You were Charles' girlfriend, all the formula 1 drivers knew it by the way he seemed so hopelessly devoted to you. They all could see the way the green eyed boy would cling onto you as if it were the only thing he knew how to do. The way he talked about you, even when you weren’t around. He was just so utterly smitten. So, of course, all of the drivers —especially Lando— laughed and mocked him when they found out that he was going to participate in the no nut november challenge against Carlos —they all knew the poor boy wouldn't last long without your kisses, jerking off, masturbating or without having sex with you—.

They had seen the way Charles had become increasingly needy and desperate, downright clingy, with you as the days passed by. The way he was always hugging you thight against him and burying his face against your neck or chest —like a puppy— and whining desperately when he had to be separated from you. They had seen the way he shifted on his seat with his lower lip quivering and his eyes glazed over —shaky hands trying to hide the huge boner straining against his pants—. They all knew the poor boy wouldn't last with how needy he was.

Today, after two weeks of being without any kind of sexual stimulation from your part —without being able to kiss you, jerk off, masturbate or have sex—, and you were sitting at the paddock with the other drivers. Charles was pretty much clinging to you, whining and whimpering at each movement from your part, as he sat on your lap with glossy eyes and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. He needed you, needed to keep you close, needed your body, your skin, your touch, your warmth, anything and everything he could get. He had his face buried in your neck as he weakly yet tightly clung to you, his lips quivering against your skin as he feebly nibbled on the warm skin of your neck, leaving behind a small humid trail of kisses wet from his saliva.