𝟒 - 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭

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On a sun-drenched day at the karting track, a seven-year-old Max Verstappen hesitated, his small hands gripping at the edges of his white and blue helmet. He glanced up at his father, Jos Verstappen, a seasoned racer himself, whose stern expression hinted at the intensity of the day ahead.

"Really, Dad, do we have to race today?" Max whined, the uncertainty in his voice belying his young age. "It's raining... I heard that Finn is not racing today, his dad said..." Max paused, noticing his words had angered his father.

Jos, not one to tolerate hesitation on the track, tightened his grip on the kart's frame. The roar of engines and the smell of gasoline filled the air, creating an atmosphere charged with both excitement and trepidation.

In response to Max's question, Jos, with a firmness that only a racing veteran could possess, grabbed a handful of his son's hair and dragged him to the view of the track. It was a moment where the boundaries between fatherly guidance and the uncompromising world of racing blurred.

"We're here to race, Max. No second-guessing," Jos declared, his words echoing over the buzzing sounds of the karting. "We are here to be better than them, not like them. Do you understand?"
Max, taken aback by his father's actions, felt a surge of anxiety. He understood the passion for racing that coursed through their veins, but the sudden physicality left him afraid. The karting arena, once a place of exhilaration, now felt like an arena of pressure and expectations.

"I understand." The seven-year-old replied

As quickly as Charles' climax had built up, it died out— as if the heat had been completely extinguished and all Charles could do was lay frozen

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As quickly as Charles' climax had built up, it died out— as if the heat had been completely extinguished and all Charles could do was lay frozen. The grip on his wrists tighter than it would be if Max was playing into some fantasy and the quickness of his reactions made it clear that he'd indeed been fed up with the movements.

Despite the harsh actions, Charles attempted to not let it show that he was a little afraid— aware that Max wouldn't hurt him but the worry for him might have been harder to hide. The blond was usually so in control of himself and everything around him that Charles knew better than to think it was a random reaction.

With his wrists released, Charles sat up and brought the sheets closer to his body; unsure of what was happening, not wanting to have the conversation while completely exposed. In spite of the new position, the brunette remained nearby but didn't close any of the space in between them, careful to not invade Max's personal space.

"I am sorry, I don't know what I did. I got too lost in it, I should have asked if it was okay," Charles stammered out, avoiding eye contact as his own way of giving Max a little bit of privacy, unsure of what was going on inside his mind. "We don't have to continue but is it okay if you stay a bit longer?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation casual so as to not scare the man off.

Max didn't want to linger on the situation either, he seemed to be eager to quickly brush it off and even forget it happened to begin with, after all he didn't truly have any awareness of the motivation behind it. 

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