#thread: maxwell braddy

[orumad]

mop of brown tips back as he barks a laugh, the dog in his heart satiated and sleeping on it's back. "what better time?" mid-kiss in front of the elevators maybe? if they're gonna broach any topic more weighty than positions and drink orders, it should be in the sweet spot of bliss stretched between orgasm and round two. just soon enough to be easy and funny, but not too lagging to impair any subsequent erection. max is floating there now, grinning around his cigarette, shaking his head at her invitation to ask jude himself. "it was a mistaaake." a sarcastic invocation of her instant regret bringing up his ex.

"mm-mm, fuck off," he goads, keeps himself just barely out of reach, but pivoted away in case jenny tries for a lunge. brows lift a tick as his face gleams with a smirk. "think it was your personality." juvenile taunts in his expression. "mmno, this one's mine," max continues, smoking stubbornly. "i'm gonna smoke it all. if you can't smoke it all, you don't deserve one. the razzberry ice is perfect for you." there's a looming comparison in there somewhere, some correlation between max and cigarettes and jude and a vape. he'll save it for the ep. there's fingers on her all the while, walking up her shin and pulling on her knee before he draws back, down to her foot again. his release, though it felt all-encompassing, thorough, exhaustive at the time, feels shorted now. fresh new energy bubbles up in him. "just for the trip," max repeats distantly, a delayed reaction as his brain catches up to his body. "'til when?" then to where, he wonders.

"mmm... famous last words," she grumbles facedown into the pillow, one leg blindly stretching back to jab him with her pointed foot. whatever release he got, she's still spring-loaded from the half-baked orgasm she frantically chased down, tackled to the ground and threw herself into like it was the last chance she'd get—major tactical error on her part. there wasn't any actual relief, just a brief spike in pleasure that was over before it really started and felt more like a check point than a finish line. it was a taunt, and straight from max's lips in the form of yet another lecture about patience and delayed gratification. how unbelievably annoying. now there's a battle of exposed-wire sensitivity and aching hot need duking it out between her thighs and all she can do is press them together and groan her frustration. "well you just tell me when you're ready then, how's that," she condescends, rolling onto her side, one leg crossed tightly over the other, and propped on one elbow to watch him, almost immediately wishing she hadn't.

the name out of his mouth is jarring, the sound of it ricocheting through the room and smacking her square in the face—her eyes have adjusted well enough to know he can see it land pretty clearly. he gets the full show—the irritation, amusement, disgust, self-satisfaction, suspicion—and she's not sure which one her face chooses to settle on when her eyes narrow on his. "damn, you didn't waste a second," she notes, almost impressed. "what, got your nut now all bets are off?" her stare's like a hawk's, laser focused and picking his expression clean, except there's no meat to chew—just more of the easy mocking he defaults to, impenetrable as bone. "i get tested, i just wasn't sure if you do, and there's not really like, a sexy way to bring up stds, so... condom." might deserve a pat on the back for that evasion, except she huffs out a breath and presses her luck anyway. "noted, though. and same, obviously. not sure about jude, though." there's an edge to her smirk and her head tips to one side, and hand extending for his cig. "i'm sure you can ask him if you're curious—hey no, c'mon. i don't want a whole one. just gimme some of yours." she pats the space beside her, trying to lure him into snatching distance. "i'm trying to cut back. the vape's just for the trip. it's actually only like, the second one i've ever bought myself. i used to just hit his, you know? and would you believe they actually carded me?" her gaze slinks sidelong to his. "d'you think was my perfectly smooth skin or the tight little body?"

[orumad]

"don't care," max informs her, muffled against the pulse in her throat. if anything, it seems more beneficial to send her there with some beard burn, for all the jason's and rhys' and whoever the fuck else. for good measure he seals his lips to her neck and starts sucking. it doesn't last long though, maybe not even quite long enough to leave any lasting mark, before they make the short fall to the carpet. the impact takes his breath and he grunts dramatically. "christ, fucking drama." but he's laughing at least, careless by nature. he's all loose limbs and lazy smiles under her straight back and rigid seriousness. "yeah, yeah," blue eyes roll to offset the fact he's conceding, "i'll watch my ash and whatever. hey, look, i'll shave, too... was it you who shaved my face?" mimi has to have suspected he was biding his time before he could spoon her some of her own medicine. maybe it's not quite as balanced, though, considering the girl who actually shaved his face isn't imaginary and is in fact on the screen at this moment having some kind of tense moment with her man. ex-man? who knows with frankie. in any case, he's grinning and quick to lock his arms around her in case she tries to wriggle away from that one. "you're not perfect either, you know." defiant, provoking. bluffing a bit. "you snore like a pissed off buzzsaw."

“ don’t threaten me with a good time. ” her fingertip trails the length of his nose and flicks against the end. “ we’ve fucked in the bath, right ? or was that with jason… ” max doesn’t need to know that there is no ‘jason’, a name plucked out of her ass in the guise of making him work harder to keep her wavering attention, to remind him that she’s got options. maybe it’s manipulative, but sue her. if she wanted, she could walk into any club in the east village, find a leather jacket knockoff with a vinyl collection and a bad attitude, lure him back to her apartment with the dangled carrot of sex and end the night with him unclogging her dishwasher’s orifices. she’s plucked from her plumber fantasy ripped straight out of pornhub with the plugging of a different orifice — his hand between her thighs — a sharp gasp leaving her lips as her own hand chases it down, keeps it flush there against her cycle shorts ( ironic, considering she doesn’t even know how to ride a bike ; never had a dad to teach her that part ). “ max, ” she breathes, her voice a half-whined warning, though whether it’s max she’s warning or herself, she isn’t quite sure. she can see the way his eyes darken, that peter pan spark of mischief tucked into the tear duct, before he’s throwing his weight against her, chin scratching against her neck. “ max ! stop, oh my god ! ” her protests come as a series of pitchy screams, legs thrashing, her hands scrambling to grab at his wrists. soon, laughter dissipates, frustration spilling in its wake. “ stop it, max, i have a shoot on monday, you dick ! ” her hands splay against his chest and shove, the force exerted ( and his hands on her skin ) enough to send the both of them tumbling onto the floor. she’d laugh if she wasn’t so tense. something about watching their old ‘friends’ on a yacht twists in her stomach, or maybe it’s just the ick she gets from that jude guy. looks like the type to turn his boxers inside out instead of washing them. not that max is much better. “ sorry, ” she starts, moving to curl her fingers through his hair. “ just… ” her fist tightens, tugging at the tufts of his hair with an exasperated groan. “ be more fucking considerate. jesus. ”

[orumad]

"didn't we just agree to be even?" he asks with excessive exasperation, too tetchy to be anything but playful, though max will take this as an indication that she has full intentions of drudging it up as it suits her for the foreseeable future. luckily he has a few cards to pull, too. but retaliation falls from his thoughts - or maybe pumps to the forefront? - when she hollows out her lips and takes his finger into her mouth. jenny's a woman who knows her tricks, even a man as stubborn as max can't help his eyes from going black. the rest of his fingers press into her cheeks, palm taking control of her jaw with ease as his own tightens, teeth baring as he barely restrains more of a reaction. "fucking crazy," is what he was saying, to answer her question.

the glance she shoots back at him will reveal his unabashed appraisal of her ass in that dress. "promise me you will," max counters, ignoring her hand for the moment. "you know how i like those little brunettes." and he's sure he saw one or two of them among her band of merry influencers. to soften the tease, he bucks forward with a few simultaneous movements. a hand on the back of her neck like she's a life size barbie for him to parade around, only half a moment before it's sliding down her back, her ass, then up to squeeze her hip sideways into him. meanwhile his other hand has already pressed her outstretched fingers into the front of his pants. in the end, he laces their fingers before she can get too handsy, lifts their entangled hands over her head to put his arm around her shoulders. "mmyeah, i like when you pretend like you're in charge." though there's a blinking red danger sign over the increasingly uninhibited jennifer cohen, he does still feel like he has a handle on things.

"do they want anything?" he wonders as they sidle up by the bar, his grip falling off of her in light of the new scenery, the new crowd. they being the girls. it's half throwaway nicety and half willingness to make himself the spectacle, the cool, sexy stranger buying jenny and her friends drinks, not that he actually sees them around anywhere. "lemme do a old fashioned," max relays to the bartender. "and a...," a glance back to jenny, his nose screwed up in disgust, "dirty shirley?"

there's a wretched finality punctuating her bids for affirmation, one that didn't seem so rife in his own insistence that she just get over the ghosting thing. is he not mad anymore? are they okay? is he willing to put their past behind them, only to revisit during therapy sessions or reruns? "let's call it even," max decides, sure that they have plenty more hatchets they can sharpen in it's place.

he can't even really be regretful that his quasi-compliments have seemed to light her from the inside. the risk of stroking jenny's ego is worth the indulgence of reminiscing. "mmm-hm," max assures, hum reverberating low. "didn't think you had it in you." weight is shifted again, his shoulder rolling to face her head on. "-- yeah, that's why it was risky," he deadpans with a scoffed laugh, his head shaking as he looks out past her back into the casino. she wasn't sure whether or not he'd kick her out... not the fact that anyone - josh, namely - might stroll into the bathroom. not the fact that they were being filmed for the world to see. no, jenny thought he might kick out a dripping wet naked blonde from his shower. "you don't know me as well as you think you do," he chides, finger wagging with cheeky authority just an inch from her nose.

with the same energy that she's got leveled on him, max cocks his head at her. "i'm easily distracted, what can i say?" it seems like the end of the conversation. right about now the arpeggiating tones would kick in, random zoomed-in profile shots would sweep them to commercial break. "what's your plan then?" he wonders suddenly, straightening up off the wall and nodding back toward the casino. he's curious if she plans to get back to her girls or whatever the hell she's doing here. "since you're so desperate to hang out with me...," tongue firmly in cheek as he looks down at her, tight, smarmy smirk on his face. there's surely still more for them to debrief. "i'm gonna need another drink if we're gonna go for a chat."

[orumad]

“she’s the cat one,” max adds with his first gulp of air post-chug of his whole flask. they’re engaged in a one-sided game of charades with the unimpressed bouncers, frankie scratching invisible disks and max making his hands into cat ears at the crown of his head. “uh — valerie russian? the fuck.” max volleys a sarcastic scoff sidelong to the blonde like she’s a fool for even asking him. he frowns at the back of her head, now miming offense. “braddy. like baddie. y’know what, fuck it, after another tin of this shitty fucking vodka, you can call me whatever you want. especially if you’re takin’ me back home.” a beat of thought, she might not even be listening to him now, effectively talking to himself. “just not miles. that’s a li’l,” he tilts his hand back and forth, “fuckin’ weird, even for me.”

max sighs dramatically, exhausted with this scene and only managing to hold the embarrassment to the edges of his perception. ain’t no way he’s tryin’ to be seen begging fuckin’ bouncers to let him into some over hyped techno-pop club. “tell her max is baring his soul, being real. she’ll come running.” eyes roll, his sigh is ragged now. “can’t you, like,” he lowers his voice, leaning into frankie’s ear as he sizes up the bouncer, “offer to blow him or something? or — show your tits?” eyes fall to the tits in question. might as well get something for himself out of this. it feels like a lost cause even if she were down, the bouncers unwilling to indulge them. he pulls on the crook of her elbow. “c’mon. alley. let’s see about the side door.”

     “ one, two, three, go ! ”  strawpedoing her hit flask of half-rum, half-coke hadn’t exactly been on frankie’s bucket list for the night, but unfortunately the bouncers at the clubs are like, super thorough, to the extent where even her hide-it-beneath-your-jacket-and-carry-your-jacket-over-your-arm technique had failed to hustle them. the whole time her and max are downing their drinks, the beady-eyed bouncer is watching them, his face like an egg with two microscopic buttons and a slit in the shape of a mouth. everyone in europe is so stoic, and not even in a quirky wes anderson kind of way, just like straight up rude. feels like her, max and val are the only people around here who know how to have any fun.  “ we’re with val, ”  she says to the bouncer again, as he checks his list, consults the other security guy, and says something into his earpiece.  “ valerie, y’know ?  she’s the dj. ”  frankie mimes spinning a disk, complete with the hissing sound of a record scratch.   “ no, i don’t know her surname. max, do you know her surname ? ”  who the fuck in the villa bothered to learn each others surnames ?  miles and josh called had her castro, in that cute frat bro kinda way, but other than that… she’s got no chance.   “ i don’t even know your surname, ”  she tells max, point blank, before turning back to the bouncer.  “ look, please just ask her, okay. tell her it’s frankie and max. we’re literally staying at her place right now. ”  her attempts fall on deaf ears. they’ve queued for twenty minutes only to be turned away, and it feels like getting to the turnstiles of the superbowl only to find you’ve been duped into a ticket scam.  “ fuck sake, ”  frankie cusses, five minutes and two drags of max’s cigarette later, round the side of the club, as the two of them scan for an alternative route in.  “ why are european bouncers such cunts. is it our accents ? ”  it’s definitely their accents. feels like that episode of flight of the conchords when jermaine and bret experience racism for being from australia, when they’re not even from australia, they’re from new zealand.  “ i wish we hadn’t shotgunned all our alcohol. ”@orumad​

[orumad]

"huh?" distracted, breathless, decidedly rhetorical. hooded eyes watch as jenny's mouth dips down around him, his jaw just about dislocating from his head. max wouldn't realize if he had cobras wrapped around his ankles let alone socks. he can't even bother to care that he's fallen victim to his own jab -- conversation is officially on the back burner. vaguely he can feel his thigh twitch under the weight of her elbow, can feel that hot unfurling deep in his stomach as something inside wakes and stretches. the head that he's hung back snaps up again as he hisses under his breath, his fingers sliding tight into her hair again. "you're trying to," max admonishes, his growing smirk accusing her of actually conspiring to trigger some premature ejaculation. it seems almost inevitable, frankly, especially considering the impromptu and expeditious drum roll they've engaged in the last hour, but it doesn't rouse any shame in him. the question of what happens next looms at the end of the night, not at the end of round one.

you're trying to, in max's opinion, is a fair argument anyway, especially when, once he'd dragged her back up his body and guided her to sit down around him, she did the thing with her hips. luckily he had enough working brain cells to roll their bodies before he fell into her trap. in a practiced motion max flipped her into doggy position, grip rigid around her hip and muscles flexed tight. it felt not unlike love island - quick and dirty and raw. didn't require a ton of thought aside from god fuck yeah again more yeah good and then he was there.

"no, no," he chides when she flattens against the mattress, gives her ass a smack for good measure. "don't lay down. i just need a sec." it's not really certain to him whether or not she came and, if asked, he'd claim he didn't care. what better way to prolong a dangerous liaison than to withhold pleasure? max would just call this edging. "just gotta find my --," smokes, in his discarded jeans. in the same motion he's peeling the condom off his dick, snorting a laugh. "you didn't have to do that," he informs her. "i'm clean, yanno... unless --," brows up, jaw dropped. the sardonic deadpan of surprise. "jude has the syph." surely speaking the name he's avoided all night is allowed in brief, urgent matters of mocking. once the condom's tossed and the cigarette's lit, he approaches again, pinches one of her toes. "you want one? y'know, the vapes aren't good for you."

"ha, ha," she mumbles into his mouth, but there's no denying the thrill that whizzes through her like a pinball from her core up to her bottom lip where he has it captured between his teeth, ricocheting off every nerve ending in its path and grazing her heart to a stutter. when she rehashes the story later, she'll have to amend the line that made her stomach flip to something a little less 'bar is on the floor.' "aaand what kind of 'conversation' were you hoping to have from down there?" her brows lift, half shielded by the mop of blonde tumbling into her face from the loss of her LBD. "did you want words of affirmation or directions?" she sweeps away the strand of hair clinging to her smirk before slowly stretching her arms up overhead, massively uninhibited by the absence of clothing, if not leaning into the performance of the thing—her hair as a prop, tossed over a slow roll of her shoulders, feeling the muscles in her back shift and the ones in her abdomen pull taut as her whole body arches, head tipped back, nipples peaked to the ceiling against the moan that slips from her lips.

"mmm," her eyes blink open slowly, but there's nothing lazy in the way she appraises him, like she could eat him up. or rather, wallow him whole, almost annoyed when he makes her laugh—the genuine kind that catches her a little by surprise and thoroughly hijacks her moment. "yeah, nervous you're gonna cum the minute i put it in my mouth, jackass," a half-hearted shove and failing to hide her amusement. it pushes them out of her slow motion spell and back into real time unbuckling, and finally yanking the last of his clothes down his legs, save his socks. fucking finally. the way it smacks against his stomach makes her mouth water, even if she'd prefer skipping right to the good part, but she leans in slowly, letting him feel the heat of her breath before flicking her eyes up to him. she lets the moment linger, her gaze locked on his, not quite touching him in her own dish of teasing revenge. then a painfully soft swirl of her finger around his tip, hungrily drinking down his reaction. "did you wanna take those off first, or....?" a nod toward his clothed feet with a smirk before her tongue finally snakes from between her lips to taste him.

[orumad]

"how you gonna blow me if i got a condom on?" he counters, teeth sinking into her lower lip and pulling it taut. there's a smirk edging the kiss and brows tick up above his heavy lidded blues. the answer doesn't really matter, but max obviously isn't prepared to reveal any potential prophylactic's 'til she shows a little reciprocation. the whole point of giving is the subsequent taking. "thought you'd be more conversational, cohen," he notes, not judging so much as observing, half-amused only in the way he always is. they're so much talk, the two of them. words between them are weapons of sex, sarcasm, and mass destruction, but then again max decides it fuckin' figures the sole context of her pillow talk so far is complaints. he's way too casual as he pulls her dress upward, urging it to slide off her body ideally as she slithers her way down his. "you aren't nervous, are you?" that broadens his smirk into a grin, doesn't actually imagine for a second she can manage to be nervous now. he's just having way too much fun. gathering up her blonde in a halfway, messy ponytail, fingers threaded tight against her scalp, he presses a goodbye kiss to her lips before brushing the tip of his nose back and forth against her's, tender and tongue in cheek. "condom's in the wallet." once you're finished goes unsaid.

part of her wishes he was bad with his tongue—the spiteful part that's hunting for weaknesses, not the part that's grinding against it, anchored by a death grip on his wrist and slurping down his fingers like a feast. it keeps her from talking sure, and is in his best interest for that alone, but sinking her mouth down to the knuckle, feeling the rough callouses against her tongue, sweeping it along the dips of his fingers in tandem with his own licking keeps her mind from wandering like it usually might. being eaten out isn't generally her favorite. it's not full enough; there's too much space to drift away, back into her head, to thoughts of what her face might look like from this angle or how long she should let it go on for before swapping positions, maybe to fantasies of someone else showing up to entertain her top half... his hand clutched between hers is a roblox video spliced alongside a story time, distracting enough to focus her attention where it should be—on the tension building in her lower abdomen and the pulsing between her thighs where she desperately clenches around nothing.

she should be teasing him. she should be drawing things out, playing the game he's so good at, delayed gratification and all that. she should make him beg—and she could. he might win with words, but they're in her wheelhouse now. if there was ever a time to tip the scales, it'd be now. or, it should be now.... but this whole night has been foreplay enough, and the instant she registers that emptiness inside her it's game over. her legs are shaky on the dismount and then she's gazing down at him wild eyes under heavy lids and shrouded by a halo of blonde as she mimes taking a picture of him with a smirk. her own shutter effect solidifies the mental image of him glistening with the taste of her into her spank bank before she's leaning down to lick it up. "you got a condom this time?" she mumbles into his mouth with hands that fumble to free him where he strains against his pants. the answer doesn't really matter. in fact, she hopes he doesn't. feels better that way, but she needs at least the illusion of precaution to keep from cementing herself as a total whore.

[orumad]

eyes roll in their sockets, lips purse into an impatient smirk. if max were shrunk down into a doll, this would be his coined expression, surely made perpetual by proximity to a devilish smiling jenny-doll. she's so fucking annoying and he'd rather just skip to the part where their plastic faces are pressed together and someone makes a smooching noise. it has to happen soon before either of them toes the line a little too far, before someone mentions jude or mimi again. before all those pesky commitment issues rear their ugly heads and make themselves into an excuse. "yeah, you really shoulda led with that," max instructs her, aiming for condescending, but his own shit-eating grin is unabashed in it's meaning. god, fuck yeah, that's all it takes.

the grin loses some of it's structure when his jaw hangs a bit in surprise, fingers brushing right up against what he can only imagine is some ridiculous lacy black string marketed as a thong. there's no hiding from the fact that this is different than the villa, that even despite the way she steals a peek over her shoulder to look for curious eyes, no one's looking for them. there's no godlike eye in the sky, no boys-next-door to keep this secret from. there really is nothing keeping max from just devouring her whole - except maybe club security - but in the end he just starts with a kiss, smirking, half-laughing, his hand still caught tight between them. "did it sound like an invite?" max asks, nose pressed up against her's. brows lift and fall, head moving side to side, his skin's warm everywhere. "meant it more like a demand." now he does anyway.

his index finger curls under her dress, but only with the sole intention of hooking her underwear around his knuckle. then he sinks to the ground - just a half drunk guy searching for his fallen vape - and brings the thong down with him. it's not something he'd do to anyone but jenny, way too outrageous and silly and nasty to get away with any normal girl. there's a reason she makes for such valuable song fodder. max lifts his chin to see her face while he's down level with her hips, not unlike the way she'd looked at him sunk down on her knees, teasing and playful and actually totally serious. when he stands, only anybody paying attention would see him stick the underwear in his pocket. then he slips his hand into her's before guiding her out with a tilt of his head. "do me a favor," he asks, crushing her into his side as they step into the light of the casino. "find the elevator."

the implication is annoying—that he hasn't been thinking about it all these months. and fair enough.... or you know, it would be if he hadn't thought about it enough to crank out a whole ass song. if he hadn't thought about it enough to decide ignoring her completely was his safest bet. "alright, relax," her cease and desist hand waves his excitement back down with a roll of her eyes. "i've thought about it, i haven't 'been thinkin'' about it," punctuated with emphatic air quotes, because the difference feels important. especially on the receiving end of that wolfish gleam in his eyes, like he's caught her with her pants down, which... a little too close to the truth for comfort, one, and two, edges them right back into the danger zone. that implication's even more annoying—how convenient to be mr. animated all of a sudden when it means smirking his way through loopholes, saying things without saying things. just 'say his name.' god, it'd be so satisfying to throw his own words back at him, a nod to the many tweets centering their other triangle, but max would call her on that bluff in the half a second it'd take to just bite her tongue instead. fortunately, a few tequilas deep, horny will always trump petty.

her chin lowers to look up at him through her lashes with dark, approving eyes despite the low gasp of surprise. it occurs to her that while she knows him, she doesn't know him. she has a decent handle on his mind—can predict some of his reactions, a handful of responses, and is learning to avoid certain comments when she spots the signs of a setup. that all came from their time in the villa, hours and hours of it filled with idle chit chat and vain attempts at keeping their hands to themselves... had he been grafting? it hadn't really felt like it at the time. sometimes it hadn't even felt like flirting, just regular conversation shadowed with the undeniable undercurrent of sexual tension, but he'd never once given the impression of 'trying.' his hand on her ass kind feels like the first gesture she didn't have to wring out of him, but maybe that's because their physical familiarity only extends so far before devolving into fantasy. sure, they've had sex, but is he affectionate like jude or possessive like josh? stoic like nate or indifferent like mason? is he dominant? would she have to make the first move?

her body molds to his hands, soft and pliant and shivering slightly against the whisper that shoots straight through her. the words don't even matter. he could be reciting the phonebook, or speaking in tongues, or talking about mimi—okay, maybe not that—but his warm breath against her ear sets her body on fire. her grip tightens, two fistfuls of hair to guide his mouth to her throat, nice and exposed where she's arching to reach his ear. "all the better to eat you with, my dear," breathless, and skittering along his jaw where her lips drag a feather light path, stopping just shy of his mouth, hovering there, then peeling back. she likes the image of herself as the big, bad wolf. it's not like she should be the only one worried about getting hurt.

"do i want to... what?" she curves a hand around her ear, plugging the other one against the music with a shit-eating grin. "sorry, i couldn't hear you." a massive and completely predictable cop-out, but it buys her a second to come up with a half-decent reply to his non-invitation that isn't 'yes, please.' she leans her weight along the bar top—the one they won't be fucking on—attempting casual but feeling wired with the rest of the night closing in. it's a tossup now whether they're both all in, fast track to hell, hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times or if this is crunch time, make or break, one wrong move and everything will crumble. "and all it took was complimenting your music. how completely original," she volleys carefully, happy to err on the side of caution until her gaze locks on his. a movie-worthy flashback, the same mischievous set of eyes lined with damp lashes, sopping wet hair clinging to his forehead, face lined with ecstasy, or something akin to it. yes. as a matter of fact she does want to go to his room. he must see her plan unfurling the instant she slithers closer, every intention clear as day in her resolve and those too innocent eyes. there's something stripped back about them, though. she drags them away, tosses a glance over her shoulder in the same moment she claims his hand. it's more performance than anything—what does she care if people are looking when she toys with his fingers, focus snapping back to him. "yeah," she says simply, brows poised high like she asked some sort of question, then lowers his hand between them, guides it to the hem of her dress, then just beneath. "yes. i wanna go to your room." feel how badly. her breath hitches, gaze verging on desperate. "is that an invitation?"

[orumad]

both brows pop up on his head while his jaw hangs open, smiling. take a sec for the laugh to catch up, a breathy bark, amused and teasing and decidedly approving. "you been thinkin' about it, huh? all these months?" with jude reads in his sparkling eyes. and maybe that's why the idea stunned him, the thick wooly jude of it all cloaked any potential fantasies for max. couple that with a good old-fashioned grudge and mimi's kool-aid... yeah, maybe max does need to reconsider their grand finale, though he sincerely doubts there'll be anything final about it. that smirk widens to a grin, fixes her with a look. "all right, physicist barbie, keep talking like that and we're gonna have to skip the small talk." pure sarcasm -- as if it's possible for them to engage in small talk together. he tries to keep that same air when he answers her. "only afraid of hurting you." maybe not brilliant or technically ambiguous, but he imagines she'll draw her own conclusions about what he means, if not the face value. maybe the tone will confuse her, airy like there's some hidden meaning for her to draw out.

suddenly he becomes hyper aware of every atom in his body, like he'd walked into a pin impression toy. on total instinct his hand drops to her ass, palm light so he can feel her move beneath the stretched fabric of her dress. for a fleeting moment max is treated to a peek at what a god-honest relationship with jenny would look like... minus the lying, fighting, and cheating probably. "nah, i like a little teeth," he says into her ear, mouth pressed right up against the shell of it, surprising exactly no one. a shot feels less and less necessary, like the very suggestion of it had already unlocked their outrageousness. jenny's demand demonstrates that eloquently and he can't help but tip his head back and laugh. it's so direct and so void of the fluff and bullshit that usually adorns each and every one of their words, that max is rendered essentially speechless, he prefers to keep those words hanging in the air anyway.

the only argument comes in the form of a brief roll of his eyes, but in the end max keeps her gaze when he throws back the shot. he takes his time sucking the juice from his lime, smirking around it with unabashed satisfaction. "mm," he hums in eager agreement, brows furrowed, head nodding. way too serious not to be sarcastic, like he's sure all her typical music isn't like is. he's sure it sucks in comparison. "yeah?" no intention of interrupting her while she's plying him with compliments. it's not 'til she gets suspiciously specific that he snorts. "sorry -- distortion?" reverb? max laughs, tutting her as he shakes his head. "man, you actually do know what a lick is, huh? you whore." teasing, but also noted. it really isn't very shocking to learn she's fucked a musician before. she probably knows random shit about daytrading and steelwork, too. "yeah, it turned out sick actually." naturally jenny magnetizes the conversation back to orbit her and max manages to restrain the roll of his eyes. she's glazed him up enough that he considers her suggestions with an easy smirk and a tilt of his head. "'bar top'?" getting kicked out of the casino for indecent exposure and public fellatio seems a lot more acceptable to him. there's a thoughtful pause and then he asks, "do you wanna go to my room?" it doesn't really sound like an invitation though, more like a curiosity. like he just wants to hear her say it.

"did you think we'd stop there?" she wonders, more genuine question than sultry one-liner. his surprise is mirrored right back in the confusion knitting her brows and the bemused set of her mouth. he would've been fine leaving it at that? "a few minutes in a communal shower? that's meant to be our grand finale?" as if she hasn't been chomping at the bit for a chance to remedy his lone impression of her—bent against the tiles to a hasty, brutally-interrupted orgasm. god, it's insulting. it's haunting. not even a fraction of her potential, electric by virtue of circumstance versus quality of performance, and yet his only frame of reference. did it not just gnaw at him that they could do so, so much better? "implosion, then. definitely nuclear, if you'd be fine leaving it there." the liquor's loosening her lips and it's becoming impossible to play coy, plausible deniability slinking further out of reach. the 'next times,' the thinly veiled invitations growing thinner by the minute, the fracturing poker face as she lays bare her hand. mutually assured destruction really doesn't feel all that hyperbolic. "i'd prefer an explosion. no need to compress it all in when it can just... release." her lips curve, entertained by the transparency in her own muddled metaphor—may as well have just said 'climax.' "you afraid of getting hurt?" like asking 'who's afraid of the big bad wolf' except when she hears it echo back in her own ears, her voice lacks the boldness to pass as a joke. it's still playful but just too soft, just too real. not that it matters anyway. he'll just give some brilliantly ambiguous non-answer that she'll be stuck mulling over until she's picked it clean of every possible meaning. her smirk doesn't falter, but she does finally break his gaze, looking down to watch her foot as she steps on his toe. she should really fix that buckle...

"don't do what?" all feigned innocence as she presses her index fingers to the corners of her mouth, swiping inward as if her lipgloss might've smudged while... fixing her shoes. she wonders how much anyone would really care in a place like this. the last time she was here everyone had been gifted front row seats to the debut of some lady's new rack. jenny had never seen (or felt) faker tits in her life, but no one batted an eye at the full frontal. no one would've even noticed her down there unless max gave them away. she steps forward, shifts her weight to one hip and drapes her arms around his shoulders, gently toying with the hair at the nape of his neck like the perfect, doting girlfriend. "aw, baby," she dishes right back with that same saccharine sympathy. "it's normal to have a little performance anxiety. i'm sure having your dick so close to all those teeth is very scary." the bit is fun, but pressing herself up against him is better. turns out touching him didn't take the edge off. it just made her crave more and her body buzzes to life at every point of contact like a limb fallen asleep and prickling back awake. the energy between them feels thick again, the same sort of tension that drove her into the shower after him and she can do nothing but watch dumbly as unravels her arm and scoops up her hand. without flourish his tongue snakes out to sweep along her thumb, hot and wet. "do my pussy next." it slips out before she can help it. fuckin' hell. if it weren't for the small snort or the eyebrows that shot up to the ceiling, she might've been able to sell it.

"alright, alright, whatever. gimme that," a shot to distract them both, the same preparation executed on his hand, limes dolled out and a 'cheers' with a militantly held gaze, never one to risk seven years of bad sex or whatever the superstition. it goes down easy, a little liquid courage to give a genuine answer to a genuine question. "shower," she muses thoughtfully, studying him. she suspects her answer matters whether he wants it to or not. also suspects that he wouldn't have asked if he didn't already kind of know. "it's maybe not what i'd normally go for—" she could throw in something quippy here, but ultimately opts to play it straight... after a lingering pause for effect— "but i really like it. like, i really do like it, actually— i've listened to it... i mean, so many times." too many times. "but like, it... captures it. you know what i mean? like, it's fucking—ugh, it's hot. the lyrics obviously, but i mean, the sound too. like, that guitar is fucking filthy. and it sounds so, like..." what's the word... "full with the distortion like that. like, when it does that echoey part? with all the reverb?" she shakes her head, eyes rolling back with an appreciative moan. "it's just... i mean, yeah. it's really cool. really fuckin' cool," suddenly aware that she just gushed for the better part of a minute. doesn't feel all that embarrassed though, considering the song's about her. "can't wait to the rest of my EP. i'm thinking 'ladies room,' 'elevator', 'jacuzzi', 'balcony.'"

[orumad]

littler than you. but max thinks maybe she's had enough, maybe give her a break. not everything has to be some punchy little comeback, right? brows furrow at her question, does his best to quickly unravel what the fuck she means by that, as if he's supposed to validate the legitimacy of his relationship by holding it up against her's, which... how the hell is he supposed to know what jude and jenny's dynamic was like beyond brutally edited bedroom fights and gratuitous makeout sessions by the fire pit? though she retracts the question, max can't resist a punchy little comeback. "unless your thing with jude was as fake as they say. it did end pretty quick." even by love island standards. more than anything, this is a garden variety diversion tactic. despite confirming in a roundabout way that it was a real, certified relationship, he really isn't jumping out of his skin to talk mimi with jenny. very lose-lose.

eyes go slack and unamused, tsking her gently. "bullshit. show me your spotify right now." the dare begets a big, self-satisfied grin. his hand unceremoniously dives into her purse, not with any true intent to fish out her phone, but more to jolt a little fear in her. there's simply no way jenny would spend months trying to get ahold of him and not look up his band, he knows that much about her. once the bit's been fully satisfied, and still snickering, max relents his drink to her with a begrudged huff. "pretty sure i told you i was a giver way back when." that's not exactly what he'd said. "just sip it," he instructs her with a measure of humored impatience. "take it slow."

all pretense of smugness drops as she hits him with the trifecta: an immediate scoff, the signature eye roll and a half-baked clap back that she instantly: "naomi isn't even little," as involuntary as tapping her knee and watching it jump. and she isn't! what's jenny, an inch taller maybe? it's flashbacks to towering over all the boys well into high school and to naomi always coming out just slightly ahead and to jude hoisting adela up in the air because golly gee, isn't she just so cute and small and augh. jude, whom he's bringing up before she can even recover from the first jab, a power combo that has her grinding her teeth and clenching a fistful of acrylics down into her palm. touché. no 'cheers' for him then as she hides behind a sip of her drink. then another. "so you're saying your thing with mimi was comparable to me and jude." it isn't technically 'a question', but she expects an answer, shifting back so she can wield those doe eyes like a weapon. but it's max she's looking at, and any vulnerability that might slip out would be demanded back of her two-fold. case in point, this. the wresting back of his control, and at her expense. how original. she holds a hand up then, an urgent stop to whatever he might've been about to say. "actually, you're right. let's not." that's what he was getting at, right? do you really wanna go there? she's not happy to give him his like, fiftieth win in the span of just minutes, but it's easier than unpacking a relationship she hasn't even let herself think about.

it's hard to get her head back in the game after that, but their conversations have always gone like this. the quippy back and forth, the equal parts flirting and roasting, the palpable sexual tension, but all of it kind of feeling like the tip of the iceberg—the one that sank the titanic, probably. like they're dancing on the surface while something dangerous and inevitable plays out just below. it's the mindfuck of it all, the having a conversation about one thing but meaning something else entirely, the layers, the references, the nuances of expression or shift in intonation that can flip them from somewhere flippant and easy to somewhere raw and terrifying. or in this case, from taunting each other about exes to how good he apparently licks. not that she would know, of course. couldn't waste that much hot water. she wonders if mimi knows, her lip curling in disgust the minute the thought lands. of course she does. how annoying... "do i?" is all she says at first, gaze slinking over. she saw a tiktok recently of some influencer telling everyone that if you're silent for four seconds, the person you're talking to will experience rejection and will move to fill it themselves. or something. she scrolled past before it'd fully wrapped up. would that work on him or did he know that trick already—she wouldn't put it past him to read up on all the trendy mind games. still, she blinks at him slowly, lips curling slightly as she makes a move for his drink instead, a brow lifted in question. then declares her experiment null and void by filling her own silence. "wouldn't know, babe. i've never seen you perform." either kind of lick. a smirk. "and would you look at that, i've never had an old fashioned either. feeling generous?"

[orumad]

"oh, she really read more naomi to me." the first swing. he follows it with a quick two-punch. "whatever happened with jude, by the way?" where jenny conceals her bitterness in a thick veneer of smiley overcompensation, max keeps his loaded with priggish disinterest. his face is too blank, tone too even. unreadable in a probably obvious way and does she seriously wanna talk about this? exes? now? he almost puts her hand back on his dick by way of diversion. who's easily distracted now?

he doesn't. doesn't bother rounding up any other orders either, too lazy to pretend to care about them any further. "yeah, glad he's got something goin' for him," max mutters with a cursory glance toward the stage. fair to say no one's here for his talent. the correction is met with a bit of a roll of his eyes, nodding at the bartender -- of course, how inane of me. god, and back to the guitarist. irritation whiplash. "yeah, it's like if coke were sentient." a decided side step of her trap. max takes this far too seriously. "jesus, look at him, he --," eyes trip on jenny, her round gaze full of the band. he purses his lips with hammed up jealousy, fingers on her chin jerking her attention off them. "'kay, stop looking. listen. even if their levels were right, he's fuckin' lost in the track. boy doesn't know how to lick." go ahead, jenny, take the bait. there's a smirk around the rim of his fresh drink, rife with innuendo and implication when he tacks on, "you know i'm better."

"bold statement to make while my hand's on your dick." and she doesn't waste a second, running out the clock with her tongue poked out in concentration, grinding her palm down against him. she even manages a squeeze, albeit a weak one, interrupted by his own hand, this time guiding her away. couldn't even make him out through his pants. "buzzkill," she mutters as he weaves his arm up over her shoulders, trapping her against his side. it's almost enough to distract her from the comment itself. "i can introduce you to nikhita if you want. the mimi knock-off you're talking about, right? the one that looks like mimi?" she raises her voice each time she says her name, as if there are other people from the villa around to hear them. that's what he was getting at, right? the final boss of the little brunettes? "whatever happened with that, by the way?" her head tilts to one side, a cool smile plastering over the gnawing jealousy. mimi once accused jenny of grafting every guy she'd been interested in. it doesn't feel that far-fetched to think their entire fling had been a revenge plot against her. did they even have chemistry? the thought makes her stomach twist. yeah, they probably did.

"how would i know?" she asks sharply. "go ask them." her elbows smack against the bar, body spilling onto it as she leans forward, eager to flag down a bartender. she needs a fucking drink. "they'd probably be all about it. seems like they have a thing for musicians," judging by the way they're gathered front and center, leering up at the stage, but the observation is less of an offhand comment and more of a windup. "but can you blame them? the guitarist is so hot." only once she's secured them a server does she let her eyes snap to his, boring into him as he rattles off their orders, a smirk fixing on her lips. "tequila soda," she corrects without looking away. "you know, they covered a van halen song before—" not that she'd ever heard it before, she just knows because they said it, "—and it was literally so good." her head tilts, considering. "i actually don't think i've ever seen fingers move so fast," a quick glance over to the band. "hard not to get ideas." go on, max. take the bait. take the bait.

[orumad]

"bet," smiling, agreeing. all their words mean the opposite things. it's like an in-joke or, more precisely, reasonable doubt. do it again. is that even an option... and what's it cost? the tense air isn't sliced so much as neglected for something less base, more real. wouldn't fucking be so much easier than this heart to heart, he wants to ask her. "iknowiknowiknow," max insists somewhere between the lines of her explanation. and he does know, he gets it. it was part of the reason he found himself compelled to her and frankie, the blondes void of a filter. themselves to the point of self-destruction. jenny maybe even moreso, and he acknowledges as much with a smug sidelong smirk. she really did spiral there at the end and max wonders what his presence might have done to quell that, or potentially worsen it. for some reason, he thinks she would've been better off with him.

"little bit," he confesses, shrug of his shoulder daring her to blame him. then he shoots her another glance. "but i can mean all that shit and be pissed. look -- you're gonna have to let that shit go, the ghosting thing, okay? obviously not responding to some of your messages didn't really change anything." the motion between them, here, in a jersey casino, is meant to indicate his meaning. they still end up together trading quips and barbs, no matter his intention. "neither of us can be mad forever." even a dirty little grudge-holder like maxwell braddy.

now this explanation resonates all the more with him. i just wanted to. exactly. he nods, concurring. granted, he'd had a whole lot less to lose. "it's pretty fucking crazy," max laughs a little, can't help but grant her that. they'd never really gotten a chance to confer, post-shower. post-game wrap-up, really. "blew my mind a little bit. like, i knew you were a fucking nut, but...," tongue clicks against his front teeth, "i was ready to start ignoring you right then and there, then -- bam. you're bare naked giving me shit attitude in the shower."

where: atlantic city, nj who: jenny & max

her heels snag as smooth marble floors give way to the gaudy carpeting of the casino, a cigarette already lit and dangling from her lips. she tromps over to a slot machine—one that isn't in the smoking section, as a security guard not-so-kindly points out, but her phone is already pressed to her ear. "are you kidding?" her eyes roll, a bony arm flinging out toward the machines not two feet away, safely ensconced within the smoking zone as if the smoke can tell the difference. "literally, how does it matter?" she groans, popping the cig back between her lips with an antagonizing flick of her brows and plugging her ear in anticipation of the familiar answering machine. @orumad

[orumad]

despite jenny's insistence that he's largely removed her from his reality, that he can presumably only see her form as a glowing outline where he'd cut out her memory, max isn't immune to the modern torture device that is social media. he's aware that she left the villa hand-in-hand with jude and floated across the pond to his dreary fucking countryside and it was the cross-platform clip of the couple tik tok-dancing to doja cat that drove his finger to the mute button. it doesn't feel like jealousy (he'd die before filming and posting a fucking tiktok), and, to be fair, he'd muted naomi, too, but... there's no denying that jude is a topic he's not keen to touch. even if they're split like the grapevine's been telling him, max is far less willing to deconstruct her rebound to jude and, more specifically, her subsequent rebound back to him. it makes all her digital bids for his attention much harder to roast, like it'll reveal something about him, too.

by the way her features lift and arch, he's afraid she's on the verge of guessing as much. but luckily instead she diverts, brings them into a corner that instantly feels too private and there's no reality where he finishes his thought about jude, especially when she's that eager. "maybe i did get what i wanted out of you," he taunts in a way that's obviously a joke, especially by the ridiculous smirk on his mouth. more than anything, he just wanted to parrot the sentiment and feel the drama of it. as a sigh racks through him, one palm goes flat against the wall. leans heavy against it. "no i fucking didn't, cohen, that's so over the top. you know, i walked off that set on my own. they took deranged dijon to... i dunno, wherever the hell, then it was just me. after you voted me out, after all your crocodile tears and the saving face." a pause, he nods closer, briefly serious. "that shit's real life, too."

max flattens his shoulder against the hallway wall, rolls to his back. "and i watched the rest," he confesses, though he's sure jenny's aware. she's probably long since scoured his tweets for his commentary. the back of his head is leaned back against the plaster, he cants it to the side to look at her, corner of his mouth flexing up. "saw you crying over josh. like, realizing he was just gonna drop you for her anyway." see, he can keep naomi's name an expletive. "it was all gonna work out the same, no matter what." but the them of it all made for an extra twist for style, wholly unnecessary to the overarching plot though jenny had had no way of knowing that then. he still doesn't really understand it. with a more laser attention on her, he dares her, "why'd you hook up with me at all?"

where: atlantic city, nj who: jenny & max

her heels snag as smooth marble floors give way to the gaudy carpeting of the casino, a cigarette already lit and dangling from her lips. she tromps over to a slot machine—one that isn't in the smoking section, as a security guard not-so-kindly points out, but her phone is already pressed to her ear. "are you kidding?" her eyes roll, a bony arm flinging out toward the machines not two feet away, safely ensconced within the smoking zone as if the smoke can tell the difference. "literally, how does it matter?" she groans, popping the cig back between her lips with an antagonizing flick of her brows and plugging her ear in anticipation of the familiar answering machine. @orumad

[orumad]

"-- it'd help," max deadpans. she makes it effortless for him to be so collected while she's spinning so spectacularly out of control. it almost makes his humor go all soft and gooey, jenny adeptly pointing out how she's the sole victim of his cold shoulder, but refusing to acknowledge that, yes, she's the only one he's bothered to actively ignore. he'd been prepared for smugness, not genuine hurt.

all sympathy flies clean out the window as she stacks up all his own penalties which, far as he's concerned, still have her pink bedazzled name all over them. "yeah, i'm so fucking sure you thought you'd skip out of there and i'd be waiting to kiss and make up." puff of breath rips through his lips, condescending. brow furrows over narrowed eyes, mouth fixing into a scowl. "you're fucking --," too loud. he leans closer and brings it down a notch. "as if anybody expected you to be queen monogamy. josh could smell it before it even happened... didn't tell him it was raw though, figured i'd leave that up to you," a flash of a mean smile with that. now back to that cigarette. once it's procured, he goes about lighting it up. "like, excuse me very fucking much for not feeling very reunion-y. y'know -- even if you didn't sell me out for josh - fucking hot head insecure josh - you were always just gonna find some sap ass replacement." the jude of it all. he hardly wants to touch it. max takes a long drag, shrugging. "so, yeah, i said fuck it. nah, seriously, would you call me back if i kicked you off just 'cause naomi told me to? hell fucking no."

where: atlantic city, nj who: jenny & max

her heels snag as smooth marble floors give way to the gaudy carpeting of the casino, a cigarette already lit and dangling from her lips. she tromps over to a slot machine—one that isn't in the smoking section, as a security guard not-so-kindly points out, but her phone is already pressed to her ear. "are you kidding?" her eyes roll, a bony arm flinging out toward the machines not two feet away, safely ensconced within the smoking zone as if the smoke can tell the difference. "literally, how does it matter?" she groans, popping the cig back between her lips with an antagonizing flick of her brows and plugging her ear in anticipation of the familiar answering machine. @orumad

[orumad]

"je-su --," max dramatizes his shock at her outburst, as if it isn't characteristically jenny to overreact. he works to wrangle her flailing arms with a "chillchillchill" and helps to fold them over her chest like a madwoman headed straight for the padded room, but does her one better when he forces her back into her cushioned casino seat.

"maybe if i knew you were so desperate i woulda answered. swear i thought i heard a please back there...," another jerk of his thumb over his shoulder, back to her voicemail, pre-jenny malfunction. he's scathing, but playful. big, salacious grin like her begging would change everything. shit, it probably would.

"just lucky i guess," he relents a bit, sardonic and grabbing the point of her chin. all the other million questions... yeah, he'd rather skate past those, hopes some touch might distract from, if not ease, a little tension. but the way he keens her chin up a bit in demand of eye contact feels a little counter productive. "i didn't think you'd actually fuckin' be around here, i --," had every intention of continuing to ghost you. he scoffs a laugh. "whatever, like -- you wanna fight about it?"

where: atlantic city, nj who: jenny & max

her heels snag as smooth marble floors give way to the gaudy carpeting of the casino, a cigarette already lit and dangling from her lips. she tromps over to a slot machine—one that isn't in the smoking section, as a security guard not-so-kindly points out, but her phone is already pressed to her ear. "are you kidding?" her eyes roll, a bony arm flinging out toward the machines not two feet away, safely ensconced within the smoking zone as if the smoke can tell the difference. "literally, how does it matter?" she groans, popping the cig back between her lips with an antagonizing flick of her brows and plugging her ear in anticipation of the familiar answering machine. @orumad

[orumad]

what a piece of work. max snickers as she rattles off all their love island peers, impressed and flattered that she's so thoroughly done her homework. finger pushes thoughtlessly on the big, green button as he loses all his money with each of her halted accusations. her voice falls and he finds himself leaning into the gap to snag every word. no! he shouts in the fantasy. we can't talk! you totally fucked me over!

crash cut to reality and max is swallowing his drink, ice and all. now we're getting somewhere, he thinks while she seems to flirt with the idea of begging. the whiskey defies gravity and flies straight to his head while he stands to angle himself at the corner of the row, nurses his eternal cigarette.

"well, i tried not to," he announces himself with a rare truth. "your voice is just -- invasive." thoroughly un-ignorable, as ever. despite the less-than-complimentary sentiment, max is smirking easily as he leans himself up along the edge of her machine. "did you really go asking every single cast member what i been doing? what, i owe you money?" quip, quip, quip. nice and arms length. there's half a pause while he takes a drag which he seems to stop midway through just to make sure he can get a last jab in there. arguably the most important one of all. "-- thought you vaped now."

where: atlantic city, nj who: jenny & max

her heels snag as smooth marble floors give way to the gaudy carpeting of the casino, a cigarette already lit and dangling from her lips. she tromps over to a slot machine—one that isn't in the smoking section, as a security guard not-so-kindly points out, but her phone is already pressed to her ear. "are you kidding?" her eyes roll, a bony arm flinging out toward the machines not two feet away, safely ensconced within the smoking zone as if the smoke can tell the difference. "literally, how does it matter?" she groans, popping the cig back between her lips with an antagonizing flick of her brows and plugging her ear in anticipation of the familiar answering machine. @orumad

[orumad]

"i'm not testing you, jesus," max denies with a passive laugh, like it's ridiculous for her to even consider as much. like a test in itself. it's simple principle for him to contest pretty much everything jenny says just for sheer love of the game, but he'd argue that, save for their pedantic subtext (which max would classify as flirting), he hasn't even begun to test her. this is only the research stage, observing and listening and touching. max imagines the real games start once they've exhausted themselves of this. once they start saying things that matter, that draw lines and prove theories. maybe that's why he's taking his sweet time with her now.

"oh, should i have just fucking -- bent you over the penny machine? right in the middle of your angsty little voicemail?" god, and that might be a test. at least a little push. don't think i forgot. he tries to gather enough reality to perceive how long ago that was... it couldn't have been just an hour... it truly is all in good fun though, everything easy and relaxed in the glow of pre-sex pillow talk. pillow spar, as the case may be. "no, i bet you woulda liked that, huh? crazy fucking --," his smirking mouth is crushed against her lips in a kiss that throws him a little off center. he's not listening to her calling his bluff, humming absently in response as he lets her trade spots with him. "yeah?" hands bury themselves under the knees she's got planted on either side of him, pulls at the bends in her legs to jerk her all the way up his chest. "lemme know what it feels like from right here." they're murmured words from between her thighs now that he's relocated her to sit square on his face. he's tongue, then teeth. hums vibrate against her clit, only partly chuckling at his promptness in beating the dj khaled allegations. blue eyes lift to her face and his hand swiftly follows, reaches over her chin to hook his fingers over her lower teeth. maybe then she won't indulge the (reasonable, relatable) impulse to say something out of pocket.

you're overthinking. "i know, i just said that," she grumbles, a brief clash of hands, batting him away from her face then trapping him there instead, a breathy kiss to his palm before dragging his touch down her throat. can he feel her pulse hammering under his fingers? or against his lips where he kisses and nips along her neck? or maybe it's lost to the soft vibration of her moaning, the tight line of her mouth doing nothing to stop the low noises when they're pulling from somewhere way deeper. it shouldn't feel this intense—he's kissing her neck not eating her out, but her body is wired, pulled taut and thrumming with jittery energy she can't really decipher between nervous or excited. it heightens every touch until even the mattress against her back sends goosebumps rippling across her skin, tickling the backs of her arms and legs as she lay back, gazing up at him.

his attempt at soothing her shouldn't work, the same way being told to relax has never actually had the desired effect. don't stress it. sure, why didn't she just think of that. and yet... something restless in her seems to settle, the hand on her chest grounding her back in her body like a weighted blanket. it doesn't really matter that she's on display for him, bare from the waist down, painting a pretty clear picture of his motivations; she's hardly the fair maiden in this story—doesn't need to be manipulated into spreading her legs when she wants this just as bad if not more-so. so what the fuck is she doing? a breath she must've been holding skitters out of her in a half-dazed laugh as she props herself up on her elbows, the brazenness in her pose contrasting hilariously with a bashful smirk she tries to angle away from him. "so what if i did?" she relents, mustering up the defiance to look him in the eye, chin jutting high, legs swinging where they dangle over the edge of the bed. "huh?" she uses one to hook around him, dragging him in close. "as if you're not testing me too."

her eyes are adjusting to the dark now, as if finally blinking free of the blindspot from a camera flash. the neon lights of the city filter through the floor to ceiling windows casting the room in a soft glow, clinging to the contours of max's body and illuminating the exact paths she'd like to trace with her tongue. now that she can see him, she refuses to tear her eyes away for even the second it'd take to roll them at his comment. "like, no wonder i'm so in my head—you're such a fucking tease, going all slow like this. god, we could've gone like, five rounds by now if last time is anything to go off." her amusement shows before the words are fully out, brows lifting high as her legs tighten around him like a cobra. she suspects she doesn't wear smugness quite as seamless as he does, but she basks in the illusion of the upper hand anyway. and it feels great for the solid two seconds before he starts in on her thighs, taunting and teasing and achingly slow. "it might be," she manages with a gaze that flip flops between his hands and his eyes, hips twitching toward his fingers, "since you're so hellbent on not giving me what i want." her head tips back, heaving a sigh. "so annoying..." and then she's pushing herself up, a fistful of his messy hair in lieu of a shirt to grab knots through her fingers to haul his mouth down onto hers. maybe this is her punishment—having to take things into her own hands, but he's driven her to the brink and it's not exactly begrudging that she presses her lips against his, hungry and breathless and with the same delicious urgency as the shower. all the fantasies about his fingers and she'd almost forgotten he's got a mouth on him for more than quippy one liners and cracking wise. "oh, alcohol?" she teases, capturing his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging. "alcohol's what you need right now?" a sudden shift in momentum to shove him around until she's on top (how fitting) and she can grind herself down onto the seam of his pants. "'cause that's not what it feels like from up here."