(So. I saw Welcome to the Punch and made a loud screechy noise, and then almost fell off my chair, and then wrote this quite speedily. It doesn't actually contain any sex, because I ended up getting carried away with their gloriously dysfunctional mess of a relationship. << I might come back and write sex, though! Because THESE TWO! AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP! AND THAT FILM!)
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I Wish My Enemy a Placid Love (Welcome to the Punch, Jacob Sternwood/Max Lewinsky, Guilt/shame, 15) 1/3
The first time that they properly sleep with each other, in a bed with the doors locked and their clothes littered across the floor, Max sprawls for only a moment after the act is done and then rolls away so fast that it almost gives him whiplash. Hits the floor with a dull thump and crawls towards the bathroom at a speed that’d put a cheetah to shame.
He lies on his back for a stunned few seconds afterwards, his hand resting on his stomach and his eyes tracing slowly over the cracked ceiling.
He frowns, as slowly as possible with his fingernails starting to dig in just the slightest bit.
He blinks…
And then he clambers to his feet, at a far more reasonable speed. Pads nakedly to the bathroom with a certain hope that Max hasn’t managed to worm himself out of the small window and down to the hard street below, because losing such an unexpected prize just after gaining it would be most unfortunate.
Max, thankfully, has done nothing of the sort. Max is, though, currently coiled besides the toilet with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking.
He watches for a moment, carefully, and then takes one slow step forwards. Takes another step when Max only gives a soft whimper in reply. Is soon all the way across the room and crouching down besides him, hesitating for a long few seconds before slowly reaching out a hand and brushing it over the man’s ever so thick hair “…Hello?”
“Ugh,” the noise that he receives in response really can’t be put into words. It is half-screech, half-moan and all uncertain in a way so profound that it almost makes him doubt his own existence. The only response to it can be to blink again, and settle a little deeper into the crouch with the knowledge that such a noise heralds a long and puzzling wait “…We shouldn’t be doing this.”
…Or a short and puzzling wait. Either way.
“Sitting in a bathroom and having what could be tentatively termed as a collective mental breakdown?” He manages mildly, stroking Max’s hair again for the lack of anything better to do – it’s soft under his fingertips, just as thick as he secretly used to imagine on the nights when he was overtired and the lights danced temptingly above, “Or… Other things? You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Well, the collective mental breakdown probably isn’t the best idea, but…” Max chokes, breathes through his nose, chokes again. He’s half considering a slap on the back when the man finally manages to gather his breath and forge boldly on, “we shouldn’t be doing this.”
Still a little worried, he allows his already reaching hand to continue stretching towards Max’s bare shoulder for a long few moments before answering “…I may need some more specifications, I’m afraid.”
“And I thought you were smart,” the choke is a little softer this time, but still far too clear – he hesitates for another long few seconds before touching Max’s shoulder, stroking it ever so gently, “we just slept together, Sternwood. You and me. Five minutes ago. We’re still naked from it now, you’re crouching before me with hickeys all over your neck.”
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I Wish My Enemy a Placid Love (Welcome to the Punch, Jacob Sternwood/Max Lewinsky, Guilt/shame, 15) 1/3
The first time that they properly sleep with each other, in a bed with the doors locked and their clothes littered across the floor, Max sprawls for only a moment after the act is done and then rolls away so fast that it almost gives him whiplash. Hits the floor with a dull thump and crawls towards the bathroom at a speed that’d put a cheetah to shame.
He lies on his back for a stunned few seconds afterwards, his hand resting on his stomach and his eyes tracing slowly over the cracked ceiling.
He frowns, as slowly as possible with his fingernails starting to dig in just the slightest bit.
He blinks…
And then he clambers to his feet, at a far more reasonable speed. Pads nakedly to the bathroom with a certain hope that Max hasn’t managed to worm himself out of the small window and down to the hard street below, because losing such an unexpected prize just after gaining it would be most unfortunate.
Max, thankfully, has done nothing of the sort. Max is, though, currently coiled besides the toilet with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking.
He watches for a moment, carefully, and then takes one slow step forwards. Takes another step when Max only gives a soft whimper in reply. Is soon all the way across the room and crouching down besides him, hesitating for a long few seconds before slowly reaching out a hand and brushing it over the man’s ever so thick hair “…Hello?”
“Ugh,” the noise that he receives in response really can’t be put into words. It is half-screech, half-moan and all uncertain in a way so profound that it almost makes him doubt his own existence. The only response to it can be to blink again, and settle a little deeper into the crouch with the knowledge that such a noise heralds a long and puzzling wait “…We shouldn’t be doing this.”
…Or a short and puzzling wait. Either way.
“Sitting in a bathroom and having what could be tentatively termed as a collective mental breakdown?” He manages mildly, stroking Max’s hair again for the lack of anything better to do – it’s soft under his fingertips, just as thick as he secretly used to imagine on the nights when he was overtired and the lights danced temptingly above, “Or… Other things? You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Well, the collective mental breakdown probably isn’t the best idea, but…” Max chokes, breathes through his nose, chokes again. He’s half considering a slap on the back when the man finally manages to gather his breath and forge boldly on, “we shouldn’t be doing this.”
Still a little worried, he allows his already reaching hand to continue stretching towards Max’s bare shoulder for a long few moments before answering “…I may need some more specifications, I’m afraid.”
“And I thought you were smart,” the choke is a little softer this time, but still far too clear – he hesitates for another long few seconds before touching Max’s shoulder, stroking it ever so gently, “we just slept together, Sternwood. You and me. Five minutes ago. We’re still naked from it now, you’re crouching before me with hickeys all over your neck.”