#driver max

Daniel doesn't know how he got here, paddock pass to the Australian Grand Prix, with the chance to talk to Max fucking Verstappen but he's going to make the best of the opportunity he's been handed.

"So, Max," he says, lightly touching Max's arm. It's a risk. Max isn't gay as far as anyone knows but Daniel's always been good at guessing these things. "Do you want to get dinner after the qualis tomorrow?"

Max flushes, cheeks turning an absolutely pleasing shade of pink. "I..."

"If I got it wrong, I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone," Daniel says, taking a step back, ready to be let down by his impeccable instincts for the first time in his life.

"No," Max says. "You were right and I'd love to. Just, of course, no one knows."

"That's okay. I'll keep it our little secret," Daniel says with a wink.

Max shakes his head and laughs. "I'll find you tomorrow, yeah?"

Max is side stage for the concert, one of the few perks the fame has given him, getting to be up close to the music without being smashed against the barricade. The opening act is on and they’re good. Max kind of likes the music but if he’s being really honest with himself, which he tries to be most of the time, what he’s really into is the lead singer, standing there in tight, black skinny jeans, dark curls sweat damp and clinging to his forehead, shirt off, light glinting off the piercing through his left nipple. 

Max wonders what it would taste like if he sucked it into his mouth, if it would taste like mostly skin or metal, if it would hurt his teeth if he bit down on it. He watches, transfixed until they’re walking off stage. 

“All right, mate?” the lead singer asks as he exits the stage, making eye contact with Max. He takes the bottle of water passed to him by the stage hand without taking his eyes off Max. 

Max realizes now that he’s been biting his lip. He lets it go and it hurts a little. “Y-yeah,” he stammers caught off guard by the attention. 

The lead singer runs a hand through his hair. “I’m Daniel,” he says and then takes a gulps down his water. Max tracks the movement of his throat as he swallows. Daniel doesn’t miss this and when he pulls the empty bottle away from his lips, he winks at Max. “Got a name?” 

Max let’s out a nervous ha and says, “Max, Max Verstappen.” 

“Enchante, Max Verstappen,” Daniel says with a wide, shit eating grin. 

Daniel’s nipple tastes like metal and skin in equal parts when Max sucks it into his mouth later in Daniel’s bunk on the tour bus.

***

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