no but srsly how does fic happen BY ACCIDENT. lahiggy, you are ninja.
sing like a bird, dizzy in my head
maxim lapierre/chris higgins
811w.
"Hey," Max says as he pads into the kitchen. "You're out of shaving cream."
Chris slides the spatula underneath the row of bacon and gives it a careful flip. "Third cupboard underneath the sink," he answers absently.
He feels Max press briefly up against his back, warmth radiating off his bare skin through Chris' thin t-shirt, then bump his shoulders lightly past to hop up onto the counter adjacent to him. Chris turns to raise an eyebrow at him, Max grins back cheerily, the handle of his toothbrush sticking jaunty and red out of his mouth.
Chris can feel an answering smile tug at his lips as he chases the bacon around the pan one last time, then slides everything off onto the waiting plate. Max sneaks fingers over his shoulder and Chris slaps them away with one hand as he reaches for the eggs with the other. "You've still got a mouthful of toothpaste foam," he points out, and laughs as Max pulls down the corners of his lips in an exaggerated pout.
"You didn't complain about my mouth being full last night," Max grumbles around the toothbrush, his vowels slurring together even more than usual. The heat of his body pulls away from Chris' side as he slides along the counter to spit into the sink. The faucet runs, and Chris can hear Max gargling water in his mouth, all obnoxious theatricality. He smothers down a chuckle.
He turns back to the eggs, breaking them carefully into the pan. Max likes to boast about how he can crack them one-handed, but Chris would rather eat his breakfast without the repeat experience of eggshell shards embedding into his gums.
The sound of water stops and Max's pressing himself back alongside him, feet kicking lightly at the back of his thighs. When Chris looks over, he stretches his lips back in an exaggerated grin, showing off his clean teeth like a child to his mother before bedtime. Chris can't help but laugh.
"You look ridiculous."
Max shrugs. "Again, not what you said last night, cheri. I remember it was more like," he leans in to moan demonstratively into Chris' ear, his chin digging in sharp where it's tucked into the joint between neck and shoulder, overnight stubble sandpaper-rough against Chris' skin. "'Mm yeah, Max, just like that, fuck yeah, you're fucking amazing, I totally don't deserve you and your God-like cocksucking skills.'"
Chris doesn't even have to look to know that Max's face is screwed up in a ridiculous sex face, and he concentrates on flipping the eggs, careful to leave the yolk intact in Max's, the way he likes them. But the accompanying noises Max makes are lewd and wet against the side of his neck, too reminiscent of the sounds he was making last night, and Chris has to pretend that the low vibrate of Max's voice up against his pulse point isn't stirring interest in his jeans. He tries to inject as much long-suffering as he can into his sigh instead. "Do you have to be so crass this early in the morning?"
"Ouais," Max says cheerily, grinning wicked against his neck before sinking his teeth lightly into the space where Chris' jawline meets ear, thumbs hooking into his belt loops. He tugs, quick and insistent, and Chris rolls his eyes fondly as he gives in, turning his head so Max can slot their mouths together.
He tastes like mint, sharp and cool on Chris' tongue and Chris chases the chill of it, licking the flavour out from the pockets of his cheeks. Max brings a hand up to thread into his hair, scratching blunt nails lightly against his scalp, drawing Chris closer with the hand at his hip. They make out lazy and slow, the air quiet except for the sizzle of grease and the wet noises of lips on lips. Somewhere overhead, a plane rumbles on by.
Chris sniffs the air and pulls back. Max makes a displeased sound at the back of his throat and tries to follow, nearly tipping off the counter. Chris laughs as he steadies him with a hand against his chest. "The eggs are burning."
"Ça va, I like them crispy."
"You eat them charred," Chris corrects him, moving the pan off the burners so he can assess the damage and salvage what he can from the blackening mess, "because you can't cook for shit."
"Is why I have you, cheri," Max grins at him, wide and impudent. "Why learn cooking when I have a girlfriend to cook for me?"
Chris shoves him lightly. "Go get dressed, you ass. I'll make pancakes if you behave."
Max's grin widens. "That's fair." He leans in to steal one last quick peck, biting playfully into Chris' bottom lip, then hops off the counter, dodging the smack to his ass and snagging a piece of bacon off the plate before sashaying out the door.
Chris shakes his head fondly and makes his way to the fridge to get the pancake batter.
mrrrrh, so sleepy. current wordcount is 753. maybe i will add when i am not so sleepy.
trololo 805w. i have done nothing on my essay proposal though. i am the best at prioritizing.
nope, i lied. 811w, bc i am cursed to never stop editing things.