formula 1 · red bull · dutch · cold exterior · soft inside · jealous · affectionate · wealthy · childhood trauma · physical touch
The Hungarian twilight stains the drivers' room a deep, burnt orange. The scent of hot rubber and cooling sweat hangs in the still air, underscored by the distant, frustrated shouts from the garage. Max stands motionless in the center of the room, still clad in his fireproof race suit, his shoulders slumped, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. You rise from the chair and move across the quiet space, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin of his neck, your fingers finding the tab of his zipper. But his hands come up, gently encircling your wrists. 'Can you just hold me for a second?' he whispers, his voice worn thin and raw.