The Connection

“This is dumb.”

Avery responds like any eighteen year old adult, four months away from graduation and waiting (rather anxiously) for a college acceptance letter would. He flashes Max a cheeky grin and turns the volume dial on the Chevelle higher. It’s a rather telling sign about the nature of their relationship that Avery is allow to not only touch the radio in the Chevelle, but attach his phone to her (And by the way Max looks at the set up; a small cord and Avery’s battered iPhone resting on the seat, he might as well be watching his newborn son juggling a few chainsaws.)

Soft, folky guitars are pouring through the aged, yet sure speakers of the old car. The music falls softly and feathery upon their ears, like the flurry of cottony snowflakes hitting the windshield. It’s a far cry from the heavy drumbeats and ripping guitars of AC/DC and Black Sabbath, and the owner of the car makes sure his passenger knows just how bothered by the music choice he is. He huffs, looking back at the road and shaking his head; but the corner of his chapped lips tilts just a hair higher than before. Avery grins wider, reaching across the seat to smooth Max’s shaggy hair off his temple.

“Shh. It’s not that bad.” Avery says. He pulls his hand away from the burnt honey curls that have somehow replaced the precision short haircut that Max sported for almost all his life. He’s driving after all, and the last thing Avery wants to do on New Year’s Eve in get into a car wreck. Max seems to care less about careful driving than his Soul Mate, because he pulls Avery’s hand out of his lap and laces their fingers, turning one handed at a stoplight.

“Yeah it is. You’re lucky I love you, ‘cause no one touches her but me.” Max says gruffly, his thumb stroking small circles of warmth into the back of Avery’s chilled hand. Avery snorts, smiling at Max out of the corner of his eye.

“Gee, what a lucky car.”

“Damn right.”

Avery rolls his eyes, as the music shifts to something pop-y and electric. Max groans, turning without a signal.

“Really?”

“Shut up. We’re almost there anyway. Can your macho, heavy metal illusions last another block?” Avery laughs, poking Max’s shoulder. The leather on Max’s shoulder feels different. It’s not the worn, cracking white of his Letterman jacket. It’s something decidedly softer, richer in texture and smell. It’s a soft black and fits Max’s broad shoulders just right. It’s something every card carrying bad boy has to have.

Only Avery is pretty sure not many bad boys get their leather jackets for Christmas, and certainly not from their unquestionably male Soul Mates.

The only thing that matters is that it’s warm (warmer than Max’s fake leather and cheap cotton Letterman jacket) and Max likes it. He laughed when he opened it after Avery’s family and Allie had made their way into the living room for Rudolph. And then immediately threw the new jacket over his band shirt. He posed happily, laughing at Avery’s blush (Shit, can Max pull off a leather jacket) and blushing himself when Avery went to fix the collar and smooth the lapels.

Absently, Avery’s free hand wonders to his chest. The flutter he feels when his fingertips graze the warm metal band in his heart hasn’t faded. And he sincerely doubts it will.

When Max has finally stopped strutting around in his new jacket, he turned pale under his freckles.

He looked away as he reached into his pocket, mumbling for Avery to, ‘close your eyes and turn around.’ The shorter boy did as he was told and he could feel the tremors in Max’s usually sure and thick fingers as he draped a long chain around Avery’s neck. His fingers fumbled with the clasp for at least three minutes, all the while Max mumbling curses.

When the quarterback finally dropped the chain, it landing with metallic clink to the hardwood floor, Avery opened his eyes.

He picked up his Christmas present from the floor of his kitchen and examined it as Max seemed to stop breathing above him. Crouched, he studied the chain and ring looped through it. The ring, held in between his fingers, was certainly not new. It was plain and thin, the pads of his fingers feeling the tiny nicks in the metal. But it was brightly polished and the engraving inside of it claimed real white gold.

Through it, was a braided chain; like the ones that he had helped Quinn make for her friends when they had been little kids. Thick and woven; red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple thread all crisscrossing to make a colorful rope, a tiny clasp knotted at the end.

“It’s… s’not new. And it’s not a… ‘m not proposing. It’sa… Fuck—“

“Promise ring?” Avery ventured, standing up from the floor. Skillfully, despite the quaking in his own hands, he clasps the chain around his neck. The ring is a pleasant weight on his sternum; the chain feels soft against his skin, and the clasp a pleasant spot of cool against his flushed neck. Max runs a hand through his hair, and then again as he struggles for words.

“Erm… A promise promise ring.” He corrects in a small voice, looking down at the floor, ears and cheeks violently pink. Avery laughs softly, standing on tiptoes to smooth the curls that Max has rucked up.

“Yeah?” Avery smiles. Max quirks a tiny smile under his mortified blush, flicks his gaze towards Avery’s. He tips his forehead against Avery’s, places his shaking hands on Avery’s hips, where his t-shirt has ridden up.

“Shut up. I… Don’t have the money for a brand new ring… it’s from a pawn shop. And Allie made me the chain… ring’s too big for your finger. B-but yeah. It’sa place holder for a real one. A new one, when I get the money. So a… promise promise ring.” Max breathes.

Avery feels the ring on his breastbone. It’s old and tarnished, history and wear written in the very metal. It doesn’t fit right, but it feels right. Max’s breathe smells like Christmas. Like Allie’s homemade ginger bread and a hint of peppermint. Max’s calloused hands burring warmth on his thin skinned hips. Max smells like home. Max feels like home. Max is his home.

And Avery is his.

“I like this one.” Avery says bumping their noses gently, rubbing his cheek against Max’s stubbly one, “It’s perfect. And I don’t want a new one. I want this one.”

“Av…”

“It’s perfect.” Avery repeats, rubbing his cheek harder against Max’s, “I love it. I love you. I’ll accept your promise promise ring. I—“

The eloquent wonderful speech Avery was about to deliver ends in a squeak as his back collides with the countertop.

And when Quinn makes her way into the kitchen for cookies, she only complains a little at her brother and his Soul Mate making out against the cabinets.

Avery looks up at Max.

The quarterback is watching him finger the imperfect ring, his green eyes reflecting the street lights brightly. He has the same look on his face as when Avery accepted it, when he they returned to his living room and his mother cried at the news, when he catches Avery absently playing with it. Awe is written in his slack jaw and warm eyes like Avery’s never seen before, like Max can’t believe it; couldn’t believe that Avery would accept, let alone be totally and fully in love with him as well.

“Watch the road, lame ass.” Avery smiles softly. Max blushes, scowls but dutifully returns his eyes to the road.

They pull into Cooper’s driveway not a few seconds later, and Max cuts the engine quickly only to lean across the bench seat and capture Avery’s slack mouth in a searing kiss. Avery accepts quickly, reaching up to cup Max’s steadily growing beard, his thumbs sweeping across his speckled cheekbones. The hand on the back of Avery’s neck tightens, fingers weaving themselves in the thick curls at the base of his neck. The shorter boy makes a noise of contentment as Max’s tongue sweeps his lower lip, always asking permission. Avery makes a move to slip into Max’s lap, but a rude knock against the window rips them apart.

“Hey! Not in the drive way, you crazy kids.”

Max flips Cooper off, causing the tackle to laugh loudly. He pecks Avery’s tingling lips once more before opening his creaking door, hitting Cooper in the process. The tackle isn’t offended or even hurt, instead he laughs louder.

“Well that’s no way to treat a party host.”

“It’s not even a party.” Max grumbles, as Avery slips out the other door. Kat is leaning across the railing of Cooper’s massive porch; her socks fuzzy, one bright green and the other pink polka dotted and her shoulders wrapped in one of Cooper’s thick, fleece lined hoodies. She shoots Avery a smirk and wriggles her eyebrows for added emphasis. Avery sticks his tongue out at her, his neck flushed.

“You wound me, Maxwell. There’s booze and that constitutes a party in my book.”

Max huffs, following his boyfriend and annoying best friend up the porch. He reaches forward, lacing his fingers with Avery’s long, chilled ones.

“There’d better be more than pansy ass lemonades.”

Cooper’s only response is to laugh.
________

While they do have more than lemonade, it’s not exactly what Max was looking for

The quarterback has had two beers all night; fancy import stuff that smelled like oranges and Cooper buys special. Max said it tastes like ass (which lead Cooper to make a lewd comment, and Avery wasn’t drunk enough not to blush) and then refused another. He turned away lemonade, Smirnoff green apple and a variety from the Cleft’s liquor cabinet. Cooper shrugs, popping the top off another brown bottle and telling Max that there’s coke in the fridge.

They do get Max to play Circle of Death with them; however he only drinks one more beer before forfeiting. Instead he watches from the sofa, as Kat, Cooper and Avery get steadily drunker.

Max may have wanted the booze, but Avery is surely drinking all of it.

Its two AM and bottles, crumby plates, Kat’s socks and Avery’s hoodie all litter the coffee table and floor. They’re all watching some weird Japanese horror movie because Kat whined until Cooper put it on. It has subtitles and only Max is sober enough to comprehend them. Kat is snoring softly, curled up on Cooper’s lap; a small spot of drool staining the tackle’s shirt. Cooper doesn’t seem to notice; he’s playing absently with Kat’s hair, curling the faded strands round and round his finger and squinting at the subtitles.

“Wait. Why the fuck does she use scissors? She doesn’t like…rip their mouths open? I don’t have any fuckin’ clue what scissors have to do with anything.” Cooper says, his voice just barely slurred. He tugs gently on Kat’s hair; the redhead wrinkles her nose, but doesn’t stir.

“Hey. Hey Kitty Kat. Kat. Nerd’s asleep.” He comments to no one in particular, he starts to pulls her crooked, fingertip smudged glasses off her nose. But she squirms, batting his hand away blindly.

“I am watching this movie!” She slurs indignantly, nuzzling her bright red cheeks further into Cooper’s shirt. Cooper scoffs, giving her pliant frame a small shake.

“You are not, you adorable fuck. Tell me why she has scissors. And a mask. Is she sick? Are the scissors for cutting at scar tissue or like… bloody band aids? Kat.” Cooper persists, stretching the vowel of Kat’s name. But it’s no use; Kat’s already back to snoring and drooling on Cooper’s shirt.

“She’s got scissor to cut up some bitches.” Avery slurs from his position. His lanky frame awkwardly sprawled across Max’s lap in a too small armchair. He then proceeds to laugh, a snorting, giggling thing that caused him to topple off Max’s lap and on to the floor. Max tries to catch him, but Avery’s too loose limbed to actually save himself, let alone be stable enough to assist Max. He lands on the floor with a thud, laughing madly and clutching the back of his head.

“Shut up, bitch! I am watching the movie!” Kat slurs from Cooper’s chest, never opening her eyes. Avery giggles, half crying and flips Kat off.

“You shut up.” Avery titters. He hadn’t noticed before, but amused, slightly exasperated green eyes are staring down at him.
He reaches up, his fingers clumsily grazing Max’s speckled cheek.

“You’re pretty. Like, really pretty. Have you always been this pretty, Max?” Avery wonders lazily, gently tracing Max’s light eyelashes.

And it’s not the alcohol that’s making Avery notice Max and his obvious appeal. No, he always notices the way Max’s hair is messy from his nervous fingers, shiny and always smelling like mint. He always notices his eyes; soft, summery green framed by long blonde eyelashes and crinkling at the corners when Max laughs or smiles. He notices his slightly crooked nose (broken by Mike and set back into place by Allie), his bow of a mouth, always chapped and pink and the freckles. Oh god, the freckles. Smattered like close knit constellations of soft brown across the pale bridge of Max’s nose and cheeks.

Avery notices Max’s arms, too; thick and strong. Always lifting him up in hugs and pressing just shy of too tight around his ribs. His biceps straining against the sleeves of his worn collection of band shirts, his forearms lightly freckled and bulging with muscles. And don’t even get Avery started on his chest, and shoulders and hands and just everything.

Avery always wants to be close to Max. But never before has he felt such a strong urge to be that close to Max. Sweaty and bent in half, clutching at Max’s shoulders and nearly sobbing with how wonderful it feels to be pressed at the hips. He already feels a stirring in his jeans.

Okay… Maybe it’s the alcohol.

Max rolls his eyes and stands up, his cheeks pink.

“Ah. Right,” Avery comments owlishly, still lying on the floor and staring up at Max with a furrowed brow and a slight boner, “Compliments make you uncomfortable. That’s very dumb of you. You are incredible and gorgeous and really good at fixing things. You also smell really fucking good all the time. And I like it when you blush… mostly ‘cause I like your freckles. Have you always had this many freckles?”

Cooper is in drunken stitches on the couch, and half asleep Kat is mumbling and complaining about the noise. Max rolls his eyes (his cheeks bright pink, which Avery notes with delight) and hauls Avery off the floor, practically carrying the drunken boy.

“C’mon, drunk ass. Let’s go home.” Max says gruffly. Avery’s legs feel like a separate entity; like their just attached to his pelvis with chewing gum and old scotch tape. And it’s hard for him to stand, so he doesn’t. He leans heavily against Max, his face smushed against the quarterback’s chest, and his hips rubbing gently against Max’s thigh. Max must feel him, because his cheeks turn a fraction pinker.

“Don’t wanna.” Avery complains, and then he leans up clumsily, Max clutching his waist so he doesn’t topple.

“My house is far away, and I need you like yesterday.” He admits, pushing his hips further and pressing a sloppy kiss to Max’s ear. Max scoffs, glowing as bright red as a Christmas light in the face of Avery’s drunken comments.

“Don’t make me carry you.” Max threatens. Avery blows a raspberry, stepping away from Max to make a point. Only he doesn’t, really. He nearly topples over a coffee table, but a hand at his back steadies him.

“Like a princess?” Avery taunts, “Carry me like a fuckin’ princess? I’m not a fuckin’ girl. And I’d like to see you try and carry me, Maxwell Matthews. You just fuckin’ try—“

And Max does.

And most certainly does not carry Avery like a virginal princess through the threshold of a wedding chamber.

No, Avery finds himself over Max’s shoulder; ass in the air and blood rushing to his already spinning head. Max mumbles something snotty, as Avery hangs limply from his shoulder. It actually takes the younger boy an embarrassingly long time to figure out why on earth the living room is now upside-down and why his glasses are hanging at a weird angle.

“Max!” He whines, wriggling his hips (pressing his now prominent hardness into Max’s shoulder), trying to slip out of his boyfriend’s annoyingly sure hold. Cooper is beside himself, crying with laughter. Kat is yelling drunken slurs and demanding that they all shut up.

“This isn’t romantic at all.” Avery pouts, wiggling his ass just because it’s near Max’s face and he’s annoyed and horny. The quarterback is ignoring him, not breaking a sweat as he hauls his smashed boyfriend around the coffee table, picking up his hoodie with his foot as he goes. He tells Cooper something, and then they’re walking.

Avery doesn’t realize their making their way through Cooper’s house until he sees the enormous Christmas tree (clearly decorated by professionals with its color patterns and scheme so carefully matched) the Cleft’s have in their foyer getting further and further away in his smudged glasses. When they get outside, Avery knows that he should be freezing in just his t-shirt, but he still feels hot and sweaty.

“Max.” Avery mumbles. And when the quarterback ignores him, he pokes his (hot and very shapely) butt, “Hey, butthole.”

“What Drunk-zilla.” Max asks drily, standing on Cooper’s porch and digging one handed in his pocket. Avery wiggles further, only to be smacked sharply on his ass by a board and calloused palm.

“Hey asshole!” Avery yelps, wiggling until Max has to stop digging in his pocket and pay attention to Avery.

“Will you cut it out? I’m tryin’ to get your drunk ass home.” Max barks. Avery makes a noise like a frustrated cat.

“But my head hurts.” He whines pathetically. Max snorts.

“Don’t drink as much, then.”

”Max!” Avery wails, “Put me down.”

Max sighs, seeming to weigh his options. He shifts his dead weight of a Soul Mate, and seems to decide that even though he’s light, he’s too fucking annoying to keep holding on to.

“Can you walk?”

“Mhmm.” Avery hums, trying to shimmy down Max’s shoulder. Max snorts again, not believing a word of it.

“Liar.” Max mumbles, but eases his drunken boyfriend off his shoulder, until Avery’s toes are barely touching the ground and his spindly arms are in a death grip around Max’s neck. The quarterback keeps one arm tightly around his skinny middle. Avery doesn’t feel cold, but he feels his body shaking slightly, so he must be on some level a little chilled. But he’s more focused on Max.

“”M not.” Avery mumbles, and then presses his face into the crook of his Soul Mate’s neck. Max huffs an annoyed sigh as Avery places sloppy, wet kisses onto the freckled skin. It’s when Avery starts to rock his hips gently into Max’s thigh and bite at his earlobe that Max stops his search for keys.

“Av… Quit it. ‘M tryin’ to get us home.”

“I wanna stay here.” Avery mumbles huskily into Max’s ear as he gracelessly gnaws at the shell.

“As much as I’d love to make out with your drunk ass, you’re gunna freeze.” Max reasons. But Avery isn’t listening. He’s too busy rutting carelessly into his boyfriend and making a slobbery mess of his neck. When it’s clear that Avery’s not listening, Max pulls away from the grabby teen. Avery looks confused at the sudden departure, tilting his head and giving Max a curious look. Like a sparrow, whose birdfeeder is out of seed.

“Listen, you perv. ‘M gonna drive us home, and then you can have your wicked way with me.” Max says rolling his eyes. When Avery frowns, Max kisses him before he can complain. And when Avery tries to deepen the kiss, licking at Max’s lips, the quarterback pulls away. The drunken boy growls in frustration, tossing his head back and glaring beadily at Max.

“Listen, Avery.” Max tries again; chuckling slightly, like dealing with a very intoxicated, very horny boy is his favorite way to spend New Year’s Eve.

“We’re gunna go home. It’s comfier to make out on a bed than a porch.” He tries again; Avery shakes his head, clinging onto Max like a lifeline. Max rolls his eyes again, thoroughly fed up, and lifts Avery at the waist. The younger boy yelps, and tries to steady himself by wrapping his gangly legs around Max’s middle. Max walks to the other side of the car, Avery weight meaning nothing, and opens the passenger side. Prying Avery’s octopus like limbs off of him and depositing him in the Chevelle proves less of a challenge; it seems that Avery, while a horny drunk, is also a pretty persuadable one.

Once Max gets in the Chevelle and starts it, he points a menacing finger at his Soul Mate (whom is already trying to worm his way into Max’s lap).

“You touch me while drivin’ and it’s a no, mister.” Max says sternly. Avery gulps, the thought of not being able to touch Max all night too much to bear. He guiltily curls up on the bench seat, his arms around his knees and huddled the door, not one messy hair on his head touching Max. He stares out of the windshield, watching the snowy town pass by as his folky music drones on softly. He’s resting his head on the window, thinking about Max, when he mumbles something.

“Speak up there, you lush.” Max commands, his finger tapping to the beat of Avery’s music on the steering wheel.

“You’re so beautiful.” Avery repeats, still slurred, but Max must understand. He rolls his eyes, looking across to Avery.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Max smiles. They’re driving towards Avery’s thankfully empty house and when the stop at a red light, Avery frowns at Max, tilting his head.

“’m not beautiful. You said I was, but ‘m not.” Avery slurs stubbornly, poking Max’s arm and forgetting the no touching rule. Thankfully, Max lets it slide. The quarterback glances at him, accelerates through the light before frowning himself.

“’Course you are. You’re the cutest person in the world.” Max says plainly, pink edging his ears. Avery snorts.

“Cute s’not beautiful.” Avery pouts. Max chuckles, glancing at Avery; red cheeked and so fucking adorable. The whole universe in one too skinny, far too drunk package. They pull into the Reeves’ empty driveway, Max cutting the engine and pocketing the keys before getting out. Avery follows on wobbling legs. His driveway is slippery with new snow, and he nearly falls over. But Max is there, catching him under the arms and pulling him close, before shutting the door.

“You fishin’ for something?” Max asks laughingly. Avery squints, tilting his head in confusion.

“I dunno how to fish.” He admits, very confused. Max full out laughs at that, wrapping an arm around Avery’s middle and walking them carefully across the snowy front lawn. The reach Avery’s front door, and then clumsily make their way upstairs. Once upstairs, Avery glances shyly at Max.

“May I touch you now?” He slurs, trying to be sexy.

“You’re drunk—“

“Am not.”

“—So, I don’t think it’s a great idea to do anything.” Max says softly, laying Avery gently on the bed. Avery groans, upset and horny and needing Max near him. Next to him, on top of him, inside of him; anywhere but at the foot of his bed, gently taking off his shoes and socks.

”Max…” Avery whines. He wants to make Max understand. He loves the touching; the loving kisses, the lazy hand jobs and the gasping, heaving blow jobs. But he wants more; for himself and for Max. He wants to be enough for Max.

Always enough, always whatever Max wants. Max shakes his head, pulling Avery’s shirt over his head gently, and unbuttoning his jeans without heat, only tenderness.

“You don’t understand…” Avery tries again, the words, his want is swirling in his head. Syllables and sentences pushing at his brain to form something careful and delicate; a soft request to be met with an eager reply.

“I want you to fuck me.” Avery finally says, trying to make his voice clear and not at all garbled.

Max stops; the line of his shoulder’s ridged as he digs through Avery’s dresser for sweat pants. Avery wants to cry, wants to take it back and phase his plea differently. He fucked up.

“’M sorry. But I really want you too. Max, I need you inside me. ‘M gonna die.” Avery adds, because in this moment he feels he might. Max looks over his shoulder, and in the darkness of Avery’s bedroom, he can’t see the glint of desire in Max’s darkening eyes. All he hears is Max’s gruff reply, sounding far away and heavy in the early morning darkness.

“Not tonight, Av.” He says finally, shutting Avery’s drawer, a pair of soft plaid pants in his hands. Avery feels tears sting his eyes, and he reaches blindly for Max as he pulls the soft cotton pants up Avery’s chilled legs. He shakes the older boy’s strong shoulders.

“B-but why?” Avery says, tears gathering at his eyelids. He can’t see Max’s face, and he needs to. He needs to see if disgust or despair is written in his finely freckled features.

“I-is it b-because ‘m a guy?” Avery asks, tears falling steadily down his cheeks. Max reaches for his glasses, pulling the smeared frames from his face, and wiping some of the wetness from his flushed cheeks. Avery leans into the feel of Max’s rough fingertips, blindly reaching up to pull his hand into his.

“Am… a-am I ugly? ‘M sorry, I-I’ll try—“

“Avery…” Max’s soft sad voice cuts through the darkness and Avery’s hitching breath. Avery stops, hiccupping and blinking wetly as the bed dips down. Like a child, Avery clings to Max; his solid weight and his sure presence as he climbs, fully clothed into bed with Avery. The older boy situates Avery with the tenderness of a lover, until they’re both under Avery’s blankets and facing each other.

“Avery, you’re perfect.” Max says gently, running his thumbs under his eyes, “I love you, more than anythin’. And you’re gorgeous and sexy and… just everythin’ in the world.”

“Then… then why won’t you fuck me?” Avery whimpers, crying and clinging to Max’s shirt. Max sighs, kisses Avery’s sweaty forehead.

“Cause you’re drunk, sweetheart.” He says bluntly, carding his fingers soothingly through Avery’s sweaty mess of hair, as the younger boy buries his face into the hollow of Max’s throat.

“I love you so fuckin’ much. And I won’t let you be fucked for the first time when you’re hammered.” Max continues, as Avery hiccups into his chest.

“Why though? I want to! And I love you!” Avery snivels. Max shushes him, kisses the top of his head.

“I know you do, and I love you, too. But I can’t have sex with you right now.” He says softly, and when he hears Avery take a shaking breath, “And it’s not because you’re ugly or ‘cause you’re a guy.”

“Then why?” Avery sniffs, wiping his runny nose on the soft cotton of Max’s shirt.

“Because you’re first time should be special, sweetheart.” Max says softly into Avery’s hair, “Not when you’re drunk. And I promise I’ll make it special, okay? Just not tonight.” Max whispers, placing tiny kisses onto Avery’s hair.

“Okay, Avery?” Max asks again. Avery sniffs, suddenly so tired. He nods under Max’s chin, curls further into Max’s body heat.

“O-okay. Max… ‘m sorry. And I love you a lot.” Avery sniffs. Max shushes him, pulling him closer, and tugging the blanket higher on his shoulder.

“Shh. Don’t be. I love you, too. So fuckin’ much.” Max whispers, his palm rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin of Avery’s back.

“Go to sleep, okay? You’re gunna have a helluva a hangover.” Max chuckles. Avery nods, already the world is becoming fuzzy around the edges; the warmth of Max and his clean minty scent lulling him into darkness.

“Will you be here when I get up?” Avery mumbles sleepily. He’s already fallen into a deep, fitful sleep when Max kisses his hair obscured forehead.

“I’ll always be here, Av.”