Friday, November 23rd, 2018– In Flight
Somewhere In French Airspace
There was something in your touch that invariably made complicated, lurid things happen in his chest, things which he neither knew the name of, nor fully understood.
And not because the answers were beyond him or because the twisted knot of whatever the fuck it was that roared to life every goddamned time you so much as brushed up against him as you slipped past him in the crowded paddock or your fingers grazed his while you walked at his side, was some great unknowable mystery destined to haunt the ages.
No, it was nothing so grand or interesting as that.
Rather, quite simply put, Daniel did not know what to call the whole host of complicated shit that went down in his chest at the slightest provocation because he didn't want to know, he'd never wanted to know, so he'd never asked.
Better to remain in the dark, obstinate in his unawareness, wholly able to maintain the facade of his own blissful ignorance by sheer force of will then to take that final step forward, to trade the inky black of night for the golden light of day and be made to face what waited for him in the sunshine— the unadulterated truth of it all– a burden which he did not wish to bear.
He'd always prided himself on how he did under pressure because while he remained uncertain of whether the ability to keep his cool in stressful situations was a contributing factor to or the direct result of his chosen occupation, the way Daniel figured it, the how doesn't matter so long as you know the why.
In his case, the why had never been the part of the equation that needed to be solved for, but rather it had always been the numerator he'd worked from to find the sum of the unknown. And unfortunately for him, in this particular instance, it was the who and the what and the when rather than the why which were proving to be the real problem here.
So, Daniel made a split-second decision, one in which he gave up on his common sense and his good judgment and he threw caution to the wind. He decided to be selfish and short sighted and for once, to take instead of give.
Because in that second, in only what space of time separates one heartbeat from the next, Daniel came to the sudden realization that he'd truly made a mess of what should have been a very simple matter. Because what it all really came down to was just three little things, all of which he knew to be unequivocally true.
The first of them was that the years of want had in fact finally given way to a moment of need.
The second was that regardless of what anyone else thought or said, Max would think of the transgression as a betrayal and for that, likely never forgive him.
And the third, the final fact, was that he really didn't fucking care what Max did or did not forgive him for anymore.
"Actually, you know what? Fuck it-"
"What was that?" He was certain that the barely there exhalation would have been easily lost to the jet's steady thrum of white noise if his face hadn't been just a breath from yours. Your voice is hardly above a whisper, and it doesn't escape his notice that you had asked the question like you feared hearing the answer.
"I said- you know- nah," Daniel shakes his head once, the brusque movement intended to clear his thoughts instead sends the overgrown curls he'd been brushing back all night toppling forward over his brow in a wild tumble.
And he watches greedily, knowing that even if he'd wanted to, he'd be incapable of tearing his gaze away, as dark tendrils of his hair glance off the high points of your face, rogue strands tickling the tip of your nose, the ends of which had grown just long enough to kiss your cheeks.
He didn't need to look out a window or check his watch to know that time was of the essence and Nice was very nearly upon them, for he was absolutely certain that if he were to peer into the inky dark night, the familiar glittering view of the city lights would be there to greet him from below, still just a swath of incandescence aglow on the distant horizon.
Though Daniel could no longer recall the exact number of occasions on which he'd made this journey in the past, now that all the years that had elapsed since he'd signed with Red Bull and permanently relocated to Monaco had started to run together, his mental recall for the trip's timeline remained immaculate and untouched, perfect down to the last detail.
"Come here," Daniel says, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other finding the line of your jaw, cradling the right side of your face in the palm of his hand.
He shouldn't tip your head back as he tilts his face down at an angle with yours. He shouldn't pull your body the rest of the way to him. He shouldn't have ever taken this so far; he knows that he shouldn't have dared to let it get to this point. He shouldn't and still... he does.
He doesn't let any of it, not what's right or what's wrong or what's best in the long run– none of it– stop him from lowering his lips to yours, pressing your mouth to his and breathing you in, consuming you, taking what he wants as you gasp at the hunger in his touch.
He shouldn't relish the heat of your exhalation or wicked warmth that follows it, the parting of your lips yielding under his. He shouldn't ignore the gravity of the situation, nor the reckoning that he knows will surely follow the moment after next.
He shouldn't, he shouldn't, he shouldn't.
He knows better than this, he is better than this, he's certain that he is– and yet, Daniel doesn't have enough restraint remaining, nor so much as a single fuck left to give, to take what he shouldn't do and turn it into what he should do.
Instead of doing any of that, he simply doubles down and deepens the kiss, giving as good as you let him take... until he's lost himself fully in the here and the now, until all that he's really certain of anymore is how you taste on his tongue and the addictive rush of how your lips feel against his.
Daniel counts himself a lost cause, as seems only fitting, all things consider.
