Chapter Text
Even though he logically knows that things are better now, Charles finds it difficult to convince himself that they actually are. They did the touches, they did the kisses, they said the I love yous. Sleeping in the same bed every night, Max reaches out to him like clockwork the moment they’re both under the covers, fingers soft and reassuring on Charles’ wrist. By all accounts, it should be enough.
It isn’t.
Each morning, Charles wakes up feeling heavy, like his cells haven’t registered yet that the difficult season is over. Each morning, he takes stock of himself, wondering why he feels this way, has he pulled a muscle, lost a race, cried himself to sleep? And the answer is always no, none of those things happened. It’s just that he’s been terrified and anxious for enough weeks that his body simply expects it to continue being like that, expects eggshells and frozen lakes. Reaching into the potful of dread that still lingers in the corner of Charles’ soul, it pulls up more worry and more uncertainty.
It takes Max a week to bring it up as they’re returning from a supermarket. He’s been more observant, almost like he’s trying to keep himself aware of everything he does and every reaction Charles gives.
“What can I do?” Max says instead of trying for a soft start, so Charles returns his frankness.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I’m just scared.”
“That I’ll leave?”
“Yes.”
Charles can see how much it hurts Max to hear it, his face contorting all out of shape. Charles never wants to hurt him, much like Max said he never wanted to hurt Charles, but Charles needs. He’s not sure what, but he needs something, and being sincere with Max is his best shot.
“Do I say it more, that I’ll stay?” Max tries, reaching for his hand. “Do I touch more, bring you things, spend more time with you?”
“I genuinely don’t know, darling.” Sighing, Charles steps back, dragging Max along so that he can usher him down on the couch. Charles remains standing, the thumb of his right hand drawing circles into the palm of his left.
“I keep forgetting that you’ve come back,” Charles says, looking down at Max. ”I know you never left, but I was so scared that- that you would, it was essentially the same thing.”
He can’t stand facing Max directly and starts slowly pacing instead, one edge of the carpet to the other.
“I was running on anxiety and adrenaline, and it sometimes feels like I still am. Especially when I wake up, it takes time for me to convince myself that you’re here. Every time I leave the flat, some part of me wonders if you’ll be here when I come back. I wonder if you will come back when you go. I know we can’t stay locked up in here,” Charles says when Max opens his mouth. “I know. But that’s how it feels, and I-”
Choking, Charles stills, in front of Max but with his body angled away.
“I don’t know how to stop it,” he whispers.
Max’s palm lands gently on his waist before Max turns him, guiding him to stand between his legs.
“You’ll tell me off, but I’m sorry.”
Max is staring up at him with bright, bright eyes.
“You’re right, I will,” Charles says quietly.
He doesn’t want apologies. He can tell Max feels guilty but it won’t help either of them to get stuck on apologies. They’re not what Charles needs, he knows that much, and they don’t fix anything.
A little smile plays along Max’s lips, and he leans forward to press a kiss to Charles’ stomach.
“Strict,” he mumbles into the fabric, his hands warm and steady on Charles’ sides. Present. Familiar.
Charles gives into the comfort, lifting one knee to settle outside of Max’s thigh, then the other, and then he’s sat in Max’s lap, arms sneaking behind Max’s back so that he can push closer.
“Oh,” Max whispers, his hands interlocking below Charles’ ass to hoist him up so that he can settle more comfortably.
Max’s hold, too, is warm and steady. Present. Familiar.
“Tell me,” Charles says softly against the thin skin of Max’s throat. “Tell me you won’t leave.”
Max lets his head fall sideways to rest on Charles’ temple. Warm and steady. Present. Familiar.
“I won’t leave,” Max starts. Aside from how his voice resonates through his chest, he’s completely still, just like Charles.
“I will come back. I will be here when you come home. You’ll find me in our bed in the evenings and in the kitchen in the mornings.”
If the world outside keeps running, Charles can’t hear it here where they’re resting against each other.
“I will bring you on more dates. I will get more comfy hoodies for you to steal and complain about it a little even though they look far better on you than on me.”
Snorting quietly, Charles pushes his nose where Max’s blood is rushing in his neck, fast and sure.
“I will cook for you and make you tea. I will come when you call me to eat-” Max’s voice breaks off. “I will come when you call me,” he adds softly, his hands sliding up to Charles’ back to press him in, closer to Max’s chest, closer to his heart.
“I will be home,” he says, his chin resting heavily on the top of Charles’ head. “I will be wherever you are. I love you.”
It doesn’t fix everything, but Charles sleeps a little better that night. As Max keeps holding him, telling him, Charles sleeps a little better every night.
—:—
It’s hard for Max to find a balance between how things were and how things are.
There is Max & Charles as the couple they were for years, that their families and friends expect to turn up for holiday parties and birthdays. Then, there are Max and Charles, separate, with their own hobbies, wishes, and the distance that sprang up between them in the month that Max doesn’t want to think about too hard. And finally, there is Max & Charles, the cautious couple they are now, two people who know each other very well except they are also trying to find new boundaries and routines.
Mostly, Max has figured out how to do day-to-day life. He can manage just fine with housekeeping, cooking, planning dates and trips, and generally existing in the same space. He has found his footing, resting steadily on familiar actions and new additions. With every week that passes, he understands more of what happened within him and grows more confident that he will not fall into the same hole of silence again. If something doesn’t feel right, he’ll confide in Charles.
The sliver of uncertainty that still lingers is the part where they touch.
It’s not that they stay away from each other completely, not at all. There are kisses and cuddles, Charles running his palm down Max’s back when Max gently scratches through his hair. It’s just all very- platonic. Hugs, pecks, held hands.
Almost like they just began dating, they are careful not to let their fingers wander too far.
And just like in a fresh relationship, Max is both apprehensive and so excited. Probably even more intensely than he was when they really first got together because by now, he knows what Charles likes, how to make him feel good, how to make himself feel good. But he’s also unsure, worried that things have perhaps changed in the meantime.
What if he doesn’t compare to the Max he was before all this happened?
Honesty, Max reminds himself firmly and exhales.
“Charles,” he says, fingertips resting gently on Charles’ wrist. It’s his new favourite thing to do when they both slip under the duvets at night. “Do you still want me?”
Charles rests his book against his chest as he turns to Max, pages crinkling.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean- well.” Max pushes his cheek deeper into his pillow. “Do you want me like you wanted me before?”
“I love you, yes?”
“I mean- I mean in bed.”
“Oh.” Surprise flickers over Charles’ face. Closing his book, he lays down on his side, level with Max.
Max softly drums his fingers on Charles’ wrist.
“I suppose yes? I still want to touch you, if that’s what you mean.”
Charles’ warm palm settles on the side of Max’s neck, thumb copying the edge of Max’s jaw.
“Yes, but-” Squeezing his eyes shut, Max huffs. Bluntness, then. “Do you want to have sex with me?”
Charles’ thumb on him stills.
“Do you?” Charles asks quietly.
“Yes. But I’m worried- I’m worried that something’s changed. That, maybe, I can’t be as good to you as I was before. That maybe-” Max swallows. “Maybe you don’t want me like that after what I’ve- not like that, anymore,” he admits softly, his chest tightening. He lets his fingers wrap around Charles’ wrist.
“Darling,” Charles breathes, leaning in to push their foreheads together. “I never stopped wanting you, I promise. I still want you. But I feel the same, I’m just as unsure as you are. I don’t really know how to do this.”
“Do you want to try?”
“Now?”
“Well, we don’t have to,” Max says, leaning back to look Charles in the eye. He’s as lovely as ever, even with the concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows. “But yes? It doesn’t have to be all the way, I just want to- try. Want to touch you.”
Max can see as well as hear Charles gasp, chest rising quickly and stilling.
“We don’t have to,” Max repeats straightaway. “If it’s too much, too soon-”
“I want to,” Charles says, voice trembling like there is too much emotion for him to contain and it’s spilling out. “I want to,” he says again, more calmly, more gently. His hand slides from Max’s neck to his shoulder and down under the duvet to follow the line of Max’s arm.
It’s Max’s turn to gasp, his skin blossoming like flowering tea does in hot water.
“That okay?” Charles asks, stopping when he reaches Max’s hand.
“Yeah. It just… it’s intense.”
“But you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Charles whispers and presses his lips together in resolution before his hold on Max tightens and he brings his hand to rest on the centre of his own chest.
The first thing Max feels is his heartbeat, fast and nervous where it’s hiding below Charles’ ribs and sleeping shirt. Then, the warmth of his body, warmer than Max’s palm. After that, when he gathers the courage to move, it’s the dips and hills of Charles’ muscles, his collar bones, the side of his chest, the naked skin of his hip.
Charles shudders, and Max flicks his eyes up to his face. He looks like he’s in pain.
“Charles-”
“It’s fine, it’s okay, I promise it’s fine,” Charles fires desperately, his hand landing on Max’s waist and dragging him in until he can intertwine his leg with Max’s. It sends a thrill up Max’s nerves, both familiar and new. “Just, you were right,” Charles adds, rubbing soft circles across Max’s hipbone. “The intensity. It feels like so much.”
Drawing his palm up and down Charles’ side, Max waits and watches as Charles slowly settles. His breathing gentles, his features smooth, his eyes find Max’s.
“You’re gorgeous,” Max says. Charles’ whole face lights up when he smiles. Max thinks that his chest might burst open with how much affection is welling up in him; that he might start crying. “So precious, god, I can’t believe I-”
“No, just touch me,” Charles says, his own eyes shimmering when Max grips fast on his waist. “No tears or guilt right now, just touch me, please touch me.”
Max kisses him.
—:—
For a little while during the month, when the pot of dread was at its largest and most imposing, Charles thought he’d never get to have Max like this again. Now that he can - that he has the permission to - he’s powerless to stop himself from running his hands and mouth over any part of Max that Max will allow him.
“Darling,” Charles breathes into the kiss, drawing Max closer, always closer, until they are flush from their ankles to their bellies, and it feels like coming home, feels like the past but dialled up to a hundred.
Leaving Max’s lips, he pushes him flat onto his back to kiss down his throat, feeling the echoes of Max’s whine against his mouth when he brushes the bud of Max’s nipple. “Can I?”
“Yeah, yes,” Max says, squirming underneath him.
Gently, gently, Charles aligns both his hands with Max’s ribs to keep him steady, fingertips pressing below his shoulder blades, and runs his tongue over the tip of it. Gently, gently, he closes his teeth around it.
“Charles,” Max whimpers, trembling in his hold just like he’s always done. The sound rushes through Charles like a waterfall after a storm, and he bucks into Max.
“Come up here,” Charles groans, slipping his arms underneath Max to haul him up. It leaves him sitting between Max’s thighs, legs wrapped around Max’s waist and laps pressed together.
“Charles,” Max says again, one hand coming up to Charles’ shoulder to steady them, the other resting on Charles’ knee. He’s flushed a pretty red, Charles notices, his hair in disarray.
He looks like the best thing Charles has ever had.
Heart beating fast, Charles realises he wants to crush their bodies together until they meld down to their bones and souls. He settles for a kiss. With Max moaning into his mouth, as familiar as the heat of his skin under Charles’ palms, Charles is happy regardless.
“Do we-” Max mumbles, then pulls away to catch his breath properly. “Do you want to-”
“What?”
“How do we do this?” Max finally asks, eyes quickly slipping down between them and back up. “Together? One by one? Do you, well,” Max stops, looking away for a moment. “Do you want to do this?”
Breathing in deep, Charles slows down his thoughts like they are a physical thing, then pulls off his shirt.
“I want to,” he says decisively. ”Do you want to go first?”
“I’m nervous I’ll mess it up,” Max admits quietly.
“So am I,” Charles says, gathering his courage. Then he reaches down to bring Max’s hand to his mouth. He’s telegraphing his movements enough so that Max has a chance to stop him.
When Max doesn’t, Charles presses a kiss to each finger, biting softly at the tip of his pinkie. Max’s cock twitches against his.
“Charles,” he whispers, strained, staring at him with wide eyes.
“You know me better than anyone else on this planet,” Charles says, drawing his nails from Max’s wrist over his palm and up each finger, then threads their hands together, squeezing. “Just go slow.”
Max listens to him. He takes his time running his open palms up Charles’ calves, his thighs, all the way up to his ass and then back again, like he’s trying to cover every inch of Charles’ skin. Charles lets him, eyes falling closed.
It makes him feel- delicate, in a way. They’re giving each other time to get comfortable. It matters even more now than it mattered the first time their relationship got physical, Charles thinks, because they are trying to return to each other while their souls are still healing.
Breaking his route, Max lets his hands draw up Charles’ sides, his shoulders. Charles’ skin is waking up with every pass, growing more sensitive, the warmth of it gathering in his belly. Charles knows he’s hard, twitching when Max brushes against him, but there’s something cathartic in having Max touch him like this, just for the sake of learning him again.
Blinking his eyes open, Charles finds Max staring at him, and they still, just looking.
Lifting his hand to Charles’ face, Max lays it on his cheek; Charles leans into it.
Max sighs, perhaps in relief, Charles couldn’t say. All he knows is that Max’s lips pull into a little smile and that his own face responds immediately and in kind, as if the thread that carries Max’s emotions is connected to Charles, too.
“Still okay?” Max whispers, the pad of his thumb copying Charles’ cheekbone.
“Yeah.” Charles stretches his arms, tensing his legs where they’re still resting over Max’s.
“Good, then, can I- take these off, please?” Max says, running a fingertip over the line where Charles’ thigh disappears into his underwear.
“Do I get yours, too?” Charles asks, waiting for a nod before he lifts himself off to strip himself and Max in turn before settling back into his previous spot. He’s finding that he likes being here, sat between Max’s thighs, Max taking up his entire field of vision. It’s reassuring to have him so close; it’s exciting to see and feel first-hand his reactions when their bare skin rubs together.
“I want to- let’s try,” Max mumbles, more to himself than to Charles. His palms settle hot on Charles’ waist and then he runs his fingertips over Charles’ stomach.
“Fuck,” Charles gasps as his belly clenches, cock jumping against it.
The feeling is so much fiercer than Charles remembers, like Max’s gentle touches chipped away at him, poked holes, and now the rush flows free.
Max smiles wide, happy.
“Still feels good?” he asks, dragging his nails over the same place.
“Yes.” Charles shivers, knows that Max must feel it where they’re pressed together. He must see the heat pushing into Charles’ cheeks and hear how his breath trembles when it leaves him. He must have recognised all these things, which means that he’s asking because he wants to be sure.
Charles knows just how much uncertainty can weigh.
“It feels good,” Charles breathes out, sincere, letting his head tip back and eyes fall shut. Max’s fingertip lands gently just below his chin, dragging over his Adam’s apple to the hollow of his throat. The heat of it continues even when Max withdraws, dripping down Charles’ chest even as soft lips run over his collarbone, followed by the blunt edge of teeth.
“Max,” Charles pants, trembling as Max’s hand swipes across his belly again before it stops at the crease of his thigh, resting hot and heavy. “Max.”
—:—
“Can I?” Max asks even though Charles is shaking in his arms, cock dripping wet, but Max doesn’t think he could actually make himself wrap a hand around him without Charles telling him it’s okay.
“Yes, yes, please,” Charles breathes when he tips his head back down. He’s all pink, glowing, eyes glassy and dark, and Max wants him.
He wants him so much.
He’s so nervous.
“Help me,” Max requests softly.
There is a wavering second between Max saying it and Charles processing, a second where Max thinks, like a flash, I’m asking for too much, it’s too much. Then Charles’ warm hand wraps around his, guiding him down and around Charles.
It feels so familiar, the weight and heat of him, the way air punches out of Charles like a gunshot. Warmth spreads through Max, giddiness and relief, because it’s good, it feels good for Charles, it feels good for himself.
They fit.
Charles sets the pace, giving Max time to get used to it, for his body to remember. Then he lets go, leaning back on his arms instead. It stretches him out, ribs playing under his skin as he breathes, belly turning flat and hollow when Max touches him just right, clenching.
“Let up a little,” Charles tells him, panting, and Max loosens his fingers. “No, I meant- keep the grip, just slow down.”
It makes Charles keen when Max listens, stroking him firm and measured, Charles’ hips lifting off the bed and chasing his touch up like he can’t help it, little whines pouring out of him. The sounds settle in Max’s chest, burning, making him swallow hard.
“Darling,” Charles chokes out in warning, his legs tensing over Max’s.
“Yes,” Max says, a little more victoriously than he would have expected, but it fills him with excitement when Charles bucks up and comes over his stomach and Max’s hand, when it drips down their thighs. It’s familiar, the feel of it, but the intensity with which Max’s own stomach clenches in response is entirely new.
Heartbeat speeding in his chest, Max curls forward.
“Charles,” he whines, leaning in to rest his forehead on Charles’ quickly rising chest. It’s hot and damp with sweat, but so is Max.
“Max, jesus,” Charles pants. “God, that- I don’t even-”
“I know,” Max says, dirty and clean hands coming up to hold onto Charles’ waist. He needs to hold on to something, and Charles is here, he is steady and warm, and Max needs to keep his hands on him, he needs to.
“Let me,” Charles says, gently pushing on Max’s shoulder.
Max doesn’t budge.
“I want to- to stay like this, please let me stay like this,” Max whispers into Charles’ chest. He’s being weird, he knows that, but he can’t bear the thought of leaning away. He’d rather not come than lean away.
“Okay,” Charles says slowly, carefully. “Do you want me to touch you?”
His fingers are winding through Max’s hair. It eases something in Max’s soul.
“If you want to, yes. Only if you can do it like this, I want to stay like this.” Max turns his head, his ear settling where Charles’ heart is slowing down.
“Okay,” Charles says again. Max feels him press a kiss into his hair, then his hand slowly runs across his back, his side, and into the heated little space that’s left between their bodies. His fingers are almost cool when they graze Max’s cock, and Max moans softly.
“Like that?” Charles checks, his palm running over the head and then, wetter, wrapping around him.
“Tighter,” Max says. “Please.”
Squeezing tighter, Charles slides his other hand to Max’s nape, holding him close before he starts moving.
“Charles.” The name comes out high, fragile, and Max presses his mouth to Charles’ skin. Heat is building fast in him, curling like little flames do before they spread into a bonfire. He can feel Charles against him, so close, so warm, settling Max into his bones even as the heat coils quicker.
Charles’ thumb runs over the head of his cock, feeding the flames, and Max manages a desperate “Charles” before he comes.
“God, darling,” Charles whispers, his palm heavy and reassuring on Max’s nape, fingers digging in for a second before his hand slips down to the side of Max’s neck. “Please come up.”
Inhaling deep several times, Max slowly straightens, careful not to bump into Charles’ chin as he goes.
“All good?” Charles asks, his eyes searching on Max’s face and body as he checks him over. It makes Max smile.
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Yeah. I’ll need about twelve hours of sleep now.”
Max laughs, giddy as his body grows lax, tension and nerves having seeped away.
Sticky and sweaty, he lies back, prodding at Charles until he settles down next to him, just as gross. They’ll wash up, eventually, drink some water, maybe raid the kitchen cabinets for snacks before they go to sleep.
But for now, Charles’ hands on him feel like home, and so does Charles under his. Max won’t let him go.
—:—
It’s the first Monday of the month, rain pitter-pattering on the windowsill as Charles pulls Max’s hoodie over his head before tugging on a waterproof jacket. He knows that when he meets Max at the front door, Max will grin wide and tug him close, his palms running under the fabric to feel Charles’ skin underneath it. They’ll grab an umbrella and venture out.
Charles has been promised some kisses on the beach.
—:—
It’s the first Monday of the month, rain pitter-pattering outside. Max slips on his shoes, pockets his keys, and waits for the familiar sound of Charles making his way to him. He’ll probably wear something of Max’s again, just to see him blush, and then take Max’s hand, pressing a kiss to his cheek. They’ll go out, where the world smells like it’s new and the sound of waves covers everything else.
Charles will be warm in his arms, and Max will know what that means.