Work Text:
The first time Daniel meets Max Verstappen he is expecting a few things: a hotel room and a fake name for sure, maybe some stilted conversation and either quiet, awkward sex, or Max to be a cunt, call him a slut and a whore and to fuck Daniel like he owns him. It’s usually how it goes with millionaire closet cases. Daniel doesn’t mind, he can take some name calling and a round or two of rough sex for the right price, and the figure he’d given Max had meant he could take the rest of the week off from clients if he wanted.
Things don’t go down like that.
Instead Max gives him an address for a swanky apartment block overlooking the harbour and, aside from asking Daniel to sign an NDA, he could just be any other guy. He opens the door in a white t-shirt and running shorts, offers Daniel a drink and okay, the stilted conversation is definitely there but other than that, Max meets exactly none of his expectations.
He asks if they can kiss, and when Daniel says yes, they make out like the world is about to end, like Daniel is his long lost lover and Max can’t get enough, can’t get close enough to satisfy himself. It’s hot as fuck, and Daniel lets himself relish how it feels like a hook up instead of an appointment. Pleasure instead of obligation.
It steals his breath, and when Max says in no uncertain terms that he wants to get fucked, wants to take Daniel to his ridiculous king sized bed and be kissed and touched and fucked until their time runs out, well it’s the easiest job Daniel has ever had.
Max’s body is all soft skin over firm muscle, coarse hair along his legs and bare across his chest. Prominent tits and perky little nipples. Daniel devours him, wants to make sure Max fucking Verstappen remembers him among all the other hookers he’s probably hired. He isn’t even thinking about getting a repeat booking, just wants to make the most of this hot young thing who pushes Daniel’s buttons enough that worrying about staying hard isn’t even a consideration.
Max takes it all beautifully, opens his thighs and presses a bottle of lube into Daniel’s hands, sighs in pleasure when Daniel presses inside, one teasing finger at a time until he’s got three taking Max apart, his gasping little moans and quiet begging filling the air around them.
He doesn’t call Daniel a slut or a whore, and Daniel has never felt less awkward in his life.
The sex is as incredible as the foreplay, and Daniel manages to make Max come three times in their two hour slot, makes him shudder and moan and plead for more. The third time when he comes it’s hardly anything, a weak little dribble from Max’s dick that Daniel licks up greedily, even though it’s a risk, even though it’s stupid, even though he shouldn’t.
Max tastes too good to care.
And then it’s over, their time is up and Daniel drags his clothes back on, tired and sweaty but so fucking sated he can hardly believe this was a work appointment.
“Is it best for me to pay you now? I have cash.”
Max is still naked and splayed out on the bed, chest flushed and dick soft against his hip, and Daniel has the wild urge to tell him to keep it. That he’d give Max sex like that for free.
He’s a fucking idiot.
“I prefer a bank transfer, the details are on my profile.”
Max just nods, digs out his phone and when the notification pops up on Daniel’s it’s for fifteen hundred euros, almost double the figure they’d agreed.
“This is…” he starts but Max just cuts him off.
“Keep it, it’s fine, thank you for a very lovely afternoon, Daniel.”
Daniel just nods, stunned, and leaves Max’s ridiculous penthouse feeling like a thief in the night.
When he gets a second booking request from M. E Verstappen before he’s even made it home, Daniel doesn’t hesitate for a second before accepting.
*********
“Can I come on you?” Max asks, head thrown back as he rides Daniel on the bed.
It’s only the fourth time that Daniel’s been here, but he’s excellent at picking up on his partner’s cues, can tell that Max is so close already. It helps that Max is so fucking expressive with his body, says as much with the roll of his hips and the curve of his spine as he does with his mouth. With his words.
“Yeah,” Daniel says, “whatever you want, baby.”
You’re paying for it, he thinks, but doesn’t say.
And hey, come play is hot and fun, and when he’s having sex just for pleasure Daniel loves it. At work it’s harder, the need for clear boundaries and condoms and safe sex at all fucking times can take away some of the appeal, but in this position there is no way it can go wrong, really. Not with Max fucking himself down on Daniel’s dick and facing away from him, the strong, soft lines of Max’s back on display for Daniel too see, to touch and scratch his bitten-down nails over, ever so lightly.
He’s a pro at not leaving marks too.
When Max does come it’s with a quiet little ‘shit’ and one hand directing his dick so it lands across Daniel’s thigh, warm and wet and hot as fuck. Max doesn’t move, doesn’t pull off Daniel’s cock, and instead he reaches down to trace the lines of his come into the shapes of Daniel’s tattoos. It’s sexy and weird and intimate and despite how much he shouldn’t, Daniel fucking loves it anyway.
“I love your tattoos,” Max says, voice softer than Daniel’s heard it before, lisping and almost slurred with pleasure.
“Yeah?” Daniel asks, trying to pitch his own voice low, to sound sexy and sultry. It must work, because Max just whines and nods, shifts his hips experimentally where Daniel is still hard inside his ass. Keeps touching the skin on Daniel’s thigh until his come is mostly dried and sticky.
“Give me another minute,” Max says, “and I can go again. We have time right?”
Daniel doesn’t look at the clock.
“Yeah, we got time.”
*********
The weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix Daniel receives a message from Max. It’s not even an official appointment request, just a hastily typed notification in the chat section.
Max: Are you free in one hour?
It’s Saturday, and quali has just ended, Daniel knows because he watched and Max finished P9 after a red flag and a shit strategy. So the answer is yes, Daniel is free, is currently sitting at home in his boxers and a t-shirt that is at least fifteen years old and is almost more hole than material at this point.
Daniel: yeah I’m free, aren’t you busy though?
Max: Yes
Max: I want you to come anyway
Daniel: come where? you haven’t sent an appointment request.
Max: I have only half an hour free. Your appointment calendar will only let me book an hour. So, can you come? I will pay for the full hour of course.
Daniel: where?
Max: I have a yacht in the marina. I will send you directions if you can meet with me.
This is fucking insane, Daniel thinks, and then he types: yes, okay. tell me where and when and I’ll meet you there.
And so an hour later he finds himself being led to the slip where Max’s boat is docked by a tall man in a dark suit jacket. Daniel has a baseball cap on and sunglasses, is dressed casually, because he doesn’t know how the hell Max is explaining this to his people, and he prides himself on his discretion. When they reach the boat it’s smaller than Daniel expected, but is still probably worth more than all of his worldly possessions combined.
Max isn’t waiting on the deck, obviously, but the guy tells him to climb aboard, that the door is open and he’s free to go on in, so Daniel does.
Inside it’s sleek wood and leather seats, the smell of the ocean and furniture polish making his nose itch. Max is waiting there, alone, and he looks antsy. Mad. But also, if the way his shorts are tented is any indication - horny.
“You came,” Max says when he notices Daniel, voice tinged with surprise.
“I said I would,” Daniel replies, and then, “nice boat.”
“Thank you. Lock the door.”
Daniel does, flips the latch over easily, and the windows are already covered, the blinds rolled down so it’s just a hazy glow of sunlight filtering through. Max walks closer to Daniel, backs him up against the wall, and sometimes it freaks him out when clients do shit like this, but he’s met with Max enough times now to know he’s just intense about fucking. That his intentions are never sinister. Still, Daniel lets his hands drop. Wraps them around the soft curve of Max’s hips, taking back a little of the control.
“I don’t have time to fuck today, I have to be at a gala in two hours.” Max says, simple and blunt, just like always.
“Okay, we can do whatever you want, baby, you know that.”
“I just… I want to come. With you.”
Daniel smiles, kisses Max once, and then spreads his arms wide, presenting his body as if to say ‘have at it.’ He knows in the moment Max will always take what he wants, but sometimes, before they get to that part, he still needs a little encouragement.
In the end they wind up on one of the soft leather couches that line either side of the boat, Daniel’s hat, glasses and jacket discarded, but other than that they’re still fully clothed. Max is wearing light running shorts that do fucking nothing to hide how hard he is, and Daniel’s own erection is trapped behind rough denim and the tight line of his zip. Still, it’s not about him, and when Max starts to kiss him and thrust against Daniel’s thigh, legs straddled over either side, he just goes with it. Runs his hands down the long line of Max’s back before wrapping them around his hips again, using the angle to help Max press down harder, to take what he needs.
“That’s it Max,” he says, “make yourself feel good.”
“Fuck,” Max whines, voice breaking into a moan at the end.
It’s nothing special or fancy, but they stay like that, Max fucking against Daniel’s thigh, over and over until he eventually comes, body shuddering in Daniel’s arms, hips jerking before he finally stills. Max lets his head rest against Daniel’s shoulder, breathing harshly into the skin of his neck for a moment before he pulls back, looking down at where Daniel is obviously still hard.
“Sorry… you didn't…” Max goes to reach down, but Daniel wraps his hand around Max’s wrist, stopping the movement of his arm.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“But you’re hard.”
“I’m here for you, Maxy, not for me. Anyway…” but Daniel’s cut off by Max’s phone ringing, by Max scrambling out of his lap to grab it off the bar in the corner of the cabin.
“Yeah,” Max says when he answers, “I’m just…. Yeah. Okay. I need to go home and get my tux, and then I’ll meet you at the hotel. Yeah, an hour, alright.”
He hangs up, then swears, turning back to face Daniel.
“I’m sorry, that was my manager, I really need to leave.”
Daniel stands up, shrugs his jacket back on and then grabs his hat and sunglasses too.
“Hey, it’s cool. I can see myself out. Good luck tomorrow, yeah?”
Max snorts, “thanks, I’m going to need it. Fucking P9.”
Daniel assumes that’s what this whole thing is about, Max wanting to fuck out his frustrations or whatever, and honestly, Daniel is a willing participant. Making Max come and getting paid for it too? Sign him the fuck up.
“Well,” Daniel says, “I’ll be watching, and when I see you on the podium, I’ll be saying I told you so.”
It’s enough to make Max smile.
Less than twenty four hours later Max finishes P3 and Daniel digs out his phone immediately.
Daniel: told ya so, congrats!
*********
Daniel has seen a lot of things during his time as an escort in Monaco, the sex, the drugs, and the rock n’ roll, but he’s a professional and rarely lets it phase him, just accepts it as part of his job at any given time and moves on. It’s why he’s so popular probably, has a number of regulars who know they can count on his discretion because truly he doesn’t care - if some politician or member of the royal family wants to use his body to snort lines of coke off of before having him fuck them, well, who is he to judge?
They always pay well and that’s what he actually cares about.
But still, this, here and now in an apartment overlooking the sea feels like a lot.
He’s with Max again of course. Max who is a five-time Formula 1 World Champion and has spent all of his professional career connected to high profile models and influencers. All women, because aren’t they always? Only Daniel knows better than anyone that Max isn’t interested in what women can do for him in the bedroom, he always wants to get fucked, and fucked hard when Daniel comes over.
Today is no different, except for how he didn’t drag them to the bedroom immediately, instead Max downed a finger of whiskey, offered one to Daniel (which he declined, he’s a professional thank you very much,) and brought them out onto the balcony.
“I want you to fuck me here,” Max says, running his hand along the wall that is separating them from the outside world, from the sea just beyond the harbour. It’s not high, barely stomach height for them both, and Daniel isn’t certain that it’s a good idea.
“Are you sure?” Daniel asks, because it’s the penthouse, sure, but Max doesn’t live in the tallest building on this block. There are plenty of others close enough to overlook where they are, a rooftop bar at a hotel down the street that probably has a decent enough view too.
“Yes.” Max says.
It’s the middle of the day is the thing, and this isn’t their first rodeo, so he knows exactly how loud Max can be when he’s getting railed. If they do this out here, there is a pretty good chance someone could see, and probably an even better chance of Max’s downstairs neighbours hearing from the balconies below, barely ten feet down. Daniel is always game to give his clients what they want, but he’s never outed one before and he doesn’t want to ruin that streak now, not even when Max is willing and asking for this.
The boat in the marina had been risky enough, and that was at least behind a locked door.
“You get pretty loud though, baby, people will hear you, will look over and see you taking my dick, are you sure you want that?”
Max flushes and Daniel doesn’t miss the way his dick jerks in his loose training shorts, already hard.
Huh, maybe Max really does want that.
“I want you to fuck me here,” Max says again, and Daniel is chubbing up now too, excited by the thought even though he should be sensible, should try to convince Max to take this back inside, to the bedroom like usual. Maybe the living room to spice things up.
“Away from the walls then okay?” He says instead, “how about you ride me on the lounger over there? I can help you to stay quiet.”
Max bites his lip, like he’s considering before he asks, “how?”
“Hmm,” Daniel murmurs, leaning down to kiss Max’s neck, light so he won’t leave a mark, “what if I make you suck on my fingers while I fuck you? I know you love to be full at both ends, Maxy, how does that sound?”
Max doesn’t respond with words, just kisses Daniel hard and fast, full steam ahead. It’s how he always is in the bedroom and it’s one of the reasons Daniel looks forward to these bookings, fucking a young, hot guy is always a good time, but one who is desperate for it? Who moans so beautifully and takes his cock so well? It’s fucking heaven. The fact that Max is an excellent tipper is just the icing on the cake.
Max asks Daniel to get naked, and then strips away his own clothes too, shameless in the balmy afternoon air, and it’s still a risk, to do this out here, but Daniel feels better that they’re doing it away from the edge, that they’ll be lying on the sun lounger instead of bent over the wall or whatever Max had concocted in his mind. That Daniel can help to muffle his wild moaning and begging. Max is still hard, leaking at the tip, so clearly this is enough, the illusion of being seen or caught or whatever it was that drove him out onto the balcony in the first place.
Daniel has lube and condoms in his pocket, it’s a part of the job - to always be prepared and he never trusts that the client will provide these things. (Even though he knows Max would, has seen both in Max’s bedside drawer the one time they dug around in there for a couple of cock rings so they could edge each other for hours.) Today he sets them down on the little table between the set of loungers and then lies back on the one to the left. It’s big and plush - obviously bought by someone with money to burn, and it should easily hold their weight. Daniel is mostly hard already, just from looking at Max, the wide set of his shoulders, his shapely little waist, the hot curve of his arse and the bulk of his thighs. He’s Daniel’s type exactly, manly and hot without being a gym bro, strong and toned but not ripped.
Daniel would fuck him for free if he’d met Max in a club, instead of through a ping on his company’s website.
“We don’t need lube,” Max says, and Daniel frowns. His dick isn’t small, and he’s not going to fuck Max dry.
“Oh?” he says, conversational as Max picks up one of the condoms and rips the package open with his teeth. Daniel loves those too, they’re straight and flat and Max’s tongue lisps up against them in a way that is hopelessly endearing for a multimillionaire athlete.
“I already… before you came. You tease too much and make me come too soon, otherwise.”
And well, okay. Daniel has never been told he is too good at prep before, but he’ll take it as a compliment.
“Put some on my dick though okay, baby? Get me nice and wet for you.”
Max does, fits the condom onto Daniel and then jacks him for a minute, letting the lube drip down Daniel’s balls and onto the cushions below. He’s sat most of the way up, so it’ll be easy to kiss in this position too, and Max doesn’t hesitate, just swings a leg over Daniel and fits the head of Daniel’s dick to his own hole, pressing down. It’s slow and smooth and Max prepped himself well enough for the slide to be easy.
“Oh, oh. Fuck,” Max says, when he lifts back up and starts to ride Daniel properly, slow and deep and by the third thrust Max is already moaning, louder than he should be out here, louder than he usually does even, shameless. Daniel reaches up, rests his thumb on the plush swell of Max’s bottom lip and lets his other hand run through Max’s hair.
“Shhh, baby, everyone is going to hear you, will know how much you love my cock inside you.”
Max jolts, precome dripping from his dick, and oh, that is what this is all about. Max wants that, or the illusion at least, is clearly so fucking turned on by the idea that he could be seen like this, naked and fucking Daniel like his life depends on it. Alright, Daniel can work with that. He reaches his thumb up further, presses it into Max’s mouth, onto his tongue, and tells him to suck before moving his hips to fuck up harder, giving it to Max exactly how he loves.
“That’s it Max, you look so pretty like this, out here riding me for anyone to see.”
Max cock leaks more, wet and smearing precome between them as he sucks on Daniel’s thumb, pressing his teeth into the meat of it to muffle the way he’s trying to hold back his moans. It’s hot and Max is so flushed, is so hard where his dick bumps against Daniel’s stomach with each thrust, and they’ve fucked for hours before, but Daniel knows that isn’t what today is about. This is quick and dirty, is Max using Daniel’s body to take exactly what he needs.
When Max comes it seems to go on forever, spilling hot and messy up Daniel’s chest, catching on his nipples as Max throws his head back, letting Daniel’s thumb slip free so he can moan and swear as he shakes through his orgasm. He looks so incredible that Daniel wishes he could take a picture, capture the long line of his throat sheened with sweat, his stiff little nipples and sexy lips parted in pleasure.
That, along with the way Max is clenching down is enough to push Daniel over the edge too, coming into the condom and the tight clutch of Max’s hot body.
Afterwards, once they’ve headed back inside on unsteady legs and showered in Max’s insane ensuite, Daniel pulls on his clothes and watches Max do the same. He’s always quieter after sex, once the adrenaline and dopamine have receded some. Daniel gets it, the whole hooker thing is more awkward for most people once the fucking is actually over.
“How much do you charge for a full night?” Max asks, after he transfers the fee for today, the little notification pinging on Daniel’s phone. M. E. Verstappen has sent you a payment. Daniel doesn't bother to check the amount, Max will have rounded it up to the nearest thousand anyway, just like he always does.
He’s fucking insane.
“That depends on what you have in mind, like for a date or for sex? If you want me to stay over I have a different rate for that too.”
Max bites his lips, “That, the last one. I want you to come and spend the night with me after the race next weekend.”
Daniel frowns, “The race is in Holland next weekend,” he says, like Max doesn’t know, like it isn’t his home fucking race.
Max just shrugs, like it’s nothing, “I know, I can have my plane come and collect you. We can fly back together on Monday morning, of course. You shouldn’t miss any other appointments if I book you for the whole night, right?”
“Right.” Daniel says and. It’s never been like this before.
Max booked a five hour slot once, but other than that it’s usually just for two hours, in the middle of the afternoon during the week. Daniel assumes to keep things deliberately separate from racing. The afternoon after qualifying for the Monaco Grand Prix is the only other exception, and that had been spontaneous, Max reaching out in the heat of the moment.
“It’s… I mean. I don’t do overnights very often. Can I message you later with a price, you can let me know if you want to go ahead with it then?”
Daniel always prefers to book things in via the app instead of right after fucking because it gives him time to assess, to check if it’s something he really wants to do.
Fucking Max is something he always wants to do honestly, (which he doesn’t let himself examine too closely,) but being put on the spot like this about a night in another country throws him for a loop. He can’t fully believe he’s actually having this conversation, being a guy in this line of work means that he doesn't usually get the vacation-arm-candy jobs for rich guys, that is generally reserved for the hot, twenty-something girls at the agency. And yet, here they are.
“Will ten thousand cover it?” Max asks, and well.
That’s more than Daniel earns in a month, sometimes.
“Yes,” he says, dumbstruck and overwhelmed. But how the hell can he say no to an offer like that? Max smiles, a little shyly and nods.
“Okay, it is settled then. Just let me know where I should send the car to pick you up before the flight.”
*********
Daniel is just stepping out of the shower when the message comes through. He hears it vibrate against the wood of his dresser and assumes it’s another job request, or maybe a text from Scotty asking if he wants to workout, and doesn’t rush to pick it up. He’s only been home twenty minutes after spending the afternoon with one of his semi-regular clients, a woman in her forties who likes him to go down on her for hours. It’s always a change of pace when she books a slot, because usually it’s mostly men, mostly fucking. He likes her though, and they have fun.
So he doesn’t rush, just takes his time and dries his hair with the towel, trims his beard and moisturises, before finally dragging on a pair of shorts and picking up his phone. The message isn’t from Scotty, and it isn’t another job request either. It’s Max.
New Message from M.E Verstappen is the notification and Daniel swipes it open to the app he uses for work, to the chat section that he can enable with regular clients. The one he only really uses with Max.
Hello Daniel is what it says, and it makes him smile, always so formal.
Hi, Daniel types back, everything okay?
Max: Yes, of course. I was just confirming the details for Sunday.
Daniel bites his lip, feels a little fizz of anticipation about the whole thing, a giddy thrill that isn’t just about the ten fucking grand he’s getting for one night, no matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise. He tries to not focus on it for longer than a couple of minutes at a time, because he knows he’s an idiot to be looking forward to the appointment as much as the money. Knows that despite their insane chemistry between the sheets, Max is just another client, and Daniel’s just a convenient dick.
Max: I wanted to ask also if you were free during the day?
Daniel frowns, because he knows Max will be busy during the day, will be racing and probably winning and doing wherever else it is that Formula 1 World Champions do, so he has no fucking idea where this is heading.
Daniel: sure, let's make a plan. yeah I’m free on sunday, why?
Max: Would you like to come to the race?
What the fuck?
Daniel flops onto the bed and tries to figure out where the hell Max is going with this. Surely he doesn’t want to be seen with Daniel, doesn’t want the guy he pays for sex hanging around during his home race.
Daniel: I don't think that’s a good idea Max.
Max: I don't mean…it would be in the grandstands. I can get you a ticket.
It’s less insane than the vision Daniel had concocted of himself in some hospitality suite or whatever, but it’s still ridiculous, that Max would do that, would even want him there for anything more than the way Daniel can make him come behind closed doors.
Daniel: you’re already flying me out and paying me for the night, it’s… a lot. too much, to get me a ticket too.
Max: I can pay you more, for the day too, if that is the issue. I think it would be nice, for you to come.
Daniel’s heart thunders. He doesn’t understand what this is, doesn’t understand why it would matter to Max if he’s sitting in a grandstand in Zandvoort or hanging out at home until Max’s plane is ready to fly him out for a post-race fuck. That part makes sense to Daniel. He knows exactly what Max gets out of their arrangement in the bedroom, because Daniel is good at fucking, is discreet, knows how make Max come, and then come again, most of the time.
Anything outside of that arrangement though? He has no fucking idea.
Daniel: jesus max, I’m not asking you to pay me more, I’m saying it’s already too much.
Max: But if I gave you a ticket anyway, would you like to come?
He sighs, lets out a long, slow breath, because how is this his life right now? How did he go from sometimes struggling to pay for food and rent, to Max fucking Verstappen offering to fly him around in his private jet, giving him tickets to Formula 1 races, and paying him ten thousand euros to boot.
Danie: obviously max, god.
He types the message out quickly, hits send before he can talk himself out of it, can convince himself to be sensible and draw the lines that need to be drawn. But he might never get an opportunity like this again. Sunday could be the last time Max ever books him for all he knows. So. In for a penny or whatever.
Max: Okay.
Daniel: okay?
Max: I will send the plane early for you, I’ll book the first slot on Sunday morning. The flight attendant will have a ticket for the race, if you want to come, you can. If you want to go straight to my hotel, that also is okay. Just tell the driver when you are at the airport.
Daniel: you’re insane max.
Max: I am the world champion Daniel, they are always very happy to give me extra tickets to my home race. It is not a big deal.
Daniel scoffs to himself, incredulous. Sure, not a big deal to fly out your local neighbourhood hooker and invite him to the biggest race of the year for the World Champion. Just totally normal behaviour. God, Max is fucking crazy.
Daniel: if you say so.
Max: I need an address for the car to pick you up from.
It makes Daniel pause for a moment, he’s not going to give Max the address for his little shoebox flat that might as well be in another universe from the penthouse where Max lives across town.
Daniel: is the fairmont hotel okay?
Max: Yes, of course.
Daniel: okay, tell me what time and I'll be there.
Max: The car will arrive for you at 7.00am, the flight will leave an hour later.
Daniel: okay, I’ll see you on sunday max.
He closes the app and drops his phone onto the mattress, runs a hand across his face. What the fuck just happened?
—
When Daniel wakes up at 6am on Sunday morning there is already a notification waiting on his phone, the little shiny gold coin icon telling him as much as the words M. E. Verstappen has sent you a payment do. Daniel flicks it open quickly, fingers fumbling because… no, surely Max didn’t? But there it is. Ten thousand euros sitting in the incoming payments section of his account.
All he can think about is how insane Max is, how Daniel could easily just bounce with ten grand and not even show up for the car or the flight or the race or their night together. And Daniel knows this is basically just pocket change to Max at this point in his life, but to Daniel it’s… It’s rent and food for the rest of the year. It’s a down payment on a car. It’s a flight back home.
He grabs his phone, has to message Max immediately.
Daniel: you’re fucking crazy. I could just disappear with your ten grand right now.
Max replies instantly, because of course.
Max: Are you going to?
Daniel: no. but that’s not the point!
Max: Well then, I am not crazy. I will see you tonight okay? After I win. Enjoy the race.
Daniel rolls his eyes and drags himself out of bed, trying to quiet the way his mind is racing as he packs his shit up which basically amounts to two outfit changes, an unopened bottle of lube and a box of condoms. It fits easily into a rucksack and after a slice of toast and another ten minutes staring at the money in his account he walks the twenty minutes to the hotel. There is a driver in a sleek black car already waiting as he approaches and when he’s close enough the tinted window rolls down. The guy is older with grey hair and a perfectly groomed moustache and he looks up at Daniel in the early morning sun.
“Guest of Mr Verstappen?” he asks and Daniel nods.
“Yeah, er. Yes. That's me.”
As he sits back against the plush leather seat five minutes later and they weave through the winding streets out of the city, all Daniel can think is how this fuck is this my life?
*********
Watching Max win a race is insane.
Watching him do it from a grandstand in a sea of orange and surrounded by Max’s friends is so next level ridiculous that Daniel can barely even comprehend it.
He hadn't realised at first that they were his friends, until one of them made a joke, something about Max during a sim race, and he’d known from the familiarity in the guy’s voice that they weren’t just fans. They’re his sim team, Daniel gathers, though he doesn’t exactly know what that means, doesn’t know shit about online racing, but he’s seen the set up Max has in his living room enough times to know he’s serious about it.
They’re sat on the row in front of him, six guys who along with Daniel are probably the only ones not dressed head to toe in Verstappen merch, and Daniel doesn’t know a lot about Max. Not a lot outside of how he races and how he fucks at least, but he can still envisage him hanging out with this gang of skinny little guys off the internet so easily, can imagine them shooting the shit and teasing each other without any effort at all.
It’s nice.
But it still makes Daniel feel weird as hell to be sitting there in the centre of a group of people from Max’s real life. It feels too personal, too close to the heart of who Max actually is, instead of just what Daniel is to him behind a locked door. Or on his penthouse balcony. So he does his best to stay invisible to them, watches the race, watches Max fucking dominate, and the moment the chequered flag waves he’s out of there.
The driver who brought him from the jet to the track had said he’d be around afterwards to drive Daniel back to the hotel ‘as per Mr. Verstappen’s request’ and Daniel had been tripping out so hard at the absurdity of his life that all he could do was nod.
He didn’t think to ask questions then, like how Daniel would know where to find him again, or what the fuck he would do at the hotel without Max there to let him in, but it turns out Max has thought of it all anyway. When Daniel heads back to the drop off point where he arrived the same car is still there, the driver leaning against the side of it with a plaque that reads Mr Daniel J. That’s the name on his escorting profile, and when he gets close enough the guy recognises him and smiles, holds the car door open for him to boot.
“Mr Verstappen asked me to give you this, sir,” the driver says when he starts up the engine, leaning back to hand Daniel a plain white envelope.
Outside of the bedroom Daniel has never been called sir in his damn life.
There’s a keycard inside the envelope, along with a hastily scrawled note that reads room number 723, order whatever you want and charge it to the room, see you later, max. For the hundredth time since he woke up this morning Daniel can only question how the fuck this is his life.
An hour later he’s inside an insane hotel room that overlooks the sea. The sun is starting to dip in the clear blue sky and Daniel is mesmerised, stands by the window for a long time just considering the series of events that have led him here. To Max and Holland and this entire night stretching before them. To the ten grand already waiting in Daniel’s bank account. He orders room service and then strips out of his clothes, sweaty from sitting under the sun all afternoon, and showers in the huge marble bathroom.
Max comes back three hours later when it’s already dark outside, the sun having sunk below the horizon an hour ago. He looks happy and flushed, still dressed in his Red Bull team gear as Daniel lounges on the bed, flipping through his phone and watching some talk show on the TV, the volume on low.
“Hi,” Max says, dropping his bag and jacket by the door, messy and unbothered, “sorry I took so long to get back.”
Daniel smiles, he’d honestly expected Max to be gone for longer, it’s his home race afterall.
“It’s fine, I took a shower and ordered food already, I hope you don't mind.”
“No, of course not. You got my note, yes? I said you should order whatever you want.”
“Yeah, I did, thanks.”
“Did you have fun?” Max asks, kicking off his shoes at the foot of the bed, and Daniel sits up straighter, puts his phone on the nightstand. Now Max is here he can feel himself shifting back into work mode, tries to angle his body to look as alluring as possible instead of lounging around like this is something they do. Like they’re lovers and Daniel is someone Max actually likes, not just the person he’s paying to be here.
“Yeah, you were really incredible out there, congratulations.”
It’s not flirty or sexy, but it is true, and Daniel does want Max to know that he had a great time today, that he was impressed as fuck to see him lap half of the field even though they don’t have the most dominant car this year.
“Thank you,” Max says, and he’s pushing his jeans away now, shimmying out of the too tight denim as he joins Daniel on the bed. Daniel had wondered if it might be awkward between them tonight, but clearly Max is just himself no matter what. He has no issues with stripping half naked and crawling into Daniel’s space, and Daniel has absolutely no problem with leaning forward to kiss him, to chase the taste of champagne and Red Bull from his tongue.
“Are you drunk, baby?” Daniel asks after a couple of minutes of making out, because Max doesn’t seem drunk, but Daniel always likes to know, prefers to be fully informed so he can anticipate what might come next. If it might be different from what he’s expecting.
“No,” Max replies, no hesitation, leaning down to bury his face in Daniel’s neck, kissing at the warm skin there, “I only drank champagne on the podium, and that was hours ago anyway.”
“Okay,” Daniel says, and that is that. They’re kissing again before he has time think about it any more, Max crawling into his lap like he fucking belongs there and taking what he wants from Daniel. Apparently he just wants this, just making out in their shirts and underwear and grinding their dicks together the moment they’re both fully hard. It’s different from the way he’s usually begging to be fucked from the second they start touching, but Daniel isn’t complaining.
He’s pretty sure that will come later.
The first orgasm happens like that, close and hot, deep kisses and sexy little moans until Max spills into his underwear, until he shoves a hand into Daniel’s pants and makes him lose it too, a moment later.
“Shit,” Daniel says, voice rough and lips tingling, “that was hot.”
He categorically ignores the way his heart is racing from the intimacy of having Max warm and relaxed in his lap.
“Hmm,” Max replies, rolling off to sprawl on his back, looking loose and sated, “we should clean up, and then I want you to fuck me properly.”
And yeah, that’s more of what Daniel had been expecting. Is more like the Max he’s come to know.
They shower together, and Daniel takes the time to open Max up in there, is three fingers deep before Max slams his palm against the tiled wall and shuts off the water, moaning and writhing and fucking back onto Daniel’s hand.
“Okay, okay. Fuck, I need your dick. Come on.”
And so they go, Daniel digs out a strip of condoms from his bag whilst Max dries himself, rough and hasty, and then they’re back on the bed, Max on his hands and knees, skin still pink and damp, arse up and open, begging to be fucked. Daniel wonders again how this is his life. How he’s here with Max like this.
“You need it so bad don’t you, baby?” he asks, trailing one finger over Max’s hole and it makes him shiver, makes him clench around nothing.
“Yes,” Max gasps, pushing his hips back for more.
“Did you think about it today? When you were driving? About coming back here and begging me to fuck this pretty little hole?”
Max just nods.
“Use your words, Max.”
Daniel doesn’t always push things like this with clients, but he knows from experience with Max that he loves it, loves the dirty talk and the tease almost as much as he loves sinking down onto Daniel’s cock.
“Yes, I thought about it.”
“Did you get hard?”
Max whines, then - “Yes. It’s. I always do, in the car.”
Well fuck. There goes any hope of Daniel watching another Formula 1 race without a boner.
He shuffles forward, slots himself between Max’s spread knees and then slaps his arse once, not too hard, just a little jolt, but it makes Max moan anyway, makes his hole clench again, still empty and begging. Daniel wants to tease more, wants to really draw this out, but Max is paying for this. Paying to be fucked hard and fast just like he loves, so who is Daniel to deny him?
He sinks in easily, Max opening up and pulling him deep and immediately all bets are off. Daniel doesn’t even try to take it slow, just thrusts forward hard and rough and it’s so fucking good that it makes them both gasp. Makes Max’s thighs tremble and his hands knot up the duvet below their bodies. It’s only been ten days since they did this last, since that afternoon on the balcony, but Max acts like it’s been years since he was fucked, begs and pleads and meets Daniel thrust for thrust.
Daniel obliges of course, lets his hips snap forward in a steady rhythm that allows him to draw it out, to press inside of Max’s tight little hole time and time again until they’re both sweating and panting and desperate to come.
“Please, Daniel,” Max says, reaching back with one hand to grab at Daniel’s arse, like he’s trying to pull him deeper despite the way they’re already pressed so fucking close, his fingernails making little pinpricks of pain bloom across Daniel’s flesh.
“Yeah baby, you can’t get enough can you?”
Max shakes his head, lets it drop between his shoulders and then Daniel must hit it just right, because he shudders and comes without even a hint of warning, Max’s whole body coiling so tight for a moment before relaxing in a shudder like his strings have been cut. Daniel doesn’t even think, just pulls out and strips off the condom, presses Max forward into the mattress and then jerks himself fast and rough until he’s coming too, pooling in the divots at the base of Max’s spine.
“You killed me,” Max says after a long beat of silence, the words muffled where his face is smushed into the pillows. Daniel laughs, a little airy thing that’s shocked out of him.
“Ditto.”
It’s pushing midnight by the time they’ve cleaned up the bed enough to climb beneath the duvet, exhausted and sated. Max looks almost delirious with it, and it figures, he’s had a much busier day than Daniel, is probably crashing hard from the adrenaline highs of winning and fucking.
“I’m sorry,” Max says, when his head drops onto the pillow and he can barely keep his eyes open.
“For what?” Daniel asks, and he isn’t faring much better. Feels like he could sleep for a week in this amazing bed with its ten million thread count sheets.
“I asked you to spend the night with me and now I am falling asleep.”
Daniel almost laughs, because why the fuck is Max apologising to him? It’s Max who is missing out on his insane investment here, both of them too exhausted after only two orgasms. Surely he’d been hoping for more for the price he’s paid.
“Sleep now, yeah? We can fuck more in the morning. I’ll make it real good for you, baby.”
Max nods, and then is asleep before even a minute has ticked by.
Daniel lasts maybe five, before he crashes too.
*********
When Daniel wakes up it’s still dark outside, the moon illuminating the room through the curtains that they forgot to close the night before. The quiet hum of the air conditioner is still whirring in the background too, and it takes a moment for him to remember where he is, to realise that the reason he’s awake again so soon is because of the hand around his dick.
Max’s hand.
And Max’s lips on his shoulder, his neck.
“This okay?” he asks, and Daniel nods because, fuck, of course it’s okay.
But it’s also tripping him out. Max is paying him to be here. He should be the one nudging Max gently from sleep with wandering hands and soft kisses, not the other way around. He lets the moment stretch for a minute anyway, Max curled behind him and kissing his neck with more purpose now, jerking Daniel’s dick like he means it, before eventually Daniel turns, rolls over right into Max’s space. Kisses him properly.
“Shouldn’t I be doing this for you?” Daniel asks, warm breath on Max’s lips and a hand trailing down to find him already hard too.
Max shrugs, “I thought I got to call the shots?” and then he tightens his grip, rubs a thumb over the wet head of Daniel’s cock.
“Fuck Max,” Daniel moans, small and punched out of him, “you do, it’s just most clients don’t do shit like this.”
“Shit like what?”
“This,” he thrusts his hips forward to make the point, “wake me up with hand jobs. Give a shit about me coming at all.”
“Well, they are idiots, Daniel. Watching you come is very hot.”
Daniel doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t try. Just surges forwards again to kiss Max some more, slides down to cup Max’s balls before wrapping a hand around to jerk him off too. Max is leaking, hot and so clearly turned on and Daniel can’t get enough, spreading the slick across Max’s dick to ease the way. He pulls back after a moment and licks the traces of Max’s precome from his palm, spits into it a second later for good measure. If Max wants to break his brain, then Daniel will return the favour tenfold.
It doesn’t take long.
Everything is hot and wet and desperate between them until Max comes, and Daniel follows almost immediately. They’re panting and sticky and it’s the middle of the fucking night, but still Daniel doesn’t want to stop. He wants to drag another orgasm out of Max and it has absolutely nothing to do with the money sitting in his account. He just wants Max to feel good. Wants to watch him come as many times as possible before they have to board that flight back to Monaco.
He refuses to examine why he even gives a shit.
“Let me finger you until you get hard again,” Daniel says, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.
Max groans before flopping onto his back, “I can’t, Daniel.”
“Let me try, please. If it's too much I'll stop, I promise.”
It takes a moment, a beat or two where Daniel questions himself - he never, ever pushes like this with a client - but eventually Max rolls away and grabs the lube, hands it over with a - “ugh, fine, I don’t think it will work, but you can try.”
It does work, obviously, and Daniel slowly sinks his fingers into Max until he’s trembling, until his thighs are splayed wide and Daniel can’t resist leaning down, licking around the three fingers he has buried in Max’s hole, shiny already, with lube and sweat. Max swears and then drags his knees up so Daniel has better access, can lick across his taint and balls easily, making everything messy with his mouth until Max is begging for Daniel to suck his dick too.
Daniel pulls back, smiles up at where Max is flushed and sweating and says, “I can make you come like this, baby, you can have my mouth if you want it but I promise this’ll be better.”
“Please,” is Max’s only reply, and Daniel grins wider.
“Please what? You call the shots here, remember.”
“Please… just. Make me come. However you want.”
Daniel wants this, wants the tight clench of Max’s body around his fingers, wants the swollen red head of his cock to be covered in pearly white, wants to make Max lose it from just the press of his fingertips. It takes a while, longer than Max is happy with for sure, but when he eventually does come it’s in clenching waves that have Daniel fucking mesmerised. He’s fucked a lot of people in a lot of ways, but none of them have ever looked as beautiful as Max does in that moment.
He manages to bite back the endearments thankfully, stops himself saying anything fucking stupid by licking away Max’s come instead, (also fucking stupid, but it’s a risk Daniel has been taking with him from the start, so what’s one more taste?)
You’re being a dickhead, Daniel tells himself, but the insult doesn’t stop his heart from hammering away in his chest, doesn’t stop him from seeking the closeness of Max’s body. Apparently he can only make stupid decisions around Max these days.
It takes a while for Max to come back to himself after that, and when he does they strip away the top sheet from the bed because it’s fucking ruined, and Daniel tries to not think about the housekeeping seeing their sweat and come covered sheets the next day. If he knows Max, he’s pretty sure he’ll leave them a good tip for their troubles.
And then they’re lying back together and it’s quiet, still dark, though the sunrise can’t be far off now, and Daniel isn’t even tired anymore. He’ll probably settle for just relaxing in this ridiculously comfortable bed whilst Max sleeps. Except Max isn’t sleeping either, he rolls to face Daniel instead, props himself up on one arm and looks across the cushions like he is considering something.
“Why do you do this?” Max asks eventually, and Daniel isn’t expecting the question, not even a little.
“Do what?”
Max shrugs, like he’s an idiot, “Your job, of course.”
Of course.
Daniel shrugs too, then just tells him the truth. He trusts Max enough to give him this, a little piece of himself that he’s never given to a client before.
“Because I needed the money? I was shit at waiting tables and bartending so I figured I should do something I'm good at. And I'm good at sex so I thought why the fuck not? Plenty of hot rich people in Monaco looking for a good time, right?”
Max flushes.
“So it's not… I mean. There was no other reason? No bad reason?” Max looks embarrassed to be asking, but he forces the words out regardless. Daniel respects that, even if he resents the assumption that every sex worker is only doing it because they’re part of some seedy or shady underworld.
“Bad like what, Max? Drugs? Booze? Gambling debts?” He’s teasing, mostly, but Max looks so, so serious beside him on the bed.
Max bites his lip so hard it looks painful before he nods once. Yes.
“Yeah nah, none of that shit for me. They don't just vet the clients at my place, you know, they vet the escorts too and any of that shit would have me off their books before I could even put up a fight. Can’t risk a client’s jewellery going missing in the morning, you know? I just needed money because Monaco is expensive and I didnt want to go home yet. I guess since then I just haven't figured out what comes next.”
Now that his brain has caught up with his mouth Daniel’s panicking a little, he’s never said that to anyone before, and certainly not a fucking client. They want the fantasy, the hot escort who’s there to fuck them, who wants to fuck them, not some guy admitting he’s just doing it to make money and pass the time until he decides what comes next. Max doesn’t even blink though, just nods like what Daniel is saying is totally normal, like this is the kind of conversation they have all the time.
It’s not. But every time he sees Max he finds himself opening up a little more, forgetting himself a little more. Finds Max is less desperate to just fuck and then bounce afterwards too, and. Daniel knows. He knows this is dumb and idiotic and every other word for stupid and he should back the fuck off.
He knows that it’s a dangerous game, knows that right now, in this bed in by the coast in Holland he’s getting in too deep with this and there’s no way it ends well, for him. But still, when the sky starts to turn pink with the first hints of morning, he doesn’t stop Max from kissing him again, doesn’t protest when they shift to spoon close without even the hint of sex, before drifting back off to sleep for a few more precious hours.
It’s dumb and stupid and dangerous, but it’s also Max, and he can’t say no. He’ll take what Max gives him and worry about his dumb cunt of a heart later.
*********
“Hey, can you talk?” Daniel asks, phone cradled between his ear and shoulder whilst he stirs a pot of pasta on the stove.
“Sure man, what's up? Haven’t seen you around much?”
Scotty’s right, he hasn’t been hitting the bars or clubs recently like he used to, hasn’t been hitting Scotty up to hang out when they’re both free of clients either. Instead Daniel has just been working, and hanging out at home. Going to the gym. Fucking Max more than he should. Spending the night with him in Zandvoort last week and maybe catching feelings too, like a right fucking idiot.
“Just, like. Okay. I’m just gonna say it and then you need to call me a cunt and tell me to get a grip, okay?”
Scotty laughs, “Gladly mate.”
“Have you ever… like, with a client. Have you ever felt like maybe it was… more. More than just sex?” He hears what he sounds like as it’s leaving his mouth so the last bit comes out as a mumble.
“Oh Danny, don’t tell me you’re having a fucking Julia Roberts moment? You know better than that.”
Daniel sighs, annoyed, “I know, I fucking know alright. Which is why I called you. Tell me I’m being a cunt and to stop accepting his bookings.”
“You’re a cunt, stop accepting his bookings.”
“Even though he pays well.”
“Even though he p- wait, how well are we talking?”
Scotty always wants to discuss this shit and Daniel is usually pretty closed off about his rates, tells Scotty if he wants to know then he can book Daniel himself. But today… Today he just says it how it is, tells him “he paid me ten grand for one night.”
Scotty chokes on the other end of the line, “holy fucking shit Danny, ten grand? If you’re going to stop seeing him, send him my way.”
Daniel’s blood runs cold at the thought. At the idea of Scotty making Max laugh and then Max begging for his dick.
No. Just no.
Clearly the silence that drags between them speaks volumes because Scotty laughs.
“Alright psycho I was only joking, mostly. Is there any chance he feels the same about you?”
Daniel barely knows what he’s even feeling, let alone if Max might reciprocate, and it’s not like they sit and whisper sweet nothings to each other when they’re together. The only thing Daniel is certain of is that Max loves being fucked by him, and apparently gets off on making Daniel feel good too.
“I don’t fucking know, we just… we have sex and then he gives me ridiculously huge tips and then I leave. Except for last time, last time he asked me why I do this, wanted to see if I had some tragic fucking backstory or whatever.”
Scotty snorts, “What did you say? Nah I just have a big dick and like to fuck?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“Look man, I don’t know what to say. I haven’t been in this position, to answer your question. If you told him that you’re feeling something more for him, do you think there is a chance it could work out?”
Daniel thinks about it, about sitting in Max’s penthouse and saying ‘hey, so what if this was more than just a business transaction?’ and… no. There’s no fucking way he could do it. No way this could ever be more than what it already is. He’s fairly certain that Max Verstappen isn’t sitting at home like a love sick fool mooning after Daniel, and even if he was, where could it go? The World Champion and The Hooker is hardly the stuff of fairy tales.
Better to cut his losses and move on. Maybe take Max’s ten grand and fly home for a few months.
“Yeah, nah. No way.”
“Okay,” Scotty says, “you know the guy, but if you’re not going to say anything then you need to cut your losses and walk away.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks man, let’s grab a drink next week.”
——
Daniel lasts four days.
He declines the next two appointment requests from Max and doesn’t respond to him on the private chat channel they have either. But then the third request comes in and Daniel is drunk, he’s on a yacht out in the bay, a plus one for an ex-client who still invites him to fun things like this sometimes. Just as a date, no money involved. It’s why Daniel lets himself drink. Why Daniel doesn’t feel guilty checking his notifications when his phone vibrates in his pocket.
And the expensive champagne is why he says fuck it, and lets Max book him for the following night.
*********
Daniel tells himself it’s just another appointment with Max, just like all the others, just like the last one before Zandvoort where they met and fucked on his roof. It’s just a client. It’s just sex.
Except it doesn’t feel like just anything.
In the twenty hours between him accepting the appointment on that stupid super yacht and actually knocking on Max’s door he almost cancels twice. He also spends so long getting ready that it's actually embarrassing, changing his jeans three times and rotating through four different shirts before he’s satisfied. If he doesn’t shave his beard because Max told him once that he likes it longer… Well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.
It’s all so stupid and pathetic and the nervous energy vibrating inside of him makes Daniel pretty sure that the whole thing is a mistake.
And yet.
He still goes. He still rides in the shiny elevator up to the top floor of Max’s building and eventually knocks on the fucking door. Max opens it looking stressed and flustered and he’s about to ask if he’s alright when Max reaches out and yanks him into the apartment.
“You need to help me, Daniel.”
Daniel frowns, because Max clearly doesn’t mean it in a sexual way and it’s only been ten seconds but he already feels lost.
“Okay?” Daniel says, sounding as confused as he feels.
“It’s Sassy.”
“What the fuck is sassy?”
“My cat, Daniel!”
And like, Daniel has seen them around the apartment obviously, but he’s never given them much thought beyond a surprised eyebrow quirk the first time he noticed them, and a little stroke when one jumped right into his lap the third time he was here. So, he has no idea what their names are, or any idea of what could have happened to her.
“Um, alright? What’s wrong with her?”
Daniel isn’t a fucking vet so he isn’t sure what kind of help Max is expecting from him here, but he’ll try.
“She’s stuck! I didn’t know where she was and then I heard her crying and the door is jammed and I can’t open it and I don’t…” he pauses, running a panicked hand through his hair, “it’s been hours, she is probably very scared.”
Daniel feels his heart lurch with fondness and god damn it all, this whole worried cat dad thing isn’t exactly helping with his not-just-a-client feelings for Max. He takes a moment, trying to think of the best, most rational way to rescue a cat from a locked room.
“Do you have a screwdriver? We can take the handle off, maybe?”
Max shakes his head, “Whatever is blocking the door is jammed against the handle, I already tried that.”
Okay, so, the less rational option it is.
“What about a hammer?”
Max side-eyes him like he’s insane. Daniel shrugs.
“I dunno what to tell you Max, I’m not a fucking handy man, we bang a hole in the door above the handle so we can fit an arm through to move whatever is blocking it.”
It’s not a great plan, but it is a plan at least, so a moment later Max disappears and then comes back with two hammers, hands one to Daniel like this is something they’re doing together.
“Er, I’m not sure it’s my place to be smashing holes in your house, Max.”
Max sighs, then rubs a hand down his face, stressed out and anxious.
“Please, just. I need your help. I’ll still pay you for this, of course. I’ll pay you more, whatever you want. Just please help me.”
The mention of money punches Daniel in the gut, harder than it should, it’s why he’s here after all. Money was always going to change hands today, and if any other client asked him to hammer through a door instead of fucking them he’d think it was easy money. Here and now though he just feels disappointed that maybe this is all today will be, an impromptu feline rescue mission instead of mind-blowing sex with the guy he’s trying to not have feelings for.
“Okay, fuck. Fine. Just, tell me exactly what you want me to do, alright?”
As far as rescue missions go it’s relatively easy, five or six blows with the hammer from Max and Daniel slipping his slimmer arm through the hole to move an upended kid’s bed that belongs to Max’s nephew and voila, the door clicks open and one terrified cat comes skittering out. She bolts between Max’s legs before he can stop her and disappears into the living room, climbing to the top of her scratching post and burrowing into the little felt box there.
Max follows immediately, murmuring to her in soft Dutch the second he’s close enough and Daniel finds himself rooted to the spot. He can’t believe this is who Max is behind closed doors - Max Verstappen, the harsh racer who never gives an inch and fights to the very end for every win, and the closeted gay guy who likes to be fucked hard and rough, is also this soft sweet man, who worries about his cats and tenderly comforts them when they’re scared.
It makes his stomach twist with something that he refuses to name, something that in other circumstances would have him striding across the room and dragging Max into a kiss. But it’s not his place to do that here, kissing is always on Max’s terms, and maybe he won’t even want anything more from Daniel today. Maybe he’ll just say thank you and pay him a ridiculous amount of money for having arms slender enough to fit through a hammered hole, and ask Daniel to leave.
Daniel decides its safer to stay by himself in the hallway, gathering up the shards of busted wood into a neat little pile with the toe of his shoe for Max to sweep up later, when he’s long gone and Max has finished confirming his cat doesn’t have PTSD or what the fuck ever.
“You don’t need to do that,” Max says then, startling Daniel by being closer than he expected, body leaning against the doorframe of the living room.
“Yeah, right. I know, I was just…” Daniel trails off, ‘giving you a moment’ he almost says, along with ‘wondering if you’d want me to leave now’. Instead he settles for a shrug and a smile that he hopes is cool and casual. It’s what he’s good at, being confident and chill and rolling with the situations he finds himself in with clients, but it’s never been like this before - this isn’t some wild party or a request for him to cut some influencer a line of coke before they fuck. This is Max, in his soft lounge clothes comforting his cat after begging Daniel to help free her from a locked closet. It’s unbearably mundane in comparison, and yet it has Daniel all tied up in knots.
“Sassy says thank you for saving her,” Max says, a little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and Daniel nods and hums.
“Sassy said that, huh?”
“I interpreted her head bumping against my hand as her thanking us, so I am just passing along the message.”
“Well, she’s very welcome.”
“Seriously,” Max says, stepping closer and fitting a hand to Daniel’s waist, the heat of his palm immediately obvious through the fabric of his shirt, “thank you for helping me.”
Daniel wants to kiss him so much his lips are almost tingling with it, but somehow he refrains, giving Max a little smile instead, “no problem Max, I can add cat saviour to my resume now.”
He’s going for light and teasing, but it must miss the mark because Max doesn’t laugh, instead he takes the final step that’s separating them and rests his other hand on the opposite side of Daniel’s waist, pressing in so he can drag Daniel closer, close enough that their noses bump against each other. It’s… it’s barely anything, but it’s also close and intimate and Daniel can’t hold back the little inhale of breath that it shocks out of him.
“Can I kiss you?” Max asks, an echo of the first time they met, and Daniel is nodding before the sentence is even finished, is fitting his lips to Max’s before either of them have the chance to take another breath.
It’s a good kiss, slow and deep, Max’s tongue tracing across Daniel’s lips almost immediately, and he doesn’t hesitate for a second, just opens up to let Max in. He tastes incredible, like the fresh tang of mint and the sickly sweet notes of too much Red Bull and Daniel is fucking lost to it, cannot get enough of the flavour of Max on his tongue.
They stay like that for a long time, making out for endless minutes as Max holds onto Daniel’s hips, whilst Daniel tangles one hand in his hair, and cradles Max’s neck with the other, bodies slotting together effortlessly right there in the hallway of Max’s apartment. It’s Max who pulls away first, the plush slide of his wet lips dragging away from Daniel like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.
“How long can you stay?” he asks, eyes closed as he leans down to nose along the column of Daniel’s throat.
Daniel just shrugs, because he has no fucking idea how much time has passed since he arrived, lost to impromptu door destruction and bottomless kisses.
“I… I don’t know what time it is but you booked three hours, so I’m sure we have a little while yet.”
It feels safer to phrase it like that, to remind them both of what this is, what it has to be.
“Do you have any other appointments later?”
Daniel shakes his head before he can second guess himself, and it’s the truth, he never books anyone after Max, but maybe he should have given himself a moment to contemplate it first. An out.
“Stay the rest of the evening then. Please. I’ll pay you whatever, double, triple what we agreed, I don’t give a fuck.”
Daniel should say no, he should shake his head and apologise and say he can't, that he has plans or that shit like this needs to be done through the app, through the agency, but Max’s mouth is still on his neck, is still leaving gentle little kisses there against the pulse point, and he’s weak and an idiot and too far fucking gone.
“Yeah, okay, whatever you want, Maxy.”
——
The move from making out in the hallway to being naked in Max’s bed is so seamless that Daniel isn’t even sure how it happens, all he does know is that each wet press of Max’s tongue inside his mouth drives him a little closer to insanity. It’s fucking sinful how good it feels, how completely Daniel wants to drown in Max’s mouth and the touch of his hands and the curves of his body.
“Are you okay?” Max asks, pulling away after what might be minutes or hours or days pressed together on the bed, naked and hard and wanting so much that Daniel’s aching with it.
“Yeah, I’m good baby, why?”
It’s not something he gets asked a lot during appointments, and it throws him for a loop, has him wondering if he’s playing this wrong somehow, if these quiet, intense kisses are too much.
“You’re different today, quieter.”
And Max is right, since the moment Daniel first realised Max was on board with dirty talk he’s always fallen back into that routine every time they’re together. But now it feels like too much, feels wrong for the moment that they’re in, he wants to just surrender to how much he wants Max and see where it leads them.
He can berate himself for being a fucking idiot and blurring the lines tomorrow, when he’s alone in his flat again and full of confused regret.
“Is that a bad thing?” he asks now, trailing a hand down the pale skin of Max’s arm, watching with rapt attention as goosebumps explode under his touch.
“No, as long as you’re alright, of course. You can... I mean, you don’t have to stay if you don't want to.”
Daniel does want to, too much probably and he just kisses Max again to keep himself from saying exactly that.
“Tell me what you want, Max,” Daniel says instead when they eventually pull back, their lips shiny and slick with spit, obscene.
“You,” he says, those beautiful blue eyes blown wide with lust. Daniel has never seen him like this before, usually it’s so much more frantic between them, and today Max just looks thoroughly taken apart.
“You’ve got me,” Daniel whispers, pulling Max’s earlobe between his teeth, “what do you wanna do with me?”
It takes Max a long time to reply, his breath panting out of him in harsh bursts as Daniel touches his body, stroking over his shoulders and chest, pinching at a nipple and trailing through the patch of hair below his navel.
“I want you to fuck me,” Max says, low and hot, the words going straight to Daniel’s dick, before he pauses and looks up through his eyelashes, “and then as soon as I can get hard again, I want to fuck you.”
Daniel nearly comes on the fucking spot.
It’s not something they’ve ever done before, Max always too greedy for Daniel’s dick every time they’re together and he wasn’t even sure if Max was into topping - there’s never been any indication that he is, but Daniel is so fucking onboard he’s shaking with it. Instead of responding with words he just nods, and devours Max’s mouth all over again, rolling them so Daniel’s on top and bracketing Max’s broader body completely. They’re both so worked up, too worked up probably, for this to last very long, but Daniel still takes his time preparing Max. Sliding one finger inside, followed by two more until he’s begging and shaking against the sheets, undone and sheened with sweat and so fucking sexy that Daniel can hardly believe this is real.
He doesn’t let himself think about how it’s actually his job, because he doesn’t want this moment to be about that, even though it’s stupid and dangerous and won’t lead to anywhere good.
And then he’s rolling on a condom and spreading Max’s thighs wider, holding onto the thick bulk of them so Max’s shiny, stretched hole is on full display.
“So pretty, Maxy.” Daniel says, and then before Max can respond he’s sliding inside, one long, steady thrust that steals both of their breaths. It’s incredible, just like it always, always, always is when they fuck, all hot tight heat and miles of creamy white skin and Daniel can’t hold back today, doesn’t even try to tease, just fucks Max hard and sure until he feels the coil of pleasure in his gut, Max’s hole clenching around him in a way that means he’s close too.
“I can’t believe how good this is with you,” Daniel says, even though he shouldn’t, even though it’s dumb and too sentimental by half, and yet it makes Max nod and gasp and pull him closer.
“The best,” Max moans in his ear, hot breath against hot skin, “I fucking dream about it.”
And that is officially too much for Daniel to handle, the idea of Max alone in this bed, or another one in a hotel somewhere scattered across the globe, dreaming about Daniel and his dick and what they do together. When he comes it feels like it lasts forever, his thighs burning as he keeps fucking Max through it, and Max is gone too, his head thrown back in pleasure and his hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white as he starts to come, hot spurts spilling between their stomachs.
It takes a while to come back down to earth, the ringing in Daniel’s ears making him feel slow and clumsy as he pulls out and ties off the condom before collapsing back onto the bed.
“Just, gimme a minute,” he says, nudging Max’s thigh with his knee, “I’ll go grab a washcloth when I can move my legs properly.”
“It’s okay,” Max replies, reaching down with one hand to rub his fingers through the mess on his abdomen, before raising an eyebrow and holding his sticky hand up to Daniel, offering. Daniel groans like he’s about to die, and licks him clean anyway. Max wipes the rest of the come away with his t-shirt which somehow ended up hooked over the bed frame, and it’s not the perfect solution, but it works.
They stay like that for a while, quiet save for their breathing, and it should maybe be awkward, to just lie there until they’re ready to go again, but somehow it isn’t. They haven’t spent a lot of time together outside of fucking, with the exception of their night in Zandvoort, but Daniel finds it easy to be around Max in a way that’s unexpected and surprising. Usually he’s so full of energy and eager to fill in silences with his friends and other clients that just… being feels like a completely foreign idea. It’s good though, the silence and Max’s giant, comfortable bed.
Even though this is definitely a mistake, or maybe because this is definitely a mistake, Daniel isn’t eager for their evening to be over. Especially not when it will include him getting fucked before he leaves.
It’s been a little while since he bottomed surprisingly, he hasn’t been seeing so many clients outside of Max recently, especially not with the ten grand waiting in his account still, and when he has it’s either been women or guys who just wanted to get their dick sucked. And the thing is, Daniel really fucking likes bottoming. When it’s with the right person and they know what they’re doing at least, and he’s pretty sure Max will tick both of those boxes, even if he probably shouldn’t tick the first.
It’s Max who breaks the silence in the end, when he rolls over and presses a kiss to Daniel’s shoulder, soft and sweeter than Daniel is expecting.
“I know what I said earlier, but it’s okay if you don’t want to have sex again…” he lets his fingers trace the cupid on Daniel’s arm, the word love, and it makes Daniel’s heart hammer wildly. Max has loved to touch his tattoos right from the very beginning.
“I do,” Daniel assures him quickly, turning on his side too so they’re face to face, “I absolutely fucking do, Max.”
Max smiles, small and sexy as he bites his swollen bottom lip and nods, “okay.”
Then they’re kissing again, slower this time, and Daniel lets himself be taken apart, lets Max kiss and touch him until they’re both hard again, and he’s fumbling around to find the bottle of lube on the nightstand to push into Max’s hand.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Max says before kissing Daniel’s lips one final time and sitting back on his heels, naked and glorious between Daniel’s thighs.
“I can take it,” Daniel says, aiming for cocky and sexy, but he isn’t sure it lands, the words coming out a little strangled at the end as Max works a finger between his cheeks, pressing cold and wet to one of the few places they haven’t explored together yet. Max’s fingers are thick and hot as he starts to press inside though and Daniel was right of course, Max knows exactly what he’s doing. He preps Daniel confidently, blowing his mind one finger at a time, and by the time they make it to three Daniel feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. His dick is hard and red against his stomach, and he shouldn’t be this close to the edge after coming barely an hour ago, and yet.
And fucking yet.
“Please Max, come on.”
“Yeah?” he asks, all blown out eyes and flushed chest, and god, Daniel wants him every way he can get him.
“Yes, fuck me, I’m ready.”
The first press of Max’s dick takes Daniel apart. It’s big and perfect and immediately Daniel is overwhelmed by how good it feels. They’re close still, Max’s stomach pressing down onto Daniel’s cock where it’s so hard it fucking hurts between them, Daniel’s legs wrapped around thick hips, and the steady push and pull of their bodies moving together. It’s better than Daniel could’ve ever imagined, and even though they’ve only just started he never wants it to end.
He also knows it’s going to be over far, far too soon.
Everything is hot and sweat slick, Max’s hands on Daniel’s skin and Daniel’s mouth against Max’s throat and their thighs sliding together. It’s incredible and intimate and overwhelming and all Daniel can repeat is yes and more and harder as Max fucks him until he’s groaning and coming into the condom inside of him, one last press against Daniel’s prostate before he stills. And then Max’s hand is wrapping around Daniel’s cock and it takes maybe five strokes before he’s coming too, all over Max’s fingers as he splinters into a million pieces on the bed.
Max is the one who gets up this time, who disposes of the condom and then comes back with a damp hand towel to clean them up. Daniel lies there and lets himself be cared for, even though that’s his job really, but Max looks happy and sated and Daniel just surrenders to the feeling for once.
“I think you’ve killed me again,” Daniel says when Max lands back on the bed beside him, and it makes Max snort.
“Death from fucking sounds like an okay way to go, to me.”
He’s got a point, so Daniel just smiles back before closing his eyes. He’ll move soon. Get up and get dressed and go home. Leave Max and his bed and his stupid cats who get locked in closets.
He doesn’t plan to let Max cover them with a fresh blanket, or to kiss him again, or to drink half of the offered bottle of water, but somehow he does all three, and before he can force himself to move he’s settling down deeper into the pillows, into the pull of Max’s arm around his waist, and falling asleep.
—-
Daniel agreed to stay the rest of the evening, but when he wakes up hours later, cocooned in the soft warmth of the sheets and Max’s embrace, and sees that it’s already light beyond the sliding glass doors that cover one wall of Max’s bedroom, he realises he actually stayed the entire night.
It’s still early, the sun just a soft hazy glow, but Daniel jerks up regardless. His back and arse twinge at the movement because it’s been a while since he bottomed last, but Max doesn’t stir, not even as Daniel rummages around the room to find his clothes, nor as he quietly pulls them on and escapes to the hallway. It’s quiet and dim out there, but it only takes Daniel a moment to find and slip on his shoes before he’s unlocking the door.
He’s glad that Max apparently doesn’t have one of those fancy alarm systems, or, if he does, that he forgot to set it in the heat of the moment the night before. It means his escape is simple and quiet and goes unnoticed by both Max and his two cats who are sleeping in their beds by the living room doorway.
It doesn't take long to make his way home through the quiet Monte Carlo streets, the city still mostly asleep around him, and when Daniel checks his phone, he sees that it's only a little after 5:30am. The hustle and bustle won't start for at least another couple of hours. He wonders how long it’ll be before Max wakes up and notices that he left without saying goodbye - it isn't something Daniel is in the habit of doing, not when he makes a living from being paid before he can leave.
But.
Today though, he just had to go. He couldn't stay in that bed, couldn't stay curled up around Max like it’s something they do. And in that moment Daniel knows that last night has to be the final appointment he accepts from Max. For real this time, because Daniel is in too fucking deep, is feeling shit he has no business feeling, and Max is goddamn a celebrity, one who isn't even out.
Daniel needs to get a grip and make a clean break from this thing that he’s somehow fallen into and move the fuck on.
It's with that thought in mind, after a hasty shower and a solid five minutes of brushing his teeth, that he calls his mum. It's already early afternoon in Perth, so he isn't concerned about disturbing her, and when she answers she sounds thrilled to hear from him.
"Well hello there, who’s this strange man calling me?" she teases, and Daniel can't help but smile as he peels an orange over the counter, more as a distraction to keep his fingers busy than because he actually wants to eat it. Still, it makes the apartment smell good and gives him something to do as he lets the sound of his mother’s voice wash over him.
"Hey mama," he says, picking away tiny white strings of pith, "sorry, I know it's been a while, I've been busy."
She hums, then asks how he is, before launching into a full rundown of everything he's been missing at home - the dinner they went to for Michelle's birthday, the new lamp she got for the hallway last weekend at a thrift store, the car that was stolen from their neighbours yard, how it's gotten cooler the last few weeks, winter in Perth coming out in full force. Daniel listens and takes in every snippet of information and feels homesickness so acutely that it takes his breath away. It's been four years since he last made it back to Australia, and two since his family came to Europe for a month and they spent a week together in London, and god, he just wants to jump on a plane and disappear back to salty, windswept afternoons in the Perth sunshine.
And then his phone buzzes with a notification, a message flashing up on the screen to say he's received a payment from Max, an obscene number that they didn't even fully discuss last night. Double, triple, Max had said, but the amount waiting in Daniel’s account is at least five times his usual evening rate. Another ridiculous chunk of change to sit beside the one he received for Zandvoort.
Daniel doesn't even think, just sees that payment and then hears himself saying, "what if I came home, mama?"
"What?" she asks, hopeful yet incredulous, "for good?"
Daniel didn't mean that, is pretty sure he isn't ready to take that leap and leave Monaco and Europe behind just yet, so he says "no, not for good, but for a while maybe. A month or so."
Her thrilled exclamation, half a world away, finalises the decision for him.
And so that’s what he does. He packs a bag, calls Scotty to tell him he's taking off for a little bit, but he'll be back, (and pointedly ignores the questions Scotty fires at him about that client,) tells the agency he won't be taking any bookings for the foreseeable future, and sends Max one message before deleting the Confidential Connections app from his phone.
Daniel: thank you, for last night.
He doesn’t even mean for the money, which is stupid and sentimental and probably gives away far too much, but what does it even matter when he’s disappearing to the other side of the world for a while? Max will have moved on well before he lands back in Monaco, found someone else to fill his bed and his body.
Daniel pretends he's okay with that, and knows deep down it's for the best. This isn’t Pretty Woman and Max isn’t going to turn up to his crappy little apartment and scale the fire escape with a rose between his teeth. They’ve had fun together, he made Max come and Max has compensated him for a job well done. Now Daniel needs to remove himself from the situation before it gets messy and he gets hurt. Maybe he can even move on too.
Max will probably barely even notice.
And so, less than thirty hours after waking up in Max’s arms, Daniel boards a flight back home.
*********
Daniel's first week at home passes in a blissful blur of sand between his toes, home cooked meals, the smell of steak grilling on the BBQ and holding his nephew close. He's gotten so big already, since the last time Daniel saw him in London, and Michelle is pregnant again, her stomach round and her energy levels low, so she takes Daniel up on every offer of help with Isaac.
They go to the beach together, build sandcastles and paddle in the ocean together and then, later, ride bikes around the outside of his parent's property together. It's everything Daniel didn't realise he was missing, and a part of him is tempted to say fuck it and just stay. Cancel the lease for his shoebox on the outskirts of Monaco and get Scotty to ship over all of his shit back to Australia.
He tries to not think about Max that first week, busying himself by joining his old high school mates at the pub on a chilly Friday evening instead, and then letting them talk him into hitting the clubs on Saturday. It’s a good distraction, and it mostly works, and when a petite brunette with perky tits and a tiny waist starts hitting on him on the dance floor he doesn’t pull back, lets her grind on him, kiss him, and then follows her home to an apartment overlooking the city. It’s the first time he’s fucked someone who wasn’t a client in at least six months, since around the time he first started taking bookings from Max, and he tries to not analyse what that means.
The sex is good, if a little sloppy, both of them drunk and silly, but the moment he ties off the condom and drops it into the bin in the bathroom, he suddenly wants to go home and be alone. Doesn’t want this random chick with her pretty smile and pierced belly button to take Max’s place as the last person he spent the entire night wrapped around. (Last two nights, if he counts Zandvoort, and embarrassingly, Daniel does.) It’s stupid, and more than a little pathetic, and yet Daniel still hears himself saying, “hey, that was fun, but I’ve really gotta bounce, I have a flight to catch tomorrow, and I haven’t even packed yet.”
It’s a lie, but it works as he hoped, prevents the awkward conversation about if they should swap numbers and hang out again.
“Okay,” she says, easy and smiling, her naked body still spread out against the rumpled floral bedsheets, “you got time to make me come again, before you vanish into the night?”
Daniel likes her, likes that she has the balls to ask for what she wants, and it’s with that thought in mind that he stops searching for his underwear and drags her to the edge of the bed, spreads her legs and puts his mouth on her and makes her come twice more before he finally leaves.
It feels weird after, lying in his own bed, to not mentally calculate the cost of the sex, to decide if it was worthwhile. For it to have just been a fun thing to do, instead of transactional. Max’s money has bought him breathing room from that at least.
The second week Daniel falls into an easy rhythm, helping his parents out around their property, picking up odd jobs that have fallen by the wayside to work and life and all the shit that goes on when he isn’t here. He paints fences and clears out the garage, changes two tires on his mum’s car, and helps his dad plumb in a new sink in the guest bathroom. He is absolutely not a plumber, and just does as he is told for the most part, but it keeps him busy, stops him thinking about how he’s already halfway through his stay.
He’d hoped that after a month he wouldn’t even still be entertaining any notions about Max Verstappen and what he wants them to be to each other, but if the first two weeks are any indication, Daniel is still a long fucking way off from that.
At another bar, on another Saturday night, Daniel turns down a guy asking to take him home.
He doesn’t let himself dwell on why. Doesn’t let himself think about how having another man fuck him when he’d be thinking of Max the entire damn time feels weird and awkward and wrong. Why it feels so different to the girl from the weekend before.
The next morning his dad asks, “do you want to watch the race together later? Isaac and I always catch it if it’s on before his bedtime.”
Max is in Japan this week, Daniel knows. The time difference just an hour between here and there, so Isaac will definitely be around to watch.
“Sure,” Daniel says, ignoring the way his stomach feels weird, “I’ll text Michelle and tell her I can pick him up early if she wants, give her a break.”
So that’s what they do. Daniel fills his afternoon getting ice cream with a four year old and having a dance off to a song about a guy called Bruno, before his dad rounds them up and they take over the basement with its huge TV that his dad hung down there sometime in the last four years.
“This is our man cave isn’t it, bud?” he says to Isaac who is squished between them on the sofa and nods his little head seriously.
“Only nana said we have to let the baby down here when it’s been borned and is bigger, even if it’s a girl,” he says, and Daniel feels a pinch in his chest at the thought that he has no idea when he’ll get to meet this baby, if he or she will be able to walk or talk by the time they’re all on the same continent again.
And then the race is starting, Max in P2 behind George Russell who is on pole for the second weekend in a row. Daniel knows Max will be pissed about that. It doesn’t matter though, because by the third corner Max is in front and leading. By the third lap he is almost two seconds ahead.
Daniel thinks about what Max said in Zandvoort about getting hard in the car and wonders if he is right now.
“YESSSS!” Isaac squeals, when George locks up and that lead increases to three seconds. Daniel looks down at him, shocked.
“Kids obsessed with Verstappen,” Joe says, and Daniel feels another jolt in his gut at the way his dad says Max’s name so casually, both of his worlds colliding unexpectedly and without anyone even realising.
“Really?” he asks, “even though there’s an Aussie on the grid?”
“Max is the BEST!” Isaac says, “have you ever met him? Papa says he lives near you!”
And that’s enough to make Daniel choke on the iced latte he made before they came down here, coffee sloshing out of the glass and over his bare knees. At least it isn’t hot.
“Er,” he says, unsure, and then, “yes, actually.”
“What?” his dad asks, incredulous.
Shit, Daniel thinks.
“I just saw him around, you know? Said hey to him. Nothing exciting.”
Isaac looks like he might vibrate out of his skin.
“Will you see him again?” Isaac asks as Max ekes out his lead to above four seconds. Russell and Leclerc fighting it out behind him and slowing each other down.
“Probably not, bud,” Daniel replies, digging the blunt press of his bitten down nails into his thighs as he thinks about how that isn’t even a lie.
The rest of the race passes with more of Isaac’s excited shouting as Max pits and comes out in third, overtakes beautifully until he is back in P1 and then drags his dying tires through ten more laps than they can probably handle to secure the win. He drinks champagne on the podium and Daniel refuses to think about his lips wrapped around anything else.
—-
Ten days later Daniel books a flight back to Europe. Three days after that he kisses his pregnant sister, teary parents and distraught nephew goodbye. On the plane he asks himself why he’s even doing it. There are a handful of friends waiting in Monaco, sure, and a job that he used to love, but now feels really fucking conflicted about, and not a lot else.
Except.
Max.
Max is there too, and Daniel was deeply wrong when he thought a month on the other side of the world could be enough for him to move on. On from what he isn’t even sure… a business transaction turned attraction turned… feelings? Obsession? Something like that. (Not Love, he lies to himself. It can never be that.)
He texts Scotty when he lands, asks him to pick up some groceries because the jet lag will have Daniel wiped out for at least the next three days, and he’s barely closed his apartment door behind him when there’s a knock at it.
“Hey Bro,” Scotty says, a shopping bag hooked over one arm and an easy, breezy smile on his face. Daniel, on the other hand, feels like his eyeballs are made of sand.
“Hey, come in. Thanks for picking this up for me, how much do I owe you?”
Scotty shrugs, but takes the twenty euro note that Daniel offers. He only asked for milk, eggs, bread and Red Bull anyway. Of course when he pulls the cans of the latter from the bag he immediately notices that Max’s face is plastered all over them. He lingers over it for longer than he should before shoving it into the refrigerator.
“So,” Scotty says, from the other side of the breakfast bar, “funny story, he came around the club last week.”
“Who?” Daniel asks, tired and confused.
“Max Verstappen.”
Luckily Daniel is still bent down, decanting the eggs into the little basket he has to hold them, so Scotty can’t see his face, can’t see whatever the fuck must be written all over it.
“Oh?” He’s aiming for nonchalant, and probably misses by about ten miles.
“Yeah,” Scotty replies, all fake casualness, “he knew exactly where to find us, knew that the club lets us pick up there, and when he heard my accent he made a beeline for me.”
“That’s, um. Weird,” Daniel says, straightening up awkwardly as he tries to lean back against the counter, tries to look fucking normal.
“Yeah, I thought so too. Even weirder when he asked me if I’d seen Daniel J around.”
Daniel feels his heart throb at the idea of Max looking for him, and then swiftly tries to mentally kick himself. Max was just looking for sex, obviously. Knows that he can rely on Daniel to give it to him exactly as he likes it.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Scotty asks, not even waiting for an answer before he carries on, “the client who's got you tied up in knots? The one that paid you ten grand?”
There’s no point in denying it so Daniel just nods.
“Jesus Christ, Danny.”
“Yep,” Daniel says, and then, “I need a fucking drink.”
—-
Vodka and Red Bull is all he has to hand, and it's almost certainly a terrible idea to mix the two after a thirty hour travel day, but Daniel pours himself a double measure regardless, offers one to Scotty who grimaces and declines.
"Dude, it's 11am."
"It's not in Australia, and I haven't been to bed yet. Climb down off my dick."
"What, so Max Verstappen can climb on it instead?"
It's stupid that the comment makes Daniel flinch, and immediately Scotty is apologising for the cheap shot,, but Daniel just shrugs and drags his exhausted arse to the couch. It's lumpier than the one at his parent's place, and he feels an instant pang of homesickness, which almost never happens.
"So," Scotty says, dropping down beside him, "do you want to hear the rest of the story?"
Daniel really does, even though he knows he really shouldn't.
He nods.
"So he asked if I'd seen you around and I just shrugged, said who's asking and he looked at me like I was a fucking idiot, which, check your ego, dude -"
"He's not like that," Daniel cuts him off, "he isn't... some, like, entitled Monaco cunt... He's. Cool."
It's a lame thing to say, but it's true. Daniel's spent enough time with Max to know that he truly doesn't give a damn about any of it - the fame, the money, the attention. But also, it's a fact, everyone in this damn city knows who he is.
"Jesus, you're really gone for him, aren't you?"
Daniel doesn't respond, just swallows down the rest of his drink and feels it burn all the way to his stomach.
"Well, anyway," Scotty continues, "after his death glare, he asked again, if I knew you, if I'd seen you around. So I said you were out of town, but yeah, I know you. And then he disappeared towards the bar and came back a minute later with this."
Scotty fishes in his pocket for a second and pulls out a rumpled white napkin, the club logo on one side and a number with a hastily scrawled note on the other.
Call me, please.
Daniel wishes he had another drink as he takes the napkin from Scotty's fingers, pretends there isn’t an embarrassing tremor in his own.
"It's legit, I called it and he picked up."
"What the fuck, Scotty?"
Scotty shrugs, "I was looking out for you, man, I didn't want to give it to you and get your hopes up or whatever only for it to be a fake number. A joke or something."
"Shit."
"Yeah, so. What are you going to do?"
And isn't that just the million dollar question.
*********
Downloading the Confidential Connections app back onto his phone feels like a big step, which is fucking dumb, this is his job, he took a month off, but it’s time to face the music. It’s only two words in a search bar and four more taps of Daniel’s thumb, but he’s nervous of what will be waiting on there for him. He knows now there’ll be messages for Max in his inbox, maybe appointment booking requests, even though he told the agency to turn those off.
He can’t believe that Max was so desperate to fuck that he came looking for Daniel, that he didn’t just hire one of the other escorts he found in the club, that he didn’t just hire Scotty. And really there’s nothing to say he didn’t just go out and pick up someone else after, someone who could give him what he needs without catching feelings like a fucking idiot.
If that thought makes Daniel burn with jealousy, well it’s no one's business but his own.
Still, despite all that, it takes Daniel twelve hours to find the balls to login to his profile, to open the inbox that has a shining red circle to indicate he has thirteen unread messages.
Three are from regulars, asking him to let them know when he’s available again, one of them asking him to join her as a date on the weekend that he was fucking an annoymous woman with a belly button ring in Australia. He wonders if those regulars will still be interested in him now, or if they’ll have moved on to someone new, but he finds he doesn’t really care either way. They were nice, and fun for the most part, but he won’t lose sleep over them finding someone else to fill their beds.
The other ten messages though, those are all from Max.
Max: You’re welcome, why did you leave without waking me?
Max: Also I should be thanking you, for helping me with Sassy. She is very mad at me this morning haha
Max: Daniel, is everything okay?
Max: Your booking requests are turned off… I hope you’re not sick. Please let me know when I can see you again.
Max: It’s been a week and I’m starting to get very worried about you… reply and let me know you are alright, at least.
Max: In case you were curious, your company takes your privacy very seriously.
Max: I asked them already to pass along my number but they refused, if you are seeing these messages, call me on the number below.
Max: For fucksake, Daniel, I haven’t heard from you in three weeks. Let me know that you are okay.
Max: I hope your Australian friend passes along my message, but if he doesn’t I went to Jimmy’z to look for you. I didn’t tell him anything of course, except that I was looking for you, he said you’re out of town.
Max: Okay, I can take a hint. Obviously you do not want to hear from me again, so I will respect that. Goodbye, Daniel.
It’s for the best, Daniel tells himself. It’s not a big deal. It shouldn’t ache in the pit of his stomach, or make his eyes feel hot and prickly. And it doesn’t.
Because it’s not a big deal.
*********
Daniel goes back to work the following week, because the money he got from Max is actually finite, and even though it's given him some breathing room, and the opportunity to go home, it won't last forever. Not now that Daniel has decided there can be no more of those ridiculous tips, no more insane overnight stays in penthouses or swanky hotels by the sea, at least not with Max.
He sets his profile to women only, which is stupid, because it's slower work and less money generally, but Daniel can't face the thought of comparing every guy who books him to Max. It's already been happening for months, but at least he got to have Max then. Now he just... can't.
And with that he can’t help but finally admit to himself that he's definitely at least halfway in love with Max. That he wants a shitty, cheesy rom com happily ever after with him. Right behind that thought is the notion that he's a fucking idiot who needs to pull himself together and live in the real world.
He's an escort. He sells himself, his time and his charm and his body, for money. And he's damn good at it. Has been good at it for years now. Even if Max wanted him, there’s no sense in throwing it all away over some guy who will probably spend the rest of his life in the closet anyway. Winning races and screwing guys behind closed doors. Daniel doesn’t want that life, and Max almost certainly doesn’t want him now anyway, after Daniel’s disappearing act and silent treatment, so it’s a moot point.
Besides, how well do they even really know each other? It’s not like they could ever have something real anyway. Max doesn’t even know his last name for fucks’ sake.
So Daniel works, goes for long runs down by the marina, hangs out with Scotty and a new guy on the scene called Blake who’s an Aussie too. Eats and drinks (too much probably), watches Max on his tv as he wins races and loses them too.
Time passes and Daniel keeps the napkin with Max’s number beside his bed, tucked away in a drawer, but never calls.
Nothing changes except the seasons, the balmy September making way to a cooler October, until suddenly it’s the start of November and the first hints of Christmas begin to appear in Monaco. It’s been two full months since Daniel woke up in Max’s arms, since he let Max fuck him and tuck him up like that’s something he does with all his clients.
Still he doesn’t call.
And then Scotty turns up on his doorstep, too early one morning for him to have been home, smelling of smoke and beer and a scent that isn’t his.
“Fun night?” Daniel asks.
Scotty shrugs, “Eh, it was alright. You have any coffee? My head is fucking pounding.”
He winces as he sits down, so he was probably working last night. Scotty likes the clubs for picking up too, they’re exclusive and expensive and the clientele are already drunk, so it’s easy pickings, or so he says. It’s not Daniel’s scene, he prefers the app and a booking and knowing that it’s recorded somewhere - where he is and who with. Daniel makes coffee and toast and plonks both down in front of Scotty before joining him at the breakfast bar. It’s small, a tight fit like everything else in this fucking apartment, but it’s better than nothing.
“So,” Scotty starts, “your boy turned up again last night.”
Daniel’s heart hammers, and he doesn’t even have to ask, there’s only one person he could be talking about.
“Oh?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t give away the emotions trying to claw their way up his throat. He doesn’t bother to point out that Max isn’t his anything.
“Hm,” Scotty says, taking a huge bite of toast before licking the melted butter from his fingers, “I expected him to come over and give me the third degree again, but he didn’t, just picked up one of the other guys and asked him how much for the full night.”
Daniel doesn’t vomit from the thought alone, but it’s a close thing.
He knew this must be happening anyway, so why does hearing Scotty confirm it hurt so fucking much? It was Daniel who closed that door afterall. Who didn’t reply and changed his profile settings and never called. Who disappeared without so much as a goodbye. Max isn’t going to sit around waiting for him for another quick fuck for forever.
“That was risky,” is all Daniel says, “picking up some dude out in the open like that.”
Scotty just shrugs again.
“I guess that means you haven’t called him?
“No.”
“But you’re still feeling some kinda way about him, right? That's why you’re not fucking around with guys anymore?”
Daniel sighs.
“Yes.”
Apparently one word answers are all he has to give right now.
“Dude, call him. You’re a fucking sadsack lately. What's the worst that can happen?”
“He could ask why the fuck I’m calling him after two months of radio silence? Tell me to fuck off and that he’s quite happy fucking whoever he took home last night. Or any of the other nights that have passed between then and now.”
“Okay,” Scotty says rationally, “so he says all of that and you’re in the same position as you’re in right now. Or he could say, ‘it’s about damn time asshole, where the fuck have you been?’”
“Mate, what would be the point? What’s gonna happen then? Is he going to move me into his stupid penthouse and buy me diamonds, walk me around at his races like a fucking WAG? Like, he’s a fucking millionaire and I’m just some hooker he was hanging out with for a bit.”
“Right,” Scotty rolls his eyes, “because no one ever fell in love with a client before, did they? Or someone with more money or status or whatever. It’s all just bullshit anyway, if you love each other.”
And that’s enough to make Daniel pull back and raise an eyebrow. Scotty doesn’t talk like that, not ever. Daniel didn’t know he had a romantic bone in his body.
“Wait, have you met someone?”
Scotty doesn’t reply immediately, just taps the side of his nose and winks conspiratorially.
“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you, Dannyboy. Call the guy, tell him how you fucking feel, like I said - what’s the worst that could happen?”
—-
Daniel types the number into his phone five different times that day. He still doesn’t call.
*********
And then, it suddenly doesn’t matter anymore, because fate takes the decision right out of his hands.
Daniel is on a date when it happens, a work date. Some lonely older woman who wants the boyfriend experience - dinner and drinks and maybe an orgasm to cap off the evening. Daniel isn’t sure about the last part yet, sometimes these things just end with a kiss on the doorstep, and he’s pretty sure this is Anna’s first time hiring someone like him.
She picks the restaurant, an expensive place with good steaks and good wine - Daniel’s been once before, on a real date, and it was incredible. So, he starts out the evening excited, he’ll eat some good food and drink one glass of expensive wine, and afterwards he’ll be paid for the pleasure. There are definitely worse ways to spend a Thursday night overlooking the Mediterranean.
She sits down first, Daniel holding back for a ticket from the cloakroom, so he doesn’t notice until it’s too fucking late that Max is sitting at the table beside them. He looks serious, talking in clipped, rapid Dutch with an older man. He can’t see the other guy, only Max’s face, his cheeks flushed and annoyed in the flickering candle light before Anna is saying, “Is everything okay, Daniel?” and Max is whipping his head up.
Their eyes meet, his and Max’s, and Daniel nods, turns aways quickly, addresses Anna.
“Yeah, I mean- yes. I’m fine, sorry about that.”
The guy with Max says his name gruffly, drags Max’s attention back to their conversation, and Daniel squirms in his seat.
“So,” he says, all faux casualness, “what do you recommend here?”
Anna talks about filet mignon and truffle potatoes and a bottle of red that costs half as much as Daniel is charging for this evening and he smiles and nods in all the right places, lets her order for him, because her French is infinitely better than his. He tries to pretend that half of his attention isn’t focused on the quiet but heated conversation in Dutch that is happening less than ten feet away. Tries to pretend that he doesn’t feel Max’s presence radiating next to him like a physical thing. Real and whole and just beyond his fingertips.
And so it goes, he eats and talks and charms and listens until he feels like he might explode out of his skin, until the expensive beef sits so heavy in his stomach that he has to excuse himself to the bathroom. Once inside he leans over the marble basins, splashes cold water on his face and takes a deep breath.
It isn’t even a surprise when Max follows him through the door a minute later. He looks frustrated and unhappy and Daniel is about seventy percent sure it isn’t because of him. Or at least, not just because of him.
“You didn’t call,” Max says, blunt and honest, like Daniel knows he always, always, always is.
Daniel doesn’t know what to say, he thought by now that Max would’ve gotten over any residual annoyance that the local neighbourhood hooker had left him on read, but if the disappointed turn of his mouth is any indication, he’d thought wrong
“I’m sorry,” Daniel says, because he is. He knows that whatever his excuses, he hasn’t handled this well. Not after all the times that Max has reached out.
“You left,” Max says quietly, then, “I was fucking worried about you.”
And now his disappointment is changing, morphing into something more - anger. Hurt, maybe. He’s about to say something else when the door bursts open again, a voice calling “Max?” before the guy who was sitting with him at dinner comes into the bathroom, his eyes flitting between Daniel’s position by the sink, and Max standing awkwardly in between the two toilet cubicles.
Max replies in Dutch, calls the guy papa and Daniel realises with a sickening jolt that this big angry guy is Max’s fucking dad. He doesn’t leave though, and they all just stand there for a weird, suspended moment, until Daniel makes the first move.
“Thanks for the autograph, man,” he says, clapping Max on the shoulder, “it was good to meet you.”
And then he’s the one that leaves, letting the bathroom door slam shut behind him.
The rest of the evening is a blur - Max and his dad returning to their table, waving over the waiter and settling their bill, Anna chatting away and laughing at Daniel, like he isn’t sat there fucking reeling. They agree to split a dessert, but Daniel barely even tastes the bitter tang of lemon, barely registers the burn of the too hot coffee that follows. He really hopes that Anna doesn’t want to fuck tonight, because even if she does, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to get it up.
Thankfully she suggests they walk back to her apartment, “A nice stroll, to round out a wonderful evening,” she says, and Daniel takes it as a sign that tonight will end on the doorstep.
It does, Daniel kissing her cheek as he waits to see if she wants to take things further, waits to see if she will invite him inside, acting coy and reserved when they would both know where it was leading. She just kisses him properly instead, her perfect red lipstick smearing between them as Daniel presses a tongue inside her mouth. She wants to be thoroughly kissed, he can tell, and he’s nothing if not professional, even if his mind is still firmly inside that restaurant bathroom.
“Well,” she says when they finally separate, “thank you, Daniel. For making an old woman like me feel special tonight.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Daniel says, kissing her cheek one more time before she nods for the concierge to open the door for her. Daniel doesn’t even wonder what the dude is thinking as he watches her disappear inside and then turns to leave. She’s already paid for the evening in full anyway, depositing the money into his account the moment they met by the harbour, so Daniel is free to leave, to walk the thirty minute journey back to his apartment on the other side of town.
Except he makes it all of three steps down the block before a familiar voice is calling his name.
And there Max is, sitting like a fucking mirage on the low wall outside the building opposite Anna’s. Before Daniel can even begin to process running into him twice in one night, he realises that this time it can’t be a coincidence.
—-
“Can we talk?” Max asks, sounding calmer now.
About what? Daniel wants to reply, because everything he would have to say, the truth about why he ghosted Max, is surely nothing that Max would want to hear. Instead he shrugs, and pulls his jacket a little tighter around himself. It’s chilly tonight, windy, and if they're going to do this, Daniel really doesn’t want to do it on the street corner outside the apartment block of his last client.
“Please?” Max tries, then he leans into Daniel’s space and reaches a hand up to his mouth, presses down on the corner of Daniel’s lip, the catch of his stubble, “you… There is lipstick here.”
Daniel doesn’t move, just lets Max remove the evidence of the kisses that he shared with Anna, watches transfixed as he cleans the smear of it from his thumb on his jeans.
“I’m not sure there’s much for us to say, Max. I’m sorry I disappeared without an explanation, I didn’t think that you would be worried about me, but clearly I was wrong. But as you can see, I’m perfectly fine, so…” he trails off and shrugs.
“So, what? I thought perhaps you were not… working anymore. But I can see from tonight that of course you are, so I just - I would like to speak to you. To check it wasn’t something I - I mean. To make sure I didn’t hurt you, or make you do something you did not want to do, that night.”
Daniel’s mind flashes back to that night, to the cat stuck in the closet, Max’s wild, terrified eyes. Their kisses in the hallway, Max asking to fuck and be fucked. Max cleaning him up. Daniel’s heart twisting itself into knots when it had no business feeling any kind of way about sex with a client. Waking up in Max’s arms and his bed and knowing things had gone too fucking far.
“Okay,” Daniel says, resigned, “let’s talk, but not here.”
*********
Max invites Daniel back to his apartment, because of course. Why wouldn’t he want to return to the scene of the crime to hash out his feelings? But it’s not like he’s going to drag Max fucking Verstappen halfway across the city to the seedy side of town and into his shitty little place, so it’s for the best, probably. Maybe.
After a silent five block walk and an excruciating moment in the elevator when Daniel accidentally locked eyes with Max, they settle on the couch in the lounge in his apartment. Daniel has spent a lot of time here but honestly, not too much of it in the lounge, except for the two times Max rode him out here, once on the seat that Daniel is sitting in right now, and once on the comfy, overstuffed armchair. He doesn’t let himself dwell on those thoughts though, because it’s been too fucking long since he had sex with Max. Since he sex with a man full stop, and god, he misses it. Misses Max, specifically, is what his stupid, lovesick little heart tells him.
He silently tells it to fuck off.
“Can I get you a drink?” Max asks, before he takes a seat too, and Daniel nods, asks for a glass of water. He could ask for a beer, vodka, whiskey… whatever. This isn’t a work thing, so there’s no reason he needs to be sober, but he wants a clear head and a steady tongue for this. Wants to look at Max in the eye and apologise for being a shit but not spill his stupid feelings all over the floor between them.
“Please,” Max says haltingly after handing over a Red Bull branded glass filled with a decanted bottle of water, (Daniel can’t help but smile at the way he followed Daniel’s request to the letter, instead of just handing over the bottle,) “please just tell me it was not something I did. I thought… it was good. That night. That you enjoyed it. And I. I looked, when I was cleaning you up. You… you didn’t look like you were hurt but if I missed it then I’m sorry. I of course would never want to hurt you, Daniel.”
Daniel’s heart lurches in his chest, he didn’t even notice Max checking on him, had been too fucked out and riding the blissful high to notice much of anything honestly, but he feels awful now, for letting Max worry about this for months. God, he’s a cunt. And a coward.
“You didn’t,” he says quickly, nervously picking a cuticle with one finger, whilst the glass sweats in his other hand, “you didn’t hurt me at all, fuck, it was so good, Max.” Daniel takes a deep breath and decides, fuck it, what’s he got to lose at this point by being a little honest. “You were - it was too good. Bookings aren’t supposed to be that good, y’know? I shouldn’t have stayed that night, the lines were getting blurry and I needed to take a step back, so I went home for a while. Back to Australia.”
Max looks surprised at that, and Daniel isn’t sure why.
“Your… friend, did he tell you I went to the club?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Max fidgets awkwardly, crossing and uncrossing his legs so their knees bump, and Daniel feels a zing of something, even through two layers of denim.
“I’m not an idiot, Daniel,” he finally says, steeling himself and looking up so their eyes meet, hold contact, “I have spent my entire life hiding who I am, and I still called your company, told them who I was, what I was willing to pay, just to get your phone number. I still went to the club and approached an escort in front of everyone, very obviously gave him my number, simply to talk to you. The least you could have done is reply to me, one time, to tell me ‘thank you, but no thank you, Max’.”
“What about the second time?” Daniel hears himself say, before he can stop the words spilling out. A vision of a hungover Scotty at his breakfast bar telling him Max had been by again, had left with another guy, booked him for the whole night, appearing before his eyes. Jealousy simmers in his gut, even though he has no damn right. To care or to ask.
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter, forget it, it’s none of my business anyway.”
“Oh, I understand. The other guy I took home with me, when I knew your friend was watch-.”
“Seriously Max,” Daniel interrupts, not wanting to hear any more, “I ghosted you, you don’t owe me an explanation. I shouldn’t have asked. I came here to apologise and I’m doing a fucking terrible job of it. So, I am sorry. I should have been an adult and woken you up that morning, should have sent you more than one message between now and then. I’ve never… there’s never been anyone like you before, for me, and I handled it poorly.”
Daniel puts his water down then, it’s still full, save for a few sips, and it clinks loudly on the glass coffee table.
“I should go,” Daniel says, turning to stand up, “I hope this clears the air -”
“I came out,” Max says, cutting him off. Standing too, taking a step closer to Daniel.
Daniel’s pretty sure that he would have noticed those headlines, that Scotty would have been sending him the clickbait titles fucking immediately.
“What?” is all he can ask.
“Not- not publicly, of course. But to my father. That's who I was with tonight. I told him a week ago and he is very furious with me.”
“Fuck,” Daniel’s reeling, has no fucking idea what that means or why Max is telling him.
“Yes, I knew he would never approve so it wasn’t a very big surprise.”
“I’m sorry.” And Daniel is, more sorry about that than anything else.
His parent’s know he’s bi, have known since he was seventeen and his dad caught him with his hands down another guy's pants during summer break. It wasn’t his finest moment, and his dad did yell, but not about the guy part, just the sex behind the garage part. He’s pretty sure they’d even accept his job now if he told them, but that isn’t a conversation he ever plans to have. He can’t even imagine what it must be like for Max to have his dad disapprove of who he is. To be furious about it.
Max doesn’t respond for a long moment.
“I did it because of you.”
And that’s enough to officially break Daniel’s brain.
“What?” he asks again, stunned.
“I told you, I am not an idiot, Daniel. I know we were never dating. I know that’s not what it was between us, but we were not just fucking either. I do not think you are that good of an actor. And then I was mad at you for ignoring me, but I realised I could never ask you for more if it would have to be a secret between us forever, that it would not be fair, which of course is why I’ve never had a partner before.”
Daniel thinks of all the girls he’s seen Max pictured with over the years, thinks of all the Google searches he’s done since they started their arrangement, and he knew it was all fake, but to hear it laid out plainly like that is just unbearably fucking sad.
Max deserves something real, with someone real, not someone like Daniel who gets paid to playact intimacy. There’s no fucking way he could want that with someone like Daniel.
But it sounds like maybe he does. Or he did, maybe, until Daniel ran away and probably messed up any serious chance they could’ve had.
“I don’t understand.” And Daniel really, really doesn’t.
“I came out because being with you made me realise I want something real. And I took that other guy home from the club to make you jealous, which I think it did. I have been feeling like this for a long time now, since at least Zandvoort, and I’m also very fucking angry at you for ignoring me, when you knew I was reaching out.”
And there it is. Max just laying out his truths before Daniel like it’s that easy. Like Daniel isn’t just the guy he’s been paying to screw for the last nine months.
“Did he fuck you?” Daniel can’t help but ask, like that’s the most important part. It isn’t, but he’s a jealous cunt who can’t hold the words back.
“No,” Max says simply.
“Did you fuck him?”
“No,” Max says again, “he came over, we ate pizza and watched football for a while and then I sent him home. He told me I was insane to pay the whole night for that.”
“Why did you?”
“I told you, to make you jealous. Of him having my money or my body, I didn’t care.”
“I was jealous. But not because of the money, I don’t give a fuck about the money Max… god.”
Max takes another step closer, so close that the corner of his socked foot catches against the shiny leather of Daniel’s dress shoes. So close that Daniel can see the little patches in his two day old stubble, that fucking freckle on his lip inviting him in. He has never wanted to kiss anyone more in his entire life. But he also knows that they’ve not really resolved anything here, Daniel knows that he isn’t alone in his feelings now, that Max seemingly wants him too, but he has no idea how this could ever work. How a five time World Champion and someone like him could have something real.
“Whatever you are thinking, stop.”
“But-”
“It made your face sad, so it was not a good thing to be thinking of. I am thinking only of kissing you, and if you will push me away if I do.”
Daniel won’t.
He tells Max he should try it and find out.
—--
It doesn’t answer any questions, or solve any of the issues that Daniel has, but god it feels so fucking good, the taste of Max absolutely intoxicating right from the first hit. He feels insane with it, wonders how the hell he’ll be able to walk away from this again, knows that he probably won’t be able to.
It doesn't matter, not when Max’s hands are in his hair, his tongue in Daniel’s mouth, not when they’re falling onto the sofa and Max is settling in his lap, kissing and kissing and kissing like the building could fall down around them and they wouldn’t even notice. It’s always been like this between them, since the first moment that they kissed in the hallway of this stupid, ridiculous penthouse on Daniel’s first appointment with Max.
It was incredible then, and it’s even better now, because Daniel knows how Max likes it a little rough, likes to have his lips bitten and his hips squeezed, loves to make out with maybe too much tongue and gasping, panting breaths. Loves to let Daniel lead at first and then take control later. A push and pull.
Daniel never wants it to end.
He’s hard already, his dick trapped behind the tight material of his pants and beneath Max’s body, and it hasn’t felt like this at all since he was last here. Since he fucked Max and then let Max fuck him right back. He’s only had sex once since then for pleasure, and that was in Australia. He’s had it a few times with clients too, but that doesn’t even fall in the same stratosphere as this, right now. And they’re not even fucking yet. Just making out and pressing against each other.
“Please,” Max says then, voice wrecked and body so hot beneath Daniel’s fingers, soft skin and firm muscles, “please, take me to bed.”
Daniel wants to, has never wanted anything more in his entire life, but he feels lost too, drowning in the moment and what it means and what might happen next. It’s enough to douse some of the inferno that’s raging inside of him, enough to make him pull back and separate their mouths properly.
He rests their foreheads together, closes his eyes and breathes Max in for a moment.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Max…” he sighs, “fuck. It’s too complicated. What happens after that, huh? I sleep over and we have this whole conversation again tomorrow? You must know this can’t work between us. You’re… you, and I’m a fucking escort.”
“So?”
“So you’d be alright with that, yeah? With us having sex tonight and then tomorrow I have to shoot off to a client, have to take some girl on a date or to a hotel to fuck her too?”
Max flinches, and Daniel is glad. They have to be realistic about this.
“No, I would not be alright with that. But you could stop, I could help you, until you find something else that you want to do.”
Move into his stupid penthouse and let him buy me diamonds Daniel thinks, remembering the words he said to Scotty. And no, there’s no fucking way. He has no desire to be Max’s kept man. The power balance is already skewed between them, they don’t need to tip the scales any further.
“I don’t need you to save me, Max.” It’s not exactly what Daniel wants to say, but the sentiment is true. He told Max in Zandvoort that he does this because he wants to, because he’s good at it, he doesn’t need help.
It makes Max angry, Daniel can see that instantly, can feel it when he stiffens and pushes up and away, out of Daniel’s lap. He misses the warmth immediately.
“So you’re going to disappear again? Walk away and ignore me when I am sitting here telling you I came out to my father because I want to be with you. Because I am falling in fucking love with you.”
“Max-”
“No! Fuck you, Daniel. Just, fuck you.”
Daniel is too stunned to move, to respond, not when Max just said the word Daniel has been trying to avoid and deny for months.
Love.
Fuck.
“I should go,” he says eventually, standing up again, his legs a little unsteady from the adrenaline. Fight or flight. And he’s choosing flight. Max scoffs.
“Okay, Daniel. I am done with chasing after you, the ball is in your court.”
He turns away, walks toward the sim racing setup he has in the corner and leans against the desk, bows his head. Daniel wants to follow him so badly, wants to slip his arms around his waist and kiss his neck, apologise.
Instead, he leaves.
*********
Getting drunk probably isn’t Daniel’s best idea, but he does it anyway. It’s late, and he still only has vodka in his apartment, so he works with what he has - drinks two shots neat and then mixes a double measure with a splash of orange juice. It’s strong and disgusting and he swallows it down in four long gulps, feels the alcohol burn through him like Max’s words did earlier.
He pours another glass, drains it. Takes off his smart shoes and pants and ditches them in the middle of the living room floor, collapses onto the sofa with a third measure of vodka. He feels a little hazy by the time the glass is empty. It’s not enough to forget the word ringing in his ears though. Love. Love, love, love. It makes no fucking sense.
It’s a mostly unconscious decision to pull out his phone, scroll down to Scotty’s name and press call. He’s probably working, but Daniel listens to the call connect and ring anyway.
“‘Lo?” Scotty answers, sounding half asleep. Hm, no clients for him tonight then.
“He said he loves me.”
“What? DR, is that you? What fucking time is it?”
“Of course it’s fucking me. Did you hear what I said?”
Daniel hears rustling on the other end of the line, hears Scotty whisper something to someone, hears him say ‘go back to sleep, I just need to take this.’
“Are you working?” Daniel asks.
“What? No. I’m not answering your calls if I’m on a job, dickhead.”
“Who’s that then? In your bed?”
“It’s…” Scotty pauses, and Daniel waits.
“It’s a long story, one that I don’t want to share at 2am, okay?”
“Okay,” Daniel sighs, then goes back to the problem at hand “he said he’s falling in love with me, man.”
“I’m going to assume we’re talking about Max Verstappen here.”
“Yes, fucking obviously.” If it comes out petulant and pissy, he blames the vodka.
“That’s good, isn’t it? You’re all tied up in knots over him anyway, isn’t this what you want?”
Daniel scoffs, it is what he wants, but it isn’t the kind of thing he gets to have. He isn’t usually emo about this shit, doesn’t sit around wishing he was someone else or that he had his life together, but now he does wish things could be different.
“I want him, obviously, but I don’t know how we could ever make it work. What the fuck would I do, if I wasn’t doing this? And I can’t stay here if I don’t have a job.”
“You’re making dumb fucking excuses because you’re scared,” Scotty says, no holds barred, “you could do any other job, I’m sure he’d even help you find one. He’s a dude with connections right? You’re being stupid and proud, mate.”
“Wow, man. Tell me how you really feel.”
“Look Danny, you started this because you needed the money and wanted to have some fun. Things change, you’ve already changed. Women only, dates preferred… it’s not like you’re even giving up something you enjoy at this point. It’s obvious the guy wants you, he’s reached out over and over again, but he won’t keep doing it.”
He’s right, Daniel knows it, Max said so himself, and yet the thought of reaching back, of saying ‘Hey Max, I might love you too, will you help me figure out what comes next?’ is fucking terrifying.
“Go to sleep, Danny, think about it when you’re sober, and then fucking call the guy, okay?”
Daniel can’t promise he’ll do that, but he can agree to sleep on it at least.
He hangs up the phone, closes his eyes and crashes right there, still in his dress shirt and boxers, the taste of vodka orange and Max’s kisses on his tongue.
*********
From Daniel: so there’s something i never told you about myself, a lot of things actually, but i used to race too, as a kid. I was pretty good, i was in karts until i was thirteen and broke my leg. It took a long time to heal and i never went back after that, there wasn’t enough money for me and the sponsors were long gone after my injury so i moved on, finished school, dropped out of uni and went travelling, ended up here. I told you i was shit at bartending and you know the rest. so i don’t have a whole lot of work experience, but i know about racing and karts and maybe that’s something i could do, in the future. with kids or whatever… maybe it’s something you could help me do, if the offer still stands.
From Daniel: and i’m sorry, for the other night
From Daniel: and the rest of it, i know i’ve been a cunt
From Daniel: it’s not a case of falling, for me, i’ve been gone for you for longer than i want to admit, and it’s fucking scary
From Daniel: but i’m here and i’m admitting it now and putting the ball back in your court
From Daniel: you finally have my number, so you know where to find me, if i haven’t fucked this up
———
It’s radio silence for eight hours after Daniel sends the messages. He’s not an idiot, he wasn’t expecting everything to suddenly be okay because he grew some balls and admitted how he feels, how he really feels, to Max. But he was expecting something. Anything. Even if it was a reply telling him to fuck off.
The silence feels so suffocating that after an hour Daniel can’t take it any longer, pulls on his gym gear and goes for a run. He does two long loops around his usual circuit until his legs are shaking and he feels like he might vomit before he finally makes his way back home. He downs two bottles of water standing at the fridge and makes a smoothie bowl for lunch. A load of laundry follows, and an hour spent cleaning the bathroom, scrubbing away toothpaste stains until the porcelain is gleaming.
He fills the time and yet his phone stays silent.
It stays silent all damn day, until he’s finally settling down after dinner, a dumb comedy on low on the tv and his laptop open in front of him, a vague notion that maybe he could start looking for jobs now, dip his toes in and see what’s out there.
And then, finally, it rings.
It’s Max. Of course it’s fucking Max, because he isn’t a coward, and it’s exactly like him to grab the bull by the horns and call instead of text.
“Hello?” Daniel says, letting his laptop slide from his legs and onto the couch cushions beside him.
“I was on a flight,” Max replies, no greeting, just feet first into the conversation, “the wifi was down, so I only now got your messages.”
“That’s okay,” Daniel says, like he hasn’t been losing his fucking mind all day.
“Come to Vegas,” Max says next, and Daniel has to laugh, because who the fuck starts a conversation like this?
“What? Why?”
“Because I am here and I have to race and I want to see you, I won’t be home until Tuesday and that is too long.”
He trails off and Daniel feels little sparks of fondness fizzing in his stomach. Max is insane, but the way he just says exactly what he wants, lays it all out there like it’s a chill and normal thing to say is so endearing that Daniel can hardly stand it. But still, there’s no fucking way he’s letting Max fly him out to Las Vegas so they can discuss whatever this is between them.
“Max, I can’t come to Vegas, we can talk about this on the phone, or it can wait until you’re back in Monaco, it’s not even a week away…”
The idea of waiting a week feels like ten years to Daniel, but Max doesn’t need to know that.
“I will pay of course,” Max says, missing the point entirely because Daniel definitely doesn’t want any more of their relationship to be built around Max’s money.
“And that’s why I can’t come, Max. I don’t… if we’re ever going to be something more. Something real, then you can’t just throw money at me and expect me to drop everything anymore.”
That’s the crux of the matter, the power imbalance. Max has never made Daniel feel like less because of what he does, but it’s still there. Daniel asking for help finding his feet is one thing, but Max dropping cash like it’s nothing as a way to solve their problems is another entirely. Max is silent for a moment, like he’s taking Daniel’s words on board, contemplating them, and Daniel appreciates that, that he isn’t instantly pushing back against this.
“Okay,” Max says eventually, “I’m sorry.”
He pauses, then “Daniel, can you afford a flight to Las Vegas this week? Preferably tomorrow,” and Daniel has to laugh again.
He can, actually, even if it’s probably not the most sensible way to spend his money right now. He’s freshly out of a job after all.
“Maybe,” he replies, “will you be throwing in one of your ‘I am the World Champion so they give me free tickets to the Grand Prix’ spiels to sweeten the deal?”
“Yes,” Max says immediately, “And... Just come to my hotel. I have a suite. It has two bedrooms. Come here instead of booking your own. Please.”
“I didn’t even agree to book a flight.”
“Please,” Max says again, and Daniel knows that he will.
“Okay, I have my laptop here, let me look what's available.”
It’s stupid and wild and yet somehow, half an hour later, Daniel has a ticket booked on the next flight out in the morning. In less than twelve hours he’ll be boarding a ten hour flight across the Atlantic with Max waiting for him at the other end.
They agree to wait to discuss things in person - Max is tired and Daniel has to pack and it will be better that way, anyway. And then they end the call which has resolved absolutely nothing, but Daniel feels giddy and hopeful regardless.
It takes him half an hour to dump all of his shit into a suitcase, and then he passes out for the first decent night of sleep he’s had in months.
*********
From Daniel: i’m going to be out of town for a while again
From Scotty: are you going home?
From Daniel: no
From Daniel: i’m going to vegas, i’m at the airport now.
The chime of his ringtone isn’t even a surprise and Daniel answers as he sits at the boarding gate, his knee jiggling in nervous anticipation. He feels crazy, flying halfway across the world because Max asked him to, but he figures it’s his turn to do some of the leg work, to show Max that he’s serious about this. All in.
“Hey,” he says to Scotty, casual, like he’s in the habit of chasing his millionaire clients to another continent. No big, just another Wednesday.
“I happen to know where the next F1 race is, mate. So does this mean you finally got your head out of your arse and called the guy?”
“Something like that.”
He can almost hear the way Scotty is rolling his eyes through the phone.
“Is that all I get? You’ve been gone over the guy for months, I at least deserve the gossip.”
Daniel can’t help but laugh, because the guy’s a fucking hypocrite, “You gonna tell me all about the mystery lover in your bed the other night?”
“Tell me about Verstappen, and then yeah, maybe.”
“It’s like you said, I got my head out of my arse and realised… he said he’s falling in love with me and I’m already fucking there, we should at least try to see if we can be something. I don’t know if it will work honestly, but what’ve I got to lose? Sleeping with people for money? It’s not exactly a stiff competition between the two.”
“And now he’s whisking you off to Vegas?”
“Actually,” Daniel says, “I’m whisking myself off to Vegas. I’m not… I don’t want it to be about money between us anymore.”
Daniel isn’t stupid, he knows it won’t be that simple, that there will always be an imbalance between them in that regard - he isn’t going to start making millions overnight, and Max isn’t going to be easily convinced to stop splashing the cash but. It’s a compromise worth attempting.
“Fair enough, I’m happy for you man. You’ve been over the job for a while anyway, I can tell.”
“Oh?”
“Since you met Max, if I had to guess.”
He’s probably right, but Daniel hasn’t been introspective enough to even notice.
“Hm,” he says, a nonanswer, “well, enough about me. Let's talk about your love life.”
The line is silent for a while, long enough that Daniel has to check if Scotty has ended the call, before finally - “I’m in love with her.”
“Okay. And she is…?”
“She’s complicated. She comes from money too, her dad is some fucking mega rich head honcho dude and he won’t take it well. He wants her to marry some millionaire Jewish dude which obviously I’m not exactly either of those things.”
How they’ve both found themselves in this position at the same time, Daniel has no idea. Falling in love with people who are way out of their league. And yet Daniel is glad he’s not alone - if Scotty can own it and admit he loves this chick, then he can do the same.
“But you don’t give a fuck, right? You’re gonna try to make it work with her?” Daniel already knows the answer, can hear it in Scotty’s voice, but he wants to be sure. He’ll call him out on his bullshit too if he needs it.
“Nah, I don’t give a fuck, she’s my girl, we’re gonna find a way.”
“Good. Let's catch up when I get home next week, yeah?”
“Alright, maybe you can formally introduce me to Max fucking Verstappen one of these days.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
The boarding for Daniel’s flight is called ten minutes later and he tucks his phone away, grabs his backpack and heads toward the stewardess checking them in. She smiles at him, hands back his passport and says, “Have a nice trip, Mr. Ricciardo.”
I’m hoping for more than nice, he thinks to himself, imagining Max. Imagining them having the freedom to be together without any denial about how they feel. It seems too good to be true. A cliche Hollywood ending. But if Max is all in, then Daniel can be too.
—--
There is a car waiting for him when he lands at Harry Reid International Airport, a guy in a suit standing beside it with a MR DANIEL J sign that throws Daniel right back in time to Zandvoort. It makes him realise with a jolt that Max doesn’t even know his surname. God, he’s such a cunt. He can hardly believe that Max is still interested in him, is still willing to give this a go, when Daniel has given him so little.
A hundred or so orgasms notwithstanding.
He grabs his bags and heads over to the guy in the suit who asks “guest of Mr Verstappen?” and it’s not the same person from Zandvoort all those months ago, but it could be. The car too is just as black and sleek and flashy, and Daniel is glad of the comfort as they sit in endless stop-start traffic. The entire strip is in chaos because of the Grand Prix and Daniel is reminded of Monaco on race weekend. It’s honestly hell, unless you’re fucking Max Verstappen on a yacht that is.
Still, despite the crawl of the traffic, Daniel doesn’t feel prepared when the car pulls up outside of what he assumes is the team hotel. It’s a little out of the way, set back from the main drag of the strip, but Daniel still feels conspicuous as he approaches the front desk, tells another guy in another suit that he’s the guest of Mr Verstappen.
They give him a key card, no questions asked, and Daniel can’t help but wonder what Max has told them. If he bothered to tell them anything at all or they simply do as he says, yes sir, right away sir. He suspects the latter and tries to not think too hard about Max having that kind of power as he declines the offer to take his bag for him and heads towards the elevators, swipes his card across the little reader to call it down.
Max isn’t on the top floor, but he’s high enough that Daniel has a minute inside to try to compose himself before the door pings open onto a lush, carpeted hallway. His suite is 1709 according to the slip of cardboard in Daniel’s hand and it doesn’t take long to find. Knocking on a door shouldn’t be as daunting as it is. Not when Daniel has spent years turning up to anonymous rooms in high end hotels, but it’s never been like this. He counts to five, bites his lip and knocks, three times, firm. Sure.
It’s Max on the other side he tells himself. He wants to see him.
When Max answers he’s dressed just like always, a simple t-shirt and running shorts, a pair of white ankle socks. His hair is soft and a little messy, no product, and Daniel wants to sink his fingers into it immediately.
“Hi,” he says instead.
“Hi,” Max replies, eyes dragging over Daniel’s body in return. He looks sloppy and exhausted no doubt, smells like an aeroplane, but Max doesn’t seem to mind as he opens the door wider and says “Come in.”
The suite is huge, three rooms and a spacious balcony overlooking the pool below and the flat land beyond. Daniel is drawn to it instantly, wants to be out in the fresh air after so many hours cooped up inside a tin box, so Max slides the door open to lead them out and offers Daniel a drink. Daniel asks for water and a coffee - he’s tired and dehydrated and they need to talk so he’s going to need help with both of those things. Housekeeping delivers a tray with both barely five minutes later, a can of Red Bull beside them for Max and a basket of snacks that Max encourages him to eat.
“You like to take care of people,” Daniel says, picking up a packet of pretzels and popping two into his mouth. It’s a statement, not a question and Max nods in reply.
“Yes,” he says and picks up the Red Bull playing with the ring pull as they sit across from each other on the balcony, soft cushions on plush sun loungers. It reminds Daniel of that afternoon in Monaco, fucking Max where anyone could have seen them, and he feels a little zing of want.
It’s been too damn long since he was inside of Max, since he got to touch the miles of his beautiful pale and silky soft skin.
“I think you will find that hard, to let me take care of you.”
“Yeah,” Daniel agrees, “I think I will too.”
“But that is what I want. Not because I think you need me to, or because I think you need saving or anything ridiculous like that, but because I am in love with you.”
The words hit Daniel like a punch, even though he’s heard them before, kind of. Even though he knows. It still feels insane after denying his own feelings for so long. But he didn’t fly all the way here to do that. He flew here to be honest, to see if this can be something more than quick fucks for money and hiding away behind closed doors.
“Fuck, the balls on you, Maxy. You just fucking put it all out there, don’t you?”
He shrugs, “It is less scary now, that I know you feel the same.”
“I do,” Daniel sighs, takes a deep deep breath, “I’ve been falling for you for months, Max. I’m sorry I was a fucking coward, but I love you too. I just, I don’t know what comes next.”
“Whatever we want to.”
“Oh?”
“You said in your message about racing, about teaching kids. I have already lots of friends in karting academies. I help with sponsors sometimes, they will interview you if I ask them to. That could be what comes next for you.”
The proud part of Daniel still wants to say no, wants to tell Max he can find a job on his own, and he can - but it will be waiting tables or standing behind a counter in a supermarket, it won’t be something he feels any passion for, won’t be something that might set his soul on fire. Karting did, once upon a time, when he had dreams of being someone in Max’s position. He gave up on those dreams almost twenty years ago, but maybe he can finally find a new one.
And if it doesn’t work out, the supermarkets and coffee shops and restaurants of Monaco will all still be there as options to try. If things with Max don’t work out, the flights home to Perth will always be there too.
“Yes,” he says, biting the bullet, “please. I don’t… It can’t be about money between us anymore, like I said yesterday, but if you will help me, then yes.”
He takes a sip of the coffee that is sitting on the little table between them, and then looks up, catches Max’s eye. “I closed my account with the agency. I haven’t hooked up with anyone since the night I saw you in the restaurant. I haven’t slept with any other men at all since we had sex last. I couldn’t, it didn’t feel right.”
And there it is, the truth between them. The things Daniel feels he needs to say.
“I haven’t either, of course.”
There is no of course about it, but some jealous, possessive part of Daniel is happy to hear it. He nods, good.
“So we just… try this? Being together? For real?”
“Yes,” Max says, sure, “I have wanted that for a very long time.”
“Aren’t you still mad at me? For disappearing? Ignoring you?”
Max shrugs again, “Yes, but I want you more than I want to be mad at you. It has happened, you have apologised, I can move on.”
And that is officially Daniel’s final straw, the final thing holding him back from climbing into Max’s lap and kissing the familiar sickly sweet taste of Red Bull from his lips.
—--
Having Max naked beneath him again feels like an out of body experience and Daniel relishes every damn second. They’ve moved inside from the balcony thankfully, definitely too many prying eyes out here to even entertain Max’s exhibitionist streak, and into a bedroom with a bed so big they could probably fit five other people in there right alongside them.
Daniel has zero desire to do that, but the errant thought still makes his hard dick kick against the rough hair on Max’s thigh.
“You can’t fuck me,” Max says, disappointed, “I have to drive tomorrow and this track is dog shit, it will hurt too much.”
Daniel pauses, tongue pressed against the bobbing of his Adam's apple, he doesn’t mind that Max doesn’t want to bottom, but it’s not like that’s the only option on the table.
“I could eat you out,” he says, moving up to suck on Max’s earlobe, letting his tongue trace the freckles and moles along the way, “and if you can be a good boy and hold off from coming, you could fuck me instead, afterwards.”
“Oh fuck,” Max moans, hooking a leg over the back of Daniel’s hip, pulling their cocks together in a slick slide of precome, “I hoped you would still be like this.”
Daniel pulls back just enough to see Max’s face properly, flushed cheeks and kiss bitten lips, “Like what?”
“Talkative,” Max says.
Noted, Daniel thinks, glad that dirty talk definitely turns him on as much in real life as it ever did when he was working.
“I’ve never faked a single moment with you, Max. Every filthy thing I’ve ever said has been true. You’re so fucking hot, and I want you so fucking much.”
“Yes,” Max says nonsensically, “me too, of course. And I want what you said, too.”
Daniel kisses him, hard and wanting.
“Turn over then, baby.”
Max does, resting on his stomach as Daniel fits between his thighs, manoeuvres him so his knees are resting under him and Max’s arse is right there, firm and hot and Daniel’s for the taking.
They’ve never actually done this before, because it’s not something Daniel would ever choose to do with a client, but if Max had asked back then, he wouldn’t have been able to say no. Wouldn’t have been able to resist parting his cheeks and tasting the soft clench of his hole.
He doesn’t even try to resist now, just spreads Max open and presses forward, making everything hot and spit slick as Max moans above him. He tastes incredible, like maybe he showered right before Daniel arrived, a little floral like soap, and also sweaty and musky, all man.
“God, Max,” Daniel can’t help but say, biting into the round curve of one arsecheek, “you’re so fucking perfect down here.”
“Don’t stop,” Max begs and Daniel wonders.
“Has anyone ever done this to you before?”
Max shakes his head where it’s buried in the pillow, turns it to the side so Daniel can see his panting mouth “No, just. Only you.”
“Hm,” Daniel moans, “lucky fucking me.”
And then he stops talking and spends long minutes eating Max out instead, teasing and tasting until his jaw aches and spit is dripping from Max’s balls.
Until Max says, “I changed my mind, fuck the race, I want you inside me, Daniel.”
Daniel pulls back, and usually he’d take Max at his word, let him call the shots, but not tonight. He said it would hurt, and that is Daniel’s hard line.
“No way, baby,” he says instead, “you’re going to lie back and let me ride you, and then on Sunday, when you win, I’ll fuck you until you can barely stand anymore.”
They make short work of prepping Daniel, finding lube and condoms in Max’s wash bag before they both slip a finger inside, two hands tangled together to open Daniel up. This is something Daniel has never done before, and it’s weirdly intimate, to prepare himself like this, a second finger of Max’s nudging up so he’s stretched wide.
“That’s enough,” he says, impatient, and Max doesn’t argue, just removes his hand and lies back against the sheets so Daniel can roll the condom down the hard length of him. He’s so wet already that Daniel doubts this will last long, but it’s fine. There’s always tomorrow. And the day after. And the one after that too. Almost a week in Vegas stretching out ahead of them, and then even longer at home, forever maybe.
“You good?” Daniel asks even as Max’s sweaty palms are wrapping around his hips, even as the blunt head of his cock is pressing against the lube slick entrance of Daniel’s body.
“Perfect,” Max replies, and it shouldn’t make the breath catch in Daniel’s throat, but it does anyway. And then Max is sliding inside and stealing his breath for an entirely different reason. He’s thick, and it’s been a while, too long, so it takes Daniel more than a moment to adjust, to settle before he drags himself up and fucks back down. The way it makes Max moan is worth more than any money he could’ve ever paid Daniel before.
It isn’t a slow and seductive fuck, it’s quick and messy and urgent, all panting breaths and nails raking across skin, the tang of Max’s sweat on Daniel’s tongue and his bitten off words filling the air.
More.
Fuck.
Daniel.
Yes.
Please.
Daniel lets them all wash over him, lets Max hold him tight and works his hips fast until Max is close, and Daniel has to sit up and wrap a sweaty hand around his own cock. He rides Max properly then, really puts on a show - head thrown back as he jerks himself hard and rough, chasing down the sweet taste of release.
It’s only when Max grabs his chin and drags him back down for a hot, biting kiss that they both finally let go, Max inside the condom and Daniel smearing come between their chests, watching as it catches on one of Max’s nipples. It’s so fucking good he almost cries with relief.
Afterwards, he drops down onto the bed and smears more come into the blankets, not caring because Max is right there, dropping the used condom onto the floor without even looking. It’s soppy and cliche but they’ve only got eyes of each other right now, and the idea of moving more than inch out of Max’s embrace seems impossible, so Daniel doesn’t even try.
There will be time for showers and fresh sheets later.
—--
Max has the rest of the day free from work obligations, so they spend it in a haze of naps and sex and ordering too much food from the room service menu. It’s the happiest Daniel has been in a long time, and he tries to not focus on what comes next - all of the difficult stuff will still be there tomorrow, so for now he just wants to enjoy this. The soft, plush mattress beneath them and the strawberries and champagne that Max is jokingly attempting to feed him, and the three orgasms that have left them both exhausted but still somehow wanting more.
It’s pretty damn close to perfect.
“Were you serious about coming to the race?” Max asks, much later.
Daniel nods, kisses his shoulder, “If you want me there, then yeah.”
“I of course want you there, Daniel. I asked for a hospitality pass this time, so you can come to the paddock, hang out in the Red Bull energy station if you want to.”
Daniel does, despite the way it makes his stomach clench to accept, but he’s pretty sure they give Max this shit for free, so it doesn’t feel too much like he’s taking advantage, even if he has to have a silent, stern word to convince himself of this.
“Yeah… I… yeah. That sounds good, Max.”
And so that’s what they do - Daniel hangs out alone in Vegas on Thursday whilst Max does media and PR and other shit that he hates, and on Friday they go to the paddock together. Daniel doesn’t accept the offer to go to the garage with Max, because they haven’t decided what they’ll tell people yet, but he does go to the hospitality suite and drink beers and eat pretentious little portions of food until free practice starts.
On Saturday he does the same again, watching in awe this time as Max drives like a man possessed and qualifies P2. Lando Norris is on pole, but Max just shrugs when Daniel asks how he feels about that.
“I don’t care, I will get him tomorrow.”
And Daniel’s thought it before, but he definitely has a competency kink, because hearing Max talk like that is hot as fuck.
On Sunday he follows through, overtaking Norris on the tenth lap and holding onto the lead until the end. Daniel lets himself watch the podium celebrations this time, watches Max standing up there looking so happy and proud, watches him be doused with champagne and fantasises about kissing the taste of it from his lips.
Two hours later Daniel gets to do just that.
Three hours later he follows through on a promise of his own and fucks Max so hard that he can do nothing but shake and moan and come untouched across the bedsheets.
I fucking love you, he thinks afterwards, and then says it aloud, because he can.
*********
The Australian Grand Prix is scheduled for a bright and breezy weekend in late March. It’s Max who suggests they surprise Daniel’s family beforehand. Max who shakily admits that he’s ready for that next step, and that he’d be okay with Daniel telling them, with being out to them. It feels like a huge step, and Daniel wants it bad enough that he doesn’t even hesitate to call his parents.
“I’m going to be in Australia next month,” he tells his mum, “in Melbourne, for the Grand Prix. If you can come out beforehand, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
He almost feels bad for blindsiding them, for not giving them an inkling that he’s about to tell them something Big, but there is no subtle way to drop ‘hey, I’m actually dating Max Verstappen’ into conversation, so he doesn’t even try.
It takes some pulling of strings at work for his parents, and a bit of persuasion for Michelle to pull Isaac out of school for a long weekend, but they manage to make it work. And so, they have A Plan. Max and Daniel will fly into Melbourne early on Monday, his family will arrive on Wednesday, and they’ll all have time to catch up, to meet Max, before he’s swallowed up by racing obligations for the weekend.
Daniel will get to take his Dad and Isaac to a Formula 1 race, and hopefully see his boyfriend win it when all is said and done. It feels ridiculous to even think those words, and yet it makes giddy anticipation fizz in his stomach regardless.
The flight home is always long and exhausting, but being tucked away beside Max on a private plane makes the whole thing a little less painful. Daniel still doesn't feel great about that kind of thing honestly, but Max is making this trip regardless, so it feels slightly easier to justify the extravagance. The thought of his family waiting on the other side helps with that too. He'll get to meet his new niece, finally, and spoil Isaac and hug his mum, and all of that is worth swallowing his pride for.
He has a job now which makes it easier too, has since the start of the new year and it's not perfect, it isn't coaching kids to race like he’d been secretly hoping, but it's a foot in the door, an entry level position with a karting academy that Max gives a scholarship to each year for kids who are struggling. It’s not like anyone knows about their relationship so everyone is cool with him there, treats Daniel like he’s a part of the team, and he’s just another one of the guys. He worries that might change, if he and Max ever come out publicly, but that is a concern for another day - a bridge they can cross when they come to it.
Max isn’t ready for that yet anyway, and Daniel doesn’t need it either. He has enough skeletons in his closet that he doesn't relish the idea of being at the centre of a media scandal, doesn’t want to drag Max’s name through the mud because he’s shacked up with an ex-hooker. Daniel isn’t embarrassed by it exactly, but he knows it complicates things, that everyone they ever meet will have an opinion about their relationship, and he knows that Max would fucking hate that. He hates the media attention already, grumbles every race weekend about ‘PR bullshit’ and ‘smiling for the cameras’ and all of that interest is focused on racing. It would be a million times worse if it was dissecting his relationship with a man who used to fuck for money.
So, for now, it’s just Daniel’s family. Max has mentioned introducing him to his own mum and sister perhaps, in the future. During the summer break maybe, and Daniel won’t push it, but he thinks it would be nice to have that - their families in on the secret.
They don’t talk about Max’s dad, even though he still comes to the races sometimes.
“We discuss racing, only,” Max had said when Daniel asked in the weeks after Vegas, and that has been that. Jos knows who Max is and doesn’t accept it. Max isn’t ready yet to cut him off completely so this is the compromise.
Daniel is glad they don’t cross paths, because it would be really fucking hard not to punch the guy in his stupid, smug face.
But ultimately, they’re happy, and that’s what matters, is all Daniel truly cares about as they make the final descent into Melbourne. When they land it’s sunny but cool and Daniel pulls his hoodie tighter around him. The intense heat of the height of summer is over already, and there’s even a chance of rain this weekend, but it still feels incredible to be on home soil, to hear the Aussie accents around them and to know that his family are close, that he gets to spend a whole week here, and most of it with them.
Them and Max.
They go straight from the plane to a car, and from there it’s onto another ridiculous hotel. Max doesn’t have a suite this time, just a room that is bigger than Daniel’s entire apartment in Monaco with a view of the ocean, and the moment the door is closed Max is crowding him against it, kissing him until they’re breathless.
The spark between them has been intense from the very beginning, but somehow it just keeps getting brighter, hotter, and it still surprises Daniel every single time. They’re too tired to do more than make out, shower, and then crash for three hours though.
When Daniel wakes up it’s to the sun already setting outside, purple and orange streaking across the blue until it disappears completely and Max stirs beside him, shirtless and sleep rumpled and perfect. Daniel doesn’t hesitate to kiss him awake, kissing the sour taste of sleep from his lips until it’s just all Max, Max, Max.
“Hey,” he says when they pull back, noses bumping together, “I love you.”
“Hello,” Max replies, flashing a smile that shows all his teeth and makes his eyes all squinty in the way that Daniel loves, “I love you too, of course.”
—--
The Ricciardo’s arrive from Perth a little before lunchtime on Wednesday. Max insists on sending a car for them to the airport, but there is no ‘guest of Mr Verstappen?’ from the driver this time, just the instruction to take them wherever it is that they want to go. Daniel suggested they book a hotel nearby (because letting Max book them rooms in this bougie team hotel is where he drew the line,) and he gives them an hour to settle in before heading over to meet them.
Max will join them later, but for now he needs to hug his nephew and cry over his baby niece.
It’s chaos when he gets there of course, his family split across two adjoining rooms so his parents can help with the kids, and Isaac is wrapped around his legs immediately, yelling “UNCLE DANIEL!” and begging for ice cream before Daniel has even made it through the door. He scoops him up easily, mussing his hair and hugging him close.
“Hey bud, let me say hello to everyone and meet this sister of yours, and then we can hit up the ice cream counter, okay?”
Isaac agrees, and then Daniel is hugging his parents, his sister, clapping his brother in law on the back, before finally finding his niece in her little bassinet. She’s tiny and perfect, six months old already and clinging to the stuffed bunny that Daniel sent to her the day after she was born.
“Hey baby girl,” he says, reaching in to scoop her up too, “I’m your Uncle Daniel, I have been waiting to meet you for so long.”
They spend the afternoon like that, hanging out in the hotel before Isaac convinces them all that ice cream is a necessity now and Daniel takes them to a place that he looked up on the flight over - it has twenty different ice cream flavours and serves the best iced lattes in the city, allegedly. Michelle thanks him by swapping the baby in her arms, for the large coffee in Daniel’s.
“So,” she says, once the kids are settled, “are you going to tell us more about this mystery person you’ve dragged us out here to meet?”
Daniel raises an eyebrow at her, ice cream in one hand, coffee in the other, and the sun shining down on them. “It does look like you’re having a miserable time,” he quips, nudging her with his baby-free elbow.
“Shut up,” she says, “at least tell us something, is it a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
His sexuality has never been an issue, but he’s never done this before, never brought someone home to meet the parents or told them it was important.
“It’s a guy,” he replies, giving his sister something.
“Do we get to know his name?”
“Yep,” Daniel says, “later, when you meet him.”
“Does he like racing?” Isaac asks, and Daniel nearly chokes on his mouthful of mango sorbet. What a fucking question.
“Sure,” Daniel replies, like it’s no big deal. Like he isn’t going to blow the kids’ mind in a few short hours.
“Cool!” he says, then takes another huge bite of the chocolate cone that is dripping down onto his fingers.
“You’re being weird,” Michelle says, and Daniel just shrugs.
“Your face is weird.”
—-
Three hours later Daniel meets his family at a cosy little restaurant on the outskirts of the city. It’s hidden away and feels more private than all of the trendy hotspots that will be packed with Formula 1 fans this weekend. Max chose it for that reason, and because there’s a terrace that is both secluded and can be hired out. It feels too extravagant to let Max book the whole thing, but Daniel knows it’s for the best, that there will be less people to overhear something they shouldn’t.
“This is fancy,” his mum comments as they sit down, the strings of fairy lights just starting to twinkle above them in the rapidly falling dusk.
Max isn’t here yet, so Daniel just shrugs, “It has good reviews,” he bullshits, and hopes that no one calls him out on it.
It seemed like the best idea to do it this way, for Max to slip in afterwards, so if any fans do notice him, he’s alone and not surrounded by Daniel’s family. It does mean that Daniel has to sit there and order a large glass of wine to settle his nerves though, before Isaac climbs into his lap and asks Daniel to colour with him. Michelle has packed a Spiderman colouring book and crayons and they’re already spread out across the table when Daniel hears the door to the terrace slide open, and the waiter say ‘right out here, sir.’
Only he notices Max at first, and they share a small, secret smile over Isaac’s head and the empty tables separating them. He looks amazing, dressed up in a pair of tailored white shorts and a smart button down shirt, a million miles away from his usual uniform of skinny jeans and team branded polos. The fact that he’s made an effort for this is enough to make Daniel’s heart swell and his palms sweat, because he wants it to go well, wants his family to love Max as much as he does.
He feels like there’s already enough standing in their way, so he just needs this one thing to go smoothly.
"Sorry that I am late," Max says when he's close enough, standing just a couple of feet behind Daniel's brother in law. It's almost comical the way five heads turn to face him before four whip back around to face Daniel. Isaac's attention doesn't move from Max for even a beat.
Daniel feels so proud in that moment, proud of Max for walking in here alone to meet a group of strangers and outing himself to them just because it's important to Daniel, because their relationship is important to them both.
"Guys," Daniel says, standing up and sliding Isaac over onto Michelle's lap, "this is Max." He walks around the table until he's close enough to tuck his fingers through Max's and then smiles, "Max, this is everyone."
It's silent for a long moment until finally Michelle says, "fucking hell Danny, you dark horse,"
It's enough to break the ice and everyone stands up in a scramble to introduce themselves. Everyone except Isaac who’s now sitting in Daniel's vacant chair, eyes still wide with wonder. Daniel lets go of Max's hand, content that he can hold his own for a moment and heads over to scoop up his nephew.
"Danny," Isaac whispers, "why is Max Verstappen here?"
"He's my friend," Daniel whispers back, "and I wanted him to meet you. You wanna come say hi?"
Isaac squeaks, and Daniel takes that as a yes, hoists him up higher on one hip and nudges his way back over to Max who's shaking hands with his mum now.
"Hey Max," he says, "you haven't met my best buddy in the whole wide world yet - this is Isaac, he cheers for you even though dad thinks he should be cheering for Oscar."
Joe punches him in the shoulder and Max laughs, holding out a hand for Isaac who is tucked into Daniel's neck now, shy and awed.
"Hello mate, I am Max. Daniel has told me already a lot about you."
—--
Later, after a long dinner, hours of small talk, probing questions and more than a little bit of teasing (all from the Ricciardo’s, and almost entirely at Daniel’s expense,) Max invites his family to the Grand Prix. Isaac looks like he might pass out with excitement, and after a lot of ‘oh no, we really couldn’t’s and even more ‘please, I would really like to have you there’s, they iron out a plan. Max will be busy for the majority of the weekend, and Daniel will get to spend more uninterrupted time with his family than he has in years.
It doesn’t even matter to Daniel that he can’t be honest about who he is or why he’s in the Red Bull hospitality suite, because his people are there, and they like Max, and that means more than anything else right now.
The weekend passes in a blur of fast cars, glasses of champagne, excited squeals from Isaac, and at the end of it all Max stands on the top step, his first win of a new season and the start of another World Championship campaign and Daniel feels like he could explode out of his skin. He can’t believe they’re here together, in Australia, with his family when barely a year ago Max was just another anonymous client with too much money and an NDA.
When they make it back to the hotel that night, Daniel is tipsy from celebrating and whispers something along those lines into Max’s skin, already naked and tangled together on the bed.
“I knew from the moment I met you, that I had to have you in my life,” Max says.
Daniel doesn't really believe that, he accepts that from the first moment Max probably wanted him, wanted to fuck him, but he can't believe that he was ever imagining more. That either of them could've anticipated they'd end up here.
When they have sex that night it's slow and tender, making love in every sense of the word. Daniel spreads his thighs so easily, opens up and submits to every second of Max moving inside him, kissing him and touching him, taking him apart until they’re coming within seconds of each other. They don’t bother with condoms anymore, so Daniel relishes the warm flood of come inside him and lets Max sink his fingers back in when they’re finished, holding it there.
Max tops more these days too, and Daniel shivers with delight every time he gets that look in his eyes because he knows this is what will follow.
“Hey,” Max says afterwards, relaxed and happy, body still tangled around Daniel’s, “move in with me when we get home.”
Daniel doesn’t say yes, not yet, but he knows he will. That it’s simply a matter of when, not if.
“Ask me again,” he replies, “give me a little time, and then ask me again.”
A month later, sitting on the balcony in the early morning, steaming mugs of coffee between them and overlooking the harbour in Monaco, Max asks again.
“Yes,” Daniel says, like it’s the only word he knows.