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Three days after winning his second championship, Max curls up next to Charles on their couch and buries his face into Charles’ stomach.
“Hi, baby,” Charles says, startled, and automatically slides his fingers into Max’s hair.
It’s not that Max doesn’t seek out cuddles - boy, does he ever - but the adrenaline and mayhem of his victory have been keeping him wired, rushing from place to person at a speed that didn’t really leave time for soft things like this.
Max mrrps like the cats do. Wrapping a heavy arm around Charles’ waist, he nuzzles into his t-shirt before relaxing with an exhausted sigh, his whole body deflating.
“Ah,” Charles realises, beginning to scritch-scratch on Max’s nape. “The comedown?”
And Max just whispers an incredibly soft, “Yeah.”
There is something very human about experiencing this, Charles thinks as he plays with Max’s strands, something very natural and yet completely nonsensical in the equation of big success leads to a big low. It’s ubiquitous to education, work, sports, life; as much a part of existing as breathing is. For them, after a victory, a good race, a P1 quali, with all the celebration and adrenaline they entail, there comes the slow but inevitable descent into the quiet worry of, What if I can’t do it again? What if this is all I have, will ever achieve?
And, probably, in Max’s case,
What other heights are there to conquer?
“You’ll be alright, baby,” Charles murmurs, curling in so that he can press a kiss to Max’s hair. Max tightens his arm around him, nestling closer.
Charles can’t imagine what it’s like. Winning the WDC has been his goal for so long that he can’t remember working towards anything else. And he would love to have that trophy, of course he would, they all would; but what would he do after? Chase that same goal again and again, until there was no strength left in him to do it one last precious time?
Stroking down Max’s back, feeling his warmth, Charles just hopes that when he does it one day, he will have Max to lean on. He’s pretty sure Max would gladly give some very unhelpful advice and cuddle Charles just the way they are now to make the crash and burn of post-win emotion a little more bearable.
“Come kiss me,” Charles coaxes, gently scratching into Max’s hairline and back over the top of his spine, again and again.
With a reluctant noise, Max pushes himself deeper into Charles’ belly.
He’s so cute sometimes; Charles’ mouth just takes over.
“Are you feeling shy, double world champion?” Charles teases, and Max looks up with the air of a disgruntled chick. Even his hair is all floofy and feathery.
“You are mean to me,” he complains, pinching Charles’ side. He grins at Charles’ squawk, but the expression melts into something achingly open a few moments later. Charles sobers up.
“Be gentle with me?” Max requests quietly, soothing Charles’ waist as he stares up. “I just don’t know- I feel like- I don’t know how I feel. Like I’ve done everything I was supposed to do, twice, and there’s just- nothing left, I guess.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, cupping Max’s face to sweep a thumb over his cheek.
Max is beautiful, he always is, but the week has sapped something vital out of him, leaving his skin a little paler, his eyes a little duller. He’s Charles’ and perfect, still; just more tired and lost than Charles is used to.
“Come kiss me?” he repeats, petting Max as softly as he knows how, and this time, Max lets out a quiet, wanting noise and shuffles himself up.
His weight settles in front of Charles, dipping the couch and making Charles pitch forward. He lets himself fall, forehead, chest, thighs, his whole being coming to rest against his boyfriend. With a firm hand, he aligns them to be comfortable, tangling their legs before he swipes a palm down Max’s spine.
Max’s gaze finds his, and Charles smiles, all affection.
“You are the most wonderful person I have ever met,” Charles tells him, hushed as he pets whatever part of him he can reach, pressing his lips to Max’s forehead. “You are brilliant, and strong, and funny, and so, so clever, and I’m so proud of what you’ve done.”
Max makes a soft sound, squirming.
”You will do extraordinary things, on track and off it,” he carries on, wrapping his thigh around Max’s hip to keep him in place. ”You have already done so much, baby, and whatever more you want to do, it will be just as incredible.”
“Charles,” Max mumbles, almost as glassy-eyed and pink-cheeked as he was shining on the podium, lifting his trophy.
”And I will do everything,” Charles finishes, voice dropping to a whisper, ”everything I can to stay by your side through it all.”
Max exhales, his ribs moving beneath Charles’ palm, one echoing, steady beat of his heart following the next.
“Thank you,” Max says softly, his fingertips trailing up Charles’ arm to settle on his nape. “I know. But I think, maybe…”
“Maybe you just needed to hear it?” Charles fills in, his chest tightening.
“Yeah.” Max’s gaze jumps over Charles’ face. “Maybe I just needed someone to say it.”
“Any time, baby,” Charles hums, then sighs when Max draws him in so that they can finally kiss the way Charles had intended this whole time. All of Charles unexpectedly strains forward to meet him, and oh.
It seems Charles had needed this, too.
Because it’s not just that Max won and is coming down; it’s also that Charles lost, again. And in the days after Max’s final victory, well, there just wasn’t time for this, any of this, the inherent salve contained in the form of Max very much out of reach as everyone demanded a minute of his time. They had both known how the season would end a good few races in advance, but the definitiveness still- hurt.
Another year that had slipped through Charles’ fingers.
“Charlie,” Max gasps when Charles grips him painfully tight.
“Sorry,” Charles mumbles into his mouth, a well of emotion rising up in him all at once and making his voice shake. “Sorry, I-”
“Come here,” Max coaxes, worming his arm under Charles’ side, and pulls him on top of himself.
Charles settles with an oomph, squeezing the air out of Max before he manages to brace his forearms.
Max’s palm slips under his shirt, warm where it rests on the small of Charles’ back, and Max is blinking up at Charles with an open expression, smiling softly when Charles gives a half-choked whine before leaning down for another kiss.
They meet with twin sighs, comfortable in the space they have created for themselves, and Charles kisses Max deeply, fingers woven in his hair to cradle the back of his head and hold him close, closer, hold him as dearly as he had wanted to all throughout the season when they barely had any time for it.
It soothes something lonely and needy burrowed under Charles’ skin, that Max keeps moaning into his mouth. The soft little noises settle Charles into his bones almost as much as his careful touches seem to bring Max contentment.
“Charles,” Max squeezes out in between one kiss and the next, hands closing over Charles’ hips to lift him off an inch.
Charles tears himself away to give him the space to speak, even though it costs him a whine.
“Take me to bed?” Max proposes slowly, hesitant. “I know we- that I- but can you, please?”
“You sure, baby?” Nosing along Max’s cheek, Charles kisses him again, soft and tender, blissful sighs falling from them both. “It doesn’t have to lead anywhere, I just wanted to- to kiss you, that’s all. I would be happy to kiss you here until the end of time. Or cuddle some more, watch a movie, we don’t need to do anything.”
“No, I- please? If you want to. I want to.” Max exhales, adding softly, “I need you.”
Charles’ heart clenches so strongly he’s worried Max might hear it creaking.
“Okay,” he whispers, giving Max one last peck before he gathers him up in his lap, pliant and warm and wonderful. Max’s thighs cinch around Charles’ waist so that Charles can carefully carry him through the narrow doors of their apartment, his weight so familiar in Charles’ arms.
“Hop down,” Charles murmurs, letting him slowly go so that he can find his footing. Max is flushed the loveliest shade of pink, cheeks and neck and down to his chest also, when Charles pulls his top off, heated skin making Charles’ lips feel almost cool as he trails kisses over his collarbones. Max hums and purrs under the attention, fingers tangled in Charles’ hair, fisted in the back of his shirt.
“Which do you want, baby?” Charles asks as Max returns the favour, his affection showing as kisses and teeth imprints across Charles’ shoulders.
“Want you in me,” Max mumbles, dazed, his spit-slick lips shining when he looks up at Charles. “Want you like the very first time.”
A moan stutters out of Charles; there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
“Want to wrap your legs around me, baby?” he rasps out, tugging Max’s sweats and briefs down his legs until Max gets out of them. “Want me to hold your hips down, like I did then?”
“Yes,” Max groans, ridding Charles of the rest of his clothes and stepping back when Charles presses on his shoulder. “Exactly like that.”
He splays himself out in front of Charles, content to be on display for him from his messy hair and flushed chest to his hard cock and open thighs, and Charles has never seen anything better.
“You are so gorgeous and perfect and brilliant I could die,” he mutters as he climbs up and over Max, appreciative hands touching and petting every inch allowed to him.
Max arches into it as if to remind him that he’s allowed everything.
Max’s hands scrabble over Charles’ back when Charles fingers him open, one careful digit and then another, Max’s thighs laid wide over his own as he holds his hand, very much like the first time. Max gasps and moans, shivering whenever Charles brushes his prostate and especially when he pulls his fingers out to prop Max’s hips with a pillow.
“Yeah, baby?” Charles asks, pressing kisses to Max’s shoulder, neck, his open mouth while Max pants out desperate little whines.
“Yeah,” Max nods, more impatient and so much more like himself. Charles guides his cock to Max’s entrance, pushes in, and Max wraps his legs around his waist immediately, ankles locking behind him before they’re even flush.
“Baby,” Charles groans, shuddering at the tight heat clenching around him, at Max holding him firmly to keep him inside.
“Yes,” Max breathes out, a sweet whimper punching out of him when Charles grinds forward, making him feel exactly how full he is.
“I love you so much,” Charles murmurs, drawing back just to thrust back in, Max’s legs tensing around him even as his cock kicks against his stomach. “My world champion.”
“Charles,” Max moans, arms winding around Charles’ shoulders to bring him down, folding himself nearly in half in the process.
Charles settles close over his front, close enough that Max could rut against his stomach, except Charles promised he’d hold his hips down just like the first time, and he does.
Max whines at the pressure, not fighting for even a moment before he mellows out into the sheets, letting Charles push into him slow and deep, tracing over every sensitive place inside him. Charles adores him so much he could burst.
“Max,” Charles exhales into whatever small space there is left between them, tangled as they are in one another. He feels a bit fragile; the end of the season, Max’s soft hands running over his skin, the pleasure coursing through him even as he knows that every emotion he feels, Max feels too. That they are in this together, same career, same love, same bed.
“Charlie,” Max breathes, a sharp ah coming right after as Charles snaps his hips harder.
He’s clinging so tightly.
“Touch yourself?” Charles prompts, chest squeezing just like his belly when he pushes inside Max, again, again, heat and tension gathering in him.
He can’t see it, but he knows exactly when Max wraps a hand around himself: his entire body strains upwards, spine arching like a bow.
“Charles,” Max gasps out, trembling underneath him, so very gorgeous as he glows with pleasure, and his eyes open to connect with Charles’.
They are dark, sparkling, blue enough to drown in; Charles lets himself fall right into them.
“Christ,” he punches out as he comes, fingertips digging into Max’s side while he pushes his forehead into the crook of Max’s neck, sweat mingling on their heated skin. “Max, Max-”
“Yeah,” Max moans, drawn out and drenched in satisfaction. His head falls back, leaving his throat open for Charles to press desperate kisses to as Max clenches around him, the slick sounds of his moving hand feeding the fire in Charles’ blood.
Max comes with a sweet, quiet ah a few moments later, tightening on Charles’ cock, legs twitching around his waist as he pants.
“Baby,” Charles murmurs, letting him soak in the feeling. He strokes down his thigh, soft and soothing while Max gets his breath back, his body stilling, melting.
Gently, Max pokes Charles’ shoulder, and Charles equally gently pulls out of him.
“Needed that,” Max mumbles, a blissed-out expression sitting on his face as Charles massages his legs and hips, undoubtedly stiff with their chosen position. And even if they weren’t; Charles loves having his hands on Max, and Max loves to be drowned in affection, especially after bottoming.
“Feel better, baby?” Charles asks, leaving a kiss on Max’s sternum before he lies down on his chest, even as sticky and sweaty as it is. Max’s heart beats reassuringly under his cheek, and Charles can’t ask for anything more.
“Cute,” Max croons, soft palms slipping down to cradle Charles’ head. “I do. It doesn’t feel anymore like my life has ended, at the very least.”
“Good.” Charles nuzzles into him, then sighs in contentment. “I’m always here for you. Words, or cuddles, or otherwise.”
“I know,” Max acknowledges quietly, drawing light circles between Charles’ shoulder blades. “I love you, too.”