rivers_bend

My partner in Max/Julian porn, tigertrapped wrote a devastatingly good chapter from Max's POV, Distant, and wanted to hear Julian's POV. Which is where I came in. Running concurrent with her chapter, it looks at things from a different angle.

and I can no longer ever say I've not written rimming

Adult rated for sex, ~3,100 words.


It was over a month since Julian had driven along Montpellier Square at night, looking for lights in the windows. Since he'd talked Rupert into meeting him on Brompton Road for brunch, or walked through Knightsbridge, hoping. Max had quit his job, but they would be reluctant to let him go, would keep hold of him while they had him for that debrief. Julian knew how it felt to not want to see the back of Max.

He was having one of those days where knotty legal problems and the mindless chatter of the people around him filled the space enough that he wasn't looking for Max to appear suddenly in front of him as he walked towards the underground. It was absurd that Max was stepping out of a five star hotel in the City on the day Julian was there for a meeting, at the moment that Julian was walking past with nowhere else to be except next to Max. But it was more absurd that it had been four months since Julian could reach out and touch him.

Max's elbow was sharp, and real. He wasn't a figment of Julian's imagination, turned to look at him when Julian said his name. Julian felt overwhelmed. Desperate. Wanted to push Max back through the doors of the hotel, drag him upstairs to a room, strip his suit off and touch every inch of him, remind his fingers of the feel of Max's skin, his tongue of Max's taste, seep his longing through Max's pores so Max wouldn't leave, couldn't leave, but none of that was possible. This was Max, he was here, but he was somewhere else as well.

Like a caged animal who still remembered the wild.

Light as he could, Julian said, 'You're back.' He listened carefully to his own words. No hint of reproach. Not the slightest edge of why didn't you phone?

Julian could almost see the journey from wherever Max was, to the place where small-talk became possible. 'How are you?' Not, I need you, I miss you, tell me everything you've been doing in the endless stretch of time since I wanted you so badly I broke into a building to fuck you.

Julian made the journey himself, from the other end of whatever spectrum he and Max were currently inhabiting. ‘Fine, good. I’m just leaving work. D’you want to… go and get a drink maybe?’ Wonderful. And if he'd just met Max at a party, maybe he'd have pulled.

Or maybe not.

Max had to be somewhere. Whatever had called him to this hotel, it hadn't been good news. Careful again, not wanting to add to the bars Max obviously sensed around him, Julian said that was fine. That Max could phone him sometime, only if he wanted to, no pressure. He looked for something in Max's face. Anything that he could tell himself was reassurance that Max was ok, but there was nothing.

Needing Max to know this wasn't small-talk any more, Julian touched his hand. 'You okay?' Adding with his eyes, I mean it. Tell me what's going on with you. I can leave you here and let you go off to do what you need to do, but only if I know you're going to be all right.

He wasn't. Julian watched him slipping away, said, 'Max..?' again and saw him snap back. Not here precisely, but closer. Maybe almost reachable. Close enough that he could take him home.
--
Not being able to imagine Max on the underground in his current state, Julian hailed a taxi to take them back to Pimlico. Max alternated between staring out of the window and looking at Julian's fingers where he allowed them to brush against Max's wrist. Once or twice, Max had shifted his hand as though to wrap Julian's up in it, but the movement was aborted, turned into a nervous twitch.

When he finally had Max behind closed doors, he couldn't wait any longer, had to kiss him. He tasted hollow, like a pocket where need used to live. But still, enough like Max that Julian wanted more.

They went upstairs where Julian could sit Max on his bed, cup his face and kiss him properly, but it wasn't just Max's need that had been hollowed out, his cheeks made sharp angles under Julian's thumbs. Distracted from the kiss, he said, 'You've lost weight…' but Max didn’t want to talk about it. As though those were the magic words, Max held him, pulled him closer, erasing Julian's tentative control; he felt need bleeding through his thighs at Max's hips, through his hands at Max's throat, through his lips into Max's mouth.

He wanted… there, Max's tie undone and buttons open to his fingers, collarbones in relief, Max shivering under his touch. 'Are you cold?' he asked, warming Max with his tongue.

He had reached the end of bone where it curved away into muscle, and was about to follow the softer line of muscle back up to Max's neck, when Max said, 'Do you want to fuck me?'

The words almost didn't sound real. He was so focused on his desire to draw Max in, to keep him safe and here, that the thought of sinking into Max, being lost in his heat, was a jolt. Looking at Max's face, he saw the offer stood. 'Yes,' he said,' if it's what you want.' There could be no other answer. He would give Max anything. Especially… The thought of Max clutching around him made him dizzy and he reached to touch Max's cheekbone, thinking again that he must have heard wrong.

'It's what I want,' Max said, diverting Julian's hand.

Before Max could change his mind, remember that he had somewhere to be, Julian stood and undressed, watching Max watch him, filing the flick of his eyes away for later. He wouldn’t let Max undress himself, wanting the time to remember the kiss of Max's skin on his palms and lips. As he held Max's shoulders in the cups of his hands, watching Max tip his head back and close his eyes, Julian wasn't sure if he could do this. Why was this harder than turning underneath a drug-crazed Max, opening himself to whatever Max's lust had wanted?

‘How d’you want to –’ Max wasn't helping, sitting so still, but when Julian spoke, he turned over, seeming to lose himself in the mattress, anchoring himself with a white-knuckled grip on the headboard, gone again, until he turned his head and said, 'Like this.'

Then Julian realised, 'I haven't any lube,' and it made him want this fiercely.

Max spread his legs, said, 'Spit's fine.'

Touching Max, where his arse gave way to spine, fitting his hand to the curve, Julian gave Max a chance to change his mind, hoping he wouldn't. Keeping his hand there, steadying them both, Julian knelt between Max's thighs, watching him tense and twitch. Wanting to taste him. Not just spit on his hand to slick his cock, but wanting Max's heat under his tongue. Wanting Max wet. Leaning in, he licked Max's cleft, up towards his hand.

When Max froze, Julian lay flat between his legs, shifted his grip so he could reach the skin he needed, licked again. Max was hot here, a shocking contrast to the rest of him, chilled, and Julian thought, this is what I want, just this as he fed on the heat and fed back his own.

He was nearly lost in sensation when Max gasped, 'Just… Fuck me,' driving Julian back to his knees where he mixed spit with the wet that licking Max had produced, before leaning, heat drawing him forward. He pushed in slowly, hoping Max would relax under him, watching the set of his spine and the grip of his hands, waiting for give but hearing instead a stressed sound.

Stilled, he moved his hands to Max's hips, felt the flinch of skin, soothed it with his palms, asked Max, 'Are you okay?'

‘Yes,' Max said. 'Don’t stop, I want you fucking me.’

Julian shifted forward, pressed further in, and then Max was pushing back, forcing Julian deeper, inside, wanting…

'Fuck me…' Max sounded desperate, spurring Julian to thrust, hard and fast, hands at Max's hips, trying to perfect the angle so that they worked together, one smooth machine, flesh reciprocating, heat.

Finally Max gave, like a picked-lock, releasing his death-grip on Julian's headboard and folding his arms under his head. Julian slowed, fucking deeper, pulling out and thrusting back, once, twice, until Max shuddered beneath him, making Julian rock with his own orgasm.

Using his arms to slow his collapse, Julian covered Max, fitting his chest to Max's spine, kissing his neck, sighing, 'God…' Then he realised Max was still shaking. Rolling off him, onto his side so he could see Max's face, Julian saw tears. 'Shit… Max, you're crying.' God, if he'd hurt him… 'Are you - did I hurt you?'

Julian wanted to turn Max over, pull him against his chest, but he didn't dare move as much as his fingers on Max's shoulder, thinking Max would bolt.

Max claimed exhaustion, scrubbing his face on the pillow, raising the scent of tears, hot and salty, with a chemical edge that made Julian think fleetingly of a doctor's office.

Trying not to think of the feeling of Max in his arms, of Max's heartbeat under his ear, Julian said, 'You want to sleep?'

‘I can’t. Have to be somewhere.’ Julian thought he was getting up, was leaving already, but he only rolled onto his back. Julian watched as Max shifted, seeming to settle rather than preparing to flee. He turned on his side, head propped in his right hand, his left on Max's chest.

Reassured by the contact, Julian asked, ‘Where’ve you been the last four months?’

‘Away. I’ve been… away.’ Clearly Max wasn't inviting more questions.

Keeping his hand where it was, warming Max's chest, Julian tried, ‘Do you want a drink? Tea, maybe? Something to eat?’

Max said he had to leave, so Julian released him, giving him space. Still, he stayed. Listening to Max's body language rather than his words, Julian moved closer, put his head on the pillow next to Max's shoulder and lay his hand on Max's heartbeat. He wished Max would put an arm around him, pull him onto his chest, and let Julian erase the tension from around his eyes. At the same time, having Max close enough to touch, having fucked him, was such a relief that to wish for more seemed churlish.

Long before Julian was prepared to let him go, Max asked if he could have a shower.

Thinking, if he showers he'll be ready to leave, but it might make him want to stay, Julian offered to get him a towel. As he handed it over, he noticed Max's clothes on the floor. Much more concerned with Max than the state of his wardrobe, Julian had discarded them hastily, and they looked like it.

Not wanting to give it back, liking to see it in his closet though he never wore it, Julian offered Max his suit back. The one Max had loaned him when Julian had shown up drunk and begging to be fucked. Back when he thought he knew what it meant for Max to seem distant.

When Max declined, Julian offered his own clothes instead. He was surprised when Max accepted, but tried not to show it.

The sound of the shower turning on made Julian think of Max's reaction to the sex. Julian had tried to be what Max had wanted, but he had no idea what that was. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt him or drive him away, but Max had seemed frustrated by any sign of gentleness as well. Like being punched, Julian remembered Max slamming his head against the wall at Fowey, begging to be fucked, for Julian to hurt him. No wonder he'd reacted the way he did.

'Shit,' Julian said, trying to push the pictures away with the knuckles of his thumbs. When his eye sockets started to ache with the pressure, Julian busied himself with folding Max's suit into a bag and covering the bed with a clean sheet so he could put out clothes for Max. He took his time, looking for his tightest jeans, ones that might stand a chance against Max's new regime which didn't seem to include eating, and a long-sleeved t-shirt that might keep him warmer. Julian didn’t want to give his thoughts a chance to surface.

Max seemed calmer when he came back. Out of habit more than expectation, Julian offered him a drink again. 'Stay up here,' he said when Max accepted tea. He thought if Max came downstairs he might be more inclined to leave and less to talk.

He made the tea quickly, wondering as the kettle boiled if he could get Max to stay for supper after all, looking in the refrigerator to see what there was to cook. When he got upstairs, Max was sitting on the bed. Julian was about to offer to make them some food when Max said, 'You look brown, have you been away?'

Julian explained that he'd been to France with Rupert, struck with the idea of taking Max to the house with the swimming pool and the sun-deck and the view of the sea and the kitchen filled with bottles of wine and French produce, far from whatever was hunching Max's shoulders and eating him alive.

Julian wondered if they'd be sipping tea and making small talk for the rest of the evening when Max brought up Prague. ‘Apparently,' he said, 'I have sociopathic tendencies.’

What the fuck? 'Bullshit.' How could they even think --

'That's what I said.' Max didn't seem bothered, but Julian was furious.

'Utter bullshit.' Max, who had survived god alone knew what torture for them… And they called him a sociopath? 'Fuck, Max, did they actually say that?'

'Not to my face.'

Well, they wouldn't. That might show respect. Something that seemed in scarce supply at MI6. Max said something about Harry Pearce being responsible for keeping Max off the streets. 'They sent you to Tring?' That would explain the four months, and, from what Julian had heard, probably the weight loss as well.

But they'd spared him that, keeping him in Prague for observation and then sending him home. Julian looked again at his cheekbones, remembered the sharp press of Max's hips in his palms. ‘Didn’t the hotel have room service? You must’ve lost a stone since I last saw you.’

Max changed the subject, looking away, clearly still not willing to talk about his health. ‘The hotel was named after you. Hotel Julian. Free porn on two channels. You should tell Rupert.’

Back to small-talk. Rupert somehow a safe subject, or possibly Max too wanted the reminder of the last time they'd seen each other.

Julian, remembering Rupert's face as he was left sitting in the pub with his name, went along for a moment, but then returned to Prague. ‘I can’t believe those bastards said that about you.’

Max took another sip of tea. ‘Actually they seemed to think they were doing me a favour, by substituting socio- for psycho.’

Julian couldn't believe that Max was so calm. Almost as though he accepted their assessment. Went along with it.

‘What?’ Max said.

‘You didn’t buy any of their bullshit?' Julian thought again of what Max looked like after Michael's house. 'Max, after what they put you through, it’s a miracle they had the brass neck to analyse you at all, let alone to come out with crap like that.’

‘I used to be able to bluff those tests in my sleep…’

‘Are you getting any? Sleep, I mean.’ Julian realised how weary Max looked. Yet he was holding himself together somehow. Not giving anything away, but still, having this conversation, trying to give Julian… something.

‘I fucked up,’ he said. ‘I still am fucking up. Seeing you is the only sane thing I’ve done in four months.’ He met Julian's eyes, looking for a sign that Julian understood what he was saying. ‘I should have done it sooner.’

Julian tried to give Max what he needed, but also had to know, ‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I wasn’t ready.’ He paused, and Julian wondered what he was going to say. He somehow doubted that it was going to be an offer to join Julian on a sunbathing holiday in France. ‘I’m not ready now. That’s what the tears were about. Nothing to do with you, or the fuck… Julian?’

‘I understand.’ He didn't understand at all. Max, for all his careful words, hadn't explained anything. But Julian did understand that what was important was that Max was trying. That Max wanted Julian to know whatever was wrong wasn't to do with him. That in the face of Max's demons, things between them were as good as they could be. ‘So,' he said. 'This is the part where you clear off again? How long for, this time? Just so I have a rough idea.’ He tried looking at Max, wanted to close his eyes in the hopes that when he opened them again Max would be whole.

‘I don’t know. That’s not meant to be melodramatic. I’d tell you if I knew.’

‘Will you be in London?’ Trying to keep visions of stalking Max through Chelsea at bay, but knowing he'd end up doing it.

‘Some of the time, maybe.’ Don't follow me, leave me alone, I'm doing the best I can, left unsaid.

I can't, Julian thought, smiling to show he understood. ‘Am I allowed to call you? Only I don’t have a mobile number that works. You handed the old one in, you said.’ If he had to accept that Max wanted to be left alone, Max would have to accept that Julian couldn't.

‘Get me a pen and I’ll write it down.’

Julian got up and went to the desk. He could feel Max's eyes on him and wondered what he was thinking. Max took the pen and paper, touch lingering on Julian’s palm in thanks. He wrote the number down and handed it back.

‘I won’t call unless it’s important,’ Julian said. He stood looking at the piece of paper, folding it into increasingly smaller squares. ‘Will you take care?’ He lifted his eyes. ‘Max?’

Max nodded. ‘Yes.’

Liar, Julian thought. But thank you for trying.