The Connection

AR: Are you coming over tomorrow?

MM: yeah. got work @ 4 tho.

AR: Noon?

MM: sounds good. see you tomorrow ;)
________

“Avery!”

Avery mumbles some incoherent response and pulls three of the four blankets covering him over his head. His blankets are pleasantly warm wrapped around his bony frame and the light coming in through the window is still the weak gray that indicates early morning. From under the thick layers of his blankets he doesn’t even register any birds chirping. He sinks further into the warmth and shelter of his bed, he was having a wonderful dream and he wants to go back to sleep and recapture it. Already the dream is hazy; he can only remember the warmth of someone with thick arms and a wide chest and clean smell of summer rain.

“Avery! Seriously! It’s like—quarter to twelve!”

He grumbles into his pillow, turning away from the annoying screeching. He wants the voice to leave him alone; he’s having trouble reaching for the hazy images that were shown to him on the border between wakefulness and sleep. The voice growls in irritation and then starts to yank away Avery’s warm and comfy blankets; he groans grasping at the fabric as it’s ripped away.

“What?” He whines, giving up the tug of war with the frustrated and annoyed voice and curling into a pathetic ball on his rapidly cooling mattress.

”It is quarter to twelve. Your boyfriend will be here in ten minutes and you are not ready!” The voice screams. The words jolt Avery from his stubborn hold on sleep. He sits up, reaching blindly for his glasses and when he looks at the clock, and then a red-faced (and already showered, although wavy haired) Quinn, he feels his stomach drop out.

“Shit. Shit.” He swears, glancing around his room. His room is in a state that is only familiar to artists and writers when they focus on a huge project. There are soda cans scattered on his desk, nightstand and floor. Likewise, little balls of wadded sketch paper litter the floor and he can see pencil shavings ingrained into the taupe carpet of his floor. Clothes and reference books join the disarray to make his room look like a creative war zone. He was going to wake up early and clean a little. Shit.

“Why didn’t you wake me? “ He cries, leaping from his bed and scurrying around his room to shove all the soda cans within reach into his already-full waste bin.

“I tried for, like two hours!” Quinn roars, watching Avery scramble about the room; shoving more trash into the bin, tidying papers and books; all frantically and haphazardly as the minutes tick by to noon. Quinn throws her head back and sighs in annoyance, before she rips the bin from her brother’s hands.

“No. Go get a shower; I’ll tidy up, okay? Just… shower.” She commands. Avery, with his hair sleep tousled and standing next to naked in just a pair of baggy sweatpants, nods but not before yanking Quinn into a quick hug and mumbling a ‘thank you’. He riffles through his dresser, pulling a pair of clean boxer briefs and pair of sweatpants out before bolting down the hall leaving Quinn to call behind him:

“You owe me so much, Avery!”
_________

He’s never showered so quickly.

But still, taking the quickest shower of his life doesn’t prevent him from beating Max. Avery stands a little shell-shocked in the doorway of his room, wondering if Max is really sprawled out on his freshly made bed, flipping through channels or he got too much shampoo in his eyes and he’s seeing things. He swallows, now so suddenly aware that he’s not wearing a shirt, or even proper pants and his soaked hair is hanging in front of his eyes, dripping down his bare chest and shoulders and spotting his glasses.

“Glad to see you made yourself at home.” He says loftily, pushing his glasses up his wet nose, trying to play it cool. He can be cool, right? Max smirks, settling on an action movie complete with a cheesy explosion, before he turns to retort. But when he turns, he seems to be at a loss for words. Instead, Max’s eyes turn a fraction darker as he runs those forest green irises up the length of Avery’s body. The quarterback takes in everything about him; the baggy black pants hanging lowly across Avery’s sharp hipbones, the way his hair curls at its shaggy ends as it dries, the droplets of water cascading over the lithe muscles of his chest and stomach, the way some of those droplets pool in the hallows of his collarbones, the pink tint to his torso and face form the heat of the shower and maybe a little embarrassment.

“What?” Avery says, trying for snotty; but the intensity of Max’s gaze has made his voice squeaky and not at all snotty.

“C’mere. No, don’t put a shirt on.” Max chuckles as Avery goes over towards his closet. Avery pouts, throwing his towel at Max’s leering face.

“Why? I’m freezing.” Avery complains. Max catches the towel with ease and tosses it to the floor.

“I’ll keep you warm.” Max smirks without missing a beat. Avery feels his cheeks flood with color. He shoots Max a look that he hopes conveys vexation, instead of the fire Avery feels sparking in his chest.

“That’s creepy.” He says shakily, putting his hands on his hips. Max’s expression softens into one of fondness rather than lecherousness, and he smiles one of those soft smiles that Avery’s been getting as of late, rather than the smirks he’s been used to.

“You’re makin’ this hard.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling and his dimples pocking the expanse of his freckles cheeks. Avery snorts, his hands rubbing away the goose bumps rising on his arms; he steps forward, chuckling along with Max.

“I’m sorry. Is this some type of seduction?” Avery asks drily, grinning at Max. The taller boy laughs loudly, throwing his head back against Avery’s headboard, he’s still grinning when he reaches forward, lacing his thick fingers with Avery’s long pale ones.

“Yeah, supposed to be. But you suck at this.” He smiles softly, pulling the skinny boy to sit in the V of his legs on his bed. Avery goes willingly, blushing and scowling. His body fits snugly against Max’s; the quarterback wraps his arms around his middle, pulling him back to rest his wet head against Max’s broad shoulder. He sinks into Max’s body heat; his pulse thundering in his ears. Is Max’s joking—or is he serious?

“I’m a virgin.” Avery says stupidly, his own long arms coming to hold on to Max’s circling ones. Max snickers in his ear, kissing his soaked temple sweetly.

“I know.”

“And this is fun for you? Are you one of those weirdo’s who has a virgin kink?” Avery questions, hyper aware of Max’s breathing on his neck, of Max’s thumbs rubbing gentle, little circles into the frigid skin of his ribs, of the way his stubble grates on the sensitive skin behind his ear. Max chuckles again, kissing the shell of Avery’s ear. If he notices the way that Avery’s heart is thundering; madly trying to leap from his chest right under his forearm, he doesn’t say so.

“Don’t have a virgin kink. But yeah, this is pretty fun.” He says, trailing small kisses down the side of Avery’s neck and onto his shoulder. Avery wants to get lost in the attention; and although his body is totally on board, his frantically whirling mind is making this—seduction, or whatever—very difficult.
Avery is, in every sensed of the word, a virgin. Yeah, sure he’s not completely clueless (he’s got an internet connection). But when he thinks about it (which he can’t seem to stop doing right now), he’s only had one real life crush in his entire life (who is currently, curled around him, sucking at the delicate flesh at the juncture of his neck and shoulder). And, yeah, it’s some kind of cosmic miracle that that one crush would turn out to like him back, and be his Soul Mate. But Max is his first everything. While he’s not anything to Max. Maybe his first kiss, but defiantly not his last. Max has experience, like practical experience… not theoretical porn and fan fiction knowledge. Avery may have some parts that Max’s previous conquests didn’t have, but still it’s basically the same.

“You’re shaking.” Max mumbles, sucking at his earlobe (and why is that a turn on?). Avery laughs a high pitched sound that shakes as much as his body is.

“I-I’m cold.” He lies, shivering as Max’s stubble tickles his neck. The heat of Max’s lips disappears and as much as Avert feared it, now that it’s gone he wants it back. His neck feels freezing without the gentle pressure of Max’s lips.

“No, you’re not. You’re freaked.” Max says softly pulling back further. Avery scrambles, clutching onto Max’s arms like he’s drowning.

“I-I’m sorry. Please… I—don’t leave.” Avery whispers, craning his neck (rather uncomfortably) to look at Max. Max’s features, usually hard and cold with a smirk and indifference are soft and carry an overwhelming amount of concern. His eyebrows knit together and he pursues his kiss swollen lips.

“’m not gonna leave. And I told you to quit apologizing.” Max says softly, as if he’s soothing a scared animal. He loops his arms back around Avery’s middle, the weight of them no longer filled with the same scorching heat, but just warmth and softness and comfort. Avery enjoys this, but he wants the heat back, too. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with him? Max hooks his chin over Avery’s shoulder, lacing their fingers together and resting their hands on Avery’s bare stomach.

“What’s up?” He asks quietly. Avery leans back against him, trying to suck up as much of the quarterback’s warmth as he can; he’s sure that this is the last time he’ll feel it so strongly.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing.” He says sadly, feeling hopelessly lost and so needy for contact. Not just the softness of Max’s hand smoothing his hair, but for the heat of those thick fingertips tracing patterns and skimming all over his frigid skin.

“You think I do?” Max’s chuckle reverberates from his chest and into Avery’s back. Avery turns slightly to bury his face into Max’s freckled neck. He can’t look at him right now; shame and the feeling of haplessness burning his face.

“You have a general idea.” Avery counters, his voice muffled by the stubble coated skin of Max’s neck, “And you’re not a virgin.”

“You’re not a girl.” Max says softly, tugging Avery somehow closer to his chest. Avery snorts.

“Oddly enough I noticed that.” He smirks; causing Max to flick his ear.

“Alright, Sherlock; then you should have also noticed that I’ve never been with a guy, neither.” Max says sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“So?”

“So, this is new to me, too.” Max says dully. A sudden, horrible feeling clenches in Avery’s stomach.

“Does that bother you?” He asks a thread of fear and doubt laced in his tone. He should pull away, but instead he finds himself nuzzling deeper into Max’s neck and chest, as if to imprint his very soul with the feeling of safety and comfort.

“Bother? Nah. But…” Avery’s heart, beating so uncontrollably just a minute ago, stops. Here it comes.

“It’s scary. Like, I don’t know what I’m doin’. Usually, with… other people I know what to do. But with you… you’re different. ”

“Different?” Avery repeats, a little skeptically. He wants Max to just say it. He’s treading carefully around things that Avery already knows; like that Max has been with a lot of girls… and Avery is decidedly not female. And that Max isn’t gay… at least; Max has never said that he is.

“Yeah, but not how you think.” Max says, as he buries his nose into the damp locks at the top of Avery’s head. He inhales, and then exhales; steeling himself.

“I hate talking ‘bout my feelings.’ Max grumbles. Avery smiles despite the hurricane of emotions swirling in his mind.

“I’m not making you.” Avery whispers.

“I know, but you… you gotta know.” Max sighs, “You’re important. Like, with… other people—“

“Girls.” Avery corrects. Max sighs, moves the hand wound with Avery’s to run through his short sandy hair.

“Yeah, girls. They weren’t special… like, I didn’t care. They were just there, and willin’ and I took it. They didn’t mean nothing. You… you’re you. You’re… special. And… I care. A lot.” Max says softly, his fingers gently carding through Avery’s damp hair.

“But… but if you don’t wanna do this, then I’m not gonna make you. I just… you need to know that I care and I… “The hand carding through his hair slips to Avery’s chin, lifting him out of the shelter of Max’s neck to look into soft green eyes.

“I want it, too… I want you, too.” Max whispers; thumb tracing Avery’s full bottom lip carefully. Avery feels his heart swell with that feeling again. That feeling that he knows the name of, but can’t articulate. It’s a heavy word, the single most frightening word in the English language. A word more terrifying than sex or the dentist or those weird porcelain dolls. He swallows it, too scary to think about right now and settles on the subject at hand.

“I…I do, too. Want it. Just… I’m really scared of…this. Like, I trust you… I really do. But… I don’t know what I’m doing and I’ll mess it up and make it terrible and I… you’ll leave and—“He confesses, wishing desperately that the firm pressure of Max’s hand at his chin wasn’t there, so he could hide his florid face. He closes his eyes; he can’t look at Max right now. He hears Max snort and feels his lips mold to his, abruptly cutting off his rambling confession. It only takes a few seconds of Max’s persistent lips until Avery opens up. Max hums in approval, licking his way into Avery’s doubtful mouth. Their tongues sliding together, curling around one another as Max catalogs the sharpness of Avery’s incisors, the smoothness of the roof of his mouth and all the soft little noises Avery makes. Max pulls away, sucking and nipping at the kiss swollen flesh of Avery’s bottom lip as he goes.

“I won’t leave you.” He mutters, kissing along Avery’s jawline as he speaks. Max turns Avery’s head carefully, giving the himself more room to suck small marks into Avery’s skin and bite little purple bruises into the pale flesh.

“And I wasn’t gonna make you do anything.” Max clarifies softly as sucks hard at the juncture of Avery’s neck and shoulder, his voice almost obscured by the embarrassing little whines and sighs Avery makes.

“I don’t care about me …I wanna take care of you.” He continues, as the hand at Avery’s jaw trails down, fingertips ghosting over the skin at his neck and his collarbones, sliding towards Avery’s nipple. Max’s thumb, made calloused by years of throwing footballs and handling tools, comes to run over the little bud so softly, it’s almost not touching at all. Avery whimpers, arching towards the gently caresses of Max’s work toughened fingers to the softness of his skin.

“I’ll teach you if you want… But later…” Max whispers, embolden by Avery’s whimpers to roll the hard nub of his nipple in between his fingers, while the other hand detangles from Avery’s own to ghost along Avery’s thigh. His hand caresses Avery’s quacking thigh for a few moments, before it rises for Max to eases one of his fingers in-between the band of his sweatpants; pulling the fabric away from Avery’s heated skin as his fingertip runs a line from one hip bone, to the valley of his pelvis to the other and then back again. Everything is warm and slow, but Avery chest is bursting and his skin craves something hotter, something faster. Something more. Max’s lips move from his shoulder to his ear, and his exhales make Avery shudder; the craving for heat and pressure and more becoming the only thing he can think about.

“Right now… I want you to feel good.” Max says against the shell of Avery’s ear. The fingers sweeping across the valley of his hipbones dip further, tugging the waistband of his sweats further down, and further, and further until the icy air of his room meet the heated skin of his painfully hard erection. Avery whines pathetically, his chest heaving as his head falls against Max’s shoulder heavily. He wants. So fucking badly. And he needs to tell Max that Yes. Yes, this is good and I want it. I need it but he can’t force the words out of his gasping mouth.

But Max, protective, gentle, wonderful Max seems to understand the fire burring Avery alive because his fingers sweep softly across the head of his cock, smearing the pearly fluid gathered at the tip across the flushed skin. Avery gasps, the sound harsh in the stillness of his bedroom. Max kisses his temple sweetly.

“Say stop and I will. But ‘m not gonna unless you do, okay?” Max whispers, as his hand grips the base of Avery’s flushed cock, gently stroking upwards, once, twice, and a third time. Avery moans, a breathy desperate sound and squirms helplessly against Max.

“Okay?” Max repeats, stroking softly upwards again and adding a twist of his wrist as he goes. Avery groans, arching into the touch and thrusting his hips in to Max’s sure hold.

“Yes. P-please.” He breathes. Max kisses his temple again, and pushes his chest, until his back lies flat against Max’s chest.

He works in gentle sweeping strokes, always twisting his wrist on the upstroke. It’s dry, with only Avery’s own fluid to ease the way; and its burning hot with Max’s hand being almost too rough for the sensitive flushed skin. But Avery loves it. He sinks into the feeling, getting lost in the way that Max’s hands are rough and calloused and dry and the way that clashes so sweetly with the way his hand moves; carefully and softly, like all the touches Avery receives from Max. Its jarring in a way that he never thought this could be, and Avery relishes it. He writhes and whimpers, thrashes and moans as Max whispers silken words of encouragement into his ear. The burning builds in his stomach, the feeling so impossibly close to something and yet leagues away from it started out pleasant. But now it grates on him, and Max’s hand is working too slow, too soft and he’s teetering; wanting to jump over the edge but not close enough to do so. He moans loudly, thrashing against Max’s gently stroking hand and his pinching, rolling fingers.

“M-Max! Please…” He cries, thrusting recklessly into Max’s too slow, too gentle hand. He’s close, so fucking close and he needs it now. He can’t wait, the coals sparking low in his stomach are reaching a height so high that Avery needs to fall down from it, needs to let go and fall.

“Please what? Tell me.” Max whispers in his ear. Avery whines noisily, rolling his hips manically reaching, reaching … but so far away. Max’s hand slows down even further, and the hand rolling his bright red nipple stops, in order to press his hips down and stop his hysterical moving. Avery groans in protest, wriggling his hips, trying to reach further but Max is stronger than him, pinning him down easily.

“Tell me and it’s yours. Anythin’ you want, sweetheart.” Max breathes, licking along the shell of Avery’s ear, sucking on the lobe.

“Harder. Please. Faster. Max, I need—“Avery cries frantically. Max bites his ear sharply, and starts to move his hand faster and harder, adding a brutal twist of his wrist as his fist swallows the leaking head of Avery’s cock.

“I know. I got you. Let go, Av.” Max breathes, jacking Avery furiously. Avery moans loudly, not caring about the scrape, not caring about the dryness. He only cares about reaching that peak, about falling over the edge.

And it happens so suddenly, that Avery not sure what exactly triggers it. The feeling, the burning coals in his stomach seem to finally burst into flames, and he falls. He tumbles over the edge, crying out as he comes over Max’s still stroking hand and over the heaving, burning muscles of his stomach. He’s nearly sobbing, the feeling washing all the tension out of his muscles, but not washing away the fire that threatens to burn him from the inside out everything around him, too. Max stokes him gently, working every last drop of Avery’s release out of him and still then, until Avery whimpers and bats his sticky hand away, too raw, too flayed to feel anymore. Max chuckles throatily, and Avery can feel the evidence of Max’s own hardness pressing along his spine.

Max kisses his sweaty cheek sweetly, plucking a few tissues out of the box that Avery keeps near his bed. He then carefully wipes each of his fingers and then tediously wipes Avery’s chest and stomach and even his wilted erection. Max tosses the dirty tissues on the floor of Avery room (only stopping to chuckle at Avery’s indignant noise), and wraps his arms around his sleepy, sated boyfriend. Avery grumbles, turning his head to pull Max into a searing kiss. Max returns it heartily, humming softly into Avery’s sloppy, uncoordinated mouth. When they part, Avery lies heavily against Max, curling further into the warm embraced of the older boy. Avery then, vaguely remembers Max’s own need branding his spine. He sleepily paws at the front of Max’s jeans.

“Should I take care of that?” He slurs, not bothering to open his eyes. Max chuckles, nuzzling his cheek against Avery’s sweaty hair.

“Not this time. You’re about to fall asleep, anyway.” The quarterback says, and Avery knows he’s smirking. Avery makes another indigent noise, words too hard to form into coherent sentences. Max laughs heartily, tugging Avery closer to his body.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Max whispers into Avery hair, as Avery sinks into the warmth of Max’s arms and the potent cologne of coffee, sweat, motor oil and spice that clings to Max. He chuckles again, shaking Avery’s plaint frame a little.

“Seriously. Then I’ll fall asleep and miss work.”

“Set an alarm.” Avery mumbles, snuggling into Max like he’s the world’s comfiest pillow (and right now? He really is). Max huffs, letting Avery cuddle in closer. Max isn’t into cuddling. But, when he feels the sleepy weight of Avery; made of lean muscles and not the soft curves of the girls he’s been with, so sleepy and pliant and beautiful, he makes an acceptation. He wiggles down the bed a little, taking the dead weight of his boyfriend with him, until his upper back is propped against the headboard, and he’s almost lying down; with Avery’s head on his chest and lying almost of top of him.

“If you fall asleep, I‘m leavin’.” Max counters. The lump he holds in his arms makes a thoroughly annoyed noise, but doesn’t move.

”I’m sleepy.”

“Orgasms do that.” Max says wryly, and nudges Avery’s shoulder, “Seriously, you bitch. Watch a movie with me… I’ve gotta go in, like an hour.”

Avery heaves the most dramatic sigh that Max’s has ever heard in his entire life, and lifts his head from Max’s chest. Max’s heart swells with affection at those bright blue eyes, narrowed in irritation, peering out of smudged glasses behind a mop of the unruliest hair that Max has ever seen.

“Fine. But just know that I hate you.” He sasses turning around slightly, so that he can see the TV. Max laughs heartily, running his fingers through Avery’s thick dark hair, which looks not so much black but deep and dark, like coffee beans and dark chocolate in the soft afternoon light.

“No you don’t, you love me.” Max counters, picking up the remote and scanning the movie channels.

Avery doesn’t bother to correct him.