(no subject)
Title: I'll be your chance
Characters/Pairings: Chris/Maxxie
Rating: R
Warnings: public sex
Summary: Sometimes life isn't fair. Chris usually isn't too bothered by this, but when he is, he tries to do something about it.
Spoilers: just 1x01
Disclaimer: Skins is not mine.
Author's note: from my skins challenge table, prompt 'throat'. set as a missing moment from 1x01.
Chris feels bad for Maxxie. It has to suck to be lured by a gay club night - a night of tall fit blokes thrusting in time to the fast beat of techno, wearing no shirt and only tiny shorts barely covering the arse - and actually get five creepy old men, only two of which are actually dancing. It would be like being referred to a great new dealer only to find out all he has is shitty weed that's more stems and seeds than anything else.
Maxxie follows them to the bus stop, and Chris tries to think of a solution. He doesn't really think all posh blokes are gay, so Maxxie's probably going to have the same shitty luck at the party. Normally when he feels bad for someone and wants to make them happy, he would give them a pill. He doesn't sell to his mates, not really. Sid and Maxxie and the rest buy them at cost, which is usually six pounds, or three for fifteen. He makes his money at parties like the one they're heading out to, where Posh Kenneth gives him ten. But sometimes, just sometimes, it's worth it to give away one for free, if they really need it.
The problem is, he's currently out of E. He gave his last pill to his fish this morning, because having one pill is like having one crisp; utterly useless. The plan was to make a visit to the junkyard in the next few days, which is great for next weekend, but makes him impotent now. He doesn't even have any pot, he's completely dry. The plan was to show support for Sid's economic venture by buying from him later. Bottom line, Chris' plans tend to be good for the future, and fuck him up in the present.
Luckily, Anwar's got a pretty good fake ID. As Chris and Maxxie stand, waiting for the next bus, trying to figure out the route that will take them the least amount of transfers -or rather, that's what Maxxie's doing, Chris is just content to get there eventually- Anwar heads towards the nearest off license to get a few bottles.
In order of ability to hold alcohol, Chris is the best. If one defines best as 'can drink the most without passing out, no need to be coherent'. Really, the entire group is pretty good at maintaining the careful line between outrageous and obnoxious, and asleep in one's own puke. But Chris is the best, followed by Michelle, then Sid and Tony, then Jal and Maxxie. Anwar's only better than Cassie, who's the worst because she takes pills that make her quiet and sleepy rather than loud, and because she has no fat to soak up the alcohol. How someone seventy pounds is supposed to drink heavily, Chris doesn't know. Better to have some weight so when they start drinking the night isn't finished before it starts.
Anwar gets out of the shop a minute before the bus arrives, one of those tiny events that almost makes Chris believe in a higher power. Things just always seem to go right. Barring obvious exceptions, of course. They pile into the thing and Chris accepts the handful of transfer slips before they make their way to the back.
Once seated, Anwar opens all three bottles before handing them out. Technically they shouldn't be drinking. It is public transportation, after all. But the driver, a fat, wizened man, clearly doesn't give a toss. He's one of those blokes that's been driving for decades, and has seen everything there is to see. He knows, just by looking at Maxxie's smile and Chris' clothes, that they're not the type to start a fight, or create a problem.
It's cheap shit, but it doesn't really matter. They all start guzzling, ignoring the harsh taste. It's going to be a long night getting to the party, Maxxie's calculations are at three buses at least, depending on if they make their transfers. Might as well make the trip as entertaining as the party itself once they get there.
Still, there is tolerance to think of. The way Muslim Boy is going, Chris isn't surprised when Anwar's eyes close and he rests his head against the rattling glass window. That's boring as hell and Chris doesn't do boring, especially not when he's drunk, so he moves a row ahead. Maxxie takes his feet off the uncushioned seat and Chris slides in.
It's strange. It's been twenty minutes and he still feels bad for Maxxie. Normally his feelings don't last very long. Emotional ADD, or something.
"I don't think all posh boys are queer. Sorry," drunk, he feels guilty for lying earlier.
"Yeah, well it won't be my first time going home alone." Maxxie fakes a 'woe is me' sigh before grinning. "Don't worry about it, Miles."
Except it's shitty. Chris knows he's going to pull tonight. He knows he can pull any night, that there will always be a few girls to choose from in any occasion. But Maxxie hardly ever has a chance. Hell, the blond can probably count his number of partners on his fingers!
It's the empathy that gets him in the end. He turns a bit in his seat and leans in, his mouth landing on suntanned skin while his hand goes to denim. With a ferocity that startles even him, he's sucking a bruise on Maxxie's neck. Maxxie arches into the kneading fingers for a moment, then he jerks away.
"What the hell?"
"You never get a chance. It's not fair." Maxxie either agrees, or just knows it's difficult to sway drunk friends from doing what they like, because he doesn't pull away again when Chris goes back to his neck.
It's the easiest thing in the world to maneuver until Maxxie's fly is unzipped, until his fingers are curled around his cock. To the sound of Anwar's head lightly bouncing off the rattling window, Chris wanks off the first cock not his own he's ever touched. Maxxie does a good job of keeping his groans in, upper row of gleaming white teeth biting down on his bottom lip. Chris looks up from where his face is nestled in the crook of his mate's neck, and sees the driver looking through the mirror at him.
A moment later though, and his gaze is back on the road. Bloody veteran bus drivers. Chris would laugh, but he'd rather continue his attempt at a massive hickey. Something for Maxxie to remember.
It doesn't take long before Maxxie shoots all over the back of the next seat. He slumps and Chris looks around fruitlessly before finally toeing off his own shoe and wiping the come with his sock. Maxxie is breathing hard, and Anwar is fucking snoring. His foot feels oddly wet back inside his trainer, but he's happy about the situation.
Characters/Pairings: Chris/Maxxie
Rating: R
Warnings: public sex
Summary: Sometimes life isn't fair. Chris usually isn't too bothered by this, but when he is, he tries to do something about it.
Spoilers: just 1x01
Disclaimer: Skins is not mine.
Author's note: from my skins challenge table, prompt 'throat'. set as a missing moment from 1x01.
Chris feels bad for Maxxie. It has to suck to be lured by a gay club night - a night of tall fit blokes thrusting in time to the fast beat of techno, wearing no shirt and only tiny shorts barely covering the arse - and actually get five creepy old men, only two of which are actually dancing. It would be like being referred to a great new dealer only to find out all he has is shitty weed that's more stems and seeds than anything else.
Maxxie follows them to the bus stop, and Chris tries to think of a solution. He doesn't really think all posh blokes are gay, so Maxxie's probably going to have the same shitty luck at the party. Normally when he feels bad for someone and wants to make them happy, he would give them a pill. He doesn't sell to his mates, not really. Sid and Maxxie and the rest buy them at cost, which is usually six pounds, or three for fifteen. He makes his money at parties like the one they're heading out to, where Posh Kenneth gives him ten. But sometimes, just sometimes, it's worth it to give away one for free, if they really need it.
The problem is, he's currently out of E. He gave his last pill to his fish this morning, because having one pill is like having one crisp; utterly useless. The plan was to make a visit to the junkyard in the next few days, which is great for next weekend, but makes him impotent now. He doesn't even have any pot, he's completely dry. The plan was to show support for Sid's economic venture by buying from him later. Bottom line, Chris' plans tend to be good for the future, and fuck him up in the present.
Luckily, Anwar's got a pretty good fake ID. As Chris and Maxxie stand, waiting for the next bus, trying to figure out the route that will take them the least amount of transfers -or rather, that's what Maxxie's doing, Chris is just content to get there eventually- Anwar heads towards the nearest off license to get a few bottles.
In order of ability to hold alcohol, Chris is the best. If one defines best as 'can drink the most without passing out, no need to be coherent'. Really, the entire group is pretty good at maintaining the careful line between outrageous and obnoxious, and asleep in one's own puke. But Chris is the best, followed by Michelle, then Sid and Tony, then Jal and Maxxie. Anwar's only better than Cassie, who's the worst because she takes pills that make her quiet and sleepy rather than loud, and because she has no fat to soak up the alcohol. How someone seventy pounds is supposed to drink heavily, Chris doesn't know. Better to have some weight so when they start drinking the night isn't finished before it starts.
Anwar gets out of the shop a minute before the bus arrives, one of those tiny events that almost makes Chris believe in a higher power. Things just always seem to go right. Barring obvious exceptions, of course. They pile into the thing and Chris accepts the handful of transfer slips before they make their way to the back.
Once seated, Anwar opens all three bottles before handing them out. Technically they shouldn't be drinking. It is public transportation, after all. But the driver, a fat, wizened man, clearly doesn't give a toss. He's one of those blokes that's been driving for decades, and has seen everything there is to see. He knows, just by looking at Maxxie's smile and Chris' clothes, that they're not the type to start a fight, or create a problem.
It's cheap shit, but it doesn't really matter. They all start guzzling, ignoring the harsh taste. It's going to be a long night getting to the party, Maxxie's calculations are at three buses at least, depending on if they make their transfers. Might as well make the trip as entertaining as the party itself once they get there.
Still, there is tolerance to think of. The way Muslim Boy is going, Chris isn't surprised when Anwar's eyes close and he rests his head against the rattling glass window. That's boring as hell and Chris doesn't do boring, especially not when he's drunk, so he moves a row ahead. Maxxie takes his feet off the uncushioned seat and Chris slides in.
It's strange. It's been twenty minutes and he still feels bad for Maxxie. Normally his feelings don't last very long. Emotional ADD, or something.
"I don't think all posh boys are queer. Sorry," drunk, he feels guilty for lying earlier.
"Yeah, well it won't be my first time going home alone." Maxxie fakes a 'woe is me' sigh before grinning. "Don't worry about it, Miles."
Except it's shitty. Chris knows he's going to pull tonight. He knows he can pull any night, that there will always be a few girls to choose from in any occasion. But Maxxie hardly ever has a chance. Hell, the blond can probably count his number of partners on his fingers!
It's the empathy that gets him in the end. He turns a bit in his seat and leans in, his mouth landing on suntanned skin while his hand goes to denim. With a ferocity that startles even him, he's sucking a bruise on Maxxie's neck. Maxxie arches into the kneading fingers for a moment, then he jerks away.
"What the hell?"
"You never get a chance. It's not fair." Maxxie either agrees, or just knows it's difficult to sway drunk friends from doing what they like, because he doesn't pull away again when Chris goes back to his neck.
It's the easiest thing in the world to maneuver until Maxxie's fly is unzipped, until his fingers are curled around his cock. To the sound of Anwar's head lightly bouncing off the rattling window, Chris wanks off the first cock not his own he's ever touched. Maxxie does a good job of keeping his groans in, upper row of gleaming white teeth biting down on his bottom lip. Chris looks up from where his face is nestled in the crook of his mate's neck, and sees the driver looking through the mirror at him.
A moment later though, and his gaze is back on the road. Bloody veteran bus drivers. Chris would laugh, but he'd rather continue his attempt at a massive hickey. Something for Maxxie to remember.
It doesn't take long before Maxxie shoots all over the back of the next seat. He slumps and Chris looks around fruitlessly before finally toeing off his own shoe and wiping the come with his sock. Maxxie is breathing hard, and Anwar is fucking snoring. His foot feels oddly wet back inside his trainer, but he's happy about the situation.