Sunny's Writing - Blog Posts

What would you say is Charles and Max's biggest regret in each of the AUs?

this is a really interesting question, and I've got a lot of AU's on here by now, so I'll try and cover all of them but may forget a few. (minus corporate au, because charles isn't in that fic lol)

Search History:

Charles: switzerland incident

Max: milton keynes breakdown

Alternate Ending Search History:

Charles: not being more present after max's injury

Max: not reacting faster in baku to prevent crashing

O!Search History:

Charles: not taking the rut blocker/forgetting the bite guard

Max: letting the paparazzi spot his bite/getting outed

Famiglia Familie:

Charles: hooking up with the guy from the bar

Max: telling GP about the inchident

O!Famiglia Familie:

Charles: making the courting process everyone's problem

Max: not knowing more about courting

Wing!Famiglia Familie:

Charles: not looking harder for max after he stopped racing

Max: losing contact with everyone after he stopped racing

Darkbull:

Charles: not taking max before he signed with RB

Max: thinking charles was being friendly

O!Darkbull:

Charles: none! it's worked very well for him

Max: agreeing to meet charles at the karting track after their competition when they were 14

Standard omegaverse:

Charles: brushing seb and max's history under the rug

Max: not knowing how to be more in touch with his omega instincts

Maxiel forced bite:

Charles: not being there

Max: not flying home early

Scrapbook Max:

Charles: keeping quiet about his distrust

Max: going on the inter-territory run alone

Tentacle au:

Charles: not having any kind of discussion about the lifelong commitment they now have/not asking/informing max of any of it

Max: going on vacation alone/abandoning the eggs every season

wing!famiglia, 2k, GP POV. some things are different- but some things stay the same. (hi! I describe the accident in more vivid detail than I do in the original famiglia, because I'm writing from GP's POV.)

The rain is slamming down in harsh sheets, pasting Gianpiero's feathers down, and his heart is pounding as they pull over to the side of the road, sprinting towards the crash site.

There's cars strewn across the road, twisted metal scattered around them. His hands are shaking, trying to figure out where he needs to go first. There's so many, too many to handle at once, he needs to-

There's a rasping cry from a van, warbling and distressed. It's rolled over, resting on its a side, a mangled mess. Gianpiero runs over, cupping his hands around his eyes to try and see better in the dark, slamming to his knees to try and look inside.

There's bloody feathers coating the car, dark brown and maroon, and Gianpiero feels bile rise in his throat at the twisted bones rising from the man in front of him, shattered and pinched at unnatural angles.

There's a deep gash in his forehead, blood dripping from his mouth and nose, and his eyes are unfocused, one pupil larger than the other. He makes another desperate rasping noise.

His arms are curled around something, cradled tight to his chest, and Gianpiero's heart flips into an ugly pretzel when he hears a soft chirp.

"I'm here, I'm- I'm going to get you both out of here-"

The man lets out another wheezing cry, wet coughs rattling his chest, blood coating his teeth.

"My son..."

Gianpiero can't save him. He's not sure anyone could, but-

There's a fledgling in there.

He shuffles forward on his knees, reaching in through the shattered windshield, and the man drops his arms, head falling to the side with another wheeze.

There's a boy, one wing tucked tight around him, the other resting unnaturally to the side.

The man's fingers land in the boy's hair, weakly ruffling through it, but his eyes drag to meet Gianpiero's, piercing even in their final moments.

"My champion,"

He hacks again, and the fledgling flinches, curling tighter in on himself.

"My Max."

Gianpiero is going to be sick, can't bring himself to meet the eyes of a dying man as he carefully gathers the boy in his arms.

Max.

The fledgling cries out, hands darting forward to tangle in Gianpiero's shirt, and then he's latching to his chest, desperately chirping, pleading for reassurance.

He still has soft hatchling feathers, smeared red, and Gianpiero supports him with one hand, the other coming up to curl gently behind his head as he coos softly, backing away from the car.

His wings are heavy and waterlogged, but he strains his back lifting them anyways, wrapping around the fledgling to shut out the rain.

He doesn't look at the dying man again.

------

The fledgling's name is Max. He's 14, a falcon subspecies, and he's probably never going to fly.

His right wing is shattered, needs hours of corrective surgery that Gianpiero doesn't think twice about telling them to move forward on.

His blood type is A-, he's small for his age, and he's-

"...most likely imprinted on you, Mr. Lambiase. Fledglings at that stage, after a traumatic event, are going to look to the nearest adult to take care of them, and there is a very good chance he's picked you."

Gianpiero blinks at the social worker. First responders wear masks and helmets to avoid accidental imprinting, but Gianpiero hadn't-

He hadn't thought about it. Hadn't allowed himself to consider the idea that there was a fledgling- barely a fledgling, still with fuzzy little hatchling feathers- in that wreckage.

"I, uh,"

He pulls his wings tighter against his back. The warm blankets have helped to dry them back off, but he tries his best to be spatially aware of his surrounds- having a heron wingspan isn't always a helpful thing.

"I need to call my boss."

------

Max is 16, speaks softly, and doesn't fly. He's had more operations than Gianpiero likes to think about, but he won't even try, refuses to even visit common lift off areas.

Gianpiero wouldn't dream of pushing him- they utilize non-flight spaces as much as possible, and they live on a lower level accommodation, which was both cheaper and easier to access than where Gianpiero had been before.

Most people don't like being so close to the ground. GP doesn't mind- his subspecies means he likes to use his legs, and Max needs the accessibility.

He still works out his back and shoulders. Gianpiero has quietly wondered about it before, why Max chooses to train his flight muscles with no intention to ever use them, but he's never asked.

It's Max's business.

------

Max is 19, leaving Gianpiero's nest for his own place not too far away. There's a light brace fitted around his right wing, overlapping carbon fiber and intricate pulley systems to allow full supported range of motion.

He still doesn't fly.

He'll go up higher into buildings with Gianpiero now- they can frequently utilize skyways and platform spaces up in the sky, as long as Max doesn't get too close to the edge.

He's still Gianpiero's tiny little fledgling, and he still fits perfectly under his wings.

"Dad, you are a heron, I'm always going to fit under your wings."

"Exactly."

------

Max is dating a dove. A high profile, flirty, racing driver dove.

Gianpiero has never approved of anyone less in his life. He'd been a fan of the songbird from uni, now that had been a nice boy.

Apparently, Max and the dove- Charles- have history. Gianpiero doesn't care for him at all, and certainly not for the way he leaves feathers everywhere, bright white against the couch cushions.

------

Charles isn't terrible. He's grown on Gianpiero like a leech, and he's preformed the miracle of at least getting Max within a few meters of a lift-off range before he'd backed out.

It's more progress than anyone else has been able to make.

They've been dating for a few years now, growing into their twenties. Gianpiero sometimes looks at Max and sees a small bloody fledgling, has to bundle him in his arms and wings until tears no longer burn hot on his lash line.

Max tolerates it.

------

They're at a FIA event, all dressed up for hours of self-absorbed speech giving, something Gianpiero has learned to tune out while still looking like he's listening.

Max had taken a few years to catch on, but he's getting better at it, although he still looks annoyed if a camera ever lands on him.

They're mingling up on the aerial platform, and there's drinks flowing, which is a safety violation that's not usually an issue- but the F3 drivers are here tonight, so everyone is being responsible.

They're supposed to be, anyways.

Gianpiero has spotted more than a few young drivers with drinks they shouldn't have, and he's trying to keep an eye out, but there's so many of them- they're playing some ridiculous game of catch, small wings flapping around as they trip over their own feet.

Hugh pulls him into a conversation with a Ferrari engineer, and his attentions drifts.

It's fine.

It's fine until it's not, fine until there's a terrified screech, fine until he snaps his head around just in time to watch a fledgling fall over the edge, time slowing down.

The F3 drivers should be able to fly and glide short distances. They can't pull a recovery dive, not at this hight, not inebriated. Snapping out their wings- it would tear their muscles, snap their joints.

They need- Gianpiero unfreezes the same time as everyone else, darting to the edge- it's been three seconds, four seconds, they need an eagle or a vulture, six seconds, seven seconds, they need-

They need speed, need someone who can make up those seconds, they need-

A flurry of brown and blonde darts past him, arcs gracefully over the edge before wings tuck in, and the towers emergency lights flash on.

There's a small blur dropping fast.

Max is moving faster.

Gianpiero feels like he's going to throw up when the blurs collide, heart in his throat when Max doesn't immediately flare-

He's still diving, but he's extending his wings slowly, twisting into a arching upward curve, bringing himself to a speed manageable by species other than falcons, and he's curving back towards the tower.

Someone has corralled the other fledglings, and they're trying to clear a space for Max to land- a landing that will undoubtedly be messy, because he's never done it before.

Max finally flares closer to the tower, wings snapping out fully behind him, fledgling clutched tightly in his arms as he lands in a staggered run, crumpling to his knees on impact.

Gianpiero is at his side in an instant, hit with a wave of complicated emotions-

Max has his wings curled tightly around the F3 driver, cooing gently.

Gianpiero had done that once.

Someone has gotten the medical team, and they're making their way onto the upper deck as Max uncurls his wings- it doesn't escape Gianpiero's notice that his right side moves stiff and slow.

There's a flash of vibrant white in the corner of his eye, and then Charles is crouching next to them as well, cooing softly to coax the fledgling out of Max's arms.

It's careful work to disentangle them, but the fledgling finally works with them, moving over with the medical team.

Gianpiero wraps his arms around Max gingerly, wings curling over them both, giving Max the privacy to drop his head onto his shoulder.

"Max,"

Max makes a soft noise, and something hot and wet drops onto Gianpiero's skin.

"Hurts, dad."

"We'll fix it."

He'd worried, as soon as he'd seen Max flare his wings- he has anchors and stabilizers in the muscle and bone, but the speed of the dive, the force of the flare-

There's a chance the muscle is shredded.

Max buries his head further into Gianpiero's shoulder.

"It felt so nice, for a second."

Gianpiero tightens his wings, nudging the sides of their heads together.

"I'm sorry, Max."

Sorry that none of them had gotten off the platform sooner, sorry that Max had put the pieces together faster than the rest of them, done the math in his head, sorry that all the surgeries in the world will never fully repair his wing, sorry that he'll never experience flying the way he should-

He's sorry for all of it. If he could cut off his own wings, give his boy a chance, he would. He'd do it in a heartbeat.

He squeezes the back of Max's neck gently.

Max sniffs, sitting back up as Gianpiero slowly lowers his wings.

"Is Kimi okay?"

The F3 driver is tiny- Gianpiero had heard gossip about one of the junior drivers being a pygmy owl, and it must be this one- but he's standing on his own two feet, dutifully listening to the medical team.

"It looks like it."

Max's shoulders slump in relief, but his right wing stays hitched up behind him, trembling in place.

Gianpiero opens his mouth to say something about it, but a brilliant white wing extends underneath the curve of Max's sharply angled one, offering a rest.

He shares an appreciative glance with Charles, unspoken that in this they're on the same team.

They always are, when it comes to keeping Max safe.

Max laughs softly, looking at GP.

"Maybe if that German hospital had a songbird you could've not ended up baby trapped by imprinting."

Gianpiero narrows his eyes, feathers bristling.

"Don't say that. I could never regret you, Max. I wouldn't have wanted someone to pull you away- imprinting goes both ways."

Hadn't that been a surprise, the first time someone had offered to watch Max while Gianpiero went to a meeting and he'd puffed up, wings spread wide threateningly.

The first few years had been a learning process for them both.

He leans forward, knocking their heads together briefly.

He's so proud of his boy, all grown up and out of the nest, and he hasn't quite processed yet that Max had flown.

"But maybe no more jumping off buildings? I'm getting too old for you to be doing that to my heart."

Max grins weakly at him.

"I think the fledgling rescue thing just runs in the family."

It's not the worst family trait Gianpiero can think of.

"Maybe it does."

Aged stone, quiet groves.

Search History Verse, future fic, 830 words, Charles POV.

Charles rolls the bottle between his palms, watching the slosh of the deep red in the glass. The car is parked, but he rests his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, eyes squeezed shut. He'll need to visit the Foundation while he's here, check in on operations and upkeep, make the rounds with the kids-

But this comes first.

He swallows, steeling himself as he steps out of the car, neck of the wine bottle grasped between his fingers.

People had offered to come with him- they always do, lately. Pierre, Daniel, Mick, the boys, Gianpiero, Lorenzo and Victoria...

Maybe one day Charles will take them up on their offers.

That day isn't today.

The grove is private, tucked away and secluded. It had become one of Max's favorite spots after he'd started spending more time in the Netherlands again, and Charles has had countless lunches with Max between the trees here.

Now he walks alone down the path, winding further into trees on a trail he knows by heart.

The first time Max had shown him- he'd been giggling, fingers laced with Charles', pulling him through the trees while Charles panicked about dirt on his white sneakers.

"It is of course just dirt, Charlie, it will wipe off."

"These are designer, Max- how did you even find this place, how far back are we going?"

"I had to chase one of the dogs back here a few weeks ago. You'll love it, I promise."

It had felt like they were teenagers again, sneaking away somewhere they shouldn't have, tripping over their feet.

Charles is wearing that same pair of sneakers now. They're beyond saving, not that he's ever tried. The dirt is important to him now- he'd dirty every pair of shoes he owns if it meant getting to hear Max laugh at him again.

The path ends here. It's a circular gap in the trees, a large smooth rock that's perfect for sitting, or using as a table. There's a memorial stone in the middle- it's surrounded by small trinkets and mementos, left behind by the various children of the Foundation who come through here.

Charles digs into his own pocket, pulls out a small cat charm. It's silver, and it had randomly caught his eye a few weeks ago when he was out shopping with Arthur.

He'd known immediately where it needed to go.

It settles nicely between the other gifts, resting against the memorial stone.

"It is from a local vendor, in Italy. I thought you would like it- I was out with Arthur."

Charles settles down onto the dirt next to the stone, back resting against the large rock behind him as his legs stretch out in front of him.

His joints are aching, and they'll be screaming at him whenever he tries to get up, but.

It's part of growing old.

"They are starting a clothing brand, I think. I told them not to make it ugly, but I have to be honest Max, I think I'm starting to lose touch with the trends."

He laughs softly, staring at the wine bottle between his hands.

"Ah, I am getting old. I got lunch with Gianpiero the other day, he is thinking of moving to Switzerland. He and Alice would like to be closer to their grandkids."

Charles worries about them both, living alone back in Bedford, so he'd been supportive of the idea.

"And I am visiting the Foundation tomorrow. Checking in on your kids, just like I said I would. One of your first ones is back, by the way. He is a lawyer, Max. He came back to work for the Foundation after it saved him, and I think-"

Charles cuts himself off, chest tight.

"I think you would have liked that, chéri. I told him that you would've been proud. I know you are."

He reaches out his fingers, brushing against the stone lightly. It's well maintained, by visiting family and friends, Foundation kids and workers alike.

He carefully sets the wine bottle down at the edge of the pile. It's fair game- someone else visiting can take it if they'd like. It's less of an offering or memento, and more of a personal need for Charles.

It's not about the wine, it's about bringing it.

"I don't drink anymore. The last time I saw someone with a gin and tonic at a party I had to leave."

It hadn't been Mason's fault. He couldn't have known, hadn't been thinking about it.

It had still made Charles feel like he was being stabbed in the heart anyways- taken the air out of his lungs, the grief slamming into him like an inescapable tidal wave.

It's starting to get dark, the sun dipping below the horizon, and Charles leans down, presses his lips over Max's name.

He used to stay out even when he could see the stars, but he's getting too old for that now, and it makes the boys worry. He'd promised Arthur he'd call when he got back to the flat.

"I miss you, Max."

There's no response. There hasn't been one for years.

"I love you."

part 11 of the maxiel corporate au! brief Rico POV to start, and then Max POV, ending with Daniel POV.

explicit! there's a little bit of plot in here, as well as the first little peek of daniel's internalized homophobia problem. 2.2k words.

relevant heads up: internalized homophobia, tiny bit of max-shaming

Rico's careful as he unlocks his door, soundlessly slipping inside and letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. There's a head of blonde hair on his pillow, a tightly wrapped blanketed lump in the middle of his bed.

A tired smile pulls at his lips as he sets his duffel down quietly on the floor. He'd showered back at the facility, so really all he needs to do now is change, and then the real fight of the night will start- getting his blankets back from Max.

He switches to a new set of sweatpants, easing slowly down onto the bed. He's trying to figure out a plan of attack, except-

Max makes a soft noise as the bed dips under Rico, rolling towards him. It unearths one end of the duvet, and Rico snags the end of it, slipping under the covers. He's trying to keep a respectable distance.

It lasts all of five minutes, and then Rico suddenly has the warm weight of Max plastered to his chest, legs tangling together as Max snuggles into him. He sighs, resting one arm across Max, fingers brushing against the dip in his lower back.

He needs Daniel to get his shit together, before Rico gets attached to having a Dutch stuffed animal every night.

------

Once is an anomaly, and twice is a pattern- Max is realizing he sleeps better with someone else, which is terribly inconvenient realization to have.

He's tucked in Rico's arms, snuggled under the duvet. He hadn't even woken up when Rico got back from his fight- but he'd also been exhausted by the time he left the office, numbers and letters swimming in his vision.

He gives himself a few moments to appreciate the comfort of his current situation, and then he's prodding at Rico's side.

"Rico..."

There's not any response, and Max can't say he's surprised. He shakes him the best he can- not much- and gently knocks his forehead into his sternum.

"Rico."

There's an annoyed, sleepy sounding grumble, and then Rico's arm is pinning Max closer to him as he rolls, blanketing Max underneath him.

"Oh-"

Rico's settling on top of him, but he's grabbed something from the bedside table, and he's barely even half awake as he pins Max with his body.

Max realizes a second later when he hears the click of the cap what's happening- Rico isn't even awake enough to hold a conversation, but he's still-

He's still taking care of Max, lube slick fingers circling his hole.

Max's legs fall apart, and his heart rate is already picking up at the sensation, Rico's index finger slowly pressing inside. He drops his head back into the pillow, and he's already thinking about the day ahead of him- he's got reports to finalize, and a presentation to give, and-

"Ah-"

Rico's finger presses against his prostate, and Max pushes further into it, wants more.

Rico sighs, long and slow.

"Stop squirming."

Max's breath catches in his throat, and he forces himself to still, fingers gripping into the sheets underneath him.

Rico makes an approving noise.

"Good."

Good- Max. Max is good, he can be good. For Daniel, for Rico, for whoever else asks for it- he's gone from being a virgin to getting fucked over his bosses desk.

He's learning things about himself he'd rather not look too closely at.

Rico presses in a second finger. The stretch is easier to manage now that Max is used to it, and he knows what's coming. He evens out his breathing, taking steady breaths as Rico widens his fingers inside of him, occasionally brushing against Max's prostate.

It's doing something to Max's brain, that Rico isn't even speaking- he's barely awake, and he's only done that much just to help Max be ready for the day.

He feels like some kind of- chore, or necessary errand, something that needs to happen but doesn't require much thought, and it's making his head spin at the way he's just being handled.

The third finger is easier, more of a courtesy than anything, a few longer presses to Max's prostate, just enough to get him worked up.

Rico makes a low noise, curling his fingers inside of Max one last time before pulling them out, rolling off of Max so he can leave the bed.

"Be good, call me later."

His voice is raspy with sleep, and he's about two seconds from lights out, so Max leans down to press his forehead into his shoulder, fondness in his chest.

"I will, thank you."

"Mhm. Don't forget breakfast."

A smile tugs as Max's lips as he gets dressed, collecting his things and quietly locking Rico's door behind him.

------

Max is twitchy after he gives his report presentation. Three espresso shots beforehand was probably not the right call, and now he's wired to all hell with nowhere for the energy to go, drumming his fingers against his leg, checking the time every two seconds.

There's five hours left in his shift. Max is either going to go insane or drive his coworkers insane if he doesn't do something about this.

He's clicking through his files, because he could've sworn-

There.

It's a report on Daniel's little side project, the wine brand that has not once turned them a profit but Daniel keeps anyways. Max remembers him being slightly annoyed when he'd brought it up last, so he'd made this report as more of a joke than anything- it wasn't ever supposed to actually go to Daniel.

It's about to find its way on Daniel's desk anyways.

He prints it out, stapling it together and tidying his desk as he stands. He shoots Scarlett a slack message that he's running some work up to Daniel, and he's pretty sure he hears a muttered 'oh thank god' from Blake's office when he walks by.

The elevator ride is easy, and it takes him until he's passing floor 7 to realize there's someone he's forgotten to inform that he's going to see the CEO.

Daniel.

Whoops.

The elevator dings and Max winces, spends a few seconds debating on if he's actually going to go barge in unannounced.

He is.

Hopefully Daniel's not busy.

He knocks on the door to Daniel's office, shifting on his feet as he waits before he hears Daniel's voice inviting him in.

There's two other people in the room, sitting at the long meeting table- Max can't tell if he's more shocked that the room has chairs, or if he's more shocked Daniel brought him in when he's clearly in a meeting.

"-And this is our accounting intern I was telling you both about earlier, Max. Max, this is Michael, my COO, and Heidi, my CIO."

Shit. This is-

This is their fucking C-Suite.

Max is going to throw up.

He feels like he's back in law school for a moment, being thrown the most vile possible curveball his professors could give, and there's really only one option.

Max needs to lock in.

------

Daniel... really had not expected Max to just show up. Especially not in the middle of his meeting with Michael and Heidi, both finally back in the country after handling a bulk of his international work for the past few months.

There's a solid few seconds when he brings Max in where he's worried he's going to fumble, and Daniel will have to make some casual excuse about clumsy interns. Disappointing, but not surprising.

It's when he introduces them that he sees Max swallow, watches the panic disappear from his eyes as he straightens slightly, stepping forward and extending his hand.

"It is of course wonderful to meet you both. I have been doing write-ups for the Netco merger these last few weeks, so feel free to ask me any questions."

He's giving them both a charming smile, all confidence and easy intelligence- Daniel feels thrown for a loop.

He's not met this Max before. It's a bold move, opening himself up to questions about his work, the complicated nature of the merger itself, to Michael and Heidi- and they're not easy to impress. If Max pulls it off...

Heidi leans back in her seat, face carefully neutral, where Micheal leans forward, curious. They're both like Daniel, dogs with a bone when there's something they want. They're going to eat poor Max alive.

Heidi speaks first, pen hovering above her notebook.

"Netco's 2017 operations in March, who were they trading with?"

Max doesn't hesitate.

"They were trading minor work with their multi year contracted companies, but their major project that got listed in their annual report was given to Wenznet, a shell company owned by Aiden Brown."

Michael makes an annoyed noise.

"Zak's son."

Max nods.

"Wenznet crops up several times after it's founded in late 2016, and it's always to receive a contract from Netco...."

-------

Daniel ushers both Michael and Heidi out the door, promising to meet them for lunch and dinner, and yes they'll catch up out outside of work, of course-

He lets the door swing shut, and then he's spinning back around to Max, backing him right up to the table- his hands grip around his waist, lifting him to sit as Daniel pushes him onto his back, letting Max's legs dangle off the edge as he buries his fingers in his hair, tugging to listen to Max moan.

"Fuck, babe- that was so hot, you did such a good job, what the hell-"

Max's hips jerk at the praise, and Daniel's other hand is fumbling at his belt, unclasping it and pulling it from the loops. He folds it over carefully, and then he's leaning down by Max's face, watching him open his mouth obediently for Daniel to shove the leather between his teeth.

He grinds his hips against Max's, watching his fingers scrabble at the table.

Daniel unzips Max's slacks, get them halfway down before he's rolling him onto his front, hips right at the edge of the table as he undoes his own belt, head still reeling.

"Where have you been hiding all those brains, huh? I've certainly never seen them before."

Max whines through the belt as Daniel gets the lube packet open, smearing it down his cock before pressing two fingers into him.

"And they're missing again already, aren't they? You were so smart just a few minutes ago, knowing everything off the top of your head, but now-"

He groans as he pushes in, Max tight around him.

"-now you're back to being a dumb little cockslut."

Max shudders underneath him, back arching under Daniel's hands as he fucks into him.

He's still stuck thinking about it, the way Max had navigated their questions so smoothly, always had an answer for either of them whenever they asked. He'd never stumbled over his words, never gotten caught unprepared.

Daniel angles for his prostate, listening to Max's punched out whines, fingers digging into his hips.

"Fuck, you were so good. That was incredible babe, I don't-"

He runs a hand down Max's back, fingers pressing into the divots of his spine, the hard muscle and soft fat.

He leans down as his thrusts get more erratic, fitting his teeth over the back of Max's neck, chest pressed into his back.

"You want to come home with me tonight Maxy? You've definitely earned it, showing off like that."

Max clenches around him, making muffled noises through the belt, and Daniel gets a hand between his hips and the table, jerks him a few times before squeezing, just on the side of too tight-

Max cries into the table as he comes, a vice around Daniel's cock, wet and tight as he thrusts a few more times, forehead coming down between Max's shoulders.

They're both breathing hard, although Max has gone mostly boneless on the table. Daniel pulls out slowly, running a hand down Max's side as he pants.

He's not normally one for anything... after. Last time he'd taken Max back to his place, it had been more out of necessity than anything else. Daniel doesn't want to get soft, can't afford to act sweet on anyone, but Max is wriggling his way past his defenses, doggedly trying to carve a space in Daniel's heart.

No one else has to know- it can be Max and Daniel's little secret, that he's more emotionally involved than he'd like to be.

Fucking an intern is one thing. Being sweet on them, making sure they're taken care of afterwards? That's...

Daniel doesn't have anything against gay people- he's pretty sure half the company is gay somehow. It's just not him.

But maybe just this once, with Max.

He starts running a hand through Max's hair, grabbing some wipes as he rolls Max over on his back again.

"Good job, Maxy."

Max's eyes are hazily tracking Daniel's movements, mouth opening wider for Daniel to pull his belt out, working his jaw a few times as he gingerly closes it.

Daniel's gentle as he pieces Max back together. Slacks, belt, carefully tucking his shirt back in- Max still isn't with it by the time he's done.

He debates for a moment. Previously, he's sent Max back down to his desk like this. Now, the idea of it tugs at him in an uncomfortable way- and there's a looming presence in his brain, blood smeared teeth and a split lip.

"C'mere babe."

Max dutifully follows him back over to his desk, and Daniel settles in his chair before encouraging Max to arrange himself on his lap, chin tucked over his shoulder.

It's temporary.

Just this once.

https://x.com/iluvrosetyler/status/1896659611320766709?s=46

max rico daniel

this made me genuinely laugh out loud 😭

(x)