Work Header

hurricane i'll never outrun

Work Text:

Marc thinks that the last thing he should expect when he opens the door is Max Talbot standing on his doorstep, arms folded defiantly across his chest, but he's wrong. There's no surprise, not really, just an immense sense of relief and a bit of confusion.

"Max?" Max looks up, startled, like he didn't think Marc was going to answer the door, arms tightening around his chest.

"Let me in?" and that's so Max, really, not a 'hello', not a 'how are you?' -- Marc is surprised that Max even asked, but then again, things have changed a bit, and Marc runs his fingers through his hair before he steps aside, opening the door wider.

Max hovers in the doorway, peculiar expression on his face, one foot in the house and one foot out and Marc very nearly grabs Max's arm and pulls him in before he stops himself. Instead, Marc curls his fingers around the doorknob, eyebrow hitching on his forehead pointedly, and just like that, Max snorts and smacks Marc in the stomach when he walks by.

"About time you let me in, Flower," with a pointed look, and Marc rolls his eyes, shutting the door behind Max to lean against it. Max is gazing around the house like he's never seen it before, even though little has changed since the last time he was there.

It makes Marc feel weird.

"Hush, Max, you were out there for what, a minute at the most?" and Marc laughs, except something flashes over Max's face and the way he glances away causes warning bells to blare in Marc's head.

But then Max looks up, teasing grin stretched across his face, and Marc relaxes, stifling the anxiety that suddenly flared up when he steps forward, one stride taking him practically into Max's personal space, and he inwardly smiles when Max doesn't back away.

"It would have been a shorter time if you walked faster."

Marc takes pleasure in the way Max has to look up to see him, and he tucks one hand in the pocket of his jeans, shrugging nonchalantly.

"If I knew it was you, I would have walked faster," he says, fully aware of what he's just said but it's open to interpretation; the way Max tenses, so close that Marc can see the shifting of his skin under his jacket, says it all.

And Max doesn't move away, which says something else. He doesn't answer either, just smirks at Marc even when Marc raises an eyebrow at him, and then actually shuffles closer, the fabric of their sweatshirts brushing at the movement.

Something like anticipation is sparking in the air between them, slipping under Marc's skin and making goosebumps pop like he's cold, even though he has no clue what he's anticipating.

Max looks no better, practically fidgeting, eyes wide and dark, eyelashes fluttering when he exhales a curse on a breath and then reaches up suddenly -- or is it? -- and Marc knows what's coming but he still gasps when Max kisses him, a gentle press of lips that nevertheless has heat shooting up his spine.

Marc stands shock still for a few second, so long that Max pulls away, an apology nearly falling off his lips before Marc's fingers curl around Max's hip to tug him back in, initiating the kiss this time by ducking his head and sliding his free hand around the back of Max's neck.

A knot that Marc hadn't even been aware of loosens in his chest when he feels Max's fingers tangle in his hair, something Max used to do before he- well, before, and Max drags his teeth over Marc's bottom lip.

"Flower," and it's tinged with breathless laughter even Marc parts his lips and slips his fingers underneath the hem of Max's jacket to splay on warm skin, causing Max to moan.

They stand in the foyer kissing for Marc doesn't know how long, until his eyes are bright and Max's cheeks are flushed and he's practically melted into Marc, fingers laced together in Marc's hair. He makes a low noise of disappointment when Marc pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together, a gesture made so much more intimate with the absence of their helmets and masks, and Marc can't help but press in for another soft kiss.

"Max." Marc's voice is low, bordering nearly on a murmur, and it coaxes another soft noise out of Max before the shorter man opens his eyes and leans in for another kiss, Marc's fingers splayed warm and possessive on Max's lower back.

Marc makes a noise, moving to pull back again until Max sighs and tightens his fingers in Marc's hair with dark eyes and a whisper of, "Non, Flower," and Marc has never been able to resist that tone of voice, especially not with the way Max is licking into his mouth and biting at his lower lip.

Marc's eyelids flutter shut, and Max can't help but grin when he sees the way Marc gives into this, into the kiss and the hands in his hair and warm body pressed against his and into Max.

But Marc's shoulders are beginning to hurt from being hunched over -- Max isn't that much shorter than him, but it's enough -- and he pulls away from the kiss again, far enough away that Max can't reach him without practically jumping.

"Max," he says again, firmer, even though his eyes are alight with amusement and he's still holding onto Max, tracing absent patterns on the skin.

Max very nearly pouts, although he'll deny it if anyone asks, and instead presses up to nip softly at the curve of Marc's neck.


Instead of answering, Marc slides his palm over Max's and laces their fingers together, ignoring the wounded look Max shoots him when that's the only part of their bodies touching and Marc leads them into the living room.

Marc sits on the couch, the couch that Max wishes was his because it's soft and big and the place where him and Marc used to spend hours on end eating pizza and playing video games; very appropriate that this is where Marc would take them. Marc wraps his arms around Max's waist and pulls him in until Max is sprawled across Marc's chest and Marc's fingers are laced together over Max's stomach.

They sit in silence for a moment, the only sound being the scratch of their jeans as Max shifts until he's comfortable on Marc, tipping his head back to rest of Marc's shoulder when he looks up at Marc.

"So," Max starts when it looks like Marc isn't going to say anything, but he's cut off before he can finish.


Marc doesn't sound angry, which is Max's hint that he shouldn't run away the way his first instinct tells him to. And Marc nudges his nose against Max's cheek until Max slides down Marc's chest and he feels Marc's chin rest on top of his head.

"Why what?"

Max feels the shifting of Marc's shoulders when Marc shrugs, and he purses his lips together.

"You tell me, Maxime."

Max huffs, twisting so that he's practically on his side and he can press his forehead against the side of Marc's neck, Marc's hand shifting so that it's trailing absently up and down the curve of Max's side.

"Because I wanted to."

"Oh?" and Max nods, burrowing deeper into the crook between Marc's shoulder and neck, hand pressing against Marc's chest and catching the fabric of Marc's jacket in between his fingers when they clench.


It's not a real answer, not even close, especially when Max doesn't even know what the question was, but Marc seems to accept it for what it's worth, because there's a hand burying itself in Max's short hair and tugging his head up. Marc is so close that when Max opens his mouth to ask -- ask what, he doesn't know -- their lips brush, and Max's eyelids slide to half closed.

"Okay," Max hears, feeling the exhale of warm breath with the word, and that's not really an answer either but it's good enough for him, and he nods.