I Wish My Enemy a Placid Love (Welcome to the Punch, Jacob Sternwood/Max Lewinsky, Guilt/shame, 15) 2/4
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…So that’s what’s stinging. He moves the hand on Max’s head briefly away to rub just under his jawline, quickly returns it at yet another shuddering breath, “I hate to remind you of this, especially at this difficult point, but we have had sex before.”
Another shaky breath, he flattens his hand into Max’s hair and keeps stroking as soothingly as he can.
“In the van, and against that wall just after I broke you out, and in the back of that car, and that one time when you just couldn’t wait to get out of the…”
“I remember,” Max says brusquely, and finally lifts his head with blue eyes shining. It really shouldn’t fix him to the spot, but that’s apparently inevitable now – every time he gets the slightest glimpse of Max’s eyes he feels like doing something far from sensible, and that’s something that he really should get used to, “but… Fuck, they weren’t like this. They didn’t involve condoms, they didn’t involve penetration, they didn’t involve the implication of a fucking relationship in any shape or form.”
…He takes a break from his captivation by Max’s eyes to consider that.
Ah.
He carefully avoids Max’s eyes as best he can, while swiftly moving his hands to grab the man’s wrists and keep his face free for as long as possible, “I’m slightly worried about your definition of a relationship if you don’t consider some of the things that we’ve done to be signifiers of one.”
Max only glares at him, sullenly, “Sternwood.”
“…But I do understand what you mean,” and he has to admit that, with Max glaring up at him and Max’s wrists bony in his grip and Max so near that he’s pretty sure that any lesser man would be intoxicated, “I suppose, now that we’ve actually slept together like normal people generally do, that we could be considered to be dating.”
And… yes, oh yes, that’s the issue. Max freezes under him, then relaxes to something still, and then stiffens again when he slowly glances down. His expression is that of a rat caught in a cage, flitting between the extremes. He can’t work out what the man’s face is saying – there’s anger in there, yes, and some slight residual pain from the leg. But there’s also fear and confusion and a trembling fragment of hope and-
“…And is that so bad?” Comes out of his mouth before he can quite stop it, tugged viciously forth by the rough storm of emotion that seems to be working its way through Max beneath him, “us dating?”
“Sternwood-“
“I can think of far worse things in the world, I have to say.”
no subject
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…So that’s what’s stinging. He moves the hand on Max’s head briefly away to rub just under his jawline, quickly returns it at yet another shuddering breath, “I hate to remind you of this, especially at this difficult point, but we have had sex before.”
Another shaky breath, he flattens his hand into Max’s hair and keeps stroking as soothingly as he can.
“In the van, and against that wall just after I broke you out, and in the back of that car, and that one time when you just couldn’t wait to get out of the…”
“I remember,” Max says brusquely, and finally lifts his head with blue eyes shining. It really shouldn’t fix him to the spot, but that’s apparently inevitable now – every time he gets the slightest glimpse of Max’s eyes he feels like doing something far from sensible, and that’s something that he really should get used to, “but… Fuck, they weren’t like this. They didn’t involve condoms, they didn’t involve penetration, they didn’t involve the implication of a fucking relationship in any shape or form.”
…He takes a break from his captivation by Max’s eyes to consider that.
Ah.
He carefully avoids Max’s eyes as best he can, while swiftly moving his hands to grab the man’s wrists and keep his face free for as long as possible, “I’m slightly worried about your definition of a relationship if you don’t consider some of the things that we’ve done to be signifiers of one.”
Max only glares at him, sullenly, “Sternwood.”
“…But I do understand what you mean,” and he has to admit that, with Max glaring up at him and Max’s wrists bony in his grip and Max so near that he’s pretty sure that any lesser man would be intoxicated, “I suppose, now that we’ve actually slept together like normal people generally do, that we could be considered to be dating.”
And… yes, oh yes, that’s the issue. Max freezes under him, then relaxes to something still, and then stiffens again when he slowly glances down. His expression is that of a rat caught in a cage, flitting between the extremes. He can’t work out what the man’s face is saying – there’s anger in there, yes, and some slight residual pain from the leg. But there’s also fear and confusion and a trembling fragment of hope and-
“…And is that so bad?” Comes out of his mouth before he can quite stop it, tugged viciously forth by the rough storm of emotion that seems to be working its way through Max beneath him, “us dating?”
“Sternwood-“
“I can think of far worse things in the world, I have to say.”