Chapter Text
”What does it feel like?"
They're in Helen's bed, sprawled out diagonally across the sheets in each other's arms, not a scrap of clothing between them, with all the time in the world stretched out ahead of them before the encroaching dawn.
At Max's words, Helen lifts her head from his chest and tilts it to one side, propping it up with the hand which had been tracing invisible swirling patterns across his stomach.
"What does what feel like?" She asks, now that she can see his face.
"When you come." Max gives her a half smile, and it's not sheepish at all. If anything, it's surprisingly earnest, but it's so left of field that she almost laughs.
Helen frowns, trying to consider it. "It's... A rush, I suppose. I can't imagine it feels that different to how it does for you. "
He shakes his head. "I get a rush, but you—watching you—It's like your mind goes somewhere else and your body stays here with me."
Strangely, even though they're naked, and post-coital, and talking about orgasms, it's Max's casual watching you that brings a warm flush to Helen's cheeks. She turns her head a little, so that her braids fall forwards, covering half of her face, but Max sees straight through her and tucks them back behind her ear with tender fingers so he can see her.
"I didn't mean to make you self-conscious," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
She's not though, not really. Ever since the night—not even a week ago, but they've done a lot of making up for lost time in the interim—that he'd shown back up at her apartment and kissed her with such ferocity she'd wondered briefly if they'd even make it up the stairs, all she's felt is an ease around him that she never could have predicted. Finding out the litany of ways in which their bodies fit together every night since has been second nature.
So this time it's Helen who shakes her head. "No, you're okay," she replies, then pauses, trying to give his question a better answer. "In words it feels contradictory. It's like imploding, but also exploding. And like I'm suddenly falling, but completely still. Weightless, even."
Max closes his eyes, but not fast enough; she catches the fact that his pupils are blown, heady with desire. Overcome suddenly by the rush of oxytocin she's only just getting used to feeling around him, Helen leans towards him and gently kisses each of his closed eyelids in turn, feeling Max's cheeks slacken as he smiles against her chin. When she pulls back, he wraps both arms around her to keep her there, kissing her languorously, all tongue, no restraint.
They've spent so many sleepless hours in bed together now, sometimes just holding each other, or sitting naked under a tent of sheets apexed by their own bodies, sipping from freezer-chilled glasses of chardonnay and talking until morning. It's blurred the lines between conversation and foreplay, and between where Max's body ends and her own begins, every simple act laced with a newfound intimacy that gives Helen goosebumps.
"What does it feel like for you?" She whispers against his lips, as they part.
He grins and lets her go, flopping back against the mattress with his fingers laced behind his head. "You've always been better with words than me. Yours was poetic."
"Still, turnabout is fair play," Helen says, pulling a pillow towards her and stretching out next to him on her side, tucking one leg over his because she's not quite ready to let go of him yet. He's warm in a way that makes her look forward to no longer spending her winters sleeping alone.
"Alright," he muses. "There's always that feeling of pressure releasing, I guess, but I think it's different every time. And it's a lot different if I'm—y'know"—he makes an ineffectual gesture with one hand.
"Huh?"
"If it's me. It's less... Intense."
"Oh." It sets Helen's mind off on an inquisitive train of thought, filling her mind with hazy images of imagined moments.
When she refocuses her eyes on Max, he's grinning at her like he can tell she'd been distracted. "Where'd you go?" He asks.
Before she quite realizes she's saying it, she's turning her head towards him on the pillow and murmuring a question she's never asked anyone before. "Would you... Show me?"
Realization spreads across his face with a sly grin. "You want to watch?" He raises an eyebrow, but she can tell it's in intrigue and not judgment.
"I really do." Helen swallows the lump in her throat and nods, slowly. "Is that strange?"
Max has propped himself up on his elbows and crawled on top of her before the question is even fully out of her mouth, his arms on either side of her. "It's not strange to me," he breathes, kissing her again, more urgently this time.
He distracts her by sucking her bottom lip between his own, grazing it tenderly with his teeth until she can barely stifle her own moans, nudging her knees apart with one of his own so he can settle between her legs. As he does it, the bed dips, the sign of his weight being shifted from two hands to one.
When he pulls back a little from the kiss, Helen looks down between them and sees his hand wrapped loosely around his cock, stroking slowly, a flick of his wrist on the upstroke.
Clearly Max's eyes had followed her own, because when she finally looks back to his face, his expression is full of desire. There's the hint of something dark to his grin, and she can tell he's enjoying it; enjoying feeling her gaze on him as he touches himself. Looking back down, she sees his hand move slowly up his shaft, his tip disappearing into his palm as he lets out a soft groan and then tightens his grip.
Helen had known she wanted to watch him, out of some sure and certain sense of curiosity, but she hadn't anticipated being so turned on by it that she'd be wet without being touched. She can feel the heat radiating between them, and her expression must give away the extent of her desire, because it spurs him on into a higher gear, the rhythm of his hand increasing steadily and frantically until he's so close to her that the back of his hand brushes against her and discovers how wet she is for himself. He lets out a low sigh of appreciation.
Slowly, Max brings his cock up to her sex, coating himself with her arousal and then wrapping his hand back around himself. They groan in tandem at the sensation of the wet friction. Helen watches Max fuck his fist unashamedly in complete reverence. The extra lubrication is enough to make Max's eyes roll back in his head, and she finds herself grabbing the back of his neck to drag him back down to her so she can kiss him again.
Experimentally, she lifts her hips, grinding against his hand with a whimper.
"Fuck," he pants, and it's so rare—hearing him swear—that it just makes her want him more, so she repeats the motion and Max gasps, resting his forehead against hers like he's trying to regain control of the situation. "Helen, I'm—do you still want me to..."
Emboldened by the hunger in his eyes, and the intensity of it all, Helen nods. "I want to see you."
She holds him close with one hand, letting the other roam across his back, digging her fingernails in as his breath starts to come in shuddery bursts, the telltale sign that he's close. The only sound the slick slip of Max's hand, pumping faster now, his brow furrowed in concentration, until he gasps "Sure?" against the hollow her throat, giving her one last chance. She loves him for it, but she's not changing her mind.
"Come for me," she whispers.
Almost immediately, Max's body tenses above her, a jagged breath torn from his throat as he comes in spurts across her belly, hand shaking as he works himself through it, eyes closed, biting his lip like he's trying to stay quiet. As his limbs start to go lax, he lets himself fall silently beside her.
Neither of them say anything for a minute while his breathing returns to normal. Eventually, Helen lays her palm over his damp chest, feeling his heartbeat as it slows. "I'm no expert, but that seemed pretty intense to me," she chuckles.
"It's you," he gives her a sleepy smile that's so full of love she can almost feel it radiating off of him. "It's better with you."
He wraps one arm around her and kisses every inch of the half of her face that he can reach until she's out of breath from laughing, ticklish to a fault. (Max had worked this out within half an hour of their first kiss, when his head had been buried between her thighs and his fingertips tracing too lightly down her sides, drawing an involuntary giggle from her. She'd worried it might kill the mood until he'd promptly slipped both arms under her legs and held her down until she was crying out his name and all but writhing against his tongue.)
"I think we should repeat the experiment," Max says thoughtfully, like his mind had gone to the same place as hers. His hand eventually comes to rest in the hollow of her breasts. Her nipples are hard, aching to be touched, and she can tell what he's thinking about from the way he licks his lips.
"Mmm?"
"Mmmhmm," he hums. "But this time..." Max takes hold of her hand and brings it to his mouth, wrapping his lips around two of Helen's fingertips and gently sucking. "This time I want to watch you.”