Chapter Text
The metal clang of the door echoed louder than it should have. George turned instantly, eyes narrowing as the heavy steel swung shut behind them.
“Did that just—”
“—shut?” Max finished dryly, already striding back toward it.
He yanked the handle. Nothing. Locked from the outside.
George exhaled slowly. “This has to be a joke.” Max rattled the handle again, then slammed his fist against the door. It didn’t budge. They both stood there for a second, surrounded by silence and shelves lined with cooling units and spares. The hum of the refrigeration systems vibrated in the air like white noise with teeth.
George’s breath clouded visibly in the air.
“Oh great,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Of all the rooms to get stuck in, we end up in the bloody freezer.”
“It’s not a freezer,” Max replied, voice clipped. “It’s a cooling room.”
“Oh, well, thank God, that changes everything.” George rolled his eyes and leaned against one of the shelves, only to instantly recoil.
“Christ, that’s freezing!”
Max let out a laugh. “What did you expect?”
George sighed and rubbed his hands together. “That someone would come open the damn door. Do you have your phone?”
“No signal in here.” Max was already checking. “Steel walls, thick insulation. Good for engines. Shit for communication.”
They both stared at each other.
Then George grimaced. “What the hell were we even doing in here?”
“You followed me, Russell.”
“You said you wanted to check the shipment!”
“And you just had to come along?”
“You looked like you were going to steal something!”
Max gave him a long look. “You’re insufferable.”
“Back at you,” George snapped, rubbing his arms again. His teeth chattered slightly. “How cold do you think it is?”
“Close to four degrees Celsius,” Max replied. “This place is meant to store tyres and electronics. Not two bloody humans.”
George flopped down on an unopened crate and hissed. Cold seeped through his trousers like icy fingers. “We’re going to die. Frozen. Like idiots.”
Max stayed standing, hands on his hips, pacing slowly. “We’ll be fine. Someone’s bound to notice we’re gone.”
“I don't think so, Max. Half the garage is on break. The other half’s probably assuming we’re fighting somewhere.”
Max finally stopped pacing. “Then we need to stay warm.”
George looked up at him, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “Don’t say it.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
Max shrugged. “It’s basic physics. Body heat, y'know?”
“No. No fucking way.” George stood again, backing away. “I’d rather—”
The light overhead flickered ominously.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Okay. Maybe not die.”
Max cracked his neck and walked over, dropping down cross legged and patting the space beside him.
George hesitated, eyeing him. “I hate you.”
“Good. That’ll keep things spicy.”
“Max.”
“George.”
“I swear if you try anything—”
“I’m literally offering you basic survival.” Max was already pulling his jacket tighter around him. “Now shut up and sit before you freeze your posh little ass off.”
George stood stiffly for another few seconds, then sighed, defeated. He lowered himself down, awkwardly beside Max.
Close. Way too fucking close. He could literally feel the heat of him. The faint warmth trapped under Max’s clothes, the rise and fall of his chest. Silence settled over them, broken only by the low hum of the machines. George shivered once, involuntarily. Then again. And then Max pulled him in, arms around his shoulders like it was no big deal. George froze at the sudden contact.
“Don’t be weird,” Max muttered. “I’m Dutch. We’re practical.”
“Practical,” George repeated flatly, face burning even in the freezing room.
“Practical,” Max confirmed, chin resting lazily on George’s shoulder now. “Unless you’d rather me let go?”
George didn’t answer. His body was still clod. But now under Max’s arms, his pulse was not.
It had been forty minutes since then.
Forty minutes of relentless cold creeping under layers of fleece and branded winter wear. Forty minutes of chattering teeth, trembling fingers, and George curled tighter against Max like he’d been born for it.
And now it was colder.
The air was sharper, biting like sleet. The hum of the fans had intensified slightly. Deceptive at first, until Max leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
“They’ve activated backup cooling.”
“What?” George’s voice cracked, breath puffing out visibly.
Max rubbed his hand down George’s arm, firm and slow, like he could push warmth into him. “Automated control. If the room temperature rises too much, the system compensates. Maybe someone’s turned on a heater in the next room. Doesn’t matter. it’s overreacting anyway.”
George groaned. “It’s getting worse…” He curled his knees up tighter, chest heaving slightly. “My hands are numb.”
“I know.” Max glanced down.
George’s fingers were blotchy red, shaking. His thighs trembled visibly now, even under the layers. The corners of Max’s mouth tightened.
“You need to strip.”
George blinked. “I need to what?”
“Not like that. Not fully.” Max’s voice was steady. “Your clothes are trapping the cold. Dampness builds up from your skin trying to heat up, and it just makes it worse. Take off the outer layers, then get under mine.”
George scowled. “That sounds like absolute pseudoscientific nonsense.”
“I was in the military for a year, George.”
George blinked. “You were?”
“No. But I did spend one winter in Norway during karting, so same thing.”
What in the—
Max unzipped his jacket. The heat trapped inside was minimal, but to George it looked like a lifeline. His breath hitched, but he didn’t move.
“You’ll die being proud,” Max said, calmly. “Your cunt is probably freezing.”
George turned scarlet. “Wh—?? SHUT the fuck up.”
“I’m serious.” Max’s tone shifted, lower, a little too knowing. “I’ve been around omegas before. The way your thighs are pressed together now... you’re trying to keep it warm.”
George flushed harder. His teeth clacked softly. He didn’t deny it.
“George,” Max murmured. “Take off your outet layer. Come in. Now.”
He obeyed.
His fingers struggled with the zip. Max helped, silent, surprisingly gentle. The jacket came off first. Then the fleece. Then George was left in a thin base layer, goosebumps prickling violently across his skin. His body shuddered with the effort of simply existing. Max opened his own jacket and spread it like a blanket, guiding George to press in, chest to chest. George gasped at the warmth. It wasn’t much, but it was human. Max slid a hand down, under George’s layer, fingers stroking the small of his back. Just contact. Just grounding.
George trembled again. And Max felt it deeper now. Not just cold. A flush underneath.
“You’re heating up,” Max muttered against his temple. George didn’t reply. His breath stuttered. “You’re slick,” Max whispered. “Aren’t you.” George whimpered. The sound escaped like steam. Embarrassed. Desperate.
“Didn’t even notice, did you?” Max said. “Body’s trying to protect you. Slick’s warm.”
“Max—”
His thighs clenched tighter. Max could feel it. The tension. The panic. The way his body tried to pull away and lean in all at once.
George mumbled, “It’s not—intentional. I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Max said simply. “It’s just instinct. Omega instincts are stronger when your body’s under threat.”
Max didn’t touch him there. He didn’t have to. George was already curling in tighter, his breath coming quicker, his scent damp and sweet, even laced with cold.
And Max was warm.
So warm.
“Max…” George’s voice shook. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Max murmured, hand cradling the base of his spine. “Don’t hold you tighter? Don’t keep you alive?”
George couldn’t answer.
He was shivering too hard. And Max... well, Max was holding him like a secret. Time was hard to track. Minutes bled into more minutes, stretched and warped by the cold seeping into George’s bones. He was pressed into Max’s chest now. His whole body practically fused against him, head tucked under Max’s chin, limbs shaking, breaths shallow.
The warmth helped.
But it wasn’t enough. Not when every part of George’s body was reacting. Not when his omega instincts had finally overpowered pride and shame and all those stupid social rules. Not when his cunt was pulsing with its own kind of ache, slick coating his thighs, hot against the cold.
“Max,” George whispered, teeth barely apart. “I can’t—I can’t stop it.”
Max tilted his head just slightly. “I know.”
George closed his eyes. “It hurts.”
Max moved then. Slowly, careful. His hand slipped under George’s base layer, fingers finding bare skin, trailing lower, following the heat like a magnet. His touch was warm. Dry. Confident.
George arched without meaning to.
“Let me help,” Max murmured.
There was no tease in his voice now. No cocky grin. Just something steadier. Like he meant it. Like his fingers weren’t going to do anything cruel. They were just going to do what George’s body needed.
“Fuck—” George whispered as Max’s hand slid between his thighs.
Soaked. Slick was everywhere, coating his cunt in a desperate, needy mess. Max exhaled low, like he’d just tasted something forbidden.
“Look at you,” he whispered. “All wet for survival, huh?”
“Shut up—” George gasped, pushing his hips down instinctively as Max’s fingers grazed his folds.
“You’re going to thank me in ten seconds.”
And then he slid one finger in.
George whined. The sound came from somewhere deep—raw and helpless. The stretch was easy. He was soaked but the shock of it made his thighs tremble harder. Max kept the motion steady. Deep. Pressing right against that spot that made George’s breath stutter.
“Good,” Max praised, soft and low. “You’re doing so good. So warm now, yeah?”
George couldn’t answer. He was already rolling his hips, chasing it, whining again when Max slipped in another finger.
“Look at that greedy cunt,” Max muttered. “Sucking me in like it knows what’s good for it.”
“Don’t—say shit like that—” George gasped, but he was trembling too hard to sound convincing. “I’m not—I’m not—”
“Not what?” Max asked, curling his fingers. “Not enjoying it?”
George’s whole body jumped. A strangled moan escaped him.
“Not a whimpering mess in my lap?”
“Max—!”
“Or not about to come just from fingers?”
He was.
He really, really was.
His cunt clenched down on Max’s fingers like it wanted more, all of him. His body rocked forward, slick dripping down, soaking Max’s palm, thighs sticky and flushed. Max was whispering now, dark praise right in his ear.
“Such a tight little pussy,” he said. “All this heat, all this slick... you’re lucky it’s me. Someone else’d have fucked you already.”
George squealed. His body tightened. Climax hit him like a lightning strike—fast and sharp, his cunt spasming around Max’s fingers. His mouth opened but no sound came out, just shallow breaths and broken moans.
Max didn’t stop. He slowed his pace but didn’t pull out, letting George grind lazily through the aftershocks, cunt still fluttering. Max held him through it, lips brushing George’s temple, hand cupping his thigh now like it was sacred.
“You’re burning up now,” Max whispered. “Good. You’ll survive.”
George blinked back at him, dazed, tears in his lashes from the sheer intensity.
“Y-you didn’t—”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t worry.” His voice darkened. “You’ll return the favor.”
George had stopped shivering now. Not because the room was warm. It wasn’t. If anything, it had only gotten colder, sharp air burning his nose and fingers like frostbite in slow motion.
No. He wasn’t shivering because Max was still inside him.
Not moving. Just… there.
Two fingers, buried deep. Still curved gently, as if reminding George what he’d done. What he’d taken.
What he’d needed.
George was in heat.
He was half curled across Max’s lap now, head against his chest, every breath a sticky hiccup, his cunt still twitching from the orgasm, his slick smeared across both of them like warmth they’d made.
And Max was calm. Breathing slow. One hand stroking George’s hair. The other still between his legs, fingers claimed.
“You’re not trembling anymore,” Max murmured.
George bit back a moan. “That doesn’t mean I’m fine.”
“No,” Max agreed. “But it means you’ll live.”
George tried to shift. He couldn’t. His legs were too weak. His cunt ached, too soft, too sensitive. Every little movement made it clamp down around nothing and beg for more.
He hated it.
He hated how easily Max had made his body respond. How safe it had felt. How fucking hot he felt now—sweaty and flushed and furious at himself.
But also...
Also cold again.
Max noticed. “Temperature’s dropping again,” he murmured. “Your skin’s getting clammy.”
George didn’t answer.
Then Max looked down. Met his eyes. “I can help again,” he said. “But only if you want it.”
George’s lip trembled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Max exhaled, eyes steady. “Cock’s warmer than fingers. I’m not gonna fuck you. Not unless you ask. But if I put it in… you’ll stay warmer.”
George blinked slowly. Brain misfiring.
“You’re talking about cockwarming like it’s a medical solution.”
“It is.” Max’s voice was maddeningly logical. “Your cunt’s already needy. Slick’s still dripping. You’ll cramp if you tense too much. This way... it stays open, filled. Safe.”
“I’m not a container, Max.”
“I know,” Max said softly. “You’re a furnace. And I’ll give you the kindling.”
George groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “This is so fucking deranged!”
“You want it,” Max said. Not a question.
George hesitated. Body already buzzing. His cunt throbbed at the idea—of being filled again, stretched, settled. It ached for it. His slick had returned in weak waves, like it missed being used.
“I hate you,” George muttered.
“Then do it out of spite,” Max replied, already unzipping.
And fuck, he was big. George’s eyes widened as Max pulled himself out, thick and flushed, the tip glistening.
“Jesus Christ.”
“You’ll manage.” Max’s voice had dipped now , calmer, but darker. “Turn a bit. Just like that. I’ll go slow.”
George whimpered as Max lined up, the blunt head pressing against his entrance. Not pushing, just resting. His body responded instantly, cunt fluttering, eager and slick and needy. Max held him still, one hand guiding his hip.
“Just the tip,” he promised.
It was a lie.
Because the second George’s slick cunt opened up around him, Max sank in. Inch by hot, thick inch. George choked, his head lolling back against Max’s shoulder, thighs trembling violently.
“F-Fuck—”
“I know.” Max’s voice was a growl now. “So fucking tight. You’re sucking me in like you’ve needed this for weeks.”
George couldn’t reply.
Because Max was fully inside him now—buried deep, not moving, not thrusting, just there. Hot and full and so thick George could barely think.
His cunt pulsed greedily. Max groaned.
“You’re warm now,” he murmured. “I can feel it. Heat’s building. Your body wants this.”
George whimpered, cunt clenching around him.
Max didn’t move.
And that was the worst part.
The not-moving.
Because it made George ache , in the chest, in the cunt, in the part of him that wanted to be held and filled and kept. Every breath pushed Max deeper somehow, every heartbeat a reminder that he was still inside.
“You’re gonna fall asleep like this,” Max whispered against his hair. “Wrapped around my cock. Warm and full. And if you come in your sleep?”
He kissed George’s temple.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
Like Max said, George drifted somewhere between sleep and need.
His thighs were sore, twitching faintly. His cunt stretched around Max’s cock for god knows how long, was a slick, swollen mess. Every small movement, every breath, reminded him how full he was. Max hadn’t moved. He’d stayed buried, cock nestled deep in George’s cunt like it belonged there. And that was the problem.
Because George’s omega body was done waiting.
“…Max.” His voice was breathless. A whisper. But Max stirred instantly, still sharp despite the cold.
“Hm?”
George’s face flushed even more. “It hurts.”
Max tilted his head slightly. “Where?”
George squirmed, his cheeks burning, his cunt clenching around the heavy cock still buried inside him.
“There.”
Max groaned softly. “You need to be fucked, don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
George whimpered. He hated how pathetic it sounded. But his slick told the truth—fresh and sticky, seeping around Max’s shaft in slow waves.
Max adjusted behind him, one large hand bracing George’s hip. The shift dragged his cock inside George’s cunt just a little and George gasped, eyes fluttering.
“Say it,” Max murmured, lips brushing his ear. “Say what you need.”
George bit his lip. “F-Fuck me.”
“Again.”
“Max—”
“I’m not teasing.” Max’s voice dropped, rough. “I want you to know what you’re asking for.”
George clenched around him, desperate. “Please. I want it—I want you—”
That was all Max needed.
He pulled out just a little just enough for George to feel the drag, the emptiness then slammed back in with one brutal thrust.
George cried out, high and desperate, cunt fluttering violently.
And then Max started to move.
Deep, rolling strokes. His hips snapped forward with smooth precision, cock hitting that sensitive spot again and again until George was keening into his shoulder, grabbing at his arms, his body already trembling with the force of it. Max growled low in his throat. “Fucking hell, George. You were made for this. For me.”
George sobbed out something broken, pressing back into each thrust, his slick making obscene sounds, cunt tightening with every brutal drag of Max’s cock.
“You’re sucking me in,” Max hissed. “So greedy. So fucking perfect.”
George couldn’t even speak. His body was doing the begging now—hips rolling, pussy fluttering, cunt swollen around Max like it was already close again.
“Max—Max, I’m gonna—”
“Yeah?” Max’s hand wrapped around George’s throat gently, anchoring him. “You gonna come on my cock like a good little omega?”
George screamed.
His cunt clamped down like a vice, pulsing around Max as his whole body shook. Slick gushed, thighs trembling violently, vision going white at the edges.
But Max wasn’t done. He kept going. Through George’s orgasm. Through the clenching. Through the cries. Because now he was close. “Can feel it—fuck—you’re milking me,” Max groaned. “Gonna come inside. Gonna knot you so fucking deep—”
George moaned helplessly, his cunt clenching again as he felt Max swell. His cock thickened. And George knew what was coming. “Max—oh god—Max please—!!”
Then it hit. The base of Max’s cock bloomed, thickened, forced its way in and locked. George shrieked, cunt stretching around the knot, forced wide and full and fucked open. Max’s hips snapped once, twice, then he spilled, thick, endless heat flooding George’s cunt. Cum poured into him in long, heavy pulses so much George felt it drip despite the knot keeping it inside.
He was full. Stretched. And claimed.
Max kissed the back of his neck, panting hard. “You’re so fucking good,” he whispered. “So full of me now. Can feel your cunt still pulsing.”
George moaned, weak and dazed, his body completely wrecked. His cunt was warm. His belly was heavy with cum. And Max...Max was still inside, still thick and knotted and perfectly locked in place. His voice was barely audible. “I’m… warm now.”
Max chuckled, wrapping both arms around him. “Told you cockwarming would save your life.”
George let out a soft sound that started as a choked laugh but quickly melted into a deep moan. It wasn't a sound of pain, but of pure, overflowing sensation, as if his body couldn't hold all the warmth and goodness he felt. He was so completely full of Max, a comforting weight that settled deep inside him. It was a wonderful kind of fullness, like every empty space in him had finally been filled.
The warmth spread outwards from his core, making his skin tingle and his limbs feel heavy and relaxed. It was more than just a physical heat. No, it was a feeling of being safe, understood, and utterly cherished. Everything about the moment felt so incredibly good, a deep, quiet pleasure that hummed through his entire being, connecting him to Max in a way that words couldn't quite capture.
They didn’t move for a long time.
George lay slumped against Max’s chest, boneless and full, the overwhelming fullness of Max’s knot inside him pulsing gently with each beat of his heart. His cunt was still twitching around it, trying to milk him even though there was nothing left to take.
The cold was distant now. Somewhere beyond the haze of slick heat and stretched flesh and skin on skin warmth. Max’s hand was stroking George’s belly idly. Up and down. Thumb brushing near the navel. “There’s so much of it inside you,” he murmured. “Can almost feel it here.”
George let out a broken moan.
It was true. The pressure of the knot, the thick rush of cum locked in deep...it all left his stomach distended slightly, heavy. His cunt was stretched so wide around the knot, clamped down so tightly that the plug kept everything inside.
He should’ve felt embarrassed. But he didn’t. He just felt full and owned. Max moved his hand lower. George stiffened slightly. “Max…”
“Hm?”
“What are you—”
But Max was already parting George’s folds, wet, swollen, soaked in slick and cum, right above where his cock was still buried. His fingers slid through the mess, and—
He found the clit.
George jumped, hips twitching violently. “Max!”
“Shh,” Max whispered, kissing his shoulder. “You’re warm now. Perfect time for a little more.”
“You’re still inside—”
“Exactly. You’re stretched, stuffed, tied around my cock like a good little thing…” His voice was low, dangerous. “I think your clit needs attention.”
And then he started rubbing. Just two fingers. Circular, slow. Teasing. George gasped—the sensitivity was unbearable. His clit was puffy, aching, and Max’s fingers moved over it like he was coaxing another orgasm out from under his skin.
“F-Fuck—stop—”
“You’re not saying it like you mean it,” Max whispered, fingers never stopping.
George whimpered, legs kicking weakly as his cunt clenched again, around the knot, still held open and helpless. Max groaned as he felt the pulse around his cock. He slid one finger lower again, between George’s folds, and pushed it in. Right beside the knot.
George screamed.
“MAX—!”
“Shh, shh—just one finger,” Max said, voice husky. “You’re stretched enough. Let me stir it.”
His finger pressed in beside the thick knot, just enough to nudge the tender inner walls. There wasn’t room. Not really. But George’s cunt made room, slippery and soft and so wet, squelching around Max’s finger and cock both.
The pressure was maddening. So so full...
“Can feel everything,” Max whispered against his neck. “Feel how swollen you are. All your slick, all my cum. It’s messy in here, oh, baby.”
George writhed, a choked moan breaking in his throat. His hips tried to pull away, but Max had him caged—legs tangled with his, chest tight to his back.
And Max’s finger pushed deeper, curling, still rubbing his clit with the other hand.
“You gonna come again?” Max murmured. “Like this? With my knot in your cunt and my fingers playing with your clit like it’s a toy?”
George sobbed.
He didn’t even know if he was close again. He just felt overloaded heat blooming under his skin, body fluttering and twitching and begging. There was no room for shame, no room for thought just sensation.
Tight. Wet. His.
“Say it,” Max breathed, voice trembling now. “Say who you belong to.”
George whined, barely able to form words. “Y-You—fuck—Max, I can’t—”
“You can.” His finger circled harder, pressed firmer, his knot twitching inside. “Say it. Or I’ll stop.”
George snapped.
“I’m yours—fuck—I’m yours!”
His orgasm ripped through him. Shaking, intense, breaking over his body like a second wave of heat. His cunt clamped around the knot again, spasming uncontrollably, walls trying to suck Max’s finger in deeper even though they were already impossibly full.
Max groaned like it hurt, his knot tightening one last time as his arms wrapped tighter around George’s waist.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered into his neck. “Good. Fucking. Girl.”
They were shaking together now, warm, wet, locked. The cold didn’t stand a single fucking chance. And time also moved differently inside a locked cold room with a cock buried in your cunt.
George couldn’t remember what hour it was, what day even. His brain had melted somewhere between the second orgasm and Max's finger casually slipping in beside the knot. His body was ruined, stretched and flushed and trembling in aftershocks.
But Max was thriving. Still inside him. Still hard and knotted. And now he was playing. George whined as Max’s fingers gently slid down again, parting the soaked, swollen folds of his cunt. His touch was light, almost lazy like he had nowhere else in the world to be except teasing open the pussy that belonged to him.
George moaned as a fingertip found his clit again.
Pinch. Flick. Slow circles.
“F-Fuck, Max—!”
Max hummed behind him. “Still so swollen. And wet. You hear that?”
He pressed two fingers to George’s folds again and spread them. The slick made the filthiest sound—a soft, wet squelch, like a kiss dragged out too long.
George hid his face in his arm, utterly destroyed.
Max grinned.
He brought his fingers up slowly, dripping with slick, a little of his own cum, a hint of the inside warmth still clinging to the tips. He turned them in the dim light, glistening with heat.
Then he licked them. Ceremoniously.
George froze.
The bastard let out a deep hum, letting his tongue slowly run between his fingers. Then again. Sucking once, then pulling off with a faint pop. His eyes fluttered shut.
“Mmm.”
George twisted back toward him, dazed. “You—did you just—??”
Max’s lips curled.
“Vanilla,” he said, voice low, almost reverent. “And strawberries. Sweet. Like that ice cream they give kids on airplanes.”
George blinked, stunned.
“But richer,” Max added, licking another finger clean. “There’s a bit of… caramel, too. Just a hint. Not sugar-syrup caramel—like toasted brown sugar. Deep and warm. I love it.”
He looked fucking high on it.
George made a strangled noise. “You can’t be serious, mate—”
Max’s fingers dipped again, casually brushing between the folds. George jerked, overstimulated all over again.
“I’m always serious about your cunt,” Max murmured, then brought the fingers to his mouth again. Tasting and sucking simultaneously. Like it was gourmet. George stared, breathless, flushed to the roots of his hair. Max met his eyes. “You’re delicious, omega. I told you I’d keep you warm. But now?”
His fingers pressed back to George’s clit, pinching just slightly, rolling it. “I’m keeping your hungry little cunt fed too, princess.”
George choked on a moan, collapsing forward as Max chuckled darkly behind him, knot still buried, cunt dripping, and his taste lingering on Max’s tongue like the sweetest damn dessert he’d ever had.
But George was falling apart again. Not from thrusts, not from fingers, not even from that knot still buried in his pussy but from the touches now. The tenderness. The laziness of Max’s strokes across his thighs, his stomach, the gentle pads of his fingers slipping again and again over his clit like he knew how to unravel him without a single word.
He was overstimulated and strung out, mouth open and whimpering softly, his hands clinging to Max’s arms like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Max’s knot was still in, pulsing slightly less than before, but still holding them joined.
And George was dripping like a faucet. His slick was everywhere. Between them. Coating Max’s cock. Soaking both their thighs. And mixed into it now was Max’s cum, hot and heavy and so much that George swore he could feel the weight of it in his belly.
“I c-can’t,” he gasped, eyes glassy, body twitching.
“Yes you can.” Max’s voice was low, so calm. “You’re doing so good for me, baby.”
George whined, but Max just smiled.
His hand slid up slowly, fingertips skating up George’s flushed throat. And then he gripped it. Not hard. Just enough. Possessive.
George froze, breath catching, head tilted back instinctively. Max leaned in, his body pressed against George’s back and kissed him.
And it wasn’t soft. It was filthy. Max’s tongue slid in instantly, deep and purposeful. George gasped into it and then moaned, because he tasted it.
Himself.
The tang of slick. The faint sweetness. The warm thickness of Max’s cum in his mouth, shared from Max’s tongue to his own. His cunt clenched down again. The kiss didn’t stop.
Max kissed him like he wanted to own his mouth the same way he owned George’s cunt.
George whimpered, whining into it, sucking on Max’s lower lip like it might make the heat go away , but it didn’t. If anything, it doubled.
“You taste like mine,” Max growled when they finally broke the kiss. “Exactly like I thought you would, princess.”
George could only pant, body still quivering. Then he felt the soft pop. Gentle and slippery. Max’s knot finally went down. George gasped at the shift, hips jerking as Max’s softened cock slipped free, followed immediately by a rush of warm cum, leaking out between his legs, coating his thighs in obscene mess.
Max caught him instantly, arms wrapping around him, pulling him into a tighter hold like George might drift away. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “Still warm?” George, dazed and teary eyed, nodded into his chest.
They didn’t speak after that. Just soft breathing. Cuddling. Fingers brushing through sweaty hair. George curled up against Max’s front, his cunt still pulsing faintly, slick and cream sticking between his legs. Max’s jacket wrapped around them both like a blanket, damp and wrinkled but safe.
A click.
Both of them froze.
The door.
The lock hitched.
A faint creak echoed across the room.
George’s breath caught. “No—no no no—”
Max didn’t even move. He just grinned like a bastard.
“Well,” he said, voice calm. “Guess they’ll find out what we were doing to stay warm.”
George screamed into his hands as the door creaked fully open.
“…Max?”
Max didn't even flinch when his team principal's voice cut through the air.
He sat with his legs spread out casually, one arm wrapped tight around a very disheveled, very slick, very naked from the waist down George Russell, who was half limp in his lap, flushed pink, face tucked firmly under Max’s chin, and very much post heat ruined.
Toto’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “What… the fuck,” he finally muttered, voice nearly hoarse.
Christian took a step forward, blinking like he’d been hit in the head with a tire gun. “You two—we thought—they thought you were dead! You disappeared. For two hours. We’ve had tech scouring building schematics checking surveillance and it cut out near this room?!”
Max blinked slowly.
“Yeah. We got stuck.”
George whimpered weakly into Max’s neck.
“And this is how you… got warm?” Toto gestured vaguely at the scene. George curled into Max, thighs wet with slick and something thicker, Max’s jacket cradling the pair, his own pants clearly undone, scent thick in the air like baked sugar and musk.
Max gave him the most deadpan look imaginable.
“It worked.”
Christian just stared. “Are you aware we saw the security feed up until the last ten seconds before the cut? You both walked in, alone, Max, you said you’d be ‘five minutes.’ You were wearing full kits and now Russell’s not even wearing pants.”
George squeaked.
Max wrapped his arms tighter around him. “He was cold.”
“Cold?!” Toto snapped. “He’s glowing like he just ran a seventy lap quali. His thighs look like he fought God and lost.”
George groaned louder, tugging Max’s jacket over his face.
Max tilted his head, shrugging. “He was in heat. Came on during the temperature drop.”
“He—you—!” Christian sputtered. “You had sex in the middle of a logistics center?!”
“…Would you have preferred he froze to death?”
“That’s not—!”
“Because I asked before. Several times.”
George, from under the jacket, groaned, “He did. He asked.”
Max reached down lazily to stroke George’s thigh, making George squeak again.
Christian turned around and physically walked into a shelf.
Toto just stood there like his entire operating system had crashed.
“Medical’s on their way,” he said eventually, voice robotic. “George—you’re not walking.”
Max, nonchalant, “I can carry him.”
Christian finally turned back around, eyes glassy. “You’d better. And Max? When this is over?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re buying that boy a goddamn dinner.”