(no subject)

[nonsurvivor]

It starts with Max simply wanting to remember how to soothe someone he loves. He's absolutely useless at doing that with his words, and his efforts at comfort food involve the food still wriggling, so he turns to something he hasn't done in nearly two decades.

He doesn't set up candles and music. That's simply not a thing that occurs to him. But he has lotion (unscented, utilitarian lotion) and he has clean sheets on his bed that he never uses. And he has his own two hands, which never tire of feeling Rey's skin.

He sends her a simple text: Come over after dinner. The garage.

The garage, which is Max's space, which no one will interrupt.

Comments

[garbagepilot]

She doesn't bother texting him back because she knows he won't be unhappy if she doesn't and honestly, that just makes everything easier. Things are usually easy with Max, which is something she knows is probably not easy to understand from the outside, but all the same what they have is good and not something she'd ever trade.

So she knocks, and when he lets her in she gives him a quick, warm smile.

"You could have had dinner with me, you know."

[nonsurvivor]

"Had to read," he says, though he would have preferred dinner with her. ...Well, most of him would have preferred it. The rest is glad that he refreshed his memory on how to give a halfway decent massage.

"How long can you stay?" he locks the door for good measure, but his attention is already fixed solely on her. If he has only an hour, he can work on her back. If he has more than that, the possibilities are almost endless.

[garbagepilot]

She reaches out to touch his arm for no reason other than she can, fingers rubbing absently against his elbow.

"I don't have any plans for the night," she says easily. "I can stay."

[nonsurvivor]

Max's movements can be sudden and jarring. He can go from a standstill to pulling her to him in a little over a second, with no warning at all. He's done it before.

But this time his expression softens and his hand rests on her hip, permission to himself to relax and enjoy the rest of the night with her.

"You've seen massage?"

[garbagepilot]

"I know what they are," she confirms, leaning in closer to him when he puts his hand on her. It's always a thrill to see which side of Max she'll get and no matter which one it is she's always more than happy with him, but there's no denying it's always touching to get the softer side of Max.

And then she looks around the room again, sees the lotion and the bed made up, and she gets it.

"You're going to give me one?"

[nonsurvivor]

He nods, maybe a little self-conscious about this plan. Any plan he puts in place that doesn't have explosions is a plan he's never that sure of. What if she doesn't like it? That's not something he can really plan around.

"Made the bed up for you." So she knows where he wants her. (Yes, he often wants her on the bed, but he rarely goes to such lengths to make it comfortable beforehand; neither of them care much about a soft mattress when they want each other naked and groaning.)

[garbagepilot]

There's no point in wasting time, so she nods and pulls away from him, reaches down for the hem of her shirt and just tugs it right off, tosses it in the general direction of a chair while she heads over to the bed. She forgoes bras on an almost daily basis, but he knows that by now, will be used to it, to the readiness with which she strips when it's necessary.

"Should I leave the pants, or take those off too?"

[nonsurvivor]

"Mmm..." Max thoughtfully looks down her body and at his hands, which are slowly working her pants open and down. His fingers brush the skin just inside her hip and he looks at her, decision made. "Off."

He is more than happy to help her, despite her proven speed at undressing alone.

[garbagepilot]

She can't help smiling as he takes care of that for her, can't fight the urge to lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek before she takes a seat on the bed once he's got her pants down over her hips. She lifts her legs up towards him, lets him deal with getting her the rest of the way undressed.

[nonsurvivor]

He sees her naked often enough that he is used to this. He still takes the time--just a few seconds--to look at her and enjoy the fact that the two of them get to have this. When he's thrown her pants aside, he keeps her heels on his shoulders and runs his hands up the insides of her legs, as far as he can until he has to stop or bend over her.

If he does that, the massage will be utterly forgotten, he already knows.

"Roll over," he says with a hint of smile.

[garbagepilot]

And it's very tempting to just wrap her legs around him and pull him down on top of her, so it's good for both of them when he lets her go. It's an easy enough direction to follow, too, so once she takes the time to really take in that smile of his, one she's come to treasure exactly because it's so rare, she does as he says.

She's no stranger to being naked and stretched out in his bed, but once she's laying down on her front with her head pillowed in her arms and she's entirely aware of the fact he's not going to be on top of her in the next handful of seconds, it feels different. Almost more intimate, in a very odd way.