Oscar has never tried to fit in and has never wanted to, but when his party friend, Max, is revealed to be mafia prince, Marcus Gallagher, suddenly being a 'lone wolf' is no longer an option; not if Oscar wants to woo his prince and get out alive!
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It was still technically night, though Oscar felt like he could see the sky starting to lighten near the horizon. Max had given him the 'all clear' a while ago, and now he was just sitting on the bed waiting for his mafia prince to return.
The space was lit only by the dim amber glow of one table lamp on the other side of the room and not much else. It smelled lived in, warm, and little musky, the way Max was when they'd first met. Before he'd found out about Marcus.
The punk let himself flop back into the unmade sheets and stared up at the high ceiling of the A-framed room. The only unsettling thing about this place was how quiet it was. He could hear his own breathing...his body's slight shift from its own pulse...and then, the click of the door opening downstairs.
Oscar sat up instantly, watching as a shadow climbed the stairs and Max's tired, but still incontestably handsome, features were uncovered when he reached the top and crossed into the orange glow of the lamp.
"Took your time," Oscar said, unable to hide the smile that seeing Max brought to his face.
Max's return smile was strained from exhaustion as he pulled the knot in his tie loose, and he let his head hang back while he shrugged out of his suit coat. "Yeah... Sorry about all that," the mafia prince mumbled.
Plopping onto the end of the bed, Max stared at his nice leather shoes for a few moments before untying them and slipping them off. Then he climbed on top of Oscar, letting his weight down on him with a sigh as he nuzzled into Oz's neck. He wrapped his arms around his punk as tight as he comfortably could. "I'm glad you're here, Oz."
Oscar's reply didn't come in the form of words, but in a firm embrace that held Max against him. He was glad he was there too. In fact, he just wanted to be anywhere that Max was. As long as they were together things felt right.
Even now, the room was unsettlingly quiet again, but this time, the punk could hear two sets of breathing, and feel Max's chest shifting against his, and that made it all okay. Max made everything better, by just being around, and Oscar wondered if that's how he made Max feel...and if maybe that's what love really was.
"...You don't think I'm a monster for choosing to do this, do you?" Max asked, and even though he was actually talking barely above a whisper, his deep, sleepy tone felt like it reverberated through their chests.
"No..." Oscar whispered back. "No... I think you're perfect..." he murmured so softly that his voice cracked slightly under the weight of his own words.
Max let out another sigh that rumbled into a laugh, like the gentle sound of thunder from a distance. "I'm nowhere near perfect," he replied, repositioning so that their lips could connect. It was a soft, sweet kiss. "I think you're perfect for me, though."
"Perfectly, imperfect..." the punk said with a grin.
"That," Max agreed, beaming through his exhaustion, and kissing Oscar once again before laying his head back down, and holding his punk as close as he could...for a few minutes...until they both got too hot, and had to wiggle away from each other.
