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Daniel hasn’t shown his face at a Red Bull party in over five years.
Straight out of retirement, he’d been determined to spend some quality time in Oz. Get that ranch he’d always talked about. Put on his friends’ gigs. And it’d worked for a while. It’d been enough. He’d been happy.
But it’d tired him after a year or so.
He’d tried enlisting Micheal for a boys trip to LA, reliving the good days, but he had a family and another job now. Daniel had gone anyway, messing around with old friends on dirt bikes and jet skis, but it never quite felt the same or half as glamorous.
The house he’d owned in LA was, as he soon discovered, sold long ago. He’d been considering maybe moving back but his uninspiring trip had put an end to that short-lived plan.
That’s how he’d ended up back in Monaco, anyway. Paying someone to upkeep his ranch whilst he continually pretends that he still fits into this lifestyle.
He really hadn’t meant to show his face but it’s mightily hard to avoid the Monaco Grand Prix when one lives in the centre of the Principality.
Daniel hadn’t asked for Paddock tickets. He knew he could get them easily enough if he wants with just a few calls, but somehow that felt like cheating.
Instead, some eagle-eyed photographer had spotted him, despite the sunglasses and the cap, skirting around the edge of the track simply attempting to go about his day, and before he knew it, dozens of offers of hospitality were pouring in.
He doesn’t even really watch the races on TV anymore, never able to shake that sinking feeling that always seems to settle in his stomach. The results are hard enough to avoid so he always ends up hearing about them anyway. But it’d felt rude not to at least show his face after news of his rare sighting at a Grand Prix had spread online.
And, truthfully, he had accepted Red Bull’s invitation in particular simply because they were most likely to win.
They’d stormed the first few races and were on track for the championship once again. Daniel used to have bitter feelings about his old team doing well, but he figured that it couldn’t hurt to bask in their glory. He was always going to be a part of their history, after all.
Christian had welcomed him with open arms and, albeit, significantly less hair than when he’d last seen him, chuffed and with pats on the back.
He’d asked if he’d come with anyone and Daniel had had to pause and think before telling him no, pushing the thought that he’d never even thought to ask anyone further to the back of his brain. Christian had just smiled and clapped him on the back again.
Daniel was seated so closely to the roaring engines during the race that he began to feel that familiar thrumming in his veins again. His body experiencing visceral responses that hadn’t been awakened in years, leaving his muscles feeling weakened and lazy and his mind dizzy.
He’d felt near-enough exhausted by the end of the race, his legs aching when he’d followed the rest of hospitality to gaze up at Max on the top step of the podium, his Red Bull teammate beaming to his left and some up-and-coming new hotshot on his right.
There’s a two week break after Monaco, so of course everyone he’d bumped into had insisted on his presence at the after-party. Unable to conjure a suitable reason as to why not attend, Daniel had agreed.
The parties are different to how he remembers. Be that, good or bad.
It’s not on a yacht, for one. Red Bull, instead, hiring out the local club and instilling a guest list on the door. Daniel hadn’t really been formally invited and so was surprised when the bouncer had let him in anyway at the mere mention of his name.
Maybe he’s just getting old, but the lights feel brighter and the bass heavier as it pounds against his ribs. He’d purposely put a light dress shirt on but it instantly begins to stick to his skin as soon as he weaves his way through the crowds.
He finds his eyes searching for Max. To talk to him or to avoid him, Daniel doesn’t know. He’ll probably find out once he’s actually there in front of him.
They haven’t seen each other in years, with Daniel doing his hermit stint in Australia and Max jetting across the world winning races. There’s been the odd text here and there, mainly from Max to Daniel, but they still like each other’s posts and wish each other a happy birthday.
So they’re still friends. He thinks.
When Daniel finally makes it to the bar he orders himself a drink purely to give himself something to hold onto, sipping on it reservedly to make it last.
He then bumps into some people he vaguely recognises, that he’d probably met through Max long ago, grinning widely and easily as he opens the conversation with what a good weekend it was, allowing them to be quick to eagerly agree.
The night continues in pretty much the same way. Daniel recognises some of his old mechanics and shares an enjoyable conversation with them at the side of the room, glancing over the flashing lights and mess of bodies as they speak, watching everyone slowly become less coordinated by the minute.
There’s also plenty of people that approach him and chat to him familiarly, despite Daniel finding himself at a loss for who they are (he’s sure he’s not that old yet…), leaving him with no choice but to flash them a grin and just nod along when they instigate conversation.
He taps out after a short while, excusing himself to the bathroom and leaving his now empty glass on one of the tables as he pushes his way through the masses, his nose scrunching up when he feels his shoes stick to the floor and the air around him becomes thick and humid.
A sign helpfully informs him that the toilets are upstairs once he extracts himself from the fold and rolls his long sleeves to his elbow in a bid to help with the heat. And then he starts thinking about what how shit the design of the club is, with the toilets upstairs, when a drunk girl nearly slams into him after tripping down said stairs, shortly followed by her blonde friend apologising profusely in a language Daniel doesn’t speak.
Daniel offers a pressed smile as he slinks back against the wall to let them pass, really just wishing he could empty his bladder already and be done with it all, but he still has another flight to go.
He takes the last steps two at a time only to find himself led into the back of a long queue leading him to roll his eyes.
“Hey, what’s the hold up?”
Daniel asks the man in front of him when his attempts to lean his head through the doorway to identify the problem fail.
“There’s only two cubicles and someone’s either getting lucky or throwing up in one of them.”
Daniel pulls a face that makes the other man laugh, “Gross, man.”
“You just wait, I’ve been here five minutes already and the noises are definitely getting worse.”
He laughs, letting the man turn back around to his friends in front of him, but he really can’t be asked to wait any longer so decides to come back and try later.
Halfway back down the corridor, Daniel notices a ‘Staff Only’ toilet with its door half ajar practically inviting him in, and he still kind of really needs a piss, so it’s with little guilty conscience that he slips himself inside.
He’s about to mentally celebrate his luck when he suddenly realises he’s not the only one there.
The staff toilets are bigger on the inside but fair less lavish than the ones Daniel had just tried to visit. The light is dim, flickering idly in a morse code-esque pattern, but it emits just enough light to allow Daniel to make out the shape of two bodies moving together, stocky and muscled, one pressed up against the bathroom sink as the other leans downwards to deliver desperate, fast kisses.
“Oh!” Daniel hears the unappealing noise come out of his mouth before his mind’s even caught up and winces at its abruptness.
“Uh, sorry boys,” Daniel tries for jokey but it comes out kind of strange as he watches the two bodies reluctantly untwine, “I’ll, uh. I’ll just—“
The light chooses that moment to flicker brightly for just a second, but it’s a second long enough.
The man caging in the other against the sink is tall, dark and handsome to a T, with perfect stubble and perfect hair that makes Daniel want to roll his eyes when he catches him fixing it immediately back into place with a frantic hand.
The other man.
Daniel’s breath gets stuck in his chest.
The other man is Max.
“Oh.”
Daniel hears himself say again, this time soft and dull as he tries (and he means really tries) to drag his eyes away from where Max’s lips have been kissed sore and senseless, the skin around his mouth red and stubble-scratched.
Max’s eyes are wide as he seems to finally recognise Daniel’s face, but he doesn’t attempt to scarper his way out of the situation, bolting for the door, claws out, as Daniel was sure he would. Instead, his mouth is still falling from a grin.
“Daniel! Hi.”
And, somehow, still. Daniel is taken aback by how Max sounds exactly as he did all those years ago.
———
“So, uh,” Daniel struggles to get the words out of his throat, “You like...”
“Cock.”
“Men.”
Max speaks at the same time as him, his bluntness stunning Daniel into silence so magnificently that it makes Max grin and laugh.
“Yeah.”
He just agrees again, smiling around the straw in his drink.
“Right.”
Daniel just… stares.
He doesn’t know who this Max is, or how to interact with him.
He’s used to awkward, stilted laughter that goes on for too long and is a bit too loud. Used to brushing his hand off his shoulders when he gets a little too clingy and cringing at some of the things the younger used to say.
This Max. He looks comfortable in his own skin.
Everything from the way he sits to the way he holds his drink suddenly appears different to Daniel. The way foreign-sounding letters fall off his tongue more surely, the playful glint behind his eyes brighter and more prominent than before.
“So,” Daniel desperately tries to get his thoughts back on track. He may be different, but this is still Max. His friend.
“So. You’re not with… uh.”
“With Kelly?” Max supplies for him easily, barely batting an eyelid when Daniel had been carefully trying to tiptoe around the subject in case it’s a sore spot. Apparently not.
He nods, curling his fingers back around his drink when he remembers it’s there, the condescension wet against his skin. They’re back at the bar, tucked in the corner against the wall sat on stools a couple of feet apart.
“No,” Max says easily, then continues like he’s too used to justifying it, “For obvious reasons it had to end. Although, we are still good friends.”
Daniel hums and nods again, only to immediately feel like an idiot for probably nodding too much and not saying a lot. He’s not used to not having the upper hand.
“That’s good.” He chimes, at a lack of anything better to say, picking at the label on his beer bottle that he’d ordered as soon as he’d realised he needed to be way more sober for this conversation than he’d originally thought.
“Do you,” Daniel tries to think of a better way to ask but comes up blank, “So, is it like, you like both? Or?”
“No, just men.”
For a second Daniel really thought Max was going to use some sort of variation of the word penis again and give him a damn heart attack. Then his mind starts wondering how long Max has—
“I think, the whole time.”
Max tells him despite the lack of Daniel asking any more questions. To Daniel’s quizzical eyebrow, he replies, “Next, you were going to ask how long I’ve known. It is what everyone does.”
Daniel lets his mouth hang open for a second before holding up his hands in mock-surrender and testing the waters on a smile, “Guilty as charged.”
It seems to delight Max, the younger’s shoulders shaking with a breathy laugh, so he keeps the corners of his mouth turned up as he jokes, “Go on then, what comes next?”
“Um,” Max places his lips back around his straw, sucking concentratedly as he looks up to the ceiling to think, “Next I think you ask me if I have told my family or the team.”
Daniel chuckles as he supposes Max hits the nail dead on. Taking that as answer enough, Max tells him, “The team, they know,” as he gestures his free hand in vague circles around them, “Of my family, my mom and my sister know, of course.”
Of course. Daniel thinks dully back to himself. He dreads to ask but finds he has to.
“Your dad..?”
Max stares down to his drink but doesn’t cave in on himself like he used to. Instead, his shoulders are set and square.
“We do not talk any longer.”
Daniel keeps his silence and doesn’t let Max know he thinks that’s for the best.
“Now you will ask who that man was,” Max begins again, changing the subject and stealing back Daniel’s attention despite the fact that his mind couldn’t have been further from the question.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Max huffs out in a laugh, the corners of his mouth stretching too wide as if trying to work out if he can joke about this with Daniel yet and continuing when the Aussie holds his gaze and joins in his laugh, “I think, some kind of model. What about you?”
“Probably one of those influencers with billions of followers.”
Daniel suggests before taking a swig of his drink, causing Max to snort and push a hand against Daniel’s arm as he tells him that people can’t get billions of followers, because that’s ’literally impossible, Daniel!’.
“Fine then,” Daniel relents with a grin, “Probably a model. He had a nice face.”
Max hums in agreement, watching Daniel as he cocks his head to one side before he’s swirling his straw around in the leftover ice of his drink.
“He looked kind of like you.”
Max adds like an afterthought, oblivious to the way his words slam into Daniel’s body and curl around his throat in a chokehold.
It doesn’t help when Max knocks their knees together swinging himself back around to face the bar, nearly pushing Daniel off balance and out of his seat entirely because he’s not paying attention. Because he can’t.
How can he when Max just said that he—
That he what? Likes the way he looks? Is attracted to him? Would like to kiss him? Moan into his mouth like he had that other man’s?
Fuck.
Now he can’t get the image out of his head.
Max pressed up against the mirror, hands gripping at the edge of the sink, cheeks red with exertion, hair sweat-slicked.
“Another drink?”
Real-life Max before him asks, waggling Daniel’s empty beer bottle at him. Daniel nods despite not having remembered finishing it. Max calls the bartender over with his lilted accent and smiles back at him over his shoulder when he’s successful.
Fuck.
Daniel’s not… he’s never wanted… unless he did? And he hadn’t ever…?
He pushes back from the bar. It’s too much for his tipsy mind. Too much for the blood rushing through his veins. Too much. Too much. Too—
Then Max is shoving another beer towards him, sliding it across the bar until it nudges at Daniel’s fingers gripping white-knuckled onto the side, the condensation dripping onto his skin.
“What is it.”
Daniel’s finally able to get himself to choke out. Max pauses with his own drink midway to his lips, his expression confused yet expectant.
“That you like, in a guy.”
The words feel weird and heavy on his tongue so Daniel occupies his lips with his beer bottle soon after.
His question takes a moment to wash over Max before he’s moving again, a curious smile taking station on his lips.
“This is… not what I expected you to ask me next.”
Daniel feels proud to have blindsided Max, despite the other having been the one to have most definitely done the most surprising today.
“Well, it’s—“ He hates that he can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips as he drums them against the table, “I just wondered. Is all.”
There’s beat of silence before Max hums.
“Uh, I guess I like someone older and… maybe stronger than me. With muscles,” Max smiles at him brightly when he glances over to catch Daniel drinking in every word, his teeth cutting sharply into his lips, “The beard is not too important actually, but it— it can be nice. I like it. And I like brown eyes because they are different to mine. Hair does not matter so much.”
Just when he thinks Max is finished he delivers one final blow, “They must be funny too. That’s important for me.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that it makes Daniel want to bark out a laugh, or maybe hide his face in his arms and cry out in confusion.
Because. Right. He’s not insane, right?
That’s him, Max is describing. It’s freaking Daniel Ricciardo through and through. And Max. Max is just not helping him at all right now with all of the images in his brain, inspired and morphed all from what he saw when he stepped into that damned bathroom unannounced.
Fucking shit, shit, shit.
What is he even doing?! He never meant to end up here. Monaco, the Grand Prix, this party, with Max.
“I’m… I think I’m gonna. I gotta go,” Daniel hears himself say, which is such bullshit but he just needs to get himself out of there. Anywhere away from Max and his… this newfound openness that somehow keeps managing to flay Daniel’s insides apart.
He barely manages to make it off of his stool before Max reads his intentions and moves to stop him. A pale and clammy hand sweeping across the bar to trap his own.
Instinctively, Daniel tugs to retract his hand but Max pushes down a little harder, keeping him in place. His face too neutral.
“Max.”
He breathes heavily out of his teeth, feeling all too much like an animal in a trap willing to gnaw off its own leg.
“Max. Please, I don’t—“
“Daniel.”
Max just says, and it’s the calmest that Daniel thinks he’s ever heard him.
“Daniel,” It’s softer now. It’s against Daniel’s ear. They’re way too close.
“Come back to mine,” Max implores, and he must feel the instant rigid jolt of his spine because he adds, “Just. To talk, please.”
There’s a beat of silence when Daniel finds himself with nowhere to look but Max’s eyes. Deep blue. He likes them because they’re different to his own.
“I think we should— I want to talk to you,” Max continues when he feels Daniel’s body slowly begin to unfurl from itself, “I promise. Just talk.”
Daniel lets himself stare at Max a moment longer, following the sharp lines of his face, the wrinkles beginning to form at his forehead and the little crinkles that so wonderfully bracket his eyes.
Then, the answer suddenly feels all too easy.