Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His hands were shaking when he read the message.

It had been weeks now. Weeks of waiting and silence and promises with no contract in sight.

Hushed whispers fill the paddock and everyone eyed him like they know something he doesn’t.

He’s breathing deep, straightening his collar, buttoning his shirt.

He hates who’s staring back at him in the mirror.

All the years at Williams, the years in a Merc that wasn’t competitive. He wants the contract so bad. He’s fucking earned it, he’s sure he has.

The man staring back at him in the mirror is tired, his eyes dulled, lip wobbling slightly.

He sees the tears pooling in his own eyes, tries to blink them away, but they just come back. He decides to ignore them.

He’s stronger than this. He’s going to get it done.

He rereads the message from Toto several times.

My place. 8pm.

It’s so cryptic. It could mean anything.

He’s been to Toto’s before, he even had a sleepover once - but this is different. This is about his contract. His future.

… - … - …

Toto stands by his door.

It’s 7:50. George is always early.

KNOCK KNOCK

He smirks slightly and opens the door.

George looks delicious. His shirt is crisp, sleeves rolled slightly up. Pants pressed tight against his long, toned legs.

But it’s his face that has Toto practically salivating.

His sharp features paired with his beautifully deep blue eyes.

His eyes that are already wet - and Toto hasn’t even said a word to him yet.

George strides in despite his demeanor.

“So… uh… where shall we do it?”

He’s referring to the contract conversation. Toto gestures toward the living room and lets George lead the way.

George walks ahead, shoulders straight, though every step feels like it might collapse under him.

The living room is quiet, dimly lit, too warm. The air feels thick. His palms sweat.

He sits when Toto nods - perched on the edge of the couch like he’s being interviewed. Legs crossed neatly, hands resting in his lap.

He doesn’t know what to do with his face.

“So,” George starts, voice tight. “About next year.”

Toto doesn’t answer.

Instead, he pours himself a drink. Moves slowly. Every movement deliberate. Controlled. He doesn’t offer George a glass.

George watches the scotch swirl in the glass, throat tightening.

“I was hoping for some clarity,” he says carefully. “It’s just… with the press, and the speculation, it’s getting hard to -”

“Are you nervous?” Toto cuts in, still not looking at him.

George blinks. “Sorry?”

“You’re fidgeting.”

He freezes.

“I - sorry, sir. I mean. No. Just - eager, that’s all.”

Toto finally looks at him. And smiles.

Not kindly.

“Eager,” he repeats. “Yes. I’ve noticed.”

George swallows. His throat feels raw.

There’s a silence then - long enough to burn. George shifts slightly, hands twisting in his lap.

“You’ve worked hard,” Toto says finally. “I’ve seen it.”

George nods, fast. “I have. I’ve given everything.”

Toto tilts his head, studying him. “Have you?”

“Yes,” George says quickly, voice rising. “I have. I mean - okay, I know the results haven’t always shown it, but I’ve pushed myself. I’ve worked harder than ever, I swear. I just-”

“George.”

He shuts up instantly.

Toto sets his glass down. Steps forward.

He stands right in front of George now, so close George has to crane his neck to keep eye contact. The posture makes him feel small. Embarrassingly so.

Toto stares down at him like he’s something to be assessed. Dissected.

“What are you willing to do,” he asks, voice low, “to keep this seat?”

George’s stomach flips.

He swears his heart just stopped.

“I -” he starts, but the words die in his throat.

Toto raises an eyebrow. Waiting.

George’s hands tremble again. He presses them into the couch cushions.

“I just - I want to prove that I belong here.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

George’s face crumples for a second, just a second. He looks down.

And then, slowly, he slides off the couch.

His knees hit the hardwood with a soft sound. He doesn’t even know when he decided to do it. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was always going to happen.

Toto watches him, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

George kneels in front of him. Humiliated. Aching.

And still, he looks up.

“I’m begging you,” he says softly, voice cracked open. “Please don’t replace me. Please don’t drop me, sir. I’ll do anything. Just - please.”

Toto says nothing.

He just cups George’s chin in his hand, thumb pressing against the his trembling jaw

“oh George, I know you will”

Chapter Text

Toto grabs George’s hair, slow and deliberate, curling his fingers into the soft strands.

George doesn’t resist.

He goes willingly. Pliant. Like something inside him has given up.

His nose brushes against the expensive fabric of Toto’s suit trousers, the scent of cologne and power dizzying.

He can’t breathe properly, not with the way his throat’s tight and his lungs feel like they have shrunken down to nothing.

His eyes squeeze shut.

“Georgie, look at me,” Toto commands, soft but firm.

George has no choice but to obey.

He knows his eyes are wet- can feel the fat tears rolling down his cheeks, catching on his chin, staining the grey suit pants with tiny puddles.

He looks up. He feels smaller than he’s ever felt in his life.

Toto smirks down at him, thrilled at the sight of his obedience.

“You know what to do, George.”

With trembling hands, George reaches for Toto’s fly. Hesitant. Fumbling.

He glances up. Toto raises an eyebrow.

He looks up. He feels smaller than he’s ever felt in his life.

Toto smirks down at him, thrilled at the sight of his obedience.

“You know what to do, George.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle.

With trembling hands, George reaches for Toto’s fly. Hesitant and fumbling with the zip.

Toto raises an eyebrow, the faintest sign of displeasure.

So George pulls the waistband down. Exposes him.

He’s already hard.

George freezes for a second at the sight. He’s bigger than George expected…thicker, longer. More intimidating.

But he doesn’t have time to think.

Toto’s hand tightens in his hair, the other wrapping around himself and guiding his cock to George’s lips.

“Open up,” he says, voice low. “Be a good boy.”

George obeys. Slowly. His mouth parts, lips trembling.

Toto thrusts in deep.

No hesitation. No gentleness. His dick pushes past George’s lips and hits the back of his throat in one movement. George gags, choking on it.

He doesn’t let George adjust, doesn’t wait. He fucks into his mouth with firm, punishing thrusts. Using him like a toy.

“God- oh, Georgie your mouth was made for this.”

George’s eyes are leaking tears.

His jaw aches. He chokes on every stroke but keeps his hands still on his thighs, obedient, like a good boy.

Toto’s grip is bruising. His breath hitches on every thrust. “You like this, don’t you? On your knees like a little whore.”

George doesn’t answer. He can’t. His mouth is too full.

“Fuckkkk, George. Your mouth looks so fucking perfect wrapped around my dick.”

The thrusts slow as Toto gets close. They go deeper instead. Slower.

Then, suddenly, he pulls out.

A few rough tugs and he cums all over George’s face with a low, guttural moan.

It hits him in streaks across his cheek, his lips, the curve of his jaw. It mixes with the tears already clinging to his skin, clumping on his eyelashes.

He doesn’t move.

He’s just kneeling there. Used. Ruined. Humiliated.

Toto zips himself up, breath still catching in his throat.

He looks down and adjusts his cuffs. Hes composed, like using George like that didn’t mean a thing.

George still hasn’t moved. His eyes are lowered, his posture quiet and small.

He stares at the floor. His thighs and body trembling with the weight of humiliation. His chest feels heavy.

Toto tilts his head.

“You look perfect like this,” he murmurs. “Obedient.Like you’ve finally figured out your place.”

George doesn’t respond.

Toto crouches down in front of him, slow and careful, like he’s handling something delicate. Like he’ll crack at any moment.

“The seat next year is yours,” he says at last, almost kindly. “If… you show me how thankful you are.”

George’s breath stutters.

“How… thankful?” he echoes, confused at the request.

Toto’s smile spreads. Wide and warm. Like it’s the most obvious instruction in the world.

George’s brow furrows, lips parting to ask again-

But Toto crouches in front of him instead. The movement shuts him up immediately.

He raises a finger, gathers a streak of cum from George’s cheek and presses it gently to his lips.

“Lick.”

George flinches, just slightly.

He opens his mouth. Licks Toto’s finger. Sucks it clean and swallows.

He feels disgusting.

But he knows this is what Toto wants. Knows that if he wants to stay, he has to be good.

Good boys get contracts. That’s all he can tell himself.

Toto does it again. And again. And again. Until his face is nearly clean.

Each time, he scrapes the mess off George and waits.
Watching until George obediently licks it up.

His knees ache. The shame burns behind his eyes. But he doesn’t stop.

He can’t.

Then Toto speaks softly.

“Good boy, Georgie. You did so well.”

His hand returns to George’s hair, stroking it gently. Like a reward.

George’s eyes flutter shut at the contact.

Toto smiles to himself, almost fond.

“You know,” he says casually, “I was always going to sign you for next year.”