Chapter Text
Max truly believes he’s the stupidest man alive. Of course, of course he couldn’t keep his stupid big mouth shut and has quite possibly ruined things with Oscar forever. There’s no way he can spin this into a typical ‘bro’ compliment he thinks. Nothing about being so distracted by your friends’ arms to pay attention to a conversation can be categorized as typical paddock banter. Back in his Monaco apartment allows himself to freak out about it. They’ve got a week between Jeddah and Miami and Max plans to use every free second to wallow in his own stupidity.
It's not like he thinks Oscar is homophobic, he knows the other driver is less than straight. Between the constant chatting and more than a couple drunken conversations, Oscar knows Max isn’t either. But Max isn’t going to fool himself into thinking Oscar likes him back. Oscar is just nice to everyone! He would play padel with other drivers if they asked, he totally knows other drivers’ favorite restaurants in the principality, and he definitely would let other drivers grope his arms without even the slightest protest- Max really needs to stop thinking about this.
He can’t spend another minute stuck in his apartment stewing in embarrassment from Jeddah and jealousy from a made-up scenario. Max decides to go to padel to get his mind off things. He sends a quick text to his trainer to meet him at his usual facility. It'll be good he thinks- try to sweat out the crippling secondhand embarrassment. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to look at Oscar next week without immediately thinking of how the muscle of Oscar’s bicep felt under his hand, or how warm his skin felt, or how pretty his flushed cheeks looked before Max fled- Max really needs to stop thinking about this.
When Max gets to the padel courts, Rupert is already there chatting with two other people. As he gets closer, he sees exactly who they are and any hope of sweating out his feelings immediately vanishes. Oscar and his trainer Arthur are also here. If he had any lingering doubt about the universe playing tricks on him, it’s solidified in this moment.
“Hey Max!”Rupert calls out to him, “ We’re playing doubles with Oscar and Arthur if that's ok.”
Max joins the circle they’ve formed. He returns a smile towards Oscar, watching the other driver fiddle with his racquet string. It’s a new racquet Max notices, the same brand he uses, Oscar must have taken his suggestion from a few weeks back. That does something to his heart, knowing that Oscar is listening to, and thinking about, his opinions.
It’s not like he can say no to Rupert, that would be incredibly awkward and then he would have to explain to Rupert why he can’t play with Oscar and he’s definitely not doing that. Plus he doesn’t actually want to say no, he loves every second with Oscar he can get, especially outside of the paddock. And Max is a weak weak man, he’s just been offered at least an hour of seeing Oscar in gym shorts and a tank top, it’s not like he was ever going to say no, even if it’s at his own detriment.
“That sounds great” Max replies, “We could do drivers versus trainers since you are always complaining about playing with me.”
Rupert scoffs at him, “Yeah because you always blame me when we lose”
Before Max can open his mouth to explain that, no, actually, it is Rupert’s fault they lose, Arthur starts moving them all towards the courts; something about ‘losing their time slot’ or equally as unimportant as defending his padel abilities.
If Max is being really honest, the less time he can spend acknowledging Oscar’s presence the better, if he can just wait this out, eat up enough time arguing with Rupert, then maybe Oscar will forget all about Jeddah and never bring it up ever again. That’s why he suggested he and Oscar be on the same team, having the other man in his peripheral playing makes him easier to ignore than across the net where Max can see him. He wants to see Oscar a little bit all the time but a larger part of his brain reminds him that ogolling him in front of both their trainers probably isn’t the best move, so he vows to limit his interactions to the bare minimum for the rest of the day, for safety’s sake. At least that’s what he reasons in his head; it has nothing to do with the fact that Max just likes Oscar close.
———————
Max is trying to kill him. Four sets of padel in and Max is truly going to end his life. First, playing with Max sucks; they’re both terrible at padel and have scored a measly amount of points. Second, Max is borderline ignoring him only talking to call for the ball and the occasional exclamation of defeat. It’s not like him at all. Usually he and Max chat while playing, even if they’re playing against each other and especially while on the same team, so the silence from Max is putting him a little on edge. Third, Max is wearing these god awful shorts.
Oscar was really hoping not to see Max any time soon… or ever again really. Jeddah had been an embarrassment. Max gave him one off handed compliment and he blushed like a school girl for a solid hour after the fact. Every off track hangout, every podium together, hell even their convo about tyre deg basically had him borderline kicking his feet. But nothing can quite compare to seeing Max in those stupid shorts he seemed to have an affinity for.
Today’s pair are made specifically to torment Oscar, he thinks. They’re a green base with some form of yellow design that Oscar can’t quite make out. He’s not actually looking all that hard at the shorts, other than being in the aussie sporting colors- because of course they are- and being approximately an inch and a half too short, Oscar is way too busy staring at Max’s thighs to notice much else. He knows he misses a couple points because of it but Oscar just can’t stop looking. Max has really good legs, strong, large, a fine layer of blonde hair, really it’s not Oscar’s fault that he can’t stop looking, and if Max isn’t talking to him then he won’t call him out on it.
If anything Oscar should be the one refusing to talk, Max is the one who made it awkward. If it’s about Jeddah then Oscar’s sure they can get over it and get back to normal, no need to draw out an agonizing let down just because Oscar can’t seem to school his emotions around the one person it matters. If it’s not about Jeddah then Oscar’s at a complete loss.
Eventually they get tired, Max and Oscar tired of losing, Rupert and Arthur just physically tired and they call it a day. Max is packing his gear away when Oscar decides to approach him. He’s being weird and Oscar’s not going to lose his running buddy if he can’t even figure out the reason why Max isn’t talking to him. Just as Max starts walking towards the door, Oscar falls into step.
“Mate I hate to say it but I think Rupert’s right, you suck at padel.” Oscar tries as he pushes the door open, stepping out onto the Monaco street. It’s about dinner time and the streets are crowded so he sticks a little closer to Max than probably necessary.
“You are of course just as bad!” Max retorts, “You missed so many shots, even with your new padel I thought you would be better.”
Oscar can feel himself start to blush. He had taken Max’s suggestion a couple weeks back about a new racquet, he didn’t think Max would actually notice. It was nice, to feel like Max paid attention to the small things he did. He tries to school his expression to something more neutral and less lovesick before replying.
“Maybe we can just say that Arthur and Rupert are too good and there’s nothing we could’ve done,” he says.
Max gives him a laugh about that, it makes his heart flutter. “Yes totally that was the reason,”
They continue chatting, small talk that doesn’t mean anything and Oscar starts to feel better. It’s easy with Max, just to fall back into the rhythm they’ve always had when suddenly Max stops and Oscar realizes that they’ve made it back to Max’s apartment building. He also distantly remembers that he might have left Arthur back at the padel courts. Oscar has never been in Max’s apartment, he’s always come up with some excuse to either meet up somewhere else or hang out at his own. Oscars worried that it’ll be the final nail in his metaphorical coffin, seeing Max’s apartment, his cats, his decorations, the little bits of personality he leaves around, seeing it all would cement Oscar’s feelings from crush to maybe, kind of, slightly, falling in love. Before Oscar can come up with his excuse, (and he has a good one, he did actually leave Arthur across town), Max turns to him.
“Do you want to come up and play fifa? We can order in dinner as well,” he says, staring at Oscar.
Oscar can’t help but stare right back. Max’s gaze is always intense but sometimes he thinks can see it soften when he looks at Oscar.
Oscar knows this is a bad idea; knows that he’s being lowered into the ground, but he is a weak weak man and Max looks at him with so much hope in his eyes that Oscar is powerless to do anything else the reply, “Lead the way,”
Max’s apartment is exactly what he expected and it makes Oscar feel conflicted. On the one hand, it fills him with a sense of pride that he knows Max well enough to guess what his home would look like; on the other, it makes it really hard to fight the gross, lovesick, feeling Oscar can feel building in his chest.
The layout’s not all that different from Oscar’s place, a clearly renovated open floor plan with the typical Monégasques details shining through the bones of the apartment. From the entryway he can see almost the whole floor plan minus the bedrooms and bathrooms.
There’s a blanket half draped over the couch and cat toys littering the floor of the living room. Tucked under the television is at least four different gaming consoles. To his left Oscar can see different kinds of cat treat boxes and a bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter. Next to his feet in the entryway is one of Max’s championship trophies being used as an umbrella holder.
Oscar looks back to the living room. The sun is just starting to set, casting a beautiful glow through the curtains. Max’s place looks lived in and well loved, so different from Oscars. He’s got the bare essentials and a few decorations his mum put up the last time she was here and that’s it. All the tax benefits in the world won’t make Monaco feel like home so why bother pretending it’s anything more than that. He doesn’t hate living in Monaco, it's just that he would rather live anywhere else. He hates the frivolity of everything, how every one seems to be trying just a bit too hard. The principality oozes glamour and Oscar can’t help to feel out of place. But Max’s apartment isn’t flashy, it’s cozy, and Oscar feels a twang of envy thinking of his own living room and vows to buy himself some curtains.
Just as Oscar’s putting his shoes on the rack, he sees three cats round around the corner of the hallway.
“Careful, Sassy can be weird about guests,” Max says to him as he takes Oscar’s padel bag from him, placing it on the counter.
Oscar crouches down and sticks out his hand for the cats to investigate. It’s been a while since he’s had a pet but he can at least remember not to pet them before the cats get used to his scent first. One of the bengals comes up to him, curiously sniffing his fingers before rubbing its face across Oscar’s palm.
“Huh, she never warms up to strangers that fast”
Oscar looks up at Max, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter with about five take out menus in hand. There’s a small smile on his face and a look Oscar can only describe as affection. He smiles back before he catches himself and turns his attention back to the cats. The other bengal, Jimmy, he deduces and the white fluffy one, Donut, have also decided they like Oscar enough for a scratch behind the ears.
“Um, if you want,” Max starts, “We can place an order from this italian place and then you could shower, I have some spare clothes,”
Oscar looks back up at Max as he talks, there’s a flush high on his cheeks and he’s fiddling with the takeout menus not looking down at Oscar. He can feel just how gross he is, still sweaty from padel. Borrowing clothes from Max seems like a bad idea but the thought of having to eat dinner while still sticky makes him cringe even harder so Oscar accepts. He gives Max his dinner order, takes a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from Max, and steps into the bathroom.
———————
As soon as Max hears the water turn on he thinks about what he’s done. He was supposed to avoid Oscar for the foreseeable future, not invite him into his apartment. Max gathers his things to shower in the spare bathroom, he feels gross from padel and his whole ‘sweat out the feelings’ plan didn’t even work. He’s quick in the shower, giving himself enough time to set up fifa before Oscar gets out as well. The thought of seeing Oscar in his clothes is doing terrible things to his psyche and he needs to distract himself. Max doesn’t know why he offered, there’s no way he can be normal about it, but if Oscar’s already taking up all of Max’s brain he might as well look the part.
Having Oscar in his space, in his home, is doing even worse things to Max’s psyche. He likes seeing Oscar puttering around his entryway, likes seeing him interact with his cats, likes that Oscar seems to meld with the comfortable feeling Max has tried so hard to create here. He doesn’t invite people over very often, Sassy usually is very bad with strangers (but not Oscar for some reason), and he’s just as picky about who gets to enter the one place he calls home anymore.
Max had moved here as soon as he could, he’s only changed apartments once and that’s because his old one apparently had some major water damage he didn’t know about until he moved in. He likes having his own bubble away from the rest of the world. At first it was just to get away from his family, from his father; he needed a place just for him without constantly worrying about performing for others. Now he had created his own sanctuary, everything in here was only things he cared about, just him and his cats, he didn’t like people coming in and disrupting his space.
Oscar was different. He fit perfectly in Max’s space, he didn’t disrupt the calm but seemed to add to it. Plus his cats liked him from the get go so that’s a good enough reason as any to let him stay for a while.
Max snaps out of his thoughts when he hears a knock at the door signaling their dinner. Just as he’s thanking the deliveryman Oscar steps out of the bathroom. The sweatpants are just a little too big so they sit low on his hips, leaving just a sliver of skin showing when Oscar raises his arms above his head to stretch. He’s slightly broader than Max, the shirt hugging his waist and biceps. Max’s brain stops working all together. He watches Oscar stretch, sees the little bit of stomach and the way his face is still flushed from his shower. Standing in Max’s kitchen in Max’s clothes has Max practically drooling.
“Perfect timing then,” Oscar hums
Max can bring himself to reply. He’s always had a terrible brain to mouth filter. He doesn’t particularly care about mincing his words or adhering to whatever politeness norm the media wants him to stick to that doesn’t even exist in Holland. He’s gotten better about when to speak up and say what he wants to and when to shut up, now is definitely one of the times to shut up. All the years he’s spent working on it vanishes around Oscar and he’s not having a repeat of Jeddah in his own apartment where he can’t escape.
He sets down their food on the kitchen island, happy to eat standing with the slab of marble separating them. They eat in a comfortable silence, the cats weaving around their legs begging for food until Max caves and gives them treats.
They eventually make their way over to the couch and Max finally gets the console up and running. They play a few rounds, Max beating Oscar every single time.
“I don’t know why I agree to play this with you every time, I always lose,” Oscar huffs, the exaggerated motion causing him to move closer to Max.
They’re sitting next to each other on the couch, if Max concentrates enough he can feel the heat from Oscar’s leg seeping over to his. Since Oscar shifted he can feel the Aussie's shoulder brush his every time he hits the controller.
Max clears his throat desperately trying to find his voice. He turns towards Oscar to reply, he can see now the intense focus in his eyes, the ways he’s biting at his lips in concentration. Oscar’s lips, pink and slightly puffy where he’s been worrying at them, have Max so distracted he misses when Oscar finally scores a goal. But it does also mean that Max can see the exact moment Oscar’s face lights up in triumph so he reasons the 5-1 score is worth it.
————————
Oscar’s smiling as he turns to face Max, ready to rib him about the easy goal only to see Max already looking at him. Any words he has die on his tongue when he sees the look on Max’s face. Oscar knows he shouldn’t read into it, can’t read into it, but Max is looking at him like he’s in a daydream, not like he’s finally scored his first goal of the night. He hadn’t noticed before how close they had gotten but he notices it now. Their legs are almost touching and with the way Oscar had shifted to look at Max has their shoulders pressed up against each other. Oscar should look away, is about to, when Max finally whispers,
“You’re so pretty”
It’s barely loud enough to hear over the game in the background but it makes Oscar’s breath catch all the same. He can see it now, in perfect hindsight, how he and Max have been dancing around each other for months. Can see how the touches lingered just a bit too long, how none of the other drivers hung out this much outside of the race weekend, how after every race good or bad, Max was looking for him just as much as Oscar was looking for him. He can’t figure out how he missed it, it’s so obvious now how Max looks at him.
Oscar realizes he hasn’t responded when he sees Max’s eyes go wide and he starts to tense up. He begins stammering out an apology that Oscar definitely doesn’t want to hear so he does the first thing he can think of to make Max shut up, and kisses him.
It’s just a quick peck on the side of Max’s lips, not particularly graceful but if Oscar’s read this completely wrong he at least wanted to kiss the freckle on Max’s upper lip at least once. It does its job and Max stops talking. He stares at Oscar in shock for a split second before diving back in, crashing against Oscar’s lips.
Kissing Max feels electric and perfectly comfortable all at once, they fit together so well, a balanced give and take. Oscar slides his hands up, one on Max’s waist the other now in his hair. Max does something sinful with his tongue and Oscar tugs at his hair ever so slightly. Max positively whimpers at the sensation and Oscar eats it up.
When they finally break for air Max’s lips are a swollen and beautiful pink. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess from where Oscar’s been running his hands through it. Oscar’s sure he’s not faring much better but he could care less, looking at Max mused up all because of him makes it worth it.
“I really like you,” Oscar whispers, just as soft as Max had earlier, scared that being too loud might drive Max away.
“Well I should hope so, you just had your tongue down my throat,” Max says back with a shit-eating grin dancing across his face.
That startles a laugh out of Oscar. He can’t believe this is the person he’s decided to obsess over.
“I of course like you a lot too,” Max says, a little quieter, a little hesitantly.
“So, what? It’s as simple as that? We keep doing what we’re already doing but now I get to kiss you?” Oscar says
“Yes, I think we do exactly that,”
Max leans in, pressing his lips to the side of Oscar’s jaw, quick pecks littering his jawline until he reaches Oscar’s lips.
———————
Oscar ends up spending the night, by the time they finally get their hands off each other it’s too late for him to walk back, and if Max is being really honest he doesn’t want Oscar to leave anyway. It also means that Max gets to discover that Oscar can fall asleep almost instantly. He’s curled up on Oscar’s side, head resting on Oscar’s chest. Oscar’s got his arm wrapped around his waist keeping him close. They haven’t been in bed more than five minutes and Oscar’s already fast asleep.
Max chuckles to himself, burrowing his head a little further into Oscar’s chest. He’s letting out little puffs of air and every so often his fingers twitch against Max’s waist. As he drifts off to sleep, held warm in Oscar’s embrace Max thinks it really could be just this simple.