Sunday, September 2nd, 2018- Monza, Italy
Italian Grand Prix, the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza
So, when you feel Max finally stir awake behind you, you pretend to still be asleep, and perhaps he does too, because you remain like this for a little while longer, until reality comes rudely traipsing into your room in the form of Daniel Ricciardo, who'd you'd promised you'd go for a run with this morning and had forgotten about entirely, until now.
"See, I knew you'd sleep through your alarm, this is why I insisted you have them make a spare keycard-" you hear his voice before you see him, which only gives you the space of a second to realize what was happening before it happened.
"This way you can't just stand me up, like you always do-" Daniel chokes out mid-sentence, whatever he'd be about to say forgotten in the blink of an eye, as he stares in absolute bewilderment at the sight that greets him.
"What the fuck is going on?" Max asks dazedly, still half asleep and bleary eyes, his body still curled around yours.
"Now, I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I?"
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Look, Daniel might not have particularly wanted to get up this morning, and he'd wanted even less to go for this run that he'd somehow conned himself into going for with you, but now?
Now he was vowing he'd never complain again about the six am wakeup call this jog had required because it had gotten him here and he'd gotten to see this- and fuck, he was never, ever going to let this go.
He was going to be absolutely fucking insufferable because as far as he was concerned, if you and Max were going to do whatever the hell this was, whatever it looked like it might already be, then now was as good a time as any for the pair of you to start learning a thing or two about not getting caught.
Honestly, if anything, Daniel was doing you two a favor by making this a thing and blowing it entirely out of proportion because that's what would likely happen elsewhere, so who was he to deprive you of a learning opportunity?
It was just the honorable course of action, anyone could attest to that, he was only being a good friend to two of the people he loved, because it would be nothing short of dereliction of duty if he didn't capitalize on the moment.
And if part of his core motivation to make sure things only got more uncomfortable was because, fuck, he'd needed this, he'd been desperate for a distraction from the 30-place grid penalty he'd been saddled with this weekend, then so be it, and it was no one's business but his.
"Christmas in September? Oh, you shouldn't have!" Daniel gasps dramatically, pressing both hands to his chest in a mockery of heartfelt gratitude, the motion only a partial imitation of the real emotion.
"What are you on about?" Max asks his teammate, his voice retaining a quite discernible note of disorientation, giving his words a rather muddled, haphazard quality.
"This, mate," the Australian sweeps his hand through the air nonchalantly, like the scene before him is the kind of thing he sees every day, easily encompassing the entirety of the hotel room in a single arching gesture, "I'm talking about this."
"Can we just not do this today?" You yawn as you ask, both arms raised in the air above your head and hands clasped together.
You take your time stretching, apparently entirely oblivious to the impact the action is having on the man beside you, Max's eyes lingering on the strip of skin that's been left expose, his mouth hanging slightly ajar until he catches himself openly gaping at you and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at the chapped skin absentmindedly until it splits and blood beads in the middle.
