I missed him.
I'm so glad they don't cover his tattoos.
I'm so happy to see him smile and charm and be funny.
And I can't wait to see the caps from tonight's show!
*loves my flist like crazy*
And! I wrote a drabble for slashthedrabble after months of lurking. This week's challenge is 'Secrets'. And suddenly? Max was in my head again.
Not Mine. No Harm. No Foul.
Michael started coming to his room when they were ten. Climbing up over the windowsill after Max had lifted the glass and lying down in the sleeping bag Max tossed out on the floor. A secret they kept from everyone, even Isabel. And sometimes it was perfectly natural for Michael to end up in Max’s bed, sleeping next to him. Holding him after Max had healed every bruise, every cut. Once a broken arm, once a cracked rib.
“You need to get out of there.” Max had whispered at thirteen.
“I can’t.” Michael had wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand.
“I’m going to tell someone.” Max had growled at fifteen.
“You can’t.” Michael had shrugged and pretended to sleep.
Max didn’t remember when the spooning had led to hard-ons. He didn’t remember when touching Michael to calm him down, to soothe him, had turned to stroking. He didn’t remember who kissed whom first.
“You need, we need to stop doing this.” Max groaned at seventeen. His face pressed down in the pillow, his fingers flexing on the sheets.
“We can’t.” Michael’s lips moved against Max’s shoulder. His hips moved faster, his cock thrusting deeper.
**smooches you all up**