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#its like strength and flexibility of materials in czech?.. creepy shit but very important
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"oh, Charles, you're such an angel."
Max hears it often. he picks up the phrases chirped by the girls around. it was said by fans, PR managers and once he had even heard it from a Ferrari mechanic. and Max totally and utterly disagrees.
Charles is no angel. on and off the track.
he is a bloody menace.
because angels don't look like that. with a slight squint when there's a storm brewing in the depths of green eyes in the middle of a sunny day.
angels don't get so angry you're afraid to approach. angels don't hold grudges. angels are quick to forgive.
angels don't smile like that. smirking, a little arrogant, covering it with their innocence. and showing a little of the soft tip of the tongue between their teeth.
angels are measured. they take their time. they are neat and tidy. they never make a mess of crumpled sheets and clothes.
angels are gentle. angels never squeeze skin until it bruises, bite until it darkens, or pull hair so hard it brings tears to the eyes.
and even more so, angels don't moan. not painfully, but sweetly, like melted chocolate with marzipan that leaves marks on your fingers. hot. frank. naked. absolutely wasted.
angels don't expose their necks, don't bare collarbones, giving more space for someone’s lips to leave marks.
angels don't press closer, scratching back until it’s bleeding. angels don’t choke on passion and never create their own.
but he falls asleep in the most angelic way. with his nose against Max's neck and the blanket pulled up to his eyes. he throws an arm and a leg over the body next to him, pulls closer, smiles warmly, and lowers his long fluffy eyelashes.
people easily fall for it.
"oh, Charles, you're such an angel."
but Max knows that Charles isn't an angel at all. he's a real demon in the flesh. but it's much easier to love him like that.
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