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“Here kitty kitty”
Max face scrunches up and he grits his teeth.
He puts his fist up to his ears, tries to drown the voice.
“Baby…where are you?” the singsong lit adds to the horror he’s feeling.
Max hates it. Hates how much he enjoys it.
Footsteps round the corner where Max’s tucked in. He can feel the sweat building up on his temples. His clammy hand shake where they rest upon his ears.
It's getting hard to breath.
The voice chuckles, “Ah, I think I see my naughty little cat” Max shuts his eyes and puts his head in between his knees.
He wants to disappear right this instant. He wants the floor to open up a void so deep he never has to come back ever again. Anything to get away from here and him, please.
He's so engrossed in his prayers he doesn’t feel when a hand rests upon his head. His body flinches hard at the soft caress.
The voice tuts, “shh, shh,” even through closed eyes, he senses the looming shadow of a man come close and crouch down to him.
The same hand travels from his head to his cheek.
All loving caresses that he would otherwise love to lean into.
“Look at what you did to yourself mon coeur.” The rough hand grips his chin, tilting it up. “Such a mess.”
Max lips wobble in fear and Charles chuckles.
“Get up, sweetheart.”
Charles catches him when his legs tremble.
“Such a mess.”
Max looks down in shame, face burning in humiliation at Charles's words.
Charles leads them back to his office, back to where Max ran from.
“Where were we, gentlemen?” his husband addresses his men. One of the suited guys, in his hand rests a bundle of files, eyes Max sceptically, like a clay sculpture with no purpose.
He sees Charles walk towards to the sofa in the middle.
His husbands sits like an emperor. Like a lick of his attention is a privilege, thighs spread and head propped on his hand. Lazy but commanding.
Charles pats his thigh, and Max’s body moves on autopilot, sitting stiffly on his husband’s lap.
“…we um- just want you to sign the documents from…”
Max looks down at his hands once he’s sat on Charles lap. His fingers still tremble from the shock. His feet still hurt from the gravel. And his eyes still tingle from the tears.
He should put up a fight. Demand answers. He should trash the whole fucking mansion down.
He should…he should…
The stubble that rubs against his face brings him back to reality.
Charles lips move against his ears, “What's wrong, baby? Weren’t you so eager to join us?”, a hot kiss is pressed against it, “You were so eager to join us before. Now, you get a front-row seat.”
Max doesn’t look at him, maybe if he doesn’t say anything Charles will ignore him and continue his meeting.
But Charles won't have it. Max struggles against the strong hand that cups his face.
The whine barely leave his mouth as he’s forced to look at the familiar green shade of eyes.
All the men around the table sit quiet. They wait for their president. Simple worshippers waiting for the final bell. Max can barely look at them. Everyone probably thinks how spoiled he is acting, trying to turn himself away from his own husband. What wife is so childish? What wife tries to eavesdrop in his husbands important conversation with his men?
And then run away when he hears the truth.
What wife is that weak.
Did they make a mistake choosing for their president?
Everyone must think that, Max tells himself.
Charles eyes tell him a different story.
Lies. All lies.
He lowers his gaze to Charles neck instead.
He whispers, “I’m sorry.”
He sees Charles tilt his head. As if savoring the moment.
Max clenches his hand into a fist, “I’m sorry for eavesdropping.”
“No mon ange,” It must take some skill to shift your gaze from taunting to something… so soft. Especially when it's directed to Max, “My wife will never need to apologise to me,” Charles tuts. No matter what, Max won't be deterred by the words, no matter how many times Charles uses them against him.
“Infact,” His husband makes a slight show of inspecting his men, eyes searching.
“You.”
“Sir?”
The kid, barely in his 20s from what Max can see, sit upright when Charles points him out.
Charles beckons him closer with a wave, “Come, come.”
Just like the others, this kids eager to come forward for his president. Face smug and chest puffed out he walks towards where Max and Charles sit. His shoes click against the wooden flooring.
The closer he comes the more Max tenses. His feels Charles hand rest upon his inner thigh.
Charles addresses the kid when he stops infront of them “You are the one who found my wife outside the door.”
“Yes sir” and he says it with such pride, Max feels bad for him already.
Charles grins wide at the kid, dimples out and everything. You can see a vein bulging on his wide neck.
“You made him upset.”
“..no sir, I ju-“
“You made him upset.”
It's the way the kids face drops. He finally gets it, Max thinks.
There is no going back now. He does what he wants and how he wants.
“President, I caught him listening to important information abo-“
“You made my wife cry.” It's pin drop silence in the room. No one is in the rush to defend the kid. Hell, everyone knew the kid didn’t do anything but caught max in the act. But no one speaks. Why would they? Life is more important to them.
Not to Max though, thats why he forces himself to face his husband.
Since they were little kids Max always knew how to calm Charles down. His small friend had a temper that could rival Jos on the best of days. Unlike his father, there was always a valid reason for his anger however. Like when people made fun of Max for his lisp.
Or when other kids cornered max.
Or when Jos raised his hand against Ma-
His reasons may have been all Max.
But he didn’t just get angry, Charles tried his best to chase them away. Well as much as his little stature allowed him too. He would push them in a puddle, stomp on the guys bigger than him and throw rocks at the one faster than him.
In Jos’s case, he could only muster up a deadly glare. Max wouldn’t take it well if Charles tried to tear his stupid head off.
On the other hand, all Max had to do was touch Charles, and smooth like butter his friends anger would melt out. It was like magic, max was impressed his hands can do that. His mama told him it was because Charles and his friendship was special. They had something special. Charles told him its because max was his.
Nothing makes him happier than knowing that Max is his and safe.
Life moved on, they grew up, and now teenage max gets bullied for his lithe figure and plump lips.
That was also around the time Charles went from simple brawl with other kids to..um…beating them black and blue.
In Charles opinion it was justified, because how dare they comment on max like that.
Max was his everything. Sweet plump lips and all.
They should be greatfull Max stops him before he can show them the door to death.
Slowly but impressively his Charles grew up, larger than max now. Herve’s death changed him. But it was still his Charles, sharp eyes and even sharper tongue. Soft smile and even softer touch.
Max doesn’t mention the bruised knuckles, the scratches at odd places. Or even the blood splatters on his shoes when he hangs out with max.
It wasn’t his place to question Charles family business.
Also Charles got very quiet when he tried to last time. His eyes seem to loose its shine when the subject is breached. It doesn’t sit right with max. He tries not to talk about it now.
Max still used his touch to calm his friend down. To the face, to the shoulder, to the back. But it…started to have less effect as time went on.
Where had they gone wrong, he still isn’t sure.
Charles temper grew out of control, it started to scare Max. To scare everyone around them.
Charles never noticed it. Why would he care when he never raised his voice against Max. Always loving touches, soft eyes, warm smiles. But for others it was thirst for blood blood blood.
The same thirst Max sees right now.
Charles doesn’t tear his gaze away from the kid when Maxs hand cups his jaw. The forced grin stretched on his face gentles into a smile, and the vein bulging on his neck soothes. Just as his mama said. Like magic, Max manages to bring out his old Charles.
Charles eyes finally leave the rigid body of the kid.
“Yes, mon amour?” Charles sounds drunk on the touch. Max tries not to shy away.
He starts by speaking softly, “He didn’t make me upset, Charles” He puts his fingers on his husbands lips when he sees him try to speak. If Charles senses his hand tremble, he doesn’t mention it.
“I was already upset, he just found me at the wrong time. I wanted to call you, I truly did.” His words are calculated, soft. A delicate balance.
They maintain eye contact for what feels like hours. since when max was so afraid of this Charles.
Charles kisses his hand, “I trust you.”
Max shoulder relaxes. Oh. They may have not lost Charles after all.
The kid, the poor thing who looked ready to pass out with poorly concealed horror at Charles admonition lets out a ragged breath of relief. He shoots max an awed look while he retreats. As if this was rare occurrence.
Even though thinking about the countless times Max failed to do this for others makes him feel guilty, he’s glad he pulled through his fears tonight.
That's what he’s thinking when Charles quietly picks up his gun.
Its Max’s fault, really. He should’ve learned his lesson already when they were teenagers.
When, for the first time, he saw Charles lash out at innocent people who were not Max.
He’s so stupid.
Charles doesn’t spare him a glance when he calls the boy back.
Max feel the grip on his thigh tighten. He doesn’t open his mouth this time. He’s learned it a long time ago to shut up when it's implied.
“I trust you, baby.” They make the kid go on his knees. Hands behind his back and face down to the carpet.
Max sees the wet droplets darken the surface of it.
He’s the sacrifice for today.
“But I don’t trust others”
The kid is shaking.
No one speaks ill of the president.
He does what he wants.
“I can’t bear to see you cry.” Charles’s voice is almost tender.
Where had they gone wrong? Max wonders
“You have to know I do this for you.”
Lies.
“I love you so much, Max.”