king pleasure
➝ request: can we dare asking for a jealous Toto?
➝ word count: 4,9k
➝ warnings: smut (teasing, choking, unprotected sex), fuckboy toto at finest
➝ author’s note: first of all, i apologize for delaying the posting of this one-shot. in addition to getting a little carried away, as you can see from the size of the text, i took a work trip on monday and ended up getting sick in the meantime. again, i apologize. i take this opportunity to thank my beta readers who helped (directly or indirectly) to develop this one shot. gi, babi, ally, milla, raya and bella, you are angels.
The air in the room was boiling.
The soft beat of a song lulled the conversations around you.
The voices overlapped each other.
In your hand, the glass of gin and tonic was half empty, the mint leaves floating above the bubbles rising through the liquid.
Standing, you curiously observed a picture hanging on the wall. It was completely painted in a very bright yellow. The black-painted letters dominated the center of the canvas, their prominence amplified by the rough brown underlining that ran the length of the two words. Above them, the crown added strength to the first word written by the artist in the composition.
— King Pleasure, 1987 — a familiar voice spoke at your side. Turning to face, you found your host standing to your right, his brown eyes fixed on the frame. Dressed from head to toe in black, he might even have gone unnoticed if he weren't Sir Lewis Hamilton.
However, if for the others present in that Monaco penthouse he was the seven-time Formula 1 World Champion, for you he was just Lewis, the boy you had shared tracks and podiums with when you were just teenagers racing in Formula Renault.
The boy with whom you had shared dreams of reaching Formula 1.
However, your paths took very different directions after that last race at Donington Park, back in 2002. Lewis continued to climb his mountain in the single-seater competitions, benefiting from a stellar contract with McLaren, which guaranteed him the chance to drive a car of the highest category in motorsport.
You, on the other hand, kept running in the UK, fighting for a chance in the biggest categories, year after year, until an unexpected invitation changed the course of your career. The opportunity to drive in a touring car class in Germany fell into your lap as a pleasant surprise and, passionate as you were, you jumped at the chance.
In your third year, you became champion. In addition to being the proof you needed to believe that there was life beyond Formula 1, the achievement brought the attention of sponsors, especially a German automaker. At a glamorous event, you were announced as the new Mercedes-AMG brand ambassador. However, you remembered that night in another way.
— I knew you liked Basquiat, but not that you managed to buy an original work.
Lewis put his hands behind his back.
— It was a long negotiation. But you know how it is, I know how to be convincing.
You turned to the driver.
— I know — you smiled — Well, me and Ron Dennis.
Your friend laughed, lifting his left hand and placing it on your shoulder. The story of how Lewis, at just ten years old, approached the McLaren team principal and said categorically that he was going to drive one of his cars was a situation that you often recall to point out how convincing he could be when he wanted something. And not just in the professional field.
Apartments.
Cars.
Yachts.
Designer clothes.
Women.
Lewis always got what he wanted.
Looking back at the painting, you raised your glass to your lips, taking a sip of the drink, the bitter aftertaste of tonic water dancing on your tongue.
— Why? — you asked after a few seconds of silence.
— What do you mean? — he asked you as his hand returned to the spot behind his back.
— Why did you choose this painting? I'm sure there were more interesting works, right?
Lewis looked back at Basquiat's painting, analyzing the brushstrokes carefully.
— I first saw it at an exhibition about him in Chelsea, New York — the driver said, without taking his eyes off the canvas — It's inspired by a jazz vocalist named King Pleasure. He had a song called "Moody's Mood for Love" that was a favorite of Jean-Michel Basquiat's father.
— Interesting — you stammered, eyes fixed on Lewis.
— This painting, in a way, is his tribute to his father. And I felt a connection with this piece precisely because of that, because of its meaning — Lewis followed his explanation, completely immersed in the yellow sea painted by the North American artist.
However, you didn't dive with him.
Before jumping into the waves of Basquiat, you found a pair of brown eyes staring at you intently from a corner of the large living room, paying no attention to the men chuckling around him, drinking beer straight from the bottles. His face was a serious mask, impenetrable, impassive.
Toto.
The first time you both saw each other was by chance, in 2016, at the HTP Motorsport headquarters in Altendiez, near Frankfurt. Rushing out of the simulator, you were looking back, saying something to your engineer when you just bumped into him in the middle of the hallway, knocking everything you were holding, the sound of your helmet's carbon fiber hitting the floor filling the room. .
— My God, I'm sorry — you bent down, trying to pick things up as quickly as possible, your fingers trying to grab the paper sheets with graphics printed on them in a clumsy way.
— No problem, it was my fault — he replied, helping you gather your belongings scattered around the hallway. With the papers and gloves under your arm, you rose from the ground, taking your helmet and balaclava from the hands of the man in front of you. Looking up to look at his face, a smile of recognition appeared on his lips.
As a good Formula 1 and your friend’s fan, you followed the news and even some races. So recognizing the tall, dark-haired man with glasses balanced carefully on his nose wasn't difficult at all. Difficult was to disguise your embarrassment at having stumbled upon him from all the people.
— Thanks — you muttered under your breath, clutching your things to your chest — I’m Y/N Y/L/N.
— Wolff, Toto Wolff. But something tells me you already know that — his lips curved into a smile.
A tap on your back made you look away from Toto.
— See the crown? — Lewis asked you, pointing to the simple drawing done with black strokes and painted with the same brown paint that underlined the two words in the center of the frame.
— Yes, I see — you replied, taking another sip of your gin and tonic, the ice against your lips making you more alert.
— Basquiat liked to use crowns as a way of symbolizing kings and queens in modern society, moving away from that traditional concept of their use by historical monarchies. It's a symbol of power and wealth within the celebrity culture of the time — Lewis continued, gesturing with tattooed fingers toward the canvas.
You tried to follow the driver’s reasoning, forcing your eyes to remain focused on his expression as he went on with his long monologue about the intentions and meanings that Basquiat wanted to convey with that piece. However, something drew your gaze to the same spot as before.
For the same person.
The second time you saw Toto was during a Mercedes-AMG event at STATION Berlin, in early 2018. Presented as the brand's newest ambassador alongside Lewis and Valtteri, you should be overjoyed. However, the entire night had proved to be one giant disappointment for you.
Sipping champagne in front of a window in a corner of the room, your mind repeated the reporters' questions, a grimace of disgust forming on your face.
What is the brand of your dress?
Do you find it more difficult to drive on the tracks or on the streets?
What is the main challenge when dealing with helmet hair?
What is it like to deal with a team at PMS?
Do men feel intimidated when you say you're a professional driver?
The last question made something burn inside you. Squeezing the cup in your hand, you didn't hesitate to drop it in one go. The alcohol burned down your throat and made your eyes fill with tears. “Definitely not a good idea”, you thought.
— Is your night being pleasant? — a voice asked from behind you.
Turning slowly around, you found Toto with his hands in the pockets of his black dress pants, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.
— Definitely not — you replied, in an impolite tone.
— May I know what might have upset the newest Mercedes-AMG brand ambassador? — he asked, approaching slowly.
— Those damn reporters — you spat, turning back to the window, your eyes distracted by the movement in the street.
— What did they do? — Toto asked, his voice serious.
— I prepared myself all week to answer questions about Mercedes, about the history of the brand, about what it’s like to race in a category like the DTM, what it was like to compete with Lewis when we were younger and — you started stuttering, frustration taking over you completely. How you hated it when that happened — And they only know how to ask completely stupid questions!
— Like what? — he asked, stopping beside you in front of the window.
— The fucking brand of my dress.
— And what's the brand? — Toto smiled.
— I don't know, I don't give a damn about these things.
— What else did they ask? That can't be the only thing that pissed you off.
— They also asked if it's harder to drive on the street or on the damn track. If my fucking PMS gets in the way of my relationship with the team. But it wasn't the worst, unfortunately it wasn't the worst question I got that night.
— And what was it?
— If men are intimidated when I say I'm a fucking professional driver — you looked into your empty glass, the drops of champagne that remained in it glistening in the light from the window.
— And they are?
You looked up at Toto.
— I don't know — you snapped — You tell me.
— Tell what?
— Are you intimidated by me?
— No — he replied, bringing his face closer to yours — Actually, I'm attracted to you.
Suddenly, Lewis' face came back into view.
— Do you know which styles inspired Basquiat the most? — he asked you, smiling.
You blinked once, twice, before returning the smile to the driver.
— Graffiti? — you said, without any certainty or notion of where the conversation was at.
— That's obvious, Y/N — Lewis laughed — I'm talking about the other influences.
— Well, I don't know.
— Aside from graffiti, he drew a lot from the very culture he grew up in, mixing Puerto Rican, Haitian and New York influences as well as the music he listened to, especially jazz and hip hop, as well as the poetry he read. He even took references from medical books, you know?
You nodded, trying to convey as little as possible the fact that you were completely lost in that dialogue, or rather, the monologue he was delivering about his great treasure. In an effort to look interested, you brought your gin and tonic to your lips again. However, you only found ice and a single mint leaf stuck to the bottom of the glass.
— Did the conversation make you so thirsty? — Lewis said in a playful tone.
— Hearing that much information requires a lot of liquid — you returned, smiling.
— Want to get another one?
— Yes — you replied.
You turned toward the bar, feeling Lewis' hand land at the base of your spine, causing a memory to hit you hard.
A touch on the same point, also by a male hand.
But in a very different context.
Turning your face back, you found a pair of brown eyes watching you, an eyebrow of disbelief raised framing one of them. The same eyes that stared at you as you moaned with pleasure in a hotel room just over a year ago.
Definitely having sex with a man before at least three dates was out of the question for you. However, it was only Toto telling you that he was attracted to you that night that the wheels turned in your head and a mischievous smile appeared on your face.
— Attracted? — you answered, looking away from the window, in his direction.
— More than I could — he answered you, in a whisper.
— Do you think this is wrong, Mr. Wolff? — you said, emphasizing the honorific.
— It depends on the viewpoint.
— And what's yours?
Toto smiled.
— Is the most wrong thing I've ever felt in my life.
You approached him, lifting your face to look at him. Alcohol had definitely made you braver than you would ever be in any other context, with any other man.
— And why don't you walk away?
— How can I get away from you, babydoll? — he muttered, the nickname making your skin tingle.
— Taking a step back.
— I don't want to take a step back.
— And what do you want, Mr. Wolff?
Toto hesitated for a few seconds, his gaze drifting between your eyes and your lips.
— You.
One night of passion turned into two.
Three.
Five.
Ten.
And the more time you spent together, the more you wanted him.
Toto was a drug and you were completely addicted.
— A gin and tonic for Y/N and a whiskey for me — Lewis asked the bartender, taking the glass from his hand and handing it to the man on the other side of the bar. Immediately, he began to prepare drinks, while the pilot rested one arm on the surface.
— Looking from here, the painting looks even more beautiful, doesn't it? — he asked you, pointing towards the yellow square on the wall opposite the one you were on.
— Very beautiful indeed — you muttered, trying hard not to stray to the corner you'd been watching from the moment you'd stepped foot in the apartment — But I thought it had a different meaning.
Lewis looked at you, one eyebrow raised as the bartender slid a low glass of amber liquid toward him. Picking up the drink, he took a quick sip, running his tongue over his lips.
— What did you think it was?
— A subliminal message.
— Subliminal message? — he asked, his eyes closing slightly as he smiled.
— Yes. A clue for the girls who visit your bedroom.
Lewis laughed, throwing his head back.
— I don't think they have time to look at the canvases when they're with me.
— Of course, King Pleasure — you muttered, picking up your glass of gin and tonic and taking a sip.
The driver rolled his eyes, then broke into a wide smile.
— Speaking of pleasure, how's that situation with that guy?
You felt your stomach suddenly get heavy. You had spoken to Lewis about the situation with Toto, without ever mentioning his name. Upon learning that you had found someone interesting, your friend was excited. However, he quickly realized that something was wrong when you started to digress every time he was mentioned. Like he was a secret you wanted to keep for yourself.
Until, one day, you couldn't take it.
Lying on the couch at his London house, bursting into tears, you told Lewis about the fight you and Toto had had hours before. After an exhausting weekend, you were excited to spend some time away from work with him. However, your idea of quiet days was dashed when you spent your first hours in town alone inside his downtown penthouse, while he had dinner with Malaysian investors.
When Toto returned later that night, the two of you argued badly. Between screams and harsh words, one sentence made your heart sink in your chest. “We're nothing but a casual fuck”, you heard him repeat in your mind, your heart squeezing in your chest.
— We're the same way, Lewis. No messages, no calls. Nothing.
— Fucking asshole — he muttered.
— I should have known it would be casual — you said, lowering your head to your drink — I had too much hope.
You felt Lewis' arm wrap around your shoulders in an attempt to comfort you.
— If you want my opinion, you deserve someone better. Someone who really cares about you. That you don't feel indifference when you walk into a place or when you talk to another guy, but a hint of jealousy. Because he really wants you.
Jealousy.
Suddenly, you looked up, your gaze searching for the brown eyes that had been with you since the moment you stepped into the apartment. But the group of engineers and executives huddled in a corner of the room was one person short. “Where is he?” you asked yourself, pursing your lips as you scanned the room for Toto.
— Are you okay, Y/N?
— Yeah, I just — you stuttered — I think I saw someone waving at me. I'll see what it is, all right?
Lewis only smiled.
— No problem, Y/N. Feel free.
Abandoning your glass on the bar counter, you began to push your way through the people huddled in the room, muttering “excuse me” and “sorry” with every step. Your eyes kept searching for Toto amidst the confusion of bodies, without any success.
When you reached the group huddled in the corner of the room, you forced a smile.
— Good night, boys — you said, in a relaxed tone that even you found strange.
— Good evening, Y/N — one of them, whom you recognized as James Vowles, greeted you with a smile — How are you?
— All right — you replied — I saw that Toto was with you before, do you know where he is?
The men in the circle looked at each other. There was definitely something wrong with him.
— He said he was going to the bathroom — Vowles replied, his voice strained.
— Oh yes...
— I wouldn't go after you if I were you — another man, light-eyed and thick-bearded, mumbled before taking a sip of his beer.
— Ripke — James scolded him.
— Why? — you questioned him, raising an eyebrow.
— His mood isn't the best today — Ripke replied, getting an elbow in the arm of the man who was next to him — I think he saw something he didn't like.
Something he didn't like.
An image came to your mind. Lewis's arm wrapped around your shoulders, in a gesture of complicity, of support. Something completely innocent. “It can't be that,” you thought, trying to keep the expression calm on your face.
— Well, I'll look for him — you said — Thanks, guys.
Walking among the people, a lump was forming in your throat, anxiety making your stomach churn with every step you took inside Lewis's penthouse. In your shoulders, tension was building.
Asking for passage with a shy smile, you reached the long hallway that led to the other rooms of the apartment. Having come other times, you knew exactly which of those doors Toto might be behind. Going a few meters, you stopped in front of one of them, slamming your fist into the white wood.
— Toto? Are you there? — you asked in a low voice.
From inside the bathroom, you heard a grunt in German, followed by footsteps and the sound of a key turning.
Then the door opened.
— Good night, Y/N — he greeted you, looking at you with a serious expression - What are you doing here?
— You first. What are you doing here?
He raised an eyebrow.
— Well, as you can see, I was in the bathroom.
— Mumbling to yourself?
Toto pressed his lips together.
— Were you listening behind the door?
— You did not answer my question.
He sighed.
— Yeah, I was in the bathroom mumbling to myself, Y/N.
— Why?
— I needed a moment to myself, that's all.
— Ripke said you weren't in a good mood tonight.
A sneer appeared on his face.
— Don't care what Paul says.
— Are you sure?
— Yes, Y/N. He likes to disturb me.
— He said you saw something you didn't like — you muttered.
The smile disappeared from his face.
— It was Lewis, wasn't it? — you whispered, approaching him.
— Lewis is my driver, I always like to see him — Toto tried to deflect.
— But not with me.
He swallowed hard.
— Y/N…
— Do you think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me while I was talking to my friend? — you asked, putting emphasis on the last word.
— Which way?
— Filled with jealousy.
You expected him to hit you back with some ironic remark or even a serious line. However, Toto continued to stare at you, jaw clenched. You took another step forward, lifting your face to look him straight in the eye.
— Are you jealous, Toto? — you asked seriously.
— Yes, Y/N. I am jealous.
The answer had you tilting your face to the side, holding back a disbelieving laugh.
— I thought I was just a casual fuck for you, Toto.
— I thought so too, Y/N — he mumbled — But I was wrong.
You blinked in disbelief.
— Wrong?
— When I saw you with Lewis, I felt like something had been taken from me. Something that was mine.
The last word made you swallow hard.
— I was never yours, Toto — you countered seriously.
— Funny, I remember you clearly saying you were mine — he replied with a smug smile on his lips.
— When?
He approached you.
— The last time we fucked — he said in a low voice — You were riding on top of me, my hands on your gorgeous tits. You looked so beautiful with my cock inside you, your cheeks flushed, your eyes rolling…
The raw description made you feel a familiar sensation in your belly.
— Funny, I don't remember that.
— I asked you who made you feel that way and you moaned my name so beautifully I almost came right away. However, you kept whispering, while moving your hips. Saying that I was the best, that you wanted to stay there forever — Toto took another step, his face inches from yours — That you were mine.
— You lost any rights you might have had on me the moment you reduced what we had to casual fucking.
— I know, Y/N.
— Then why do you insist?
— Because I regret saying that.
— So prove me.
— Come here — Toto replied, pulling you towards him, capturing your lips in a not-so-gentle kiss. Squeezing your hips with his hands, Toto pressed his body against yours, as if all the closeness in the world wasn't enough. Your hands moved up his arms, past his muscular shoulders under his white shirt, to the back of his neck, scratching the skin with your nails.
Immersed in that sea of sensations, you didn't even notice that Toto was leading you back into the bathroom, groping blindly for the handle to close the door. Alone inside the cubicle, he wrapped his hands around your waist and, on impulse, sat you on top of the white marble sink. His hands caressed your legs exposed through the generous slits of your dress, while you played with the dark strands of Toto's hair using your fingertips.
— You're mine — he growled, between kisses on the exposed skin of her neck — Only mine.
Any defenses you had mounted against him had fallen.
On your lips, a single answer.
— I'm yours — you whispered in response.
The sensual touch gave way to a more desperate exploration. Toto's hands were everywhere, as if he didn't want to leave any part of your body untouched by him. With your chest pressed against his, you felt completely intoxicated by all those sensations. The heat of his arms encircling you, his lips on your neck, the strong musky scent he was wearing.
Lifting your dress to your waist, he pulled you to the edge of the sink, spreading your legs even wider. Then, stepping between them, he began to unbutton his own pants, revealing his underwear marked by the contour of his erection. But instead of undressing, he looked up at you.
— Do you want to do this? — Toto whispered to you, his nose brushing yours.
— Yes — you replied, sliding your hand down his torso until you reached his underwear. With a firm downward pull, you released his cock, completely hard. The sight had you biting your bottom lip hard, feeling anticipation building in your core. You needed it the same way you needed air to breathe.
— Then be quiet for me, babydoll.
You nodded, opening your legs even wider. The cold air on your damp panties sent a shiver across your skin, accompanied by a rush of adrenaline. Placing one of his hands on your thigh to keep it in place, he pulled the lace aside, positioning himself at your entrance and looking up at you, a smug smile on his lips. Then he entered you all at once, making you choke back a cry at the sudden sensation of him inside you, pain and pleasure mixed together.
— Hush — he said through gritted teeth — You don't want anyone to hear you, do you?
— Toto — you moaned softly, digging your nails into the white shirt he wore.
— Do you want all those people to know how naughty you are, babydoll? — he asked again, slowly moving his hips against yours, almost as if he wanted to torture you with the pleasurable sensation that only he was capable of providing you.
You couldn't form any coherent sentences. Only low mewls and moans escaped your lips, your effort to remain silent as Toto had asked you to become increasingly defiant.
— You don't want Lewis to know that you left him behind because you wanted to feel this cock inside you, do you? — he whispered, taking one more slow thrust, pulling another choked groan from your throat.
You didn't have the courage to open your mouth to answer him. You knew you couldn't. Your body was ready to betray you and release a guttural scream of pleasure. However, the thought of all the people who were scattered around the house hearing what you were doing inside that bathroom with Toto made you just nod your head.
This was not what he wanted.
Grabbing your chin with one hand, Toto made you look at him, his brown eyes darker than ever.
— I want to hear your answer, Y/N — he said in a low tone.
— No — you whispered, your voice shaky, as if you were afraid of what might come out of your lips.
He smiled, releasing her face and leaning his forehead against hers.
— Good girl — he replied, putting his hands back on your legs to keep them in place. Then, without warning, he accelerated the movement of his hips against your pussy in a fast, relentless and irresistible rhythm. Resisting the urge to scream his name at the top of your lungs, you pulled him by the back of his neck towards your lips in a deep kiss, lulled by the wet sound that filled the room.
— Who makes you feel so good? — he asked, his lips brushing yours.
You wanted to scream his name at the top of your lungs. No one else knew how to make you feel that way. No man you'd slept with in your life was capable of what he did. But a part of you wanted to tease him. And you couldn't resist the temptation to poke at his ego.
— I don't know — you returned.
Toto blinked, slowing the pace he was moving in and out of you.
— What?
— I'd need to test it out with another guy before giving a verdict, perhaps Lewis — you said with a mischievous grin on your face.
— You want to test it out with Lewis, do you? — he asked, completely pulling out of you. The feeling of emptiness had you moving your hips over the cool marble, uncomfortable. However, soon you felt his tip against your folds, teasing you.
— Yes.
— I doubt you can do that — Toto said, pressing his cock against your clit, causing you to bite your bottom lip hard.
— Why? — you muttered, feeling your legs tremble with the stimulation he made against your most sensitive spot.
— Because I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll be regretting even thinking about it.
You just smiled.
— Then make me regret it, Wolff.
Again he entered you without warning, a gasp escaping your throat. The sound made Toto's hand fly to your neck, squeezing your skin lightly. His eyes were locked on yours, concentration causing a bead of sweat to trickle down his temple.
— Silence, doll.
Using your neck for support, he moved roughly inside you again, his cock touching your sweetest spot with each thrust. Parting your lips in a silent scream, you felt the pressure in your abdomen build like a bubble. And it was only a matter of time before it exploded.
— Toto — you whispered, digging your nails into the fabric of the white shirt he wore — I'll…
— Cum for me, babydoll — he replied, releasing your neck and bringing his hand to your clit, massaging it in the same rhythm of his thrusts.
Those words were the key to your orgasm come like a tsunami, waves of pleasure going from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Biting down hard on your lower lip, you managed to turn what would have been a scream of pleasure into a muffled moan, almost a sob.
With your mind completely clouded, you didn't even notice that Toto continued to move inside you, feeling your walls contract around his cock. It was all it took for him to reach his own orgasm and release himself inside you, the sensation of the hot, thick cum passing almost unnoticed through your body, which was still numb with pleasure.
For a few minutes, what could be heard inside the cubicle was the heavy breathing of the two of you. Until Toto looked up at you, bringing his fingers to your face and brushing a strand of hair clinging to the sweat of your forehead.
— Did I convince you?
You raised an eyebrow, confused.
— Of what?
— That you're mine — he leaned his forehead against yours — And that I'm yours.
The last sentence made you smile. Bringing your hands up to Toto's face, your thumbs caressed his skin.
— Yes, you did.
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