(Untitled)

[dancin_maxxie]

[Continued from here]

The words go straight to Tony's head, hit him hard down low in the pit of his stomach, hook his hips forward with a jerk. The world comes suddenly roaring back to life around them, hot and vibrant and pulsing up through their feet, and before Tony realises it, he's moving through the wash of it, a hand clamped over Maxxie's

Comments

[well_yeah_but]

They've probably been seen. Maxxie is the birthday boy, after all, crowned and impossible to miss even in the throng. Tony has just enough sense to decide he could manage a believable excuse to anyone who saw them leave, but what little concern he had firmly stops the moment Maxxie pulls him around and finds him with his warm and eager mouth.

So much of this is like before, and so little of it, too, the two of them stumbling back into the shadows, bodies already entwined. It would feel like a pattern but for the way Tony's stopped caring about twisting Maxxie one way or the other, stopped looking for ways to tie him up with whatever it is that makes him sometimes look at Tony so wistfully. There's no need now. It's done.

This is his. Fuck everyone else.

"I fucking love you," he swears on an unsteady voice in the space between kisses. "I fucking want you."

[dancin_maxxie]

He makes a keening noise in the back of his throat, desperate want overtaking him now that the other stimuli have faded away to the background. He wants Tony; he has Tony. Why they aren't already shagging evades him. Deft fingers tug at his belt, the fly of his trousers, scramble up under the hem of his shirt, push at the fabric.

"I want you," Maxxie breathes in turn, words smudged against Tony's lips. Maybe it's the drugs that makes the words come easy, without consequence or second thought. He feels pretense burn away against the heat of their bodies. "I always want you. More than anything. Love you."

The words feel weak though, lacking, not what he wants to say at all. Only a portion of what's burning inside him. He tries to make up for it, say the rest in the meeting of their mouths, to leave no doubt that it's just the two of them that matter.

[well_yeah_but]

What they really need right now is a bed. A way for Tony to spread Maxxie out all restless and eager so that he can watch him move, watch his body rise up to meet his own. It's always too fucking dark, Maxxie's body visible only in outlines and patches, but it's too far and Tony can't stop himself now, doesn't have the willpower to pull his hands away from all that warm, sleek skin.

"I want to see you," he says, even though it will do no good. He wants it out there, wants Maxxie to hear him say it; even dizzied and honest like this, Tony needs to plant that idea in the blond's head because he knows it will stick. His hands fumble at Maxxie's trousers and then slide beneath and around to grip his arse. "Want to watch you when I'm in you."

[dancin_maxxie]

His hips cant forward in a breathless rush. This is why he let things get as far as they did in Russia, why he lets Tony pull him into shadowy corners against weak protests, why now he's content to be pulled along. Tony doesn't know every button to push, every angle of Maxxie that he can play, but he knows a lot of them, and it feels fucking good. His eyes fall shut and he can see it in his head, the heat in Tony's eyes burning him up.

Maxxie shudders and licks his lips. But even as far gone as he is, his fingers know their work. They slide over Tony's ass, dip into a back pocket and out, finding the little square of foil he knew would be there. His thumbs hook over the band of pants and trousers both, pushing them down to Tony's thighs. "Want you inside me," he murmurs. "Now."