Author: ChocolateCoffeeandRocknRoll PM
Allan is visiting Max, but Max is preoccupied by what's going to happen the next morning. Too bad that it turns out... differently than expected. Some sexual content, fluffRated: Fiction M - English - Romance - Words: 1,898 - Favs: 2 - Published: 10-24-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2964021
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Max tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel completely unrelated to the music playing in the background. He was so excited he barely able to keep his mind on the road. After all, he was on his way to the airport to pick up Allan.
He loved it when Allan came to visit, especially times like this when he wasn't just in the country for business. It wasn't even just a question of having Allan in his house, using his soap and wearing some of his clothes when there wasn't a meeting (and on some days when he was really lucky when there was) and all that jazz. The thing that he probably loved the most was that the next day Allan would be jet-lagged and sleep the morning away if left undisturbed.
Allan always looked so cute when he slept: hair a complete mess, too-big borrowed pajamas scrunched up around his middle, usually drooling just a bit. Max just ignored any and all of his urges to get up to eat or use the bathroom just to watch him sleep. Allan seemed so peaceful and happy with that big dopey smile on his face that Max didn't want to miss a single second.
He pulled into the lot and parked. He almost-ran the entire way to security. What if Allan's plane got there early? It never actually happened, but if it ever did and he wasn't there he'd feel terrible.
Maybe he shouldn't have run, he realized after about thirty minutes of just sitting there on a nearby bench. Allan's plane had landed, but who knew how long it would take for him to actually get off? Max was starting to fidget, not even content to play games on his phone anymore. He shoved it back in his pocket and stood.
His mind jumped ahead to the next morning, this time to after Allan would wake up. He was always so content on the first morning. It usually took a minute or two for him to even remember to affix his nearly-perpetual almost-scowl to his face. Even once he had the expression in place, he still couldn't hide how warm and happy and lazy he felt.
Then Max struck. They'd kiss and very slowly Max would ease his way on top of his partner. Oh, he loved how Allan felt first thing in the morning. He was so warm and accepting, letting Max lead without any commands, just taking what Max gave him without question. Through the entire thing, Allan would hold him loosely and smile and whisper things so sweet he couldn't normally say them even when they made love.
Max smiled to himself. Soon he'd have his Allan to hold and snuggle and have sex with.
Eventually, he caught sight of his partner, carrying a briefcase and wheeling a little black carry-on behind him. He always dressed far too nicely for plane riding, with dress pants on the bottom and his normal sweater-over-button-down-with-a-tie on the top. As soon as he saw Max, he gave a bright smile that didn't quite reach down to his mouth. Max, of course, ran over and gave him a hug that would break the ribs of a lesser man.
"What the- Bloody hell, Maxwell! Let me go!"
Max obeyed his instructions, grinning.
"Christ, boy. That used to be cute, but now it's just painful."
Max shrugged and took Allan's carry-on, "Lets you know you lived through the flight. Now let's go get your luggage."
"This is all I have."
Allan blushed, "I got tired of having to haul several days' worth of clothes I didn't even wear back and forth across the ocean."
Max laughed in a way that was slightly obnoxious even to his own ears.
"Just shut up and take me home, idiot."
"Alright, bro. Just take a chill pill," Max said, even though he couldn't help but smile at the way Allan referred to Max's house as home.
Allan kept up his pretend grumpiness even when they got to Alfred's new-old car.
"My God, what is this thing?" Allan asked, wrinkling his nose.
"'76 Ford f-150," he said, grinning and petting the door, "Red with a couple of rust spots, but what can ya do in the Midwest?"
Allan scoffed, "I meant that with your obsession for new technology I didn't think you'd bother to keep something this old."
Max shrugged, "Kind of a funny story, actually-"
Allan climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door.
Max laughed and got in as well.
"Hey, you know I wired this to play iPods and stuff?"
"How would I have?"
Max rolled his eyes, "Sorry that I didn't know you weren't smart enough to understand rhetorical questions. But I was trying to be nice and let us listen to your old-people music for once."
Allan let out a harsh laugh as he pulled out his brick of a first-generation iPod, "If I remember correctly the last time we listened to yours it was a combination of Glenn Miller and Bruce Springsteen."
"Miller and Springsteen rock, man. They're classics."
Allan let out a real chuckle as he plugged in his music.
"The Beatles? See? Old people music."
"Of course, judging by all the teenagers who walk around wearing tee-shirts of them. Would you prefer Sex Pistols instead?"
Max just smiled and put it into gear.
About ten minutes later, there was a loud thunk. Max turned to look and saw that Allan had fallen asleep, head lolled over. His hands sat on his lap empty, probably meaning that his iPod had fallen on the ground and made the noise. Max turned back to the road, but took one of Allan's hands in his own. He gently rubbed his partner's pointer finger with his thumb and Allan muttered something happily in his sleep.
This was gonna be a good week.
Max's prediction was only enforced after they got to his house. He went to start on dinner (for some reason, Allan didn't want to go out like they usually did) while Allan went upstairs to "freshen up." He hadn't been expecting to cook so nothing was thawed out, but he was Maxwell J. Harville, dammit. He could do whatever he put his mind to. Thankfully, he had some steak sandwich meat in the freezer. He could fry it up with some onions and red peppers and put it in his hotdog buns with some provolone and call it a night. He'd gotten the sandwiches together and was just about to pop 'em in the toaster oven to make the cheese all melty and delicious when he heard Allan shout down to him.
"Max! I need you to help me find something!"
"All your bathroom stuff is on the counter, all my clothes are in the dresser which is right next to the window! What else do you need?"
"You forgot to get my razor out and I can't find it!"
"Just use mine!"
"I can't find that either!"
"It's on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet!"
"No it isn't!"
"Goddammit, Allan! I'm cooking!"
"Just turn off whatever you're using and come help me, you bastard!"
Max tromped up the stairs. At least Allan had decided to need him when he didn't actually have anything in the oven.
"Okay," Max said, opening the bathroom door, "I'm he-"
Allan had on a short cream tunic with a neck opening that plunged to his sternum, a green sash tied around his waist, and nothing else.
They wouldn't be eating dinner for a while.
It was already full morning when Max awoke the next day. He blinked, not expecting to have slept in so late. Of course, Allan had really tired him out: first with that shirt, then once downstairs when they had been cuddling and watching old movies (it was the cuddling that did it, not the movies, really!) and then finally when they decided to go to bed. He just hoped that Allan would be up for another round.
He rolled over, hoping to see a still-sleeping Allan, but found only an empty expanse of mattress. While Max was still staring stupidly at the bed Allan walked in, naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was half sticking up and half weighted down with water.
"Good morning, love," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"You're up," Max replied, frowning.
"Yes. There's a first time for everything, I suppose." Allan said, stroking Max's side fondly, "You know, you're an absolute mess when you sleep. Your limbs and hair go everywhere, not to mention that you have an absolutely thick look on your face."
"Thanks," Max said, sarcastically.
"Don't," Allan pet his hair, "It's endearing."
He got down next to Max and kissed him.
"You taste like mint," Max said when they parted.
"And you taste like morning mouth."
Max groaned in annoyance.
"Hush," he placed a finger on Max's lips, "As I said, it's endearing."
He wiggled back under the blankets until he was on top of him. As they kissed again, Max realized three things. One: Allan was trying to have sex with him. Two: He wanted to top. And three: Max didn't really mind.
In fact, he was enjoying himself. He liked laying there on his back as Allan kissed him and began to tug at his shirt. He was being so nice and gentle. Max just accepted it with a pleased noise.
He felt almost like he was in a haze. He still felt every ounce of pleasure, but it wasn't hot and tight like it usually was. It was warm and soft, almost more like laying in the sun than sex. The act itself seemed far happier than usual, not weighted down with the trappings of passion or lust. Allan had this really gentle, reassuring smile on his face the entire time. They exchanged sweet words that Max only half-remembered a moment after they were said. There was nothing Max could really compare it to. He'd never felt such an overwhelming sense of contentment, of safety, of belonging.
He pulled Allan close and whimpered as he came, the other man following a moment later.
"Nap time," Max mumbled, not letting Allan roll away or even pull out.
With a soft laugh, Allan allowed himself to lie there, "Hell, I'm going to need another shower."
"That's okay. We'll take one together so we don't waste water."
"That line again?"
"It's a good one."
Allan kissed him, smile still on his lips. "Sleep well, love."
It wasn't until Max awoke again an hour and a half later, hungry and sticky that he realized he'd had the tables turned on him and his lover had stolen his favorite part of the visit. Allan just told him to shut up and let go and then reminded him that there was always tomorrow.