Fic: Never To Break You (19)
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After two weeks, everything has become a routine, something Kevin can count on. Maxim goes home most afternoons, but he lets Kevin pick him up in the evenings most of the time, and when Kevin does, he’ll spend the night. Kevin may never know which days his question will be met with a “no thanks, I’ll stay at home tonight,” but at least he knows that Maxim will want to spend most nights with him.
It’s routine, but the entire thing still makes Kevin uneasy, sick with the thought that he doesn’t know what Maxim does the nights he doesn’t come, the thought that he really does know what it must be.
Kevin wants to ask him - beg him - not to. He doesn’t want Maxim to see anyone else anymore; it destroys something inside Kevin, heavy-handed and relentless. He knows Maxim, though, knows that the wrong questions make Maxim go quiet, the wrong words have made him disappear completely. Maxim has a history of disappearance; if Kevin just forces himself to let this go on, at least he can be sure that the rest of the time, Maxim is safe with him, still allowing Kevin to help him. If Kevin so much as tried to find another solution, anything, Maxim might disappear, and then Kevin would have no way of helping him at all.
So Kevin lets it happen.
On Thursday night, Kevin isn’t seeing Maxim. These nights, he works valiantly to distract himself, because if he doesn’t, he’ll spend the entire time thinking up endless schemes to make this stop. None of them will ever work, because their mere existence threatens to take Maxim from him. Instead, he’s on his laptop and watching some old episode of Star Trek on TV. It’s about some salt monster or something; Kevin figures he’s hit an all-time low when he can’t even follow Star Trek. Kevin sighs, turns his attention back to the computer screen. Dan came up with the idea that they could sponsor a renovation of a local ice rink, and Kevin’s making a list of ones that might need it most.
He lasts about half an hour before he decides he’s going to go insane if he has to survive this for the rest of the evening. It’s not even six-thirty.
Alex picks up when Kevin calls Ryan’s phone.
“’ello?”
“Burr, I call Ryan’s phone so I can have a conversation in English.”
“You have no, euh. Sense of adventure,” Alex informs him cheerfully, but the phone changes hands.
“You lost without us already?” Ryan says smugly.
“I don’t miss you one bit.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“That said, do you guys want to come over?”
“What if we’re busy having se-”
“Oh please, shut the fuck up,” Kevin pleads, and Ryan laughs.
“We’ll be over in a few,” he says, and hangs up.
Half an hour later, Kevin’s apartment is six times noisier than it was before. They laughed mercilessly at him for watching Star Trek and switched it to Ocean’s Thirteen. Kevin can see exactly why Alex and Ryan are so perfect for each other; they both talk incessantly through movies. Even drinking doesn’t distract them; Kevin tried.
“What if he didn’t put that camera behind his desk?” Ryan asks stubbornly, pointing to the screen. “What the fuck then?”
“He has a nice office,” Alex muses. Kevin sighs. He’s sitting at the corner of the couch, and Ryan’s lying across the cushions to his right, Alex practically on top of him, wedged between him and the cushions. It looks uncomfortable to Kevin, but they both seem completely used to it.
“Do they even have earthquakes in Vegas?” Ryan asks, tilts his head back to look at Kevin, who shrugs.
“You think I have a map of fault lines memorised or something?”
“You seem like the type, yeah.”
“Pretty sure that’s an insult.”
“No!” Ryan protests, “well, kind of.”
“I don’t like you.”
“I know,” Ryan smirks. Kevin glowers. Really, he doesn’t know why he’s friends with them sometimes; surely there are more sane people on the team he could have gotten close to. Anyone, actually. It’s not hard to be less insane than Ryan and Alex.
“Know what?” Alex muses, and Kevin lets his head fall back onto the cushions, waits for the revelation that will doubtlessly be alarming. “Juice, your bed is made for blanket forts. It has, euh. The goalposts! And the thing that goes between them!” He draws a square in the air, grinning.
“Bedposts,” Ryan corrects automatically, barely even paying attention.
“C’est parfait!”
“Okay. Give me back your key to my apartment. Right now.”
Alex just laughs wildly, which is extremely uncomforting.
“They’re good at planning,” Alex comments after watching the movie for a while.
“In theory,” Ryan adds, and Alex snickers.
“So, you could not do it, then.”
“You insulting my planning skills?”
“I can’t,” Alex says innocently, “they don’t exist.”
Ryan makes a face and sticks his tongue out, and then Alex just licks it. Kevin arches an eyebrow, just watching, tries not to look like he’s burning with jealousy. He’s not jealous of them, of course. They’re- they’re them.
“You weirdo,” Ryan leans up to kiss Alex, “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Nuh-uh. I love you more.”
“Non, je t’aime plus, more!”
Kevin drops his head into his hand, studies the label of his beer bottle intently. He’s not jealous. He’s not. Just because they can say I love you and he doesn’t dare tell Maxim that - he’s not jealous. Not at all. It doesn’t eat away at him, because he’s not jealous, because being all open about being in love and knowing he’s loved back isn’t something he hungers for, it’s not.
“Soooooo do. Right, Juice? Don’t I love Alex more than he loves me?” Ryan says, and Kevin growls. His only response is to get up and stalk into the kitchen, but they don’t seem to notice him stomping off.
Kevin’s life sucks; he’s nearly out of beer. Which is also their fault. He hasn’t picked up any in a while, either, because going to the liquor store is an extra errand and he hates running errands unless Maxim is with him, and him being here would make tonight a lot better, but him not being here is what’s making it terrible, because he’s out somewhere - Kevin doesn’t even know where - because he won’t let Kevin intervene. Maybe he should. Except then he might - most likely will - lose what he has now. And that would kill him.
He ignores the sound of footsteps, as he pokes through the refrigerator. “It’s cruel, you know, to finish all my beer and then drive me to need to drink.”
“I don’t need alcohol to make you forget even your own name.” And that, that is definitely not Ryan or Alex, and when Kevin turns, Maxim is - impossibly - standing right there, not two feet away.
“What? You- how? Here?” he manages.
“Your- um - my key,” Maxim says, “I hope that’s-”
“So glad you’re here, I can’t even,” Kevin grins, can barely comprehend it, but whatever, Maxim’s here, right where Kevin wants him to be. “Also, that’s pretty much the optimal use of that key, by the way. I fully condone showing up and making my night. Absolutely. Two hundred percent.”
Maxim gives him a bright smile, but Kevin knows him, he sees the nervousness in Maxim’s eyes. “I wanted to ask you something,” Maxim says, and that’s definitely the cause of the anxiety, “I was thinking, it’s been two weeks since playoffs, so maybe you’d want to -play hockey? With me? Like before?”
It takes Kevin a moment to even register the entire gravity of this, and this is such a big deal, he can barely grasp onto it. Maxim’s offering to play hockey with him, offering to go out there again even though last time, that was what scared him away. And more than that - that’s not even it. This is Maxim trying to - to fix himself, but the edge of nervousness is too sharp, and Kevin knows he’s not ready for this. They’ve been going at a slow pace, Maxim’s not ready for this, and now that Kevin knows the heart-poundingly high level of pressure Maxim’s putting himself under, he knows that Maxim will push himself too hard to heal faster than he can. He’s not ready, but he’s still forcing himself to offer, for Kevin.
“Maxi,” he pulls Maxim into his arms, and it’s only confirmed, from the way Maxim melts against him, holding tight like he wants to be protected. “I want to. When you want to.” Maxim leans up to kiss him, all the answer Kevin needs, because it’s a thank you and a someday we will and it’s everything Kevin could want him to say. “So, you probably noticed that those two lunatics are here,” Kevin says, as Maxim goes to look through his refrigerator.
“Yeah, I figured they didn’t come with the furniture.”
“That would be the shittiest furniture store of all time if they did. Who would do that to their customers?” He watches Maxim find the Chinese takeout, glance to him for permission, and then grab a fork. Kevin heads to the doorway, leans through it. “Stupid question, but you guys want any food?” Predictably, Alex looks over with interest. There should probably be a chapter in science textbooks dedicated to just him and his ability to eat so much.
“What is there?” Alex asks, but he’s already coming over. Maxim’s leaning against the counter, and his gaze follows Alex across the kitchen. He looks a little guarded, but nothing like before, so Kevin relaxes. He still goes over to stand next to Maxim, kiss the back of his shoulder on the way. Alex is busy digging through the refrigerator, and he makes a delighted sound at something.
“It’s about time you started getting good jam,” Alex says, and Kevin kind of goes crimson at that. He might have picked it up at the store right after Maxim mentioned he liked the French kind better.
“If you know what brand I usually get, it’s pretty much a sign that you eat my food too often.”
“Whatever. You have good taste, suddenly?”
“It’s Max’s favourite,” Kevin says.
“So, basically, you’re whipped,” Ryan comes into the kitchen, apparently lost without Alex.
“Oh, and who has little sticky notes all over their apartment with French nouns so they can learn an entire language for someone?” Kevin retorts, and Ryan makes a face at him.
“You’re just jealous you’re not smart enough to do it.”
Ryan stands at the island, watches Alex search through Kevin’s refrigerator, and for a moment there’s a look of such obvious fondness on his face that Kevin is lost wondering whether this is a normal scene in their life together. He wonders at the things that are commonplace to them - Alex happily looking through a refrigerator, Ryan insisting on untying his shoes when he takes them off, little things that they must see a thousand times - and only wants to think about his and Maxim’s own good counterparts. He doesn’t ever want to think about the things he’s used to seeing that he never wants to see again. He wants to only remember every detail of the way Maxim looks pulling on a borrowed shirt, doesn’t want to think about how he’s also seen Maxim hurt and terrified more times than he cares to count but can never forget a single instance.
Alex looks over his shoulder, spots Maxim’s food and frowns. “I wanted that,” he says sorrowfully. Maxim looks down, then up at him, doesn’t say anything.
“You can’t claim food in my refrigerator,” Kevin points out. “Seeing as you’re not me. Or him.”
“Fine,” Alex pretty much pouts, but he’s forgotten about it six seconds later when he finds Italian food, which Maxim always turns his nose up at.
“Pretty sure this is the third time we’ve had dinner today,” Ryan remarks, and Alex shrugs.
“Deuxieme.”
“No, third. Definitely.”
Kevin glances over, and Maxim’s looking down at the counter.
“So, can we go back to the movie, or are you guys gonna talk through the rest of it?”
They continue to talk through the movie, predictably. Kevin doesn’t mind nearly as much, though, because Maxim’s leaning against his side, so things are two hundred percent better than they were before.
“Really? The stuntman thing is so old and overrated,” Ryan scoffs, and Alex looks at him.
“What is a stuntman?”
“Cascadeur,” Maxim says automatically, looks down when Alex smiles brilliantly over at him. Kevin hides a smirk at the way Ryan looks vaguely jealous at that. It’s sort of hilarious, the thought that Maxim and Alex would ever be remotely interested in each other like that. For starters, Ryan is the love of Alex’s life, that would be obvious to someone who’d only known them for forty-five seconds. More than that, Alex and Maxim are completely wrong for each other. Maxim needs someone to slow him down and unwind him, needs steady and supportive, and Alex needs a counterpoint, someone who indulges him sometimes and reels him in other times; neither would find that in the other. Kevin would more likely die laughing at the thought than feel jealousy. That doesn’t make Ryan’s scowling any less entertaining, though.
“Ton Anglais est meilleur que la mienne,” Alex tries, but Maxim just nods, stays silent. Kevin kind of wants to hug Alex for trying, but Ryan’s under enough jealous stress. He compensates by just kissing Maxim’s ear and shooting a grateful smile over at Alex.
Ryan and Alex get into a debate at the end of the movie about what to watch next, so Kevin leaves them to it. He nuzzles at Maxim’s ear, gets a smile and whiny little noise in response. “I’m really, really glad you came,” he murmurs.
“Me too,” Maxim says, and Kevin can still count on one hand the times Maxim’s replied to things like that, so he’s surprised even before Maxim kisses him.
Kevin hears the way Alex and Ryan stop talking and then whisper together, so he flips them off behind Maxim’s back. They snicker, go back to their debate.
“Sorry they’re here,” he says, loud enough that they can hear it, and they make irritated noises. Maxim smirks, a clear just wait on his face.
Ryan and Alex do eventually leave, and Kevin looks at Maxim hopefully after the door closes behind them.
“What?” Maxim tilts his head a little.
“You’re here,” Kevin tries to explain. He’s been kind of wanting to express his never-ending gratitude at that, since he saw Maxim standing in his kitchen.
“Been here for a few hours now,” Maxim says, and maybe Kevin’s heart twists happily a little at that, the accent Maxim puts on been, like he’s picked it up from Kevin.
“But you’re here, and I really like that,” Kevin says, and a smile spreads over Maxim’s face. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to showing you just how much.”
“Don’t mind at all.” He says, but Kevin can hear just the slightest note of distraction in it. That doesn’t worry him as much anymore; coaxing Maxim into actually talking to him isn’t impossible anymore.
The sight of Maxim lying on his bed is the best thing Kevin’s ever seen; he might linger at the end of the bed for a moment, just memorising the lean lines of Maxim’s body, the way his knee bends out, the way the pillow musses his dark hair, his big hands against the sheets, the way Maxim’s looking at him, just him.
“Viens,” Maxim murmurs, and the tilt of his head tells Kevin that means come. Kevin’s more than happy to obey - he wants to do nothing else, for the rest of his life - and climbs onto the bed. He switches off the light on the nightstand, because Maxim’s hands are moving slow on Kevin, like he wants to be close and comforted, draw Kevin in as close as he can, and he talks a little more when it’s dark. Kevin catches Maxim’s hand, kisses across his knuckles, his fingertips, and waits. Maxim turns his face against the pillow, curls his fingers around Kevin’s hand.
“Do you want to learn French?” he asks, in this small voice that pains Kevin to his core. “Like Ryan is, for Alex?” His eyes are nearly black in the dark, fixed on Kevin. Kevin rubs his thumb over the back of Maxim’s hand gently. He’s thought about it; when he sees the way Ryan pays extra attention to the words Alex says in French, it’s made Kevin wonder if he should. He hasn’t tried, though, because it would feel like a betrayal unless Maxim expressly wanted him to. French seems to be Maxim’s haven, a safe way for Maxim to talk to him when it’s hard for him to open up. Kevin’s worked so hard even for that; he doesn’t want to take it away. Since the first time, he hasn’t asked Alex to translate anything, either, no matter how much he wants to know the little things Maxim says to him, this secret language in the dark. Kevin doesn’t want to take that away. He wants Maxim to talk to him any way he can.
“I’d love to if you wanted me to,” he says, and Maxim frowns in confusion. “You say things, sometimes,” Kevin whispers, “if you wanted me to know what they meant, I know you’d tell me. Right now, you still need something that’s just yours.” Maxim’s silent, just watching him.
“When I’m actually ready,” he breathes, doesn’t finish.
“Of course,” Kevin says. Maxim gives him that smile, the one that melts his heart, Kevin can see it even through the dark. “I kinda really want to kiss you,” he says.
“You always say that.”
“Because I always want to.” He gets another smile for this, and he moves to straddle Maxim’s hips, lean down to frame Maxim’s face in his hands and kiss him long and slow. He moves on to kiss Maxim’s neck, along his collarbone and shoulders, down his chest. He’s sort of set on kissing every inch of Maxim’s body, one for every word he wants Maxim to someday tell him so he can understand.
“Je ne te mérite pas,” Maxim murmurs, one hand carding through Kevin’s hair gently as Kevin kisses him. “Tellement…” His words are slow tonight, slight whispers, different from the way he usually gasps and blurts things out almost without his own consent. “Chanceuse,” he breathes out, trembles a little under Kevin’s touch.
“Was so happy you came,” Kevin says, lips against Maxim’s skin. Maxim shivers, makes a little sigh of a sound. “I miss you when you’re not here.”
“Je ne veux jamais être séparée de toi,” Maxim whispers, and Kevin feels so certainly like Maxim’s answering him. He kisses a path down Maxim’s chest, his abs, long and lingering, and Maxim makes a little whimpering sound. “Je veux être la tienne.”
Kevin’s heart twists at the longing in Maxim’s voice, put to words he doesn’t understand. Sometimes, Kevin wants a language all his own, too, because sometimes, all the things he keeps inside just hurt, all the words he can’t say. He wishes there was a way to say all the things that would scare Maxim, a way to tell him everything so that he wouldn’t understand, because sometimes, all the time, it kills Kevin to keep everything hidden away, always under lock and key. All he has is the way he can touch Maxim, convey the intensity of everything he feels through gentleness of the same magnitude, softness where he burns. All the words Kevin needs to tell Maxim stay locked up inside him, desperate to get out, have to wait for now, wait for a day when Maxim could hear them without breaking. One day, maybe everything Kevin feels won’t hurt him.
Kevin leans back up to press their lips together, one hand soft on Maxim’s cheek. “Just want to kiss you everywhere,” Kevin says, and Maxim smiles up at him.
“All yours,” he arches up for another swift kiss. “More?” Kevin grins, goes back to where he was. Before long, Maxim’s pushing impatiently at his jeans, whining and begging Kevin with his eyes. Kevin lets Maxim shove them off, and then edges down his boxers just a little. He kisses along the revealed strip of skin, Maxim’s hips twitching, his erection tenting his boxers obviously. He presses a kiss to the hollow of Maxim’s hip, and Maxim shrieks. Kevin nearly chokes on laughter. Maxim’s blushing all the way down to his chest, biting his lip. Kevin smirks. And then he does it again.
Maxim writhes a little, making a high-pitched whimpering sound that Kevin wants to bottle up and keep forever. He kind of loves hearing his smug Maxim giggle hysterically.
He spends some more time there, making Maxim squirm and hiccup giggles until he’s breathing hard.
“Keevv,” Maxim whines, batting at him. Kevin takes mercy, but only a little, moving to mouth along the hard length of Maxim’s dick. Maxim falls to pieces at that, moaning and arching up against him desperately. Kevin adds a little scrape of teeth and Maxim groans deeply, dick twitching. His hands are clutching the sheets tight, his head thrown back, and he moans when Kevin does it again, bursts out with a jumble of sounds that are nonsense in every language. Kevin reaches down to rub himself through his jeans, wincing a little at the feel of the denim, but if he ignores that, it feels fucking great as he pushes against his palm.
“Tu - tu -” Maxim’s voice is raw with need, and then he groans, hips jerking as he comes suddenly. When Kevin looks up, Maxim’s biting his lip, flushed with embarrassment. “It was- you touching yourself - so-” Maxim explains weakly. Kevin just grins, crawls up to kiss Maxim.
“You’re so hot it kills me,” he murmurs, and Maxim leans up to give him a biting kiss, like he wants to prove just how right Kevin is. It’s convincing, because Kevin’s gasping and leaking into his boxers even more now. Maxim nudges him back, strips him of his jeans and boxers before Kevin can follow what’s happening, and then Maxim swallows him down and it’s all Kevin can do not to scream. Maxim laps at him with his tongue and Kevin gasps aloud.
“Maxi- Maxi- Maxi- gonna-” is all the warning he manages to give before he’s coming in Maxim’s mouth, completely swept away by the force of his orgasm.
“Liked doing that since the beginning,” Maxim says, and Kevin’s heart might stop a little at that. Maxim crawls up to collapse next to him, wiggles out of his damp boxers and tosses them to join Kevin’s on the floor. Kevin wraps an arm around him, pulls him close.
“So glad you’re here,” he whispers, all he can manage. Maxim fits himself against Kevin, as close as he can get.
“Tu me sauves,” Maxim murmurs against his neck.
Kevin closes his eyes, imagines a day when he understands everything, falls asleep to the lullaby of Maxim’s breathing.
Next Chapter
Also, to everyone that just added me, hi! You're now going to get to see NTBY updates like, ten minutes earlier than other people, AND you get to see the original fics on here! LUCKY YOU, RIGHT? :D Also, you're awesome.
After two weeks, everything has become a routine, something Kevin can count on. Maxim goes home most afternoons, but he lets Kevin pick him up in the evenings most of the time, and when Kevin does, he’ll spend the night. Kevin may never know which days his question will be met with a “no thanks, I’ll stay at home tonight,” but at least he knows that Maxim will want to spend most nights with him.
It’s routine, but the entire thing still makes Kevin uneasy, sick with the thought that he doesn’t know what Maxim does the nights he doesn’t come, the thought that he really does know what it must be.
Kevin wants to ask him - beg him - not to. He doesn’t want Maxim to see anyone else anymore; it destroys something inside Kevin, heavy-handed and relentless. He knows Maxim, though, knows that the wrong questions make Maxim go quiet, the wrong words have made him disappear completely. Maxim has a history of disappearance; if Kevin just forces himself to let this go on, at least he can be sure that the rest of the time, Maxim is safe with him, still allowing Kevin to help him. If Kevin so much as tried to find another solution, anything, Maxim might disappear, and then Kevin would have no way of helping him at all.
So Kevin lets it happen.
On Thursday night, Kevin isn’t seeing Maxim. These nights, he works valiantly to distract himself, because if he doesn’t, he’ll spend the entire time thinking up endless schemes to make this stop. None of them will ever work, because their mere existence threatens to take Maxim from him. Instead, he’s on his laptop and watching some old episode of Star Trek on TV. It’s about some salt monster or something; Kevin figures he’s hit an all-time low when he can’t even follow Star Trek. Kevin sighs, turns his attention back to the computer screen. Dan came up with the idea that they could sponsor a renovation of a local ice rink, and Kevin’s making a list of ones that might need it most.
He lasts about half an hour before he decides he’s going to go insane if he has to survive this for the rest of the evening. It’s not even six-thirty.
Alex picks up when Kevin calls Ryan’s phone.
“’ello?”
“Burr, I call Ryan’s phone so I can have a conversation in English.”
“You have no, euh. Sense of adventure,” Alex informs him cheerfully, but the phone changes hands.
“You lost without us already?” Ryan says smugly.
“I don’t miss you one bit.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“That said, do you guys want to come over?”
“What if we’re busy having se-”
“Oh please, shut the fuck up,” Kevin pleads, and Ryan laughs.
“We’ll be over in a few,” he says, and hangs up.
Half an hour later, Kevin’s apartment is six times noisier than it was before. They laughed mercilessly at him for watching Star Trek and switched it to Ocean’s Thirteen. Kevin can see exactly why Alex and Ryan are so perfect for each other; they both talk incessantly through movies. Even drinking doesn’t distract them; Kevin tried.
“What if he didn’t put that camera behind his desk?” Ryan asks stubbornly, pointing to the screen. “What the fuck then?”
“He has a nice office,” Alex muses. Kevin sighs. He’s sitting at the corner of the couch, and Ryan’s lying across the cushions to his right, Alex practically on top of him, wedged between him and the cushions. It looks uncomfortable to Kevin, but they both seem completely used to it.
“Do they even have earthquakes in Vegas?” Ryan asks, tilts his head back to look at Kevin, who shrugs.
“You think I have a map of fault lines memorised or something?”
“You seem like the type, yeah.”
“Pretty sure that’s an insult.”
“No!” Ryan protests, “well, kind of.”
“I don’t like you.”
“I know,” Ryan smirks. Kevin glowers. Really, he doesn’t know why he’s friends with them sometimes; surely there are more sane people on the team he could have gotten close to. Anyone, actually. It’s not hard to be less insane than Ryan and Alex.
“Know what?” Alex muses, and Kevin lets his head fall back onto the cushions, waits for the revelation that will doubtlessly be alarming. “Juice, your bed is made for blanket forts. It has, euh. The goalposts! And the thing that goes between them!” He draws a square in the air, grinning.
“Bedposts,” Ryan corrects automatically, barely even paying attention.
“C’est parfait!”
“Okay. Give me back your key to my apartment. Right now.”
Alex just laughs wildly, which is extremely uncomforting.
“They’re good at planning,” Alex comments after watching the movie for a while.
“In theory,” Ryan adds, and Alex snickers.
“So, you could not do it, then.”
“You insulting my planning skills?”
“I can’t,” Alex says innocently, “they don’t exist.”
Ryan makes a face and sticks his tongue out, and then Alex just licks it. Kevin arches an eyebrow, just watching, tries not to look like he’s burning with jealousy. He’s not jealous of them, of course. They’re- they’re them.
“You weirdo,” Ryan leans up to kiss Alex, “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Nuh-uh. I love you more.”
“Non, je t’aime plus, more!”
Kevin drops his head into his hand, studies the label of his beer bottle intently. He’s not jealous. He’s not. Just because they can say I love you and he doesn’t dare tell Maxim that - he’s not jealous. Not at all. It doesn’t eat away at him, because he’s not jealous, because being all open about being in love and knowing he’s loved back isn’t something he hungers for, it’s not.
“Soooooo do. Right, Juice? Don’t I love Alex more than he loves me?” Ryan says, and Kevin growls. His only response is to get up and stalk into the kitchen, but they don’t seem to notice him stomping off.
Kevin’s life sucks; he’s nearly out of beer. Which is also their fault. He hasn’t picked up any in a while, either, because going to the liquor store is an extra errand and he hates running errands unless Maxim is with him, and him being here would make tonight a lot better, but him not being here is what’s making it terrible, because he’s out somewhere - Kevin doesn’t even know where - because he won’t let Kevin intervene. Maybe he should. Except then he might - most likely will - lose what he has now. And that would kill him.
He ignores the sound of footsteps, as he pokes through the refrigerator. “It’s cruel, you know, to finish all my beer and then drive me to need to drink.”
“I don’t need alcohol to make you forget even your own name.” And that, that is definitely not Ryan or Alex, and when Kevin turns, Maxim is - impossibly - standing right there, not two feet away.
“What? You- how? Here?” he manages.
“Your- um - my key,” Maxim says, “I hope that’s-”
“So glad you’re here, I can’t even,” Kevin grins, can barely comprehend it, but whatever, Maxim’s here, right where Kevin wants him to be. “Also, that’s pretty much the optimal use of that key, by the way. I fully condone showing up and making my night. Absolutely. Two hundred percent.”
Maxim gives him a bright smile, but Kevin knows him, he sees the nervousness in Maxim’s eyes. “I wanted to ask you something,” Maxim says, and that’s definitely the cause of the anxiety, “I was thinking, it’s been two weeks since playoffs, so maybe you’d want to -play hockey? With me? Like before?”
It takes Kevin a moment to even register the entire gravity of this, and this is such a big deal, he can barely grasp onto it. Maxim’s offering to play hockey with him, offering to go out there again even though last time, that was what scared him away. And more than that - that’s not even it. This is Maxim trying to - to fix himself, but the edge of nervousness is too sharp, and Kevin knows he’s not ready for this. They’ve been going at a slow pace, Maxim’s not ready for this, and now that Kevin knows the heart-poundingly high level of pressure Maxim’s putting himself under, he knows that Maxim will push himself too hard to heal faster than he can. He’s not ready, but he’s still forcing himself to offer, for Kevin.
“Maxi,” he pulls Maxim into his arms, and it’s only confirmed, from the way Maxim melts against him, holding tight like he wants to be protected. “I want to. When you want to.” Maxim leans up to kiss him, all the answer Kevin needs, because it’s a thank you and a someday we will and it’s everything Kevin could want him to say. “So, you probably noticed that those two lunatics are here,” Kevin says, as Maxim goes to look through his refrigerator.
“Yeah, I figured they didn’t come with the furniture.”
“That would be the shittiest furniture store of all time if they did. Who would do that to their customers?” He watches Maxim find the Chinese takeout, glance to him for permission, and then grab a fork. Kevin heads to the doorway, leans through it. “Stupid question, but you guys want any food?” Predictably, Alex looks over with interest. There should probably be a chapter in science textbooks dedicated to just him and his ability to eat so much.
“What is there?” Alex asks, but he’s already coming over. Maxim’s leaning against the counter, and his gaze follows Alex across the kitchen. He looks a little guarded, but nothing like before, so Kevin relaxes. He still goes over to stand next to Maxim, kiss the back of his shoulder on the way. Alex is busy digging through the refrigerator, and he makes a delighted sound at something.
“It’s about time you started getting good jam,” Alex says, and Kevin kind of goes crimson at that. He might have picked it up at the store right after Maxim mentioned he liked the French kind better.
“If you know what brand I usually get, it’s pretty much a sign that you eat my food too often.”
“Whatever. You have good taste, suddenly?”
“It’s Max’s favourite,” Kevin says.
“So, basically, you’re whipped,” Ryan comes into the kitchen, apparently lost without Alex.
“Oh, and who has little sticky notes all over their apartment with French nouns so they can learn an entire language for someone?” Kevin retorts, and Ryan makes a face at him.
“You’re just jealous you’re not smart enough to do it.”
Ryan stands at the island, watches Alex search through Kevin’s refrigerator, and for a moment there’s a look of such obvious fondness on his face that Kevin is lost wondering whether this is a normal scene in their life together. He wonders at the things that are commonplace to them - Alex happily looking through a refrigerator, Ryan insisting on untying his shoes when he takes them off, little things that they must see a thousand times - and only wants to think about his and Maxim’s own good counterparts. He doesn’t ever want to think about the things he’s used to seeing that he never wants to see again. He wants to only remember every detail of the way Maxim looks pulling on a borrowed shirt, doesn’t want to think about how he’s also seen Maxim hurt and terrified more times than he cares to count but can never forget a single instance.
Alex looks over his shoulder, spots Maxim’s food and frowns. “I wanted that,” he says sorrowfully. Maxim looks down, then up at him, doesn’t say anything.
“You can’t claim food in my refrigerator,” Kevin points out. “Seeing as you’re not me. Or him.”
“Fine,” Alex pretty much pouts, but he’s forgotten about it six seconds later when he finds Italian food, which Maxim always turns his nose up at.
“Pretty sure this is the third time we’ve had dinner today,” Ryan remarks, and Alex shrugs.
“Deuxieme.”
“No, third. Definitely.”
Kevin glances over, and Maxim’s looking down at the counter.
“So, can we go back to the movie, or are you guys gonna talk through the rest of it?”
They continue to talk through the movie, predictably. Kevin doesn’t mind nearly as much, though, because Maxim’s leaning against his side, so things are two hundred percent better than they were before.
“Really? The stuntman thing is so old and overrated,” Ryan scoffs, and Alex looks at him.
“What is a stuntman?”
“Cascadeur,” Maxim says automatically, looks down when Alex smiles brilliantly over at him. Kevin hides a smirk at the way Ryan looks vaguely jealous at that. It’s sort of hilarious, the thought that Maxim and Alex would ever be remotely interested in each other like that. For starters, Ryan is the love of Alex’s life, that would be obvious to someone who’d only known them for forty-five seconds. More than that, Alex and Maxim are completely wrong for each other. Maxim needs someone to slow him down and unwind him, needs steady and supportive, and Alex needs a counterpoint, someone who indulges him sometimes and reels him in other times; neither would find that in the other. Kevin would more likely die laughing at the thought than feel jealousy. That doesn’t make Ryan’s scowling any less entertaining, though.
“Ton Anglais est meilleur que la mienne,” Alex tries, but Maxim just nods, stays silent. Kevin kind of wants to hug Alex for trying, but Ryan’s under enough jealous stress. He compensates by just kissing Maxim’s ear and shooting a grateful smile over at Alex.
Ryan and Alex get into a debate at the end of the movie about what to watch next, so Kevin leaves them to it. He nuzzles at Maxim’s ear, gets a smile and whiny little noise in response. “I’m really, really glad you came,” he murmurs.
“Me too,” Maxim says, and Kevin can still count on one hand the times Maxim’s replied to things like that, so he’s surprised even before Maxim kisses him.
Kevin hears the way Alex and Ryan stop talking and then whisper together, so he flips them off behind Maxim’s back. They snicker, go back to their debate.
“Sorry they’re here,” he says, loud enough that they can hear it, and they make irritated noises. Maxim smirks, a clear just wait on his face.
Ryan and Alex do eventually leave, and Kevin looks at Maxim hopefully after the door closes behind them.
“What?” Maxim tilts his head a little.
“You’re here,” Kevin tries to explain. He’s been kind of wanting to express his never-ending gratitude at that, since he saw Maxim standing in his kitchen.
“Been here for a few hours now,” Maxim says, and maybe Kevin’s heart twists happily a little at that, the accent Maxim puts on been, like he’s picked it up from Kevin.
“But you’re here, and I really like that,” Kevin says, and a smile spreads over Maxim’s face. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to showing you just how much.”
“Don’t mind at all.” He says, but Kevin can hear just the slightest note of distraction in it. That doesn’t worry him as much anymore; coaxing Maxim into actually talking to him isn’t impossible anymore.
The sight of Maxim lying on his bed is the best thing Kevin’s ever seen; he might linger at the end of the bed for a moment, just memorising the lean lines of Maxim’s body, the way his knee bends out, the way the pillow musses his dark hair, his big hands against the sheets, the way Maxim’s looking at him, just him.
“Viens,” Maxim murmurs, and the tilt of his head tells Kevin that means come. Kevin’s more than happy to obey - he wants to do nothing else, for the rest of his life - and climbs onto the bed. He switches off the light on the nightstand, because Maxim’s hands are moving slow on Kevin, like he wants to be close and comforted, draw Kevin in as close as he can, and he talks a little more when it’s dark. Kevin catches Maxim’s hand, kisses across his knuckles, his fingertips, and waits. Maxim turns his face against the pillow, curls his fingers around Kevin’s hand.
“Do you want to learn French?” he asks, in this small voice that pains Kevin to his core. “Like Ryan is, for Alex?” His eyes are nearly black in the dark, fixed on Kevin. Kevin rubs his thumb over the back of Maxim’s hand gently. He’s thought about it; when he sees the way Ryan pays extra attention to the words Alex says in French, it’s made Kevin wonder if he should. He hasn’t tried, though, because it would feel like a betrayal unless Maxim expressly wanted him to. French seems to be Maxim’s haven, a safe way for Maxim to talk to him when it’s hard for him to open up. Kevin’s worked so hard even for that; he doesn’t want to take it away. Since the first time, he hasn’t asked Alex to translate anything, either, no matter how much he wants to know the little things Maxim says to him, this secret language in the dark. Kevin doesn’t want to take that away. He wants Maxim to talk to him any way he can.
“I’d love to if you wanted me to,” he says, and Maxim frowns in confusion. “You say things, sometimes,” Kevin whispers, “if you wanted me to know what they meant, I know you’d tell me. Right now, you still need something that’s just yours.” Maxim’s silent, just watching him.
“When I’m actually ready,” he breathes, doesn’t finish.
“Of course,” Kevin says. Maxim gives him that smile, the one that melts his heart, Kevin can see it even through the dark. “I kinda really want to kiss you,” he says.
“You always say that.”
“Because I always want to.” He gets another smile for this, and he moves to straddle Maxim’s hips, lean down to frame Maxim’s face in his hands and kiss him long and slow. He moves on to kiss Maxim’s neck, along his collarbone and shoulders, down his chest. He’s sort of set on kissing every inch of Maxim’s body, one for every word he wants Maxim to someday tell him so he can understand.
“Je ne te mérite pas,” Maxim murmurs, one hand carding through Kevin’s hair gently as Kevin kisses him. “Tellement…” His words are slow tonight, slight whispers, different from the way he usually gasps and blurts things out almost without his own consent. “Chanceuse,” he breathes out, trembles a little under Kevin’s touch.
“Was so happy you came,” Kevin says, lips against Maxim’s skin. Maxim shivers, makes a little sigh of a sound. “I miss you when you’re not here.”
“Je ne veux jamais être séparée de toi,” Maxim whispers, and Kevin feels so certainly like Maxim’s answering him. He kisses a path down Maxim’s chest, his abs, long and lingering, and Maxim makes a little whimpering sound. “Je veux être la tienne.”
Kevin’s heart twists at the longing in Maxim’s voice, put to words he doesn’t understand. Sometimes, Kevin wants a language all his own, too, because sometimes, all the things he keeps inside just hurt, all the words he can’t say. He wishes there was a way to say all the things that would scare Maxim, a way to tell him everything so that he wouldn’t understand, because sometimes, all the time, it kills Kevin to keep everything hidden away, always under lock and key. All he has is the way he can touch Maxim, convey the intensity of everything he feels through gentleness of the same magnitude, softness where he burns. All the words Kevin needs to tell Maxim stay locked up inside him, desperate to get out, have to wait for now, wait for a day when Maxim could hear them without breaking. One day, maybe everything Kevin feels won’t hurt him.
Kevin leans back up to press their lips together, one hand soft on Maxim’s cheek. “Just want to kiss you everywhere,” Kevin says, and Maxim smiles up at him.
“All yours,” he arches up for another swift kiss. “More?” Kevin grins, goes back to where he was. Before long, Maxim’s pushing impatiently at his jeans, whining and begging Kevin with his eyes. Kevin lets Maxim shove them off, and then edges down his boxers just a little. He kisses along the revealed strip of skin, Maxim’s hips twitching, his erection tenting his boxers obviously. He presses a kiss to the hollow of Maxim’s hip, and Maxim shrieks. Kevin nearly chokes on laughter. Maxim’s blushing all the way down to his chest, biting his lip. Kevin smirks. And then he does it again.
Maxim writhes a little, making a high-pitched whimpering sound that Kevin wants to bottle up and keep forever. He kind of loves hearing his smug Maxim giggle hysterically.
He spends some more time there, making Maxim squirm and hiccup giggles until he’s breathing hard.
“Keevv,” Maxim whines, batting at him. Kevin takes mercy, but only a little, moving to mouth along the hard length of Maxim’s dick. Maxim falls to pieces at that, moaning and arching up against him desperately. Kevin adds a little scrape of teeth and Maxim groans deeply, dick twitching. His hands are clutching the sheets tight, his head thrown back, and he moans when Kevin does it again, bursts out with a jumble of sounds that are nonsense in every language. Kevin reaches down to rub himself through his jeans, wincing a little at the feel of the denim, but if he ignores that, it feels fucking great as he pushes against his palm.
“Tu - tu -” Maxim’s voice is raw with need, and then he groans, hips jerking as he comes suddenly. When Kevin looks up, Maxim’s biting his lip, flushed with embarrassment. “It was- you touching yourself - so-” Maxim explains weakly. Kevin just grins, crawls up to kiss Maxim.
“You’re so hot it kills me,” he murmurs, and Maxim leans up to give him a biting kiss, like he wants to prove just how right Kevin is. It’s convincing, because Kevin’s gasping and leaking into his boxers even more now. Maxim nudges him back, strips him of his jeans and boxers before Kevin can follow what’s happening, and then Maxim swallows him down and it’s all Kevin can do not to scream. Maxim laps at him with his tongue and Kevin gasps aloud.
“Maxi- Maxi- Maxi- gonna-” is all the warning he manages to give before he’s coming in Maxim’s mouth, completely swept away by the force of his orgasm.
“Liked doing that since the beginning,” Maxim says, and Kevin’s heart might stop a little at that. Maxim crawls up to collapse next to him, wiggles out of his damp boxers and tosses them to join Kevin’s on the floor. Kevin wraps an arm around him, pulls him close.
“So glad you’re here,” he whispers, all he can manage. Maxim fits himself against Kevin, as close as he can get.
“Tu me sauves,” Maxim murmurs against his neck.
Kevin closes his eyes, imagines a day when he understands everything, falls asleep to the lullaby of Maxim’s breathing.
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