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Max wants.
The problem is that he wants too much. Wants to race more than anything.
He also wants to stay up all night playing dolls and cars with Victoria.
You have to sleep if you're going to win tomorrow, Max.
Wants to play football with his friends, wants to be the one scoring goals. Wants to be the one they hoist above their heads at the end of the game. He wants to go to the party the cute girl across the street is having for her birthday, wants to get her a nice present, wants to see her cheeks flush when he smiles at her.
You need to focus.
Wants to spend his free time playing video games, FIFA on the computer he bought with some of the leftover money from a race win. Wants to try being vegetarian because the cute boy that always sits next to him in school is.
You don't have time for anything that isn't going to make you faster, son.
Max wants and wants and wants.
Max is a quick learner though. He wants too much and he needs to taper that down, hone it into a point so sharp that all he can do is point it down the track towards a checkered flag before it cuts anyone around him.
Max is eighteen and he's at Red Bull. He's ousted Daniil for a seat in F1. His new teammate smiles all the time, is always talking his ear off about some band or party or girl on the social media team. Daniel is bright like the sun, all tanned lines and thick Australian accent.
Max wants again.
It's nice to have a someone who smiles at him and pulls a chair over when he walks into a room, to have someone who invites him out to clubs and parties after wins. Someone who throws an arm over his shoulder and laughs with him. Sometimes he catches Daniel staring at him, and Max thinks maybe they both want the same thing.
But Max can only have one thing so he focuses on the car, getting faster. Sits in the sim on his weekends off and memorizes every curve in every track.
He's come too far to fuck it all up now. So he forces it down, deep as it can go. So deep that maybe it comes out on the other side as something a little too vicious.
Baku sucks, but Daniel seems to move past it quick enough. Max feels like maybe they should've discussed it more, tries to bring it up a few days later and is met with a quick "water under the bridge, mate," before Daniel changes the topic to some new alteration they're discussing making to the car. Max wants to push on it, because it didn't feel like water under the bridge when Daniel looked at him afterwards with eyes that weren't even angry, just cold like ice. But Max also knows that he makes things worse sometimes when he pushes on them. So he trusts Daniel, and lets it go.
Lets it go, and then suddenly Daniel is responding less and less frequently to his texts, hardly ever stops over at his hotel room to try to drag him out to a bar between races. Is still so, so friendly when they are around each other that Max chalks it up to them both being busy. Max doesn't even get a phone call about the Renault move, just the email from Christian wishing Daniel well and then the official press release a few hours later.
Max has built his life around facing things head on, so he heads to Daniel's hotel room, knocks on the door without hesitation. He wants so badly to yell or hit something, to cause a scene, but Daniel's face is so easy going, so open. Daniel is smiling and suddenly Max feels deflated.
"Guess you heard the news, huh?" Daniel's face is smiling but his hands are knotted, rose tattoo twisted up into odd angles.
"Daniel, why?" Max is off balance and the anger has left him with only confusion, "Why would you leave? For Renault of all places?"
"It's nothing personal, Max. But we both know Red Bull is focused on you, and Renault needs a driver. It's just business."
Max realizes he has left his mouth hanging open, rushes to close it. Wipes his sweaty hands against his jeans. Just business. "Right. Yeah, I guess."
The silence between them has never been awkward before. Daniel usually fills it, but it seems like even he's struggling now.
"Would've told you sooner, but NDAs and all that."
"Right. Well, good luck. I hope the car is good, I will of course not take it easy on you." Max wants Daniel, but he also wants to win, and one of those things is something he can have.
"Thanks, Max."
There's no invitation to come in. Max says his goodnights and heads back to his room. He feels foolish. Can feel shame building up behind his eyes, tightening around his throat, burning his cheeks. He lays in bed and breathes in and out until he doesn't feel like crying anymore. Bottles the deep ache in the center of his chest up, and labels it just business. He has the rest of the season to focus on.
___
Max is watching Daniel parade around the paddock in a bright orange cape at Zandvoort, humming that godawful "du du du" tune as he goes.
Something ugly and possessive flares up inside of him.
Only gets worse when Daniel smooth talks his way into Red Bull hospitality, steals drinks and snacks and corners Max into watching stupid TikToks in between media and fan events. Max is half paying attention to the videos, and half trying memorize the way he can feel the warmth radiating off of Daniel as he leans in close.
Max suddenly feels like there's something he's missing again, feels like he did back in 2018 when Daniel was carefully avoiding making plans for next year.
"Shouldn't you be with McLaren right now?" Max isn't good at subtle emotions, has spent so much of his energy attuning himself to cars -- the feel of a tire just starting to lose grip, an odd sound deep in the engine -- that he doesn't really understand people that well anymore. Daniel's eyes are so immediately and unmistakably sad that Max wishes he could pull the question back.
"Eh, I don't think they'll miss me that much. They've got Lando to hold down the fort anyway."
Max isn't sure how to fix it, thinks that if their places were reversed Daniel would have something comforting to say. He settles for the truth instead, "Well, they don't know what they're missing, very lucky for me. Show me that other video you were talking about, with the cat that looks like Sassy?"
It must be a good enough thing to say, because Daniel falls back into an easy grin and bumps their shoulders together, "Aww, if I didn't know better, I'd think you missed me, Maxy."
"Always I have missed you, Daniel." it's matter of fact, the way he'd say he's confident about how exactly to take a bend on a track, or the way he knows that the tires can make it just a few more laps. Facts: the sun is bright, he loves racing, and he misses Daniel.
Max starts plotting ways to get Daniel out of that orange prison, ways to bring him back to where Max could keep an eye on him, try to make him happier. Thinks about how he could phrase it so Christian and Helmut would think it was just a flippant suggestion, something that would keep their golden boy happy and not something that he wanted, needed.
---
Max is in some fucking club, and he would've dipped out hours ago, it's too warm and too loud and Max is almost thirty now, and this shit is old news. Max should be home, driving the next circuit in the sim or sleeping. But, Daniel is here, at Red Bull, he's finally home, and fuck if Max is leaving in the middle of that.
The air is hazy, and he's not sure if someone somewhere is smoking, or if it's just the fog the club seems to pump out periodically, or his vision gone foggy at the edges after the last drink he'd had. Something that had somehow been both too sweet and too strong, but Daniel had pushed it into his hands and toasted him and Max had drank it without complaining.
Daniel is on the dance floor with Yuki now, and he alternates between looking like an idiot and the hottest person Max has ever seen. Daniel catches his eyes and winks, flows easily from a weird move where he had spun Yuki around to nearly the point of dizziness into something seductive, his arms reaching overhead and hips twisting, and Max catches a blast of color on Daniel's ribcage.
It's fucking stupid is what it is. A teenage crush held onto for too fucking long, but Max wants to see what it is, run his fingers along the lines, sink his teeth into Daniel's rib cage.
Daniel turns and makes an weird come-hither gesture that has Max rolling his eyes and taking another sip of his drink to try to ground himself.
And then he's drawn back into a conversation with a few of the engineers, and he's able to fall back into the safe space of talking about the car, and the next couple of races. He's comfortable, relaxed, by the time Daniel slides in next to him, throws an arm around his shoulders, and people laugh at them and turn towards other conversation.
"I'm really happy to be back, Max," its serious, the way Daniel says it, none of his usual teasing, no laughter threatening to bubble up.
Max feels a little raw, his voice too thick, his eyes burning, "I'm really happy you're here, Daniel."
Daniel squeezes his shoulder a little too hard. Max prays for it to leave bruises, some way for him to remember this feeling tomorrow.
---
They're in some hotel where he's been given special key cards that let him into wherever he wants to go whenever he wants to go there, because the owner is a huge fan.
The idea hits him during dinner and he can't get it out of his head.
And it's a risk, he knows, to watch the clock strike midnight, an hour after everything but the bar in this hotel should be reasonably closed and several hours after he should be sleeping. Riskier to pull on swim trunks that rode a little too high on his thighs, a shirt that was slightly too tight around his biceps, that he should've thrown out years ago. But there's two weeks between races, enough time to be able to shrug off any accidental awkwardness.
He shows up at Daniel's room, his fist hovers over the door.
Holds his breath.
Knocks.
The door opens and Daniel looks soft in an oversized hoodie, curls falling loose and damp across his forehead.
"Was gonna go for a swim, wanna come?"
Daniel's face lights up in a way that Max wants to save forever.
The pool is on the roof, and the stars are drown out by the light of the city, but it's warm and empty. Max's head feels fuzzy from the beer he had earlier, and maybe a little bit from Daniel's attention.
There's no time to feel awkward about stripping out of his shirt. because even before he fully tosses it onto one of the lounge chairs, Daniel is tackling him into the deep end.
"You fucker!" he pops up from the water, coughing and trying to rub the water out of his eyelashes.
Daniel laughs, and it's full and it sounds alive.
Max can't help but laugh back, splashes at Daniel until they call a truce. They float underneath the stars and shoot the shit about how Red Bull might do this year, what it might be like for him to win a fourth championship in a row. It's easy and warm. Max wants to stay forever.
But from the water refracting the dim pool lights, he can only see the vague lines of the ink, a watery blob on Daniel's side.
They eventually get out to towel off, and it's now or never. "That's a new one," he leads.
"Oh, ah, yeah. It is." Daniel almost sounds shy, grabs for his towel, abandoned on the ground pre-tackle.
Daniel had given him a full, unsolicited tour of every tattoo on his body when Max was nineteen. It's insane that he'd be shy about something on his rib cage, when Max has seen Daniel fully take off his pants to show off ink on the uppermost part of his thigh. If teenage Max had jerked off later to the thought of digging his fingers into that ship, then it's no one's business except his own.
"Can I see?"
Daniel sucks his lower lip into his mouth for a minute, "It's kinda stupid?" But he turns anyway, and Max is left staring at Daniel's side.
It's a lion, rearing on hind legs, in full color. It's majestic. It must have hurt like hell. Max thinks he knows what this is, but he needs to be certain. Needs to know that this is something he's allowed to want. Needs to know it's something that Daniel wants too. He has to know, for real, "Is it? Stupid? Do you regret it?"
"No." Daniel says, too fast. "No, definitely not. I just. I don't want you to feel weird about it?"
"Should I feel weird about it?" Max steps closer, feeling a little predatory, a little like the lion, wants to pull Daniel into his room about it. Maybe wants one of them to get fucked into the mattress about it.
"It's ah," Daniel swallows and Max can't manage anything but fixating on the bump of his Adam's apple, the way Daniel's tongue licks his lips for the briefest of moments, "it's for you. I mean, obviously. Of course it's you."
Max is rooted to the spot. There has to be something wrong with his interpretation of this. Something weird in the English language that he can't quite translate right. One of the odd Australian sayings that Daniel is always trying to teach him. Max reaches out to touch without thinking, runs his fingers along the lines, feels goosebumps pop up, hears the quick inhale of Daniel's breath. This close to Daniel, he can smell the faint spice of his cologne under the sharp scent of chlorine.
"I'm sorry, that's..." Daniel is chewing on his lip, "that's probably really fucked up. I just. I just wanted-"
He's touched Daniel's tattoos before, knows the angry way that new lines raise up on his skin. These are flat, healed. Daniel's eyes are so big, his lips parted. It's easy to lean forward, to catch Daniel's lips in his own.
Max wants in a way that he think might destroy them both, burn them both until there's nothing but ashes left.
---
They manage to keep their hands off of each other for all of the elevator back down to Daniel's floor, just a little closer than Max's own room.
Daniel's hands fumble in his pockets a minute trying to get his key card out.
The door slams closed and suddenly it's quiet.
"Hey, umm," Daniel looks sheepish. Max wonders if maybe this is where Daniel walks it back, "So I don't think I can do this if it's gonna be casual. Like, I know you kids and your situationships, and all that, but like, I'm an old man now, and I get it if that's not on the table for you"
Max stares, and this would be the time to jump in and say something, there's a silence hanging between them, but his mouth is dry and his body is overly warm from the pool and from kissing, and he thinks briefly that maybe he's in a dream.
Daniel jumps in, willing to fill Max's awkward pauses, "Of course that's not on the table for you. Nothing has to be weird, Max. It's okay. Just . . . say something?"
Daniel's lips have flattened out and his eyes are glossy, and that cannot be the way the night goes.
"Daniel, when have I ever been able to be casual about anything?" Daniel has Max tattooed on his skin, Max decides he can be the brave one here, "Of course I have always wanted you in whatever way you would let me have you. I would very much prefer this to not be casual."
Max isn't sure who moves first but then they're kissing again, bumping into walls, tugging clothing loose.
In his dreams: he's on top looking down on Daniel, a little too needy, too aggressive. In his worst dreams, he's too much and Daniel lets him down gently, softly, mate, maybe we should take a breather here. In his most hopeful dreams, Daniel would smile up at him indulgently, let him take what he wanted with clumsy hands.
In reality: Daniel is fucking strong and acts like an octopus, pushes him down onto the bed hard, and links their legs together, ruts up against Max while he sucks a bruise into his neck. It's all Max can do to get a hand free to tangle up in dark curls, try to angle his hips up to meet Daniel's thrusts. It's messy and over too fast, but afterwards, Daniel is laying next to him grinning and winding their fingers together, and Max falls asleep easily for the first time in a long time.
---
"Max."
It's warm and Max is in bed, and there's a whole two weeks between races. There's no reason for him to be up right now.
He burrows further into the soft and warm.
"Maxy."
"Daniel."
"Max, Maxy, baby," it's embarassing, frankly, the way Max's insides go warm and soft at the endearment, "this is great. I am having a great time, maybe the best time of my life. I would stay here forever, please believe me, but I have a flight to catch."
The logic in his mind says that it's time to let Daniel go. If you love something, set it free and all that. But the ugly, grabbing thing inside of him doesn't seem so bad after last night, not when Daniel had carved a bright orange sign into his own skin begging Max for it. Not when Daniel's eyes were wide and earnest, not when Daniel's hand was warm and solid against Max's arm.
Max lets the awful, wanting thing inside of him win, for once.
He tightens the arm around Daniel's waist, "Fuck your flight, Daniel. I have waited almost a decade for this. I will of course fly you wherever you want to go. Later." He bites into a tattooed shoulder, "Much later, maybe."
Daniel's laughter bubbles up like champagne.