Chapter Text
The hotel suite backsplash had fossils in it. Black fish skeletons ranging from minnows to salmon. Max stared at them, desperately trying not to say something to ruin their whole trip before it even started.
“Oh fuck,” Daniel said. “Baby, we can call this whole thing off. I’m gonna call Charles right now.”
Warm arms wrapped around him from behind, and Max closed his eyes to inhale the summery scent of Daniel. He put his hands over Daniel’s and thumbed along the sides of his palms.
“I’m okay,” Max said, staring at the biggest fossil. “Don’t call this off. It takes Charles weeks to plan visits now.”
He loved Daniel with everything he had. Max turned to him, nestling against his body to feel the press of it against his, the beat of their hearts together. Grief still slipped between his ribs though, no matter how tightly he held on.
“I thought the fossils would be, like, dinosaurs,” Daniel murmured sadly. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Max lifted his head and kissed Daniel’s jaw. “Don’t be. You couldn’t have known.”
Daniel frowned. “I reckon I could’ve figured it out if I paid more attention.”
Max hated that Daniel always had to look out for him. Daniel was his lighthouse, guiding him home, protecting him from the vicious waves and jagged rocks that haunted Max’s waking hours.
“I brought the picture hanger,” Max said, changing the subject. He returned to his Louis Vuitton backpack by the front door and carefully pulled out a titanium case and a plastic baggy with adhesive picture frame hooks. “I’ll cover up the big one.”
He knew he sounded too normal. Max ignored the pain pooling in Daniel’s dark eyes as he set the case on the countertop and pulled out Daniel’s Bluefin painting. Both tuna peered at him with their expressive eyes and Max smiled down at them without thinking.
Max made quick work of affixing the temporary picture frame hook on the stone. He hung the painting everywhere they stayed, to keep the nightmares away. He looked at it first thing in the morning and right before he went to bed at night. It helped to know Daniel’s hands had made the painting, finally tying his family together.
“Are you still nervous about seeing Pierre?” Max asked as he set the canvas in place, effectively covering the majority of the biggest fish fossil.
“I’m not nervous to see Pierre,” Daniel said with a snort.
Max shot him a look over his shoulder. “You were doing the nervous smile when you were talking to Charles on the phone.”
Daniel puckered his lips. “Just worried about what Leclerc is gonna say about my hairline.”
Max steadied the canvas and made sure it was level. The Bluefins gaped up at him in approval. There. Safe. “Charles can’t say anything. Pierre had a hair transplant like a year before the accident.”
“No shit.”
Max laughed. “You didn’t know? He flew to America for it. Some doctor who does all of the superhero actors.”
Daniel cocked a brow. “Does this doctor have a name?”
Nobody liked getting older. Daniel feared it most days. Max saw it in the way he stood at the mirror for two long, or when he massaged his hands when his wrists started to ache from painting too long or working on the farm without taking his anti-inflammatories. His hairline had slowly crept backward over the years, and he had a little bald spot on the back of his head, but Max loved how age made him look.
“You are perfect,” Max purred, stepping up to Daniel again. “I’d fuck you right now if you’d let me.”
Daniel smiled down at him, close-lipped. Sadness lingered in his eyes, like Max knew it would.
“Easy there, stud,” Daniel said. He reached up and carded his fingers through Max’s hair. “That’s your youthful sex drive talking. You’re making me feel ancient.”
Max softened his lustful look to a dopey smile. “Mhm. We can do wine and chocolate instead. How would you like that?”
Daniel burst into a grin. “Don’t patronize me, Verstappen.”
Max kissed him, sweet and loving. He kissed Daniel a lot. All the time, really. They held hands when it was just the two of them walking around the ranch, or linked pinkies to guide the other along as they searched for quick fences fixes, diagnosed cow sicknesses, or learned how to take apart their tractor. A couple of millionaires who refused to call in help unless they needed it. True ranchers, as Daniel always said.
“Not patronizing,” Max finally replied between a few more kisses. He rested his hands on Daniel’s hips and squeezed, eliciting a grunt of surprise from him.
Daniel broke away. “Woah, you’re serious?”
Max laughed into another kiss. “About which part?”
Daniel pressed close, guiding them both toward the bedroom. Max walked backwards and pulled off his shirt in one motion, laughing the way he always did when Daniel eyed his pecs.
“Let me squeeze ‘em,” Daniel whined. “Pwetty pwease?”
Max threw his shirt at him. “Shut up and take your clothes off.”
Most of their sex was grief sex, Max just never called it that. Daniel didn’t really know the difference. Daniel probably thought sex had merely changed from the white-hot trysts of their youth to something more mature. Or maybe he thought Max’s marriage to Kelly had changed him into a boring guy in bed. Not entirely wrong. Sex with women was just so different. Sex with anyone who wasn’t Daniel was different, actually.
“Max,” Daniel panted out, his eyes closed and brow creased.
Max shifted his hips for a better angle, watching Daniel through his lashes. Daniel’s tattoos rippled as he gripped the nearby bedpost, but his left hand—Max’s favorite hand—wrapped around his cock, stroking offbeat to Max’s thrusting. His wedding ring glinted in the afternoon light, framed by a new-to-him 33 tattoo Max liked to touch whenever Daniel held him.
“Fuck,” Daniel choked out, squeezing his thighs around Max’s waist. “Stop being nice and fuck me.”
Max smirked and drove hard. Once he was balls deep, he stopped on a dime.
Daniel’s eyes flew open. “Oh fuck you,” he rasped. “Max, if you don’t—”
Max rolled his hips, pushing Daniel down into the mattress. Being inside him felt so good, but Max knew it would feel even better if he could get Daniel on his knees. He used to love the primal feeling, the primal view of Daniel’s shoulders, the sounds he made. The best sex they ever had had been a random night in Milton Keynes when Daniel showed up at his rental flat horny as fuck and begging for it.
Max couldn’t do that kind of sex anymore. His brain had a kill switch now. Too much pleasure and he skipped like a corrupted video until only blackness filled him up. People always talked about how pleasure and pain were similar in the bedroom, but Max’s had a different definition. His kind of pain had no recovery.
Daniel moaned loudly underneath him as Max rutted into him. He moved one hand to the headboard, and the other—his left—to cup Daniel’s cheek. Daniel met his eyes and came hard, painting both of their stomachs with release.
Daniel thought eye contact during sex was the hottest thing Max could do in bed. He had no idea Max often did it to stop himself from breaking in half. What was he supposed to say? How could anyone understand? What kind of fucked up place was his head in if sex with his husband made him think about his dead family?
Daniel’s eyes glazed over in orgasmic bliss, allowing Max a few precious seconds to collect himself. He slowed down, grunting softly each time Daniel tensed around him from an aftershock.
Max ran his tongue over Daniel’s nipple, shivering at the metallic taste of his piercing, the cold metal against his tongue. He wished he didn’t have to cum, but not getting off would lead to questions he didn’t want to answer.
“Sit back,” Daniel slurred.
Max ignored him and continued his leisurely pace. “I’m close,” he lied.
Daniels’ fingers nested into his hair. Max buried his face into Daniel’s neck and sucked a hiccy there as he fought his own dick back toward orgasm. Come on. Come on.
He had the life he’d always wanted. The man he’d always wanted. The person he’d always wanted.
Max quickened his pace, but his glutes were tired and his thighs hurt. Friction built a slick heat on his cock and he chased the spark with Daniel’s encouragement in his ear. Dirty talk had always been comical to him. Max embarrassed himself thinking about the filthy things Daniel said to him in bed, but during moments like this he knew he needed it.
He needed a reminder Daniel was here, alive, breathing. Wanting him.
“I think you get bigger every time,” Daniel panted out. “S’like you’re fucking made for me. Wanna feel you cum inside me.”
Max groaned, pathetically turned on. Daniel squeezed around him and Max hefted himself a little higher to change his angle. You’re taking too fucking long.
Daniel gazed up a him with warm, dark eyes full of love. “Marrying you was the best thing I ever—"
White exploded behind Max’s eyes. Sound vanished as if his skull had been bludgeoned with a metal pipe, complete with ringing that followed afterward, rattling through him to his core.
Daniel slowly came into focus underneath him. His tan skin slick with sweat, all of his sun-bleached tattoos mapped out on his body for Max to follow if he wished.
“Max?” Daniel asked, sitting up on his elbows.
Max let out a strangled noise when he realized he’d released, his whole body sagging with the force of an orgasm that seemed to have taken his soul with it for a moment.
Kill switch, Max realized. Marriage was the one happiness he’d allowed himself. Having Daniel in his life as a legal, equal partner had been his first selfish choice after the loss. Daniel bringing it up in bed had tossed him way too close to that horrific place.
Fear opened up inside him, threatening to swallow him whole. Something could take Daniel from him. Something his fault or something on accident, like Pierre. Max pulled out and flinched when Daniel shivered.
Max blinked stupidly, his limp dick just hanging there like a cum-covered slug. “Sorry. I didn’t—that was too fast.”
Daniel laughed. “Faster than normal, yeah, but I’m not complaining. I’m overstimulated anyway.” He cocked his head. “Always like the feeling of you inside of me, though.”
Max blushed all the way up to his ears. He didn’t deserve someone who wanted him like this, always. Most couples had problems in the bedroom, but they never had.
“Was—Is everything good?” Daniel asked. His palm came to rest on Max’s cheek, warm and living and real. Max turned his face to kiss Daniel’s wrist and crawled up his body until he could topple onto the mattress and hold him properly.
“It’s good,” Max finally said. Not great, not bad, not magical. Good days were simply that—good. Max had long since learned not to be greedy about chasing complete happiness.
“I love you,” Daniel whispered with a kiss to Max’s nose. “Definitely love getting fucked by you.”
“I love you too,” Max whispered back. He nuzzled in closer, hooking one arm over Daniel’s middle and the other under Daniel’s pillow for him to rest on. “Everything was good for you? It wasn’t too much?”
Daniel grinned him, a big goofy grin that made Max crazy. “Nah. You know I like it a little rough with all that love in the middle. Crispy bacon style.”
Max let out a snort. “You do love meat.”
They devolved into more immature jokes until Daniel started whining about feeling sticky, then they cleaned up. Max stripped the sheets while Daniel changed into an oversized hoodie and sweats that smelled like Perth. Max changed into boxers but kept his shirt off to avoid getting too hot when Daniel inevitably wanted to cuddle with him.
He ordered room service from the living room couch. Daniel laid between his legs, his head on Max’s chest while he scrolled through his phone. Max busied himself with Daniel’s curls. He threaded his fingers through them, pulled them taut to watch them snap back into a perfect coil, and gently scratched Daniel’s scalp every few minutes to elicit a soft sound of affection from him.
“I love being married to you,” Max said quietly as he pulled on another curl.
Daniel dropped his phone on his chest and tilted his head back to look at him. “Oh yeah?”
Max’s whole body buckled at the gentleness in his tone. Daniel always knew when he was getting close to a breakdown, when fear and guilt and shame started building up like storm clouds in his head. He nodded. “Yeah. I love you.”
Daniel gave him an upside-down smile. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, Max?”
He let go of Daniel’s curl and watched it snapback into a coil, springy and full of life, like Daniel always was. Sunshine embodied, Max’s personal nightlight for his darkness.
“I don’t know how to put it in words,” Max admitted, looping his arms around Daniel to settle on his sternum.
“Is it Pierre and Charles?” Daniel asked, sinking against him further. “Or is it about—”
“Yes,” Max said quickly. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
Pierre and Charles had a son now. Max saw pictures of him on Instagram all the time. He’d watched Theo grow from a slobbering infant to a toddler with Pierre’s mischievous eyes and Charles’s innocent-but-conspiring personality. Seeing him on a screen was entirely different than seeing him in person.
“I can call Charles and they can get a nanny,” Daniel said. “Charles already offered.”
Of course he did. Charles left flowers by Liam and Leandro’s memorial every year on their birthday. Max didn’t even do that. His family didn’t want him to—they didn’t speak to him anymore. His mother had been the final holdout, but after she learned he’d married Daniel, he never heard from her again.
“Pierre needs Theo around,” Max said, thumbing Daniel’s chest.
“Pierre’s an adult,” Daniel murmured, folding his hands over Max’s. “Charles said today has been going great. He’s just like he was before, just a bit…”
“He got his face caved in,” Max said stiffly. “Charles said he has triggers. What if he remembers what happened to me? He could think I’m there to murder his—”
“Hey,” Daniel snapped. His eyes ignited with anger. “Don’t say that, you hear me? Nobody thinks that. Nobody will ever think that about you.”
“My own family thinks that,” Max replied bitterly. “They raised me, they know me, and that’s what they think.” Daniel moved to sit up, but Max held him in place. “That’s the reality, Daniel. It just is.”
Daniel sighed and relaxed back into his hold. “Doesn’t make it true,” he said. “Because it isn’t true. Charles knows that and so does Pierre. They want you to meet him.”
“I met him,” Max replied. “I’ve held him before.”
“That was a baby, this is a kid.”
“Exactly.”
Daniel looked up at him with a frown. “If you’re not ready, that’s okay. But if you’re only against it because of what you think Pierre will think, I want you to try.”
Max stared down at him. A long time ago, anger would have risen in him to burn out his fear. He would have snapped at Daniel and told him to fuck off for daring to understand his mind. But they were married now. Daniel knew him body and soul, and Max had learned long ago that Daniel only wanted what was best for him.
“He’s their age,” Max whispered, and his voice shook. “It’s been six months since I last saw them. This could bring them back.”
Daniel turned himself around in Max’s lap, and Max lifted his hands to give him room to move this time.
“I’m going to be right there with you,” Daniel promised. His body was warm, a comfortable kind that only came with an afternoon spent wrapped up in each other. “If they come back, we’ll make a plan.”
Tears filled Max’s eyes. It made him sick to realize he didn’t want his own babies back in his life. He’d been like Charles and Pierre once. He’d been the loving father, the caretaker, the confidant. Now the thought of his children speaking to him made him shake.
“I don’t want to see them,” Max said hoarsely. “Why even risk it?”
“Oh Max, baby,” Daniel soothed. He crawled up Max’s chest to kiss his cheek, then found his lips for one of the sweetest kisses Daniel had ever given him. “It could be a good thing. Maybe it’s the next step.”
Max’s stomach fell through the couch. “Next step toward what?”
Daniel kissed his other cheek. “Whatever’s next. Whatever you want that to be.”
When guests came to their ranch, they sometimes asked about the drawing Max and Daniel had taped to the fridge. They asked if either of them had any children. Daniel always answered yes, but moved on quickly. Nobody wanted to talk about dead kids.
Max searched Daniel’s face, from the shadow of stubble on his beautiful chin to the single grey hair in his right eyebrow. Daniel never talked about adopting children with him. The one time kids came up—back when Max feared he was sentencing Daniel to a joyless existence by marrying him—Daniel said he wanted Max, not kids.
“You shouldn’t have to be afraid of kids,” Daniel said. “You were such a good dad, and whenever I watched you with Penelope when she was growing up, you looked happy. You were good with little fans too. They all loved you.”
Max turned his face away. “Stop. I don’t want to talk about kids anymore.”
Daniel kissed the corner of his jaw. “Okay, stopping. Snuggling instead.”
Daniel tucked his face into Max’s neck and sank into his body, warming all of the places in him that had turned cold. Max took a deep breath before resting his cheek against Daniel’s. He closed his eyes as warm breath rushed down his chest, and longed to be the kind of couple where they could go a day without talking about death.