hi liquid my darling :))) for your kiss prompts, in aid of you practising these prompt drabbles (and for my own indulgence xo) pls write whichever pairing your heart desires to the prompt of “wanna practise?” :’) thank u i love u
Please feel free to ask me more kiss prompts, which I definitely fill at some point in time (unspecified).
Wedding Bells, Wedding Kisses (Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, 900 words, drabble)
“Max!” Charles calls, slamming the front door open with significantly more force than necessary – dramatic, as always. Max mutes the stream he’s lurking in, thankful that he wasn’t on audio, and calls back.
“What’s up?”
Charles storms into the office, following the sound of Max’s voice. He stands in the doorway, cheeks a little red and chest moving like he’d run in from the parking garage. Despite the visible distress, Max can’t help but think that he looks adorable like this: worked-up over something that – inevitably – doesn’t actually matter. “Yeah?” Max starts again, half wondering if he’s meant to try and figure it out himself.
“The wedding.” Charles breathes, voice still a little shaky with whatever energy he’s buzzing on.
“The wedding.” Max nods along, as if it makes total sense, standing from his office chair. “You’re… nervous?” He prods gently as he makes his way towards the door, stopping when they’re face to face.
“How do you… how do we kiss? For the wedding.” He looks at Max with those wide, earnest eyes that always hit him right in the gut – trusting and honest and vulnerable.
But Max can’t help it: he laughs a little, no more than a snort. Charles ran up to the apartment, hair on end and eyes frantic, to ask about how to kiss? When they’ve kissed for years? Charles punches him on the arm before he can actually answer.
“Stop laughing, I’m serious!” He cries, voice one step away from a true whine. “How are we meant to kiss?”
“Like we always do?” Max offers, voice still light with laughter as Charles rolls his eyes dramatically.
“It’s not the same, Max. We do not have one, a wedding kiss.”
Max takes another step closer, closing the minimal distance between him and Charles – standing nearly chest to chest in the office doorway. He looks down at him, just a few centimeters that somehow makes all the difference, and takes in the state of his lips – clearly bitten during whatever bout of anxiety caught hold of him in the car. And it hits him:
“We can, of course…” He starts, watching Charles’s eyes flick to his own lips before meeting his gaze again. “Wanna practice?”
—
Max guides them to the couch, shooing away the cats and grabbing Charles by the shoulders – urging him to sit. “So,” He starts, sitting down next to him carefully.
Charles looks nervous, hands gripping his thighs tightly, straining his jeans. Frazzled isn’t a strong enough word; he looks shaken to his core. Somehow, Max thinks, he looks even more distressed than when he tried to make a move on him for the first time – terribly drunk and painfully endearing, wearing his tux and still holding his Rookie of the Year trophy.
“Like this, then?” Max asks, leaning in and placing the most chaste of kisses on Charles’s cheek, right on the spot where his dimple forms.
Charles giggles, nervous and fleeting. “At least pretend you like me, yes?” His dimples are on display, his laugh firming up as Max pulls away and rolls his eyes.
“Sure, yeah, I can do that,” He says, moving a hand to Charles’s jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly in a familiar motion. With practiced ease, he slots their lips together. He can feel Charles continue to relax in his hand, the tension he holds in his face easing as Max sweeps his thumb along his cheek.
He sighs into it, making that little noise in the back of his throat that means he’s content, and Max takes it as an invitation. His hand slides to the base of Charles’s skull, fingers finding their spot in his soft, overgrown hair. Charles leans into him, allowing Max to pull them tighter together – allowing him to gently coax his mouth open, allowing him to kiss him deeper, to let him taste him fully.
Max moves his other hand to Charles’s hip, silently urging him to come closer, when Charles pulls away – lips stained Max’s favorite shade of blush. They match his cheeks, both alive from his touch.
“My mother will be there, you know,” Charles laughs a little, pushing against Max’s chest playfully. “Be respectful.” Max is listening, really, but it’s like part of him has been ignited; Charles almost seems bashful, chin tucked towards his chest slightly, long hair flopped boyishly over his forehead, lashes dark against his cheek as he looks down.
Max isn’t listening.
“Give her my apologies,” He smiles, grabbing Charles’s hips with both hands and pulling him onto his lap – earning a surprised noise, something between a gasp and a giggle. “My self control, you know,” He catches Charles’s lips again, tasting that delicious blush like it’s the first time “It’s not so good.”
“Max,” Charles tries to chastise him, voice closer to a moan than a beratement.
“Let’s practice later, ok? Wedding kissing,” Max says, moving his lips lower – hoping to elicit that hiccupy breath he loves so much when he touches him just right. With a delicate brush against the sensitive skin under his jaw, sliding up to catch his earlobe between his teeth, he whispers: “What d’you think?”
“I –” Charles starts, sentence falling off as Max slides a hand up his shirt, tracing the curve of his spine with feather-light touches. “Yeah, yes, um. Later, right.”
“Thought so.”
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The following is something that hardly any "pro-Palestine" agitator is capable of
*Ahem*
Israel has done alot of objectively wrong things over the course of its history with Palestine, and that didn't magically go away in the past decade. It is a thoroughly paranoid state, and no matter how much that paranoia is justified by the existence of Hamas, Hezbollah and Iran it's no excuse for violating the civil rights of detainees, even if they're provably guilty of whatever crimes they've been accused of. Israel's air strikes in the current war have been too zealous, and there must be a certain point at which it would actually be less harmful in terms of civilian casualties to just send in the IDF on foot, and because of how utterly outmatched Hamas will be against professional soldiers, I feel as though that risk to the IDF ought to be taken for the sake of the innocent civilians who might be saved by it. Hamas isn't going to protect them by virtue of it being filled with genocidal monsters, and thus although it's unfair the onus is on Israel to do the job that the force that governs Gaza refuses to, or at least to try to.
See all of that? That was me being able to perceive and acknowledge reality even when it makes my side look bad. Because I see this war as a war, not a justification to start wishing death on millions. I see these civilians who've died for no reason as just that, instead of deserving of their fate for the crime of being born in the wrong country/to a family of the wrong faith or ethnicity. And I have the most basic of moral sensibilities to be able to look with that sight at all sides of a situation, and not just the ones that it's convenient to look at. But one thing I haven't seen is very many "pro-Palestine" people being able to admit to the observable reality of things like hostage taking, use of human shield tactics, and the fact that Hamas's charter brings up the Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion as if it were true. It's really sad that the last one has had to become my armor-piercing round, or rather sad that that's armor-piercing to their arguments and "Hamas are actively trying to commit genocide" isn't. But I guess that's just what it means to be a "progressive" these days.
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