something something time travel au wherein 2025!max verstappen loses the WDC and it’s so seismic that it creates a rift in the space-time continuum, transporting him back to 2016 (his first year at red bull).
he immediately seeks out a 27-year-old daniel ricciardo to help him get back to his own timeline. and certainly feels Some Type of Way about the fact that, for once, they’re now essentially the same age. he’s absolutely swept up in having daniel suddenly back in front of him again, so shining and alive, and nothing like the beaten-down man he last saw at the track in singapore.
only, one problem: a very pissed off teenaged 2016!max who absolutely does not share. he’s not impressed at all by this older max and his championships. daniel is HIS teammate, thank you very much, so he can keep his hands to himself. younger max corners him when daniel leaves hospitality to talk christian and tells him bluntly: "why don’t you go back to your OWN Daniel?" and max’s face just falls. because he doesn’t have a daniel. not anymore.
HIS daniel has been off-grid for almost six months. checking in only briefly to "thumbs up" one of max’s messages. but not respond. and it’s ok. max knows that daniel is ok. he can see him sometimes on his instagram. always, with a big smile. but it doesn’t make the ache on his chest lessen. and so, max decides - just once - to be selfish.
2016! daniel asks him, eventually, about how his career pans out. if he ever got the big one. and max looks at his shining eyes and his expectant smile and he can’t tell him. can’t tell him that they don’t speak anymore. that his final moments in the sport was saying goodbye to his mechanics and engineers in some dark corner of the track. he lies to daniel and tells him that he wins the championship and retires to his farm in australia. it’s the first time he’s ever lied to daniel.
except, long after 2025!max is back in his own timeline, the lie sticks to daniel. and he knows now that his one-day championship is in reach. is terrified of letting it slip through his fingers, of putting a foot wrong and someone how influencing the future. and so when it becomes clear that red bull are starting to lose their competitiveness, when his engine starts blowing up on him every other race, when marko starts giving interviews that max - and not daniel - is their future, daniel’s mind starts racing.
and so he makes a decision: he needs to leave the team. and max’s one little white lie is actually revealed to be the catalyst for daniel’s entire career spiraling like some sick paradox. a self-fulfilling prophecy that was always meant to happen.
For week 15 of GBB weekly prompts: race engineer AU/driver swap (can't believe we're already at week 15!). This is...not what I was planning to write, but it is what it is i guess. Sort of Maxiel. About 2.2k.
Daniel tolerates it for four weekends which, in his opinion, is three races more than anyone else would have. Then he grabs Max's wrist and marches him into his driver's room, blood boiling and temper bubbling too close to the surface.
"Daniel," Max sighs, in that annoying voice he pulls out when he thinks Daniel is being too silly around the garage, "we don't have time for th..."
Daniel slams the door closed, letting Max's wrist go to cross his arms.
"I don't give a fuck about the debrief, and you won't give a fuck either until we're done talking about this," he tells Max, voice way too level for how incensed he feels.
Max's eyebrows go up in surprise, probably because he couldn't imagine Daniel, happy, jokey, always smiling Daniel, could sound like this.
Still, he doesn't back down. He never backs down, and Daniel is tired.
"Daniel..." he tries again. Daniel cuts him off.
"No, it's my turn to speak. I know you've been the hotshot new engineer since before I came back, and I know you're good, I'm not denying that," Daniel ignores the way Max's eyes widen, mouth dropping open, "but you need to stop talking to me like I'm stupid when I'm in the car."
Max's mouth snaps closed again.
"Just drive, Danyul," Daniel says, voice going high and mocking, unable to stop now that he's started, "I know better than you do, Danyul! You're too stupid for this, Danyul!"
Max frowns, crossing his own arms, even if his stance looks more defensive than furious. "I never said that."
Daniel scoffs, slashing a hand through the air, making Max flinch minutely. "That's clearly what you mean!"
"That's not true," Max protests, "I'm just..."
Daniel doesn't let him finish again, taking one step forward and watching Max go still, breath stopping. His eyes are blue and huge, cheeks red, pink lips parted, and for the first time since he'd been introduced as Daniel's new race engineer he looks taken off guard.
"You think you're smarter than me, and maybe you are," Daniel says, voice low and steely, "but you have no right to treat me like that in front of the whole world."
Max still hasn't taken a breath, standing still in the middle of the room, looking like he's braced for impact.
"I don't think that," he finally says, quiet and strained, "I don't want to give you information you don't need, when you should focus on the car."
"Telling me I'll handle it isn't any better than telling me to shut the fuck up," Daniel snipes back, still furious and still unwilling to back down, despite Max clearly not wanting to fight. He looks younger like this, flushed and contrite, not older than his actual age like he usually does.
It almost makes it harder to stay angry. Almost.
"You either change that or I'm gonna ask to switch engineers."
He wonders if Max has ever been told no before. If he's ever had to adjust his way of doing things to adapt it for others. If he's ever had to question his belief of always being right.
There's something weird in the way Max is still looking at him, wide eyed and shocked, but Daniel ignores it, only waiting for an answer. After what feels like hours, Max nods.
"I'll...figure it out," he says. Not an apology, not a I will do better.
Daniel scoffs again, then turns around to get out of the room before he can do something stupid like starting an actual fight.
--
Daniel spends the next two weeks refusing to think about the way Max had flinched and gone quiet in the driver's room, and finding himself thinking about his red cheeks and pink lips instead, about the blue of his eyes, for once completely unguarded.
If any of it appears in his brain while he's jerking off in the shower then nobody needs to know, and he can just pretend it's leftover frustration from the first few races.
--
Daniel is sitting down in one of the chairs in the debrief room, waiting for the meeting to start and lazily rocking it back and forth, when a folder lands in front of him with a soft thump.
He startles, dropping the front legs of the chair back to the floor with a crash, head snapping up to meet Max's serious eyes.
"What the fuck, mate?"
Max sits down next to him, carefully starting to sort out his papers, pens and pencils.
"I have watched your onboards at McLaren," he says calmly, "and compiled a set of suggestions of changes in the way I tell you things based on how they were speaking to you. Read it, make the changes you want and then approve it."
"Mate," Daniel hesitates, baffled, opening the folder to find several pages inside, filled with sentences and correlated data. "This is insane, yeah?"
Max finally looks at him and his cheeks are red again, even if his eyes stay icy. "You asked me to fix it, I am creating a frame of reference on how you want me to do that. What else do you want me to do?"
Daniel laughs, mocking and incredulous, rifling through the papers.
"I don't know, Max, talk to me? Ask questions like a normal human being? This is absurd."
Max flushes harder, jaw tightening. "I am trying to..."
"I'm not reading this," Daniel interrupts him, sliding the folder back to him. "I'm sure you can figure out how to be a prodigy race engineer and not an ass on your own, but if you need any pointers...."
He pauses, then reaches forward to grab one of Max's pens and one of his post-it notes, the ones Max uses to add tiny, tidy notes in the corners of his printed data.
"Here," he says, starting to write, "point one: don't treat your driver like he's stupid; point two: ask questions like a big boy; point three: take normal human interactions 101."
By the time he looks up, Max's face is red and blotchy, burning shame in his eyes.
"Now who's treating who like he's stupid?" he snipes, snagging his pen out of Daniel's grip. "I know I fucked up, but you don't have the right to treat me like this either."
Someone clears their throat, and Daniel suddenly realizes that the room has slowly filled, the meeting about to start, and he has run out of time to apologize for being a complete asshole to his race engineer.
Shit, well done Daniel.
Max doesn't look at him for the rest of the debrief, his cheeks staying pink for the whole time. His notes aren't as neat as usual. Daniel feels like the worst dickhead in the world.
--
"Listen, Max, can we..."
Daniel reaches for Max's wrist again, but Max pulls it away, taking a half step back, standing straight and solid in front of Daniel. He's collected himself, every stray feeling carefully tucked away under his usual blank expression, and he looks older than he is again.
"I know we haven't been working together for long," he says, sounding like he's been rehearsing the speech in his head, "but I am a professional, even if you don't seem to think so. I am of course young, like you have said, but I know my job, and I know how to do my job. I will try to do it better so it suits you, but of course it won't work if you keep thinking I am trying to sabotage you, or something."
"I don't think you are," Daniel interjects weakly, feeling thoroughly chastised.
"I will of course be professional," Max continues, as if he hadn't spoken at all, "I ask you to do the same, and at the end of the season I can be reassigned."
He doesn't give Daniel the time to reply before he's turning around and walking away, taking his folder with him, clutched tight to his chest.
--
Daniel can't sleep.
He can't stop thinking about Max's red face in the debrief room, feeling like the worst person on earth. The worst part is that he can't even talk about it with anyone, because he's sure everyone would just confirm that yes, he is a horrible human being, and that probably wouldn't help.
First he didn't communicate properly with his race engineer, whose job is quite literally to communicate with him, then he blew up at him with no warning, and finally he made fun of him in a room full of their coworkers, telling him to be a normal human being. He had gotten so caught up on all the shit going on in his head that he had forgotten how to be a decent person.
Daniel groans, burying his face in the pillow. He is horrible. Absolutely despicable. He should go grovel at Max's feet, or maybe throw himself out of a window, or maybe leave the sport and never come back.
At least one of those things is doable without having life-ending consequences though, and that's how he finds himself with his phone in his hand, scrolling through his contacts.
Are u still up? he sends, like an idiot.
The answer comes a moment later, despite the late hour. Yes.
Can I come over?
There's a longer pause this time, dots appearing and disappearing for a minute, then again yes.
Great. Now for the grovelling part.
Max opens the door wearing what Daniel is pretty sure is a football shirt and soft looking gym shorts, and it's weird to see him out of the team kit, but also somehow endearing to notice that he had just swapped out one sport for another. His hair is also softer looking than usual, no trace of gel in it, and once again Daniel is hit by how young he looks when he's not focused on his job.
"Hello Daniel," he says, polite and a bit stilted, moving aside to let him in. "What do you need?"
What Daniel needs is to stop being an asshole. And also to stop looking at Max's exposed legs.
"I need to apologize," he says instead, because despite the recent signs he still has a somewhat working brain.
Max frowns, tilting his head at him, lips slightly parted.
"Apologize?"
Daniel fidgets, wanting to sit down but not really knowing where. Max's room is much smaller than his, doesn't have the couch Daniel got, only his bed and a small chair at a narrow desk, both covered in Max's things. He doesn't want to occupy Max's bed though, not when the sheets are still pulled to the side, mattress showing a slight indentation where Max had been sitting, probably still warm...
He stays standing. It's a better starting position for groveling anyway.
"I have been an ass," he finally says, rubbing a hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble there. "I haven't..." he shakes his head at himself, and Max blinks at him, apparently shocked by the sudden development of his night.
"It's been hard, coming back to the team," Daniel admits, unable to keep all the bitterness out of his voice. "It felt a bit like giving up, and then I came back and things weren't all magically okay. It's been stressing me out, but that doesn't mean I should have taken it out on you."
Max nods, serious and focused as if Daniel had been telling him about a problem with the car instead of bearing his soul at him or some shit.
"I understand. It is of course hard to change teams always, even when it is back to an old team. And I think..." Max hesitates, then carries on, "I think your last year at McLaren was of course not too nice, let's say it like that. It is okay to be stressed, I think."
Daniel snorts, feeling his mouth tug up at the words. Not too nice, yeah understatement of the century.
"I don't mind if you get upset at me, if it helps you. But I would also of course like to win with you, so if I can do my job better, I want to do it."
Daniel's smile disappears as he gapes. Max looks back at him, seemingly unfazed, as if he hadn't just dropped two devastating sentences one after the other.
"You want to win?" he croaks, brain stuttering.
Max shakes his head, smiling a little.
"Of course I want to win, but I want to win with you," he reiterates, like it's nothing.
Not just win. Not with the team. With Daniel.
There's something big and complicated happening in his chest, and Daniel decides the unmade bed is not such a bad choice after all, sitting down heavily. He doesn't know why the room is slightly blurry.
"I think," Max says, crouching down in front of him, because he apparently has never learned when to give a man a break, "that at McLaren they made you forget, a little, who you can be. I want you to remember, because you will win again, and I want to be there."
Daniel swallows, closing his eyes to avoid the intensity of Max's gaze.
"I just came here to apologize," he finally manages to choke out, his voice weak to his own ears, "not to get therapized."
Max laughs, hand heavy on his knee when he uses it to push back to his feet.
"Too bad," he tells him, patting his shoulder. "But I of course accept your apology. Now come here, let's talk about where to improve."
It takes Daniel a moment to get his feeling back under control, but when he does, he accepts the folder Max is handing him without protest.
Which is stupid, because Gabriel Bortoleto has called him eleven times.
Eleven times is not normal. It means that either someone is dead, someone is about to be dead, or Gabriel has discovered a new meme and thinks Max needs to hear about it. Max is busy sitting in his own living room across from Daniel Ricciardo, who is drinking Max’s Red Bull and smiling like he has not just said yes to giving Max his old racing number.
Just like that.
Yeah, Max, if you want it, it’s yours.
Daniel says it easy. Of course he does. Daniel says everything easy until it isn’t. Until his eyes go soft and his mouth does the almost-smile thing that makes Max’s chest feel like someone has parked a car on it.
Max should say thank you, this means a lot.
Max should maybe not immediately get so hard he has to stand up and walk to the bathroom like there is a sniper aiming at his dick.
“I need the toilet,” Max says.
Daniel blinks. “Congratulations!”
Max leaves. He shuts the bathroom door. Locks it. Stares at himself in the mirror. His face is blotchy and red. His hair is bad. His dick is, unfortunately, extremely hard, straining against his jeans.
“No,” Max says to it.
His dick says yes in the language of being a traitorous organ.
Outside, Daniel calls, “You okay in there, mate?”
“Yes,” Max says, too loud.
“Okay.”
Max grips the sink. His phone buzzes on the counter.
GABI BORTOLETO
Max grabs it and answers. “What?”
“Oh my god,” Gabriel says. “Finally. Did you ask Daniel for the 3?”
Max freezes. This is already bad. This is already very, very bad.
“Yes,” Max says.
“And he said yes?”
“Of course.”
Gabriel makes a noise like he has watched Max step on a rake.
“What?” Max asks, panicky already.
“I tried to warn you!”
“You texted call me urgent number thing. That is not a warning.”
“Max. Listen to me. There is a curse.”
Max closes his eyes.
“Are you hard?”
Max’s hand slips on the sink.
“That is...private.”
“Oh my god, you are.”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Your silence is boner.”
“There is, of course, no such thing as boner silence.”
“There is when it is curse-related!”
Max looks down, which is a bad tactical decision. Horrible. His dick twitches in his pants like it has heard Daniel’s name from the other room and wants to be included in the conversation.
Max says, “Fuck.”
Gabriel says, “Ew.”
“You asked, Gabi.”
“I asked, like, medically.”
“There is no medical boners.”
“There is the curse, though!” Gabi almost shouts it. “When you take someone’s racing number, you have to fuck them. That is the curse. Or you die!”
Max stares at the soap dispenser. The soap dispenser gives him nothing.
“No,” Max replies, voice raspy.
“Yes. I had the same with my number.”
Max goes still. “With Seb's 5?”
Gabriel says nothing. Max says, “Did you want to fuck Seb?”
“I had to.”
“You wanted.”
“I had to.”
“You very much wanted to fuck Seb.”
“You are hiding in a bathroom with a curse boner for Daniel Ricciardo. Fuck off.”
Max is silent because its true.
“So,” Gabriel says. “You have to fuck Daniel.”
Max’s body reacts like Daniel has personally walked into the bathroom and put his mouth on the words.
Max makes a sound. Gabriel says, “Ew, did it get worse?”
“Stop saying ew.”
“Then stop being cursed-horny near me.”
“You called me.”
“To save you!”
“I will not explode.”
“You feel like you will, right?”
Max doesn’t answer.
Gabriel says, softer, “Right?”
Max looks at the door again. He thinks of Daniel on the other side. Daniel’s smile when Max asked. Daniel’s eyes goinging soft, only for one second, before he makes a joke about Max wanting his lucky charm. Daniel saying it’s yours like he doesn’t know what he is handing over. Like Max has not been missing him in little stupid places for years. In the wrong corner of the garage. In jokes nobody else makes. In every time someone says his name and Max pretends not to hear it like a dog hearing its dead owner’s whistle.
“Yes,” Max says.
Gabriel sighs. “Then go.”
“What if he says no?”
“Then he says no.”
“And I explode.”
“I don’t know, maybe. Stand in the shower.”
“Gabi.”
“I’m not curse support!” Gabriel snaps. “But if he says no, you do not do anything. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Max says, offended.
“Good. Then go ask him. Not like a freak. Explain it.”
Max looks down at himself again. His body has not become less freakish. “I cannot go out there like this.”
“You have to.”
“No, because he will see.”
“Max,” Gabriel says, with the exhaustion of someone much older than him, “that is maybe the point.”
Max hates him. He hates Seb for not warning him. He hates racing numbers. He hates curses. He hates the bathroom fan. He hates his own dick. He hates Daniel for sitting out there and making Max want to live and die and have a number three tattooed on the back of his eyelids.
Gabriel says, “Go!”
Then he hangs up. Max stares at his phone. There is a knock on the door and max almost drops the phone into the sink.
“Maximus?” Daniel says. “You alive?”
Max unlocks the door. Daniel is standing there in the hallway with the Red Bull can in one hand and his eyebrows up. His mouth is already shaped around something stupid. Then he sees Max’s face and the stupid thing goes away.
“Hey,” Daniel says. “What happened?”
“There is a curse,” Max says, angling his hips away.
Daniel blinks. “Okay,” he says. “Sure...”
Max steps out of the bathroom because if he is going to humiliate himself, he is not doing it next to the toilet. Daniel follows him into the living room. Max stands by the sofa and Daniel stands in front of him. The air between them is so thick Max could maybe bite it.
“It is about the number,” Max says.
“Three?”
“Yes.”
“The number I just gave you.”
“Yes.”
“Is it, like, haunted?”
“Yes.”
Daniel’s mouth twitches. Max glares weakly, his dick twitching again. Daniel holds up both hands. “Sorry. Sorry. Serious haunted number face.”
“When you take someone’s number,” Max says, and then stops because suddenly every word is a staircase with a missing step.
Daniel’s expression changes. “Max.”
“You have to fuck them,” Max says in a rush. “Or you explode.”
Daniel stares at him. The refrigerator clicks in the kitchen.
“Um.”
“Yes,” Max replies.
“Literally fuck?”
“Yes.”
“Literally explode?”
“I think so.”
“You think so...”
“Gabriel was not very precise.”
“Gabi knows this because?”
“He took five.”
Daniel opens his mouth and immediately shuts it. Then opens it again. “Seb?”
“Daniel.”
“No, yeah. Respectful silence for Seb’s cursed service.”
Max scratches his neck, if he doesn't come soon, he might actually explode and he does ot want to imagine Daniel covered in his blood and guts or whatever.
Daniel says, “So that’s why you’re…”
He looks down to the very apparent bulge in his pants. Max’s whole body lights up like a dashboard full of warnings.
“Fuck,” Max says, but it comes out thin.
Daniel’s eyes snap back up. His cheeks are pink now. “Sorry.”
“It is the curse.”
“Yeah?”
Max swallows. Daniel is close. Too close. Not close enough. His shirt is soft and old and ugly in the way Daniel’s clothes are sometimes ugly because he looks good in anything and therefore has no discipline. Max wants to put his hands under it. Max wants to feel his new beard all over his skin, maybe on his thighs.
“Not only,” Max says.
Daniel goes still. Max looks at the floor. “I asked for three because I missed you. Because it is yours. Because I wanted—some part. I don’t know. It is stupid.”
Daniel doesn’t say anything.
Max looks up despite himself. Daniel’s face is doing something Max cannot survive. His eyes are wide and wet-looking, his mouth soft, like Max has hit him with something and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or bleed.
“Fuck,” Daniel says quietly.
“You don’t have to,” Max says. “Of course you don’t. It is still your choice. The curse is my problem.”
“Max...”
“If you say no, I will go back to the bathroom.”
“And explode in the shower?”
“Maybe it is easier to clean.”
Daniel laughs, shocked and helpless. “Jesus Christ.”
Max’s hands shake. He puts them behind his back. Daniel sees that too, because Daniel sees everything when Max least wants him to.
“I want to,” Daniel says.
Max’s brain stops. “What?”
“I want to,” Daniel repeats. His grin wobbles, but it is there. “Not because of the explosion thing. I mean, obviously that’s compelling. Nobody wants Dutch confetti on the carpet. But because it’s you.”
Max cannot breathe. Daniel steps closer.
“Also,” Daniel says, voice dropping, “because the whole cursed boner thing is doing something to me.”
Max laughs once, sharp and startled.
Daniel smiles. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” Max says. “I—yes.”
“Can I touch you?”
Max nods.
“Words, mate.”
“Yes, Daniel.”
Daniel reaches out. His fingers touch Max’s wrist first, warm and careful. Just there. Just skin on skin. Max’s dick throbs so hard he feels stupid with it. Daniel’s eyes drop again, and this time Max lets him look. Daniel’s mouth parts.
“Oh,” Daniel says.
Max wants to cover himself. He also wants Daniel to never stop looking.
“It is the curse,” Max says, because apparently he is going to keep saying this until someone kills him.
Daniel’s smile goes crooked. “Yeah, Max. The curse is very impressive.”
“Shut up.”
“Can’t.”
Then Daniel kisses him.
Max doesn’t know who moves first. It doesn’t matter. Daniel’s mouth is on his mouth and Daniel’s hand is still on his wrist and the pressure in Max’s chest turns into something bright and molten. He grabs Daniel’s shirt. Too hard maybe. Daniel makes a sound and Max pulls back immediately.
“Sorry.”
“No,” Daniel says, and looks almost offended. “Do it again.”
Max does. Daniel laughs into the kiss, breathless, ridiculous, and Max bites his lower lip for it. Daniel says, “Fuck,” against his mouth, and Max feels it everywhere.
They move badly.
Max backs Daniel into the sofa, then Daniel says, “Bedroom, unless you want to ruin your very ugly rich-person couch,” and Max says, “It is not ugly,” and Daniel says, “Baby, it looks like a dentist waiting room for villains,” and Max kisses him again because Daniel cannot be allowed to continue.
The bedroom is Max’s bed and Daniel in front of it, pulling his shirt off and getting briefly stuck in the collar.
“Fuck,” Daniel says, muffled. “Textile attack.”
“You are bad at this.”
“I’m under pressure,” Daniel says, finally freeing himself. His hair sticks up. His chest is bare. He is smiling like an idiot. “Some of us are trying to save your life.”
Max’s mouth goes dry. Daniel’s smile fades under the look.
Max steps closer. He puts a hand on Daniel’s stomach, flat, feeling the muscle jump under his palm. “Still okay?” Max asks.
Daniel’s throat works. “Yeah.”
“For real?”
“For super real, Maxy.”
Max kisses him again. Lower this time. Daniel’s jaw, his neck, the place where his pulse beats fast and stupid. Daniel’s hands go to Max’s hair.
“Fuck,” Daniel says. “You’re intense.”
“Yes. Of course, Daniel.”
Daniel laughs. “No denial. Love that.”
Max gets Daniel’s jeans open with hands that do not quite work. Daniel helps. Daniel’s hands are shaking too, which makes something in Max calm down and get worse at the same time. When Max touches his dick, Daniel swears so loudly Max clamps a hand over his mouth.
“Quiet,” Max says.
Daniel’s eyes go huge. Max feels him twitch against his fingers.
“Oh,” Max says.
Daniel’s voice is muffled. “Don’t say oh like that.”
“You liked it.”
Daniel closes his eyes like he is suffering. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Max smiles. Daniel bites Max’s palm. “Fuck,” Max says, and pulls his hand away.
Daniel grins, wild and red-faced. “There he is.”
Max pushes him onto the bed. Daniel bounces once and laughs, but then Max climbs over him and the laughter thins into a breath. Daniel reaches for him, careful now, and Max lets himself be pulled down.
They kiss until Max forgets the curse for a minute. Then his body remembers. The pressure sharpens, a hot hook low in his belly. Max gasps and jerks against Daniel, helpless. Daniel’s hands tighten on his back.
“Bad?” Daniel asks.
“No.” Max presses his forehead to Daniel’s shoulder. “Need...you”
Daniel’s breath catches.
“Yeah,” he says. “Okay. Yeah, Max. I’ve got you.”
This should sound stupid. It should. Daniel says it with too much feeling, and Max is the one about to explode, and none of this makes sense. Instead it makes Max shake. Daniel feels it.
“Hey,” Daniel says. “Look at me.”
Max does. Daniel’s face is flushed, mouth swollen, eyes dark and scared and wanting and so fond Max nearly has to close his eyes again.
“I want this,” Daniel says. “You hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Not just the cursed emergency dick appointment.”
Max laughs before he can stop it. Daniel smiles, relieved. “There. Good. Great. Consent and comedy. We’re nailing this.”
“You are so stupid.”
“Yeah, and you want me so bad.”
Max says, “Yes,” because he is past lying.
Daniel’s smile slips.
“Shit,” he says.
Max kisses him before Daniel can look too breakable. They get properly naked and Daniel kicks one sock off and the other somehow stays on until Max notices and says, “Off,” very seriously, and Daniel laughs so hard Max has to kiss his stomach to shut him up.
Then Daniel says, “Top drawer?” and Max says, “Yes,” too quickly, and Daniel says, “Oh, prepared,” and Max says, “For myself, Daniel,” and Daniel says, “Sure, mate, love a man with lube.”
The first slick touch of Daniel’s fingers makes Max’s brain go white at the edges.
“Okay?” Daniel asks.
“Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
Daniel’s grin is a little shaky. “Look at you with the full sentences.”
“Daniel.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m helping.”
He is. He is careful, even when he jokes. Especially when he jokes. His fingers move slow and slick and Max has to bite his own wrist because the sound he makes is humiliating. Daniel watches him do it and then makes a sound of his own, broken and low.
“Jesus,” Daniel says. “Max.”
“What?”
“You’re—fuck.”
Max would like a better sentence. He does not get one because Daniel adds another finger and Max arches so hard his shoulder blades hurt. The curse pressure lifts a bit.
“Oh,” Max says. Daniel’s eyes go bright. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Good?”
“Good,” Max says, except it comes out like a curse in a different way.
Daniel leans down and kisses him, filthy and soft at once. Max opens under him. For him. Maybe because of the curse. Maybe because Daniel says his name like it is something he wants to keep in his mouth.
“More,” Max says.
Daniel’s hand stills. “More?”
“Yes. Now.”
Daniel laughs, but it breaks halfway. “Bossy.”
Max pulls him down by the back of the neck. “Daniel.”
“Okay,” Daniel says, suddenly breathless. “Okay, baby.”
Max nearly comes from that alone. It is awkward at first. Of course it is. Daniel’s knee slips. Max says, “Not like that,” and Daniel says, “Sorry, my cursed-fuck technique is rusty,” and Max laughs and then gasps because Daniel pushes in a little and the whole world narrows to that.
Daniel freezes immediately.
“Max?”
Max grips his arms. “Don’t stop.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“For real?”
Max opens his eyes and glares. “Daniel, I will kill you.”
Daniel’s smile spreads, dazed and delighted. Then he moves. It hurts, at first. Just a stretch-burn, bright and close, like Max’s body is being told a truth it should have known already. Daniel goes slow, too slow, so careful Max wants to hit him.
“More,” Max says.
Daniel groans. “Fuck, Max.”
“More, please!”
Daniel gives him more. Max’s head drops back. His hands clutch at Daniel’s shoulders, his back, anywhere. He is making noises now and he cannot stop. He doesn’t know if the curse is doing this or Daniel is doing this or if there was ever a difference. The pressure in his chest changes.
It is not explosion now.
It is Daniel.
Daniel above him, eyes blown wide, mouth open. Daniel trying to make jokes and failing because Max clenches around him and Daniel’s whole face blanks out.
“Oh my fucking god,” Daniel says.
Max laughs, breathless and mean. “What?”
“You’re bad,” Daniel says, horrified. “You’re getting fucked by a curse and you’re smug.”
“You are easy.”
Daniel makes an offended noise and thrusts harder. Max’s laugh snaps into a moan. “There,” Daniel says, voice wrecked. “Yeah? That shut you up?”
Max cannot answer because Daniel hits something inside him that turns his bones to sparks. He grabs Daniel’s wrist and digs his nails in.
“Again,” Max says.
Daniel looks at him. Max knows what his own face must look like. Red, open, wrecked. He does not care. “Again,” he demands.
Daniel does it again. Max almost sobs. Daniel says, “Fuck, fuck, Max. There?”
“Yes. There. Don’t stop.”
The room goes hot and blurry. Max feels sweat at his temples, Daniel’s mouth on his neck, Daniel’s hand around his dick. Too much. Not enough. Perfect. Horrible. Max’s body is no longer an emergency warning light. It is a car at top speed, finally pointed straight, every part of him screaming toward the same place.
“Daniel,” Max says.
“I’ve got you,” Daniel says again, and maybe that is what does it.
Max comes so hard he loses time. For one second there is nothing. No curse. No number. No bathroom. No pressure. Just Daniel’s name punched out of his mouth and Daniel holding him through it, fucking him through it, swearing into his shoulder.
Then Daniel follows, hips stuttering, face pressed to Max’s neck. Max feels it. Feels him. Hot and close and impossible.
Daniel collapses on top of him, heavy and shaking. For a while there is only breathing. Max stares at the ceiling.
He is alive. This is good. Daniel lifts his head slowly. His hair is damp at the temples. His mouth is red. His eyes are very wide.
“No explosion?” Daniel asks.
Max checks. His chest is not tight. His skin is not buzzing. His dick is no longer possessed by dark number magic.
“No explosion,” he says.
Daniel’s smile blooms so bright it is stupid. “Hell yeah.”
Max laughs.
Daniel flops down beside him. “Daniel Ricciardo: curse breaker. Put it on a trophy.”
“You are very annoying.”
“You love it.”
Max turns his head. Daniel is already looking at him. Max says, because apparently the curse also removes whatever filter he has, “Yes.”
Daniel’s face changes.
Max looks at the ceiling again. “I mean. Yes.”
Daniel is quiet for one second. Then he says, “You really missed me?”
Max closes his eyes. He can lie. He could. The curse is gone. He is safe. He can be normal again, whatever amount of normal he had before Daniel came over and said yes and broke Max open in his own bed.
“Yes,” Max says.
Daniel exhales. Max opens his eyes when Daniel touches his chest. Two fingers, right over his heart.
“Yeah,” Daniel says. “Me too.”
Max turns toward him. Daniel’s smile is small. Nervous. Not a joke yet, though Max can see him reaching for one like a life raft.
“Like, embarrassing amounts,” Daniel says. “Like, if missing you was a crime, I’d be doing hard time. Orange jumpsuit. Little tin cup. Whole thing.”
Max smiles despite himself.
Daniel points at him. “There. Tiny smile. I knew it.”
“You are ruining it.”
“Nah.” Daniel shifts closer. His leg brushes Max’s. His sock is still on.
Max looks at it. “You still have one sock.”
“It survived the war.”
Max laughs into his shoulder. Daniel’s hand comes up to the back of Max’s head. After a while, Daniel says, softer, “You can have it.”
Max lifts his face. “What.”
“3.” Daniel’s throat works. “You can have it.”
“You already said.”
“Yeah, well. Now I’m saying it post-cursed-sex. Legally stronger.”
Max looks at him. Daniel looks back, trying so hard not to look scared that it makes Max ache.
“It is still yours,” Max says. Daniel blinks. “The number. Even if I have it. It is yours.”
Daniel’s eyes go shiny.
“Fuck,” he says.
Max waits.
“Sorry,” Daniel says. “I mean, like. Emotionally fuck. Not—well, also, obviously, but we just—” He covers his face. “Jesus. I need to be euthanised.”
Max pulls Daniel’s hands away.
“No,” he says. “I like you like this.”
Somewhere on the floor, his phone buzzes. They both look.
Daniel says, “Gabi.”
“No.”
“I have to tell him you lived.”
“No.”
Daniel is already reaching over the side of the bed. Max grabs his waist, but Daniel wriggles away, laughing, one sock waving in the air like a flag of surrender.
He answers the phone. “Gabriel, mate, great news. No Max explosion.”
Then Gabriel says, “I hate you both.”
Daniel beams. “Quick question. Seb. Was it weird?”
Gabriel hangs up and Daniel laughs so hard he rolls into Max’s side.
daniel is a camboy, max agrees to be in a live with him. maybe he shouldn't have, not like this
kinks cam boy, sex toys
other tags max yearns for daniel ricciardo, light angst, porn with angst??
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radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" i am terribly late but this one had me on a chokehold once i started writing it. i can't just write a ship fic normally chat <//3 i gotta be insane with it ,, I'LL POST THE ONE SCHEDULED FOR TODAY TMR ,, hopefully
You're not supposed to catch feelings for people—especially sex workers. Max doesn't like listening to people. He never had.
His only saving grace is the white balaclava covering his face. Daniel, however, was on full display. From the computer screen, he could see the way that Daniel was grinning cocky to the camera.
“Should I let you come, baby?" He asks, not addressing Max. His eyes are glued to the live chat while his hands keep the vibrator still on the tip of Max's cock. He knows where Daniel’s real attention is. He wishes he doesn't.
So, he stays still. Not like he could do much with his hands tied and legs cuffed wide. He wants to pull his legs together, squirm, make a noise to take Daniel's attention. Anything. Instead, he lays there panting and pretending like he's a mannequin to present the viewers. He's not Max. He’s a stand in.
Daniel's eyes turn to him, a glint on his face. “Seems like you aren't coming," he says, as if upset. “I could make it real fun for you, though, can't I?"
Fun doesn't share the same definition to everyone. However, Daniel squeezes himself so Max sits on his lap, and Max feels like he was having fun.
With one hand steadying the vibrator, Daniel's lubed fingers tease at his rim. Max whines. He wants to fuck back on it so badly but he could only stay still. The fingers circle the flushed pink hole—perfectly on display to the camera—before thrusting two in immediately. Max doesn't make a sound, biting his lip under the mask.
Daniel presses the vibrator harder, making Max squirm on his clothed erection. He can't help the little sounds he lets out as Daniel massages his prostate.
“Feel good?" He murmured, his breath against Max's ear. “Bet you wish you're allowed to come, huh?"
He does. He doesn't. Max can survive life even if it was like this. His back pressed against Daniel’s chest, his ass grinding down Daniel’s dick, and being stimulated on both ends with Daniel’s hands. Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. He wants to make Daniel lose himself and fuck him already.
A little tone broke the spell. Daniel chuckles, “Oh? Maybe you can come after all." Max's gaze is blurry, the prostate abuse making him dizzy. He barely sees how many numbers pop up on the screen—how many dollars is being given to Daniel just to see Max come.
Daniel pulls his fingers out. Before Max could wonder for a second, a long silicone dildo is in Daniel's hands. Steadily, Daniel starts jerking Max off as he pushes the toy inside of him. The sudden stretch makes him shiver, squirming. He wants to move away but Daniel suddenly tightens his grips on Max's cock.
This isn't for you. Don't ruin it for everyone else.
Pushing the rest in, Daniel moans for him. “Say thank you, baby. Say thank you for filling up your greedy little ass."
Max pants. He tries to catch his breath but Daniel is already thrusting inside. Both his hands are ruining him at a fast pace that would make Max come immediately. Still, Daniel persists. “Say it," he says, “say thank you, Danny."
“Th—hah…" he feels his own breath against his skin from the balaclava. Max throws his head back as he tugs on his chains. “Hngg… Thank you, D—....Danny. FUCK!”
Daniel laughs. The camera can't quite pick up the way Max was whispering to himself—please please please please please. They can't hear how fast he's breathing, how he's whining. It's just for Daniel. Yet, Daniel’s words aren't just for him. It's for everyone.
It's just for everyone.
"So fucking pretty,” he praises, "gonna make you fucking come on my cock, you sweet little bitch.” Daniel bites down on his shoulder, leaving marks. The tip of the dildo is reaching so deep inside that it's making Max’s eyes roll back. It's melting his brain, practically.
He can feel his orgasm build. There's this sensation growing that makes his toes curl. He whines louder, breathing heavier. Daniel knows he's close. Even as Max jerks forward—coming like a girl, Daniel once described—Daniel still stimulates both his dick and hole.
"There we go, that's it,” Daniel hums, hands slowing as the white streaks on Max’s stomach come in waves. "Let yourself go, baby. Felt so good from my cock, yeah? So fucking good."
It's not his cock, like Max's body isn’t his own. Max is later moved to his hands and knees, only his head visible as Daniel completes himself on Max’s face. It's all he gets. His mask is off—face no longer visible by the camera—and he receives Daniel’s cum all over his face.
The camera can't see that. Max has never felt so greedy in his life.
inspired by pictures of max on his yacht | maxiel | 900 words.
He doesn’t know why he sends it now.
The text has been in his drafts for days, typed out for a laugh back when the news had dropped; nothing more than a quick thought. Only he hadn’t been able to delete it. Even now as he sends it, thumb pressed down until the whoosh sound rings in his ears, he wants to take it back. Erase it and retype it, rework it until it’s better, until he’s sure.
It’s a joke, obviously, and Max would know that too.
Daniel doesn’t know if it’s laugh worthy, but for sure Max’s face would do that adorable shit where his eyes crinkle and you somehow forget that he’s a 4-times world champion who kinda, maybe stole that from you.
It would be a good opener, is what he’s saying. Something to get them going again.
They haven’t seen each other in a bit: a padel match here, a drink with mutual friends there. But the season has been tough, and Max’s focus has been somewhere else. On shit more important than old friends who find themselves retired at 36.
Life can be weird like that.
One day, they’ll introduce you to a guy who has only ever known racing and maybe even still is a little too intense about it, and then someday you’ll find yourself spreading him out in your bed, making love to him like you’ve never done before. Because maybe you kinda like it when he’s that intense about you too.
Sometimes you give it all up because watching him win isn’t enough. You want that for yourself, you need it – almost as much as you need him too. It’s not an either/or – that’s what he tells you – but it kinda is. If you want to be the greatest, it is, and that’s still what you’re supposed to be, right? Only it’s still him holding you together when it all falls apart, when the guy you were brought in to replace somehow finds a way to replace you too. So what the fuck are you supposed to do now?
hooking up w toto behind russell georges back? such a bad boy maxy
He swipes to the side of the screen, desperate for something to do with himself that isn’t throwing his phone against the wall. He’s halfway through a game of chicken with flight mode when it goes from being delivered to read with barely any change to the timestamp.
Daniel hasn’t had receipts on his texts since he figured out how to turn them off, but he’s always been bad at that, at replying right away.
Max never was, and the dots appear just the same, mocking him, teasing until his heart has made a home nice and cosy in his throat.
It’s a better joke now, he reckons.
Pictures of Max just chilling on his boat and not actually having clandestine contract negotiations with Toto fucking Wolf just a dinghy away. Max in silly little yellow bathing shorts that make his pale thighs look thick and delicious. Daniel remembers how they would look after pressing his mouth against the delicate skin. The bluish marks that would bloom on the inside, barely visible to anyone who wasn’t them. How Max would moan when he rubbed his thumb over it, hips jerking against the bed, “Daniel, please –”
always you have to go for the gap
He squints at the screen, at the text he had sent that in no way warranted a Senna quote, when another text from Max ticks in.
the age gap 😜
It’s such an awful pun – all puns are really. But Max’s crinkled face is back in his mind, wide eyes staring up at him for a response, and Daniel is too weak not to, chuckling to himself as the knot in his chest starts to loosen.
less than a decade no longer doing it for u?
And then:
i hope youre having fun
He’s not a triple-texter, but his fingers twitch over the screen, ready to put in the work now that he’s committed to the bit.
i like how u say this: less than a decade
always in my head it is 8 years
but i think this is very nice also daniel
Daniel feels heart-sick at the thought of Max thinking about them too. Often, always – like he isn’t the only one kept up at night thinking about what could have been if he hadn’t been selfish. Still he doesn't know what to say, stuck in the same rut of apologies that won’t make anything right, promises that will mean little to Max now, when suddenly:
always you were the one who did not think it was lovely
He thinks of Max at 20, kissing him like he wasn’t afraid to touch a boy like that. He thinks of Max at 23, flying across the world to tell him that he loved him. At 25, screaming it in his face like it would make them not break up. He thinks of Heidi and the life he couldn’t give her.
Martijn will come tomorrow so we will take out the jetskies maybe
you should come stay a few days also
He thinks of Max at 28. Sweet, incredible Max who has never asked for anything more than to be loved, and he reckons maybe 8 is kinda lovely after all.
The roar of the engines had long since faded from the track, replaced by the frantic shouts and hushed warnings echoing through the Red Bull garage. It was Spa, a notoriously passionate circuit, and the tension had been simmering all weekend, threatening to boil over. Today, it finally had.
Max Verstappen, ordinarily a force of fierce, controlled energy, was a raw, untamed storm. His Alpha nature, usually reined in by years of discipline and the sheer demands of Formula 1, had snapped. He paced his driver’s room like a caged predator, the air thick with his agitated musk – aggressive, potent, almost suffocating.
His usually bright eyes were clouded with an instinctual haze, his jaw tight, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Every now and then, he’d strike a fist against the reinforced wall, the impact echoing through the thin partitions, making the mechanics outside jump.
Christian Horner stood at the door, grim-faced, a phone pressed to his ear. "He's not responding, Cyril. Not to anyone. He sent the physio running. Dr. Mark can't even get close enough to assess him without risking a serious injury." He paused, listening.
"Yes, I know. But it's an extreme reaction. We can't have him like this before qualifying." His gaze flickered towards the agitated thrashing within. "Tranquilizers? Are we really at that point?" Christian’s voice was laced with an unwilling resignation. Max was young, powerful, and utterly out of control. It was terrifying to see.
The medical team, led by Dr. Mark, stood several cautious feet away, their faces a mixture of fear and professional concern. "His pheromones are off the charts, Christian," Dr. Mark murmured, adjusting his glasses. "It's a full-blown Alpha surge. He’s perceiving threats everywhere. We need to sedate him before he truly harms himself or someone else."
Max’s growl intensified, a primal sound that vibrated through the floor. He caught Christian’s eye, a flash of red in their depths, and snarled, "Get out." The command was laced with pure Alpha dominance, vibrating with untamed power. Even Christian, a formidable Alpha in his own right, felt a primal urge to obey.
"There's only one person," Christian mumbled, more to himself than to Dr. Mark. He ended the call, then dialed another number, his thumb hovering over the contact. It felt like a desperate, last-ditch effort, but a necessary one. "Daniel, are you still at the track?" His voice was low, urgent. "I… I need your help, mate. It's Max. He's… gone feral."
A moment of silence on the other end, then Daniel's familiar, deceptively calm voice. "Feral? Max? What happened?" The underlying worry was palpable, even across the phone line.
"It's an Alpha surge. He's completely lost control. Doctors are talking about tranquilizers. We… we can't get near him. He won't let anyone." Christian swallowed hard. "Daniel, please. You're the only Omega on the team, the only one strong enough, gentle enough. Can you come?"
"I’m on my way," Daniel said, the line clicking dead. Christian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Hope, fragile but persistent, flickered.
Daniel moved through the bustling paddock with a focused intensity that belied his usual chirpy demeanor. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a primal fear coiling in his gut – not for himself, but for Max.
He’d known Max was under immense pressure this weekend, the weight of expectation always heavy on the young Alpha’s shoulders, especially at Spa, a track he loved but where bad luck often seemed to find him.
But a full-blown Alpha surge? That was unprecedented. It suggested a deep-seated stress, a complete unraveling of his formidable self-control.
He pushed open the heavy door to the Red Bull garage, the sudden plunge into the chaotic energy doing little to dispel the rising tide of his own Omega instincts. Christian met him halfway, his face etched with worry lines Daniel rarely saw. Dr. Mark and the medical team stood by with their unsettling array of tranquilizer darts and emergency equipment. The air crackled with fear and the overwhelming scent of distressed Alpha.
"He’s in there," Christian said, gesturing towards Max’s driver’s room, its door slightly ajar, vibrating faintly with each impact of Max’s fist against the wall. "He’s worse, if anything. We can't… we can't risk anyone else."
Daniel nodded, his gaze fixed on the room. He could smell Max now, a thick, cloying miasma of aggression and terror. It smelled like a cornered beast, dangerous and desperate. Daniel felt the instinctive urge to recoil, to protect himself, but an even stronger, more fundamental Omega urge surged forward – the need to soothe, to calm, to nurture.
It was an instinct he’d fought to suppress for years, especially around Max. Their bond, their rivalry, their uneasy friendship… he’d always tried to keep a professional distance, to bury the deep, undeniable currents that ran between them. Now, those walls were crumbling.
He took a deep breath, trying to flood his own scent glands with calming pheromones, a silent promise of safety. He needed to be gentle, but firm. Max needed a steady presence, not another threat.
"Alright," Daniel said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Everyone stay back. Give us space." He looked at Christian, a silent plea for trust. Christian nodded, ushering the medical team further away, though their readiness for intervention was clear.
Daniel pushed open the door more fully. The room was a mess. A chair had been overturned, a water bottle lay spilled, staining the carpet. Max was a blur of agitated motion, his heavy boots sounding like thunderclaps on the floor as he paced. His eyes, when they landed on Daniel, were pure molten gold, rimmed with a terrifying crimson. A guttural snarl ripped from his throat.
"Get out!" Max roared, his voice distorted by the raw animalistic rage. "Get away from me!"
The command hit Daniel like a physical blow, vibrating through his bones, triggering his Omega's deep-seated instinct to obey. But Daniel was an Omega who had lived in Alpha spaces his entire life, who had learned to command respect through cunning and quiet strength. He stood his ground, letting his own calming pheromones slowly unfurl, a soft, inviting counterpoint to Max’s tempest.
"No, Max," Daniel said, his voice low, steady, a melodic hum that sought to cut through the noise in Max’s mind. He stepped fully into the room, closing the door softly behind him, severing Max’s connection to the perceived threats outside. The scent of Max’s fear and aggression was overwhelming, but Daniel focused on his intention, on projecting warmth and safety.
Max lunged, not at Daniel, but at the very wall beside him, slamming his fist into it again, the sound echoing painfully. He was trembling, a feral wildness in his eyes. "I said get out! Don't you understand? I don't want you here!"
Daniel took another slow step forward. "I understand you're hurting, mate," he said, his voice laced with empathy, the underlying notes of his Omega calm weaving into the air. "I'm not going anywhere. We're not going to tranquilize you." He kept his hands open, palms visible, a universal sign of non-aggression. His movements were slow, deliberate, unthreatening.
Max stopped his pacing, his head cocked, listening. The rage was still there, but a flicker of something else – confusion, perhaps recognition – began to break through the haze. He could smell Daniel’s scent now, a familiar mix of sunshine, fresh cut grass, and something uniquely sweet and earthy that always calmed the frantic edge of Max's Alpha. It was the scent of safety. Of home.
"You're not well, Max," Daniel continued, taking another step. "Let me help you." He extended a hand slowly, carefully, not reaching for Max, but merely offering.
Max’s eyes darted to Daniel’s outstretched hand, then back to his face. The growl was lower now, a rumbling vibration in his chest rather than an outright threat. He was still agitated, but the frenzied, desperate thrashing had subsided into a tense stillness. His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The pheromone cloud around him was still potent, but Daniel could sense the shift, the tiny crack in the dam.
"They want to take me," Max whispered, his voice raw, laced with the terror that had fueled his rage. "They'll sedate me. They'll… they'll put me down." He looked genuinely terrified, like a child lost in a nightmare.
"Nobody's putting you down, Max," Daniel reassured him, his own voice softening further. He finally closed the distance, stopping just a few feet from the trembling Alpha. "I won't let them. But you need to calm down, mate. You’re scaring yourself."
He reached out again, this time closing the small gap and placing a hand gently on Max’s shoulder. Max flinched, a jolt of pure animalistic alarm going through him, but he didn't pull away completely. Daniel’s touch was warm, firm, and grounding.
It carried the scent of his calming pheromones, a direct, unfiltered message of safety to Max’s overstimulated Alpha brain.
As Daniel’s hand rested on him, Max’s shaking intensified, but it was no longer solely from rage. It was from the desperate need for comfort, for contact. His head dipped, his eyes still wild, but he leaned into Daniel’s touch, almost imperceptibly at first. The scent of Daniel’s Omega was a lifeline, pulling him back from the precipice of instinctual terror.
Daniel moved closer, slowly, deliberately. He wrapped his arms around Max, pulling the trembling Alpha into a loose embrace. Max was stiff at first, his muscles like coiled springs, ready to fight or flee. But Daniel held him gently, murmuring soft, unintelligible words against his ear, letting his Omega scent wash over Max, soothing the raw edges of his anxiety.
And then, something powerful shifted. Max’s tense body began to relax, slowly, by degrees. His head dropped, his nose finding the crook of Daniel’s neck, burrowing instinctively into Daniel’s scent gland. Daniel felt the brush of Max’s warm breath against his skin, the sharp intake of air as Max inhaled deeply, desperate for the calming scent that promised safety and solace.
Max’s hands, which had been clenched into fists, slowly uncurled, finding purchase on Daniel’s back, grabbing handfuls of his race suit, holding on as if Daniel were the only stable thing in his chaotic world.
Daniel’s heart ached. This was the Max he knew, buried beneath layers of Alpha pride and competitive fire – vulnerable, intensely loyal, and deeply in need of connection. He tightened his embrace, pressing a soft kiss to Max’s hair, letting his own hidden feelings, his deep affection, pour into the gesture.
He tried to hide them, to compartmentalize, but in this moment, with Max so utterly broken and dependent, the barriers dissolved.
Max’s growls subsided into soft, guttural rumbles deep in his chest, like a purring cat. The aggressive musk that had filled the room began to dissipate, replaced by a softer, more content, though still potent, Alpha scent.
He was tucking his face further into Daniel’s scent gland, pressing his forehead against Daniel’s neck, breathing in the calming Omega smell like it was the air he needed to survive.
"Better, mate?" Daniel whispered, stroking a hand through Max’s hair, feeling the dampness of sweat, the tension slowly bleeding from his scalp.
Max only offered a soft hum in response, a needy, possessive sound that sent a shiver down Daniel’s spine. He wasn't just calm; he was clinging, displaying a level of attachment that startled Daniel, even as it warmed him to his core.
They stood there for a long time, Daniel holding Max, Max buried in Daniel’s neck, until Max’s tremors completely ceased. His breathing was still a little fast, but it was steady, no longer ragged.
Eventually, Max pulled back, though not completely. His eyes were still a little dilated, a faint residual haze lingering, but the angry red was gone, replaced by his familiar intense blue. He looked utterly exhausted, his shoulders slumped. "Sorry," he mumbled, his voice hoarse, embarrassed.
"No need, mate," Daniel said gently, keeping one arm wrapped around Max’s waist, the other hand still on his shoulder. "You just had a hard time. We all do sometimes."
Max blinked, looking around the dishevelled room, then back at Daniel, a flicker of awareness returning. He remembered the anger, the fear, the desperate need to lash out. He remembered Christian’s face, the doctors, the needles. He remembered Daniel. "You… you didn't let them," he whispered, his eyes searching Daniel’s face for confirmation.
"I told you I wouldn't," Daniel confirmed, offering him a soft, reassuring smile. "Now, how about we get you properly settled, eh? You look like you could sleep for a week."
Max offered a weak nod, his eyes drooping. The Alpha surge had drained him physically and emotionally. He felt utterly spent.
Daniel looked around the stark, functional driver’s room. It was not a comforting space. Instinctively, his Omega nature began to assess, to seek out ways to make it safe, soft, a place for an exhausted Alpha to rest. He needed to make a nest.
"Alright, stay here," Daniel instructed softly, guiding Max to sit on the edge of the massage table, which was thankfully still upright. Max obeyed without question, watching Daniel with a sleepy, trusting gaze.
Daniel moved with a purpose, gathering anything soft he could find. He pulled an unused team blanket from a cabinet, then looked around for more. He spotted a spare change of Max’s clothes – a hoodie, a comfortable t-shirt – and pulled them out, adding them to the pile.
He found a soft throw pillow that had been tossed aside earlier and retrieved it. He even took off his own team jacket, adding it to the growing pile, ensuring his scent was thoroughly infused.
He cleared a space on the floor in the corner of the room, away from the door, a secluded, protected spot. With gentle, practiced movements, he began to arrange the items – the blanket as a base, the hoodie and t-shirt piled around it, his own jacket added for extra warmth and scent.
He plumped the pillow, creating a soft hollow. It wasn’t perfect, not a true nest like Omegas built in their own homes, but it was the best he could do in a sterile F1 garage. It was soft, secluded, and heavy with calming Omega scent.
"Come on, mate," Daniel said, offering a hand to Max.
Max slowly slid off the table, his eyes fixed on the nest. A soft sigh escaped him, a sound of pure contentment, as he approached the inviting mound of softness. He hesitated for a moment, then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he sank into the nest. His body relaxed immediately, molding to the contours of the soft materials.
Daniel followed, settling in beside him, his back against the wall, Max’s head instinctively finding Daniel’s shoulder. Max immediately tucked his face back into Daniel’s scent gland, letting out another soft purr.
Daniel wrapped an arm around him, pulling the blanket up and over them both. The little space was perfect, warm and enclosed.
The tension that had gripped Daniel all day finally began to ease. He felt the rhythmic rise and fall of Max’s chest against him, the soft puffs of breath on his neck. Max was peaceful. He was safe.
Daniel lay there, listening to the muffled sounds of the distant paddock, the quiet hum of the garage. He had wanted to hide his feelings, to keep his professional boundaries intact. But here, in this small, makeshift nest, with a powerful Alpha utterly reliant on his calming presence, it was impossible.
He didn't just feel concern; he felt a profound tenderness, a protective instinct that went beyond friendship. He loved this intense, passionate, sometimes infuriating young Alpha. And in this moment, Max, in his primal vulnerability, seemed to return that unspoken affection.
Max’s breathing deepened, slowing to the even rhythm of sleep. Daniel felt the heavy weight of his head against his shoulder, the comforting solidness of his body. Soon, Daniel’s own eyelids grew heavy.
The adrenaline faded, replaced by a profound weariness. He closed his eyes, his heart full, the soft cadence of Max’s breathing lulling him into a peaceful slumber.
It was much later when Christian Horner cautiously approached Max's driver’s room again. The garage was quieter now, most of the crew having gone for a break or moved on to other tasks.
He hadn't heard a sound from the room in hours, which was both a relief and a source of quiet anxiety. He’d told the medical team to stand down, to give Daniel time, but a part of him still worried.
He gently pushed the door open, peering inside. The room was dim, the overhead lights off, only the emergency strip lighting providing a soft glow. He saw the overturned chair, the spilled water, the signs of Max's earlier storm.
Then his eyes fell on the corner.
There, nestled together on a makeshift bed of blankets, clothes, and a pillow, were Max and Daniel. Max was deeply asleep, his face peaceful, tucked into Daniel's neck.
Daniel, too, was asleep, his arm wrapped around Max, his head resting against the wall, a soft, content expression on his face. Max’s aggressive musk was gone, replaced by a harmonious blend of his own calmed Alpha scent and Daniel’s sweet, soothing Omega pheromones. It was an image of absolute peace, deep intimacy, and profound trust.
Christian felt a warmth spread through his chest, a quiet understanding dawning. He knew Max and Daniel had a bond, a complex rival-teammate-friendship. But this… this was something more. It was instinctual, a primal connection that had saved Max from himself. Daniel, with his unassuming strength and gentle Omega nature, had done what no one else could.
A soft, private smile touched Christian’s lips. He closed the door as quietly as he could, leaving them undisturbed. The world of Formula 1 was high-octane, ruthless, and competitive, but sometimes, even in the heart of it, the most profound connections were forged from the simplest, most human (or perhaps, most primal) needs.
He left them to their rest, knowing that whatever challenges tomorrow’s qualifying practice would bring, these two would face them, together. . . .
Max says, “from your pop up in New York, this guy says ‘no Cadillac?’ like a rude fucking idiot and then you say ‘nah I’m done’ with your big PR smile. It is funny because I was not under the impression that you were ‘done’, Daniel. You have not said that you are done.”
He clears his throat, hums, says quietly, “I mean I think the decision was made for me, Maxy."
or: the one where Daniel goes to Cadillac
Banner created by the lovely @shineon3 who also has been the loveliest beta and cheerleader to me for the past few weeks. Also, a shoutout to @lost-in-fandoms for hyping me up when I needed it! Fandom friends ❤ I appreciate you both so much.
