip under the hem of Max’s t-shirt, rough and commanding as they run along his back, his stomach, his chest. His eyes nearly roll inside his head when Toto’s hands brush over his nipples.
“Fuck, your body’s so soft,” the older man says as they break apart for breath. And the compliment shoots right to Max’s dick.
Toto all but rips his t-shirt from him. The moment the fabric is out of the way, Max drops down onto his knees. He eyes Toto’s hard-on through his white slacks but instead of unzipping them, he nuzzles his nose against the other’s crotch. He looks up at him through his eyelashes, giving his signature puppy eyes which he is sure will do magic of its own.
Toto’s hand finds its way to Max’s hair, curling in the soft blond locks, but he doesn’t guide Max’s face anywhere. So, he likes the tease. Although Max can clearly see the effort the man is putting in to not taking control. He decides then not to push and quickly unzips the trousers in front of him and pulls them down along with the pair of boxers.
His face must betray him to a certain degree because Toto chuckles and mutters, “Impressed?”
Max smirks, “Very much.” And that’s the only warning he gives before he runs his tongue all along the length of Toto’s cock, one hands moving to fondle the other's balls and the other groping himself through his shorts.
Toto throws his head back, mouth open in silent pleasure. Max gives it a few more cursory locks before he tentatively wraps his lips around the head. He flicks his tongue across the slit at the top while making pointed eyes contact.
“Fuck, look at you, looking all innocent while begging for cock,” Toto rasps out, his grip tightening in Max's hair. “Heard you gave the best head around the paddock… Can see that it’s true.”
Max resists the urge to roll his eyes and correct him to say that he hasn’t given head to anyone on the paddock for them to know first-hand how good he is at it. All the men he has been with in bed so far are from the world outside of Formula 1. So, in a way, Toto is a first. The first step to Max enjoying the delicacies that have been around him the whole time, hopefully.
Right now, though, he has a task to do. And he makes sure to do a brilliant job at it. The hand that was fondling the other’s balls is now massaging the length of his dick as Max slowly takes in inch by inch. He could always deepthroat it in one go but this is far more entertaining.
“Wish you could see yourself right now,” Toto breathes out, “flushed cheeks, lips wrapped around my dick, like you were made for this.”
By the time Max’s lips hit as close to the base of the cock as he can get, Toto has gone to a repetitive cycle of clenching and unclenching his hand in Max’s hair. He bobs his head up and down slowly, tantalisingly. He moans once or twice as his own jerking gets him off. Through it all, though, he maintains eyes contact, and it’s when Max has his lips wrapped around the head and he sucks on it, that Toto loses every ounce of self-control he may have had.
His hand in Max’s blond locks tightens once more as he keeps his head still and starts slamming in and out of his mouth, face-fucking him at a brutal pace. And fuck, if Max doesn’t live for this: the moment where men ditch their restrains and have their way with him.
“You look fucking beautiful,” Toto says in between grunts, “taking my cock so good. You love this don’t you? Fucking made for it.”
He chokes a few times. Moans more. And makes sure that his face is the perfect look of blissed out.
Just as Max thinks he might cum in his shorts, Toto pulls out, leaving Max spluttering and gasping. A thin line of saliva and precum stretch from his lips to the other man’s dick. Toto pulls him to his feet and kisses him before Max can even catch his breath, precum and saliva smearing across their chins.
“You were almost there,” Max says as they pull apart. The ‘So was I’ is left unsaid.
“Don’t want to come in your mouth,” Toto growls back. “Want to fill you up somewhere else.” And with that, he pushes Max back onto the cushioned bench, where he falls with a small gasp. He does quick work getting rid of his shorts as the Toto does the same to his clothes.
He reaches into a built-in drawer underneath and retrieves a bottle of lube and a condom. Max doesn’t dwell on the ‘why?’ aspect of it too much because he himself is no better. However, he does reach out steadily and pluck the condom out from between the other’s fingers. He flicks it across the deck where it lands out of sight.
Toto raises one eyebrow but does not comment. He instead says, “On your stomach,” as he lathers his fingers in lube. Max dutifully obeys. Toto uses his dry hand to grab a throw pillow and Max silently lifts his hips up as Toto slips it underneath. The older man takes a few moments to possibly admire the view this new angle gives him before Max feels him grab his ass cheek and spread him wide open. He can feel his pink, puckered hole pulsing, almost begging for the cock he had thought of for so long. Cold lube gets squirted onto his hole and a rough, stead finger comes to massage against it. Max moans as the pressure builds before eventually, the finger slips in.
“Ungh, yes, fuck,” he stutters, and his eyes slip shut. Toto’s finger plunges into him and starts to move, in and out, twisting around, feeling him out.
“Hm, so eager,” Toto mutters before quickly adding a second finger into Max. Then a third. Then a fourth. By which time, Max is a moaning, drooling mess upon the cushions. The older man does quick work of flexing him open. “Tell me, how many men have been in this hole?”
Max finds it very hard to reply through the fog in his brain.
“How many?” Toto repeats, his voice darkening to a level that has Max preening.
“About twenty,” he breathes out. It’s rough number but the truth is certainly lesser, not higher.
“My my, what a slut for cock,” Toto chuckles. “Although with the way the rumour mill goes, I would’ve expected far greater.”
“Well, that twenty’s only penetration,” he shoots back. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to clarify that. Maybe to show that he’s just as experienced as Toto is despite the large age difference?
He pulls his fingers out suddenly and Max gets a moment to breath, to right himself, before he feels something blunt and firm and much too large to be a finger press against him.
“I’ve waited for this. Quite some time now,” Max hears Toto huff above him. And then he’s being spread open as the man above sinks into him. He closes his eyes and moans.
“One,” he hears Toto say. A frown pinches his face. “Two,” the man goes on.
“What?” Max asks, breathless and airy, gasping the word as more of the cock gets buried in his between his warm, clenching walls.
“Three.”
Of fuck, Max think, he’s counting the inches as they go in.
The realisation makes his eyes roll back as he slumps his head forward, incoherent babbling muffled into the pillows.
“Four.” And Max feels so full. Despite having taken it much deeper. Maybe he’s a bit deluded by the prospect of who it is. Either way… he feels like he might pass out as he says-
“How-ungh… how much…. more?”
Toto chuckles and a warm hand slides up and down his back, the touch leaving goosebumps in its trail. “We’re barely halfway there.” Max might just pass out.
He groans as Toto continues with his counting, his fingers reaching beneath Max to play with his nipples. When the man stalls a bit on ‘six’, Max gets impatient. He tries to buck his hips up to get the rest of it in him but Toto’s hand on his back keeps him firmly on the pillows.
“Please,” he moans out, “need… more.”
Toto leans forward until his lips are nipping at Max’s ear, tongue darting out and running along the shape of it. His fingers grip Max’s chin and turn his face until their eye-to-eye once more.
“Tell me what you want baby,” he whispers into his ear. And Max isn’t sure whether it’s the nickname or the tone or the dark look in the man’s eyes that makes a jet of precum leak out of him.
“I want… I want all- all of it. All of you. Need you… right now.”
“Need my cock?” Max nods his head, trying to make his eyes convey the desperation he feels. “Say it. Use your words.”
“I-” his words are cut off by a gasp as Toto pulls his cock back and plunges it in again, but not more than it was previously in. “Need you cock… all of it. In me.”
That seems to be good enough for the Mercedes CEO because he leans back, grips Max tightly at the hips, so tight that it will surely leave bruises, and slams entirely into him. Max gasps, the sudden feeling of being utterly filled making all sense leave his mind. He can feel the way the cock rests inside him, forcing is walls to accommodate it.
“Fuck,” Toto groans, feeling Max’s walls pulsing around him. “You’re tight. So... fucking tight.” He gives him a while to adjust around the length, for his walls to relax. When Max settles and looks over his shoulder, eyes surely glassy and face flushed, Toto takes that as a cue to start moving.
The initial pace is manageable: Toto grunting, voicing the odd compliment about how Max either feels or looks, Max moaning in reply and trying to hide his ever-growing blush at the words. He tries once to reach beneath him and jerk his own dick, but Toto slaps his hand away.
“You come on my cock, and my cock alone,” he growls, leaning forwards. His mouth trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along his cheek, his jaw and his neck. When Toto gets to his neck, he takes his time, biting, kissing, sucking. Usually, Max would be mindful about hickeys. But this is summer break and even if he wants to say something, he can barely form a coherent thought, much less a sentence.
Toto brushes against his prostate and that nearly makes Max lose his shit. He moans, pleasure blinding all other senses. Toto seems to take note because he does not miss the spot in a single thrust afterwards. At one point,, he slips a finger in alongside his cock, stretching Max open more than he currently is. "The way your hole opens up for me," Toto says in between groans, "so desperate for it."
Then Toto’s hips start to stutter, and he sets a brutal, unrhythmic pace. It knocks the breath out Max, and he grips the white cushions beneath him. His angled-up hips make sure that he can feel every single inch of the cock in him. He is saying something, but he has no clue what. His mind is blank with nothing but the purple haze of pleasure clouding it.
“That’s it,” Toto grunts near his ear, “clench your walls. Fuck, that feels good. You’re so fucking tight.” Max wasn’t even aware he had been clenching his walls. But then again, he can barely even feel his own breathing at this point.
“Mmm… I’m-I’m close,” Max manages to say, eyes closed, and hands clenched. He can feel the all-familiar warmth curling at the bottom of his stomach.
Toto continues to slam into him while massaging his prostate. His restrain must also be slipping because he is no longer fully pulling out, just jerking his hips, chasing friction. The kisses along his neck resume and it’s all too much and he feels amazing, and Max swears his vision blacks out from the pleasure.
“Come for me,” he eventually whispers into Max ear and that’s what undoes him. He comes, eyes slipping shut and body shaking. He makes the filthiest sound he has made so far as hot cum shoots out of his dick. Toto fucks him through it and his walls must clench up because Toto gasps then groan, then he’s coming too, biting down harshly on Max’s neck and filling him with his warm cum. He rides his orgasm through, the thrusts slowing and slowing until he’s simply nestled in Max’s warmth.
Toto kisses Max on the back of his neck before pulling out gently. He spreads his cheeks and seems to admire his handy work, fingering some of the cum which leeks out back in with his fingers. When he seems satisfied enough, he rolls around and lies down beside a panting Max. They’re both breathless, Max’s eyes barely staying open, skin flushed and bodies aching. Max has his eyes closed as a warm hand comes to run up and down the dip of his spine, caressing the skin. It then moves to the back of his head and Toto plays with his hair. He spends a good few minutes massaging his scalp as Max basks in the post-orgasm bliss. He sighs contentedly and thinks he is about to fall asleep until Toto brushes back some of the hair on his forehead. The older man then leans forward and captures Max’s lips in a kiss. It’s not hurried or messy or brutal like before. It’s sensual and soft and when they pull apart, Toto comes back to place a small peck on the mole on Max’s upper lip. He continues to kiss his cheek, his nose and then finally his forehead. Max never thought it would be humanly possible to blush this much.
Then Toto gets up and walks over to the bar on the other side of the deck. He grabs a towel from one of the cabinets and walks back over. And while Max does appreciate the gesture, he cannot help but scoff.
“I didn’t come here, leaving the comfort of my own yacht, just for a solitary fuck,” he says, turning around and propping himself up on his elbows.
Toto’s eyes widen momentarily before he’s smirking. And Max swears the man’s dick twitches.
“Or are you telling me that stamina has left you at this age?” Max taunts and Toto all but pounces on him.
They fuck four more times. Once on a lower deck, with Max’s hand splayed across the tinted glass and Toto fucking him from behind. Toto reassures him that the tint is still good as ever. Max doesn’t bother to say that he doesn’t care. The next two times is in Toto’s bedroom, firstly on the bed and then again in the shower. He walks out of the bedroom with nothing but a white and blue stripped towel wrapped around his waist, bath water still clinging to his skin. He does not miss the way Toto cannot seem to get his eyes off of him. The final time is on a table in the dining area, freshly cooked scallops and neatly plated pasta abandoned to the side. But once they are done, Toto sends for more food and spends a good while either feeding Max himself or watching with an inexplicably fond expression as Max eats. The Austrian tells him to pick a bottle to pop open from the bar at their initial fucking site. When Max holds two rare labels in his hands, debating over which, Toto grabs them both and gives Max a glass of each.
And that is how Max finds himself on the front deck again, having gone full circle around the entire boat. The sun is setting to the side as they both lean against the railing, a comfortable silence between them, Max back in his towel and Toto back in his all-white shirt and pants. Max knows that in a few hours, he will be too tired to even walk properly and that he will have to decide whether to go back to his own yacht or stay here. But for now, he just sighs and enjoys the peace surrounding them. The birds still screeching, the waves still lapping endlessly. Everything feels… pliant. Neither overwhelming nor underwhelming. The world just exists, and so do they and the two facts are not at all intertwined. It's a blissful and carefree state of coexisting.
Toto breaks the silence by saying, “Paparazzi, two o’clock.”
Max doesn’t turn to look in the direction Toto indicates because it’s more fun when the media thinks they’re capturing candid moments where the subjects of their analysis are completely unaware of being filmed. When in reality, Max gets to pull all the strings. Both Toto and him have enough of a mind to not make physical contact while the photographers surely get their fill.
Max thinks that they’ve gone back to the shared silence when Toto suddenly asks, “Did you ever consider it? The contract?”
Max clicks his tongue and decides there’s no point in lying. This moment feels a bit too special to taint it by lying. Especially not about something this trivial compared the intimacy they have shared.
“I did, yes,” he says, watching Toto’s reaction closely. The man nods once, like he was expecting it. “But…”
“But?” Toto urges. He doesn’t sound frustrated. Curious perhaps but also comforting. Like he knows that the whole contract situation is something Max avoids thinking about because it’s too stressful.
Max smiles, more so for Toto than himself. “But I belong at Red Bull.” And Max is grateful that Toto simply nods with a kind smile and looks away. He doesn’t try to ask cross questions, doesn’t try to remind him of how misguided loyalty could ruin a career, doesn’t try to convince him he’s making a mistake. Maybe he is but then that’s his to deal with.
“Besides,” Max adds to lighten the mood, “riding a Mercedes car was never on my bucket list.”
“But riding the team principal was?” Toto shoots back, a smirk breaking across his face.
Max laughs, a full laugh like he hadn’t all day. When he catches his breath, he says, “Well, I haven’t ridden you exactly.” He raises one eyebrow, challenging. “Which is wrong I suppose. You’re the elderly here; I should be doing the work, not you.”
Despite the risk of media hovering about, Toto reaches out flicks him on the forehead. “Watch who you call elderly.”
They both chuckle and it’s nice. It makes Max feel warm and fuzzy. Something that is rare if not entirely unheard of during his escapades with men. He basks in the feeling like it’s the sun.
“Are you staying the night? I have fresh clothes, and the chef makes an exquisite crème brûlée.” Perhaps Toto doesn’t mean to look hopeful as he says it, but he does. And Max usually never stays over at someone else’s place. He lets his flings or lovers or whatever stay over at his apartment or hotel room but staying over at theirs is something he avoids. And something greatly discouraged by his team due to security purposes.
But he finds himself nodding, nonetheless. Because today has been nothing like his usual routine, so what’s a bit more straying off the road? He is practically lost at this point anyway.
Toto flashes him a smile, the ghost of relief dancing behind it. “So, am I right to assume that I succeeded in impressing you?”
Max clicks him tongue mischievously before saying, “Oh not at all." He loves the way Toto frowns, eyes darkening with one eyebrow slanted upwards. "Your chef, however, did.”
Max hopes the cameras don’t catch the way he squeals and squirms away as Toto tickles his exposed sides.