Work Text:
Crash -
Max’s eyes snapped open as he was jolted from a dreamless sleep. His hotel room was quiet, still, cozy in that way that extended a hand of albeit brief respite from the hectic chaos of a race weekend - at least for one night. Inside the room there was little sound beside the rhythmic tick of a cheap hotel clock and the faintest rustle of the thick curtains swaying. Through a gap in those curtains however the night sky was suddenly illuminated, not by the city streetlights but another bolt of lightning arcing through the clouds and chased seconds later by thunder that roared like a wild beast trying to claw its vicious way in through the window. Even as the lightning flickered away, Max could hear the rain lashing wildly against the window panes. He rubbed his eyes and went to roll over, still mostly asleep and more than ready to drift off again, only as he moved something stopped him in his tracks.
Esteban was awake.
At first glance it looked as though he was sleeping - his back turned to Max and unmoving under the thick covers pulled up past his shoulders. But Max knew Esteban better than most. Even in the relative darkness of the room the long lines of his body were tense, an odd rigidity captive in the sharp curves of his shoulder. It was strange - Max knew as well as everyone how much Esteban valued his sleep, as well as how easily he could sleep through the noises of an active garage as easily as if they were birdsong. And yet, as another rumble of thunder rolled to a crescendo around them, Max watched Esteban’s fingers twitch against the soft pillow beneath him.
“Schatje?” He murmured, his voice thick with sleep and reaching blearily for English.
A pause. Then, Esteban lifted his head slowly, as if trying to mimic movement marred by sleep. “Oui?”
“You’re awake.”
Another pause. Esteban’s breath slipped out in an unreadable sigh as his head fell back to the pillow.
“Go back to sleep,” he said softly. The instruction served only to blow more cobwebs from Max’s mind and he shifted upward, onto one elbow, and peered through the gloom down at his boyfriend. A frown began to pull on his forehead. He opened his mouth to protest, to retort, anything in-between when another roll of thunder crashed overhead and Esteban visibly flinched. Max froze.
”Are you ok?”
”I’m fine.”
He shouldn’t have expected any other answer really. But Max was neither stupid nor blind; he could feel the tension in Esteban’s body and hear the abnormal tightness in his tone. He hesitated for barely a moment before lying back down, only rather than attempting to sleep once more he reached out, sliding an arm around Esteban’s waist and pulling him closer. For a moment Esteban did nothing but allow himself to be maneuvered until they were chest to chest. They stayed like that for a few moments, Max’s gentle tugging against Esteban’s immovable tension, before another flash of lightning leapt through the gap in the curtains followed by a clap of thunder, and Esteban’s breath seized as he flinched harshly again. Max’s hold tightened and at last Esteban melted against him, his hands skittering up to wind tightly in the grey t-shirt Max had pulled on to sleep and his head falling to Max’s shoulder as if there was sweet sanctuary to be found there.
Worry was clawing its way up Max’s throat and swirling his head like an unexpected spin in the car. This wasn’t like Esteban at all - in all honesty Max couldn’t think of the last time he’d seen the other man anything close to afraid - and the change was unnerving to say the least. Max was fumbling for words, something to break the horrible tension and ease the way Esteban was outright trembling in his arms, when Esteban spoke first.
“I’ve always hated storms.” His voice was muffled, barely above a whisper, but Max would always hear him. He didn’t respond, digesting this new piece of information. The storm continued to rage outside and Max shifted to hold Esteban that little bit closer as if his arms could shield him from the roaring thunder while his hand traced slow patterns along Esteban’s back in a rhythm he hoped was soothing. More lightning pierced the sky but here at least there was some solace.
Esteban sighed. His hands loosened their vice-like grip on Max’s t-shirt though he showed no sign of drawing away, as if avoiding eye contact allowed the words to come that little bit easier.
“When I was a kid, when we still lived in the caravan…” he hesitated for a moment and Max kissed the top of his head. He didn’t dare to speak, didn’t dare to interrupt whatever vulnerability Esteban was permitting himself as he went on. “The storms always sounded so much worse than they were. The wind would shake the whole thing and the rain would come down so hard it rattled the windows. I… I used to lie there, awake the whole night because I was afraid the whole caravan would collapse in on me.”
This time it wasn’t on purpose that Max stayed quiet; for once, all words had fled from the tip of his tongue. He worried vaguely he might be hurting Esteban with how tightly he was holding onto him now, his mind’s eye full of memories of the tiny boy Esteban had been back in those days and the ferocity Max had known him for, only to then picture the same boy lying awake and terrified that the only place he called home would fall apart - and take his dreams with it. Even the mental image sent Max’s heart shattering.
The Esteban of here and now made a weak noise, akin to a scoff of derision. “Pathétique, isn’t it.”
“It’s not pathetic, don’t say that about yourself.”
“But it makes no sense!” Esteban’s voice came tinged with audible frustration. “Merde, Max. I - we - got a podium last year in one of the worst storms I’ve ever driven in and I was never afraid but here, now, I…I can’t…”
”There’s a massive fucking difference between being in the car and in here. In the car you’re in control, in your element, with hundreds of things keeping us safe if we did crash - which you never did. In here it’s…” Max swallowed, searching for some - any - words that could show he understood, that he didn’t think any less of Esteban for flinching at the sound of midnight thunder, nor the place in his past that the fear came from. “Well,” he managed at last, “At least you’ve got me.”
A cringe of sheer embarrassment rolled down Max’s spine at his own words, only Esteban shifted just enough to pull back a little, and in the gloom of the hotel room Max watched a tiny smile tug on the corners of his lovely mouth.
“So I do.”
Thunder crashed overhead like a tidal wave of cacophony and Esteban’s breath stuttered, threatening to drag him back into uncertain fear before Max moved, acting not for the first time before his brain could catch up, and pressed his lips to Esteban’s in a kiss he wished could banish both the lightning overhead and the fear. Esteban kissed him back like it was as easy as breathing, freeing one hand to cradle the back of Max’s neck and keep him close even as the eventual necessity for air broke their mouths apart. It was worth being woken up, worth any disturbance, to feel how Esteban’s shaking lessened with every moment of proximity.
Eventually Esteban sighed, his breath brushing shakily over Max’s lips. “Que ferais-je sans toi?” He murmured. Max just blinked at him.
“My French isn’t that good, baby, you know that.”
“I know.” Esteban kissed him again, short and sweet. In the dim hotel light Max could see his smile grow that little bit warmer, a little bit more real, and this time when the thunder crackled and lightning flashed, Esteban just resettled against the pillows and pulled Max down with him. Shifting only to draw the covers up and over them both, Max gladly sank into his waiting embrace, eyes fluttering closed once more.
Outside the storm raged on and the morning crept ever closer, bringing with it more laps on track in cars that had so much more to give, with opponents drawing every-threateningly closer. But here, now, in the little sanctuary of duvet covers, each other's arms, and the tick of that cheap hotel clock, there was a fragment of peace that offered them the world - or at least a good night’s sleep.