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The door of the apartment swung shut behind them, and the sound of the lock clicking into place was the last sober thing Max registered for the next several hours.
Charles was warm and heavy against his side, all loose limbs and happy, drunken weight, his dark brown hair sticking up in odd directions where Max had been running his fingers through it in the elevator. His green eyes were hazy, pupils blown wide from the alcohol, and his lips were parted, slightly wet, shiny from the last sip of champagne he had taken before they stumbled out of the bar.
Max guided him through the entryway with one hand firm on the small of his back, past the kitchen island, past the low modern sofa, straight toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the harbor. The lights of Monaco glittered outside, little golden flecks scattered across the dark water, but Max did not look at them. He was looking at Charles: the elegant line of his neck, the flush spreading across his cheekbones, the way his designer shirt had come untucked on one side.
Charles giggled. The sound was light, bubbly, a perfect match for all that champagne swimming in his system. He reached up with both hands and grabbed the front of Maxs shirt, pulling himself closer until his forehead rested against Maxs chest.
Then you carried me, he slurred, the words half-muffled by fabric. Like a princess.
You are a princess, Max said. He tilted Charles chin up and pressed a kiss to his mouth, slow and deliberate. Champagne sweetness lingered on Charles tongue. A very drunk princess who needs to go to bed.
Bed, Charles repeated, nodding enthusiastically, which made him sway. Yes. Bed. Our bed. With the big windows.
Maxs hand slid down from his back to his ass, squeezing once, firm. Our bed, he agreed. But first I want to look at you.
He stepped back just enough to get a full view. Charles stood there, swaying gently, his lips red from the kiss, his pupils dark and needy. He was so beautiful it made Maxs chest ache. The green of his eyes was almost obscured by the black of his pupils, and his skin had that particular glow that came from drinking good champagne on a warm evening. His shirt was half-unbuttoned now—Max did not remember doing that—and the exposed skin of his collarbones looked soft and warm.
Charles blinked up at him with that drowsy, trusting expression that always made Max want to ruin him. Want you, Charles said simply, the words falling out of his mouth like the simplest truth in the world. Want you inside me. Want you to fuck me until I cant remember my own name.
Max felt his cock twitch in his trousers. Charles had never been shy about what he wanted, but the alcohol had stripped away any remaining filter. He was raw honesty now, pure desire wrapped in expensive clothes.
That can be arranged, Max said. He stepped forward again, crowding Charles against the window, and kissed him hard. Charles moaned into his mouth and parted his lips immediately, letting Maxs tongue slide inside. The taste was overwhelming: champagne and heat and Charles. Max bit his lower lip, tugged on it gently, and Charles whimpered and bucked his hips forward.
Maxs hands went to work. He unbuttoned the rest of Charles shirt with practiced efficiency, pushing the fabric off his shoulders. It fell to the floor, and then he was skin, perfect and unbroken. Charles chest was smooth, his nipples already hard and pink against the flush of his skin. Max lowered his head and took one into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue until Charles cried out and arched his back, pushing his chest further into Maxs face.
Fuck, Charles gasped, his fingers tangling in Maxs blond hair. Yes, do that, please, keep doing that.
Max switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, biting down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. Charles was shaking now, his legs trembling, his hands gripping Maxs hair so tight it hurt a little. Max liked the pain. It grounded him, reminded him that this was real, that this beautiful drunk man was his.
He pulled back and looked at Charles again. The view was better now: shirtless, flushed, eyes half-closed, lips parted. Perfect.
Turn around, Max said, his voice low. Hands on the window.
Charles obeyed immediately, turning to face the glittering city outside. He placed his palms flat against the glass and leaned forward, presenting his ass like a gift. The curve of it, the line of his spine, the way his trousers stretched tight across his hips—Max wanted to devour him.
He moved behind Charles and pressed his body against his, letting Charles feel the hard length of him through their clothes. Charles moaned and pushed back, grinding against him. Maxs hands came around to unbuckle Charles belt, unzip his trousers, push them down along with his underwear. The fabric pooled around Charles ankles, leaving him naked from the waist down, his perfect ass exposed to the cool air of the apartment.
Max dropped to his knees. He spread Charles cheeks with both hands and stared at the sight before him. Charles cunt was already glistening, wet and swollen, the lips parted slightly as if inviting him in. He leaned forward and licked a long stripe from the bottom to the top, tasting the sweetness of champagne mixed with something deeper, something purely Charles.
Charles cried out, his whole body shuddering. Fuck, Max, your tongue, he sobbed. Please, please dont stop.
Max did not stop. He licked and sucked and nibbled, eating Charles out like he was starving for it. Charles juices flooded his mouth, sweet and tart, exactly as he had said: champagne-flavored pussy. Max could not get enough. He pushed his tongue inside, fucking Charles with it, and Charles screamed and bucked against his face, his hands sliding against the glass.
More, Charles begged. Max, please, I need more. I need your fingers. I need you inside me.
Max pulled back just long enough to stand up. He spat on his fingers—messy, crude, exactly what Charles needed right now—and pressed two of them against Charles entrance. Charles pushed back immediately, taking them in, and Max groaned at the heat and tightness. He began to move his fingers, slow at first, then faster, curling them to hit that spot inside Charles that made him see stars.
Charles was babbling now, a stream of French and English, words that Max caught only fragments of. Good, so good, please, yes, dont stop, Max, Max, Max. His hips moved in rhythm with Maxs hand, fucking himself on his fingers, chasing his release.
Max added a third finger. Charles screamed and came, his whole body convulsing, a gush of liquid running down his thighs and onto Maxs hand. Max kept pumping, drawing out the orgasm, until Charles was sobbing and trembling and begging him to stop because it was too much, too sensitive, too good.
Max withdrew his fingers. They were dripping, covered in Charles cum. He brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, tasting the champagne sweetness, the salt of sweat, the unique flavor of Charles arousal. Just like I said, Max murmured, his voice thick. Champagne-flavored pussy. Best thing Ive ever tasted.
Charles turned around slowly, his eyes glassy, his chest heaving. His legs were still shaking, but there was a hungry look on his face that Max recognized. That was a good start, Charles said, his voice hoarse. But I want your cock. I want it deep inside me. I want to feel it in my fucking womb, Max. I want you to fuck me so hard I cant walk tomorrow.
Max grabbed him by the waist and pulled him away from the window, guiding him backward toward the bed. They fell onto it together, a tangle of limbs and desperate hands. Max positioned himself between Charles legs, his cock hard and aching, pressing against Charles wet entrance. The tip slid in easily, greeted by that incredible heat, and Max paused for just a moment, savoring the feeling of being surrounded by Charles.
Charles opened his eyes, those green eyes that Max loved more than anything in the world. I love you, Max said, and then he thrust all the way inside.
Charles screamed. It was a sound of pure pleasure, his back arching off the bed, his hands clutching at the sheets. Max stayed still for a moment, letting Charles adjust, feeling the walls of his cunt clench and flutter around him. Then he began to move, slow and deep, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside.
Oh god, oh fuck, Charles gasped, his head thrown back, his throat exposed. Yes, yes, like that, right there, please dont stop.
Max did not stop. He fucked Charles with long, deep strokes, watching his face contort with pleasure, listening to the sounds he made—little whimpers, broken moans, the occasional string of French that Max could not understand but felt in his bones. Charles hands found his, interlocking their fingers, holding on like Max was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
I want you on your stomach, Max said, pulling out. Charles whimpered at the loss but turned over immediately, presenting himself on hands and knees. The view was even better from behind: the curve of his spine, the roundness of his ass, the way his cunt was swollen and red and dripping from Maxs cock.
Max lined himself up and pushed back in. Charles moaned, low and deep, and dropped his head to the mattress. Max grabbed his hips and started fucking him in earnest, hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. He reached around with one hand to find Charles clit, swollen and slick, and began rubbing it in tight circles.
Charles came again, a gush of liquid flooding around Maxs cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath him. Max kept thrusting, kept rubbing, chasing his own release. He was close, so close, but he wanted to make Charles come one more time first.
He pulled out again, ignoring Charles cry of protest, and flipped him onto his back. He lifted Charles legs, hooking them over his shoulders, and pushed back inside. The new angle let him go deeper, and Charles eyes rolled back in his head as Max hit places inside him that made him see white.
Come for me again, Max said, his voice rough. Come on my cock, baby. I know you can do it. Youre so good at coming, Charles. My perfect little cockslut. Come for me.
Charles was crying now, tears streaming down his face, his mouth open in a silent scream. His body was trembling, his hands fisting in the sheets, and when Max pressed his thumb against his clit and thrust deep, he came again, a violent, shuddering orgasm that squeezed Maxs cock like a vise.
That was it, Max groaned. Thats it, baby. Im coming. Im coming inside you.
He thrust twice more, three times, and then he was coming, hot and thick, filling Charles with everything he had. He kept moving, fucking his cum deeper into Charles, until he was empty and spent and shaking.
He collapsed on top of Charles, his face buried in his neck, his body heavy and satisfied. Charles arms came up to wrap around him, holding him close. They lay there for a long moment, breathing together, hearts pounding in sync.
I love you, Charles whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. I love you so much, Max. Thank you. Thank you for taking care of me.
Max lifted his head and kissed him, soft and sweet. Always, he said. Youre mine, Charles. Every piece of you. I will take care of you forever.
Charles smiled, his eyes still glassy, his face still flushed. I know, he said. And I am yours. Forever.
Max rolled off him and stood up, his legs slightly unsteady. He walked to the bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth, cleaning Charles gently, tenderly. Charles let him, too exhausted to move, his eyes half-closed in contentment.
When Max was done, he threw the washcloth in the direction of the laundry basket and climbed back into bed. Charles immediately curled into him, his head on Maxs chest, his arm draped across his stomach. Max stroked his hair, the dark brown strands soft between his fingers.
We should do that more often, Charles murmured, his voice sleepy. Get drunk on champagne and let you fuck me against windows.
Max laughed, a low rumble in his chest. We can do that whenever you want, he said. But I thought you said you didnt want to be drunk for it.
I changed my mind, Charles said, his lips curving into a smile against Maxs skin. Being drunk makes everything feel better. Your cock feels bigger. Your fingers feel better. Everything is more intense.
Noted, Max said. He kissed the top of Charles head. Now go to sleep. Youre going to be sore tomorrow.
Charles hummed, a contented sound. Worth it, he said. Totally worth it.
Charles breathing slowed, his body relaxing into sleep, and Max held him close, feeling the steady beat of his heart against his own chest.
Max looked down at Charles, at his peaceful sleeping face, and smiled.
"I love you," he said. "I love you so much, Charles."
Charles stirred, a small smile crossing his lips even in sleep. "I know," he murmured. "I love you too."
They kissed again, slow and lazy, the kiss of two people who had all the time in the world. When they pulled apart, Charles was smiling.
"Round two?" Charles asked, his voice hopeful.
Max laughed. "Give me ten minutes," he said. "And then I will fuck you again until you forget your own name."
"Deal," Charles said, and he snuggled closer, his head on Maxs chest, his hand tracing lazy patterns on Maxs stomach.
Max closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the quiet. He knew that in ten minutes—or maybe fifteen, or maybe thirty—he would be buried inside Charles again, fucking him senseless until they were both raw and spent and satisfied. But for now, this quiet moment was perfect.
"What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?" Max asked, his voice soft.
Charles laughed "You," he said. "I want you for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. And every meal in between."
Max grinned, pressing a kiss to Charles hair. "I think that can be arranged," he said. "I think that can definitely be arranged."