Work Text:
Max can feel a bead of sweat slowly running down his temple and making its way down his jaw lazily, almost like it doesn't want to be there. He would wipe it off, usually, but right now he's too busy bringing his right hand down hard on the anvil, hammering the edge of the sword into shape. The ever present heat of the forge - which some of their clients find too oppressive - is just an afterthought for him, a background element in his life ever since he was old enough to walk and his father started having him watch as he worked.
The noise of metal hitting metal drowns everything else out, a rhythmic struggle that Max loves any day. Well, any day except for today.
"Shit", he murmurs, putting the hammer down and running the calloused pads of his fingers down the edge of the unfinished sword. It's fairly flat, but uneven in some spots. It definitely needs to be sharpened quite a bit, and sanded down, and the metal isn't even properly tempered yet. So much fucking work to be done still, and usually Max wouldn't mind it, but today it's -
Well, it's the final day of the tournament. He hasn't missed it once, not ever, not since his mother took him for the first time at the tender age of ten, attracted to the vivid colors of the knights' banners and the shiny glimpses of their weapons. And, of course, there had been him.
But Max can't talk about that. Doesn't allow himself to think about it outside of brief stolen moments in the dead of the night, when he's too weak to help himself. Not if there's the slightest chance that his father will somehow take a look at Max and know.
Speaking of his father, it's been a while since he last came to check on -
"Are you done?", comes his voice behind Max. He doesn't startle, but he does brace himself for what's coming, the hard edge of his words. "Well, clearly not".
"I can finish it tonight", Max says, categorically. That's the only way to convince Jos in these types of situations - if he smells hesitation, then you're done. Max had learned that through trial and error. The hard way. "I'll stay up. It'll be ready tomorrow morning".
Jos stares at him, eyes flickering with the flames burning in the forge. The same shade of blue as Max's own. "You're not sleeping until the order is ready. If the blade is dull, if it's not properly balanced, if I see anything not right with it in the morning - there'll be consequences, you understand? Our reputation is on the line". Max nods, obedient. Every commission matters, for his father.
He wouldn't be so severe, Max thinks, if it wasn't the tournament Max had requested to go to. He knows what his father thinks of the knights: nothing more than brainless idiots, smashing shields and armor and perfectly good weapons, paid for with the taxes they force from commoner pockets, for their own entertainment. Customers, yes, but useless for anything other than taking their coin. Every year he tells his father the same thing.
"I'd like to go see their swords. See who they're buying from, how the blades hold up. How we can do better than them". Framing it as something with purpose. And every year, his father gives him the look, the one that's balanced right on the edge of disappointment, but allows him to go anyway.
This time it is no different. When the time comes, Max puts down the unfinished blade for later, tense under his father's scrutiny, then drops his gloves and his apron and tries to look like he's not rushing out the door. His feet itch to start their way to the castle.
He lets himself be swept away by the throng of villagers walking up the cobblestone streets, all the way to the palace training grounds where the tournament is taking place. And Max feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth despite the heaviness of his muscles after a day's work and the soreness of his right arm: he doesn't much like crowds, but there's a certain cheerfulness in the air that makes up for it. It's a celebration, after all, both for the competing knights and for the commoners who get to enjoy the spectacle. There's merchants, music, food and plenty of ale, and Max suddenly regrets having left the forge so hastily - he hasn't brought any coin with him.
The arena where the fights are taking place is packed, and Max tries circling it, looking for a spot on the stands that he can squeeze himself through. He needs to see. He has to, otherwise he antagonized his father for nothing.
He's so focused on finding a decent spot that he almost misses him. He's on horseback, a beautiful honey-colored mare that looks at ease despite the noise, and Max doesn't think that it makes much sense for him not to walk, really, if he's going to have to dismount anyway to fight. A dramatic thing, his knight is.
He's surveilling the crowd, perhaps looking for his squire, maybe looking for a maiden whose favor he can win and tie snugly around his arm. Max doesn't know. What he does know is that he hates the way his heart kickstarts itself in his chest when he recognizes the man.
He has to go. He shouldn't even be this close, he has to turn around and secure a good spot for the show, and -
"Your sword is shit".
The words ring in Max's ears, and as soon as he says them he wants to grab them and shove them back in his mouth, swallow them dry so no one can ever hear. Unfortunately, the knight fixes him a look, mouth parting slightly. His eyes are very, very brown.
"I beg your pardon?", he says, and it's the first time Max has actually heard his voice. It's deeper than his own, clear and loud enough to be heard over the crowd. It feels weird, having a voice to attach to his face after so many years.
"I said your sword is shit". He can tell, even before seeing the blade in action: the crossguard is uneven and probably unbalanced, and the leather around the handle looks frail. It's definitely not Lewis' work, nor Sebastian's - they would never make a sword that obviously rushed. Fucking Esteban's, probably.
The knight stares at Max, dumbfounded, most likely amazed that a dirty and sweaty commoner like him has had the audacity to speak like that to one of the King's knights. Max wonders, distantly, what his father will think when he finds out he's been thrown in the dungeons and that the damned sword he left back at the forge was never finished. All because he couldn't control his fucking tongue.
But then, against all probability, the knight laughs.
It's a good laugh. Loud, boisterous, the kind that infects everybody within reach. It rings, a little bit like his helmet when his cackle shakes it against his metal armor. Max has never heard it this up close.
"Alright, well, thank you for that", and he's still half-chuckling. "It's new, you know?", he says, gently steering his horse slightly to the right and showing his side to Max, where the sword rests on his hip. "Ordered specially for the tournament. I've got to give it a try at least".
Max keeps his expression serious, schooling his features into place. Like his father. Even if his heart has decided to beat butterflies into his stomach. "You'll lose. You should get a better one".
The knight stares at him until, eventually, one of the corners of his mouth flags a bit. "Then what would you have me -"
"Sir Daniel!", screams a man somewhere further into the crowd. The knight's face turns towards the voice, and it's probably the person he was looking for before. He lifts a gloved hand, covered in shiny polished steel, in response.
"Over here!", he yells, and before he's had the opportunity to turn back, Max is already gone.
—
He does end up finding a half-decent gap in the crowd: not very close to the barriers, but behind a gaggle of girls short enough to give Max a good view above their heads. They look clean and put-together, even if their clothes are modest. Palace servants, probably, looking a little out of place amongst men like Max, hardened and stained by physical labor.
Whatever people were still sitting down get up as soon as there's movement on both sides of the grounds, the murmur of the audience audibly picking up as the first pair of knights take up their places. Max doesn't even bother registering their names. They're not important. He does try to spy their swords though, a habit born out of an entire life training as a blacksmith - regular arming pieces, straight, double edged, cruciform hilt, about thirty inches long. The standard for these types of competitions. Max could already make a blade like that back when he was twelve.
The first duel is short. They don't even draw blood - the fallen knight's sword goes flying through the air, kicking up a cloud of dust where it lays discarded. His opponent was too quick, his fighting bold but adaptable. He looks young too once he takes his helmet off, probably around Max's own age. The girls in front of him cheer like crazy, and a few deep red banners, displaying a black rearing horse, are raised in the air in celebration. In his head, Max categorizes him as a possible threat.
The second duel is dull. Both knights are evenly matched, but only in incompetence - the fight drags on forever, making Max almost want to jump down there and end it himself.
The third duel he doesn't even pay attention to. Instead, his eyes wander across the stands, looking for the familiar black and gold that he likes best. Always has.
And then, his knight walks out.
Well, not his knight. He's obviously not Max's, nor will he ever be.
The herald's voice sounds rough already as he makes the announcement. "Representing House Ricciardo, sir Daniel the Banished!".
He's a crowd favorite - the roar of the audience increases exponentially as sir Daniel makes his way to the center of the arena, helmet off and smile blinding. He's never actually been banished, Max doesn't think, but he is definitely not a local. Traveled from the Southern Lands in his youth and stayed here ever since, thus the dramatic epithet.
He waves to the masses, and Max tracks him silently all the while. His opponent's name gets lost in the noise, relegated into irrelevance.
The crowd gets quieter as Daniel puts his helmet on and then both knights push their visors down, narrowing their fields of vision to a strip of almost nothingness. Then, the herald raises his green banner, and after a few seconds, swings it.
It's always a sight to watch, the way Daniel moves. Fluid, almost like water, his movements bleeding into one another as if it's all instinct and no thought, even though Max knows that's not the case. When Max first saw him, when sir Daniel was barely an adult, still barely a knight, he had struck him as violent, almost reckless. Ten years later there's still a fierceness in him, but it's more subdued. More calculated, less explosive.
That doesn't mean he's lost his touch. Sir Daniel's footwork is quick and agile, his strikes precise as he tries to overwhelm the opposing knight with a series of fast blows. It works: the other knight parries, but he's being pushed further and further back, shoved into a corner. As soon as he's there, Daniel will try to get him to the ground - it's the fastest way to end the match. Daniel's favorite, which has won him many a match before.
And then, Daniel's sword snaps with an audible crack. Cleanly too, in two separate pieces.
The crowd holds a collective gasp as the sharp end of his blade jumps through the air, and Daniel's movements come to a jarring halt. They all stare, confounded, as the stray steel lands on the dirt, useless.
By the time Daniel tries to defend himself with his broken weapon, his opponent is already reacting.
It doesn't take long from there. Daniel's reach has shortened all of the sudden, and the jagged edge of his sword can't do much against the armor it's fighting. He tries moving away, dodging the attacks and switching to the kind of close quarters combat more suited to a knife or a dagger, but his chances are not looking good.
When the enemy blade finds the edge of Daniel's pauldron, dangerously close to his neck, he drops his weapon and surrenders. The way his hands lift in the air spells defeat, but to Max they feel reluctant, almost hostile - there's a certain tension in his posture.
The resulting cheering is subdued, confused still at the turn of events. Meanwhile, Daniel's face looks decidedly unhappy, a frown marring his handsome face. Max's forehead replicates it, fighting off the frustration gripping his chest and pressing the edge of his fingernails against the palm of his hand, painfully. Daniel was supposed to make it to the final match and Max was supposed to be able to see him fight two, three rounds before his time was over. He won't get this for another year, damn it.
Fucking Esteban.
—
Max finishes the sword. He doesn't sleep at all, mind you, just works through the night in silence until his eyelids feel heavy and bruised, all of his frustration and disappointment hollowed out and focused on his piece. It helps, following the repetitive motions of manual labor. Sanding, quenching, reheating, sharpening - he likes the familiarity of it, the way his mind goes numb as he lets his fingers take over.
When Jos deems the sword to be good enough, once the sun has already come up on the east, Max gets a grand total of one hour of sleep before being shaken awake again. He almost thanks his father for it - he'd had a fitful nap, grainy pictures of the forge and his knight's smile coating the back of his eyes. Better to be awake and moving, to cast them out.
So he does: there's many other orders to get through, and they're not going to get done by themselves. Their forge might not be as successful as Lewis', but his father has been in the business for a few good decades, and they have made a name for themselves in the last few years. More than a few members of the local nobility will recommend the Verstappens nowadays for quality armor and weapons. The problem is: they're at a point where the business is getting to be almost overwhelming for just Max and his dad. He's been pushing his father to find somebody else to help, an apprentice maybe, but so far Jos has dismissed every single one that has come knocking.
So Max shoves some bread and cheese in his mouth, what he finds lying around, and gets back to work. Next on his list is a dagger - just your typical rondel, simple and utilitarian. Max likes the straightforwarness of it. He can get it done in fifteen hours.
The sun's long set again, hours passed in a blur of melting and shaping steel, when Max is startled by the door of the shop creaking open. It's not his father - he's already retired upstairs for the day, plus he would come through the back if he needed anything.
"We're closed for the day!", Max yells over his shoulder, not even bothering to take his eyes off the half-assembled dagger. It'll be ready by tomorrow evening, three whole days before the client is supposed to pick it up. His father will be pleased.
"Oh, sorry, shall I come back tomorrow? I had to ask around for a while until I found this place", someone says behind him, and Max's entire body freezes in place. He's only heard his voice once, but even that was enough for Max's brain to fold it carefully and catalog it in the back of his brain, to be kept there forever.
When he turns around, sir Daniel's looking straight at him. He smiles when Max stares.
"If you're looking for my father, he's already gone for the day", he says, proud of how steady his voice comes out. Perhaps he should be apologizing for the way he spoke at the tournament, he thinks with a flash of worry. Would that be presumptuous? Does Daniel even remember him?
"Ah, well, good thing I was looking for you then", the knight replies, smile widening even further if possible, and Max's brain short-circuits.
Sir Daniel's armor is nowhere to be seen, and for the first time ever Max can clearly follow the clean cut of his shoulders, the way his tunic hugs them loosely and how his belt cinches his waist. The dark breeches and clean boots, the unruly curls on top of his head. In comparison, Max feels sweaty and crusty, dirty, with the smell of soot and coal clinging sempiternally to him.
There's another sword strapped to sir Daniel's hip.
"See? You're already looking. I knew you were the right person to talk to", he says all of the sudden, making Max's eyes snap back to his face. Shit. Has he been so obvious? God, has Daniel noticed? "Would you like to see it?", he asks as he unsheaths the weapon and lays it flat on top of his own hands, offering it to Max.
Max stares at it for a few seconds, doubling back to Daniel's face for confirmation. When his smile remains unaffected, he takes the blade with careful fingers, placing them a good distance away from where Daniel's hands were previously holding it. He brings it closer to his face, examining it in the light of the still-lit coals and running one finger over the cool surface of the metal.
He likes the steady wood grain pattern of it, the way the blade shines but not outrageously so, with a more matte center. The edge looks sharp, and when Max grabs the handle with both hands and performs two mock slashes through the air, the weight feels balanced.
He brings it down and offers it back to sir Daniel. Then he clears his throat. "It's good. One of Seb's, right?". Daniel's face stretches in a satisfied grin.
"Exactly so. Do you think I would've done better in the tournament with it?".
Max scoffs. "You would've done better with a wooden stick", he says, and he startles a bit when sir Daniel laughs, bright and open. It makes something curl below his ribs. God, he hopes it doesn't wake his father up. "This one's better, but not the best. We can do the best".
"Well, that's why I'm here", he says, staring right at Max with those big brown eyes. "I want to order a sword".
Max nods, reverting back into business mode. That is familiar territory, he can do that. "I'll speak to my father, see how he can accommodate it into -"
"No, you misunderstand. I want you to make me a sword", and the way he says it, so earnest, is what fucks Max up the most. "I'll pay whatever you ask for".
Max keeps staring, and swallows.
He's so fucked.
—
Sir Daniel agrees to return the following morning, when Max is actually rested enough to process his proximity. When he does, he looks as fresh as he did the night before, dark blue tunic and blinding smile on. Max had chosen not to overthink why he'd bathed late last night, even though the water was freezing cold, or why he picked clean clothes as he dressed this morning. There's no real reason to try to make a good impression, after all.
His father is there, which is not ideal. The price he gives Daniel for the sword is ridiculous - for that kind of money he could buy a whole new shield and half a set of armor, plus the new sword. But sir Daniel just smiles and accepts, looking at Max as he finishes giving his father half the coin upfront. The other half he'll drop once the finished weapon has been delivered to him.
Max himself is still shocked stupid through the entire process. Even more so as Jos goes back to work and Daniel crowds closer, pouring over Max's sketchbook and listing off ideas for the design. The way he slowly flips through the pages makes it impossible for Max to lose the rigidity on his shoulders.
"You're very good. No, really, you are", he says, low and impressed, when Max disagrees. He's alright - the drawings there are merely practical, fuzzy lines made to guide him through the process and help him remember what each client wants from him. But Daniel traces the sketches with the pads of his fingers, smudging some of the corners a bit, like he really believes his words.
"Thank you, sir", Max says, hoping that if there's a blush over his cheeks that they can blame it on the ever-present heat of the forge.
"Oh please, don't call me sir. I'm Daniel", he says, putting down the sketches and extending one hand out to Max. "I guess I haven't properly introduced myself. Please excuse my rudeness". Max stares at his fingers for a moment, tan from outdoor work and nails bitten short. Daniel's palm feels rough and calloused, like his own, but warmer.
"I'm Max".
Daniel smiles, and Max can't help himself.
—
Max can make the sword in a week. Or at least that's how long it would take him to make an artisanal, detailed piece, like the one Daniel is requesting - a cheap one he can crank out in a couple of days. He tells Daniel it'll take a fortnight at least.
The words just slip out of his mouth without his permission, and he feels stupid the moment they leave his lips. He's deadly afraid Daniel is going to call him out on it, and he well should - it's not his first sword. Surely he knows two weeks is a bit much.
But instead he nods like the timeline makes complete sense, taps his fingers against Max's sketches once more and promises to visit to consult on the details again. And visit he does.
The next day, he shows up late in the afternoon. Jos' eyebrows shape themselves into a frown when he sees Daniel's head sticking in through the threshold, but he's a knight of the kingdom - he can't kick him out. Not without a very good reason, at least. So Daniel stays and rests his hip against the nearest workbench, watching as Max cuts the steel that will eventually make the blade. The design for it is detailed in his notebook, open for Daniel to see.
It's a good concept. Simple, the way Max likes best, but elegant. It's in the cut of the sword, the pommel and the crossguard: powerful, but a little soft too. Like he imagines Daniel to be, in his head.
"I can already see it, mate. It's going to be beautiful". And the way Daniel says beautiful - Max memorizes it. For reasons he cannot confront right now.
And then Daniel just keeps showing up. Almost every day. Sometimes early in the morning, when Max is first firing up the forge and he hasn't started sweating yet, but usually during the afternoon. He hangs around, chats to Max while he works for a little while, then leaves for the castle before he's due for the night service and supper.
"Don't you have an actual job to do? Or do all knights just waste the days away like you?", Max asks as he waits for the steel to heat up enough to shape it. When it's bright burning yellow, he moves it back to the anvil.
"I'm a peacekeeper, Max", he replies, cocking his head. "I'm making sure the town is orderly and its citizens safe. A very honorable duty, I reckon".
Max just scoffs and brings the hammer down on the metal, making a hundred tiny sparks fly out. When his arm gets sore, he pushes the blade back into the fire. "Not much war going on in the forge, I'm afraid. If I knew being a knight would be so cushy, I wouldn't have tried for blacksmith". That makes Daniel laugh, and it's a rush every time. That he's here. That it was Max who made him smile like that.
Sometimes they'll get a little bit lost in it - if it's late enough and Jos is not there anymore, out making a delivery or picking up an order from the tavern, then Max will find himself abandoning the project entirely and instead focusing on Daniel, warm in the candlelight. They'll talk, and then Daniel will say something stupid, and Max will laugh. And those times Daniel stays just a little bit longer, having to rush his mare back to the castle afterwards.
He doesn't want to read into it. Men like Max, they cannot be. Going to see Daniel at the tournament every year was already an indulgence: a little treat for himself, a straw he could hold onto to keep his sanity for a few more months. It was never supposed to develop into anything else. It shouldn't - it can't.
But then Max will be doing something that requires care and concentration, like wrapping soft black leather around the grip of the blade, and Daniel will look over Max's shoulder to see what he's doing. And Max will just want. So fucking much, until he feels like he can barely breathe and he's holding the leather strips so hard that his knuckles turn white. That pit in his stomach that he's tried to close his entire life opens further and further the closer Daniel drapes himself over Max's back.
And then the sword is done. Max sheathes it carefully into the matching scabbard, displays the ensemble proudly for Daniel to see when he walks in. It's some of his best work, he knows, despite the amount of distractions the process had to suffer through.
It's worth it, just to see the awe in Daniel's face as he pulls the finished sword out for the first time, holding it in his hand and watching the light reflect off the polished blade. Max's eyes fix themselves to the way Daniel's mouth parts, just a little.
"Max", he says, and it sounds so solemn that it hurts. "It's beautiful". He leaves the sheath on top of the workbench and grips the sword tightly with both hands, feeling its weight, its balance. Satisfied, he looks at Max and smiles so wide that his face is all teeth.
Max clears his throat. "There's a little… Surprise, I guess. Just a tiny detail that wasn't in the drawings. Hope you don't mind". He knows when Daniel finds it, because his face switches back to admiration, running a thumb over the seal Max had carved at the bottom of the pommel.
It's a little lionhead. His own symbol, to mark the most important piece he's ever made, in a bright golden shade stamped over black. The Ricciardo colors.
This time, there's an edge to Daniel's voice when he repeats: "Max". It sounds a little desperate, and Max can't take it.
He's turning around, words about finding his father for the last payment already on the tip of his tongue, when Daniel blurts out: "I want armor too".
"What?", Max asks, facing Daniel once more. His mouth is parted again.
"I need new armor. To match the sword", he says, and he's crazy. A full set of armor, made just by Max - that's a whole month of work. Probably more, to be honest, if Daniel is going to keep hanging around like that. A whole month of Daniel hanging around like that.
His mouth feels dry, made worse by the way Daniel is looking at him.
"It'll be expensive", he says, matter of factly. "Very".
"I know. I'm willing to pay", he says, all serious. It doesn't suit his features at all: Daniel's face was made to smile.
"Those poor farmers, paying you to work your lands. And this is what you do with their money?", Max says, but he smiles too, so Daniel will know he's joking. And it works: he laughs, and Max knows in that moment, with absolute certainty, that this will fuck him up beyond repair. There's no scenario where it doesn't.
—
The new guy's tools take up half of Max's workbench more often than not, and Max keeps moving them back more rudely every time it happens. Pierre doesn't really seem to mind. He ignores Max most of the time, actually.
His work is alright, he guesses. Lazy, lacking attention to detail sometimes, but good enough for his father to give him a tryout. With Max working on the new set of armor full time, Jos had to give in and hire help - using the coin he'd extorted out of Daniel, of course. Turns out Pierre is traveling in order to learn the local craft in different kingdoms, says it'll make him more adaptable, a better blacksmith. Max thinks he's more interested in learning the local women.
No matter. It won't be long until his father kicks him out anyway, so he focuses on his work and ignores Jos' looks every time Daniel walks in.
"It's a good opportunity, father, that he likes our product. That he's happy. It'll get to the other knights", he says, and something about Max's flimsy excuses, or maybe about the money heavy in his pocket, seems to appease him. For now.
Not for long though.
They've already roughly designed the armor, charcoal stains black under Max's fingernails, when they get to the whole part of the process where Max needs to measure Daniel. It's inevitable - obviously he can't just eye the measurements and hope for the best. The pieces need to be comfortable and unrestrictive, the ensemble articulated. They need to fit properly.
But he doesn't want to do it. Or rather, he wants to do it so much that he knows he shouldn't.
He asks Pierre if he could maybe help him with that part, low so his father won't hear. Pierre just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, accent dragging his words. "Mate, some of us have actual orders that are due like, yesterday", he says, and Max was an idiot for hoping.
He can't have Daniel shirtless. He just can't, so instead he directs him to a more secluded corner of the forge, out of the way from prying eyes, and has him stand there in his padded gambeson.
"What, no show? And here I thought you wanted me to strip, Maxy", he says, jokingly, and Max can't look him in the eye. The nickname makes something dark and warm twist in his belly.
"You'll be wearing the armor over the gambeson, so it wouldn't make sense to have you strip. I'm not a tailor".
So Max stands right in front of Daniel, a mere few inches apart, and unrolls his measuring tape with stiff fingers. They're pretty much the same height, he notices - maybe Max has a little bit on him, but Daniel's curls make up for the difference.
Max clears his throat. "Alright, so we'll start by the breastplate. Breathe in for me", he says, and immediately kicks himself ('For me'? Really?), but then Daniel just does. "Hold it in. Lift your arms". First he places the tape high on Daniel's chest and right below his armpits, reaching over to wrap it around his back and again to his front. It pulls him so close to Daniel that Max thinks he can feel his breath on the side of his own cheek.
He disengages, writes the measurement down. Next he repeats the process around Daniel's waist, right over where the softest part of him would be if he could see below the clothes.
"You seem pretty good at this, for not being a tailor. Nimble fingers", Daniel says, and yeah, his breath is right there. Max risks a look and finds Daniel's eyes already on him. They look - well, dark.
Max's voice comes out just a little rough. "Turn around", he says, and Daniel does. "You can lower your arms now". Max places one hand on top of where each of Daniel's armpits ends, measuring in between. Then he stretches the tape between his left shoulder and the back of his neck. It's all warm and smooth skin under Max's fingers, right above where the collar of his gambeson ends. He keeps his left hand there then moves the right one all the way down to Daniel's waist again, following the curve of his spine.
He has a nice back. Elegant, broad, although not as broad as Max's. A lither frame, made for agility and speed, while Max's was made for bulk and strength.
He wonders if Daniel can hear him breathe, feel his heartbeat, because those are the only sounds that flood Max's ears. He releases his hands, the tape making a soft sound as it slides over Daniel's clothes, and Max jots down the numbers in a messy list. "Turn around again", and his fingers are back on the tape. "Last one", he promises, either to Daniel or to himself.
He can feel Daniel's eyes on him as Max puts the end of the tape against the base of his throat, right between his collarbones, and stretches the rest of it right against where his bellybutton would be, taut across his torso.
It's almost low enough. A bit lower and then he'd -
"We're done". He turns around, praying Daniel doesn't read the shaking want in his face, and scribbling out the last of the digits.
"Is that all you need?", asks Daniel. Max wants to fucking slam him against the table.
Instead, he keeps his back turned. "Yeah. That'll be all for now. We'll do the first fittings once I've got the basic shapes molded". He can hear the rustling of Daniel's clothes behind him as he removes the gambeson, too hot now in the forge to be in anything other than his cotton tunic.
"Alright", is all he says. "Can't wait, Maxy".
Jos must see something in him afterwards, a trace of it left on Max even after Daniel has left, because he breaks the subject quickly enough.
"The court physician, Piquet", he says, looking down at his own hands as he washes them. "He's got a daughter. Nice girl, pretty. A bit older than you".
The dread that sinks in Max's stomach feels almost familiar, like an old friend coming to visit. He hadn't felt it in a while. "Is she?", he asks, although Max knows who his father is talking about. He's seen her around, sometimes: clear eyes, long brown hair pulled up in a twist. She's had suitors before.
"Yeah, name's Kelly. I told her father you would take her out for a stroll". Jos finishes drying his hands, and then he does look at Max. And Max understands.
It's not really a suggestion.
So three days later, Max knocks on the physician's door, and collects Kelly. He realizes way too late that he should've probably brought a gift - that's what men do, isn't it? Flowers, dried fruit, an article of clothing. Something.
Kelly doesn't seem to mind. She smiles a small smile and takes the arm Max offers, ignoring how stiff it must feel under her fingers.
They talk. Max learns that Kelly helps out as a midwife when her services are needed in town. She'll never be allowed to practice medicine, not being a woman, but she's learned a few things from her father.
It also turns out the reason why Kelly is not married yet is because she had an affair with a knight, out of which a little girl was born. The knight couldn't wed her, of course, so she stayed an ostracized single mother. She just explains that, plainly, like it isn't a secret, and apparently it isn't at all.
Max didn't know. He doesn't pay attention like that to the town's gossip.
"Is there anything I should know? About you?", she asks, and Max sees Daniel's smile on the back of his eyelids, the same way he's done ever since he first laid eyes on him when he was still a child.
It's not easy to meet Kelly's stare, but he tries anyway. "Nothing special, other than the fact that I always smell like coal". She laughs, demure and lightly, and the sound of it is so wrong.
"I think I can handle that", is what she says.
They're walking along the bustling market stalls when she slows her steps, and Max sees that she's looking at a display of metal ring brooches.
"Would you like one?", he asks, and she shakes her head politely.
"I don't really have an excuse for spending that much coin on something I don't need", she says. Max buys her one anyway: a gilded one, plain but pretty. He could've tried making it himself, but - he doesn't really have the time. The armor.
Kelly smiles and thanks him, adjusting the brooch on her tunic, at the breast. Max tries his best to hold on.
—
"Where were you yesterday? I came by and your father said you weren't around". Max is tempering what will be the right pauldron, heating it up to let it cool for maximum hardness. He doesn't look at Daniel where he's leaning against the wall, lazily, just watching. His presence is so commonplace at this point that Pierre doesn't give them looks anymore.
"Had to go run a few errands", he says instead. The water releases a cloud of steam as Max soaks the hot metal inside, hissing and sizzling, like Max's brain.
"Ah", is all Daniel says, and then smiles. "Well, I'm glad I caught you today". Max hates himself.
—
He keeps seeing Kelly.
Always in public, of course, because even if her reputation is already well tarnished, the least Max can do for her is pretend that it doesn't matter.
She pulls him away, once, into a narrow corridor between two houses where no one will see, and kisses him. It's chaste, really just a quick press of lips, her hands on his cheeks and his own hanging uselessly at his sides, clueless. Surely he's meant to feel something, right?
He doesn't. Her lips are soft and she smells good, but. Yeah, nothing.
When Kelly pulls away she smiles, and Max tries to replicate it as best as he can, telling her off and warning they're going to be caught. She laughs.
"Who cares, at this point?".
Every time, the following day, Daniel's smile will be just a little sad. "Missed you yesterday", he'll say, and it'll hurt Max. Jos kicked Pierre out, so now it's Alex who looks at them funny. But Alex is polite, and sweet, so Max thinks he'll probably mind his own business.
"Don't worry, I'm making good progress. Your armor set will be ready on time".
Daniel's smile doesn't quite get better.
"Great. Thank you so much for your hard work, Max".
They're three weeks into the armor-making process, when it happens.
Kelly's tugging on Max's arm, recounting the story of the baby she'd helped deliver two days prior, when he hears the call.
"Max!"
And then he turns around to see Daniel on horseback, in all of his armored glory, trotting towards them. The King's red bull is proudly displayed on his breastplate, for everyone to see.
Max notices that the set he's wearing is the old one, polished and well-kept but scratched and dented in the places where it protected Daniel. The sword, however, is the one Max made for him. With the little lionhead carved right at the bottom.
Daniel's helmet is strapped to the horse, so Max has a clear view of his windswept curls, the curve of his nose, the way his smile feels a little brittle as he approaches. He thinks he can hear Kelly murmur a little 'Oh' to his left.
Daniel doesn't dismount. Instead he looks at Max, then at Kelly, and then back. "Well met, both of you! Kelly, it has been a while. I trust you have been well?", he asks, and Max feels his eyes widen a little when Kelly bows her head in response.
"Sir Daniel, it is good to see you", she smiles back, and it can't be. When Kelly said she'd been with a knight, surely it couldn't possibly be - "How's Daniil?".
"Away, I'm afraid", he says, sounding a little apologetic. Relief curls through Max as fast as panic had gripped him, and the rush makes Max feel lightheaded. "There's been a few reports of bandits to the north. He drew the short straw".
"Will you tell him to let me know when he's back, if you'd be so kind?", she asks, and Daniel nods and gives her a reassuring grin.
"Of course, my lady". And then, inevitably, Daniel's eyes fall on Kelly's arm, still wrapped around Max's elbow. "I didn't realize you two were acquainted", he says, casually. Max should answer, he knows, but when he tries he finds his mouth to be frozen shut.
It's Kelly who responds, after a couple seconds of silence muffled only by the quiet sighs of Daniel's horse. "Our fathers know each other, actually. Not much of a story there, I'm afraid", and Daniel chuckles politely. "What about you? You didn't say you were in the habit of talking to knights, Max". She's playful, shoving Max a little bit to the side. He goes, numbly.
"I"m commissioning him, actually", Daniel says, tapping his own breastplate. "I need new armor".
"Oh, so you're the one that's been working him ragged. Sir Daniel, I expected better of you". What a polite conversation. So friendly.
"Guilty as charged". Daniel keeps laughing, and Max wants to die. Especially so when his smile dims a little, and he looks at Max. "Is it alright if I swing by the forge later? There's some things I'd like to discuss about the final designs".
Max clears his throat, desperately willing his voice to work. "Yeah. No problem", he manages, and Daniel nods.
"Great. I'll leave you be, then", he turns his horse around, but not before giving Kelly a wink. "Have a nice evening, my lady", he says, and Max watches the set of his shoulders as he rides away.
Not long after, Max walks Kelly back home, citing a headache. She looks at him right there on her doorstep of her big house, like she wants him to say something, but Max avoids her eyes. Says his farewells instead.
—
Max goes back to the forge. He spends the rest of the afternoon there, polishing piece after piece until the noise in his brain dulls to a murmur and he can start to think again.
Surely Daniel is not coming after all, he reckons, because the moon is already up in the sky by the time Max calls it a night. His fingers are sore, achy from hours of uninterrupted work as he tidies up the workstation. And that's when he hears the knock on the door.
Daniel's face is half-obstructed by shadows, illuminated only by the candlelight that spills out as Max opens the door. "Hi", he says. "You're still here".
Max nods. "I am". There's a weird pause in which Max sort of gets stuck, watching Daniel watch him. He shuffles awkwardly to the side. "Come in?", and Daniel does.
"Is your father around? Or the new guy?", he trails off, and Max shakes his head.
"Alex left a while ago, and father is probably already asleep".
Daniel's face makes a little grimace. "Yeah, sorry about that. It's much too late to come knocking, isn't it?". But Max shrugs, wandering over to the bench to finish putting away his tools.
"It's alright. I was finishing up anyway". He unties his apron, then folds it carefully. "We can talk about the design details you wanted, but I'll probably be more awake tomorrow".
"That's fine. It's not important anyway", Daniel says and, after a second, walks over to Max and leans his hip against the table. The silence seems strangely tense between them, almost as if Max could touch it with his fingers if he tried. "How come you were working so late, Max?".
Max's eyes fix themselves on a chipped corner of the bench. "Couldn't sleep". A small grunt leaves Daniel's throat, vaguely affirmative.
"So you weren't waiting for me, then?", he asks, and Max's hand twitches where it's resting on the table.
He keeps his gaze down. "Why would I be waiting for you?".
"Why would you indeed, Max".
When Daniel's fingers curl around his chin, gently forcing Max to finally face him, he's powerless to stop it. Max wasn't waiting for Daniel. Except he kinda was.
His voice is low when he speaks, almost a murmur, but Max can hear it anyway. It's because they're so close. "Are you sure your father is asleep?"
This late? "Yeah. I'm sure".
Daniel nods, just a little bit. "Alright", he says, and then he kisses Max.
His entire body freezes at the first press of Daniel's lips, even though it's just that - much like Kelly's had been, chaste. But it's also very much not like Kelly's. Not at all.
The hand Daniel had on his chin moves to the side of his jaw and pulls down a little on it, urging Max to open his mouth, and then Max - he dies. He must die right there and then, because Daniel is pressing him against the workbench and kissing him, open-mouthed and a tad desperate, and the only thing Max can do is grab his shoulders with too much force and try to bite back the noises that threaten to spill out of him.
Max discovers that he likes the scratch of Daniel's beard, the way his nose bumps against his own. It makes it easier to remember, even with his eyes closed, who this is happening with. That he's melting in Daniel's arms.
"Daniel", he gasps between one kiss and the next, and Daniel makes a little answering grunt that sinks into Max's bones. His mouth is slick and hot and Max has never done this before, not with a man, not actually wanting it. And by god does he want it. So bad that he can already feel himself embarrassingly hard in his breeches, aching and fucking desperate for anything that Daniel is willing to give him.
He feels clumsy, stupid, trying to move his lips and his tongue against Daniel's, but it doesn't really seem to matter.
When Daniel pulls away a little his eyes are pitch black, his lips a little red, a little puffy. Max's own mouth tingles, and he looks at Daniel and thinks 'I did that'.
"Fuck. Shit. Come here", Daniel grunts, kissing Max again, short but rough, and then he falls to his knees.
The image of Daniel down on the floor, reaching out to unlace Max's breeches, it's - it's almost too much. He tries to breathe, to keep quiet so his father won't hear them, but then Daniel is pushing his pants down and wrapping a hand around Max, and a gasp falls out anyway. The slide should be dry and uncomfortable, but Max is already so wet that Daniel's fingers move easily where they spread the precome already gathered there. Daniel's eyes look almost bewildered, a little wide, lips parted.
"God, Max", he says, almost a murmur. "You're so fucking wet already. Fuck". And that's the only warning he gets before Daniel puts his mouth on him.
Max's whole body jolts with it, one hand coming to grip the edge of the table with white knuckles and the other one covering his own mouth, trying to keep the sounds in.
Please, he thinks, and he's not sure what he means, who he's praying to. Please, keep going. Please, stop, or I'll come way too soon.
Daniel doesn't stop. His tongue curls against Max, head moving up and down and fingers still wrapping around where he can't reach. Max can't help the aborted tiny movements of his hips, completely involuntary, trying to chase Daniel. Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. It's all he wants, all he can think of.
Max's whole body is shaking with it, with how good it is, how close he feels already. And then a slash of fear cuts through the desire clouding his head. It can't be over so soon. Please, no-
Max's left hand leaves the table and instead sinks into Daniel's curls, tugging on them and pulling him away. It's downright obscene, the way Daniel's lips look red and puffy, shiny, the way Max's cock falls out of them.
"You can come in my mouth", he says, voice gravelly and deeper than Max has ever heard it, and it's almost enough to push him over the edge. Instead, Max shakes his head. He doesn't let himself think, just gathers the words on his tongue and spills them.
"Can you fuck me?", he asks, and Daniel makes a little breathy sound. "Please? Please, Daniel".
Daniel curses again, softly, and struggles back to his feet. "Have you ever done it before?", he asks, and Max can't lie to him. Daniel would be able to tell, probably, if he hasn't already.
"No, but", Max breaks off, instead kissing Daniel's cheek and moving slowly towards his jaw. It's even sloppier this time, just Max's tongue tracing all over Daniel's skin under the pretense of a kiss. He feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin any second now.
Max doesn't know how else to ask for it. If Daniel makes him ask again, then - "Please, Daniel. Just. Please".
Daniel grunts, low, and then grabs the back of Max's head and kisses him messily again. Max realizes that the taste that wasn't there before is himself. Himself, under Daniel's tongue.
"Okay. Fuck, this is really not the place for-", Daniel says against Max's mouth. "Do you have oil?".
"Yes", Max says, trying to make his brain work enough to answer. "Oil, yes, for the metal. It's in a black jar, next to my tools". When Daniel moves away to look for it, Max feels suddenly bereft. Impossibly cold as he pants for air, leaning against his workbench. He feels ridiculous with his rumpled tunic still on but his breeches shoved down to his knees, cock jutting out between his legs.
Daniel's own hardness is obvious in his own pants, and Max's mouth waters at the sight. "This one?", he asks, showing off the jar to Max, who nods blankly. "Alright, great", he says, returning to Max and placing the jar on the table, a little to the side. For a couple of seconds he just looks at Max, eyes almost black and inscrutable. Then, he kisses him again. "Are you sure about this?", he murmurs against his lips, and Max can't take it anymore.
"Yes. Yes, please". Daniel's hand comes around to Max's waist, squeezing lightly for a moment.
"Turn around", he says, and Max does. He's seen some things, once or twice, in back alleys behind the tavern when everybody else was too drunk to notice. He'd never let himself think about it, but. Now, Max lays his elbows down on the workbench, bending himself down to Daniel.
It's… Strange. Open. It feels vulnerable, to present himself like that, like - like a girl.
The thought is fleeting as Daniel drapes himself along Max's back, mouthing messily at the back of his neck. He can feel Daniel where he's pressed against him, and. Fuck. That's going to be inside Max soon. His cock twitches in response.
"I have to prepare you, alright? With the oil. I don't want to hurt you, Maxy", he says against Max's ear, and Max knows that he would let Daniel do absolutely anything he wanted to him. Anything. He could take him dry and painful and Max would probably thank him afterwards. Instead, he nods, head hanging heavy between his shoulders.
Daniel's right hand reaches for the jar, uncapping it with clumsy fingers and dipping inside. Max tilts his head and watches the way they come up, dripping everywhere and then disappearing out of view a second later. He jumps a little when he feels Daniel's hand reach down in between his cheeks. Not pushing in yet, just touching, rubbing. Letting Max get used to the wet sensation of it.
"You have to let me know if I hurt you, alright, Max? You have to". And Max nods again, lost for words and tense even though he knows he should be trying to relax, to make it easier for Daniel's hand to go in.
When a finger finally pushes in, the air leaves Max's lungs in a rush. Daniel's other hand is rubbing soothing circles on his stomach, reaching down every now and then to stroke him, to keep him nice and hard. It's so much at the same time, already overwhelming even though they've barely started.
Daniel sinks the finger in slowly but surely, stretching him. "That's it, Max", he whispers, and Max has to choke back a whimper. "You're doing so well. Just like that, yeah? I promise I'll make it good for you".
And Max believes him. Even when Daniel pushes a second finger against his rim and it burns, a little, the way his right arm hurts from striking his hammer against the anvil, muscles sore with overexertion. It's good though, he likes it. The way it takes up so much of Max's attention that he feels almost empty, mind quiet. Just letting it happen.
And then Daniel's fingers do something, they must, because he touches a spot inside that startles a moan out of Max. A flash of pleasure coming from somewhere within that leaves him almost shaking.
"Daniel. Daniel, please", Max hears himself babbling, and then decides to bite down on the softest part of his forearm. Teeth pressed against his own skin, hard, to keep himself quiet.
"There you are, Max. Is that good?", Daniel asks, and then presses there again.
He can't keep going like this or Max will come all too soon. Somehow, Daniel seems to read it in his frame. He backs off and focuses instead on scissoring his fingers, pushing Max open enough for a third one to come in too. It's rougher, with the third one, and Max has to bite down harder to keep from whimpering.
It's almost too much, the stretch of it. How full he feels, the things Daniel keeps whispering in his ear. "You're doing so good, Max, so good. I want you so fucking much, shit", and there's nothing Max can do except unclench his jaw and beg.
"Please, please". And then Daniel is pulling his fingers out, making something almost break within Max with the loss. He's not sure what kind of noise he makes, but a second later Daniel is stroking a hand down his spine, trying to soothe him.
"I know, I've got you, Max". Max can't see behind him, not with the way his head is resting uselessly on the workbench, leaving sweat stains on the wood. Like this, everything feels bigger somehow, every little touch unexpected and startling. It makes Max keen when he feels Daniel finally, finally pressing in, and he has to bite his own arm again to try to keep the feeling bottled in.
"Easy, sweetheart. That's it", Daniel rasps out as Max opens up for him, trying to push himself back on it much too soon. Daniel's hand brushes his hips, his belly, working him through it. And then he's as deep in Max as he can and he starts moving, and Max dissolves.
He feels like a useless tangle of limbs, bent over his own workbench and gripping it with white knuckles to try to get some leverage, to help Daniel fuck him on his cock. Still, he can hear himself make shameful choked sounds as Daniel bottoms out over and over again, spilling around his clenched teeth.
Daniel litters kisses over the back of Max's neck, bites the juncture of his shoulder, keeps making Max crazy with the things he says. "You're so good, Maxy, so good. You want it so bad, don't you? And I just knew it. I knew you would take it so fucking well", he says against his skin, and Max almost sobs, widening his stance and trying to take inside himself as much of Daniel as he physically can. He feels himself choke again as one of Daniel's hands slides to his cock, pulling on it mercilessly. "That's it, Maxy. Come on, come for me, sweetheart". And Max does.
It rushes over him, biting down on his forearm until he can taste blood. All through it Daniel keeps going, cursing softly and moving erratically inside. It hurts a little now, but Max likes it. How deep he feels it, feels Daniel.
And then Daniel comes too, spilling into Max and draping himself over his back, mouth moving blindly over the meat of Max's shoulder. He can't help a grimace as Daniel pulls out, leaving him empty. Hollowed out. Daniel shushes him softly. "I'm sorry, Maxy. It's okay", he says. After a few moments Max can hear him fix his own breeches first, and then feels him pulling Max's up as well. When he's caught his breath, Max straightens himself and turns around, facing Daniel, and then Daniel is kissing him again.
It's slow this time, the burning need that had clawed at Max for so long sated for now. Like this, hidden in the candlelight, Max can run his fingers over Daniel's jaw, the prickle of his beard, the curls on top of his head.
"Are you alright? That wasn't too much?", Daniel asks, still pressed against him. Max can feel something wet sliding through the inside of his leg, and he realizes with sudden clarity that it's Daniel's come.
Max shakes his head. "It's fine. That was -. That was nice". He feels himself blush a little despite himself, curses with own mouth for making him sound so dumb. But Daniel laughs. Not his honking laugh, the one that could almost carry to the next town over, but a more subdued, quiet thing. A private smile that he gives Max, and that Max feels in his bones.
"Very nice, indeed", he says, teeth on display. Max kisses him again.
—
Max watches Daniel leave that night, retrieving his horse and mounting it with ease even in the darkness of the night. He keeps turning back to look and smile at Max, even though every time he does Max just shoos him away.
The street is dead and empty when Daniel finally leaves. Max feels out of his own body.
The floaty feeling carries him back inside and up the stairs, walking slowly around the creaky steps and stopping in front of his father's room. He presses his ear to the door, hears the telltale snores of his deepest sleep, and only then does something settle inside Max's chest.
He doesn't know. Jos didn't hear. They're safe.
Still, Max can't sleep that night. He tosses and turns for hours, mind replaying Daniel's touch over and over, wishing they could be in the same bed. Eventually, he gives up. Washes himself, gets dressed, and makes his way down to the workshop. But he doesn't fire up the forge just yet.
Instead, he places a candle on his workbench - the one Daniel had pressed him against just a few hours earlier - and opens up his sketchbook, flips over to a new page.
His fingers just take over from that point on. He starts drawing almost without meaning to, like his body needs to pour some of the emotions swirling inside before he explodes. The charcoal lines are thin and straight, the same way he draws his weapons, except this time they trace Daniel's face instead of the cold metal of a sword.
It's Daniel's smile first. Just him, eyes crinkled and laughter lines and all, drawn as if he was looking at Max. His face is not quite right - the shape of his jaw too round, the slope of his nose not elegant enough. He's not used to drawing the people behind his commissions. Still, he tries: sharpens his charcoal with a knife, flips to the next page and keeps going.
It's Daniel on his horse next. Relaxed and at ease, gently steering her to the side. The sword Max made him hangs from his belt, proudly on display.
Then it's him in the arena, armored and ready. On the parchment, amongst charcoal smudges, Daniel swings his broken sword. But while real Daniel had been desperate and angry, fighting a losing battle, the Daniel that Max draws stands confident.
He's startled out of it when the door to the forge opens. Sunlight spills behind Alex as he makes his way in, waving at Max as he does. Max hadn't even noticed the sun come up. "Good morning, Max. Oh, you haven't fired the forge yet?".
Max closes his sketchbook, making a soft thud. Awkwardly, he clears his throat. "Sorry, mate. Got a bit carried away with a design".
"Is it the armor you're making? Can I see?", Alex asks, walking towards Max, who keeps his hand firmly on the cover.
"It's not done yet", he says instead, smiling apologetically. Later, when Alex is taking his break, Max rips the pages and folds them carefully, stuffs them at the bottom of his dresser. They're only for him to see.
—
"Hey, Maxy. You wanna fight?". Max lifts his head from his work, grimacing as his neck cracks uncomfortably. When he looks around he realizes Alex is gone, and his father is nowhere to be seen.
"What time is it?". Daniel shrugs.
"The sun went down a little while ago. New guy went home too", he says. He's sitting on Alex's bench, feet swinging, looking at him. He should go back to the castle. He's been missing service too often - the bishop is bound to notice sooner than later, and that would be… Dangerous, for Daniel.
"My father?".
"No idea. He doesn't really talk to me", Daniel replies. "I'm starting to think he doesn't like me much".
"Oh, I can assure you he doesn't". At that Daniel hunches dramatically, pretending to have been shot through the heart with an arrow, and Max laughs. "He likes your coin though".
"Ouch", he says, but he's smiling. "But you didn't answer my question. Wanna fight with me?".
"Fight how?", Max asks, and curiosity gets the best of him. Daniel can tell. He swings over the bench and walks towards the wall, where several display pieces are collecting dust above their heads. Most are his father's, except for a longsword Max made when he turned seventeen. It's the only one that made the cut according to his father's standards, whatever those may be. Daniel disregards it though, instead gripping a neighboring straight blade and dismounting it. He offers it to Max, handle first.
"Duel me", he says when Max takes the sword, and Max scoffs.
"You know I'm just a blacksmith, right? I make the swords. I don't fight with them".
"And I refuse to believe you don't know how to use one", Daniel replies, dropping into position and unsheathing his own blade. Max's. "Come on, I'll give you a reward if you beat me".
Max lifts an eyebrow, trying to mirror Daniel. "What kind of reward?", he asks, and Daniel's expression turns downright improper, making a shiver pass through Max.
"Wouldn't you like to find out?". Max would very much like to.
There isn't a whole lot of space in the workshop. Actually, it's dangerous as hell to be fighting here: the sharp tools lying around, the very real possibility of getting burnt. Their own weapons, which are not dulled in the least. It makes something sharp and dangerous twist in his belly - the hunger that lives twined around his ribs, striking again.
He feels Daniel's stare moving through him from head to toe, but this time it's more assessing, almost clinical. Like he's actually considering Max as an opponent, looking for his weak spots.
Max breaks him out of it. He lunges forward before Daniel has finished making his assessment, aiming for the shoulder and narrowly missing when Daniel side steps. He follows it up with another lash, which is parried to the side this time.
Daniel's smile is wicked. "I knew you could fight".
Max huffs again, reassuming his fighting stance. "Did you really think my father would let me forge weapons and not know how to wield them?".
"Did he also teach you how to signal where you're going to strike before you move? Or did you learn that all on your own?". Daniel has to back away to stop Max's next slash, and the jarring sound of metal on metal feels like retribution in Max's bones.
He goes on the offensive, forcing Daniel backwards. In turn Daniel gets up on the nearest workbench to evade Max's strike, stepping around the discarded tools, then winks before jumping off the other side. It makes Max grunt. "Stop playing with me".
"I assure you I don't know what you're talking about", he replies, but watches with eyes wide open as Max jumps over the bench too, swinging and coming to stand right in front of him. Daniel raises his own sword to block Max's, and both their blades come to press against each other between them, their strengths equal. Max's right arm shakes a little with the effort - that's how much Daniel is resisting him.
Their eyes catch, weapons still between them, and Daniel is the one to break the tension first. "Do you not want your reward?", he says, smirking.
"I want a fair fight". Daniel stares for a beat, two, then nods.
"As you desire", he says, and Max only has half a second before Daniel is breaking the standstill and pushing him backwards with his sword.
He was playing with Max, as it turns out. It's clear as soon as Daniel stops pretending, overwhelming him with hard, quick slashes to the torso, easily within reach for Max to parry, but too quick for him to do much else. It makes Max angry because he knows, he's seen Daniel pull that shit before with other knights: push them back and back until they have nowhere else to go, trap them before giving them the final blow. So when his back hits the wall, he knows he's done for.
Daniel pins him behind the flat blade of his sword, pressed snugly to his neck. If Max were to push against it… He can almost feel the way the edge would nick his skin, can almost see the red of his blood dotting Daniel's steel.
He doesn't though. He stays there, trying to catch his breath and staring at the way Daniel's eyes darken when Max drops his weapon, which clatters noisily to the floor.
His own voice comes out breathy when he speaks. "I guess the reward is yours then", he says, and keeps his eyes trained on Daniel's as he lowers his own sword. The pit of need in Max's stomach, so familiar at this point, opens up again.
"I guess so". When Daniel whispers, Max can feel it on his lips, with how close he is.
This time it's Max who drops to his knees, and Daniel the one who curls his fingers against the wall until his knuckles turn white. He eases them in Max's hair when Max chokes, gagging on Daniel's cock until he feels tears spring in his eyes.
"Easy. Easy, Max", Daniel rasps out, a little strained, almost like he's in pain. But Max swallows him down again, wet and sloppy, too desperate to have Daniel inside him any way possible.
By the time Jos wanders back in, Daniel's long gone. Max wiped his come off his face and swallowed as much as he could, scooping it back to his mouth, then came with Daniel's hand on his dick and two fingers pushed inside his mouth. He made sure to clean up afterwards, just in case.
"How long until the armor is ready, Max? I can't afford to have you wasting your time much longer", his father says as he walks in. Max fights the curl of uneasiness fighting its way down his stomach at the words.
"Isn't Alex helping with the workload?". Jos scoffs.
"Alex will not be here come next week, son", and the way he says that, the indifference in his tone, is what stings the most. "He's not cut out for the business. I want the knight out of here and you back on commissions by then".
Max's mouth feels dry when he tries to swallow. "I don't know if I'll be able to have the armor ready by then, father", he tries, monotone, even though he knows he's risking Jos' anger. As it stands, his father's eyes are already hard.
"It's not a request, son", he says, and Max never entertained the idea that it might actually be. "I don't care if you have to work the nights as well. Come next week, I do not want to see that fool loitering in my workshop anymore".
It shouldn't come as a surprise, really. The cold in his father's eyes, the possibility that he might know what's wrong with Max, what's wrong with Daniel himself, despite everything. That he might be willing to pretend it's not true as long as Max is useful. As long as he keeps his head down and his mouth shut.
Jos moves his face to the side, breaking eye contact. "How is Kelly?", is what he asks instead. Max feels his hands go numb.
A shame - they'd felt so alive buried in Daniel's hair.
—
When Daniel shows up the following afternoon, he can tell something's wrong. It's in the way his smile dims a little, in the way a frown keeps creeping in between his eyebrows. Max would love nothing more than to touch him, to bury himself in Daniel's skin until they could no longer be told apart.
Instead, he ignores Daniel and keeps polishing.
By the end of the week, his father said. Max can have it ready by then, if he doesn't sleep for a couple of days. What else can he do? He can't have Jos damage Daniel's reputation - he doesn't deserve it.
Alex looks a bit sad while gathering his tools in the evening. It's not yet his last day, but. Jos must've told him already. He smiles and waves goodbye, but otherwise makes no further effort to engage either Daniel or him, and Max doesn't blame him.
Afterwards, when Alex leaves, Jos turns in for the night and Max makes absolutely no move to follow, Daniel approaches him from behind. He lays a hand gently between Max's shoulderblades, and it fucking burns even over his shirt.
"Max?", he asks, with an edge of concern that makes Max grind his teeth. "Is everything alright?". Max moves around him to shake him off, pretending to look for his oil.
"Your armor will be ready in the morning, I think", he says instead, pointedly not looking into Daniel's eyes. "We should do your final fitting tomorrow. Then I can work out any of the final kinks by the end of the week".
Daniel stares for a little bit, but the corner of his mouth is pulled down. His hand flops back. "That's fine, Max. I'm sure it'll be a good fit", he says. They have until the end of the week. Then - it's back to the real world.
It was stupid of them to do this anyway. What kind of future would they even have together? Daniel will marry a wealthy noblewoman sooner than later, have two or three kids with warm eyes and curly hair. And Max… Well, there's Kelly, he guesses.
He can always keep making weapons for Daniel, in time. Perhaps for his sons, if he ever has any, and maybe that'll mean seeing him once every few years, other than in the tournaments or in passing through town. Maybe that'll be enough.
"Max", Daniel shakes him out of it. Max drops the piece he's working on, and it makes a clattering sound in the quiet of the workshop.
The words were stuck in his throat anyway, so Max janks them out. "My father wants you out of here", he says, still avoiding Daniel. "He can't find any decent help, so I'm to go back to taking care of other commissions full-time". Daniel is quiet for a moment, but Max tries to memorize the cadence of his voice when he does speak. After all, he doesn't know how many more times he'll be able to hear it this close.
"And do you want me out of here?", he asks, and it makes Max sigh with frustration, finally turning around to face him.
"Of course not, Daniel. Why would you even ask".
"Then why are you going along with this?". There's an edge of something Max doesn't want to hear in Daniel's voice, almost like - hurt.
"You know why, Daniel. This is all I have", he says, gesturing around the forge with a dirty hand. "My father is all I have. And you and I, it -". Max struggles to take a breath, then releases it. "You know it can't ever be".
The physical distance between them aches, and so does the way Daniel's throat moves up and down, like he's struggling to speak. When he does, it's hushed. "I won't marry, Max. No, shut up". Before Max can breathe another word Daniel cuts him off, taking that last step and pressing himself closer, taking Max's face in his own calloused hands. He sounds so fucking earnest. "I won't. My sister has children, they can carry on the bloodline. I'd be happy to remain the sad and cold lonely knight for you".
Max can't hear that. There's already something gripping his heart with too much force - he doesn't know how much more he'll be able to take before he breaks for good. "I can't be pulled away from here, Daniel. I'll be in the forge, you'll be in the castle. This is not sustainable in the long run". People in the town would talk, if they don't already. They could attempt to justify a knight checking on his commission regularly for a few weeks, although it would be stretching it pretty far. Doing this whole thing for months? Years?
It's castration, more often than not, for sodomy. Death, for repeat offenders.
They both know it. So when Daniel kisses him this time, Max indulges. Licks into Daniel's mouth the way he wants to, always, and grips his shoulders so tightly he thinks he might leave bruises behind.
He doesn't put up a fight when Daniel shrugs him to the cold stone floor, unforgiving against Max's back as Daniel covers him with his own body and struggles to unlace his breeches. All that matters is feeling this one last time, memorizing the desperation in Daniel's teeth across his jaw, his fingers around him, tight and unforgiving.
"The oil", Max grunts out when one of them presses against him, and Daniel scrambles to retrieve it from the bench, taking his tunic off as he goes. That gives Max a few moments to trace his eyes down Daniel's chest, the scars and markings littered there. It's a shame they never had the chance to do this on a proper bed. Max would've liked to.
The feeling stretches bittersweet in his chest as Daniel opens him up and then pushes in slow, so slow, so careful despite everything. And then Max works his hips against him, trying to chase the feeling away and empty his head until the only things left are Daniel and more.
Afterwards, when Daniel has pulled out and bears the imprint of Max's teeth deep on his shoulder, they clean up in silence. It's the first time, ever, that Max has felt uncomfortable in Daniel's presence.
"I'll be back tomorrow for the fitting", is all he says, staring at a spot on the wall over Max's shoulder. Max nods and watches him leave through the door.
He's felt grief before, so he's no stranger to it. When his grandfather died, when he left his mother and sister to follow after his father and his business. He's familiar with the achy hollow feeling it leaves, like someone has carved out a hole in his chest.
Watching Daniel go is worse.
—
Max's workbench looks terribly empty now that the armor is finished and delivered. He would've liked to see Daniel wearing it while on his horse - check that he was comfortable, if riding was smooth. He carved his little sigil into the inside of the breastplate anyway, the golden lion, right over where the heart sits. One little indulgence before… Well, before.
And so life resumes for Max. He wakes up every morning before dawn, fuzzy and usually fine, until reality comes crashing down on his chest. He feels it for a little bit, gives himself a minute before getting up and shrugging it off, because it doesn't matter anyway.
He works every day, all day and into the night, until his body is sore and his mind numb, and then he drags himself back to bed to repeat the process. His father watches him work; says nothing. At least that's better than the thinly-veiled disgust he's caught other times, in the before.
Once or twice a week his father will excuse him early from work, and Max will walk through town to see Kelly. He meets her kid, a sweet little girl who hides behind her mother's skirts at first but eventually shows Max her small collection of felt dolls.
They're heading towards marriage, he knows. It's the inevitable path laid out before him, nudged in the right direction by his father, and Kelly herself and her family.
About a month in the after, Kelly lays a hand on Max's elbow and looks at him with serious eyes. "Are you alright, Max? You've seemed a little… Tired. Distracted, lately", she asks. "Is everything going well at the workshop?".
Max tries to breathe, stretches his lips into a smile. "Things have been a bit stressful lately. Lots of work coming in", he manages.
Kelly looks at him, considering. "Maybe I can ask my father if he knows anyone looking for an apprenticeship. I know the last couple of boys didn't quite work out, but you can't keep overworking yourself like this".
"It's fine, don't worry about it". Max likes it. Well, no, he doesn't, but it helps.
Still, Kelly asks. She walks into the forge herself and smiles at Jos. Within two weeks, Checo is taking over the spare workbench.
And Checo is fine, too. Older than Pierre and Alex were, respects his father and minds his own business. He doesn't press when Max stays late anyway, even though his workload isn't as bad now that he's here.
Checo's work is forgettable but satisfactory. Jos nods when he presents him his first piece, a sturdy longsword meant for a palace noble. So Checo stays.
—
It's nerve-wracking, sometimes, walking through town and catching sight of red bulls stitched over dark blue capes. Usually it'll be a couple of knights on horseback, patrolling the market or the roads that lead up towards the castle. Max will try to make himself look as small as possible when he sees them, just in case, even though it's never Daniel trotting past him.
Except once. Around two months after, when Checo drags him to the nearest tavern after shutting down the forge for the day to meet a few of his friends. And Max will never be best friends with Checo, but he likes him well enough. So he goes.
He regrets it as soon as Checo pushes the door open and he hears Daniel's laugh cutting through the noise. It's instinctual for Max to follow the sound of it and track it to a corner table where a smattering of knights are sitting and drinking. There's a small mountain of empty tankards littered around them, and Max imagines their faces to be happy and a little flushed, like Daniel's is. But he can't take his eyes off of him long enough to check, so.
"Max? Are you coming?", Checo asks in front of him, and Max is about to tear his gaze away and respond when suddenly Daniel sways a little and catches him looking.
It's like time stops, for a moment. Obviously it doesn't, but Max can't process anything else other than the way Daniel's eyes widen just a little, and how his smile dies on his face. So time might as well have stopped, for him.
He manages to face Checo, who's half-turning to follow Max's eyeline to the knights. "On second thought, I'm feeling a little ill", he lies, straight-faced. "Thank you for inviting me out, but I think I'll take a raincheck".
Checo's eyebrow arches on his forehead. "What? But you're already here! Come on, Max, let me-", he starts, but Daniel is trying to get up from his chair and Max needs to leave now.
"Sorry mate, really. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?", and Max doesn't wait around to find out Checo's reaction. The door's almost closed behind him when he hears a shout of "Max!" dressed in Daniel's voice. He practically runs home.
—
Slowly but steadily, Max begins getting orders addressed specifically to him. No longer to his father, or to the forge in general: no, to Max Verstappen, Jos' son. Most come from the castle. Max chooses to ignore the reason why this might be happening.
"I want to handle my own commissions". When he hears, Jos' face makes a weird ticking motion for a second, then schools itself back into place.
His father is not happy to lose Max's hands, he knows. But this was bound to happen from the moment he put a hammer in Max's fingers: he needs to make a name for himself, if he can. After all, success and wealth is what they've always aimed for. If it doesn't work out, then Max will come back with his tail between his legs to Jos' smirk and 'I told you so's. Either way, it's a win for Jos.
So Max stays in the forge, but works independently. He starts managing his own deals, prices and materials, his own schedule and deadlines. It feels good, to gain some control over what clients to take and which ones to reject - it's enough that he can even afford to do so.
And anyway, it's another excuse to run himself ragged. As the weeks go by his clothes start feeling a bit looser around his waist and his shoulders, even though he remembers to have his meals every day. Well, almost every day.
Checo keeps trying to get him to leave before nightfall, even though Max usually limits himself to saying no as politely as he can and then ignore him. "Mate, I think you're not getting enough sleep", he says, sounding a little worried. Max just tries to smile and shake him off.
"I'm just finishing up here. You go ahead and go home". Usually Checo looks at him one final time, and leaves.
It's one of those nights, all blurred together in Max's head, that he hears a knock on the door, and then another one. It's way after closing time, but the firelight filtering through the windows must've given Max away.
When he opens the door, he's not ready to see Daniel's face on the other side.
"Hi", Daniel says, with a little shy smile that makes Max's chest go numb.
"Hi", is all he can mutter back. The cold is quickly seeping in from the outside, winter creeping closer and closer every day. Daniel's wearing a dark lined cloak over his usual attire, and Max shivers.
"Can I come in?". Max thinks about saying 'No', or even just 'I don't really think you should', but instead finds himself stepping to the side and letting Daniel through. He's weak like that.
So Max watches, feeling stiff as a board, as Daniel looks around and wanders over to his workbench, running the pads of his right hand over the shield he'd been working on. Max's sketchbook is laid open right next to it, where he drew the details of the carvings he's supposed to make. Suddenly he's both grateful and disappointed that the drawings he made of Daniel aren't there anymore.
Daniel points to the second bench, where Checo's half-finished project is carefully laid down. "New apprentice?", he asks, and Max nods. "Is it the man you were at the tavern with?".
"Yeah". Daniel nods, returning his gaze to Max's own workbench. He's fucked Max against it. "Daniel. What are you doing here?".
Daniel's smile seems brittle when he finally aims it at Max. A shame, it's Daniel's best weapon. "Yes, it makes sense that you would want to know, right?". A gloved finger runs through his curls, messing them up further. "I don't know what I'm doing, Max", he says, and it sounds like a confession. Max senses the 'but' coming. "But I'm fucking dying here".
Max, already half-dead, doesn't blink. "You should go, Daniel".
"No. No, I'm not leaving without speaking first", he says, and then he walks over to Max and grabs his face with both hands. The gloves feel cold against Max's flushed cheeks. "I'm going back home, Max. And you should come with me".
Max frowns. "What? What do you mean back home?". Daniel nods again. His eyes look so big like this.
"To manage the estate. My father is getting older, and… Well, he offered for me to come back and help him. My sister moved after getting married, and I'm the heir, so", he says. Max's brain is racing, more out of control the closer Daniel's face is to his own. "King Christian approved, and I want you to come with me".
Max tries to pull away. "Daniel…".
"No, please, think about it", he urges. "We have our own keep. You could live there as our blacksmith, supply tools and weapons to my men", he says, and Max hates the way his brain starts coming up with the scenario, despite himself. "We're on good terms with the local church. No one would come looking for us with pitchforks if… You know, I never married. And you lived there as well. My family would support us".
Hope is a funny thing. It takes such a strong hold on Max's ribs, that it cracks his chest into pieces every time it's ripped out. He's scared of it.
And the worst of it all is that Max can picture it: his own small workshop, a quieter life crafting tools for the local farmers, the builders and the fishermen. Weapons for the soldiers, and for Daniel. Daniel himself standing on the doorway, being a nuisance half the day and actually bothering to help around the land the other half. Spending his nights in the same bed as Max, without being scared of the noose.
And it looks like Daniel's imagining it too. "My lands are down south. We get plenty of sun, and you can visit the sea any time you want. I'll get tan and you'll burn, yeah?", he whispers as his thumb starts tracing small patterns on Max's jaw. He wants to rip away the stupid gloves, so he can feel Daniel's skin against his own.
Max's own voice sounds shaky to his own ears when he speaks. "You're fucking crazy. My father will kill me", he says, and Daniel smiles.
"I'll protect you".
Max kisses him.
—
"Hey, Max. Do you need anything delivered? Messenger's here". A bit startled, Max lifts up his head from where it was hanging dangerously close to his sketchbook. Daniel keeps telling him to watch his posture, and it annoys Max that he might be right.
"Uhm, yeah. Just a second". Michael waits by the door, watching as Max rifles through his things until he finally finds the latest letter he'd intended to send to his sister. He's hoping he can get her and her husband to visit sometime in the future, hopefully before fall arrives in earnest.
He picks the letter up, smudging a little bit of charcoal on the envelope, then hands it to Michael. "Thanks, mate".
"No problem". Michael and Max hadn't started off on the best of terms at first, but they're trying, for Daniel. Max wants them to get along - Michael is Daniel's childhood friend, after all. He stayed behind when Daniel left for the King's castle, serving as a steward to help manage the household in his absence. Nobody knows the grounds better than Michael does.
"Oh, by the way, where's Daniel?", Max asks before Michael has had the chance to walk away. Time had slipped away completely from Max, too focused on his work to notice much besides his own fingers on the parchment.
Michael makes a face. "Last I saw him he was up in the towers, I think, doing God knows what". Max snorts a laugh.
"Probably doing nothing, then".
In response, Michael gives him a small smile. "Yeah, probably".
Once Michael's gone and Max has packed up, he heads outside. It's a nice evening: warm, but not overly so anymore. The sun's still out, although barely, bathing the courtyard in a soft orange light. A few of the men wave as Max walks by, and Max reciprocates. It's nice, the way Daniel's men love him so much that they've been willing to accept Max as well. The few that had remained reticent when they first made it clear that Max wasn't going anywhere started to change their minds once they saw Max's work.
His father's workshop is ingrained too deep into himself to ever be forgotten, but right now it feels like a faraway memory to Max. He finds that he doesn't much miss it.
Max locates Daniel at the top of the western tower, leaning both arms on the stone ledge and looking at the sunset. The edge of the sea is barely visible on the horizon, a darker streak glittering under the sun.
Daniel smiles when he hears Max's footsteps, turning to look at him. "Hi, there. Why is my blacksmith wandering around the tower?".
"I heard my liege was wasting time up here, so the castle steward sent me to investigate", Max replies, making Daniel laugh. Max likes it as much as he did the first time it happened.
They both know why Daniel is here, though. There's been reports of raiders to the south for a few weeks now - they've been stealing from the villages in the area, which are under the Ricciardos' protection. That means Daniel will lead the party sent to either disperse or kill the bandits. They're scheduled to leave tomorrow at first light, so Daniel is probably out here trying to get himself in the right headspace.
"I've never minded these types of orders before", he'd whispered into Max's hair last night. "But now I'm a bit more… Apprehensive, I guess. That something might happen, you know?". In response, Max had tightened his arms around Daniel, squeezing tight.
Back in the present, Daniel smiles anyway. "I'm going to banish Michael. Good luck selling me out from the next land over". Daniel makes jokes like this all the time, even though they all know he's kidding. He would cut his right arm before sending Michael away like that. "Anyway, it's been a hard day's work. I reckon it's about time for dinner now".
Max hums. He hasn't heard the bells ring yet, but it shouldn't be long. "Come on, now. I'm sure they'll let you sneak something off the kitchen".
When Daniel walks by, he presses a kiss to Max's lips. There's no one there - Max had checked as he came up - so he allows it. Leans in for a moment, before stepping away.
There'll be time for more.