The Connection

Avery has been nervous before.

Could any one person say that they’ve never been nervous before? Avery’s a naturally nervous person anyway. He’s jumpy like a rabbit, his body conditioned by years of surprise attacks, mostly by Max and the occasional fledgling that have not yet learned the pecking order. He can recall the first time he went driving. He had just turned fifteen, his hair shorter and possibly even more of a mess and his long, pale hands shaking at the ten-and-two position.

His father, gruff and severe in the passenger seat of his small, gas efficient car, directed him. To no one’s surprise, Mr. Reeves taught Avery how to drive just as he would teach a writing workshop. He was careful in his words and asked Avery mostly questions. ”How do you pull out of the driveway?”

“How do you check your blind spot?” “How do you know when you need to accelerate or slow down?” He treated Avery like any other student; guiding him only when absolutely necessary and mostly letting the petrified Avery figure it out himself.

“You alright?”
Avery cranes his neck to look at Max in the tight space of the booth.

“I’m fine… just thinking.”

They’re not in Archie’s. It closed hours ago, ushering out the elderly patrons and painstakingly scrubbing the fine layer of grease off every surface. Instead, they’re seated at a regular ol’ fast food chain… on the same side of the booth, as usual. Most of loosened tie, heels kicked off, shooed away student body is sitting around this particular restaurant. The late night workers pulled out of their lazy shift in order to make countless double cheese burgers, and the occasionally chicken sandwich.
Avery’s been nibbling at his burger like a bird, even though he hasn’t eaten anything substantial since him, Max, Cooper and Kat all ate at a fancier Italian restaurant a few blocks away from the ballroom.

Max chews for a moment, staring at him. He’s got a dollop of mustard hanging to his lip, the same way that dandelions hang onto the last dregs of spring. Avery smiles despite the swaying, tumultuous ocean feeling in his stomach, and sweeps his thumb across Max’s bottom lip.

“Whatcha thinking ‘bout?” Max asks, his cheeks slightly pinker than before and his mouth still full of food. Avery shrugs, picks up and a fry and drags it though the cartoonish-bright puddle of ketchup on his tray.

“You know. Overthrowing the government, social justice, just normal after-prom thoughts.” Avery says drily. Max snorts into his soda, and Avery grins up at him. The quarterback pulls lightly on one of Avery’s tunnels, not grossed out at all by the stretched flesh.

“Maybe for Kat.” He quips, and then leans down to kiss Avery’s sweaty mop of hair.

“Eat. You’ve gotta be hungry.”

Avery shrugs, moves his half eaten burger and fries over to the spread out burger wrapper that. Max is using as a plate. Max quirks an eyebrow, swallows his food.

“Av—“

“I’m not hungry—Seriously, I’m fine.” Avery chuckles as Max opens his mouth to protest. Max’s forehead crinkles and his crumb coated mouth turns down at the corners.

“Are you okay? I mean—“
Avery leans his head against Max’s shoulder, and in the strongest voice he can muster—

“I just want to go back to the hotel room, Max.”

They’re a quiet island in a sea of bustle and noise; the fryer beeps, a man calls orders, wrappers crinkle, the soda machine dumps ice, behind them a group of girls in brightly colored dresses chirp away like a flock of tropical birds. Avery shifts, cast his eyes upward to find Max already staring at him; green eyes a fraction darker, and softer than usual. Max’s look bleeds all over everything; it stains Avery’s own heart with notions of concern and apprehension, carefulness and affection, of want and need. A small smile quirks Avery’s mouth and he presses a chaste kiss to Max’s slack one.

“Eat… you’ve got to be hungry.” Avery teases. Max’s cheeks flush; like pink water color spreading over the surface of a page. The shorter boy giggles, causing Max to elbow him lightly in the ribs and stuff nearly all of Avery’s burger into his mouth.

“Shut up.” Max huffs, a bit of ketchup peeking out at the corner of his mouth.

Avery doesn’t say anything as he wipes it away, just giggles harder.
________

The ride to the hotel is tense.

Or… it is for Avery.

Max seems unbothered. He taps the steering wheel in time with the classic rock rushing out of his speakers, and occasionally sings a line or two in a soft, wavering mumble. He’s not paying much attention to Avery; the Saturday night traffic is thick with high school students driving towards their homes, and college kids enjoying one of the last weekend of drunken bedlam before finals. And Avery doesn’t want to appear so needy, so nervous that he needs to feel Max’s wide, rough palm in his to calm down. So he folds his hands in his lap, and then unfolds them to pick at a hangnail and then folds back again. If Max notices his fluttering hands, he doesn’t say anything.

The hotel parking lot is filled with cars, several of them sporting Vikings bumper stickers. Max flashes him a smile, not a leer or a smirk, just a shy little tilt of his lips; his cheeks looking a little pinker in the streetlights dotting the parking lot.

Max refuses to let Avery carry his own backpack, shouldering both his football bag and Avery’s, as they make their way into the smoky, lemon cleaner scented stairwell. Their third floor room is at the end of a carpeted hallway, smelling less like the cigarette smokiness of the stairwell and more freshly laundered sheets. Max struggles with the key card, the thin slip of plastic fumbled with until it falls gently to the floor.

“Fucker.” Max huffs, his cheeks painted crimson as he leans down to pick up the key. Avery smiles softly, the swarm of nervously fluttering butterflies in his stomach easing just a little. The cool and collected Max from the car is a memory. Max comes back up, studiously not looking at him and tries the key again. He isn’t fast enough, and the green light flashes angry red.

“Goddamn it.” He says, his ears and neck and face all an uncomfortable looking shade of scarlet. Avery chuckles, slips the keycard easily out of Max’s awkward fingers.

“Sorry.” Max mumbles, shifting the bags on his shoulder and looking at his borrowed dress shoes. Avery, even with his quaking fingers quickly unlocks the door.

“It’s okay…” Avery says softly. Their room is washed in the inky blueness of late evening, the only spot of light is the gauzy white of the parking lot lights, fading in through the heavy, cream colored curtains. Avery walks along the wall, and towards the silhouette of the floor lamp. He clicks it, and the whole of the room is bathed in soft, yellow light. The room is small, but nicely furnished. The nightstands and dresser are made of a richly stained wood, the armchair in the corner looking soft and upholstered in a rich cobalt, the carpet sinking under his dress shoes is soft brown and smells nothing like the mildew and mold that most carpets smell like.

The bed is large and sprawling, taking up nearly the entire room. But its size doesn’t make it looks so intimidating; its mound of pillows and it cornflower blue duvet make it seem soft and safe. Max shuffles in, setting their bags on the floor next to the window, before haphazardly throwing his suit jacket onto the chair. Avery follows, taking off his own jacket and folding it carefully to set it upon the dresser’s shined surface.

“Fuckin’—goddamn—“

Avery turns towards Max’s bitter mumblings, sounding so clear and strong even though the monstrous noise of the AC unit. The quarterback is still pink cheeked, his head tilted down, his slight double chin pouching over, and his thick fingers fumbling with his tie. Avery can’t help but giggle, his own hands dropping from his tie.

“What? I can do it, just… not like, on me.” Max scowls and stumbles. Avery shakes his head, still smiling softly. It takes only a few steps around their wide, fluffy bed before Avery’s own hands reach for the knot. He feels Max’s breathe hitch, his chest becoming tense and unmoving, as Avery’s thinner, defter hands work at the tight knot. It takes a minute, but finally, Avery is able to loosen it enough for Max to slip it off.

“Here.” Max says, stepping forward. His hand tilts Avery’s chin upward, before his finely tremoring fingertips work at the knot that Quinn tied in less than thirty seconds. Avery can feel Max’s breathe fanning over his forehead; it smells like burgers and faintly like the spearmint that always clings to everything Max, like motor oil and too-strong coffee. Max’s eyes are flickering between Avery’s eyes and lips, and then the jumping pulse in his pale, outstretched neck.

“There… told you I could.” Max says his voice not smirking or snide, but whispery, careful. Avery lowers his head, allowing Max to slip the fabric over his head and toss it somewhere near his discarded jacket. They stand there, breathing in each other’s air, their faces only a few inches apart, an invitation for the braver of the two. Avery swallows, reaches up to cup Max’s speckled cheeks.

“Are… Are you nervous?” Avery asks timidly. Max’s strung-tight body seems to sag, clinging to only the support of Avery’s long, soft hands.

“Mhm. I… I’ve never been this nervous before.” Max says, flushing apologetically.

“Are you usually not when you’re screwing people?” Avery asks his lips quirking in a tiny, forgiving smile. Max smiles wryly, and turns to press a kiss to Avery’s palm.

“Are you? Nervous, I mean.” Max asks his voice whispery and rough. Like a summer downpour, pelting down on the gritty sidewalks. Avery snorts, smiling shyly.

“So fucking nervous.”

Max laughs, a startled, kind sound in the white noise saturated hotel room. He turns soft green eyes to him, open like he’s never seen them before. The clearest shade of amber green.

“I can wait. Don’t do anything if you don’t want.” Max says softly, he presses another kiss to Avery’s palm.

“I’m happy now… I don’t need anythin’ else.” Max adds, as Avery slips his palm away from Max’s chaste pecks, and into the rain damp, burnt honey tresses that make their home on the back of Max’s head. The quarterback goes willingly, tipping his head forward, resting his forehead against the shorter boy’s.

“I know you don’t… but what do you want?” Avery breathes, his plump lower lips grazing Max’s. Not a kiss, not yet, but the promise is thick and sweet, hanging heady in the air, ready for one of them to grab it. Max shrugs, his hands finally coming alive from their positions at his sides.

One curls around the small of Avery’s back, a heavy, warm weight, a promise. And the other tilting his chin further, feather light, a hesitant question.

“I want whatever you want.” Max murmurs, “If you wanna sit around and watch TV, that’s cool, if you wanna order food, ‘cause you didn’t fuckin’ eat, we could do that—“

“What if I want what teenagers generally get after-prom hotels rooms for?” Avery asks, his voice level and strong, even though his insides are alive with nervous fluttering, his heart pounding heavily against Max’s chest. Max pulls away slightly, and looks down at him, chewing his bottom lip.

“You sure?” Max asks his voice higher. He clears his throat, before raising a hand to lie on Avery’s cheek. The shorter boy falls into the warmth of his rough palm, like he’s basking in the first day of spring.

“You have to be sure. I… I don’t want to make you do anythin’ you don’t want to… “

“Max?” Avery mumbles into Max’s wrist, nosing the thin, aftershave saturated skin. Max gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing underneath his prickly skin.

“Yeah?”

“Will you please just fuck me?”

Max chokes on a laugh, his beautiful freckled face cracking from the tense, scared mask and into one of happiness and ease. He pushes Avery’s hair from his eyes, and smiles softly at him. Avery stands on tiptoes (Max’s free hand flying to steadying him), and presses a kiss far too innocent for his previous statement onto Max’s smiling mouth. Max rolls his eyes, his cheeks pink and his mouth pulled into a reluctant smile.

“You gonna be this bossy the whole time?” Max asks gruffly, as Avery starts to unbutton his dress shirt. His hands trembling as he slips each pearly disk out, reveling little by little Max’s freckled chest.

“Probably.” Avery deadpans, finally slipping the last button out and smoothing his hands over the newly exposed skin. Max huffs a breathy laugh, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it away. He lets Avery continue to roam over his chest and slightly pudgy stomach, and starts to unbutton Avery’s lilac shirt. His fingers are still shaking, but he’s steady in the way he undresses Avery. Slow and careful, as if this is a dream, and Avery, made of mist and smoke will slip away from him in a cloud of waking light. When Max finally unbuttons the last button and gently pushes the garment off Avery’s thin shoulders, he leans down to capture Avery’s smiling mouth.

The kiss is just as soft and careful as the way Max undressed him. The quarterback presses closed mouth kisses, one right after the other onto his mouth, before he opens slightly, grasping Avery’s lower lip and giving it a tiny, wet pull with his own pouty bow of a mouth.

Avery takes the opportunity, standing on tiptoes and matching Max’s open kisses. Their tongues are gentle, sweeping, caressing and teasing slightly, reminding Avery of their first kisses. Timid, searching and so full of promise. Max nips at his bottom lip and then flicks the tip of his tongue over the smarting flesh. Avery pushes closer, pressing into Max’s hips and pushing the taller boy’s thighs against the edge of the bed.

Max pulls away slightly, causing Avery to frown, petulant and pouting, but the quarterback doesn’t go far. He sits back on their bed, pulling Avery to stand in the V of his thighs. Max kisses down his jaw, laying wet, sucking bites to the hinge of Avery’s jaw. The younger boy sighs happily, his hands smoothing up and down Max’s muscular, freckled back as he continues his path down Avery’s neck.

“You… you can bite harder. I’m not going to break…” Avery whispers, as Max’s lips and teeth graze feather light over his thumping pulse point. He hums, never pulling away from Avery’s pale, salty skin.

“Don’t wanna leave marks… you’re not property.” He breathes hotly against Avery’s collarbone, nuzzling the skin as an unneeded apology. Avery groans unhappily, his hand smoothing up from Max’s neck to weave in the thick, molasses colored curls. He tugs gently, whining grumpily when Max refuse to move from his worship of Avery’s pallid throat.

“Max… I want you to leave marks… I’m—I’m yours.” Avery breathes, already feeling the heat and closeness affecting him. Max exhales roughly, Avery’s words seeming to stir that same streak of possessiveness that makes Max try harder, go wilder.

Avery’s whine is annoyingly high pitched when Max’s front teeth finally, wonderfully, scrap against his collarbone. Max grips him tighter, drawing the smaller boy closer to his chest; their evident erections rasping through the flimsy, woolen fabric of their suit pants. Avery draws his nails, longer than Max’s, in gentle, wondering patterns on the tanned, speckled skin of Max’s back, rubbing against Max in short, graceless thrusts.

Max’s teeth are nipping and biting, leaving wondering maps of red marks over the skin of Avery’s neck and collarbone. Avery is panting slightly, trying to still his breathing ever so slightly, trying to make it seem as though he’s not nearly as swept away as he is.

Max pulls away from his bruised throat, his pupil’s inky black, huge in their amber green sets and his lips spit slicked and obscenely red. The flesh looking so good, that Avery sucks it into his mouth. Max hums happily, kissing Avery back with fervor. Max’s hands tease the tight waistband of Avery’s pants, dipping his thumbs in to stroke his protruding hipbones; a question that Avery gladly answers with a nod.

It takes a few tries, but Max finally is able to open the button-fly. And with the some helpful shimmying from Avery, soon the charcoal gray pants pile in a pool around his ankles.

“Now you.” Avery pants. Max hums an affirmative, seeming totally unable to stop his hands from roaming; they slide up Avery’s sides, smooth over his hips, grip lightly at his butt. When both of them are in their boxers, Max cups Avery’s butt and effortlessly yanks him into his lap and on to the bed.

“Jesus. A little warning would have been nice.” Avery squeals. Max smirks, scooting up on the bed and hardly leaving Avery’s mouth to answer.

“Hey, movin’ up the bed.” He sasses, sucking on Avery’s tongue as the younger boy shivers.
Laughingly, they struggle up the bed, rucking up the carefully made duvet and breathing heavily, unable to keep their hands or lips to themselves for much more than a few seconds. Max carefully rolls them, Avery landing on his back and staring up at the quarterback with wide, lust hazy eyes. Max kisses his jaw, his neck, and all the little red marks in between, before his tongue drags roughly over one of Avery’s nipples.

Avery whimpers, his legs wrapping around Max’s waist and his back arching, seeking contact everywhere he can get it. Max huffs something that might be a laugh, before scrapping his teeth over the sensitive bud. Avery gasps as Max nibbles and sucks on the pebbled skin, soothing each nip, each stinging bite with a slow, languid lick. He squirms, thrusting against Max’s thigh, and pulling at the rain damp hair on Max’s head into impatient little tuffs. Max continues to lave kisses and bites to Avery’s nipples, the rough treatment making Avery’s hardness ache and his skin to buzz with static.

Max kisses down his stomach, dips his tongue into Avery’s bellybutton, making the younger boy giggle and wriggle. Max toys with the waistband of his boxers, slipping his finger across the harsh, red, fabric indents in Avery skin. Max looks up, a question in his brilliant green eyes.

“Yes… p-please.”

Max waste no time in slipping Avery boxers off of his hips and throwing them across the room.

“H-hey! I need those!” Avery complains the air icy cold on his aching erection. Max’s only answer is to lay kisses and caresses on his exposed hipbones. Max chuckles, throaty and husky and like the best sound in the world.

“Not now you don’t.” Max says, his voice gravely and rough at best, not totally wrecked. Like sandpaper on canvas. Avery takes a shaky breath as Max mouths at Avery’s hipbones. Max is getting closer, only one hot exhale away from taking Avery’s aching erection into his bright red lips. Avery’s breath hitches, as the barest brush of Max’s bottom lips graze his head. The quarterback smirks up at him, all mischievous green eyes and playfulness, before his lays gentle kisses all over Avery’s quaking thighs.

“Oh, fuck you.” Avery groans, throwing his head back against the mound of pillows and spreading his thighs an inch more, an unconscious invitation. Max laughs the same smoky, gruff sound.

“Sure thing.” Max hums happily, as his hand dips to the side of the bed. He rummages, all the while clumsily worshipping Avery’s hipbone. When Max reappears, a bottle and a foil wrapped square in his hands, the teasing lit of his mouth is gone. Now, he looks nervous, as he worries his kiss-swollen bottom lip with his pointy canine tooth.

“You were prepared.” Avery jokes breathlessly, looking up at Max from his smudged glasses. Max smiles just for a moment, before the look of nervousness returns to his delicate, freckled features.

“Y’know. Never hurts. Um…” Max says, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure.

“D’you want to….?”

“I want you to.” Avery says, spreading his legs a little wider. Max’s eyes zero in on the action and he exhales a heavy breath, steadying himself. Max lowers himself onto his elbows in between Avery’s milky, trembling thighs. Avery feels a hint of the old, terrified feeling that use to overcome him when he and Max first got together. Maybe this isn’t what Max wants… Maybe he’s not ready. He blushes, looks at the wall.

“Y-you don’t have to. If you think it’s… gross or whatever… I can—“

“S’not gross.” Max challenges, he runs his index finger up and down the crease of Avery’s groin, soothing and soft and reassuring.

“I just… don’t wanna hurt you.”

Max looks startled when Avery laughs.

“What?” Max asks his cheek red, like he said something completely dumb. Avery feels his own cheeks redden, and he studiously look at the point over Max’s flushed, speckled ear.

“You won’t. I… I’ve done this before. To myself—“Avery reassures at Max’s furrowed brow,

“Sometimes… when I—you know…um, yeah. Anyway, y-you won’t hurt me.”
Max doesn’t say anything in what feels like forever, and every nerve in Avery is screaming for him to apologize and take back what he said. He opens his mouth to do just that, when Max exhales, shaky and wavering.

“I...” Max starts, his sandpaper voice gone; now his words thread in a stringing voice that must mean Max is starting to be a wrecked as Avery.

“What?” Avery asks, scared that Max will leave him, naked and hard and ashamed. Max shakes his head, peers up at Avery from under his light eyelashes.

“I’m… gonna say somethin’… and it’s gonna sound so fuckin’ weird and disgusting—“

“What?” Avery repeats, the nervous excitement coursing through his veins running icy with fear. Max looks away, his face the most vivid shade of red Avery’s ever seen it be, and toys with the lube bottle.

“I… Fuck. I… sometime, I wanna watch? Oh fuck, I’m such a fuckin’ creep. Jesus, just ignore me and everything I’ve ever—“

“You want to watch me finger myself?” Avery clarifies, leaning up on his elbows to fully see Max’s face and not just his flushed forehead and nervous green eyes. Max bites his lip, and hides his flaming face in Avery’s thigh, his embarrassed exhale tickling Avery groin softly.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were going to leave me, dick.” Avery sighs, throwing himself back on the pillows, “Of course you can watch sometime. But it’s not that pretty… I mean, I’m flexible, but not—Oh!”

The cold of the lube is bracing and a shock to Avery’s sweaty, hot skin. Max is mumbling, placing sweet, little, open-mouthed kisses on the inside of Avery’s thigh, as his index finger slowly circles his entrance. Avery is quivering, taking in the feel of Max’s calloused fingertip sweeping gently across his skin. He takes a few deep breaths, willing his pounding heart and chaotic breathing to relax.

“Now?” Max asks, his voice strained and gruff, a soothing balm to Avery’s frazzled nerves.

“Mhm… please. But slowly.” Avery whispers. And is rewarded with Max’s index finger, thick and hot and rough skinned, sliding into him with a sweetly gentle thrust.

“Fuck.” Max respires, working his finger deeper, inch by tortuous inch. The quarterback seems awed by Avery, and any other time, any other boy, Avery would shrink and hide shyly, but with Max, he hardly notices, instead feeling alight. There is a little pain, the newness of Max’s finger, thicker than his own, stretching him a little wider than he’s even been before. The pressure, that building, tight feeling, and the burn, slight and prickling are delicious to him. He revels in it, combined with the stubble scraping against the tender inside of his thigh and Max’s lips, spit slick and sucking bruises to match the ones on his neck, it’s almost enough to make him whine and thrust down on the digit. But he won’t. He has to act cool, like this is no big deal. He can do it, he can.

”Shit!” Avery squeaks as Max rotates his finger slowly, and takes the slick, red head of his cock into his mouth. The Avery so bent on acting mature, cool and collected like he’s not some doe eyed virgin that Max has been cursed with, has officially left. And now left in his place, a shaking, withering mess of a total and complete virgin; whining and tugging at Max’s hair wantonly. Max smiles around Avery’s cock, taking more into his mouth, licking the length and sucking hard at the slightly furled head like Avery likes.

By the time Max eases his middle finger in, Avery is squirming so badly that Max has to lay his forearm across his hips like a vice, just to keep himself from biting down on the younger boy. Avery keens, the burn long gone leaving in its wake a pleasant pressure and build inside him. Max is crocking his fingers, the rough tips searching and prodding, looking for—

“M-Max… there. Please.” Avery gasps, and Max obliges quickly. His middle finger stroking, caressing, coaxing a shiver, a whine, and finally a loud shaking moan with each swipe. Max is sucking harder, his cheek hallow and his nose brushing the nest of black curls at the base of Avery’s hardness, licking up and down the length and flicking the tip of his tongue over the head. And his fingers are stretching, pulling, and swiping that bundle of nerves on every other thrust.

Avery is gasping, withering and moaning. He has one hand in the hotel comforter, the cornflower blue fabric, so soft and clean, now bunched in his fist. The other hand is clawing at Max’s shoulders, weaving in his hair, tugging and pleading.

“M-M-Max! I can’t. I-I’m gonna—please, just fuck me!” Avery is nearly sobbing, as he thrashes underneath Max’s freckled forearm. Max pulls off his cock with a lewd pop. He looks at Avery with eyes so hazy and dazed, that Avery isn’t sure who was enjoying that more. His lips are the deepest shade of red, and so covered in spit and precome that the sight makes Avery want to come right there. Max is still lazily pumping his fingers into him, but blessedly, he’s stopped stroking Avery’s prostate. When Max speaks, his voice sounds like broken glass, and whiskey, and the deep dark rumbling of thunder.

“Now?” Max rasps, kissing Avery’s hipbone, “Don’t I need to do more?”

“What do you mean more?” Avery gasps, rocking back on Max’s fingers and trying desperately to get them, or anything, deeper. Max frowns.

“Like a third finger.”

“What? No! That’s like your whole fist. I’ll die.” Avery whines as Max slips his fingers out.

“It’s enough?” Max questions, his eyebrow knitted in concern. Avery nods frantically; reaching for Max’s impressively tented boxers. Why the plaid fabric is still on, Avery has no idea.

“Yes. Now, please. Jesus fuck, please, get in me.” Avery is nearly in tears, as he claws gracelessly at Max’s boxers. The quarterback laughs, huskily, and slips out of his boxers, throwing them somewhere Avery neither can see nor care about. Max is hard enough to hurt, his thick cock curving towards his belly and shiny with precome. He reaches for the condom, and Avery makes another, bratty, annoyed noise.

“Av… sweetheart, I have—“

“No. No, I want to feel you. I’m clean—I am. Just please, let me feel you.” Avery knows he’s being an idiot. But he trust Max, and right now all he wants is to be close to Max. To bloom underneath him like the flowers after a rain, to feel every move, every twitch, everything Max can give him; and he doesn’t want to feel it through a tight-latex barrier. Max’s eyes seem to be too dark in the warm yellow light of their hotel room, but he thankfully tosses the packet away. And Avery hums in satisfaction.

Max crawls up towards him, kissing him softly, and snatching a pillow from the mountain behind him.

“Up.” Max commands softly, his breath tickling Avery’s ear, and Avery obediently raises his hips. Max, with gentleness and patience that left Avery an hour ago, arranges the shorter boy’s legs to drape around his narrow waist. Avery wiggles happily, as he feels the blunt head of Max’s slick cock at his entrance. Max leans down to kiss him, slow and careful as Avery is not.

“I’m taking this slow… you’re not—“

“I’m not going to break!” Avery whines, shimming his hips closer to Max. The taller boy places his hands over his hipbones.

“I know, but I don’t wanna break you, baby. I never wanna break you.” Max mumbles against Avery’s swollen lips.

“I love you so fuckin’ much, Avery.” Max whispers. And the raw look, the raw and unveiled love in Max’s hazy eyes, seems the clear the mist of lust clinging to Avery’s skin. Max has never looked at him like this, not once, and Avery can feel it bone deep, sinking into his marrow and deeper into his soul like a hot bath. Avery sighs, leans up to clumsily press a kiss to Max’s mouth.

“I love you, too.” Avery whispers, closing his eyes and relaxing under the feel of Max; his warm, rough palms sliding up and down his trembling thighs, his breathe, hot and minty against his kiss-sore mouth and his eyes burning, smoldering like coals and cradling him at the same time.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Max asks, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Avery takes a deep breath, nods. Max is cautious as he enters Avery. Like his pale skin, and dark hair and bright blue eyes, shut against the new, strange feeling, is not that of a snotty eighteen year old, but a rare and precious china doll. When Max bottoms out, his hips flushed against Avery’s, the quarterback is taking measured breaths, his own eyes shut in pleasure and his chest, freckled and olive and gorgeous is heaving. Max waits, patient and calm, as Avery gets used to the feel.

Max is thick, and it takes Avery a few minutes before he can breathe again. Its then, that he moves, just slightly against Max. Max exhales loudly, a low groan escaping his mouth, as his hands continue to flutter up and down Avery’s thighs. Avery’s breathe feels tight against his lungs as he rock with a little more fervor, clutching at Max’s shoulders. He’s ready. He’s been ready for what seems like a lifetime.

“Max…” Avery whines, desperate and loud. And Max comes to life above him, easing out and sliding back in carefully.

“Fuck. Fuck Avery. Jesus Christ.” Max groans, as his hips continue their slow, steady rhythm. It’s wonderful and tortuous and so goddamn slow, and Avery needs more.

“Max! P-Please!” Avery moans, wanton and sobbing as he rocks himself faster on Max’s cock. Max gets the message, and speeds up. They build and build, Avery clawing at Max’s back, and Max pounding, gasping and kissing Avery’s calves, the insides of his knees, everywhere his bruised lips can reach.

“Shit! Shit! Max!” Avery howls, as Max nearly bends him in half, his cock hitting his prostate mercilessly, his lips and teeth peppering Avery’s outstretched neck.

“So fuckin’ beautiful. So fuckin’ perfect. You’re everythin’ Avery. Every single goddamn thing in the world. I love you so much, sweetheart.” Max pants, as he nails Avery’s prostate over and over again.

Avery is withering and moaning and pulling his leg back further, just to get Max closer. Max’s pudgy stomach is rubbing against his neglected cock, making Avery savage with frustration; it’s too much, its not nearly enough.

“Please! Max, p-please. Touch me.” Avery moans, and Max is quick to comply. His hand, rough and just barely wet with lube and sweat, wrap around Avery. Max strokes him in time with his thrusts, and it doesn’t take long before Avery is seeing the white lights of the parking lot, break and shattering into a million little glass shards. And his body is snapping, breaking, blooming into something wonderful and delicate and alight with electricity and fire and the light of the stars.

Avery comes with a broken cry of Max’s name on his lips, his release painting his stomach and Max’s hand. And it takes just the faintest pressure of Avery clenching around Max for the quarterback to tumble over the edge. The growl Max makes is feral, and rumbling. Avery can feel the warmth inside him and his spent cock gives a twitch at the intimate, wonderful feeling. Max braces himself on his forearms as his legs give out, the freckled muscles on either side of Avery’s face. The younger boy places drowsy pecks all over the salt-sweet skin.

Max slips out of him, and rolls over to his side. An arm, curled around him, taking Avery’s loose, pliant body with him. Curled around each other, their breath coming out in wonderfully sated huffs, the sound louder than the roaring of the AC unit. Max kisses his glistening brow, gentle and sweet and everything Avery’s ever needed.

“Okay?” Max pants, tugging the younger boy’s pliant frame closer into his chest. Avery chuckles, breathless and feeling blissed. He snuggles his face into the damp curve of Max’s neck. His glasses pinch, but he has no intention of moving.

“I’m so okay.” Avery smiles, pressing a kiss to Max’s sweat soaked cheek.

“I love you, Avery. So much, sweetheart.” Max whispers into his hair, moving just minutely to slip Avery’s sweat spotted glasses off his nose. And

Avery means to answer him, to make a joke, or simply melt into Max’s arms with declarations of undying love and a need that scared him and an insistent, childish need to hoard him from the terrible world outside their warm embrace. He means too, he really does. But his eyelids are heavy, and he’s warm and spent in the best way.

He falls asleep, just as another gentle kiss in pressed into his brow.