papalobo | Day 328, Friday, November 28th

Day 328, Friday, November 28th

[It's weird, to end up at a home that's not home. He's spent more time there than anywhere else this year, but that says more about his transience than anything. If told five years ago he would live such a lifestyle, he'd have believed that, but not the part about most of those multiple places being not just six but seven, eight figure abodes.

And yet it's Jessica's home (still probably the nicest one he'd lived in as an adult, before Ash swept in) they're doing Thanksgiving in. Maybe it's a fear of being upstaged on her part if it's in such a house; such a naive thought is, while unvoiced, just more proof of Ash's suspicions, that Max's mind is on something, something Ash had likely been trying to put his mind on for months. Because with even half of his braincells to put to it, he'd suspect the worst sooner.

It's not until they're pulling up to the house and there are two other cars there that he remembers the hell of Thanksgiving is not only family, but family you don't normally have to see. And thanks to Michael, Jessica's family is still his family.

And their ride is a taxi. It's not like they can turn around. Though Michael coming out to greet them right away in a hurried excitement would've made it impossible in anything.]

...Maybe she decided to start investing in cars. But not especially good ones. To be more undercover. As a journalist.

Day 375, Friday, December 14th

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Even behind closed eyes, Ash's imagination fills in the blanks caused by darkness. Max leans against him, on the crisp of entering him, and leans in to claim his lips. The kiss is almost connected when he smiles and adds his own quip. ]

Did I get cute?

[Punk. He clicks his tongue, feeling Ash stop short of letting the kiss connect.]

Just a little.

[ The faintest hint of green shows between dark lashes. ]

Cute enough to kiss?

[His lips press into a thin, firm line against each other instead of his. His hips inch forward, focusing instead on that but it only makes him want to kiss him more.]

...Nyn----nah.

[ His lips part slightly; not even Ash is immune to the feeling of having the inner most ring stretching to fit something so much wider. ]

If you wanted to, I'd let you.

[God, and he's still lubed, still stretched, and if anything despite standing, the water makes it feel warmer, all around. He tries to focus there, instead of on what he's not getting.]

Who'd wanna?

Probably not a single person.

[ Despite having no pride in his appearance, the juxtaposition between reality and his words make them easy to say. ]

Nhnnn... I'm probably as hard to kiss... As I am to look at.

[ For all that Ash has used against Max, his size was never among them. ]

Then there's how you feel.

[His voice is strained, pushing in further still; the kid's a complete package, really. He's stupidly fun, a feast for the eyes, a pretty nice voice and on top of his skill in bed, there's something natural, the feel--Ash can make sure his looks, his skin, all that are kept up, but as someone with a few partners under his belt, he'd swear Ash's feel inside is as uniquely desirable as kissing. And now his mind's back on that kiss he's not taking.

Might give him a little longer hold out though, so that's not bad.]

Nobody actually thinks... about how they feel unless somebody... complains.

[ Of all the things he keeps up, he doesn't do any kind of muscle training for that particular part of his body.

Or any part of his body, really. ]

I'll worry about it when it sounds like you have complaints.

[ Ash doesn't have any of his own, not in this moment, not as his body adjusts to fit the intruder. Max isn't even deep enough to hit the prostate yet so physically, there shouldn't be much pleasure, but sex can be about more than the body. Should the older man stop right now, Ash wouldn't have to fake annoyance or disappointment. ]

[He wants to kiss him. This whole stupid conversation has him wanting to kiss him. More. But as he finally bottoms out, swearing he can feel his old release inside (it's not that sensitive, or if it is, Ash's insides have enough other distracting stimulations), he nestles his face hard into the junction between Ash's neck and shoulder as he breaks into a laugh.]

Trying to imagine you doing kegels, now...

[ His nose wrinkles in something not quite a scrunch. ]

Don't.

[ Don't imagine him doing kegels. ]

I have other parts you can picture if you're not happy with this one.

[ But the laugh is nice. It feels different than the relief Max showed at finally getting an erection as if something positive instead of the lack of something negative. ]

[Nuzzling in harder, there's soon a light scrape of teeth and a breathy exhale as he starts to move, chest sliding with wet ease against Ash's back.]

Only thing I'm not happy with's how often I passed up doing you from behind thinking it'd be a waste of the view.

[ While Ash has been on both the giving and receiving end, Max can't fully imagine how it feels to have your body spread open, or the sensation of the back and forth of something hard sliding out of tight tunnels. While he can find technical terms to describe the phenomenon of the receiving side of sex, it's incomparable.

The comment earns a thought exercise; surely they've done it from this position before, haven't they? Ash's memory is good, not perfect, and his mind is distracted so he doesn't allow his mind to wander for long. ]

Have you passed it up?

[ Though he's capable of deeper concentration, Ash actively chooses to be lost in the moment so his words, his tone are a bit more distant than when he's focused. His body is heated up, thanks to both the act and water, so the flush across pale skin does well to express the inner warmth. ]

Rolled you over instead at least twice.

[Max, on the other hand, seems to have quite the Reporter's Memory for these things; maybe it was the long held belief that it couldn't last, that it was already over, glossing over the facts. Or maybe he's making the number up. But he does recall, as he moves in and out of him, that he's had him at this angle before. In this shower.

But there's a reason it's a good angle, when the ground's wet and slick. Just now, though, he can only think it's a good angle any time.

But all the more when trying not to kiss him. Face to face, he'd have definitely lost. ]

[ Despite a long, sordid sexual history, moments with Max don't get mixed up among the nights spent with countless, faceless men, but the two have been intimate many times in the past.

But this moment is in the here. The now. Max moves his hips, and Ash can feel the sensation repeating. In. Out. His knees grow weaker. He should...

No. Max will keep him upright. Ash's weight grows heavier. ]

Nhn.

[ Deciding the reply doesn't require comment, Ash gives a vague answer. Sex isn't the best place for deep conversation. ]

[Max keeps him upright with such ease that Ash might have wondered why he didn't relax into it sooner, like finding out a swing set is sturdy. Feeling Ash let go and put more of his weight into him is the signal Max needs that, despite the lack of 'prep time' this time, he's truly ready to go; what was a good, satisfying pace picks up, serious enough now to stop making idle, sarcastic chatter.]

[ Even if neither men are particularly loud during sex, the room is never quiet. The shower rains down, droplets hitting their skin under the warm spray, adding a common porn-like background music. Flesh meets flesh when Max buries himself completely, leaving no space between the two. The lack of more standard moaning doesn't dismiss the heavier breathing and occasionally sounds that one might qualify as sexual.

It feels good. The water feels good, Max feels good, Ash feels good. The red spreads further throughout his body, encouraged by the water and a sense of comfort. In front, Ash is fully erect and yet somehow, it feels like if Max keeps going like this, he'll have to find some way to express it even further. ]

Nhnn... Hahh..

[ His voice is so low that it's almost lost beneath the loud sounds of the shower. ]

[His hand had left Ash's needy length long ago, and as far as Max knows, Ash still isn't even fully hard. It's Ash; his sexuality is, in Max's memory, a slow burner. So he has to give what he can before he gets overwhelmed. It's time to ride him, to make sure to hit deep, to angle for where he thinks he remembers that spot being, to make sure it gets the most constant friction, not that there's so much room back there a person could miss it.]

[ A smaller shower would allow Ash to lean against a wall as well but without asking the door to support his weight, their wealth would've made their movements more inconvenient if Max wasn't able to handle some of Ash's weight. ]

M-Max.

[ His name, said in a breathless tone, escape Ash's lips as the movements hit the special spot hiding inside.

Let tonight last. It's a childish thought, but if tomorrow never comes, then in these hours, Ash recaptures something that he never felt the right to have. Max wasn't his first selfishness, but he was the first man Ash accepted into his heart in a mutual, solidified way, and he was the first person who had Ash's permission to take all of him, both heart and body. The kiss that happened in an altered state of mind should never have launched something as fragile and yet powerful as the relationship that shifted and changed over the past year.

Ash covers one of Max's hands with his own. Like this, he doesn't have to look into Max's face. ]

[The hand sliding over his earns a harder, out-of-rhythm spasm of the hips that should be reserved for touching somewhere a little more sensitive. There's a raw, throaty grunting noise, taken fully by surprise before he slides a hand previously used to pull Ash's hips back into his thrusts up the front of the slick, wet body, over his slim neck, to his jawline to turn his face and take that stupid damned kiss, probing and wet and hopelessly smitten with his stupid, definitely unintentional cuteness. Maybe there's a better word than "cute" for it, but the journalist isn't thinking in words right now; he's only thinking in want, and shameless indulgence therein, as his hips slam harder, at a higher angle, as if to let gravity and the fact that Ash is supported enough his feet can leave the ground (with a little lean on the wall so he can push off of something to trust, too) make up for the hand no longer guiding the penetration.]

[ Their lips meet for the umpteenth time, and Ash melts further into the kiss. It's a familiar taste and feel, but sometimes, it's also something so precious that Ash can't fully believe he's allowed this kind of positivity. Loving and being loved is a gift and even if he rarely vocalizes his wonder, it always felt like he'd only been allowed small glimpses and even the occasional, teasing feel of love. For Ash Lynx, to love is to harm and so, finding the fine line between selfless love and selfish want seemed impossible. Instead, he'd cherish the few, quick moments he flew a little too close to the sun.

Blanca would've always been the easy solution. Near immortal, he could've given Ash a life most could only imagine, but there'd been no love. As a teen, there'd been small moments of hope, but it was hope for escape and something more, never a desire to touch or be touched by him.

Max isn't Blanca. Neither is Ash. Early into their relationship, Ash watched for the moment that his involvement would hurt the older man as well. The addition of Michael was terrifying. Yet, somewhere along the way, before Ash was able to fully grasp the situation, he began to believe it would be okay. Maybe Max would be hurt here and there, but he was a solid man, and he loved Ash enough to push through any pain for him.

Then he became the knife that stabbed Max the deepest. The hand that rests on his hip and the lips that kiss him belong to a man who'd been betrayed by Ash the most. The love he can feel in the uneven movements isn't earned. But, Ash wants them. He wants them so much that he pushes aside the 'right' thing to do and clings to it like a man clinging to a life raft.

The kiss deepens as hips push back to meet Max's thrust. Ash adjusts both the angle and speed with a practiced skill it's best not to examine.

It surprises even him to realize he's close. ]

Mhnm. Max.

[ The precious kiss breaks too early. ]

'm close.

[ He's too experienced, too in control to finish so quickly and so easily. It'd be embarrassing if he was in a mind to care. ]

[If Max were a thinking man, he'd be surprised, moved, even flattered; he still would remember how big a deal it had been to get Ash off twice (that's two times!) in one day. And normally, more than he's given credit for, Max is a thinking man. But right now, he is not; right now, he's swapping saliva in a wet kiss with water pouring between them and over them and he's inside Ash where it's tight and just as hot as the water, and their lips need to seal together again.]

Payback, your turn to hold out.

[He growls the words in a tone that would sound unsettling to anyone who didn't fully trust that, despite the overabundance of desire driving him out of his mind, he would actually stop on a dime if Ash wanted it. But instead he's sliding a hand back down Ash's body, palming his stomach, then giving a grip, still pounding into him without mercy.

Only the fact that Max's refractory period doesn't let him get it up again that fast as him still holding out; and it's not long. Maybe a minute. But as anyone who's done a plank can attest: a minute is longer than it seems, and two minutes is eternity.

Ash has probably tormented him longer. He's not a 'math' man even when he's a 'thinking' man.]

[ Broken as he may be, Max has slowly pieced Ash back together and the image, still in progress, beneath the glass and dust still retains the body of a physically healthy teenage boy. It comes with sharp, uneven edges, but sometimes even the blurry lines sharpen, and the pieces fit right, and he seems almost normal. A quick release is chronically teenage male.

But Ash has more skill than most. He could tease and taunt Max into giving in but it's not that difficult to hold out and wait for Max's release. Instead, against his instincts, he allows Max's decision.

A minute is longer than it seems and two minutes is an eternity, but for someone who's been living on a loop for so long, he'd even allow two eternities. The sound of their mutual joining fills the bathroom and with the addition of the spray, creates a lustful orchestra. The position doesn't allow Ash a good view, but his imagination can easily conjure the image of Max, straining with pleasure, moving behind him, disappearing inside of him with droplets rushing down his tanner skin. ]

[He lets go when he lets go; holding out just so both he and Ash could feel that strain, that kind of release that only comes after denial, is an idea, but not one he can be bothered with right now: honestly, the lack of actual desire to torment the kid--even the good kind--is probably a part of it, more than the idea not crossing his mind. Because it does, even when not many other thoughts make the cut. But Ash's voice and breath over the pour of the shower rain are short of a moan and he wants to hear it, which maybe he should have thought of before his own voice rings out in a long, satisfied, decidedly too-loud moan amplified in their high dollar bathroom.

As he pulls his softening need from Ash's hole, a hand moves over his backside, at first seemingly to help settle him back into his balance, kneading before pushing one middle finger in place as if to serve as a stopper, keeping anything from flowing out.]

[ Any sound Ash might've made is lost in the sound of the shower and Max's release, but he settles in, satisfied as his erection softens. It brings to mind the memory of Max's surprise when Ash didn't make him pull out for lack of a condom.

The memory barely resurfaces when he finds a finger pushing at the muscle. ]

... You're supposed to help me get it clean, not keep it inside.

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