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The dream had been vicious. Charles had been standing in an empty garage, the silence pressing against his ears, and across the vast, cold space he had seen Max. Max was walking away, and Charles had called his name, had screamed his name, but no sound left his lips. Max did not turn around. The door slid shut, and Charles was alone. Absolutely, irrevocably alone.
Charles's eyes flew open. The Monaco night was soft beyond the curtains, but the terror was still a living thing in his chest, scrabbling at his ribs. He was in their bed, in their room. The sheets were tangled around his legs. And Max was there.
Max was on his side, facing away, his broad back a pale, broad expanse in the dim light filtering through the window. A shockwave of relief and fear pulsed through Charles. He needed to touch him. He needed to feel the solidity of Max's body under his hands. He needed proof.
He scrambled across the mattress, his movements clumsy and rushed, and pressed himself against Max's back. He wrapped his arms around Max's middle, his face burying into the space between Max's shoulder blades. The skin was warm. It was real.
Max stirred. "Babe?"
Charles did not answer with words. He pulled at the waistband of Max's boxer briefs, his fingers trembling, urgent and insistent. The fabric was soft but stubborn. He tugged harder.
Max shifted, rolling onto his back. The movement forced Charles to lift his head. In the gloom, Max’s blue eyes were barely visible, but the line of his brow was drawn. "Charles? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Charles whispered. It was a lie, and they both knew it. He didn't want to talk about the dream. He didn't want to relive it. He wanted to erase it with sensation. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Max's, a hard, rough kiss that was more about need than affection. He bit at Max's lower lip, a desperate plea.
Max's hand came up to cup the back of Charles's head. He didn't push Charles away, but he held him steady. "Hey," he murmured against Charles's mouth. "Talk to me."
"I need you," Charles said, pulling back just enough to look at him. His own voice sounded foreign, raw and scraped out. "I need to feel you. Inside me. Please, Max. Please."
The word *please* seemed to cut through Max's lingering drowsiness. Max's eyes focused fully on Charles’s face, seeing the lingering traces of terror in his green gaze. Max’s jaw tightened. He didn't ask any more questions. He understood that Charles needed something concrete, something physical, something that would prove he wasn't in the empty garage anymore.
Max sat up fully, the sheet pooling around his waist. "Alright," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Come here."
Charles didn't need to be told twice. He straddled Max's lap in a fluid motion, his thighs pressing against Max's hips. The thin cotton of his own boxer briefs did nothing to hide the heat building between his legs. He was already wet, already aching. The dream had left a raw, open wound, and the only thing that could stitch it closed was Max.
He ground down against Max's hard stomach, feeling the muscles tense. He was so slick he could feel the moisture seeping through the fabric. His hands clawed at Max's shoulders, needing more contact, more skin.
Max's hands moved to Charles's hips. "Slow down, love," Max breathed. "You're shaking."
"I can't slow down," Charles said. The words caught in his throat. "Every time I close my eyes, I see you leaving. I need you. Here. Now."
That was all Max needed to hear. Max's hands moved with deliberate purpose, hooking into the waistband of Charles's boxer briefs and pulling them down over his hips. Charles lifted his knees, letting Max peel the damp fabric off his thighs and toss it aside. The air hit his exposed sex, and he shivered.
Max then pushed his own boxers down, his erection springing free against his stomach. It was thick, heavy, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum. Charles’s breath hitched at the sight, his cunt clenching around nothing in anticipation.
Max’s fingers found Charles’s entrance, not to tease, but to assess. They slipped easily between the slick folds, gathering the abundant wetness that had already pooled there. Charles whimpered, a broken little sound. Max pressed two fingers against his opening, circling the ring of muscle but not pushing in. "Tell me what you want, baby. Say the words."
"I want your cock," Charles said. The words were blunt and desperate. "I want you to fuck me. Don't be gentle. I need to feel it."
Max’s eyes darkened. He pulled his fingers away and replaced them with the head of his penis, pressing it against Charles's entrance. Charles, already desperate, lowered himself, taking the head inside in one smooth motion. A choked cry escaped his lips as the thick intrusion stretched him open.
Max was still sitting back on his heels. He did not move for a long second, letting Charles adjust, letting him feel the full weight of the penetration. "Look at me," Max commanded.
Charles forced his eyes open. The room was shadowed, but he could see the intensity in Max's expression. "I am right here," Max said. "I never left. I am not going anywhere."
He then thrust upward, a sharp, deep movement that drove his entire length into Charles's cunt. Charles gasped, his head falling back. The sensation was painful and perfect. It was exactly what he needed. The pain was proof of reality. The fullness was proof of presence.
Max began to move, a steady rhythm at first. Each stroke was a declaration. "I am here," he said with each upward push. "I am here."
Charles clung to him, his nails digging into the skin of Max's back. The frantic, animalistic need was slowly softening into something more profound, but the urgency remained. "Harder," Charles pleaded. "Please, Max. Harder."
Max’s hands found Charles's ass, gripping the firm cheeks and using them as leverage to pull Charles down onto his cock with more force. The sound of their fucking became a wet, obscene rhythm in the quiet room. The slap of skin against skin, the squelch of Charles's soaked cunt.
Max angled his hips, aiming the head of his cock at the spot on Charles's front wall that he knew so well. When he found it, Charles cried out, a sharp, high-pitched sound that was entirely involuntary. "There?"
"Yes, there," Charles gasped. "Right there. Don't stop."
Max didn't stop. He fucked that spot mercilessly, his rhythm turning brutal. Charles was bouncing on his lap, his own hands braced on Max's shoulders. The angle was deep, so deep Charles could feel the head of Max's cock pressing against the mouth of his cervix with every thrust.
"You feel that, baby?" Max asked, his voice ragged. "You feel how deep I am? I am inside you. I am not leaving."
Tears were streaming down Charles's face now, a mixture of leftover terror and overwhelming relief. "I feel you," he sobbed. "I feel you."
Max shifted his weight, flipping them over so that Charles was on his back, his legs wrapped around Max's waist. The new position allowed Max to drive even deeper, his full weight pressing Charles into the mattress. Max pulled out almost entirely, leaving only the head inside, and then slammed back in, a punishing, penetrating stroke.
Charles screamed, not in pain, but in sheer, raw sensation. His cunt clamped down on Max's cock, a fluttering, reflexive contraction. "Max, I am going to—"
"Come, baby," Max commanded, his rhythm increasing. "Come on my cock. Let me feel you."
The climax hit Charles like a wave. It started in his core and radiated outward, a convulsion that seized his entire body. He cried out, a broken, animalistic sound, as his cunt spasmed around Max's invading length, a flood of wetness gushing out.
Max did not stop. He rode Charles through his orgasm, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate. "That's it," he growled. "Take it. Take all of it."
Overwhelmed, oversensitive, Charles's tears were only coming faster. The anxiety had turned into a desperate, submissive need. "Please," he whispered, his voice cracked. "Fill me up. I need to feel it."
Max shuddered, his hips stuttering. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock twitching inside Charles's tightness. He released a groan, low and torn from his chest, as his semen pumped into Charles's depths.
He stayed there, his forehead resting against Charles's, his breath heavy and hot on Charles's skin. For a long moment, the only sound was their panting in the dark.
Max pulled out slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. Charles felt the loss immediately, a hollow ache in his belly. But before he could protest, Max had rolled onto his side, pulling Charles into his arms. Max pressed a kiss to the top of Charles's head. "You called for me in your sleep,"
Charles buried his face in Max's neck. "I dreamed you left."
"I would never," Max whispered. "I have you. You have me. I love you."
Charles wanted to believe it. The nightmare’s hold was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-melting exhaustion and the lingering, flushed heat of Max’s body and seed inside him. They lay tangled together, Max’s arm draped across Charles’s sweaty back. Max looked down at him, studying Charles’s face.
"No," Charles said, reading his expression. "Don't tell me to sleep. I don't want to close my eyes."
"Then we don't sleep," Max said. He propped himself up on his elbow, his hand moving across Charles's chest. "We do something else."
Charles's eyes widened, "What did you have in mind?"
"Roll over," Max said. "On your stomach."
Charles complied, turning onto his belly and pillowing his head on his folded arms. He felt Max move behind him, felt the heat of Max's body, felt the firm press of Max's palms on his ass. Max spread him open, and a jolt of anticipation shot through Charles.
Max lowered his head and took a long, slow lick of Charles's cunt from behind. The flat of his tongue dragged through the sodden, used folds, tasting his own cum mixed with Charles's slick. Charles moaned into his arms.
"You taste so good, baby," Max murmured against the sensitive skin. "So full of me."
He licked again, this time focusing on the puffy hood of Charles's clit, tracing small circles around it with the tip of his tongue. Charles began to tremble, his hips rocking back into the touch.
"Max..."
"Shh," Max soothed. "Let me take care of you."
He used his thumbs to pull Charles's lips apart further, exposing the pink, glistening interior of his cunt. He laved the entire area with his mouth, sucking the sensitized lips between his, nipping gently. Charles writhed, his sounds muffled by his arms.
Max pushed his tongue inside, fucking Charles with it while his thumb found the clit and rubbed it in firm, steady circles. Charles came again, a sharper cry, a smaller release, but no less satisfying. He felt a fresh gush of liquid spill onto Max’s face.
Max lifted his head, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He crawled up Charles's body, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his spine. When he reached the back of Charles's neck, he bit down lightly. "Good boy."
Charles rolled back onto his side, facing Max again. His green eyes were heavy-lidded, but focused. "On my back," he said. "I want to watch you."
Max smiled, a lazy, possessive smile. He positioned Charles, pulling a pillow under his hips to tilt his pelvis upward. He sat back on his knees, looking down at the body spread out before him.
He reached out and took Charles's hand, guiding it to his own cunt. "Show me," Max said. "Show me how you touch yourself."
Charles hesitated for only a second. Then he parted his own lips with his fingers, spreading himself open. His clit was swollen and wet, peeking out from its hood. He began to stroke himself slowly, his breath catching.
"Harder," Max said. "Don't be shy. You know what you like."
Charles pressed his thumb against his clit, rubbing it in tight circles. His hips began to move in a small, seeking rhythm. "Like this?"
"Perfect," Max said. His voice was a low caress. "Now tell me when you're close."
Charles's movements grew faster, more frantic. His other hand came down to cup his breast, pinching his nipple between his fingers. "I'm close," he gasped. "Max, please."
Max leaned over and took Charles's mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. "Come for me, love. Let me taste it."
The command pushed Charles over the edge. He cried into Max's mouth, his cunt clenching against his own fingers, a third orgasm ripping through him.
Max pulled away, reaching for his own cock. It was growing hard again, fueled by the sight and sound of Charles's pleasure. "One more," Max said. "I want one more inside you."
Charles was barely able to form words, but he nodded, spreading his legs wider. Max settled between them, not entering yet. Instead, he stroked his own penis against the wet, open lips of Charles’s cunt, the head bumping his clit with each pass.
"Please, Max," Charles whispered. "I need you inside."
"What do you need, baby?"
"Your cock. I need your cock. Fuck me."
Max obliged, sliding in with one smooth, deep thrust. The angle, with the pillow, was perfect. He was hitting Charles's cervix with every stroke, a deep, almost aching pressure that Charles craved. Max set a rhythm, deep and slow and punishing, his eyes locked on Charles's face.
"Look at yourself, baby," Max said. "Look at me fucking you. Look at my cock going in and out of your pretty cunt."
The dirty talk, low and sweet, pushed Charles toward the brink again. He could not look away from Max’s blue eyes. "Max..."
"I know," Max said. "I know. I'm right here. I'm going to give you one more. I'm going to make you feel it."
He changed his angle slightly, pressing harder against the front wall of Charles’s vagina. He watched Charles’s face, watched the way his mouth opened, the way his eyes glazed over. "There," Charles breathed. "Right there. Fuck, Max, right there."
Max obliged, hammering that spot with deep, targeted strokes. "You're doing so good, baby. Taking me so well."
Charles's breath caught, his whole body going rigid. He could feel it building, that impossible pressure, the edge of something devastating. Max's cock was hitting that spot with relentless precision, each stroke dragging against the swollen, ridged texture of his inner walls.
"Give it to me," Max said. His voice was low and steady, a direct counterpoint to the brutal rhythm of his hips. "I want to feel you come on my cock one more time. Let go."
Charles couldn't have held back if he tried. The orgasm tore through him, more violent than the ones before. His cunt clamped down on Max in rhythmic, milking spasms, each contraction squeezing from base to tip. A gush of hot fluid soaked Max's groin and the sheets beneath them. Charles's vision whited out, his back arching off the mattress, a strangled, wordless cry ripping from his throat.
Max watched every second of it. He watched the flush spread down Charles's chest, watched the way Charles's cunt lips clung to his shaft as he pulled back just enough to see. Then he drove back in, deep, chasing his own release through the tight, soaking clutch of Charles's body.
He came with a guttural groan, his hips pressed flush against Charles's ass, his cock pulsing deep inside. He could feel his own semen mixing with Charles's slickness, a warm, liquid fullness that seeped out around his shaft. He stayed buried there, letting Charles feel every twitch, every pulse of his release.
When he finally pulled out, the sound was wet and obscene. A thick, milky trickle of his cum immediately followed, trailing down the curve of Charles's ass to pool on the pillow beneath his hips. Max sat back on his heels, his chest still heaving. He looked at the mess he had made—Charles's cunt was puffy, reddened, the lips parted and leaking. The sight made his spent cock give a weak, interested twitch.
Charles was still trembling, his legs splayed open, his arms limp at his sides. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring at the ceiling. The tears had dried on his cheeks. He looked utterly wrecked. Utterly claimed.
Max reached down and pressed two fingers gently against the swollen opening. He pushed the escaping semen back inside, and Charles whimpered. "Yours," Charles whispered. "You're here. You're inside."
"I'm inside," Max confirmed. He slowly, carefully, withdrew his fingers. He leaned over Charles's body, bracing himself on his forearms so their faces were inches apart. He could see the color returning to Charles's eyes, the green sharpening back into focus. "Look at me."
Charles looked.
"How many fingers?" Max asked.
Charles blinked. "What?"
Max held up his right hand, the index and middle fingers still glistening. "How many fingers are wet?"
"Two," Charles said.
"And what is on them?"
Charles swallowed. "You. Us."
"Good." Max brought the fingers to Charles's lips. "Open."
Charles parted his lips. Max slid the two fingers inside, pressing them down on Charles's tongue. Charles tasted them—the salt and the musk and the faint. He closed his eyes and sucked, his tongue cleaning the digits with slow, deliberate strokes.
Max watched him, his expression softening into something close to reverence. "You're so good for me, baby," he murmured. He pulled his fingers free and replaced them with his mouth. The kiss was gentle this time, a slow, thorough exploration. Max licked into Charles's mouth, tasting himself there, tasting them both.
When he pulled back, Charles's breathing had evened out. The desperate, clinging energy was gone. In its place was a loose-limbed calm. Charles reached up and traced the line of Max's jaw with his fingertips. "The dream," he said, his voice still hoarse. "It felt so real."
"I know," Max said. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Charles's palm. "But this is real. The mess in our bed is real. The way you're going to be sore tomorrow is real."
Charles let out a weak, breathy laugh. "I am sore now."
"Good," Max said again. He rolled to the side and tugged Charles with him, settling them both on the drier half of the bed. He pulled the top sheet up over their cooling bodies and wrapped an arm around Charles's waist, his hand splayed flat over Charles's lower belly. "Do you want to talk about the dream now?"
Charles considered it. The image flickered at the edge of his mind—the empty garage, the closing door—but it had no power anymore. "It was just a dream," he said. "You are right here."
"I am right here," Max echoed. "And I'm not going anywhere." He pressed another kiss to Charles's shoulder. "Now, do you think you can stay awake a little longer?"
Charles turned his head on the pillow. "Why?"
Max's smile was a slow, wicked thing. "Because in about twenty minutes, I'm going to want to taste you again. And I want you awake for it."
Charles felt a fresh pulse of heat low in his belly. He reached down and laced his fingers through Max's where they rested on his stomach. "I can stay awake," he said.
"Good boy," Max said.