Work Text:
Max’s back hits the hotel bed with a heavy thump.
Daniel closes the door behind himself, keeping his distance from Max for another few seconds, giving him space, the way he would for an animal that might attack any second if provoked.
“Fuck!” Max presses his palms into his eyes, hard enough that Daniel thinks ‘that’s gotta hurt’. “Fuck! Fuck Hamilton!” He kicks off his shoes with enough force that they both fly into the nearest wall.
Daniel gives a non-committal grunt in reply. This isn’t the time for jokes, unless he wants Max to lash out at him.
“You still got a podium out of it.”, he says gently instead, taking a few steps over to the mini fridge, grabbing two bottles of beer out of it.
“Pah.”, Max spits out, finally removing his hands from his eyes, which are blood-shot. “Fucking second.”
Daniel tries not to roll his eyes- at least Max got a podium, unlike him, who once again let everyone down in 11th. He doesn’t mention it, though. It’s not really worth it; Max is fighting for the title, and as much as Daniel is jealous of it, he also knows how it feels to be so close to the thing you want most- and he’s fucking proud of Max. It’s a bittersweet kinda thing.
He flops down onto the bed next to Max, handing him one of the bottles.
“Cheers, mate. Next race you’ll be on top again.”
Max just gives a grunt, and takes a big gulp of beer. They exist next to each other in silence for a while, Daniel playing around on his phone, checking Instagram, while Max just broods and exudes angry energy.
“My dad used to say second place is the first loser.”, he eventually says into the silence, making Daniel look up from his phone. The way he says it is… There’s moments when Max, as much as he’s matured in the past few years, is still just the 17 year old kid Daniel first met; talented, aggressive, and so, so incapable of failing.
“Well, your dad’s wrong.”, Daniel says unceremoniously. Max worships his dad, craves his approval like a beaten dog crawling back to its abusive master, tail wagging between its hind legs. Daniel remembers the way Max used to talk about how Jos beat him sometimes when he didn’t win- ‘It was just a slap, didn’t even hurt that much, I needed it to set me straight-’ while laughing like it was just a funny story and not one about child abuse.
Another unconvinced grunt from Max. Daniel half-turns, looking down at him. He’s not smiling, because he doesn’t feel like it for once.
“You’re one of the best drivers in the history of F1, Max.”, he says seriously, reaching out to press his palm down onto Max’s chest, hard. “You’re competing against a fucking 7 time world champion, and you’re still ahead on points. You’re not. A damn. Loser.”
A low, hot fury is simmering in his guts now; his season is shit, his performance is shit, being the second driver to another fucking teenager is shit, and Daniel feels like he might boil over any second; but he can’t, because he’s Danny Ric, the funny one, the one with the big smile, always in a great mood, never sad, only disappointed at most. And meanwhile, here’s Max, on his way to win his title at fucking 24 years old, moping because his dad taught him that if you’re not the best, you’re shit. Daniel places the bottle on the nightstand without looking.
Max stares up at him with wide eyes, lips parted. Daniel can tell Max is taken aback by his intensity, his anger. He flexes his fingers, fingertips digging into Max’s t-shirt and the flesh of his chest.
One of Max’s hands flies up, wraps around Daniel’s wrist, but its grip is so loose that Daniel can tell Max is just pretending. There’s a pink flush high on his cheeks, contrasting the blue of his wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights. Daniel wonders if these wide eyes are what Max’s dad saw the moment before his palm hit Max’s cheek.
“You’re a fucking champion, Max.”
Max blinks rapidly, then averts his gaze from Daniel’s face. “Not yet.”, he says, and there’s shame in his voice, and defiance.
“You will be.” Daniel feels like he’s losing it, in a really strange way, like something’s burning through his skin from the inside. He bunches up Max’s shirt in his fist, pulling, and Max’s grip on his wrist tightens, and a second later they’re both pushing and pulling, and Daniel throws a leg over Max’s thighs, holding him down, moving his body on top of Max until he’s straddling him, still gripping him tightly. Max lets go of the beer, and it falls, glass clinking against the floor. None of them pay it any mind.
“Listen to me.”, Daniel grits out between clenched teeth, “You’re fucking incredible, the best driver in years-” -Max’s breath hitches- “-and no matter if it’s this year, or next year, or the year after- you’ll fucking get your championship, because you’re that good. You’re a fucking winner, Max, a champion.”
There’s a muscle twitching in Max’s jaw as he stares up at Daniel, silent, blush spreading all the way down to his neck, chin pushed forward like a petulant child.
In this second of silence, Daniel feels Max’s erection against his own crotch. His own dick throbs in response. Fuck.
“And even if you weren’t winning, you’d still be okay. You’d still be worth something, Max. You don’t have to be the fucking best at everything to be worth something.”
“My dad-”, Max starts, but Daniel interrupts him. “Do you seriously want to talk about your fucking Dad while you’re hard?”
That shuts Max up just fine, his mouth hanging half-open. He quickly shakes his head, blessedly silent, and drops his gaze from Daniel’s face to his chest.
“Are you sure?” Daniel can’t resist asking as he slowly grinds his own hips against Max’s. Whatever this is, it feels like going 250 through Eau Rouge, unsure if he’ll come out the other side in one piece.
The shuddering exhale that leaves Max in response is something else. His right hand is still wrapped around Daniel’s wrist, his left hand is clenched in the sheets, knuckles white. His pupils are blown wide.
“What do you want, Max?” Daniel’s voice is low now, almost a growl. He’s got all the power over Max right now, has got him subdued, flushed, hard. It’s not a race win, but it’s something .
-
Max can hear his heartbeat in his ears, hammering away as his blood flows south. He’s painfully, embarrassingly hard against Daniel’s crotch- Daniel’s own erection, which he’s the reason for. Max can’t stand the way this makes him feel, wants to wriggle his hips, wants to avoid Daniel’s eyes, wants to get up, leave, punish himself for losing, wants to burst out of his skin, because this isn’t what he deserves right now, all this praise and… this.
“H-hurt me.” It comes out as a whisper, so thin and pathetic, but it feels like a prayer on his lips.
Daniel’s fingertips dig deeper into his chest before letting go. They must have left marks, for sure. Good.
Daniel sits back, and oh god, oh fuck . Max loses control of his facial expression for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks. He’s gonna come into his pants like a teenager, because his best friend is straddling him and talking about his dad.
“Hm.”, Daniel hums, cocking his head. Then, suddenly, his hand moves-
-and Max’s eyes close instinctively as he winces, waiting for the impact, waiting to get what he deserves, preparing himself for the pain-
Daniel’s fingers push into his hair, not gentle but not painful either, and Max holds his breath. Daniel pulls, pushing Max down towards the end of the bed, and Max takes a second to realize what he wants, but when he does- Oh.
He lets Daniel push him halfway down the massive mattress until his feet dangle off of it, and until Daniel’s thick thighs clamp down around his arms, pressing them to his side, effectively restraining him- Daniel’s bulge is right in his face. Max swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Open your mouth.”, Daniel commands, voice steady. Max does, obeying, because he needs Daniel to know that he can do what he’s told, can do what Daniel wants him to.
Two strong, tattooed fingers push into his mouth, against his tongue. Max closes his eyes, opening his mouth wider, until the stretch starts hurting his jaw; he welcomes the pain. His brain is completely empty, and entirely full of thoughts at once. He knows that somewhere, under the overwhelming need he’s feeling, there’s a voice asking what the fuck he’s doing right now.
“Good boy.” Daniel presses down on Max’s tongue, and Max’s thoughts of violence stutter to a halt. „Will you stop complaining if I fuck your mouth?“
Max chokes a little, pressing his eyes shut as he nods violently. Daniel‘s fingers are strong and taste like sweat and soap and beer, and Max wonders what his dick will taste like. Tears are forming in the corners of his eyes, and he can feel his cheeks burn.
He doesn’t want it to end.
Daniel shifts his weight, swinging one leg back over Max‘s chest until he’s kneeling by Max‘s head, then removes his fingers from Max‘s mouth so he can unbutton his shorts. Max dares to open his eyes for a second, and is met with the sight of Daniel towering over him, shoving a hand down his boxer briefs, sweaty curls hanging into his eyes. He looks big and powerful, and Max closes his eyes again, the image of Daniel‘s hard dick burning into his brain like a fever.
-
Max‘s lips part so quickly when Daniel pushes his dick against them. Daniel can see his pink tongue quivering eagerly, like Max is waiting for a popsicle instead of this.
It’s endearing, seeing him so trusting, and it fills Daniel with a grim satisfaction and something softer, something he doesn’t feel ready to explore yet, or ever.
Daniel shoves himself into Max‘s mouth, holding on to his hair. Max chokes almost immediately, tears spilling over, clinging to his lashes, and then he lets out a noise that’s so eager and needy and sweet that Daniel has to scrunch up his face so he doesn’t come immediately.
„Yeah, that’s it.“ He tightens his grip in Max‘s hair, and Max honest to god whimpers. „Your mouth feels so good. This is much better than complaining about getting a podium is it?“
Daniel can feel Max tense, and pulls on his hair in response. „Easy now… you were doing so well just now, just like you did in the race today.“ He’s rambling, but it feels right , and Max melts like butter against Daniel, shoulders slowly relaxing, and Daniel suddenly feels like he’s got the entire world in his hands.
„Can you be a good boy and do the best you can right now?“ This feels like they should be laughing together, feels like something Daniel should say with a grin on his face. Instead, his skin feels like it’s going to burn off of his flesh, and there’s tears clinging to Max’s quivering lashes.
Max hums to affirm, and for a second, his eyes blink open- steely blue and rimmed with red and full of gorgeous, glistening tears and desperation. Daniel drags his thumb over Max‘s temple, caressing the sweaty skin there for a second. Max’s eyes roll back before he shuts them again.
Daniel ignores the way his heart is twisting in his chest, and instead slowly pulls Max‘s head forward, pushing himself into his hot, wet mouth. A violent, guttural gag rips through Max, but he keeps going, doesn’t try to pull back.
„Good job, Maxy…“, Daniel praises, his own voice breathless by now. „Keep breathing, you’re doing so well.“ Max does as he’s told, because he’s always been good at receiving feedback, and steadies his breath. Daniel can see Max’s shorts tenting, his dick straining against the fabric. It’s gonna be fun to play with later, Daniel thinks, with a smidgen of cruelty.
Max swallows, his throat clicking, and Daniel can’t stop the groan it elicits from him. The noise seems to encourage Max, because he experimentally wriggles his tongue a moment later. Daniel lets out a deep breath, his head falling back.
“Yes, like this…” It comes out much softer than intended, way more intimate than he meant to, and is almost drowned out by the wet noise his cock makes when Max pulls back and sucks on the tip.
Daniel can feel his balls tighten, and he knows he’ll come soon. Normally, he would savor this much more, would drag it out and spend hours taking his lover apart, but that’s not what either of them need right now.
There’s wet trails on Max’s cheeks now where his tears have spilled over. Daniel drags his thumb through one of them, smearing the salty liquid across Max’s skin, and wonders when Max last cried, before tonight.
Max, brows drawn together in concentration, runs his tongue around the tip of Daniel’s dick, becoming more active now, trying to please. His expression reminds Daniel of how he looks in the simulator, and probably in his car for that matter, shutting out the world around him, focused on winning.
Daniel thrusts forward, throwing him off, making him gag, regaining control.
Max chokes, whimpers, and goes slack, and Daniel pets his cheek with gentle condescension. He can feel himself itching for something else, for something more, for the feeling over power and control and seeing Max fall apart.
“I’m gonna come.”, he tells Max, who immediately groans, hollowing his cheeks. But Daniel pulls back, holding on to Max’s hair, not allowing him to follow. Max fights it, desperate for Daniel to come into his mouth, down his throat- but Daniel knows how sensitive Max is, how that might actually be the thing that takes him from gagging to straight up vomiting. Max doesn’t know what’s good for him, of course, still trying to chase Daniel’s dick with his mouth. Daniel holds him down by his hair, and pushes his palm against Max’s cheekbone. “Easy, Maxy, we’re not doing that.”
Max growls in frustration, like a puppy, and opens his blood-shot, wet eyes to stare daggers up at Daniel. It’s cute, really. Daniel clamps his hand around Max’s jaw, holding it shut, and the defiance in Max’s eyes turns into shock, then need. It makes him look younger than he is now.
Daniel uses his other hand to grip himself, wrapping it around his own dick, jerking himself unceremoniously, the way he’s done a million times before. It doesn’t take long- he comes across Max’s face a few seconds later, abs tensing, fingers digging into Max’s cheeks.
-
Max only realizes he’s been holding his breath for the past seconds when his chest starts feeling tight. The bed is rocking gently as Daniel jerks himself off with fast, practiced movements. His fingers digging into Max’s cheeks are painful; Max wants them there forever. Maybe they’ll leave bruises; he’ll tell everyone that he got into a fight.
Daniel’s head tips forward, curls falling into his face once more. He sneers, eyes closed, and his expression sends a violent bout of arousal to Max’s groin. I did this , he thinks, and immediately feels embarrassed because he’s not a child with a craft project.
It doesn’t matter, though, because a second later, thick, hot come hits his closed lips, his cheeks, his nose, his hair. Max reflexively shuts his eyes, but in the same moment, Daniel’s hand leaves its spot on his jaw, moving up to cover Max’s eyes, making sure they’re protected, and Max’s legs involuntarily jerk up from the bed because that is making him feel all sorts of things that have nothing (or possibly everything) to do with his daddy issues.
Daniel lets out a deep, shuddering breath, and the sound causes Max’s dick to throb painfully. He’s been leaking into his boxers for a while now, but the overwhelming feeling that he shouldn’t be allowed his own pleasure tonight is still lingering.
Gently, Daniel removes his hand from Max’s face. His come is sticky, and all over Max’s face, and Max feels used and protected. Their eyes meet, and Daniel finally smiles, lopsided and sunny and familiar in a way that aches. Max tries to ignore the relief bubbling up in his chest when he sees that broad, signature grin.
“God.”, Daniel groans, stretching his shoulders in a way that makes his chest look so fucking good, relaxed in a way Max barely knows. He looks down at Max, who’s still lying there, painfully hard, face full of come, and his grin turns slightly arrogant, the way it used to when he beat Max on the simulator back when they were teammates. “Cute.”
Max feels his cheeks burn as they fill back up with blood. “Fuck you.” It comes out weak.
Daniel leans down and pinches one of Max’s nipples through his shirt, causing him to squeal and squirm. Max tries to grab for his arm, but Daniel evades him and flicks Max’s bulge- not hard, but hard enough to cause Max’s dick to throb.
“Fuck you-” Max repeats, a little stronger this time, but the rest of his sentence gets cut short when Daniel cups and squeezes him through the fabric of his shorts, a cheeky grin tugging on his lips.
“Nice.”, Daniel teases with an appreciative nod, and Max tries to find it in himself to joke, but instead, his still-burning throat closes up. Do it , he wants to say, touch me , he wants to say, and: please . Instead, he chokes out a dismissive, “I can take care of that myself.”
“Pah.” Dan’s fingers find Max’s fly. “Where’s the fun in that?”
-
Max has that deer-in-a-headlight-look on his face again when Daniel slowly pulls down the zipper and flicks open the button one-handed. Skills.
Max always looks best when he’s a bit fucked up, when his hair is mussed and his skin is blotchy and he’s sweaty, peeling himself out of a race suit. Right now, this effect is hitting Daniel full-force, with the added bonus of his come staining Max’s reddened cheeks, dripping into his hair.
His own orgasm has somewhat brought Daniel down from whatever weird high he was on before, caused by his own annoyances and Max’s pissbaby attitude- but he can tell Max is still very much on edge. There’s an insecurity in his expression, one that makes him look young and open and vulnerable, like he’s expecting Daniel to push him off the bed and tell him to fuck off any second now. Expecting to be rejected and dropped like a hot fucking potato. The kind of insecurity that can turn into aggression at the drop of a hat.
Daniel climbs into the gap between Max’s thighs. Max freezes, then catches himself and uses the moment to wipe at his face with the back of his hand, looking down at it with a mixture of awe and disgust that’s so endearingly on brand for him that it makes Daniel laugh.
He reaches forward, grabbing the waistband of Max’s shorts, and pulls them down with force, Max’s boxers coming off with them. Max hiccups, caught off-guard, but quickly and eagerly lifts his hips. His dick slaps against his naked stomach, his shirt having ridden up. It’s so hard that it looks mildly painful, tip a red that’s even deeper than the one on Max’s cheeks. It’s got a slight curve to it, good size, too.
Daniel wraps his hand around it, just testing, and Max hisses, head falling back.
“This is going to be a quick thing, huh?” Daniel can’t resist teasing Max, but it’s worth it, because for the first time in hours, Max laughs- a very brief, wet laugh, followed by his hands flying up to cover his face. But a laugh nevertheless.
Daniel, feeling satisfied, leans forward and spits on Max’s dick, smearing his saliva around to get things a little more wet and easy. Then he starts jerking Max in earnest, flicking his wrist on the upwards strokes, effective and fast. Max’s hips tip upwards immediately, and his legs fall open, spreading. Daniel knows he’d be thinking about fucking Max like this if he hadn’t just come.
Max keens, his own fingers pushing into his hair, toes curling against the bed. Daniel feels the grin on his face widening again as he watches the blush on Max’s face spread down his neck and continue under the neckline of his shirt.
“Come on, champion.” Only half-teasing, but the way Max’s spine tenses at that is more than telling. Daniel tightens his grip, and then Max groans into his palms, and shoots his load so hard that a few drops hit his chin. Oh, to be 24 again.
Daniel lets Max ride it out until his dick stops twitching, and then wipes his hand on Max’s already-ruined Red Bull t-shirt before throwing himself down onto the bed next to Max with a groan.
Max is breathing heavily, face still hidden. He’s a mess, sticky from his hair to his hips.
“Hey.”, Daniel says, nudging Max’s shoulder gently. “You okay?”
Max inhales deeply, then replies with a very emotional “Yep.”
“Feeling a bit better?”
Max grunts, then says “Yeah. Yes.” before slowly peeling his fingers off his face one by one. “...sticky though.” He turns his head to look at Daniel, cheeks pink, expression much softer than before all of this, and, oof. Daniel needs to crack a joke before… anyway.
“Better than champagne, huh?”, he asks, and Max laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You can borrow one of my shirts, you’ll look great in papaya.” Daniel pushes himself up onto one elbow, grinning down at Max.
“I’d rather go naked.” Max sits up with a noise like he’s a hundred years old, and looks around. “It smells in here.”
It does, actually. Daniel looks across the bed at the floor on Max’s side, and spots Max’s beer there, bottle tipped over, golden liquid slowly seeping into the hardwood. “Fuck.” The hotel will bill McLaren for this for sure. “I’ll say we partied too hard.”
“Sure.” Max stretches his arms, then his neck, and scoots forward until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “Can I use your shower?”
“Course, mate.”
Max stands up, not looking back at Daniel, and makes his way towards Daniel’s hotel bathroom. He pulls his dirty shirt off as he walks, and drops it onto the floor carelessly.
He still doesn’t look back, but there’s less tension in his shoulders now.
A moment later, the bathroom door clicks shut, and Daniel lies down flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with the dull noise of running water filling his ears, and tries not to think about how much he would like to punch Max’s dad in the face some time.