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Max looks like a cat.
He reminds Nico of the cat he had as a child. Not his cat, of course, but a street cat who simply decided to choose their yard as his home. The cat often hid as soon as he saw people, and occasionally played with some candy wrappers or garbage that he stole from the trash heap. Little Nico always wanted to stroke this certainly fluffy fur, touch the little paws, or just listen to the cat purr. Every time his parents told him that this cat was a street cat, covered in fleas and very, very angry. They frightened their son with stories about how this stray cat attacked and scratched the neighbor's children, how he tried to bite adults and "you know he's never been to the vet, honey, he's probably contagious". It was very sad to watch the ginger cat from afar, not being able to get closer and touch this fluffy ball: the mother always pulled her son away, and the father scared the animal, driving it away.
But Nico liked him. He was used to the fact that, when returning after school, he could occasionally notice a cat in the yard. He could hunt, bask in the sun, or just watch what was happening. He lived his own life, did not depend on anyone and did not need anyone, being lonely and not needed by anyone. This thought each time broke little Nico’s heart so much that one day he decided to somehow make life easier for the ginger cat.
The first attempts to establish contact were unsuccessful: the cat was afraid of him, hissed and extended its claws, hiding somewhere in a secluded place. Little Nico did not give up and tried again and again, buying food or giving away some of his food that his mother prepared for him. Nico never stayed for long, knowing that the cat was afraid of people and would never eat in front of him.
After some time, the cat began to wait for him from school. Lessons ended at about the same time and Nico noticed that the cat began to sit not far from his house, looking directly at him. It was cute and meant that the street cat was looking forward to him. That the cat is starting to trust him.
Soon after this, the cat began to appear in the morning. He didn’t stay for long, more often than not he just ran past, but he always turned to Nico and froze for a while, looking straight at him and blinking. Much later, Nico learned that if a cat looks at you and blinks slowly, then he shows that he trusts you and that he likes you. It was such a discovery! A street cat who doesn't like people trusts him, some unknown boy who just feeds him sometimes!
After some more time, little Nico wanted to pet him again. So much time has passed, it started to get colder, and at the same time, the cat began to hide more often in some strange places, like a pile of fallen leaves, an unknown cardboard box, or simply under children's slides. Nico began to feed him something meat more often, smiling when the fluffy ginger ball ate in front of him and played staring contest with him for a long time. Soon it even turned into a kind of ritual: say hello to the cat before school, greet the cat after school, feed it, play staring contest with it, say goodbye to it. These actions recharged Nico, helped him after a hard day and lifted his spirits on ordinary days.
And then, one day, the cat came too close. He literally slammed his little head into Nico's leg and purred, rubbing against Nico's clothes. And then Nico realized that it was day x, because the cat really trusted him completely. So much so that he carefully fell on his back right in front of him and exposed his stomach, displeasedly sweeping the ground with his tail in anticipation of affection. It was from that day that the cat became his close friend, to whom Nico sometimes ran in search of support and to whom he gave his love.
Of course, nothing lasts forever in this world, and at some point the cat disappeared, but in Nico’s heart there forever remained a ginger street cat who decided to trust him.
And now, looking at Max now, Hülkenberg sees in him that ginger street cat. Brazen enough to cut off another racer on the track, but also gentle enough to stick around after the race to sign a little fan's cap.
"What are you doing here?" — the first thing Nico hears when the door to the common room for drivers closes and Max freezes on the threshold.
"What does it look like?" — Driver Haas chuckles and locks the screen of the phone he’s been looking at for the last ten minutes. — "Resting."
Verstappen blinks slowly and shakes his hair, damp with sweat. The race ended almost a year and a half ago, the awards and interviews are behind us, and only the trip home is ahead. Max had once again taken first place and was now returning from the last interview still sweaty and sticky from the champagne.
"It’s more like someone forgot their dog," — Max jokes and once again wipes his hair with a towel draped over his shoulders.
Hülkenberg just grunts in response and gets up from the sofa. He himself managed to change clothes and at least clean himself up a little, hiding behind sunglasses and a cap. He looks more like a fan than a professional Formula 1 racer compared to Max, who looks like he just came out of a washing machine.
They look at each other. Verstappen takes his cap off his head, combing his hair back, and Nico raises his arms, spreading them to the sides. A second and the cap flies somewhere to the side, and Max closes the distance between them in a couple of wide steps. He's still too hot from the race, but the German only squeezes him tighter, resting his chin on the top of his head. He lets Max snuggle closer, and buries his nose in his damp hair, smiling at the way he's hugged back.
"Today was a hard day, yeah?" — Nico says, stroking the Dutchman’s back with wide movements. He hums in agreement, hugs him with his whole body, and exhales noisily, finally relaxing for the whole day. — "Do you want to have a snack? I know a place not far from the hotel..."
"Hmm," — Max interrupts him and takes another deep breath. His eyes are closed, and all his attention is directed to Nico’s heartbeat, which is so clearly audible through the rolling fatigue.
"What, princess, do you need a prince on a white horse to take you to the right place?" — Nico teases, but does not meet any objections. His smile becomes softer, and his hands move down to his narrow waist and circle it. — "What, you really don’t have that much strength? I can bring food to your room," — the German’s voice also becomes softer and more velvety.
They don’t answer him, but Hülkenberg understands everything even without an answer. It just happens that way - it’s quite easy to read the thoughts of a lonely cat who trusts him. This same cat caresses, rubs his whole body to leave his scent on his loved one, and Nico, honestly, is delighted. Who wouldn't?
They get to the hotel so easily and without prying eyes that Nico becomes a little bolder, intertwining their fingers. They are both lucky in the absence of paparazzi and overly intrusive fans, which is incredibly pleasing even to the tired brain of the Dutchman, who nevertheless took first place at today's grand prix. Max turns out to be an obsessive stickler who craves attention and love. He doesn’t allow to take off shoes normally, he hugs from the back, press to side and hold hand, silently looking into eyes and blinking slowly. Exactly one of the cats that he loves madly.
Nico cannot oppose him with anything, cannot ask for space, because, frankly, he gives in under someone else’s pressure. He weaves his fingers into Max's hair, fingering it, allowing him to play with his hand while he throws his jacket somewhere on the nightstand, and he pulls the Dutchman towards him so that they can fall onto the bed together. Max immediately settles down on his strong chest, placing his head directly against his beating heart, and Hülkenberg can't help himself as he wraps his arm around the driver's waist, drawing circles with his thumb. Somewhere in the background there is a rhythmic sound of the evening city noise, the sound of the air conditioner in the room and people in other rooms. It's soothing, like a lullaby, but the German keeps his eyes open, just staring at the ceiling. His free hand finds Max's and intertwines his fingers with him again, silently giving all the unspoken tenderness.
It seems like an hour passes before driver Haas comes to his senses. Verstappen fell asleep while he himself seemed to have dozed off. The gaze falls on the top of the head with hair sticking out in different directions. Nico chuckles to himself as he unlinks their intertwined fingers and runs his knuckles down the other's cheek. The residual stickiness of dried sweat and champagne on the skin feels slightly unpleasant, but familiar, and someone else's laughter and the screams of the crowd suddenly echo in head. Nico smiles.
By the time Max wakes up, it is late evening. He sleepily rubs his eyes, sits up on the bed and looks around, trying to figure out where he is. Memories of the end of the race quickly return to him and he frowns, pursing his lips a little. He was definitely with Nico, but where is he now? The answer to his question comes naturally when the door to the hotel room opens and Nico comes inside with fragrantly smelling bags. He smiles wider, seeing that his lover is awake, and puts the bags on the coffee table, and then comes closer and ruffles the guy's tangled hair.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty." — Max winces, squints and closes his eyes, exposing himself to the caress, and at that moment a wave of disgusting tenderness rises in chest, drowning Nico’s poor heart.
"What year is it now?" — Max asks hoarsely and chuckles. He cranes his head as nimble fingers move down to his jaw and cheek, tracing them softly.
"The one in which you go to the shower, and then eat a delicious hot meal. Hurry up, the food is getting cold."
Another sigh escapes the Red Bull driver's lips. The bed creaks slightly from the weight that has disappeared. Max stretches like a cat and smiles contentedly, stealing a t-shirt and shorts from someone else’s closet. Hülkenberg watches him go and, after hesitating a little in the room, follows. He doesn’t plan any lewdness or sex, he just walks in somehow mechanically and smiles at the corner of his lips when he realizes that, instead of a quick shower, Max is starting to draw a bath.
"Should I rub your back?" — Nico asks, sitting down on the side of the bathtub. He watches as Max pulls his t-shirt over his collar and pulls his jeans down his hips. A little sloppiness, a little haste, a pinch of openness, that's all the performance he gets in the small bathroom sharing space with Verstappen. It feels intimate, but as if on a different level, so soft and relaxed, casually and without sexual overtones.
Like home.
Plunging into the gradually filling bathtub, Max just smiles at Nico. He leans his forehead against Nico's side, closing his eyes, and allows him to play with his hair.
The mirror fogs up, becoming covered with condensation, the water quietly gurgles, slowly rising higher, and for a moment the whole world freezes, shrinking to this bathroom and the two of them. Perhaps there are people somewhere else, but considering how a wild street cat can relax right in your hands, Nico does not believe in the existence of the rest of the world. His entire universe fits into the guy opposite, a three-time Formula 1 world champion, a Dutch racing driver and just a man too crazy about racing.
"What are you thinking about?" — Max asks quietly, tilting his head back a little to see Nico’s expression. His gaze, reverent and affectionate, glides over the familiar facial features and stops at the eyes, depriving you of air. Because Nico will never get used to how quiet and loving Max becomes when he's alone with him. How he clings to him in search of warmth, how he allows himself to be himself and how he is not afraid to be more sincere.
"No, nothing." — There is shampoo in his hands and the German foams it, lathering someone else’s head. He combs his hair, massages it and goes down to his neck, paying attention to it too. Further lower, to the shoulders and back, to lather them too.
By the time they both leave the bathroom, the food is cold and the clock on the bedside table shows almost midnight.
"Oh, it seems we’re a little late," — Hülkenberg grunts and doesn’t have time to get to the food, because Max is already rustling the bags and looking at everything.
"Did you buy lasagna?" — the Dutchman speaks with some breath, sparkling with stars in his eyes. He almost drops the rest of the food along with the bags when he rushes to get one of his favorite dishes. The container crunches when Max opens it and rushes to try the lasagna. That satisfied sigh that follows the fork in your mouth makes laugh.
"Do you like it?"
"I’m ready to kill for this lasagna, it’s awesome even cold." — Nico laughs louder from the first curse of the evening and wipes the sauce from the corner of Max’s lips.
"I hope not me?"
"I will think."
Late dinner is spent in cozy conversations. Max says something about his cats, whom he left at home, about the pleasant weather and something else, while Nico prefers to be a listener and eat leisurely. Not even their managers disturbs them, allowing them to rest, and both guys immerse themselves in the opportunity, enjoying each other's company. They eat, they lie on the bed, they listen to music and kiss in the morning after drinking a little.
At six o'clock in the morning, the eyelids stubbornly stick together and, wishing each other good dreams, they still go to bed. They cover themselves with a blanket, hug each other and fall asleep.
Before falling asleep, Nico thinks that Max looks a lot like a cat. But that's okay, because he loves cats, and this particular cat seems to love him even more.