howdy! this will be a blog for very short fics about the blorbos in my niche horndog fantasies. definitely new to all this!! but writing some snippets (to be kept tucked away in this small alcove of the rpf tumblr ecosystem of course) has been calling my name & I've been inspired by how hella nice everyone has been on my main blog! I'm painfully shy and learning that maybe it's okay to be a bit horny on main. until then, I will hide here hehe.
if any of these fics aren't your cup of tea, please feel free to ignore of course!! I'll admit, I haven't tried to wring these rpf proclivities from my noggin into words before, so they will be roughly-hewn, self-indulgent kink and daydream fodder with various degrees of enjoyment for anyone else. for me, it feels more important to just *try* then worry if I'm writing the perfect automotive sport fiction. as a new-ish fan, there will be errors and somewhat ooc aspects, I'm sure!! I'm no expert!! but my main aim is to depict them in silly hot situations so c'est la vie.
kinda obvi but please 18+ only and rpf for me is purely for fans and not to be put anywhere the real-life blorbos can see it. I'm flattering myself that any of this will spread beyond tumblr but anywho just like to say because I Worry (tm) about it!!
okay that's all! thank you!! my askbox is open if any of this does strike your fancy!! I'll tag each fic like mpreg, various body fluids, weight gain, racecar drivers in nothing but frilly aprons, etc etc. okay allons-y!!
p.s. I'm sorry if I take a while to respond!! 💌❤️✨
Thank you so much!!! 💝💝 I'm so glad you liked it! It was v fun to write! Love starting a small fic and not knowing where it'll go 🛣️ And hella delighted others enjoy this overlap of two of my fave horndog tropes to read and write 🙂↕️💞🥚🥛✨ I appreciate the kind note and hope it's been an excellent day there for you!
Carlos stands in a cold bathroom in the Williams medical center, looking down grimly at the milky white liquid in the plastic cup in his hand. All he has to do is knock it back like a shot then return the cup to the discrete metal window in the wall like a urine sample, but it feels wrong. He hasn't done an ingestion so clinically in years, not since he was a rookie.
His other teammates have all been more inclined to do it the direct way. Hell, Carlos had let the Williams team know he was fine going old-school, which means it must be Alex who declined. It's Alex who prefer they do it all separately. Which is fine. It's totally fine. Carlos reminds himself it shouldn't bother him, and it's entirely normal a coworker doesn't want the new guy to suck him off once a month.
Wordlessly frustrated, he puts the cup to his lips and lets the viscous liquid slip down his throat. It's lukewarm after ruminating too long. Still, he can feel the heat immediately build inside his stomach. It's starting.
He sets the cup down in the metal two-way locker and shuts the door. He can hear it squeak open on the other side as some Williams' doctor disposes of Alex' emptied jizz cup.
Carlos washes his hands, ruffles his hair in the mirror, and grimaces. Charles and him used to make such a night of it all when they had to do this monthly duty. He pockets the bittersweet memories and opens the door to scurry home, eager to not get caught outside when it's time to lay.
He accidentally opens the door into a standing Alex Albon just outside in the hall.
"Ah, shit, sorry," Carlos says as he sees his new teammate already waving a dismissing hand while rubbing his nose.
"No, no. I was just spacing out. Long day in the sim, y'know? And with," Alex pauses. Carlos isn't used to looking up at a teammate. He stares up at him while Alex stares up at the ceiling. "Well, with all this. Sad the new regs next year didn't get rid of the ovi-powered engine units."
Sad. He doesn't like it.
"Yeah," Carlos lies in agreement.
"Like, it's all kind of archaic, isn't it? Rather we move on like all the other racing series to non-bio cars, but oh well. At least it's only once a month, right?"
He could tell the truth, but he feels he's not built up enough rapport to be weird or to be honest.
"Right."
"Right," Alex nods. He nods more quickly and slaps a hand on Carlos' shoulder. Carlos freezes, eyes trailing up from Alex's elegant hand and strong forearm to broad shoulders and wet lips to unblinking brown eyes. "Hope it's easy on you."
"It always has been," Carlos says, brows furrowing. "Is it not? For you?"
Alex blinks and gives a friendly pat before walking off. "We'll exchange laying horror stories later. Gotta run."
And he does. Alex speed walks around the corner and out of sight.
Carlos stares at the empty hallway as if he'd materialize again, but all he hears is decreasing doppler of footsteps until it's just the white noise of the air conditioning. He turns on his heels and heads the other way to the east parking lot.
He spots Teto's car and opens the door to slide into the passenger seat. Teto looks over and then smirks as he pulls out to the road.
"So no head?"
Carlos punches his arm as he laughs. "Ay, rude."
"Don't take it personal, Carlitos. Brits and Americans just can't get into it. They make it weird."
"It is weird. Something only couples do outside of this F1 circus."
Carlos holds a hand to his stomach, feeling the warmth emanate through his sweatshirt into his palm. Normally a couple needs to be mated before either can gestate, but science finds a way. They developed a pseudo-bond, ridiculously expensive and potentially deadly if not administered correctly, but it lets non-mated driver duos lay once a month. Eggs give power, power gives speed, speed gives wins, wins give money. The only reason driver teams come in two's is to lay enough fuel.
Carlos bites his lip, fiddling with the window button to raise and lower the glass as his other hand holds his stomach.
"Cut it out, bro," Teto chides.
"I think Alex doesn't like it."
"What, your cock?"
"No," he says with a withering glance. "He didn't even see it. We did it separately."
"How boring."
"I kind of get the feeling he's never done it the usual way."
"No driver does it 'the usual way', my friend. The usual way is a pair mates for life and then fucks like mad to make enough eggs to combine for a kid. Not to get turbo charged cars."
Carlos makes a sad grunt of agreement. "Do you miss it? Ovipositing?"
"Course I miss it, Carlos. There's no better feeling than laying. You know that."
"So why would Alex say no?"
"Beats me. Maybe he's dick shy. Can't get it up? Have you asked any of his past teammates?"
Carlos guiltily can't remember them off the top of his head without some thought. He never had to care about Williams. He goes back to fiddling with the window, the other hand rubbing his middle. It feels a bit swollen, sore, good.
Teto drops Carlos off at his temporary flat. It's not home. His home in Monaco barely feels like home with how little time he's spent in it, but the luxe British flat near headquarters is worse. It came pre-furnished with museum-esque sleekness and not a shred of color. As he lets the door fall closed behind him, he shuffles off his hoodie around his too-heavy middle and walks to the bedroom.
Charles used to unpeel each layer with reverance and watch as they grew together. Nimble pianist fingers cupping his middle. Kaleidoscope green eyes stark against flushed cheeks. Scratchy facial hair kissing down his chest.
Carlos stands in his boxers and pulls out a waterproof top sheet to lay over the bed, one mated couples would use to not have to change the bedding every time they laid but this one embroidered with a Williams W. It seems awfully unnecessary to brand something only he and Alex would use, unless they actually sell laying mats in the merch store.
He glances at his phone one more time before he goes to get it over with, a strange feeling when he used to count down the days to when Charles and him would meet for this. He wonders if Lewis is just as cagey as Alex. He's tempted to call Charles. To call Alex. To call anyone so he doesn't have to do this alone for the first time in years. For the first time in ages, there's no hand to hold.
His own hand holds his now thoroughly heavy belly. He looks down, boxers straining around his full middle. He averaged around two dozen when laying with Charles, less with the others. He swallows, sweat slipping down his forehead as his heart-rate spikes. He feels his hole clench and throb, cleaned this morning and now wet with the preliminary slick before it all happens.
And it happens quickly. Carlos swears, pulling off his boxers to lay against the pillows on the bed, knees bent up and spread. He gasps in the too cold air and realizes he didn't put on any noise canceling or scent diffusers. If his neighbors didn't realize they lived next to a driver now, they'll know soon.
He gasps. His voice paints each breath with a high-pitched keen as he flexes his pelvic floor and feels the warm mass in his stomach shift and slide down further in his core. The pain is fleeting. The euphoria blossoms. He used to time it with Charles sometimes, so they laid at the same time, slick wet thighs and the sounds of moisture and swears of pleasure as the first egg slips along his insides to press against his opening and slide out of him.
Carlos cries out, fingers gripping into the sheets as the first egg pushes through the tight ring of muscle and out onto the bed. It feels different, fabulous as always but stretching him further than he's ever felt. He sucks in heavy gulps of air as he struggles up on his elbows and reaches around to move it out of the way of the others before they come. It used to be so fun with a teammate to have the big reveal what the color they'd get of their mixed DNA. He narrows his brows as he heaves up the heavy, larger-than expected mass from between his legs.
They should be, well, egg-sized but this isn't. It's big, a two-handed carry like an ostrich and twisting in colors like grey marble. He barely has time to compute much more before the next comes. And the next. And the next. And the next. He loses count. He slips back and lets them accumulate around between this thighs. He wants Alex. Here. Now. On top of him and cooing over him and telling him how good he's doing until it's over.
And it ends. He holds his deflated middle and lets it all settle around him. He reaches over to his phone and sees a missed call from Alex.
"Fuck," he breathes and holds it to his ear as he calls back. It's picked up immediately.
"Carlos," Alex says, voice breathy and deep. Carlos strains.
"Alex."
"You okay?"
"Of course, you?"
A pause.
"Alex?"
"It was...well, it is what it is, isn't it?"
There was nothing substantial enough to know what it is or what it should be to Alex. No one talks about heaven like that.
"It's better..." he swallows. "It's better when not alone," Carlos risks.
Carlos knows a change of topic when he hears one. He lets it go and realizes he barely has registered the actual product of it all. He glances between his thighs as the small collection of white granite looking orbs, shiny in the bedroom lamplight.
"The Williams team should have gave us two transport containers for them, eh?" Carlos says. Alex laughs.
"Maybe three. Christ, there's like...a lot. Is that normal for you?"
"Kind of? I don't know, how many do you have?"
He hears soft counting on Alex's end that doesn't stop when he expects it to. Carlos sits up and counts his as well, carefully handling them with an innate and primal instinct to be gentle and soft with the many smooth, wet objects.
"Thirty six," Alex breaths. "Jesus Christ, man. That's insane."
It is a lot. Carlos swallows.
"Well, James will be happy," Alex says. Carlos doesn't care about anyone else being happy right now. The post-laying is when everyone's blissed out and horny enough to fuck again, but Carlos is alone. Alex is alone.
He gently gets up, sticky with sweat as he walks to the window.
"Do you need anything?" he asks. There's a horrible pause on the other end. "Anything, Alex. You know."
"I don't...think so."
"I can come over."
"No. You shouldn't. I want- You just... I have to do this alone."
Carlos feels his heart throb. It's fine. This is fine.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow at HQ then, Alex."
"No dice. Heading to a sponsor event before this F1 Live nonsense the day after. I'll see you there, though."
Carlos grimaces. That's too far from now. Carlos grips the curtains of the window and feels unsteady on his feet. They may not be truly mated, but the hormones are the same. He wants Alex's body and scent and heat against his now. But he can't. If he doesn't want to, they won't.
"Okay."
"See you then, Carlos."
He hangs up. Carlos holds the phone to his ear a moment longer, a small replacement for lips against his actual skin. He eventually moves with a methodical and perfunctory precision to pack up the laid eggs, rinsing them in the bathroom sink before slipping them into a bespoke carrier with padded slots to deliver to the mechanical team. The cars would be tied to them, to their bodies. Carlos holds the last one after wiping it dry and moves it in the light, watching how it catches on the rivers of monochrome swirls. There's a faint pinkish hue to them he couldn't appreciate before. Rosy and soft. He hates how much he thinks of Charles, of how they'd lean into every mating urge to nest around their eggs afterwards. Instead he sets it in the container, latches it shut, and sets them all by the door for work tomorrow.
I have to do this alone.
Carlos turns Alex's words over in his head until the rough stone feels well worn in the river of thoughts. Guiltily after showering, he stops by the container. He pulls out one of the rose quartz colored eggs and brings it back to bed, letting it sit against his chest. They're warm. Nothing inside but pure energy. Pure them. A mated couple needs easily a thousand to be able to spark life, but like this in a raw state, it's just a hard shell with a warm center of Carlos and Alex.
He falls into an achey sleep.
The next day, it's work, like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Alex is gone, off at some soiree for a sponsor. The team is pleased at the yield when he drops off the egg container. Carlos feels washed in awkwardness at James congratulatory clap on the shoulder, waxing poetic about high-yield driver pairings delivering a superior car in years past. Carlos could go without hearing the oft cited statistic that Max Verstappen could lay fifty eggs a night in 2023. They blessedly move on to logistics for F1 Live. Alex phones in to hear the plans as they sit in the team meeting room. Carlos drives the sim. He visits parts of the factory. He tries to commit everyone's name to memory. He goes home and cycles with Teto and Gigi before the day is over.
He's antsy in the Williams van the next morning, shifting in his team kit as they drive to pick up Alex on the way to the O2 in London. He debates getting a rubber band to stop the recurring comparisons to Charles, but they used to lay even when they didn't have to. When bored on the road. After a race. Chided by mechanics they didn't need so many. Cameras off, tinted windows, Charles on his lap and going for the fly of his pants while whispering mated sweet nothings in his ear.
Alex slides the door open and hops in. He sits next to Carlos with a space between them that makes Carlos' skin burn with need. A manager turns to give them printed copies of a schedule. Carlos wants to ask if they can slip in a thirty minute break to jump Alex's bones somewhere, but he sees there already is an unmarked blank before they go on stage.
"We'll have the one Williams dressing room," the manager explains. "For getting changed from red carpet attire and do whatever you need to do before it's the Williams spotlight."
"This is snack time," Alex says, tapping at the paper and wiggling his brows at Carlos. "You like popcorn, right?"
"Y-yes?"
"James said they're sparing no expense for this thing and the driver dressing rooms are, like, loaded with good stuff. Something to look forward to after the press con and red carpet and ritzy dinner broadcasted live for the world to see. Fun."
"So fun," Carlos echoes. As the manager turns back to talk with another Williams admin in the seats in front of them, Carlos turns to Alex.
"How do you lay?"
Alex chokes on his water and coughs as he looks at Carlos like he just dropped trow. "Jesus, mate."
"You said I can't see you last night. You are only ever alone. Why?"
"Uh, well." Alex flicks his gaze between Carlos and the dense city of London outside the car windows. "I'm kind of...my body's hormones...if I do it with someone, something happens."
"You are making no sense."
"Something will happen to you, Carlos, if we get too close. Something weird."
"It's all kind of weird, no? What we have to do."
"Yeah but you probably like your chest the size it is."
"Huh."
The car pulls to a stop. Alex looks ready to dive through the window rather than continue the conversation. Carlos knows he should stop, not press, not urge, but the coursing need inside his body makes his hand latch tight around Alex's. He's surprised how tightly Alex squeezes back. Alex's gaze flicks down to Carlos.
"It's okay," Carlos says. "I want it. Whatever it is. I can take it."
"Carlos."
"I want it, Alex. I-" The manager catches their attention and urges them to step out of the van, unaware Carlos could care less about anything in the world. Half-hard and dead-set to not let go of Alex's hand that squeezes his tight enough to tremble. Still, Alex lets go.
"No."
Carlos sits statue-still and stares at Alex. Alex says it again, firm and resolute, like to a dog begging. He feels that way as Alex scoots out of the van and walks after the media team. Carlos guiltily follows.
He stews and tries to focus on the press conference. The same questions he's gotten all winter break, the same answers he's given everyone. He trails after Alex and does everything in his power to talk about the weather and the team, and not beg and beg and beg to tell him what will happen if they lay together. Hours pass with media duties and photos and a simmering need that Carlos swears is not one-sided. Alex brushing his shoulder before snapping away. Gazes that last too long. He wants to ask if he feels that pull, the need that lingers in driver pairings all season between lays and administered bonds that makes their partner glow brighter than anyone else in a room.
They separate for switching to evening wear. He stands with James as they await to load into the limo to the red carpet.
"James," Carlos says.
"Carlos."
"Has Alex never done a laying with a partner?"
James shifts on his spot, easy to fluster. Of course, team principals have to manage this part of a driver lineup, but usually less directly.
"Alex has a...condition that comes out in some individuals whilst in a bond, real or manufactured. It would impact you, so he's requested to stay solo as he's done his whole tenure in Formula 1."
Carlos knows exactly how big to make his eyes and how frequently to dreamily blink up at James to get a bit more than that.
"That must be hard," Carlos says softly. He bites his lip and looks askance. "How lonely."
"Yes, it must be."
"I've never heard of such a thing for mates."
"A genetic holdover from when mating would go several days without rest. Someone had to produce sustenance for the pair, to make mi-" he stops himself.
"Make what?"
"Hello," Alex sings as he walks up, oblivious. "Looking sharp, you two."
"Ah, Alex. Great, let's go," James says with a smile and pleading look to Carlos to not bring it up. He stares daggers into the back of James' head as he and Alex get in the back row. The driver takes them to the O2.
He feels a hand wrap around his. Carlos looks up.
Alex stares straight ahead. Still, he squeezes Carlos' hand.
"Just this," he whispers. Carlos nods while the desperate animal inside him strains in its crate for more. Alex's hand slips up Carlos' wrist before freezing and going back to just holding his palm.
They endure a chilly evening. They see colleagues across teams they've not seen in weeks. He spots Charles too far away down the carpet to catch up or make eye contact, possibly for the best.
Carlos hardly needs to think about the media approved answers. Instead, he steals moments on Wikipedia and lets a headsetted F1 admin shepherd him from interviewer to interviewer as he covertly reads about whatever might be up with Alex Albon's hormones.
He eventually lands on an article - marathon laying, done eons ago; one part of the mated pair would trigger the other to use the shared energy inside them to make milk to survive over week-long laying sessions together.
Carlos closes his phone and walks in a haze. It comes back, far off tendrils of schooling memories, of health ed classes mentioning that no one lactates during laying anymore, just less than half of one percent of the population. Incredibly rare. An anomaly. An anomaly that is now walking beside him as the Williams team heads to their dinner table.
Carlos fidgets and looks around, again too far from Ferrari but blessedly seated next to Alex at the large round table. Alex crosses his long, lean legs as Carlos scoots his chair closer.
"You smell good," Alex notes. "What cologne is that? Some kind of floral thing?"
"I did not use cologne."
"Ah right," Alex says, pushing a hand through his hair. "Do I smell good? No, wait. Don't answer that. We can't be doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Mating stuff, Carlos. Oh don't pout like that, you look unfairly adorable."
Carlos perks up. "It's normal, Alex."
"Yeah, yeah normal for others but not for me."
"I don't care if you change me a little."
"You don't know what you're asking for."
"I don't care if I make milk."
Alex stands up, staring down at Carlos with shock etched into his handsome features. Carlos realizes, as he sits, he could lean closer and kiss Alex' belly. He could let his hands drift up and hold his hips to move him into his lips. Instead he stares back and tries to beam this all telepathically into Alex's head.
"Who told you? No, don't. Don't answer that, either."
"How does it happen?"
"If we," Alex flushes, looking around the busy floor of the venue as industry colleagues mill about as everyone gets to their seats. No one is paying particular attention to them, but still, he whispers, "if we stay too close together. If we touch too much, Carlos."
Carlos reaches out, holding Alex's hands in his. The thought is fleeting now, of Charles maybe seeing them. He doesn't care if the whole world sees them. Alex squeezes back.
"We can try."
"Carlos."
"In the popcorn room."
Alex laughs. "It doesn't happen that fast. Maybe over a few weeks, the next time we...well, need to do it."
"Still, in the dressing room, will you," Carlos pauses and swallows. He's never felt so much heat and tension. He wants it now. All it takes is swallowing a bit of a mate's come that sparks the need to lay. They shouldn't do it before they get on stage, but he still could have Alex's lips on his. His hands on his body, working his cock.
The program starts. They have to sit and pay attention to scripted jokes and fanfare. Carlos sits through it all since Alex's crossed calf lingers on Carlos', legs touching through expensive trouser fabric. Carlos leans in and watches Alex play some cat themed phone game, savoring the rich smell of him. His heart pounds, electric like never before as he feels dizzy and off-center.
There's a pause in the program as the crew sets the stage for the team showcases. Carlos nearly wants to sprint to the dressing room. He smiles over at Alex as he matches his pace.
"We should not be doing this," Alex says as they get to the door labeled as Williams' dressing room. "We shouldn't be doing this, Carlos," he says again as he pins Carlos to the closed door and finally, finally, finally leans in to suck hard on Carlos' neck. Carlos sighs, hands moving reflexively to unbutton the shirt and pull it and the tailored coat off Alex's body in an eager push. Alex more gruffly pulls Carlos' shirt off, buttons be damned.
"Fuck, sorry. I'm," Alex shakes his head as Carlos pulls him down into his lips. It's all heat and tongue with bitten lips and a rising urgency. Alex breaks for air. "Carlos, I haven't done this with a driver partner in years. Not since the first."
"That's okay," Carlos says, pulling off Alex's undershirt as Alex does the same. They have fifteen minutes. Carlos wastes no time going for Alex's fly as Alex ushers them to the sofa to sit. Carlos straddles Alex's hips and feels along his stiffening cock through his boxers.
"I want you inside me," Carlos breathes in Alex's ear. Alex groans, a hand flying to run his fingers through his thick hair as he holds Carlos against his neck. "After all this, I want to lay with you, Alex."
"Oh, Carlos." Alex's free hand trails up his bare chest to rest on his pecs. They're more tender than usual. Carlos jolts as a hardening nipple gets pinched and prodded. Charles hardly did that, but it feels good. His heart throbs under Alex's fingers, a swelling building up like he's about to lay but under his chest instead.
"It's too soon, my God-" Alex groans, using both hands now to cup and twist and pull on Carlos' chest that looks bigger than before.
They squirm, breathy gasps and whispered curses as Carlos feels a pent-up yearning nearing on pain building and building until it releases as white liquid spilling from his breasts onto Alex's large hands. Carlos swears, his neglected cock hard and middle achey with need. "Alex."
"See? Carlos, this is...oh, fuck, I'm sorry. It's me. I can't- I should go."
"No," Carlos says, hands on Alex's shoulders to pin him back to the sofa. "It's amazing, Alex."
"Amazing?"
"Are you kidding? This is," Carlos shakes his head and smiles. "God, this is unreal. It's good."
"It's good?"
"It's good. More than good."
He cups Alex's cheeks with his hands as Alex works his tits. Carlos whines, rutting into his teammate's lap and eager for more. There's definitely not time to lay now, but there's time enough for Carlos to free Alex's hard cock from his boxers and pull his own dress pants down and rut and twist their lengths together, wet with sweat and then wet with milk as Alex's hand moves to jerk them together instead, another hand working Carlos' chest until they're too loud and too close and too hot to last and spill over each other's stomachs and chests with the release.
They breathe heavy. Carlos melts into Alex's embrace as they sit half-dressed and spent on the sofa. Alex kisses his forehead and scoots him to stand. They walk backwards in heavy kisses to the bathroom as Alex towels off Carlos' tummy, a hand resting there. Carlos isn't used to being cared for like this. He would be the sensible one with Charles, the one to clean and preen and fuss. He likes how gently Alex handles him.
"So, well. That's what's up with me," Alex says. "If you don't mind."
"I may take some getting used to, but I do not mind."
They get dressed in race suits and fireproofs, taking longer than it should with how much they want to stick like magnets. Carlos settles on the sofa as Alex tosses him a bag of popcorn.
"As promised. Also, don't think too hard about the logo placement on the uh," he makes a motion over his chest. Carlos glances down to realize My Protein is emblazoned over his sore and heavier chest. "Ironic but accurate."
"Very funny," Carlos smirks and tosses the popcorn aside to leap up to Alex. They laugh into each other's kiss as someone knocks on the door.
Sheepishly separating, they lean over to peer through the crack as they open the door.
It's the media team, filming of course. They shift into marketing mode, but Carlos still reels with Alex's covert touches. As they walk to the stage, he leans to Carlos' ear.
"I'm sorry, I'm so used to avoiding all this. These feelings."
"Don't say sorry." He squeezes Alex's strong bicep and catches the wide-eyed gaze of one Charles Leclerc down the hall before he's out of sight.
"It's a lot to figure out, isn't it?" Alex says. "The year ahead?"
"It is," Carlos agrees. He looks down at the tile floor, marbled and steady despite his head spinning with thoughts, only now fewer clouds of memories and more blinding sunlight of what might come next.
Carlos goes to sleep before his first race weekend as an RBR driver; he wakes up in Alaska
(maxiel, by way of versainz and darlos, bodyswap, breakups discussed, frotting, dubious jerk-offs, wags mentioned, and fraught feelings over what could have been)
-
Carlos usually doesn't remember his dreams. He's been told that's a good thing; apparently remembering your dreams means your REM cycle got interrupted, and that's the last thing he needs before his first free practice in the unwieldily second Red Bull ahead of the Dutch GP.
He tosses in the hotel bed, scrunching his closed eyes tighter. The strange dream of Daniel Ricciardo of all people hangs in his mind like an aftertaste. It was so brief, just walking past his former colleague in an otherwise endless darkness. Daniel had looked just as dazed and confused as Carlos felt in the weird liminal space of the dream.
"Shake it off, Sainz," he mumbles. His voice sounds...wrong. He bites his lips. Wrong thickness. He runs his tongue over his teeth. Wrong shapes.
He gets up in a rush and is met with a cold, unfamiliar hotel room and a window looking out into a vast expanse of snow.
He stumbles out of bed and into the adjacent bathroom, tan tattooed hands shaking as he grips the cold marble counter and stares at the bearded man in the mirror.
He blinks at himself, but it's not him. He's somehow, impossibly, inside Daniel Ricciardo. He looks so different than when Carlos last saw him in Singapore. He rubs his fuzzy cheeks and assesses thick biceps. He's tempted to open the waistband of the camouflage sweatpants to see what else is different, but stops the thought and speed walks back to the bed.
He searches until he finds a cell phone. Locked. Fuck, he doesn't know the passcode. He swipes right on the lock screen of some empty blue sofa in Milton Keynes and taps in his own phone number in the emergency call.
He holds it up to his ear. Ringing until Carlos hears his own damn voicemail message. "Fucker," he whispers and tries again and again until he picks up.
"'Yello," he hears himself say. "Ugh, I feel like shit. Sorry, whoever this is."
"It's Carlos."
"Sainz?"
"Yes, are you awake? It's," Carlos does quick mental math after glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand. "Fuck, get up. It's almost FP1, and you will not miss this for me, Ricciardo."
"Carlos what...what are you talking about- oh," Carlos hears a quick succession of bumps and jostles as if he fell out of bed. "Oh, God. Carlos. I'm-"
-
Daniel stands inside Carlos Sainz in a Zandvoort hotel room. He's wired, alive and upended as big, brown eyes with gorgeously thick lashes stare back at him in the full-length mirror next to the hotel room's front door. A bang echoes from the other side. Someone says something in Spanish.
"Shit, I can hear that's Teto," Carlos says. "Tell him you need a minute."
"Just a second," Daniel as Carlos says. Teto quips something and seems to leave. "Ah, mate. We're in trouble. I don't speak Spanish."
"Just one of several, several problems we have, Ricciardo. Any idea why this is happening?"
"Not a clue, Sainz." Daniel prods at Carlos' hairless chest and spins in his spot, assessing his new body. "You wax?" Daniel peeks into banana patterned boxers. "You wax everywhere?"
"Ay, cut it. Nosy."
"Sorry, but I bet you looked at my equipment, too."
"No, because I was a bit more preoccupied getting this fixed."
"Okay, I'm a grower not a shower if you do peek, just for the record."
He can hear Carlos groan on the other end. Daniel paces, mind stuck in a gravel trap and spinning fruitlessly. "Did you dream about me, Carlos?"
"Yeah, I did."
"So this is some sort of magic...something."
Another knock at the door.
"Get dressed, do free practice and say as little as possible," Carlos breathes tersely, his voice nervy. Daniel can hear the sound of zippers and rustling on the other end. "I'm coming to Zandvoort."
"No fucking way you're coming to Zandvoort as me."
"Uh, yes. I am. No way you're driving this very vital weekend as me."
"Mate, not sure if you've noticed, but me and F1 are kinda divorced. Don't need you rocking up in my bod and ruining the off-the-grid enigma I've got going on, okay? I don't want anyone to see me."
"Don't worry. I'll shave this thing off before I show."
"Do not touch. That shit took ages. Carlos-"
More knocking. Daniel grips the phone and stares at Carlos' panicked reflection in the mirror.
"Please," Carlos begs, something earnest and small in his voice smacks Daniel with a wave of nostalgia as he stares at Carlos' reflection, rekindled memories of filming days in 2015 and hesitant laughs and wide-eyed dreams. "Please, just do this for me. I'll not show up on track. We'll meet afterwards, alone, once I fly in at the hotel. Please don't...don't let this chance go for me."
"Okay, I'll...," Daniel glances at the Red Bull team kit folded in the corner of the room. His heart throbs. "I'll be you. For now."
"For now."
The banging has turned into a fun little ditty. "Go, but tell me your phone passcode." They exchange numbers. Daniel gets a hotel pen and writes it on his hand to not forget. "Good luck. Daniel."
"Carlos."
They hang up.
Daniel pulls on nearby jeans over smooth legs, tosses on the shade navy blue he's not worn in years, and stuffs Carlos' important effects of wallet and paddock pass in his pockets as he hoists a neatly pre-packed backpack onto his shoulders. Carlos keeps his room so prim, Daniel has no trouble finding the well placed key card as he stuffs on his shoes.
He opens the door to a handsome man with a wide grin and swooping hair. Daniel swallows, begging his remnant Italian to help him. It's enough to get by as Teto and Carlos' trainer escort him down the hotel to the waiting team van. He's unprepared for the gaggle of fans, the rush of memories of race weekends. "Go sign a few, if you want," Teto says with a smile as he elbows him forward. Daniel desperately tries to remember what Carlos' signature looks like as he scribbles and refrains his muscle memory from adding a three. Several fans are still in Williams' merch, the switch happening only one week ago.
Daniel scoots next to his trainer in the van as they pull off to the track. "Are you okay?" his trainer asks, blessedly in Italian.
"Yes," he lies. He looks up and wonders what he sees. Probably an immensely un-okay Carlos Sainz flushed and jittery. Carlos' trainer shakes his shoulder with a gentle squeeze.
"You'll do great," he consoles. "You earned this." A Red Bull manager who was sitting in the front seat spins around and hands Carlos a schedule. She goes over the media duties for Friday morning, the two practices, and team meetings interspersed. "But first, filming with Max."
Daniel feels the paper slip from his hands.
Max.
-
Carlos as Daniel shifts in his first class seat on the plane from Anchorage to Atlanta where he'll catch a transfer to Zandvoort. He bought the seat next to him to ensure privacy, too, a small price he figures compared to the actual seat Daniel is sitting in today. It's a red eye, and sleepy passengers board in mulled silence. A suited gentleman pauses next to him.
"Holy shit, Daniel Ricciardo!" Carlos obliges in a handshake and a selfie, answering questions as basically and briefly as he can. "It was fucked up, what they did to you, man. Any plans next?"
"I don't know," he replies honestly.
"Any chance you'll hit up a race? Still surprised they worked that seat swap with Tsunoda for Sainz, but Max just might eat him, too."
"He won't," Carlos replies quickly. "I'll- Carlos will do great. I know it."
The man is ushered on in to the plane. Carlos sits and pulls an expensive set of headphones from Daniel's bag on and over thick curls. He tries not to be too nosy in Daniel's phone as he settles on the safety of his music app. He's mid-scroll through an impressive two-hundred plus list of playlists for seemingly every possible emotion from 'emo cooking vibes' and 'sad running playlist' when a text pops up on the screen.
Just checking in. No pressure. Miss you.
From Max.
Carlos hates how reflexively he clicks on the notification, how he sees a long list of unanswered messages, spaced every few weeks with several kind prods and no response from Daniel. He scrolls up. Daniel only messaged once in the past few months, a congrats on the baby.
Carlos scrolls up more, a guilty thrill sparkling down his spine as he reads what he shouldn't. He skims conversations and watches in reverse something unfold, texted sorries and forget-about-its that turn warm and cheery with plans for meet ups and shared memes and further and further back into 2023 until he reaches an exchange of dick pics and I-love-yous. He closes the app and stares out the plane window.
He pushes a well-bitten thumb against his lips and finds he can't move his jaw the way he wants out of habit. He nibbles the nail and stews.
Hopefully whatever the hell happened between them stays out of the way of race weekend. If Daniel's smart, he'll avoid Max.
-
Daniel walks onto the balcony to see Max. He's sitting on a patio sofa on the second floor of the Energy Station. Max is explaining something with his hands, banking them with a Red Bull in his grip, the can glinting in the sunlight. Max looks up with those unreal blue eyes from some paddock guests and over at him. He smiles warmly.
He's Carlos right now. He's Carlos. He's Carlos. He's Carlos.
Max gets up and offers his hand. Daniel wants to pull him into his arms and say sorry for being a massive cunt. He's so fucking sorry for letting it fall apart. Instead, he shakes back pleasantly.
"Welcome back," Max says. Daniel blinks back something heavy and awful. "Some media bullshit before we can actually get in the cars, of course. We're doing-," he looks over to the media team, so many people Daniel remembers. They tell them they'll be taste testing different stroopwaffles and guessing flavors. "Great fun," Max says with a wry grin and an eye roll.
"Max," Daniel says blankly. They're ushered to sit down next to each other on the sofa. Max smiles up at him, and Daniel again feels that wave of familiarness and wrongness. He wants to shake his shoulders and asks if he remembers the last time they were sitting next to each other in Max's Monaco apartment alone, bodies bare and strained from padel and all they did after, when Daniel said he couldn't keep doing this with him anymore.
"So we're back together after," Max furrows his brows as he looks up to the crisp blue sky, thinking, "gosh, how long has it been? Since we were teammates?"
Daniel feels like he's about to hurl. "A while," he says.
"Back in Toro Rosso days," Max reminisces. "You never forget your first."
"Especially if it's in Heathrow," he says automatically. Max's smile drops, cerulean eyes wide and dialed on Daniel. He feels like Max is cracking him open, peering inside to see the real him under his Carlos shell.
"How do you...know that?" Max whispers.
Someone yells cut. A media manager fiddles with Daniel's microphone and tells them both to project a bit louder. Daniel has to lock in. He shakes it all off, looks to Max, and smiles in his best Carlos impression possible. "No clue what you mean, Verstappen. Let's just get this over with, okay?"
Max sits back, expression taught. "Okay."
They play a silly game for content. Daniel watches Max's lips as he takes little bites of stroopwaffles. He wants to lean over and let Max's hands guide the food into his own mouth like they did so long ago. He does his best to stay focused, and, as soon as they're done, he snaps out of the chair and off into his drivers room. He tells his team he needs a minute alone.
It's quiet. He glances at his phone. Carlos is still in transit. He hears a knock at the door.
"Carlos," Max says. He knocks a few more times. Daniel holds his breath, silent and begging him to give up and leave. "Carlos?"
A beat. A pause.
"Daniel?"
Someone calls for Max down the hall. He hears footsteps descending in volume until he's alone again.
-
Carlos pays for in-plane wi-fi and downloads the F1 app on Daniel's phone. He also downloads his favorite motocross game and starts to get a couple high scores for Daniel. After a quick text to ask Daniel if it's fine, he's also ordered a decadent mixed drink with more calories than he's allotted in a day. Yeah sure, go nuts, Daniel had texted after Carlos asked about diet. Just avoid actual nuts, but I'm not counting anymore.
Carlos sips on the sickeningly sweet coffee martini and waits anxiously for the notification for FP1. When it pops up, he taps it immediately.
He never actually gets to watch broadcasts live since he's behind the wheel. He'll go back and rewatch his own race or key moves, but it's surreal to see the feed while not strapped in the car and weird to hear Jolyon's voice again. The announcer team welcome the viewers to Zandvoort and they welcome Carlos to Red Bull.
Carlos' breath catches. It's him, in the car, but not him. Daniel adjusts his redesigned crash helmet, now emblazoned with the new Red Bull logo on the side amidst the swirls of yellows and reds. He watches as the camera zooms in on his eyes visible through the open visor. He looks confident. Thank God, Carlos thinks with relief, he looks confident.
The camera cuts to Verstappen, looking just as at ease. Then to the Ferraris, to a nervous pair of Lewis and Charles. Carlos' heart throbs.
Practice starts. It's dry, warm, good conditions. He mentally wills every other driver to stay in the garage and just let Daniel run, just so the camera can stay focused only on him. After a small fishtailing in the first corner, he otherwise drives brilliantly, just two tenths behind Verstappen when it's all over.
The next free practice is in two hours. Carlos stares out into the thick clouds that have enveloped the plane. He punches out a quick thank you to Daniel and watches the replay of his onboards. He drove well.
-
He drove well. Daniel sits frozen as a mechanic undoes his seat belts. He feels Teto shake his helmet in glee. "Come on. That's what I'm fucking talking about," he says in delight as Carlos gets up and pulls off the helmet and balaclava. His hair is so thick and damp. He pauses, almost getting out on the wrong side of the car, and retrieves the water and towel from his trainer, who he's now learned is named Gigi.
"You did great," he says with a mustached smile. "It's like you've driven this car before."
"Something like it," he says back. He takes deep swallows of water and turns in the garage to see Max leave quickly from his side of the garage.
He should not go after him. He should stay away as much as possible. He should not, after talking with the engineers and avoiding Laurent, be standing at Max's drivers door.
He pauses, knuckles an inch from the door. Daniel's eyes are locked on the large decorative photo of Max laminated on the door, steely eyes beaming into his.
He goes to turn away when the door opens, replaced with real Max walking right into him.
They tumble backwards in muffled curses as Daniel feels his back hit the floor and a heavy chest press into his. Max's thighs straddle his waist. Blonde hair slides against his cheek.
"Carlos," he breathes. "Fuck, sorry."
"It's okay, Maxy." Reflexive hands on Max's neck, drawing circles with his thumbs like he used to do. Max freezes. He withdraws them and attempts to scramble up, only to find Max's own palms pinning his shoulders down. Daniel gasps, eyes locking onto Max's.
"Who are you?" Max demands. Daniel hasn't had Max over him like this in so long. Max's gaze turns glassy. "And don't fucking lie to me. Please."
"I'd never lie to you."
"How did you know? About Heathrow? That's where Daniel and I first had...And the way you drove like him, and-" Max swallows. Daniel gasps when a small bead of water leaks from Max's eyes and falls onto his cheek. He gently lifts his fingers to wipe the next drops away. Max leans into his palm, choking on a cry.
"Max."
"Why won't you text me back?"
"Oh, Max. Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
Max falls into his neck and bites gently on the nape, lips turning to kisses. They shouldn't do this. Not on the floor of the Energy Center. Not as Carlos. Not ever again because it'd be easier for them both to let this die, but Daniel's hands card through sweaty hair and pull him into a kiss that turns hot and eager and desperate.
"Daniel," Max says only an inch between their lips. "How are you...you're here."
"I think Carlos and I must have pissed off a cosmic deity or something. He's flying over from Alaska now."
"What were you doing in Alaska?"
"Taking photos of bears. Not the sexy kind."
Max laughs and starts to cry again. Daniel coos and hold him close, whispering sorries into his neck.
"It's easier for us not to do this anymore," Daniel assures them both. Max grips his biceps, squeezing hard.
"But it worked. Kelly's okay with it, if that's-"
"It's not that."
"Heidi?"
"We're on a break."
"Then why?"
Daniel squirms, feeling his already sore muscles ache and Carlos' unfamiliar length stiffen as Max's thigh slips to urge him up to rut. If he already was struggling to form sentences, feeling Max's own cock pressing through his race suit isn't helping.
A door closes nearby. They scramble upwards as a poor intern is faced with a flushed, disheveled duo breathing heavy outside of Max's open driver's room. She says an apology, notes they need to both be in the garage in five minutes for a team meeting, and hastily leaves.
Daniel swallows, feeling Max grip his waist and kiss up on the back of his neck. "Why did you end it, Daniel?"
"Let me try to get back into Carlos mode, okay? I can't- we can't-" he gasps as Max's hand paws his length. He keens, breathing Max's name as Max spins him in his spot and pushes him against the wall. They kiss hard and deep until Max pulls away.
"Later, please? When Carlos gets here, don't leave, Daniel."
"I won't. But we can't...not now. I won't leave, but we can't do this here."
Max lets his head rest on Daniel's shoulder for a beat, solidifying resolve as he nods. "Fine, Dan-...Carlos." Max leaves around the corner, a shaken Daniel left to slide down the wall and sit on the floor.
"Sorry, Carlos," he breathes as he goes into his driver's room and jerks off hot and urgent in the shower, coming undone at the fleeting memory of Max's thick thighs around his waist. He tries as best as he can to reel in every frayed emotion and well-hidden memory, looking at Carlos' flushed cheeks and kiss-bitten lips in the mirror over the sink. He watches his neck bob with a dry swallow and splashes cold water on sharp cheekbones. A change of fireproofs and quick glance at his phone to see Carlos is in Atlanta before he's out the door, zipping up the Red Bull race suit to get back in his car.
-
Carlos bobs his knees as he hides in a frequent flyer lounge, eager not to have to navigate any more Daniel conversations before the flight boards. His eyes are glued to the phone as it charges. He nibbles on the last bits of a burger as he watches the cars speed along on track. The McLarens are too quick, as usual. He sees Yuki not too far off Alex's pace, easing his guilt only slightly. He looks off when they cut to James. Bite or get bitten. He's not winning in a Williams.
He watches Daniel put up good times, realizing he must probably have more sim hours in Red Bull machinery than Carlos. He's not as cooked as he thought. Dark clouds gather in the Dutch distance with rain forecasted for the evening.
Free practice ends. He watches Daniel as him get out of the car. Teto and Gigi are there. He thanks his lucky stars Rebe isn't there this weekend.
Still he spots what looks like-
"That fucker," he breathes, pausing and rewinding the livestream to the fleetingly quick shot. He sees it. His fingers giving a small tug on the neck of his fireproofs, revealing what can only be a mauve little bite mark.
Carlos barks a terse laugh.
Fine, he thinks. An eye for an eye. When the plane's taken off and they're at cruising altitude, Carlos peels into one of the bathrooms. He unlocks the hidden album on Daniel's phone, pleased his guess was right there are a number of nudes in there. He feels a prickle of guilt, but shakes it off as he looks through a surprising number of faceless boobs and dicks Daniel's been sent and kept over the years. Carlos settles on a repeat customer in Daniel's stash, pulls out Daniel's own cock, and cranks it. If Daniel is taking his body for a spin, he figures he gets a ride, too.
Daniel wasn't lying. The firm, thick shaft grows longer and heavy in his hand as he pulls and swipes at photos. Carlos never risked being publicly seen with a dude, but he's had well NDA'ed flings and can appreciate the reoccurring faceless man in Daniel's album - his soft hips, strong arms, and great tits for a guy. Light blonde hair covers this thick thighs. It doesn't cross his mind as to who it may be, not until Carlos is pumping hard and reaches a photo showing his whole body, Max's whole body, in a video of him jerking off his own cock just as rough and just as eager. Carlos gasps and spills onto his hand. He watches the saved clip of Max as he reaches climax and sighs in lovely, rosé pink blushed bliss.
"Fuck," he breathes, mind spinning like the plane's done a barrelroll.
He cleans up, gets dressed, and sits down in his seat. That was Max. Right. Because Daniel and Max had like...a thing. Or something. And Max is hot. Max, someone he'll have to see regularly in his multi-year contract. Who looks like that when he comes.
He zips his jacket up as high as it can go and stews. He feels so off-kilter; he rather not be himself or Daniel or anyone for a while. He swipes open Daniel's instagram and navigates to the search, but the first suggested post makes him sour. Friendship Rekindled? Max and Carlos Friendly Off-Track on First Day with a photo of Max and Carlos' body standing much too close together under a shared umbrella. He thinks of Max's soft middle and strong hands around his length.
He closes his eyes and tries and fails to sleep.
-
Max holds the umbrella more over Daniel than himself as they hurry to the vans. He tells Teto and Gigi he wants to get dinner with Max 'to catch up' which earns a suspicious eyebrow raise from Teto and a fond farewell from Gigi as Max and him load into a van together.
They sit with no one else in the van save the driver who pulls out from Zandvoort Circuit towards the hotel. Max grips Daniel's thigh, knuckles white with the enthralling strain.
He's well-behaved until they're back in Carlos' room and Max is up against his lips, Daniel's open mouth welcoming his tongue. They fall like old times onto the plush, unmade bed. Daniel lets Max's hands peel the navy blue rain coat off his shoulders and his hands dive under the hem of his damp shirt to cup his tits. He strains, sighing as Max pinches and twists his nipples.
"Max," he gasps with Max reworking the bite mark on Carlos' neck. "We need to be careful. It's Carlos' body. I know he's crazy hot, but let's-," he groans with the sudden friction of Max's hand pawing at his length. "We should wait until he gets here."
"Okay. He can join in."
"I meant so we can swap our bods back, but, sheesh, that would be hot." Max nods and kisses down to his collarbone, gently pressing smooches all along his skin. "We never did do a threesome, huh? Not sure how Carlos and I are going to switch back. What if we're stuck? He'll be me. Fun for you, I guess. It'll be like fucking two Daniels in a way, right? If having one of me isn't enough," he jokes.
Max turns bright pink, poising himself over Daniel with his blown-out pupils and glistening, parted lips. "Max?"
"Please tell me why."
"Why what?"
"Why you left me."
"Oh, Max." He cups Max's cheeks in his hands. "My Max."
"Was it something I said?"
"No, no. Not at all. It's all me, it's all," he pauses. Daniel pulls gently on the navy team kit falling from Max's chest. "It still hurts, Max. This," he looks off and lets a deep breath fill Carlos' lungs. "This is how it should be, but it's not."
"Daniel."
"Today felt good."
"It was good."
"It'd be nice if it was everyday. It hurts too much still, y'know, that it's not."
Max falls onto Daniel's chest, squeezing him tight. "Then I'll quit."
"Ha. No fucking shot, Verstappen."
"We can retire on the farm. It'll be more fun, and better for families, of course."
"You're so sentimental," Daniel laughs. He pulls Max's face up to meet his gaze. "I'll heal. I just need time, okay? Then maybe I can come play with you and Sainz out here, but I just need time."
Max nods, letting his eyes squeeze closed so his long lashes get pricked with dewy teardrops of leaking strain. Daniel holds his cheeks again, thumbs making small circles to wipe them all away. Max nods again.
"As much time as you need. Daniel."
"Max." He pulls Max into another tight squeeze and doesn't stop him when Max kisses down his chest, pushing up fabric to suck on hardened nipples. He makes a weak protest as Max fiddles with his jeans' zipper and pulls them lower as the phone rings. Max glances up at the bedside table.
"You're calling you."
"Oh, shit. Hand it here, bud." Max gets up and tosses the cell into Daniel's awaiting hands. He holds it to his ear.
"I'm in Zandvoort," his own voice says. Carlos must have landed. He can hear the sounds of airport announcements and chatter behind him. "Which hotel are you at?"
"The Four Seasons," he responds, watching and feeling a thrill as Max starts to strip in front of him. He pulls his shirt off in languid motions while not breaking his line of sight with Daniel.
"Cool, I'll catch a ride and try to stay incognito for your sake."
"Thanks, Carlos."
"Are you alone?"
Max lets his hard length spring free from his boxers. Daniel chokes on a gasp.
"Oh my God. Do not fuck Verstappen as me."
"Carlos, how do you know-"
"Apologies, I snooped."
Max starts to work his cock, biting his lip.
"And maybe did more, Ricciardo. All those photos of...Max...on your phone, I'm...fuck, I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine. You can-" he can't think as Max pulls Daniel to the edge of the bed, dropping between his thighs as he pulls the rest of him bare. "If I can- just with his..."
"Just with my mouth," Max says. He takes the phone and puts it on speaker. Daniel's heartrate soars. "Carlos."
"Max." A soft swear. A pregnant pause. "Fine. Fine. Fine, but don't...don't hang up."
Max dips to take Daniel- Carlos' length in his mouth. Daniel groans, cheeks heating as he watches the call's duration count up by the second. He sees Max's shoulder piston up and down as he feels himself while taking Daniel's cock deep inside his mouth. He hears Carlos order a car to the hotel. He feels Max's sweat damp hands slip up his waxed legs. Daniel can't think straight, barraged with memories of Max's thick lips around his own cock from their second year as teammates to covert meet-ups in every circuit to summer break promises that Daniel broke off because it all just hurt too much.
He pushes the back of Max's head, gently guiding him as he bobs up and down.
"I'm sorry, Max."
Max pulls off, flushed and gaping up at him. Daniel sits on his elbows and lets his hand caress down Max's blisteringly hot cheek.
"I do miss you. I miss you all the time."
"Daniel."
"Can you give me a little longer? To come back home?"
Max is frozen, unblinking until his chest rises and falls in a shuddering breath.
"Of course, Daniel. I can wait however long you want. Even if it's forever."
"Not forever," he smiles he laughs and ruffles Max's hair. Max takes another long pull against his cock. Daniel groans, pulling a hand through that thick, untamed hair. "And at least you have Sainz to keep you company.."
"Yeah, he's a good guy. Gorgeous, of course, but...well, I'm not sure if he's going to rock up pleased we're doing all this."
"I think he will be. Seems like he jerked it to you on the flight over." Max blinks at him. "Have some fun while I'm gone, eh? He might like you." Daniel laughs, leaning up further to pinch Max's cheeks. "You're so fucking cute when you're flustered, Maxy."
"Daniel."
"I missed you, Max. I missed-"
He blinks and is sitting in a taxi. He's in his body again, backpack between his legs and cell phone in his lap, an ongoing call to Carlos Sainz.
-
Carlos is half-naked with his hands holding Max Verstappen's cheeks. His hard cock is wet and leaking. He looks down his body and back to his new teammate as Max holds his wrists.
"Carlos?"
"Yes," he nods, thrilled and wired in his own skin. He whines as Max grips his length. He nods vigorously. He was already so close to the edge., egged on further by dizzying pulls of his hand. He pulls Verstappen up onto the bed and tries not to think about how any of this matters. When there's a knock at the door, Max is up and letting in Daniel, pulling off the clothes Carlos put on hours ago. He doesn't complain when they both are in bed. He doesn't stop Daniel when, after a pause of recognition and awe to be breathing the same air in their own bodies, lets his lips meet Carlos'. His beard a thrilling mix of soft and rough. His nimble hands work Carlos to the brink, to the end, as Max kisses and sucks on his neck. Max comes soon after, and the two watch Daniel work his length and come hard on their chests.
The three lay heaving in cold hotel air. Carlos and Daniel form a Max sandwich with their former teammate laying between them. Daniel rests his hand on Carlos' over Max's chest. Carlos's brows raise when he realizes Max is asleep.
"Yeah, he does that," Daniel laughs. "Comes and then it's lights out."
"Amazing." Carlos looks up at the face he's come to know much better over the past few hours. "Thank you. For taking care of me."
"Ditto. Good luck out there. It's a tricky but good car."
"You're not staying?" Carlos asks. Daniel shakes his head.
"Other irons in the fire, but someday." He looks fondly at Max. "Someday soon."
"Okay, just make sure you stay in your own body next time." Daniel laughs and lets his head rest on Max's shoulder.
"Yeah, sometime soon." He squeezes Carlos' hand and kisses Max's sleeping body. "Sometime soon, I'll come back. I promise."
(maxiel, 2017 season but they share a flat, under-negotiated pet play) - inspired by this meme that's been going around lately.
Daniel walks into the shared apartment and sees his roommate vacuuming at a feverish pace. Max never vacuums. Something must be wrong.
Daniel exchanges quizzical looks with Max's dachshund. He usually would've vetoed any potential cohabitating situation with a coworker, especially one with a canine companion, but Daniel did really want to live in this way-too expensive flat and he made an exception since Marlow was very polite, very small, and very chill - unlike his currently frenetic owner who now has dropped the vacuum mid-pull to powerfully kick a tennis ball under the sofa.
"Max, bud, what the fuck?"
"Landlord's coming in five minutes," Max says, not stopping and scooting past Daniel to grab a pull rope by the front door. Daniel, fresh from the gym, feels his body heat even more at the sudden and fleeting proximity. Max chucks the dog toy behind the television. "We can't let him see Marlow."
"Oh, fuck. Yeah." The strict no-pets rule in the absurdly expensive Monaco apartment came with a sizable fee and instant banishment for any discovered dogs; and, while Daniel wouldn't care if Marlow packed up a trunk tomorrow and set sail on a one-dog trip around the world, he did like Max enough to not see his beloved wiener dog kicked to the curb by their cantankerous landlord.
"Luckily, your dog is the size of a loaf of bread, dude. He's not going to find him." Daniel spies a half-chewed soccer ball by the coffee table and picks it up.
"Give it here," Max says. Daniel's dick twitches, and he tosses it Max's way. He never understands why his body loves getting horny around Max. It's not a crush, he assures himself, since not into dudes. He's not into Max Verstappen.
Daniel wonders it's just a fluke, like maybe his Max-related neurons and his sexy-time neurons just got filed a bit too close together in his brain. He remembers a friend telling him in high school that's why some people have foot fetishes; apparently the brain cells containing arousal data and the brain cells containing feet data are neural neighbors and sometimes get linked together. He highly doubts that's wholly scientifically accurate, but it stands for him that Max just happens to make him feel so eager, so unwound. Plus, he likes when chicks boss him around in bed, so Max doing that just accidentally set off the same signals to his confused cock. That's all. No biggie. He files away pet play for something to try with a chick sometime. Might be kinda hot.
Max scoops up Marlow from the sofa and kisses the dog's forehead tenderly. Daniel swallows.
"I really can't lose him," Max says quietly.
"Max."
"What if the landlord sees one bone we forgot? One loose toy? I'm fucked. There's no other reason someone would have those things in an apartment."
"Unless they're freaky, y'know."
Max looks at him blankly. He swears the dog also judges him.
"Oh, come on, Max. You ever seen porn where the girl walks around a guy on a leash? That kinda stuff."
Max flushes. "No way. I don't watch that kind of porn."
"Right. You probably just watch, like, mechanic YouTube vids and crank your hog to carburetors."
"No. Maybe."
"But it would," Daniel muses, spying even as they talk a forgotten collar sitting on Max's trophy bookshelf. Daniel goes over and picks it up. He looses the clasp, extending the material as far as it can go. "If we pretended, it would weird the landlord out enough for him to not ask any questions."
Max stares unblinkingly at him. Daniel feels his heartrate pick up as he clasps the widened collar around his own neck. It snaps on. The metal tags marking him as Max's clink against his Adam's apple and sparkle with light clangs as he swallows dryly again.
There's a knock at the door. Max hugs Marlow to his chest. They swear in unison.
"Keep him busy," Max says. "I'll hide Mar in my closet."
"Arf, arf, good buddy."
Daniel squirms as Max sprints around the corner with his pup tucked tightly in his grasp like he's a charging down the pitch with a rugby ball. Daniel lightly slaps his cheeks, shimmies his shoulders like he's pre-race, focuses, and opens the door.
"'Yello," Daniel says overly-casually, meeting the gaze of the somber, suited landlord. He watches the older man's gaze flit from his eyes to his neck and back up again.
"Hello."
"Nice to see ya. Doing a little inspection of casa de Verstappen Ricciardo?"
"I am," he says. Daniel makes a sweeping motion to welcome him inside. "You drivers," the landlord continues tersely as he walks inside and slowly scans the living room, "you always like to bend the rules, and a neighbor said they heard barking from this unit."
"Oh, barking? Right, yeah. That was, uh...that was me." Daniel woofs, realizes Marlow would sound more petite, and yaps instead. "See? It's just something I do. Gets me amped, y'know? Wired. Dog time."
The landlord looks at him like Daniel just dropped trow. Well, Daniel thinks, at least he bought enough time. Max speed walks back around the corner into the living room to join them. He greets the landlord with a curt handshake. Max looks at Daniel with concern and then back at their unwanted guest.
"So, would you, like, um. Tea? Coffee?" Max offers.
"No, I won't be here long. Just a few questions for you, Verstappen."
"Ah, sweet. If I'm not needed," Daniel says, edgy and eager to maybe get this collar off and jerk off to something normal. He's at half-mast and on edge, itching for relief.
"No, Ricciardo. Questions for you both."
"Okay. That's fine. Daniel," Max says, glancing over at Daniel, cheeks blooming red.
Daniel looks at his teammate's lovely cheeks and up to his wide, ice blue eyes.
"Daniel, sit."
Daniel sits. He probably should have done it on the sofa, like a person, but he squats on all fours right in his spot. Good for the ruse, he tells himself. All part of the plan, the joke, the lie that this does anything for him. He squirms in the friction of his running shorts's mesh against his stiffening cock.
Their landlord stares at him with a shocked grimace. "Um, that's not...He can, uh, stand."
"Daniel, up."
Daniel rises. The landlord adjusts his tie.
"You boys are...close." His eyes dart down, this time to Daniel's crotch, and back up again. "Look, you just need to keep the...uhh....noise down. The barking."
"Yes, sir," Daniel salutes. "Totally normal levels of barking moving forward."
"That's a good boy," Max coos. Daniel whines. He slaps a hand over his mouth as Max stares at him in flushed shock.
"Okay, I'm going to go now," the landlord says, clasping on his clipboard for dear life as he swiftly makes for the door. "You two have a nice night."
They say goodbye as the door slams closed. The two of them stand in perfect stillness.
"Stay," Max says as he starts to slowly walk away, voice raspy.
Daniel nods. He desperately wants to touch himself, to ease the crazy tension building inside him, but he stays still as Max walks down the hall. He goes into his bedroom. He hears a jingle of dog tags, the sound of rustling, and a door closing. He walks back alone with something in his hands.
"I didn't want Marlow in the closet too long, but he can wait in my room for a moment."
"Okay," Daniel says. His heart is pounding, pulse palpable in his neck like a caught bird. He looks to the coiled mass in Max's arms.
Max drops one end of the leash onto the floor.
"If you want, we could practice. You know, in case he comes back again?" Max has that locked-on look in his eye like Daniel has seen on garage television screens during quali as he catches glances of the broadcast while strapped into the car. Cold, focused. No half-doing anything when he looks like that, full send.
"Right. To make it more convincing," Daniel says back, voice shaky, body tensing. Max nods.
"Get on your knees, Daniel."
Daniel does. He should laugh at this, crack a joke, prove he's not hard as fuck and eager as hell as Max leans down and snaps the end of the leash to Daniel's collar. He gasps, a bead of sweat leaking down his temple. Max's fingertips slip to wipe it up, hand moving upwards into his hair to ruffle him, to pet him.
"Good boy."
"Fuck, Max." Max tugs lightly, making Daniel keen. He falls on his elbows, kneeling and slightly tempted to frot into the rug. He's so desperate to come. He shivers as Max pets him again, fingers scratching gently behind his ears and down along to the base of his neck like he does with his own dog.
"That's a good boy, Daniel. You're such a good boy."
Daniel wants to say Max's name but he just whines, begging. His eyes prick with tears as Max walks over to the sofa, pulling on the leash to make Daniel rise from his elbows and clamber the short distance to kneel between Max's knees as he sits down.
He looks up at his teammate. Max has never seemed hotter to Daniel. Beautiful sharp brows are drawn straight and tense. Firm jaw set. Gaze peering down his perfect nose to stare at Daniel. He bites and slowly releases his full bottom lip, the skin pink and wet. Max leans down, wrapping the leash around and around his large hand to pull Daniel against the sofa as his other hand gently cups his chin.
"Daniel," he says firmly. "Come."
He does, in a gasp, untouched and immediately with the most amazing wave of relief as he feels his gym shorts wet and beads of come leak down his thigh. The leash goes slack as he nuzzles into Max's crotch, feeling his teammate's own hard length beneath an infuriating layer of jean. Daniel meets his gaze once more. A glimmer of normal, nervous Max cracks through as he nods eagerly.
Daniel uses his hands to quickly unzip and free his teammate's dick from jeans and boxers damp with precome. Daniel doesn't think. He just takes Max's length in his mouth, sucking and pulling for only a few seconds before Max gasps, hands in his hair again, crying his name as he comes in his mouth. Daniel swallows and pulls back, head falling in a limp, exhausted rush onto Max's thigh.
They sit and drink in loud gulps of air. Daniel doesn't want to do a thing that would make Max's hands leave his head. The feeling of long fingers through ringlets of hair. The warmth of wide palms. Their sweat mixing from skin to skin.
"Daniel," Max starts, voice rough and exhilarating.
"Max," he answers. His own voice betrays him, whimpering as Max gently pets him again. He pushes lightly into his touch, and Max rubs with an emboldened vigor. "I don't know what this is, but it's good. Just sometimes, yeah? To practice for the next apartment inspection?"
"Totally. Just practicing. Pretending. Just...every now and then."
"Right."
"Now hold still," Max commands. Daniel does. Max slips a finger under Daniel's collar, making him gasp as Max unclicks it from his neck. He wishes he hadn't. He feels his eyes water as Max drops the collar to the floor and rubs two dizzying hands around his neck where it once was. "Good, Daniel. Good boy."
London 2016 (maxiel, semi-public mirror sex, under-negotiated praise kink, discussions of self-image, horndog Daniel)
"Do you actually own any clothes that aren't from Red Bull or Hollister?"
Max glances up at Daniel as they stand at the luggage carousel. Daniel gives him an over-exaggerated once over that makes his younger teammate bark an embarrassed laugh and cover his chest with a rising flush.
"No shame if not, Verstappen. I also had no fashion sense when I was your age."
"Do you mean that you actually have fashion sense now?" Max quips, giggling and then giggling harder when Daniel smiles and throws a faux punch. "I don't know what brands they are, but I have other clothes."
"Hm. I'll believe it when I see it," Daniel says back as he pulls his suitcase off the parade of bags. Max grabs his and they follow an RBR manager out of the airport terminal and into a waiting Aston Martin after signing a few items from a smattering of surprised fans. As they settle in the back, Daniel puts a hand on Max's skinny jeaned knee and falls into his seat with a huff. Max adjusts the hem of his jacket and zips the Red Bull issued team kit as high as it can go, burying his chin in the collar like a turtle so only his candy apple cheeks, bright blue eyes, and cropped gelled hair are visible.
Daniel feels that buzz of something warm and heady he can't place as he smiles at him. Over the past few months, there's been some new, potent mix of blossoming affection and surprising horniness that makes Daniel uneasy. He feels he's constantly hitting snooze on a wordless, ill-advised need for more around Max Verstappen. Don't shit where you eat, he'd tell himself. Don't fuck a coworker, especially a dude, especially one so cute and pliable. Daniel stares out the window and tries not to think about how pliable Max is or what it'd be like to feel it for himself.
Their manager for the day in shotgun turns back as they drive and informs them they have some time to kill before a Wednesday sponsor visit ahead of the busy GP weekend. Daniel taps his chin and looks over at his teammate.
"Whatcha feeling, Verstappen? We could cheat at a pub, watch a match? A little crab cakes and football, baby."
"I don't like crab."
"It's a reference. You ever seen Wedding Crashers?"
"No?"
Daniel clutches his chest. "No fashion sense and no exquisite film knowledge. This is dire shit. You need me, Max." A flash in the corner of his eye makes Daniel jump. "Oh sweet. We can fix one of those right now."
He taps their manager's shoulder, asking them to pull over. He lets her and the driver know they'll be set here for an hour as he pushes Max out of the car and into the upscale menswear boutique. Max shifts on his feet as Daniel schmoozes with the store clerks, and after some selfies and signatures, Daniel secures him and Max a private dressing room.
"I don't need any clothes, Daniel," Max says as Daniel follows him into the small, warm space. He closes the door and sets down a pile of shirts and pants in a variety of sizes on the dressing room's plush velvet chair. Some spill out onto the floor before them. Daniel stands behind Max at the tryptic of mirrors. He gently pushes Max's tensed shoulders down, sensing again the delicate clay of his younger teammate, how scarily easy it all is to press and pull and pry. "I don't like shopping."
"I'm doing the shopping for you. You're just getting dressed. I grabbed some random cool looks on the fly, so what size are you?"
"Uh, my fireproofs are the small to medium sized ones. Medium? Usually? I could get my measurements if I call Jake since we just did the seat fitting a few months ago and-"
Daniel sighs and fiddles with the tag on the back of Max's shirt. Max jumps, choosing freeze over flight or fight as Daniel delicately handles the fabric around his neck. The fine blonde hairs above his collar are soft to the touch.
"You really don't get out much, do you?" Daniel asks.
"Not to the cool places you go. I don't need much."
"C'mon, man. How do you expect to score any chicks on the road looking like this?"
Max goes silent. "I know. I am not so good looking."
It's now Daniel's turn to freeze, one hand on Max's shoulder and the other at his neck. "Wait, roll it back, Max Emiliano. Not what I meant."
"It's okay. I know it. I'm not as good looking as you."
"Don't sweat it, pal. No one's topping me," Daniel jokes, but he looks up. In the dressing room reflection, he can see Max's eyes are glassy. Daniel squeezes both hands on Max's forearms, feeling his soft, unflexed bicep give wonderfully under his grasp.
"Hey, hey, hey," Daniel says. "Bud, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
"It's not just you. I'm just not. I know I'm not."
"Oh, come on. Who told you that?" Max looks askance.
"I don't need to be told it to know. But also the internet exists."
Daniel feels a surprising surge of indignation on Max's behalf. "They fucking hate ya 'cause they ain't ya, Max. Don't believe a fucking word of it. You're so cute."
Max's blue eyes widen like he's turned on the high beams. The dewiness of his gaze leaks out in two perfect, opalescent tears that makes Daniel's heart ache to a degree he'd never expect over a coworker, never expect over a guy, but Max is so soft right now. So fragile.
"You're just saying that."
"No way. I'm a certified hotness assessor. You got literally everything a girl would want in a dude. Strong shoulders," Daniel says giving them a shake as they look at Max's reflection in the mirror. Daniel watches Max's gaze lock onto Daniel's hands. "Unreal eyelashes. Full lips. Crazy cheekbones. Your face just works, y'know?"
Max shakes his head, making one of the tears take a sharp racing line down to his jaw. His Adam's apple bobs with a dry swallow.
"You're stunning, Max."
"Daniel," he says, voice breaking on his name. Daniel's dick betrays him, stiffening as blood gets poorly budgeted from his brain to his cock. Something inside him snaps. He needs more, whatever would get Max to sound like that again.
"You know it, right? How stunning you are? In the car and out?" Max whimpers, eyes blinking faster than Daniel's ever seen them to futilely try and keep the tears inside. Those long lashes flutter over wet cheeks. "You take people's breath away, Max. You take my breath away."
Max squirms in his spot. Daniel gazes down Max's reflection, seeing his hardening length threefold in the angled mirror before them.
"I meant look at you," Daniel says, brain reeling and pirouetting as his hands slide under Max's shirt and lift it, revealing a pale flat tummy and earnestly endearing leather belt. Daniel lowers one hand to slip a finger inside the waist band of the exposed boxers. "You're gorgeous, Max."
"Daniel, I- this is so...it's..." Max's gaze meets Daniel's in the mirror and then back down to watch Daniel's fingers slip deeper. "It's good." Daniel undoes Max's belt with a deft, one-handed unclasp. Max makes that enthralling whimper again that sends every shred of Daniel's remaining rational thought to the bin as he unbuttons Max's skinny jeans and unzips.
"You're such a good boy, Max."
Max keens, hand flying to cover his mouth. "Daniel, I'm...we're...we're in public."
"Then we can be quick," he says. "If you want to keep going?"
"Yes. God, yes." Max's eyes leak with tears as Daniel's hands take opposite routes, one up to cup a burgeoning breast and the other to wrap around Max's cock. Daniel feels along the length, wetting the shaft with precome. "Daniel."
"Such a fucking good boy," Daniel says into his warm neck, pumping and letting Max's ass hit his own hard length. It's too good. Max is sobbing with choked, quiet pleas as Daniel whispers sweet nothings into his ear like he'd do with a Monaco hook-up, not his teammate. The flicker of doubt is painted over as Max's head falls back onto Daniel's chest, thick neck straining and flushed as he nears the breaking point.
"Be a good boy and come for me, Max."
He does. Max spills out onto Daniel's hand, come splattering onto the mirror as Max chokes on his name and shivers in the comedown. Daniel holds him steady and stares at how ravaged he made Max all while he's still fully clothed in Red Bull merch and dark blue jeans. Max blinks up at him in the reflection.
"Was that okay?" he asks, voice small and raspy.
"More than okay. If it was, for you? Ah, Max," Daniel says with blindingly sharp and unwanted moment of clarity. "Fuck, was that too much?"
"No. I...well, I obviously um...liked it a lot."
"We can just keep this on the downlow, yeah? Bros jerk each other off all the time, so it's no big deal, right?" Max nods quickly. "And we'll tell the store clerks the mirror already had come on it when we got in here."
"Daniel," Max laughs in shock.
"Just joshing. I'll lick it clean."
"Daniel." This time less humored, more keen.
Daniel pats his shoulders one last time. He bites his lip. He's still hard and wanting, but Max is so ravished. He wants to kiss his neck and spin him around and kiss all over that unreal face, but that's too much. It's all probably too much.
"Do you need...?" Max offers, almost as if reading his mind. Daniel shakes his head.
"I'm really into gooning. I'll wait til the hotel."
"I cannot tell when you're joking sometimes, Daniel."
"Well, I wasn't joking about you being cute. So no more shit talking yourself, aight?"
Daniel holds out a hand, still damp with come for a handshake. Max laughs and shakes on it.
"It's a deal, Daniel." Max's brows furrow in a swell of emotion. He wipes at his wet cheeks. "Thank you."
"Anytime." And he meant it. "Now we do have to clean up, and I'm just going to buy the clothes that got jizz on them as a courtesy to the staff. I hope you like," Daniel pauses and picks up a come-covered jean button-up, "great, even more jean. The universe has dubbed thee 'jean boy'."
"Oh, that's actually not a bad shirt. I'll wear that. After I wash it, of course." Max bites his full lip and meets his gaze. Daniel sucks in a breath.
He's gorgeous. And those fucking eyes still rimmed red and dewy with overwhelm. Daniel knows he has to be careful, or he could drown in that sea of blue and this dizzying ocean of tears.
maxiel (genderswap, magic, some oral, plus a little lactating and mentions of weight gain) written for the lovely anon who requested more of this niche au, thank you!!
Max squirms in the freshly purchased Daniel Ricciardo merch. He untucks and retucks the navy team kit into a short white tennis skirt that Daniel brought along for this ill-advised adventure that all seemed much funnier on the flight over to Austin. Max fidgets with the hem, flushing at how the material pulls tighter over much his heavier tits and wider hips. He stands at his driver's room mirror and stares at his magically, temporarily feminine reflection, jumping in shock at a sharp knock on the door.
"Maaaaax," Daniel calls in that higher pitch, beating staccato taps in a chipper pattern. "We've seen each other naked as girls before. No need to be shy."
"Just give me a second," Max calls back, pushing longer blonde hair off his shoulders. Flushed and sore from quali earlier in the day, he wonders if it's too late to back out. Still, he can't deny he is curious what the race track is like when no one can tell he's Max Verstappen. Plus, Daniel apparently is standing just outside wearing his own merch, too. Max almost feels more eager to see that than anything.
He unclasps his Tag Heuer to leave it behind. Something like this would be far too conspicuous for just a normal fan to have. He glances at the late evening time on the intricate watch face as he sets it down, closes his copy of the driver-issued and highly-secretive spell-book, and reminds himself that no one could possibly know it's really him. There are so few people who know magic is real; and, of those three dozen, only Daniel knows they're doing this. Just a few hours as girls until the spell wears off, just a few drinks with his coworker who he sometimes fucks but only when they're like this, only when Daniel's assures him it doesn't count.
"Okay, I'm coming," Max says, opening the door and feeling a light fist tap his nose.
"Oop, sorry Maxy," Daniel laughs. Max rubs his nose and feels his face heat up under his fingertips as he looks at his teammate.
Daniel's always gorgeous to Max, now just in that different light as a woman. Rivets of long, dark curls fall down past narrower shoulders and over heavy breasts with Max's number emblazoned across them. Daniel's taken a hair tie and scrunched the shirt into a crop-top, exposing his softer middle before frayed jorts, loose threads touch that quintessential tattoo over his round, smooth thigh. Max gazes down until seeing he's somehow conjured up a pair of pink cowboy boots.
"You look good," Max says blankly, gasping when he hears a door open and close down the hall. Daniel pats his shoulders.
"Relax. They think we're back at the hotel."
"Maybe this is not such a good idea. What if someone recognizes us?"
Daniel's gaze flits up and down with a perfectly incredulous look. Max loves seeing that wry grin, that suave confidence, no matter what gender Daniel happens to be at the moment.
"Gonna keep it real, Max. I highly doubt anyone will look at your face that hard while you have these," Daniel says, elegant hands gripping Max's chest. Max gasps, keening with the gentle squeeze. For a moment, he wonders if they'll get as far as they tried this in Belgium, which was just to the hotel door before falling right back into bed.
It doesn't count, he reminds himself. It doesn't count when Daniel leans in and kisses him, full lips in that familiar curve and a tongue he's never felt in his mouth as a boy. Only like this.
He breathes Daniel's name and smells Red Bull on his breath. Another set of footsteps makes Max jump. Daniel laughs and tugs on his hand, pulling them down the hall and out one of the many covert exits into the twilight of the paddock. Max stares at his last name on Daniel's shirt, peeking over Daniel's drawstring backpack. He spots appearing letters as they flit through strands of curls that dance on Daniel's back.
They stand between motorhomes. In the cool Texas evening, the paddock is still buzzing after quali. Daniel slips the backpack off one shoulder and fishes around until his fingers make purchase. Max looks at the press-on nails on Daniels hand as he holds out a paddock pass and lanyard. Daniel always is more comfortable pushing the limits, trying new things. Max's eyes flit up as he takes it, watching Daniel's mascaraed eyes close as he pulls on his own name badge. He pulls out a tube of lip balm and reapplies in the reflection of his phone. Max drags his gaze away from ogling and looks at the forged pass, nose scrunching at the credentials.
"What is this fake name, Daniel? Franziska Hermann does not sound like me. What is yours?"
Max picks at Daniel's large pass hanging from his chest, seeing girl Daniel's face next to "Frankie Hermann."
"Duh, Max. We're undercover. I wasn't going to get passes made for our little romp that just have our fucking real names on them."
"Hermann. Are we sisters? Or are we," Max swallows. Daniel recaps the lip balm, stuffs it in his pocket, and swings the backpack back on with a shrug.
"We're whatever we want to be. Right now, I'd like to be a little drunk."
Another hand hold makes Max blush as Daniel pulls them out of the safety of the shadowy alleys of the motorhomes and into the bustling paddock. Max's heart hammers, certain anyone at any moment will shatter their atypical anonymity. Only drivers and TPs and some FiA officials know magic is real, a special gift drivers get at the top level. But Max can't help but feel on edge. They still look too similar, and the fear of getting called out feels too alarming and too earth-shatteringly possible. He squeezes Daniel's hand. Daniel squeezes back.
Max tries to empty his brain and opts for instead staring at Daniel's ass as he leads them past the security gates and out into the general admission of the Circuit of the Americas.
"Yeeeehaw," Daniel says, dropping his hand to stretch. "Freedom!"
"No one saw us," Max says, amazed.
"Nope," Daniel replies with a popped p. "Oh, you still don't believe me. Max. We're fine. Unrecognizable. Just two gals on the town."
"I don't know, Daniel."
"Here, watch this."
"Daniel, wait-," Max gaps as Daniel approaches a crowd of Red Bull-merched fans nearby. Daniel taps their shoulder and they spin around.
"Howdy, fellas, who do I look like? Any...celebrity lookalikes come to mind?" Daniel says, giving a spin and striking a pose. "C'mon. Any guesses?"
An awkward pause as the random fans exchange confused glances. "Uh, Meaghan Rath?" someone posits.
"Thank ye kindly, boys," Daniel says with a faux Texan drawl, saluting and walking back to Max. "See? We're in the clear, Franziska. No one's gonna know a thing. Now, when's the last time you actually just walked around a racetrack without signing anything?"
"Probably back in karting?"
"Precisely. Now let's find a fucking pretzel and enjoy being no one. Just for a while."
Max and Daniel press through the tight throngs of people in the busy circuit. Lines for merch snake out of different team-emblazoned tents. Daniel stops by an RBR tent and takes a selfie with a big version of himself on the side. The air is thick with warm, noisy cheer. Sponsor booth chatter and rollercoasters screams and the sound of music from the nearby stage. Max feels astounded to be ignored. People push past and walk right by, unaware it's Max Verstappen they're bouncing off in the crowd. He's just here, with Daniel. As they wait in line for overpriced food, he feels Daniel's hand slip back into his.
"I don't want to lose you," Daniel says. Max glances up. "You know, in the crowd."
"Right. Me too."
They sit on a curb afterwards, people watching as race fans filter in front of them and sipping on beer that's technically out of their diet. They found out the transformation makes that not count, either. One time they tested the theory in Japan, weighing themselves before, going ham on room service as girls, then after finding themselves the same weight as guys once it wore off. Nothing counts, Daniel would say with a relieved smile.
Max glances up at Daniel who's picking at a funnel cake with glittery nails.
"It's fun, right?" Max asks. Daniel looks over and nods.
"Great fun, Maxy. We should do this every race. Hell, I may even kick it for a few days before Mexico like this. Frankie time. Catch a few shows, see the sights, kiss a few strangers." Daniel takes a piece of fried dough and ushers Max closer. Max leans in, letting his lips part as Daniel slides the warm, sweet mass into his mouth. He almost wants to take those dazzling nails in too and suck the powdered sugar off each fingertip. "It's so freeing, yeah, to not be us for a while, y'know? Trying out all this girly shit. Being nobody special. It's nice, right, just to see?"
Max nods. He doesn't know what he wants to say, except he would like to do those things anytime, as anyone, as long as it's with him. Instead he just says a simple "yeah." He sits still and lets Daniel rest his curly head on his shoulder.
Max swallows. The heat builds between his legs, thighs pressing together as a tan hand drags gentle circles along his pale skin. Daniel traces the COTA circuit into his upper thigh, nail pressing just hard enough to leave little white lines that vanish a second after they're drawn.
"Daniel," Max breathes. Daniel turns and kisses up Max's shoulder, lips pressing through the shirt's thin material. He gasps his name again as Daniel goes in for Max's throat, glossy, sticky lips on warm skin. Max feels a few strands of his hair caught under the wet press. His eyes glance up, worried and anxious for a whole new reason. Not for being recognized, but he's sure everyone passing by can tell he's about to explode in a confetti blast of horny nerves.
"You're so fucking hot, Max," Daniel breathes into Max's neck. "Sorry, Franz. Franzy."
He didn't care if Daniel called him every name under the sun. He turns and leans into Daniel's lips with his own. They work fast, too eager and too rough. Daniel's hands slip into Max's hair and hold him tight to the kiss.
"Let me," Daniel says, one hand trailing lower, squeezing a breast en route for Max's skirt. He feels wetness leak from his nipple. Max shivers, keens.
"Not here," he says back shyly.
"Where do you want it, then?" Daniel smiles into his lips, voice husky and warm. "Sneak into the garage? Let me eat you out under the raised car? Finger your tight cunt in the media pen until someone sees you gasping and begging for it?"
Max cries softly into Daniel's neck as his teammate goes back to working a hickey into his skin. "Anywhere. Just with you."
"There is one place we could try." Daniel gets up, and Max feels suddenly in the wall without his touch. He stumbles up as Daniel tosses their empty trays and cups and pulls Max's hand into a quick run.
They arrive at the COTA tower. It's closed after-hours, but Daniel apparently had the foresight to have a suspiciously large amount of cash on hand. The guard blinks in surprise at the proposal, pockets the hundreds, and lets just the two of them up into the elevator.
Daniel presses Max into the elevator car's corner as they rise. Max's hands move without a conscious thought, squeezing full breasts and slipping low to grab at his fuller ass. Daniel's sweeter voice swears in Max's ear and he nibbles on his earlobe, licking inside and breathing hot and ragged onto Max's thoroughly damp neck.
The elevator opens up on the windy balcony of the COTA tower. It's devoid of anyone, and Max feels he can finally breathe. It's colder so high up, making his body's heat feel more stark and invigorating than he's ever felt before.
"Let's not finger blast each other too close to the edge, though," Daniel laughs, pulling Max down onto the astroturfed lawn of the patio. Max falls onto Daniel to straddle his waist. His knees hit the soft fake grass. He looks up, seeing the Austin lights glitter off in the distance. He looks down at Daniel.
He's beautiful as a girl. His hair fans out as he lays below Max, chest rising and falling, making his wet breasts expand Max's logo with each heavy breath. Max slips his hands onto Daniel's soft middle. They're both much heavier as girls than as drivers, as if they're normal, removed from the world of F1 entirely. Max wonders if this is what he'd be like outside of their tightly-controlled world as Daniel also holds his belly, skating nails across the gentle swell. His fingers dip down lower, sneaking under the hem of his skirt and back to cup his wet crotch.
"Franzy," Daniel coos. Max refocuses.
"Yes...Frankie."
Daniel slips a finger past Max's lacy drawers, drifting across fine hair and leaking wetness, stealing all of Max's focus. He watches Daniel's concentrated brow as he works with reverence along the outside of his cunt. Daniel pulls back. With a move he probably stole from MMA, Daniel flips and turns Max onto his back with a gentle, sudden spin. Max laughs in surprise and then gasps as Daniel pulls off his underwear. Daniel snaps them like a rubber band off into the empty tables nearby.
"That'll be a fun surprise for someone tomorrow. Little do they know it's Max Verstappen's used pink lace panties up here."
"You're the one who bought them."
"I like to dress you up like this," Daniel smiles as he kisses down Max's torso, sucking on his hip bone before laying between his knees. Max leans up on his elbows, dizzy and throbbing as Daniel's beautiful face moves to plant kisses on his thighs. "You're so fucking hot, Max. Franz."
"Oh," Daniel. Daniel leans in and licks a line up Max's cunt. Max whines, choking on a swear as Daniel moves so fast to flick at his clit with his deft tongue. The noises he makes are high and needy, begging as Daniel works his tongue deeper. A soon joining finger presses circles into his clit, careful with long nails not to nip the skin that feels so fine-tuned to pick up every sensation, every press, every breath. Max laces his fingers in Daniel's mass of curls as he works at him. He tries to maintain the illusion, but Daniel's name spills out. If anything, Daniel works harder, faster when he says it.
Max feels the rise and build near its peak. His whole body shivers, trembles. He cries out as Daniel works and kneads and presses with such tender force until it all reaches a head. "Daniel," he gasps in shock as he comes in rush, every inch of him lighting up like end of season fireworks as Daniel places a final kiss on his dripping pussy.
He can't get another word out before Daniel's at his lips. Max tastes himself on Daniel's tongue. He moans into those lips he sees so often, pressing every sensation deep into his brain for safe keeping. When he'd see Daniel on track, he'd know this was what it felt like. It still counts, for him. It still counts.
"Let me do you," Max says eagerly.
"Slow down, cowboy. Just a moment." Daniel sits on Max's lap, gazing down at him. Max feels undressed under his gaze. "I just want to get a good look at you. Like this."
Max blinks up at him.
"Those goddamn eyes, Max. They're always that blue, huh?"
Max can't think of a thing to say before Daniel's back kissing him with a renewed vigor. He's slightly glad he can't say anything, not while spinning Daniel onto his back, not while kissing down Daniel's chest and sucking at full breasts and pulling down his shorts and licking along his cunt. Max seals away every plea for more, always, all the time. He focuses on just this as Daniel threads his fingers through Max's hair this time. A fake name cried into the cold Texas air as Daniel comes and Max's real name whispered into lips as they lie together afterwards. Max lets his forehead rest against Daniel's and feels wet beads slip out from his nearly closed eyes. He watches Daniel's eyelashes dance on his cheeks, eyes closed fully. He thumbs away a mirrored tear and says what he doesn't want to say.
"It doesn't count," Max assures them both. Daniel nods and cuddles into Max. He lets his mind go blank, not thinking of the race tomorrow or the hours they have left before the spell breaks. It's just Daniel in his arms. He squeezes tight and relishes as Daniel squeezes him back just as tightly.
THANK YOU anon!!! 💞💞💞 thank you for being so patient with me. I love you!! And I'm so glad you like that au ahhh I love magical f!Dan and Max 🥹✨ I wrote a little something I'll post next for this!!
Also, I'll put it under the cut in case folks prefer to keep their own fem headcanon maxiel mental image in tact - but shoutout this super blurry & hella low-rez edit from like 2021(?) which I tweaked ever so slightly and gaze upon often. In my noggin, these two are being sick and silly and sweet with each other only always ahhh 😖✨ I adore!
my beloveds 🥺💞 I am pressing them together like dolls 👭
btw to the wonderful anons from months ago with the brazil and wec asks - I am so sorry I still haven't posted anything!!! I think I'm realizing I kinda struggle with prompts and longer fic execution 🥲 but the ideas you sent in are so absolutely incredible and super lovely amazing dizzying concepts omg!!!! 💝✨ It's been weighing on my heart not posting anything in response, so I just wanted to say sorry I'm flopping!! I appreciate you thinking of me!! 🥺💞 one day I'll write a something proper in response, but until then my dm's are open if we wanna muse together 🫶✨ thank you for being excellent!! ❤️
maxiel, body swap, blowjobs, frotting, dubious consent, a little voyeurism
-
Daniel wakes to the sound of an unfamiliar alarm. He swears and with shut eyes slaps around the bed in the direction of the affronting noise. He doesn't remember inviting a girl over last night, but he did get fairly drunk. He could have called up one of the many gals he fancies in the Monaco area. There was that one chick he's been seeing now and then who invited him over last night too, but maybe she came to his place instead? His memory is frustratingly blank, but whoever it was who had the gall to set an alarm on one of his precious free Saturdays is getting officially, permanently uninvited to his flat.
Finally, his fingers make purchase around a cased phone. Purely from touch, he knows it's not his naked iPhone. He blearily peeks open in the dark room, ready to see the silhouetted curve of a woman's hips and shoulders but instead being face to face with a stuffed lion plush. He stares, as if the random stuffed animal would magically come to life and say 'hey man, sorry, my bad for the alarm at fucking six a.m.'
Daniel glances at the phone in his too pale hand. Max's phone. Max's hand. But...it's his hand?
He swears. He must be immensely hung over, possibly tripping. His lips feel swollen, tongue sitting wrong in his mouth. He licks over too-straight teeth and snaps his eyes shut.
He tries to get back to bed but the sound of several text messages ping on the aggrivating phone. Why the hell did Max leave his phone at Daniel's place? He grumbles and looks at the lit up screen as messages pop up, covering the phone's artsy wallpaper of Spa-Francorchamps in a series of rapid texts.
Daniel. Daniel. Pick up. Daniel. Are you normal? Something is wrong.
It rings. It's an incoming call coming from...Daniel? He sees his face, a photo of them together post-race Abu Dhabi last year. Why would Max pick a sweaty ass photo like this for his contact? And how the hell is he calling himself? That's not possible, Daniel thinks in confusion. The mental gears chug in sleep-addled disarray like he's been handed a sheet of calculous homework. He's not calling anyone. Why would Max's phone be getting a call from him when he's naked and half-asleep and phone-less?
Confused and pissed, he silences the phone and stares at the ceiling. He scratches his chest and feels the surprising heft of much more sizable tits.
He pauses, squeezing. Unfamiliar nipples harden under his thicker fingers. The fuck? In the too dark room, Daniel lets his alien hands drag down, feeling along a softer middle and more narrow hips. Further and with mounting concern, he feels inwards, trembling fingertips brushing too-fine, too-long pubes and then reaching a hardening girth that was far too big to be his own cock.
He springs out of bed, disoriented in a room that's not his. He trips over a ludicrously large box of Red Bull and walks over familiar clothes littered on the floor. Max's hoodies. Max's things. Max's room.
In Max's bathroom, he flips on the light. He stares at Max in Max's mirror.
Daniel reflexively reaches for a towel and wraps it around his waist, cheeks burning crimson under sharp cheekbones. "Breathe," he commands himself nervously, but it's his teammate's voice. The phone rings again, insistent. Daniel speed walks back to the bed to pick it up and answer.
"Daniel, are you okay?" he hears his own voice say on the other line, but it's not him. Not exactly. His own voice is draped in that Dutch accent as he holds Max's phone to his ear. "Are you in my apartment?"
"Max." He swallows, free hand holding onto the wall for support. "Yeah, yes. I am."
"Are you...in...me?"
Several thoughts try to bang through Daniel's mind, getting caught up in the doorframe so all that comes out is a blank, "In you?"
"You sound like you're me. Because, right now, I'm you."
"That's not possible. This is insane." Daniel paces now, panic turning manic as he looks out the window to the slightly shifted view of the same Monaco seaside, just one floor up. It's still dim outside, headlights and street lamps sparkle while bright white yacht reflections ripple on dark waters.
"Daniel? Are you there? Please say something."
Max sounds scared, and Daniel feels like he's hearing his own nineteen-year-old self talk to him through space and time, nervous and anxious and needing reassurance everything will be okay.
Pull it together, Ricciardo.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm here. We'll figure this out, Max." Somehow. He has no idea how, but that's not what matters right now. He starts grabbing an outfit and tossing clothes on the bed. "Luckily no race today, right? I'll go upstai- downstairs to my place. If you're there, maybe we just need to see each other to un-Freaky Friday ourselves, yeah?"
"I don't know where I am, Daniel."
Pausing, he blinks and feels his stomach somehow drop further, as if he'd shit it out. "Are you in a bathroom with pink walls?"
"Yes! Daniel, I am. How did you know?"
Daniel smacks his forehead a bit too hard and groans. "Fuck, you're at her place."
"Who's place?"
"This girl I've been seeing. She invited me over last night, and drunk-me must've went."
"Oh, she was the one in the bed."
"Fuck, did you talk to her?" Or more.
"No, she's asleep. I woke up next to her." Relief. "Daniel, you are...uh...quite covered in...hickies."
Great, excellent. Max is seeing him post-coitus. "Well, at least we didn't swap bods when I was doing the deed, eh? A fine how-do-you-do to wake up balls deep in a stranger."
"Daniel," Max laughs in shock like he's just had a ballon popped in his face. Daniel feels more grounded, eased to break the tension and relieved to hear his teammate's laugh, even if it is coated in his own voice. Weird. "No, thankfully I can leave and maybe she will not notice me."
"Yeah, really rather her not get the idea I'm suddenly a Dutch weirdo after banging."
"Oh, please. I can act like you. Listen," Max clears his throat. "G'day, mate."
"Wow. That sucked. Try harder, pal."
"G'day, I'm Daniel Ricciardo and I like screaming metal and boobs."
"Hm. Getting closer."
"Do me next."
Daniel blushes despite himself. "Fine, hi, I'm Max Verstappen from the Netherlands," Daniel says, frightened how easy it is to sound a bit too pitch perfect. Max's raspy, breaking voice and lisp all come a bit too easy. He hams it up to shake it off. "I love cars so much. I'm in a committed relationship with my sim and crank my hog there every night."
A bark of a laugh. "That's very good, Daniel. But I would never come in the simulator. It might damage it."
"Great, thanks for clearing that one up, Max. Maybe I'll go sit there while I wait for you and take your hardware for a spin." Meaning the simulator. Not his cock. Obviously. Daniel feels himself flush too hot again, steeped in awkwardness as there is a silent beat where he feels he very clearly should clarify that, but then he'd have to potentially admit he has already felt Max up a bit, and why was his dick so fucking huge and why did Max never say a thing? Not that teammates and friends, nothing more, would talk about having a monster dick with each other. But the amount of times Daniel joked about having ten inches and Max saying 'oh same' and he meant it was making Daniel's head spin.
"Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"How do I get home?"
"Oh, right." He gives directions from the hook-up's flat to their building. "And don't forget my keys and shit. Probably on her kitchen counter."
"Okay. And Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
"What're you apologizing for, Verstappen? Not like you did this."
"No, but I maybe know who did. But I didn't know she was serious, I-." He hears a woman call his name on the other end. "Fuck," they say in unison.
"Max. Max, be chill, okay? Don't panic."
"I'm not panicking," he says, panicked.
"Just say you have a doctor's appointment and you gotta run. Max? Hey?"
The call doesn't end but he hears a clatter as if Max dropped it to the floor.
-
Max stands in Daniel's body as a woman he's never met wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a deep kiss. He stares at her closed eyes and feels Daniel's heart crash and bang in his chest. Delicate, long tan fingers hold her arms and a betraying current of want makes him stiffen all over. Her fingers lace through curls as she gives them a soft pull.
"Trying to sneak out without round two, big boy?" she purrs in his ear. She is hot. Her breath makes his skin break into chills. "Why so quiet, Daniel? Cat got your tongue?"
"I have an appointment." Lie better, he commands himself. He glances at the phone on the floor, call ongoing. He's worried he might give his teammate a heart attack with how his pulse spikes. "Like, with my trainer."
"Oh, boo. Can't he wait?" Her hands drift down, caressing his ass and working inwards. "You said it was your day off today, and all you wanted to do," she kissed and sucked over an already purple mark on his neck, "you said all you needed was to run me through all day long."
And she's on her knees, mouth on his length- Daniel's length. Max is unwound, shocked and blissed and gasping as she takes him so deep so fast. He reflexively holds her head, feeling her bob up and down as he momentarily forgets everything. He's never had sex before. Late bloomer. Too busy. Too shy. No one's ever touched him like this.
And it shows, he feels the edge quickly approaching as she hums onto Daniel's length. He watches the numbers on the phone call tick up, seconds counting off in real time how poorly he's handling this, all for him to hear. The thought makes him reel. Daniel. Listening. Was he listening?
He groans, gasping as she works his balls and choking on a swear as he feels the orgasm bubble up inside his body, so flushed with need and want and urgency until he crashes out, spilling into her mouth.
This is how Daniel feels when he comes. He etches every sensation into his brain as she swallows and kisses along his well-trimmed hair and wide hips.
"You usually don't come so quick, baby."
"I'm sorry." He dips and grabs the phone, guilt hitting like thunder after lightning. "I'm so fucking sorry, but I have to go."
She calls his name as he scoops up Daniel's familiar hoodie and pulls on a pair of running shorts. He slips the phone into his pocket, says a million apologies in a barely attempted Aussie accent as he collects Daniel's items and scurries out the door barefoot. Too frazzled to go back, he books it.
Blessedly, the Monaco streets are fairly empty, and he doubts anyone would believe some random passerbys if they say they saw Daniel Ricciardo running shoeless down the street. He slips down an alley, scampering up a set of stairs where Daniel once showed him how to sneak in to avoid their building's doorman, slipping through the delivery dock and dumpsters to the freight elevator, tapping in a quick code, and riding up to the top floor to Max's penthouse suite.
He pulls out his phone. The call is still going. Max stares at the bitten-down nails gripping the iPhone as he holds onto the small, guilty hope that maybe he didn't hear Max getting blown.
As the elevator shimmies upwards, Max looks at Daniel's hands, raising the other to flip them over and clench and unclench just to feel it. He glances up the rising numbers on the elevator and, with a thoughtless rush, slips a finger in his mouth, sucking and running his tongue around the tip. He pulls it out in a flushed huff. "Stop, Max." The sound of his name in Daniel's voice makes his heart hammer and his dick twitch. He shouldn't like this all so much, but it's so close, so visceral. He wishes the elevator would get stuck, just for a little bit, to let him feel up every inch of Daniel. "Perv," he whispers, but the shame isn't beating out the high. He's reeling, being able to touch and know. He jolts remembering the phone and hopes Daniel didn't hear a thing.
He can't buck up the nerve to talk on the line until he's reached the top and walked down the hall, standing outside his own apartment's door without a key to get inside.
He holds the phone to his ear, "Daniel?"
"Max?"
"Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm here."
"Yeah, give me a second."
Max lets pathetic guilt saturate him as he sees the call end. He readies the apology he's been working on all run over, but nothing comes out as he sees his own face as the door opens. His gaze flits up and down, taking in the sight of his own body in just a pair of sweatpants, standing stock still in the doorway. It's him.
Daniel's in there. They stare at each other. Max's shoulders heave, body still wired from the run over, finger still a bit damp with spit. He watches Daniel stare back, wide blue eyes and parted wet lips.
"I'm sorry," they say at once. Max blinks. "Daniel, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, I...I should've told her to stop."
"Nah, mate. It's fine. She's a stunner, isn't she? I get it. Hard to turn down a blow job, especially in this, uh, situation, but, um, yeah I also...I should've not, um, listened and...I....kinda, y'know."
"You what?"
Daniel's blue eyes roll in exasperation. "Can you come inside so we stop talking about voyeurism in the hallway?"
Max hustles in as Daniel closes the door behind him. Max feels off-kilter, both at seeing his flat from the wrong height and knowing Daniel heard everything.
"It's okay, Daniel. If you listened."
"What if," Daniel said, sitting on one of the barstools in the adjacent kitchenette, his own fingers slipping off runny condensation from an undrank glass of water on the counter. "What if I did more than listen?"
"Like what do you mean, Daniel?"
He watches his own Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows. "Come on, don't make me say it."
"I may be in you, but I can't read your thoughts, Daniel."
"You know how hearing sexy moaning is sometimes enough? And, well. It seemed fair to...do it. Since you were getting off, too."
"What?"
"I jerked off, Max." He says it flatly but his whole face and neck are pink, and single bead of sweat slips down his own cheeks just like the wet glassin his hands. "Sorry, mate. Like, it was fucking hot. And why the hell is your dick porno sized?"
"It is...no, it is normal sized."
"Yeah, for a fucking werewolf, not a teenage Dutch boy."
"It is only a bit bigger than yours."
Daniel gives him a withering look. "No need to lie, mate. Especially since you've seen it now."
"I think it's a very good size, Daniel."
"Yeah, does yours make girls run for the hills or what?"
"Well, a girl has never seen it." Daniel raises an eyebrow, somehow moving muscles Max has no memory of being able to flex himself. "No one has seen it, besides like doctors and stuff."
"Max. You're a virgin?"
Now it's Max's turn to swallow, reaching for the glass of water. Daniel catches his wrist mid-air, hands wet and soft.
"Max, was that your first time? Just now with her?"
"Yes. Technically, if it counts since I'm...you...right now."
Daniel's grip tightens.
-
Max lost his fucking virginity in his own body. Daniel can't seem to pull his hand back, fingers clutching Max's hand, his hand.
And it felt good. It felt so wildly good to pump and twist and listen to his own voice sigh and break in ways he's never heard. He's pretty quiet in bed himself, but Max was so vocal, so pleading. He didn't know he could make sounds like that.
"Daniel, if you're upset-," Max starts.
"I'm not upset."
Max walks around the counter, never breaking contact. Daniel looks up into his own eyes, the ghost of Max's expressions in his own features.
"I'm just," Daniel's shoulders fall. "Aw, mate. Your first time should be special. I feel like kinda shitty it happened this way."
"Well, being in someone else's body is kind of special?"
Daniel snorts. "Well, yeah, I guess." He looks over his own tattoos, twisting Max's wrist gently and ushering up his other arm to hold both of his hands. Their fingers intertwine. He wants to crack the pressure, to joke he just wants to see what his own body looks like from the outside, but the gentle tremble in Max's hands is so precious, so delicate and warm. He feels he's holding a small creature in his hands, gently smoothing small circles in the soft flesh between his thumbs.
"Daniel," Max breathes. "Was it good for you? To come as me?"
"It was. Fuck, you come so much, too. I did do it in the shower. Sorry in advance for the clog."
Max smirks. "No, I do it there anyway."
"Shit's a bitch to clean out. Your plumber will hate you."
"Then I'll start doing it in the sim like you said." Max eyes him as he leans in. "Or in the kitchen, right here."
Daniel feels Max's grip tighten. The nagging thought he should not be doing this with his lovesick colleague feels distant and irrelevant in the dreamlike haze of seeing his own face get closer. "We can only get so wet, right?"
"Like in the shower?" Max asks.
"No, like, the uh, repercussions. If that's the word. Like, we're already in this deep, so what's a little fucking between friends, right?"
He watches his own lips part. "Do you meant it?"
"Maybe give you a proper first time, so I don't feel like I ruined your deflowering."
"Daniel. Please."
Daniel finally lets Max's hands go so he can instead grip and pull him into a kiss. He always wondered how it'd feel to kiss himself and to kiss Max. The unreal combination of both, of his own lips along Max's plush pair made him feel electric and impossible. Max's own hands grip along his bare back, short nails dragging down broad shoulders. Nothing matters. Not how they'd switch back. Not what crazy magic did this to them in the first place. All that matters is seeing Max, not just hearing, as he comes for him.
"Back to your bed? Just us and the lion?"
He watches his brown eyes widen. "That's, uh, he was a gift. From a fan. That happened to be there."
"Aw, don't sweat it. It's cute. Did ya give it a good name? Like 'Daniel'? Obviously, that's best name in my humble opinio-"
Max cups his cheeks. Daniel pauses.
"Say your name again," Max says, tone taught with a sudden, heady undercurrent.
"My name?"
"I want to hear it."
"Okay, um." He takes a shuddering breath. "Daniel."
"Max," he says back, his own voice never laced with such conviction before, with such heat. "Max," he says again as his fingers softly drift into straight, cropped blonde hair. "I want you, Max."
It's weird, nearly too weird, but Daniel can't bring himself to stop. He can't deny it's good, in some perverse inversion. As if he's the blushing virgin, he whispers his own name onto his own lips as Max pulls him into a heated kiss.
"Just for now, until this wears off, right?" Max asks.
"Yeah, yes." Another long pull like each kiss was a lung-full of air before dipping back underwater. "For now, whatever you want. Touch me, touch you, however you want. It's your body, after all."
"And this is yours."
It's his. His arms that lift him and his strength that carries Max's body to his bed and gently lays him out. That pulls his own sweats off his hairy legs. He feels his smooth, tattooed thigh rub against his hardening cock. His hands rolling him over, his lips pressing hickies to match the constellation of purple cosmos on his own neck. The friction and the heat and whispered names that bounce and blend as a gasped 'Daniel' becomes a beg and a plea as they rut faster together. Daniel looses track of who's who until he realizes he's back in his own skin, coming hard on Max's stomach as the younger man gasps and comes soon after.
He falls into the bed beside him, pliant and warm as Max pulls him in close.
"It wore off," Daniel says breathlessly, relieved but also somewhat remise his time in Max Verstappen is already over. "I didn't even get a chance to see what my asshole looks like."
Max laughs. "We can maybe do it again. I think it was my mother's doing." Daniel gets up on his elbows and looks down at his teammate. "She has a little magic and said one day she would want us to see things from each other's view, you know? That she didn't like to see us too intense as rivals."
"Very kind of your mum, but, uh, any chance you were going to mention magic being real anytime sooner?"
"You never believed me about my dick length, you think you would've believed me about magic?"
"Fair."
"She taught me a little myself. It's just simple spells, and she obviously didn't know the timing was unideal when she cast this one."
"A non-race weekend's not a bad pick, just a heads up next time would be nice so I don't have my ass out."
Max, back in his own body, looks up with those blue eyes thrown into bright contrast with his own flush. "Wait, maybe a next time?"
"Maybe a next time. If your car is better, then definitely we can swap then." Max laughs.
"I'll call and ask my mum for the spell. I can do it whenever."
"And maybe...if you want to do, uh...this again." Max freezes, eyes wide. "Like, maybe we only do the deed when we swap? So, it's not really like a normal hook-up. More like masturbating, right? Sort of? So it doesn't count? You as me and me as you sometimes. If you want, Daniel?"
Max sucks in a breath and looks gobsmacked. "Y-yeah. Okay, sure. Only then...Max."
The lines are too blurred. He lays back down and lets Max's arms wrap around him to cuddle in closer, unnerved how good it feels to lose himself in his grip. He's shocked how he wouldn't mind switching again now, feeling it all over again. He'll need to keep this unreal need in check, but it all doesn't matter in this moment as he rests his head on Max's chest. Daniel's fingers drift up along those soft tits, feeling that nipple harden again between his own fingertips.
maxiel, vampires, blood, dry humping, and some dubious consent
-
"You smell good, Daniel."
Daniel looks over at his teammate in the bumpy backseat of the team van that carries them post-PR event back to their hotel. In the dying daylight, Max's shockingly blue eyes are brilliantly lit up in staccato beams of light as their car passes each streetlamp. His typically direct stare somehow feels even more locked on than usual, eyes glued to Daniel. It's too dim in the car to tell if he's even blinking.
"Thanks, bud. After hauling ass around town today, I think I smell pretty fucking fresh."
"You do not smell fresh. You smell like sweat."
"Got any normal compliments?"
"You look so alive."
"Okay," Daniel says as the car blessedly pulls up to the hotel's entrance. He hauls himself up and hunches over in the van, waiting for Max to move out of the way of their shared backseat. "Love ya, man, but let's get boogying so I can shower."
Daniel knows he shouldn't be so careless with his coworker's extremely obvious crush, but a little schmoozing does work when he wants something. Max flushes and scoots off the seat and out into the crisp night. Daniel pulls on his backpack and scampers out after him. Two Red Bull managers await by the door, handing off two key cards with the same suite number written on their paper pouches.
"Gotta be a mistake, right?" Daniel asks helplessly. An apologetic headshake as he and Max are informed the hotel is overbooked and it's more convenient for the team to not add another hotel stop to their tight schedule for logistics ahead of media day. Their team helps get their suitcases upstairs, and they leave Max and Daniel in the single room with two king beds.
"Dibs on the bigger one," Daniel jests as he flops back onto the plush mattress. He figures he might as well make this as light and easy-breezy as possible. They've managed to not share a room ever since becoming teammates in 2016. He actually thought Max would look more excited at the surprise slumber party, but the young man stands unnervingly still in the cold room, staring at him.
"This isn't good. I need to...do things alone tonight," Max breathes tensely.
"You can shower first if ya need to jack off."
"No. Daniel, why would they...They're always so good about it when the timing...overlaps," he pauses and pulls out his cell phone. In a rush, he holds it to his hear and speaks quick, unintelligible Dutch to someone on the other end. The call apparently doesn't help. He pulls on his jacket in terse and quick moves. "Sorry if I wake you, when I get back."
"Don't tell me you're going clubbing without me," Daniel teases.
"Not for fun. Just going out."
"For how long? May call up a girl if you're gone for a while. No better way to get out the pre-race week jitters with a little sucking and fucking, eh, Maxy?"
Max stares at him. Rather, Daniel feels he's staring just below his line of sight, as if those blue eyes were piercing his nipples. He glances down like he may have something on his shirt but by the time he looks up, the younger man is out the door. It closes with a sharp thud.
Wired and surprisingly off-kilter, Daniel disrobes and showers. He stands under the hot spray and feels a confused rush. He would've thought he'd have to bat Max off him given the sleeping arrangement. They've never touched beyond sportsman-like claps on the back and too-firm handshakes, but it feels obvious, to Daniel, that he could ask for way more if he wanted. The way he catches Max staring, the disproportionately hardy laughs at Daniel's shit jokes, the easy-to-conjure blush with the smallest compliment, it was clear. Daniel's been on the receiving end of puppy love many times. Usually it has been fans or girls from back home, but he knows what it's like to be admired, to be wanted.
Or so he thought. Max practically sprinted out of the shared suite, seemingly with no intention of spending a second longer than he had to around him. Which was...fine, Daniel assures himself. He still feels a twinge of something like disappointment. A lad's night in could've been fun, rare sightings of seeing Max stripped of team gear. Daniel wonders if Max sleeps in boxers or briefs as he pulls on his own loose sweatpants, brushes his teeth, and nearly puts in his night guard before the door slams open again.
"Daniel," Max says through heaving breaths. Daniel goes to open the bathroom door and finds it pushed shut again. "Don't come out."
"I'm straight, Max," Daniel attempts to joke. He tries to open the door again and feels it impossible to move. "Christ, Verstappen. What gives?"
"I'm not...you can't see me. I fucked up."
"Got an impulse tattoo? Bad haircut? Ill-placed hickey? Trust me, Max. I've done it all. You can't surprise me."
"They won't go back in. I did it too sloppy, people were coming...so just...stay there, please. I'll fix this."
Daniel raises in hands in surrender as if Max could see him through the flimsy door. "Not making a lick of sense, but okay. Put whatever it is away, then." Daniel wants to make a jab at anal beads to get a laugh out of him, but Max sounds scared. It makes Daniel ache. He hears his teammate bump around the hotel room, a bag unzip, rustle of plastic, a soft swear. Daniel holds his breath and then hears a sharp gasp of what sounds like pain.
"Max," he says, pushing the door open reflexively. Max, kneeling over a bright red bloodstain in the carpet, looks up at him. Daniel sees two sharp fangs over Max's full, parted lips.
Daniel freezes. They both stare in wordless shock. Max doesn't blink. He doesn't seem to breathe. He's turned into a statue of a young racer with impossible fangs like a-
"Vampire," Daniel says quietly. "Are they...are those real, Max? The blood."
Max is up at him, holding his shoulders in a flash. Daniel didn't even see him get up and move, it was so impossibly quick.
"Don't tell anyone."
"Yeah, bud. I really was going to go into the media pen tomorrow saying I saw you sucking off a blood bag before bed. Christ, Max." Daniel looks back at the busted plastic IV pouch on the floor. "Please tell me they're fake and that's cranberry juice and you have some weird vampire kink so I can make sense of this."
"They're real. It's blood. I'm sorry."
Daniel looks straight into Max's too-blue eyes. He's tearing up. Max looks off as a tear slips down his sharp cheekbones, and Daniel feels wracked with a horrible guilt.
"Aw, hey. Max, man. Don't...I'm sorry." He pats Max's shoulders. "We all have uh...baggage, y'know? Or, sorry. Not baggage. Maybe being a vampire is fun? Or just like being allergic to peanuts? Because, let me tell you, that also sucks. Uh. Not literally sucks, like...is that what you do? Do you suck? I mean. Oh, I'm fucking this up, I'm-"
Max's hands are quickly on Daniel's back, holding him flush to his chest. Daniel freezes as Max starts to breathe in deeply at the crook of his neck.
"I normally feed once a week, alone," Max says softly into his skin. Daniel sucks in a breath, feeling his skin heat with a blooming desire. "But you're here. I couldn't feed in here with you. So I...I tried...with a guy at a club who wanted it, but..." Max pauses to lick along Daniel's neck. Daniel, instantly, is hard. He swallows, making Max keen. "Fuck, I was careless, too quick. People nearly saw me, so I ran and I couldn't finish right. They can't go back in until I get enough...blood."
"You nearly sucked a guy off at a club?"
"Not through oral, Daniel. Through here." Max kisses on Daniel's fluttering neck. He feels a mix of fear and frenzy, like he's melting into Max's arms despite his best efforts to keep it together. "That's how we feed, we...entice. It's fucked up. I'm fucked up."
And he leaves his arms. Daniel shivers in his spot, falling to sit on the bed as Max paces around in front of the hotel window. The skyline glitters behind him, a modern backdrop for an impossible man.
"Vampires aren't real," Daniel says, hands over his neck, feeling the pulse and heat and wetness left from Max's tongue. He shouldn't want more but every ounce of normalcy is out the same window. He wants more. He wants Max. Desperately, despite himself. "You said you entice?"
"Vampires can compel. We can feel who's open to it, and then we," Max pauses, making frustrated circles with his hands in the air.
"You kill them?"
"No, fuck. No, we don't kill people. Not unless you don't stop."
"Then...you turn them into vampires?"
"Also no, they'd have to drink from me, too. Not happening."
"Oh, well, that's not too bad then? Just a little blood?" Max stares at Daniel, blank and stone-like again. "Like, Max. If that's all it is, that's not a big deal. I thought you were going on a light killing spree, but you can have some blood. If you need it."
Max remains motionless.
"Unless my blood is shitty."
"Your blood smells amazing, Daniel."
"Then, uh, go to town, Max." Daniel wants to get up but he realizes his grey sweatpants would immediately reveal his surprise boner. He squirms. "Ignore the moans, though. They're super manly and super normal, but when you touched me it felt really good."
"That's part of it. You may come."
"Max," Daniel says in shock. He's used to dishing ribald remarks, hardly taking it as Max walks over with that inhuman speed and sits on his lap. "Max."
"If you don't want this, I can go."
"And risk you getting spotted in vamp mode and making me spend longer talking to the press tomorrow about my monster teammate? No dice. Just do it." Daniel doesn't even have to try to make Max swoon. Quite the opposite. His own need feels overcharged, electric, unwieldy. He needs a wordless, formless craving for more. He looks up to the younger man and means it when he says, "please."
"Oh, Daniel."
Max sinks his teeth into Daniel's neck.
Daniel's done plenty of drugs in his younger years, absconding with illicit substances in Perth summers and free-wheeling Monaco ragers in the off-season. Those were nothing. Pale and lifeless against the rush he feels now in Max's grip. He had expected getting his neck bit would be painful. It's not.
He keens, hips bucking up into Max's. Max's large hands grip into Daniel's bare back as Daniel squirms and groans despite his best intentions to hold steady. He's always the giver. Always on top. Always making girls do this under him, not like this. Not with a guy. Not with Max.
He's pliant as Max hoists him up and back onto the bed, flipping so Daniel's poised on top. Max keeps one hand on the back of Daniel's head, fingers lacing through rings of curls. The other grips on his waist, encouraging him as Daniel ruts into his thigh.
"Max," Daniel breaths as he feels a dulled sensation of sucking and the much wilder rush of his length against Max's firm leg below him. "Max."
He groans as Max sucks harder. Daniel feels his cheeks burn and a sweat breakout between his shoulder blades and drip off his forehead. His hands cling to Max's back as he works his hips down, pleasure hitting him in hard, wonderful waves as Max's presence sucks up all thought, all feeling until Daniel is snapping his hips into Max with a blissed out, thoughtless heat. It's hot and building and too fast and not enough. Daniel strains and breaks in a trembling cry as the end finally hits and he comes hard in his pants, tears pouring and the distinct feeling of wetness leaking from his neck. Max licks the tracks of blood away and then sucks with finality over the painless wound.
Daniel can't see it. He can't see anything but stars and Max's chest as he falls into him. Max's breath is tinted with gasps, his voice ragged as he speaks.
"Are you okay? Daniel?"
"Yeah, yeah. Very okay."
"We need to get you water. I think I took too much. Daniel."
He's asleep before he hears anymore than that.
Daniel wakes up to the smell of eggs. He pops up on his elbows and looks around. Max sits on the edge of the bed, untouched room service breakfast sits further on the hotel desk. The Dutchman turns over his shoulder and sighs when he sees him.
"I, um, ordered food."
So delightfully awkward. Daniel smiles, relieved. It's still Max.
"Only fair since I was the room service last night."
"Daniel. I'm-,"
"If you say 'sorry' I'm tossing that omlette at you." Daniel gets up. Max hands him a much appreciated glass of water.
"I know I took too much," Max says as he drinks the entire cup. "Of your...blood."
"So taking a normal amount wouldn't make me come like a fucking horny virgin or is that par for the course?"
"That part is normal."
Daniel laughs. "Excellent. I usually last way longer, too, just for the record. Don't go telling other hot creatures of the night I'm some two-suck chump, if vamps compare notes."
"No. I'd never tell."
"And your secret's safe with me, too."
Daniel didn't realize Max's shoulders were held tense until he drops them with a shuddering sigh.
"Thank you."
"And just ask next time."
"Ask? To use you again?"
The thought of Max doing that with some random guy in a random club makes Daniel irrationally pissed. "Yeah. I can, uh, help. As teammates. It's probably easier for you, right? So you can do it again, if you want."
He was certain, based on that wide-eyed quintessential stare and now much deeper flush that Max did want it. He maybe always had wanted it. Daniel just didn't understand why he wanted it, too. A question for later as he wonders if Max is blushing with his own blood.
"I'd like that a lot, Daniel."
"And if you can turn into a bat, you gotta let me watch."
Max laughs. Daniel feels relieved, as he always does when he can pop Max's nerves into a relieving rush of giggles. "No, no. No bats. I can fly without being a bat."
"Now you're just bragging. Next you can tell me you can read minds."
"No, you are too obvious, I don't need to read minds."
"Me the obvious one?"
"You are very easy to understand, Daniel."
"Like how?"
"You like to stare at me, especially when I stare at you."
Daniel, now flushed himself, chucks a pillow at Max's head. The young man laughs as Daniel glances at his teammate's now evenly straight teeth, picturing the fangs from last night, thinking of all that came after.
"Just staring since I'm trying to see if you ever actually blink, you weirdo."
"I don't have to blink. I have to remind myself to do it."
"Okay, then remind yourself to also not compliment someone's sweat smell. Or stare at their jugular. How's this, I'll teach you how to be more human in exchange for super lowkey orgasms between bros, kapeesh?"
Max laughs again, earnest and fangless for now. "It's a deal, Daniel."
It's something. It's weird, but it's them. Daniel and Max shake on it, and Daniel feels the urge to pull him in and hold him tight despite himself. Later, he thinks. After media day, if Max needs it. Daniel silently hopes he will, that he'll need him over and over like that again and again for as long as they are teammates. As long as they are together.
I rolled 4 + 7 for the race itself which is Max and Charles! Ahh, lestappen - a ship I want to be compelled by more!! I will try (with a scenario that has certainly been written for the umpteenth time in the lestappen fandom, I imagine...mouse!Charles and a little ~just one bed~ situation)
Max's driver's room has a mouse in it.
He is half undressed after the Miami GP and pressed flush against the wall, staring at the small rodent. The mouse seems to mirror him, frozen in place in the corner of the room under the folding desk, ruddy fur and big eyes peering up at Max.
"Florida," Max grumbles as he looks for something to scoot it out of the door. He's taken to blaming all of his problems this weekend on the muggy, wishy-washy state of Florida, even if he doesn't know if mice are a particularly notorious Floridian problem. Right now, everything is a problem. The car. His breaks. The media. The thunderstorm keeping him from flying home immediately. This mouse. His lack of a broom or something to shoo it out the room.
He settles for an empty glass on the table, eyeing it and the mouse. The mouse eyes him back. Max, with enough practice acting decisively with competing cars or skittish cats, moves quickly and swipes the cup, turns it over, and traps the tiny mouse in its new glass prison.
"Gotcha," he says, slipping a printed copy of his completed race day schedule under the glass. With a gentle lift, he hoists the critter up to eye level.
It seems too...calm. The mouse stares back at him. Max has never been one for rodents, despite the menagerie he's gathering up at home. Still, there's something very cute about the small creature. He can't tell if the mouse actually seems bored or if he's projecting.
"Hard day?" Max asks as a joke.
The mouse nods.
Max gasps and hurriedly sets the cupped mouse on the desk. It skitters around the glass and glares at him like it was affronted to be so rudely jostled.
"You can...you can understand me?"
An unbelievable question which warrants an unbelievable response. The mouse nods again. He puts his little paws on the glass and gives it a few taps. Max obliges, half-sure the rodent will bolt the moment it's free. It doesn't.
Max kneels, his face a foot from the small creature. Its tree-bark colored fur has copper tones in the desktop lamp's glow. Max watches it sit back, lacking any sort of prey flight instinct at all.
"I highly doubt your day was as hard as mine. You didn't have to face the media pen."
The mouse silently blinks. Up so close, Max can see his little brows furrow and he crosses his arms.
"Well, sorry. I don't know. Maybe you did. Mouse media duties at Disneyworld or some shit."
A knock at the door, a reminder his car leaves for the hotel in 5 minutes. The mouse looks panicked. He gets up and hops.
"Don't worry. I'll uh...take you with me?"
Max pulls on a shirt and a team jacket. He pops open a jacket pocket. The mouse jumps in.
Great, Max thinks. He has magical Florida rat. Now what.
He carefully packs up and leaves the Energy Station, careful not to bump his right hip against anything too brusquely lest he squish his newly acquired friend. He doesn't say anything to the team as he bids farewell. Yuki wishes him a good flight tomorrow morning. He blessedly sneaks away without seeing any further interviewers. He does pass by a nervous Ferrari-red clad employee with Charles Leclerc's manager. In his very limited Italian, Max only makes out, "He'll be fine. He does this. I'll just get his things." Inscrutable. Maybe Charles is also trying to escape Florida as quickly as possible. He wouldn't know. They don't talk much outside of work things nowadays. He keeps walking.
He climbs into the oversized Ford sponsored truck and settles into the back seat. He opens the pocket, relieved his tiny rider is fine. The mouse looks up at him. He climbs out of the pocket, onto Max's bare thighs, over his shorts, and up his coat to look out the window. Max sits still, bemused and dumbfounded he's letting a rodent have its way with him. Unfortunately, he's very charmed. He watches the mouse watch the flying Florida highway.
As they pull into the hotel's entrance, the moue dutifully gets back into the pocket. Max hauls his overnight bag over his shoulder. A few hours of sleep then a flight to Monaco after the storms pass. He feels exhaustion grip his shoulders and seep into his limbs. He thoughtlessly maneuvers to his suite, shuts the door, and falls onto the bed. He hears a small squeak.
"Oh, fuck, sorry." He says, flipping over as the mouse skitters out between Max's body and the comforter. Max opens his palm so the creature can walk into his hand. "You okay?"
The mouse nods.
"I can't believe I'm talking to a rat."
The mouse bites him softly.
"Ouch. Sorry, talking to a mouse. Do you, uh, want dinner? What do mice even eat? Cheese, right?"
Another nod, something like elation. He orders room service and they settle into watching race replays on Max's iPad.
"Shit race," he says. The mouse nods. "What, did you watch it?"
A shrug. The mouse sets down his picked off shredded cheddar from the salad, sits back, and mimes driving a car.
"What, like, there was a little mouse grand prix? That's adorable. In like little cans and button wheels?"
A little mouse face palm.
They keep watching highlights. The Ferraris had an awkward switch back and forth. Max notices the mouse set the food down and walk to the pillow, scurrying underneath and out of sight.
He finishes eating, pauses the race, and peels off his remaining clothes until he's only in boxers. He has no problem with the cats and dog in his bed at home, but he knows he should mind a strange mouse. The hotel's AC is pumping, but he still feels too clammy. Max lays on top of the covers and sees the rodent peek from under the pillows. He feels just the same kind of tenderness at seeing any small creature, tiny and earnest and trusting.
"You're crazy," Max says to the mouse. "I'm crazy. This is crazy."
Another nod. Max scoffs.
"If I wake up and you're gone, then I'll assume you just are the weirdest Florida mouse and I've gone nuts from sleep deprivation. If you're still here, you can come to Monaco. But you'll live in a little tank or something. My cats would hate you."
Max pictures the small creature instead living a posh Monegasque lifestyle, playing tiny padel and driving a little Ferrari.
"You do remind me of him, in a way," Max says. "This, uh, other driver. We used to talk a lot but he looks like you. Like a mouse."
The mouse sits still.
"I kinda miss him, even though I see him all the time. Just, distant. It's what happens when you grow up, right? You lose touch, without even meaning to. Things get so busy. You stop talking. Hell, I don't even know what he does between races anymore."
The mouse walks closer, and Max reaches out. He scratches gently behind his ears like he would his cats. It leans into his touch.
"Maybe I miss him."
A crazy Florida day is over without Max's say so. Sleep pulls him under.
The room is still dark when he opens his eyes. The cool hotel AC coats his body everywhere except for hot breath on his bare chest and warm strong limbs wrapped around his middle. He looks down at a sleeping Charles Leclerc in his arms. A sleeping, naked Charles Leclerc.
He blinks slowly, hands against Charles' bare back and legs intertwined with the other man's strong thighs. Charles nestles closer, his scruffy facial hair brushing into the crook of Max's neck. He sighs, a small exhale tinged with his voice.
And Max feels his cock stiffen. Great, excellent. His cheeks flush in confused disbelief.
Max glances over Charles' shoulder to see a clock reading two in the morning. He shimmies his hips back for boner deflection and squirms when Charles follows, dead asleep and iron locked around his chest.
"Charles," Max whispers. His hands slip between their bodies so he can place them on Charles' pecs. "Mate, Charles. Sorry, but wake up."
"Hm."
"You're...you're naked."
And inexplicably in Max's locked hotel room, though Max's sleep addled brain supplies an impossible explanation.
"Oh," Charles says, also groggy and seemingly less concerned he's somehow magically appeared in his arms. "Fuck, it usually lasts longer than that."
"Don't tell me you were...you're a mouse?"
"Sometimes. When I get really stressed, sometimes."
"Is it magic? Fuck, magic's real?"
"Yes, and yes. A little curse, but you learn to live with it. Usually, I do these breathing techniques after a race to calm down, but it's so humid and there was so much noise and the race was so shit."
"Florida."
"Florida." Charles still doesn't unwrap his arms. Max doesn't scoot further back, either. It's a quiet, gentle little moment that Max has no desire to break. "You won't tell anyone," Charles says softly. It's not stated as a question.
"No one would believe me. Except maybe your manager."
"Yeah, he knows. I let him know I'd find a lift to Monaco."
"How? Does he speak mouse?"
"Yes. He can be one too, but on purpose."
Like it's obvious. Like Max should know.
"And you picked me?"
"You like animals. You're nice. I always had this plan in mind if I had to convince a driver to take me home. You're a bit predictable, Max."
Max remembers being told he's predictable in a bad way. Charles says it with such sweetness.
"Do you really miss me, Max? Like you were saying?"
"I think I just miss knowing you."
"Well, now you know one thing."
"Can I know a second thing?" Charles nods, his face still pressed into Max's shoulder. "Do you like this?"
"This?" Charles says, fingers pressing into Max's back, hips swiveling forward into Max's length. Max gasps. "Do you?"
"I do."
"Well, this is one way we can get to know each other again." Charles' delicate fingers move up to hold Max's face. He tips him down, and the kiss in the darkened hotel room feels as sweet and warm as Max would have expected.
"Charles," he breathes between parted lips. "Your breath still smells like cheese."
Charles laughs, musical giggles as Max joins in and feels his chest blossom with heat, like rays from the Florida sun on better days in the past. Better days will come and maybe better days with more Charles. Max thinks he wouldn't mind that, just like he doesn't mind how Charles kisses down his neck and makes a small squeak as Max hugs him tight.
vice versa, you say? perhaps (no pressure, ofc!) a fic where daniel is the one who gains weight? the thought has me blushing, and i know max would LOVE it.
YES!! 💞💞 we are on the same wavelength, anon!! Absolutely love love love this too, Daniel fuller & heavier and Max just all over him, showering him in love and praise. I get so 🥺😵💫💦✨ I published a little fic on this just below!! Thank you for being so patient with me as it took eons and eons! 💖
maxiel, blowjobs, frotting, lingerie, dubious consent with alcohol use
-
Daniel smirks as he looks around the empty hotel room, sheets askew and wine bottles empty and floral perfume hanging in the air. His teammate finally had a hook-up on the road. Good for him, Daniel thinks. He's tempted to knock on the closed bathroom door and congratulate Max on losing his v-card, but Max is still in the shower. He can hear the rush of water and a soft, muted singing - Max blissfully unaware of Daniel's presence. Daniel already feels he is being slightly weird popping over from his suite to Max's through the unlocked connecting door. He's tipsy enough to linger but sober enough to not give his newly deflowered teammate a heart attack after a long race day.
He instead decides to be weird in an even less innocuous way by snooping around. Daniel glances around the hotel floor, seeing pillows, Playstation controllers, and a bright pink negligee lying amid a fallen duvet.
He picks it up and appraises the intricate lacework. The decolletage and bottom hem are lined with a thick, rosy fuzz, and the flowing tulle under the bustier is sheer, short and soft. He spots a matching pair of panties also strewn on the floor. He throws the negligee over his shoulder to assess them next. As he flips the delicate fabric around, he figures the girl Max fancied must have been about Daniel's size. He holds them to his hips as the bathroom door opens. Max jolts and grabs at the towel around his narrow waist.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he says as Daniel waves. "A warning next time?"
"You're the one who suggested having a celebratory beer after the race and getting some takeout. Although," Daniel smirks and wiggles his eyes, "maybe you ate out with someone else."
Max is already pink from the hot shower. Daniel had completely missed the sound of it shutting off. Max is dripping wet and enveloped in fresh steam and now sinking into a deeper flush as he looks away.
"She must have been a stunner. Sexy little number like this and she left it for you? Or did ya swipe these to sniff on the plane?"
"No way," Max says as he walks over to where Daniel stands behind the bed, reaching for it. "She gave these to me."
"Uh-huh and went home commando? Au naturel?"
"She had a coat." Max makes another grab, and Daniel savors the remaining inches he has on his teammate. He raises his eyebrows. Max scoffs.
"Don't look at me like that. You do it all the time."
"Yeah, emphasis on 'all the time.' This was your first, right?"
"No." He bites his lip. "Well, the first who I met...at a race."
"Verstappen, you dog," Daniel teases. He puts Max in faux headlock, feeling his well-worn band shirt get damp against Max's bare chest. Max laughs, going for a grapple and flipping them both onto the mattress. They roll onto their backs and laugh. Normal, Daniel reminds himself. This is definitely normal teammate behavior.
"Grab a beer and tell me about her."
Also a normal statement between two bros, he assures himself. Max sits up on his elbows, looking down at Daniel on the bed. Daniel feels his cheeks warm, either the booze or that always unnamed something that pools in his stomach when he sees Max in such an unkempt state - too raw and too bare. Moments after practice catching a hint of skin past fireproofs. Balaclava messy hair. Heavy breaths over gym phone calls.
"Ah, it's not serious. She's not, like, a girlfriend," Max says as he gets up fully. He walks to the mini fridge stocked with complementary beers to pick one for him and toss one to Daniel. He catches it as Max fiddles with his can's pop tab. "She was just visiting the circuit for the race."
"Hooking up with a Verstappen fan. From the Netherlands?"
Daniel swears Max can't get redder. "Uh, no. She was from Melbourne."
"Oh." Daniel nods, thoughts not thinking. "She must have a great ass. The panties, sheesh."
"No bigger than yours."
"Well aware of the size of my ass, Maxy?" Max tenses, bottom lip bitten. He's too easy to prod, too easy to fluster. Daniel still can't put any words to why he likes to rile him up like this, but it's just teammates bantering, right?
"You're right," Max says. "I know your ass is bigger. Wouldn't even fit."
"As if," Daniel says, getting up and feeling the room sway a bit as if he's still in the cockpit. He's just tipsy enough for this to feel like a good idea as he goes for his belt. "One way to test that."
Max is frozen, blue eyes wide. Daniel gives him a searching look like waiting for the lights to go out, and Max nods. "Y-yeah you...you can try them."
Daniel lets his jeans fall to the floor but pauses with his fingers around the waistband of his boxers. The few sober neurons that he has left bounce off one another. "Wait, I'll do a little reveal."
Max, still toweled and damp, nods again with his unopened beer can condensation slipping over his fingertips.
Daniel stoops for the lacy dress, and, with both in hand, he dips into the still warm bathroom and changes. Just normal, joking around, keeping it light as he pulls on the panties. He feels his cock stiffen. They're still a bit damp. He pictures Max's fingers rubbing over the thin fabric along her slit.
He swallows, pulling on a negligee for the first time in his life and appraising his appearance in the mirror. He cups his pecs in the slightly firmer ribbing of the bustier. It's surprisingly well fitting and cupping his small tits with an accentuating curve. The fuzzy trim is soft on his chest and thighs, his tattoo still visible through the sheer fabric. He spins his hips, letting the tulle tent out around him in soft swishes.
It's all so normal, just for a laugh, he thinks as he leaves the bathroom and strikes a pose. Max, still frozen in place, drops his beer and stares.
"Careful when you do open that one," Daniel says. "It's all shook up now."
"Daniel."
"You can say it. I'm hotter than she was, right?"
"Yes."
Daniel balks. He wasn't expecting an earnest answer, but Max is always so earnest, so open, so attentive, so present with him. He walks up to Max, putting his hands on his shoulders. He glances down at his half-naked and half-hard teammate.
That unnamed something. It's not normal. Letting his hands trail up pale, bare skin to rest on Max's fluttering neck is not normal. But he's buzzed and lonely and pissed some chick from Melbourne got to have him. To touch him and take him before Daniel.
"I can kinda rock any color but this rose is pretty divine," Daniel says. He knows he's saturating Max in charm. Max's eyes are glossy, full lips parted and eyes set on Daniel's chest. "Whatcha think? How's this ensemble suit me?"
"It's...good."
"Aw, just good?"
"What do you want me to say, Daniel? I can barely think. I just," he shakes his head. "You're...you're always very good looking, and now..."
Daniel moves Max's hands to his hips, fingers trembling on the sheer fabric. Daniel guides his hands along his frame, slipping over the soft material and up to the bra to rest on his tits.
"Is that how you charmed Melbourne out of these?" Daniel whispers into Max's ear. He loves it. Max filterless, gasping when Daniel's warm breath hits his neck. He's like a car himself, ergonomic buttons reacting to each press and pull so perfectly. "Most girls like to hear more than just 'good', Max. Or did you woo her some other way?"
"I gave her a blowjob, which she liked."
Now it's Daniel's turn to feel struck still. He pulls back and looks from bright blue eyes to plush lips. "You did?"
"Of course. Most girls really like it." He looks askance. "And guys, too. Or so I imagine. I mean, I like it too. Getting it and giving it."
"Show me. How." His voice comes out in fractals and his breaths fall to pieces as Max actually takes Daniel by the shoulders and pushes him gently onto the bed.
"Well, there are several ways to do it, but I spread her legs, like this," he says as he kneels and pushes Daniel's thighs apart. Daniel complies. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at Max's blonde damp hair as his teammate stares at his lace-clad cock. The alarm bells of not normal not normal not normal are far too drowned out by the rush of that nameless heat. His precome adds to the dampness of the fabric. Max's fingers hesitate along the top of his thighs, tips touching trimmed pubes.
"Then, I slipped these...off." He looks up. Daniel nods. Max curves his fingers under the lacework and slips the panties down his legs. There's a bit of a shuffle as Daniel gives a little 'hang on' as he kicks one leg up to pull them completely off, slightly bonking Max's head in the process. Max laughs, and Daniel feels unmoored. Somehow the awkwardness of undressing turns him even more on, like this is a real hook-up. Like Max did with Melbourne. He gasps as Max goes back between his legs.
"Of course, it's slightly different. With a cock." He's actually explaining the process now, like he would during a debrief. Daniel feels woozy, the tables so thoroughly turned that just the sight of Max leaning in closer makes him whine. Max looks up from where he was pushing the negligee up Daniel's thighs. "It's good," Daniel assures.
"Just good?" Max plays.
"Okay, listen, just-," he shudders as Max takes Daniel's length in his fantastically warm mouth. He gasps, hands flying to Max to gently comb through his hair and feel his head bob up and down as he takes him deeper and deeper. "Jesus. Jesus, Max."
He's good. It's maddening. His thick lips and tongue work with an unexpected ease as Max sucks and pulls. Daniel's guilty stray thoughts of Max's mouth, wide as he laughed, were right. He can really take a lot. Daniel's fairly large, but his teammate works him down to the base.
"Max," he breathes. "Max."
Max pulls off. "You can push," he says, a hand atop Daniel's to apply pressure to his head. "She really liked that, grabbing my hair."
"Did she?" Daniel says through a shuddering breath, thankful to get a second and not come immediately. He sucks in sharply as Max licks along the bottom from root to tip, tounging along the head. "Christ, Max. Why are you so good at this?"
"It's not hard. Well, you're hard, obviously. I mean it's not difficult."
Great. Gifted at driving and giving head. Daniel laughs but it breaks into a sob as Max takes another long lick around the circumference of his cock. "Max."
"Do you want me to keep going? With what she and I did?"
"Yes. Yes, please. Yes."
"I lifted her back, like this," Max says as he rises and gently slips his hands under Daniel's arms. Reflexively, he holds onto Max's bare torso as he lifts him with ease back to the headboard. Max then lies beside him. "Then she got...on top."
"Oh," Daniel says, his body understanding before his thoughts could catch up. He's up, a leg lifting to straddle Max's waist. As Daniel lowers, he sees the pink fabric spread across his thighs and up over his still hard length. Max keens as Daniel jerks forward with his hips, brushing Max's cock.
"Daniel," Max says. He places his hands on his waist, fingers twisting in the negligee.
"Did she ride you?"
"Yes."
"Did you come inside her?"
"Yes." Daniel bucks his hips forward again, and Max cries out. His grip hard in Daniel's skin. "But I won't- Daniel, fuck. I won't last that long now."
"Next time." Not normal. They shouldn't be doing this. Max leans up to face him and holds Daniel's cheeks. A nebulous, tenuous moment passes of just breathing each other's breath, hot and mixed with beer and mint. Max brushes his teeth in the shower like a weirdo. Daniel needs to taste it, leaning forward and breaking the seal of whatever this is, slipping his tongue into Max's warm mouth. Max kisses back, fingers lacing into Daniel's mass of curls with faint moans going straight to Daniel's cock. He can even taste himself on Max's lips.
"You look beautiful," Max whispers. Daniel shivers, flushed and unwound. "You do, Daniel. All the time."
"Max." He wants to joke. To say he knows. To make this normal but it's far too late. He mirrors Max's hands and holds his teammate's face in his hands. "Say it again."
"You're beautiful, Daniel." Daniel lets one hand trail down, freeing Max's dick from the bath towel. He shifts more forward to grasp them both, rubbing them off together. Max keens, forehead hitting Daniel's as his voice cracks. "You're beautiful. You are, oh God. Oh, fuck."
Max dips his head into Daniel's neck, gripping his shoulders as Daniel works their cocks. The precome and Max's still damp body and Daniel's sweat make slick sounds between breathy curses as Max's fingernails dig into his back as he comes, spilling over onto the pink fabric and making Daniel lose it right after.
They breathe heavy, fingers softening. Daniel feels lightheaded and languidly lowers off Max's hips to lay beside him.
"Then we..." Max pauses. "We cuddled a bit after."
"You know how to treat a lady right," Daniel says, still riding out the high as he turns and nestles into Max's chest. "Surprised she didn't spend the night."
"Had to catch a flight."
"Lucky ours is tomorrow, yeah?"
Max's chest rises and falls in a deep breath as he wraps his arms around Daniel. "Yeah, lucky us."
Daniel gets up, flips off the light, and goes right back into Max's arms. Max squeezes. It feels so good as Daniel, still damp and clad in tulle and come, burrows into Max's body. Sober Daniel can figure out whatever this means. Right now, it feels better than normal.
maxiel, feeding, body worship, weight gain, wags & retirement briefly alluded to, passing food mouth to mouth
-
Daniel's apartment is barren. As they pop in after padel, Max opens and closes pantry doors in the kitchen with a growing dismay. He already thinks Daniel's flat is a bit depressing, but the only thing edible being a box of protein bars makes it worse.
"Mate, you deserve better. This is awful."
Daniel looks up from his spot on the nearby sofa, his big brown eyes wide and searching. He shifts in his oversized sweater and atypically baggy sweatpants. Max was kind of hoping to see his legs in a guilty, quiet perversion when Daniel invited him out for padel. Sadly, Max fears Daniel may have fallen prey to whatever trend cursed Leclerc. Since he came back from Perth for an extended visit in his own apartment, he's worn only the boxiest of outfits.
Daniel looks confused for a moment until the realization makes his lips part in a soft 'oh.'
"Ah, the pantry. Yeah, we can get take away if you're peckish." Max waves his hand as he pulls out his cell phone.
"If you're going to be in this hemisphere for a while, you need more than just leftover pizza. I'm buying you groceries."
"Ah, Verstappen, you've really grown up. So mature, I'm so proud." Daniel wipes away a fake tear. "The dad life really does suit you. Have you been called a 'dilf' yet?"
Max shakes his head, both at the question and to dispel the small thought that was like an ever-present, hot pink post-it note pinned on the corkboard of his mind. Kelly and him both have their hall-pass, their one exception, if the situation ever arises. His is Daniel. The situation hasn't arose. He's tempted to joke about it as he throws groceries into his virtual cart, but there's no casual way to say he would do anything for Daniel, anytime, anywhere, any way he wanted and had felt that way for years. He hopes he can somehow convey it through an impending delivery of baguettes and cheese instead.
Daniel and him toss a padel ball back and forth as they sit on the sofa and wait out the delivery. Daniel is describing some top-secret wine business plans and laughing about how the bottom of a wine bottle is truly called a 'punt' as the doorbell rings. Max pops up and brings in the lot of paper bags.
"Jesus, Max," Daniel laughs. "I'm not wasting away. Kind of the opposite lately. This is too much."
"Humor me," Max says as he already is putting the cold items into the fridge. "And start boiling some water."
Max wouldn't have done this for himself, but he feels compelled to with Daniel. They talk motocross as they trial and error their way into plated fettuccine and garlic bread with a few donut-hole-sized arancini balls. Those, at least, came pre-made.
Daniel holds his phone over the finished product as they sit on the sofa.
"Pic for the 'gram?" Max asks. Daniel shakes his head.
"I'm off the grid, Maxy. I'm not resurfacing til I'm photo ready."
"You're always photo ready," Max says, now his turned to stare in confusion.
"Put those big old eyes away," Daniel says, gently wacking his shoulder. "Don't act like it's not obvious what's a bit...off here."
"What is?" Daniel gives him a withering look. "What, Daniel. I can't read your mind."
"Be serious."
"I am being serious. What's wrong?"
"That you're the actual father here and I'm the one with the dad bod." Daniel shimmies out of his sweatshirt. Max has to mentally stifle the flare of elated horniness, strategically covering his lap with his plate as he eyes a fantastic sliver of Daniel's flesh at his waist where his shirt rides a bit high on his middle.
He has gained weight. Daniel was always so slim, all angles and lean limbs save for the curve of his hips that Max had fully memorized. Now he actually seemed to fill out his hips even more. Daniel shifts in his spot, thicker thighs pulling the joggers taught. A curve of new love handles peek over the waistband, soft and swooping up to a small, round belly. Daniel's hands hold it on either side, giving his middle a gentle shake and making the skin-tight shirt ride up even higher. Max can't help but look up at his softer tits and full forearms and a red hue under Daniel's fuller cheeks.
"I hadn't noticed," Max says earnestly. "You've been wearing the Charles special in the outfit department."
"Intentionally, on account of all this," Daniel says, waving over himself. "Just...it was nice to kind of...let loose? Not go ham or anything, but y'know. Silver lining of just being able to chill out and drink during a game. Eating whenever. It's bad."
"No, it's good." Max shakes his head. "You deserve that. I'll do that too, when I'm-," he pauses. He doesn't want to say 'retire' and instead sits up straighter on the sofa. "When I'm on winter break, you know."
"Yeah, but you somehow always work it off. I've never been...like this big before."
Max feels his cock start to betray him as Daniel feels up his middle again, fingers dragging along smooth, tan skin. He's never seen Daniel without the narrowest, flattest stomach, but now he looks so full and vital. He feels that carnal, similar thrill of seeing Kelly a few months along. Daniel looks so alive.
Max leans in. "It is good. If you're living life and being happy, then that's good."
"Maybe. You just always carry it well, like," Daniel makes a face, as if he caught himself. "Ah, well, you know. You always look good."
"Oh, thank you." Max wonders if Daniel has a hall pass. He wonders if he has one for Max. He drop kicks the thought out of his head. "It'll get cold," he says instead, gesturing to the forgotten plate of pasta.
"Right," Daniel says in an exhale. "Right, yeah, can't waste good Italian. Let me try some."
Before he can stop himself, Max is spinning fettuccine around his fork and holding it up to Daniel. Stroopwaffles and memories as Daniel leans in and bites it off Max's fork.
Max stares at Daniel, unblinking. Daniel's lips are glossy. The fresh smell of herbs is cut through with the tang of their unshowered post-padel clothes and making Max's head spin. He twists another bite and offers it. Daniel takes it.
"That's good, Daniel."
Daniel makes a small noise, swallowing and glancing up and away. "Is it?"
"It is." Max sets the plate down on the coffee table, tears off a hunk of garlic bread, and sits back up. Max closes the distance between them as he hands it to Daniel. "Eat." He does. Max isn't sure if Daniel intends to be so maddening sensual as he licks off the glaze of butter and slides it into his wet mouth. Max wants to swear. He wants to pounce. He wants to feed him again and caress his cheek and take care of Daniel like no one ever has before. He grips his knees and feels everything condense like a dying star inside his chest.
"Max," Daniel says. "Sorry, I'm kind of, Jesus. I'm a bit wired right now." His brows narrow, lip bitten. "It feels good. When you do that, I like it. Sorry, it's weird-,"
"It's not weird."
"You like feeding your mates?"
"I like feeding you."
Daniel's eyes are filled with shifting constellations. Max leans even closer.
"I like...making you feel good, Daniel."
"Max."
"Can I," Max looks down at his stomach, hand hesitating in the air above his skin. "I know, it's maybe too much. I can stop."
"No, Jesus Christ, Max. Don't stop."
Daniel closes the distance, tenderly ushering Max's the final few inches to rest on his belly. Max bites his lip, hands drifting along his full weight and caressing the circumference of it. Daniel's hips tremble as Max holds it and gives it a gentle shake. He draws invisible tracks along his body. Pushing his shirt up, Max slips his hands under the fabric and cups Daniel's tits.
"Max," Daniel breathes.
"Are you going to get bigger for me, Daniel?"
"Yes." Max squeezes his breasts, feeling their pliable give.
"Is this good?"
"Yes," Daniel breathes. Another harder squeeze, fingers pinching hardening nipples. "Christ, yes, Max." He chokes on a sob. "I don't know what's happening to me, why this is so fucking hot but just don't stop, Max. Please don't stop."
Max leans up to straddle Daniel's waist, mental restraints dissolved as the dying star falls in on itself and explodes outward, vaporizing everything inside him with raw need.
His hands slip out and then up to cup Daniel's neck, feeling Daniel's pulse throb under his skin. Daniel's eyes leak, and Max licks the salty bead of water off his cheekbone. Max feels he could lick every inch of him clean, eager to care, eager to please. Daniel whines as Max gets up for a moment. He picks up one of the small arancini balls and sits back on Daniel's lap.
The moment is taught, soaked with uncertainty and heat. Max copies Daniel, licking the sweet surface in a languid pull before putting it in his own mouth. He doesn't bite down but holds it gently not to crush it as he cocks Daniel's head with his hands. Daniel closes the distance, mouth opening to meet his as Max pushes with his tongue to guide the smooth, damp orb into Daniel's mouth.
Max kisses along his cheeks as Daniel chews and swallows. He feels dizzy and nearly throbbing over with life and need. It feels too intimate, despite it all, to kiss him.
"It's okay," Daniel says, as if reading his mind. Now it's Daniel's turn to guide Max's face to his. "Unless I'm being a major home-wrecker right now."
"Oh, no. I, um, I have a hall pass."
Daniel laughs, eyes crinkling in mirth. "Really? For me? That's funny."
"Why?"
"You've been mine," Daniel looks off, "for like, an embarrassingly long time."
"Oh. Same." Nothing more eloquent is coming out when Daniel squirms and brushes against his hard length. "Oh, God."
"And you still want to use that hall pass now? I've been hotter for years and now you're letting me in on this?"
"You're hot then and now, Daniel. Especially now." He groans as Daniel grinds up again. "You're so stunning. Your body, Daniel. I love how you are right now. So alive and full and I-" A sharp curse and groan as Daniel pulls Max's hips down to his for another, harder bought of friction through too many layers of clothes. "Daniel."
"Thanks for making me feel good, Maxy. For taking care of me. I might," he breaths a smaller laugh, soft and quiet, "I may need this more than just now."
"Anytime. Daniel, I'll always take care of you."
Daniel's hands guide Max into his lips. It's bliss and sweet to the taste.
"Then let me take care of you, too," Daniel says. His hand slips lower, stroking along Max's length. Max gives in, scattered star dust in his chest making him feel shimmery and endless as he melts into Daniel's embrace.
replying to @domistique hello!! omg girlsdads gif of Carlos in his new fireproofs 😵💫❤️✨ stunning!!! my horndog asterisks in the tags were withholding that I mentally was thinking about him getting milked 🥛🫠 and his a-cup tiddies swelling up and him all flushed and yearning ahhh 🔥 I fear all season I'll see the My Protein logo and think about him cupping and squeezing his fuller tits, cheeks flushed and eyebrows knit as he squirms post-race needing someone to work his swollen and growing chest 😮💨✨ that gif especially his tummy looks so soft too (and in my mind palace, he's even softer and thicker 😵💫❤️) the williams suits are really a blessing!!!
