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Summary
“You are so bad at this,” Charles says, with a chuckle broken up by a moan when Max resettles between his legs.
Above him, Max’s brow furrows. He’s pink cheeked and sweaty, still kind of petulant about his race. “Fuck off.”
He looks kind of offended, but he has to know it’s true. In the three times they’ve fucked over the last three years, Max has improved objectively very little.
Charles doesn’t mind that though. “It’s okay,” he coos, “you can’t be good at everything, cheri.”
“Yes, I can.” Max pulls away with a groan, shifting Charles’ leg back over his arm. He’s frowning now, and Charles adores it. “Want to be though, want to make it good for you.”
With that, he redoubles his efforts but it’s almost worse. He better be thanking his lucky stars that Charles keeps having sex with him anyway.
*
Or, in 2016, Charles and Max hook up. It’s not very good. Charles lets him try again. And again. And again.