[There's a relief that seems to wash over Max like a sudden downpour, weight settling onto him, letting go of some latent fear that something, somehow, was going to ruin this. It's not as if Ash had been anything but receptive--no, rather, Ash had been the only one initiating the lion's share of anything physical, in spite of Max being a very physically expressive man. But he hadn't been sure if he'd ever really wanted it, or was supposed to want it, much less if Ash was just receptive rather than wanting it. Even now, any time waiting, time thinking, was toxic; but they'd made it and right now, without knowing why and without having the time and space to think too much about it, he believes Ash wants him. So he's on him, pulling up his shirt, pulling the lever to get the seat back, mounting him and muffling him mouth.
He has lube. It's in the pouch on the back of the seat they're in. He's going to get to be the one surprising Ash in bed, and that's another little rush in coming.]
no subject
He has lube. It's in the pouch on the back of the seat they're in. He's going to get to be the one surprising Ash in bed, and that's another little rush in coming.]