The Connection

“Wait, so you’re going to meet Papa Sport-o?”

Avery, having nearly choked on his waffle, is pounded on the back by Max. Maybe a little harder than necessary in light of Kat’s comment. For her part, the redhead looks unfazed by the possible dying and then beating of her best friend. She looks blandly at Max’s glare, her cheek full on a bite of sourdough toast slathered in strawberry jam. Avery is still coughing, (though half of it due to his laughter) and Max’s pounding in between his shoulder blades isn’t helping much. The other early morning patrons of the tiny little family restaurant in Franklin are starting to cast curious glances at their booth. Among the elderly coffee drinkers and the small families, there are a fair many Franklin High students.

Half of them, footballers and their girlfriends and the other half regular students, a few nerds, and a few other athletes, and at least three kids with jet black hair with swatches of bright colors mixed into their bangs. These students had raised their pierced eyebrows at Max and Avery’s clasped hands, but unlike the other hundred students at Franklin, they merely shrugged and gave Avery a small smile as if to say, ’Hey, good for you guys.’ Avery likes them the best out of everyone, even though he doesn’t know any of them personally.

“Babe, that’s rude.” Cooper adds, shoving more scrambled eggs into his mouth. The tackle doesn’t even look up at Kat, his arm thrown casually around the back of her chair, but he smiles around his food as if he knows that Kat will surely abuse him for the pet name.

“Shut up, dick head.” Kat sneers, her cheeks pinker than before. She crams a forkful of burnt (‘crispy’ Kat claims) hash browns into her mouth as if her terrible table manners with make up for the fact that she’s blushing like an actual female. Avery’s stopped coughing by now, and Max has stopped pounding his back. Now, he’s rubbing soft circles in between his shoulder blades and quirking a small smile as an apology.

“Yeah. ‘M gonna meet him.” Max says gruffly, his hand never leaving its gentle ministrations on Avery’s back. He swallows a mouthful of coffee, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Kat quirks an eyebrow, sets down her own cup, waits. When Max continues to push his home fries around his plate, Kat opens her mouth again. A hard edge glints in her eyes.

“And do you happen to have a plan? Like, are you going to ask him to get Allie out of that shithole—“

”Kat.” Avery hisses, glancing around at the other patrons. None have looked up from their breakfast.

“—Or are you just going to ask for man power so nothing happens to her?” She asks, totally ignoring Avery.

Max looks at Kat hard over the rim of his coffee cup. His face betrays no emotion but the hard lines of his mouth and forehead don’t show Avery outright distain. No, they spell to him that Max, while a little upset at being sassed, is thinking. Avery (after begging with Max that no, telling them would make him look weak, and that no, they wouldn’t rat him out if he explained that Allie would be put in the system, and that yes, they might be able to help them.) had told Kat about Max’s family. They told them everything, about the beatings and about Allie.

Cooper stayed relatively calm though the explanation, only when Max and Avery had finished explaining, did he stand up. He clapped Max on the shoulder and told him in a voice that lacked its usually teasing lit, ”Hey man, you’re always welcome here. Allie, too. We’ve got so many rooms I don’t think mom and dad would even notice if two were filled.”

Kat, to everyone’s surprise (well maybe not Avery’s. He always knew she was a bleeding heart) stood up from her chair. She didn’t say a word and her face was steely when she threw her arms around Max’s middle. Max started for a moment, before he carefully wrapped his arm around the grumpy redhead. ”Call me if you need to,” Kat commanded from Max’s chest, ”I don’t like you, but not even you should have to deal with that.”

She then went on to explain that her mother, a plump and friendly little woman who always welcomed Avery and anyone else into her home, lived much like Allie and Max did. Her step father was an alcoholic and not a kind one. Mrs. Wright would gladly take them in, even if they all lived in a two bedroom house. ”Cindy also bakes. She’ll stay up until two making cookies if you wanted them.” Avery added as Max looked at Kat with a faraway expression, like he couldn’t believe her. Kat snorted from the couch, her eyes slightly damp, ”She’ll make them even if you don’t want them. She thinks the only way to make people feel better is to fatten them up.”

“I… I didn’t really think ‘bout—“

Kat’s groan and her fork clattering to the table cut off Max.

“Fine, Princess. What the hell would you do?” Max growls, chomping into a strip of bacon with vengeance, chewing so hard Avery can hear his jaw pop. He’s glaring hard at Kat, but she looks as always, unfazed. She eyes him with challenge clear in the gray green depths of her eyes. Taking a thoughtful sip of coffee, she fixes Max with a glare.

“Where does he live?”
Max blinks, clearly expecting some sort of fiery speech on how he’s an idiot and not good enough for Avery and sucks at football to boot. Max swallows the mouthful of bacon that he’s chewed into oblivion.

“Peoria.”

“And how far away is that?”

“Little over two hours.”

“So not too far?” Kat prompts, with a raised brow. Max furrows his own in response. She sighs heavily, like helping a quasi-friend is tiring and she’d rather be sitting snuggled up next to Cooper watching true crime documentaries. She sets down her nearly empty coffee mug and fixes Max with a tired eye.

“So. Should you meet him and he’s an okay guy, he could take custody of Allie and you’d still be able to be big brother of the millennium.” She pauses to open another little packet of strawberry jam and spread it on another slice of toast with soft flourishes of her wrist.

“And again, if he’s a nice guy, then he’ll acknowledge that you raised her and he’ll let you see her whenever. She’ll get a home, or at least somewhere safe, and if he’s a fancy pants lawyer, than she’ll have more than enough to cover her needs. And you’ll get to see her whenever you’re feeling particularly possessive—“

“Protective is a better word.” Avery chimes in. Kat rolls her eyes.

“Sure, protective. Anyway, it’s a golden deal Sport-o.” Kat finishes, cramming another mouthful of toast into her smug smirking mouth. Max glares at her, seeming to weigh his frightfully small options. Avery and Cooper both sit still and silent, like nature documenters eyeing two wild animals about to kill each other. Avery catches the tackle’s eye only to have him give the tiniest shrug. Electricity crackles between the two green eyed teens, neither one looking away (though they both continue to cram food into their mouths, which Avery has to admit it pretty impressive). Finally, Max sigh and shrugs his massive shoulders.

“I guess it’s a plan at least,” Max admits grudgingly, but quickly recoils at Kat’s smug grin, “Well s’not like I got a ton of choices, Princess. “

They finish breakfast without any more heavy conversation. And when they turn to go separate ways, Max bumps Kat shoulder; much like a stubborn cat would do to show the barest whisper of affection, or at least gratitude. Kat bumps back, her small shoulder more or less nudging Max’s elbow in return. Cooper and Avery catch each other’s eye, just for a moment, smirking.

When Kat and Max look up, they pretend not to notice.
________

After breakfast, Max doesn’t want to go home.

So Avery doesn’t make him.

Instead, they sit in their usual fashion (Avery in the V of Max’s legs on Avery’s bed, Max’s chin hooked over his shoulder and his arms wound loosely around Avery’s middle), talking more than watching the Food Network. Quinn is out with shopping with her friends, and Avery’s parents are due to arrive home later tonight, so they have Avery’s house to themselves. In the stillness with only the crackle of the TV, Avery feels a stirring low in his belly. Right under Max’s arms. And it takes him an embarrassingly long time to name the feeling. Avery wants. And although he’s used to this, wanting Max and wanting to be close to him, Avery’s want is different this time. He chews his lip in thought.

Should he even ask? Is that weird? Like, do two people in a relationship just ask for hand jobs? Avery thinks distantly as Max sneers at what the perky blond woman on the TV is making for a graduation party. How does he ask that he wants to make Max come? In the past, Max initiates any and all sexual contact. He does so, never really expecting Avery to do anything other than lie back and enjoy. And if Max doesn’t already take care of himself when he’s taking care of Avery, he pushes Avery’s sluggish hand away when he tries to reciprocate.

But he wants to. He wants to watch Max come apart. Slowly or quickly; fast or dirty. Or soft and loving. He doesn’t really care, just as he’s the one doing it. Call it possessiveness, but Avery thinks more often than not about the girls Max has been with. Girls like Nikki Allen, who surely tried to win Max’s heart while on their knees. And Max is human. So when confronted with sex, he accepted and enjoyed it. No matter the gender of the mouth attached.

That knowledge (although probably over analyzed) makes something dark and sharp poke through his usual calmness. He thinks about lists. Like on the list of people Max loves, he’s at the top, not Nikki Allen or any other girl. And then there’s the list of girls who have made Max come. And he’s not really there; not by his own merits, at least. He feels obnoxiously possessive. But he can’t help it.
And although he’s woefully inexperienced, he can Google and he can read. He’s a pretty good student, so why shouldn’t that apply to blow jobs, as well? And Max loves him right? So, Max would be happy to teach him, right? And Max doesn’t seem the type to turn down a blow job, even a pitiful, clumsy one.

So, Avery just at an impasse, a simple little road block that would be easily jumpable if he had confidence. Grumpily, he thinks that Nikki Allen, with her heavy mascara and glossy pink lips probably didn’t ask at all. She probably just slipped down and did it.

“Hey. You there?”

“Sorry. Thinking.” Avery mumbles. He leans his head back on Max’s shoulder, shuts his eyes in order to block out the embarrassing train of thought he was just absorbed in.

“What about?” Max asks teasingly, nuzzling his stubbly chin against Avery’s cheek. The burn is soft, almost tickling.

“Something highly embarrassing.” Avery answers dryly. Max chuckles, presses his lips to Avery’s cheek.

“You got a diary? Or weird porn on your laptop? Footy pajamas?” Max pries playfully, poking Avery in the side after each weird accusation. Avery squirms away from Max’s probes, having ridiculously ticklish sides. He huffs a reluctant laugh.

“Weirder than that.”

“Weirder than footy pajamas? You gotta tell me now.” Max simpers. Avery feels his neck turn pink; sighing, he turns his face into the crock of Max’s neck. He glasses pinch the bridge of his nose and he knows they’ll be smudged. He takes a deep breath. Screw it. Max loves him, and the worse he can say is no.

“I want to give you a blow job.”

Max goes still, not even breathing. In the background, the show changes into a cooking competition with loud and jarring music. That’s all Avery can hear, that and the heavy silence caused by both of them not breathing. Suddenly, Avery’s very aware that a ‘no’ would actually be terrible. Rejection from Max would be cripplingly embarrassing. The silence drags on, and when Max shifts away slightly, Avery jumps on to damage control.

“I’m sorry. That was weird, I didn’t—I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Shit, I’m—“

“Are you serious?” Max asks quietly. Avery stops his bumbling apology and sighs.

“About being sorry? Yeah, I didn’t—“

“No. Not that.” Max sighs. Max’s freckled cheeks are dusted in pink. He catches Avery stare and turns away, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. He worries the plump flesh with his canine, as a hand runs through his short hair. Max can’t seem to fit the request into words, let alone a statement. Avery feels his heart thumping behind his ribs, the feeling mirrored against his back. He swallows, twines his fingers with Max’s.

“About… Yeah, I did. But it’s okay, if you don’t want to or… whatever.” Avery finishes lamely, absently playing with Max’s limp fingers.

“Why?”

“Are you refusing?” Avery turns to look at the quarterback, quirking an eyebrow. Max huffs a nervous laugh.

“No. Not ever. Just… curious why’d you want to. ‘Cause, you don’t have to. ‘M not gonna force you to do anything.” Max stumbles, his fingertips playing back with Avery’s in a show of openness. Avery rest his forehead against Max’s jaw, and closes his eyes.

“I know you’re not forcing me. I just want to. It’d be terrible, but as I plan on giving you many more I’ve got to start somewhere.” Avery mumbles. Behind him, Mas shivers; the slight motion vibrating into Avery’s back. Spurred by the obvious reaction, he tilts his head just slightly, pressing a kiss to the underside of Max’s jaw. Max sighs, a tiny almost indistinguishable sound amongst the chipper voices coming from the TV. Avery continues, kissing the prickly underside of Max’s sharp jaw.
Open-mouthed kisses turning into stinging nips only to be soothed with a sweep of his tongue.

Above him, Max thaws. His hands rigid on Avery’s stomach, and his jaw clenched tight, turns to one hand woven into Avery’s hair and Max making the tiniest little noise of contentment. Gradually, Max makes soft sighs and little hitches of breath when Avery bites a little harder or when he sucks the flesh into his mouth. Avery smiles, and palms the side of Max’s face. He nudges gently, his fingertips rubbing soft circles into the skin behind Max’s ear. The quarterback sighs, and tilts his head willingly for Avery, exposing the long, freckled line of his neck.

Gleefully, Avery moves to the hinge of Max’s jaw, his collar bones and all the straining tendons and muscles in between. He gives the same careful treatment, like someone preforming a complicated biology experiment, all across the skin of Max’s neck, leaving a trail of red marks and blooming bruised into the tanned flesh. Max is humming his approval, one hand slipping between the fabric of Avery’s t-shirt to the flushed skin of his back. He runs his wide palm up and down Avery’s spine, stopping at the curve to tug his shirt upwards.

Avery snickers, but allows Max to rid him of his shirt. Before the quarterback can toss the garment across the room, Avery’s deft hands tug up Max’s own shirt. He grumbles in annoyance, and pulls his own shirt off to join Avery’s on the floor. They take a moment to just breathe, both flushed and hard in their jeans. Avery’s crooked glasses are smudged, but even so he can seem to take his eyes off Max’s chest. He’s seen Max without a shirt only when they would swim in PE. And he only saw it from across blue tinged pool.

Up close, the tanned expanse of muscle is so much more captivating.
Max’s whole chest is speckled with freckles and flushed pink. The lines and muscles are hard, the skin pulled taunt, a small tuff of reddish blond hair curling against his breastbone. Max’s nipples are pebbled in the chilled air of Avery’s room, the dusky peeks standing on end. Without any real thought on Avery’s part, his palms come to rest on the quarterback’s shoulders.

Slowly, he drags his hands down, his nails scratching lightly at the skin and catching on Max’s nipples on their way to his stomach. Avery’s fingers rest on Max’s zipper. He can feel Max’s hardness pressed against the metal. He glances at the quarterback, a hint of insecurity marring his features. Max, glassy eyed and bright pink, catches his gaze. The quarterback extends a shaking hand and tucks Avery’s bangs behind his ear, he nods once and that’s all Avery needs.

With clumsy fingers, he tugs the zipper down; its metal teeth sounding a million times louder in the deathly silent room. Blushing, Avery tugs at the waist of Max’s jeans. The quarterback lifts his hips obediently, and Avery clumsily pulls the denim off his boyfriend. Max helps the rest of the way, kicking his pants off his ankles and onto the floor. Avery ghosts his fingertip over the long line in Max’s olive green boxers. He feels the heat, a million times warmer than the sun, through the flimsy cotton of Max’s boxers.

“Wait. Wait.” Max says shakily, his hand coming up to grasp Avery’s wrist. The shorter boy furrow his brows, ready to spill apology after apology. But Max isn’t looking at him. Max is instead trying to unbutton Avery’s jeans one handed. Avery giggles at Max’s less than gracefully pawing.

“Shut up ‘n take ‘em off.” Max grumbles, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink. Avery compiles with a huff, shimmying out of his tight jeans and tossing them onto the floor with Max’s.

“May I continue?” Avery asks cheekily. Max rolls his eyes, not bothering to dignify Avery with a response. Avery giggles, resuming his quiet exploration. He continues slowly, and with the utmost care. He gauges each hitch of breath, each little sigh, and each goose bump that pocks Max’s flesh. He becomes bolder, actually palming the bulge and giving it a small squeeze.

“Fuck.” Max breaths. And Avery racks his brain for the Cosmo magazine that he snagged from Quinn’s room. There was a very specific article about this, with tips and tricks that Avery committed to memory. But from some reason, he can’t seem to remember a single one, too focus on running his fingertips and palm across the thickening bulge. Max is exerting all his control trying to regulate his breathing.

A slight growl causes Avery to stop ghosting and caressing; he smiles sheepishly up at Max. He rolls his eyes, but kisses Avery’s forehead anyway. Avery swallows, and shimmies down the bed, until he’s lying, propped on his elbows in between Max’s spread legs. With shaking fingers Avery hooks his fingers in the waistband of Max’s boxers. He teases the elastic in his fingers, glancing up at Max for the okay. Max breaths sharply out of his nose, nods.

Avery notes with a sense of perverse delight, that Max does indeed have freckles all over.
His cock is thick, flushed a deep red and curved towards his flat belly. It’s bigger than Avery expected, too. Everything Avery read in that stupid pink magazine has flown out the window in the face of Max’s actually cock. So he just goes with it. He grips his hardness and pulls upwards, his thumb sweeping at the pearly fluid gathered at Max’s tip and goes back down, making sure to add a twist of his wrist at the base.

Max groans now, a shaking, relived sound. Not at all like the hesitant little sounds he made before. Just a soft little sound of surrender and Avery wants to hear it again and again. He jacks Max slowly for a few moments, testing, teasing. Twisting his wrist around the base and thumbing at the vein on the underside have Max humming happily. Going faster, rougher and squeezing the base hard have Max mumbling complaints. Avery jacks Max until he feels like steel and the whole of Max’s girth is anointed with precome.

Avery swallows, his tongue wetting his lips before he leans forward to lick a wet line up the length of Max. The quarterback hisses, his hand gripping Avery’s shoulder; his blunt nails digging pink crescent moons into the pale skin. Avery licks up and down the length, wetting the underside of Max’s cock. Hesitantly, he flicks his tongue out to taste the head. Max jerks, mumbling something Avery can’t hear. Avery finds that he doesn’t mind the taste of precome, sharp and bitter and a little tangy, and with that knowledge he takes Max’s head into his mouth.

”Fuck.” Max hisses, a hint of whiny relief chasing the tail of the curse. Avery smiles around Max’s cockhead. Carefully, he licks at the flushed flesh. Tongue flicking at the slit, tasting the burbling of precome; when Max digs his nails further into Avery’s shoulder, Avery suckles lightly. Max taste nothing like the horror stories he’s heard. He tastes like clean cotton and musk and salt. Sure, it’s not the most delicious thing in the world, but it’s not terrible. Max groans, a low growling sound that Avery takes as encouragement. He moves bolder now, sucking the head while trying to flick his tongue over the leaking slit.

“Shit. Shit. O-Okay, wait…” Max whispers when Avery’s been sucking at his cockhead for a good five minutes. The shorter boy pulls off with a wet pop, his lips coated in spit and Max’s precome.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks, apologies already bubbling into his throat. To his surprise Max laughs a weak little chuckle. The inky depths of his pupils have almost completely eclipsed the golden green as he stares down at Avery. He’s whole body is flushed a bright pink and he’s usually tidy hair is wrecked from running his free hand through it. Max looks wrecked, more so than Avery’s ever seen him pre-orgasm.

“Nah.. . you’re doin’ great. Just…you can’t do just the head. Can’t come from that, and it drives me fuckin’ crazy. “Max clarifies in a husky tone.

“Oh.” Avery says dumbly. Max’s hearty laugh turns into a full blown groan when Avery takes half of Max’s cock in his mouth and sucks. He hollows his cheeks, testing once again. He sucks at what he can fit comfortably in his mouth, his hand fisting the base. For a few minutes Avery sucks and licks, moving his hand clumsily before he finds the right rhythm. This motion, his fist twisting as he laps at the engorged vein, as he bobs his head has Max cursing and shaking just slightly.

The quarterback’s nails are scratching at Avery’s shoulder, trying to pull on something other than smooth pale skin. Avery moves his free hand to cover Max’s and moves his hand to his own mess of wavy brown tresses. Max full out moans then, a throaty, surprised sound that shoots straight to Avery’s painfully hard cock. He weaves his fingers into the locks, tugging, pushing slightly. The blunt edges of his nails scratching Avery’s scalp pleasantly.

Avery is doing well, he thinks. He’s slobbering all over Max’s groin, and his cheeks are a little sore, but the noises he’s pulling from Max are wonderful. Feeling a little braver, Avery moves gradually. Going, little by little, all the way down Max’s cock. He doesn’t even realize that he’s taken the whole of Max’s length until his nose brushes the blond curls around Max’s base.

Max laughs, a hysterical moaning noise and thrust his hips forward. Avery chokes slightly, but not enough to stop Max from coming. He swallows all the come shooting down his throat, finding that he doesn’t mind the taste of that either. Like precome, only bitterer and saltier. He pulls off, come clinging to his swollen lips and looks up at Max.

And in that moment, Avery thinks, the crick in his jaw and the soreness in his cheeks and even the come, sticky and cooling on his lips, was so worth it.

Max is absolutely gorgeous. His freckled chest flushed dark pink and shining with a light sheen of sweat. The muscles are heaving, rising and falling as Max takes in deep gulps of breath. His hair is half wilted, half sticking up on end; the ends alternately plastered to his forehead or pulled into dark blond tuffs. One of his hands is bunched around a chuck of Avery’s sheets, the other wound tightly in his hair. Max’s whole body is shaking slightly, the tremors rippling from his heaving chest and out to his jellied limbs.

Wiping a hand across his mouth, Avery crawls up to lie at Max’s side. He leans up on his elbow, staring down at Max as he catches his breath, feeling pretty smug. Max finally cracks open an eye, the green looking iridescent and clear, like a crystal Christmas ornament in shocking green. Avery smirks, expected a witty comment or at least a sexual one.

“Y-you don’t have a gag reflex.” Max remarks with a tone Avery’s sure is only acceptable at the second coming of Christ. He giggles. He rest his forehead against Max’s, feeling something warm and fluttering in his chest when Max’s thick, slightly sluggish arm wraps around his back without a second thought.

“It would appear so.” He giggles. Max huffs a laugh tugging Avery closer into his post orgasm warmth.

“Are you real?” Max ponders aloud, causing Avery to laugh loudly, “Was amazing. You never done
that?”

“No…” Avery says in between laughter (the fact that Max’s speech, southern and slurring at best, turns even worse after orgasm is the best thing Avery’s ever experienced). And then the reason he did this comes back. It shows itself like something small and sad, shattering the elated mood he’s in.

“So… it was good? Better than a girl’s…?” he asks timidly, focusing on drawing intricate patterns on Max’s chest. Avery is surprised when Max pulls his chin up to look at him. His eyes are sad, and slightly embarrassed. Realization dawns of Max’s face, tight and filled with sorrow.

“Was that what this was?” Max asks quietly, hurt and shame bleeding into his tone. Avery shakes his head frantically.

“No! No. I really wanted too. But I just… I want to be good enough, I want—“

“Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you this.” Max ponders, bitterness staining his tone.

“I love you. Loved you since sixth grade, to be honest. Nothing you can do to push me away, not a single fuckin’ thing, Av. I won’t ever go back to people like Nicki,” Max politely ignores Avery’s wince,
“Or any other girl I was with. You’re it, Av. You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

Max says strongly, confident as the boy that used to push him into lockers and woo cheerleaders. Avery blushed, and unsure of how else to communicate the waves of love and happiness and pure wonderment crashing over him, he leans forward.

The angle is awkward, but Max meets his lips halfway anyway.

“And if it means anythin’,” Max mumbles against Avery swollen lips, “I’ve never had a girl without a gag reflex.”

They pull away, forehead pressed together. Max eyes are playful, smirking, but underneath the mischief there’s something deep and kind. An affection that makes Avery’s heart swell and his head spin.

“That was not appropriate.” Avery pouts.

“That’s a compliment!” Max laughs and then sheepishly adds, “It’s a kink. So sue me.”

Avery laughs playfully pushing at Max’s shoulder. Max smile at Avery mumble of ‘ew,’ and kisses him sweetly.

“Hey,” Max whispers into Avery’s hair, “You’re hard.”

“Wow. When did that happen?” Avery snorts. He’s got another sassy retort on the tips of his tongue, the graze of Max’s fingertips against the slightly lessen bulge in his shorts cut it off. He bites his lip to stop the pleased sound that threatens to spill.

“Nuh uh.” Max whispers huskily, his hand slipping beneath the waistband.

“I wanna hear you. You make the best fuckin’ noises, baby.” Max slurs into his ear as his wide palm slowly strokes Avery back into painful hardness. Avery keens and whines, as he falls into the rough pull and filthy words.

He’s not one to deny Max, after all.