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[more-unknown.livejournal.com]

Title: Worth It
Chapter: 3 of 4ish
Pairing: Max Talbot/Brooks Orpik. . .because I'm obviously trying to slash Brooksie with everyone or something
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Brooks and Max have a little something going on, and epic miscommunications are happening.
Disclaimer: So not mine, so didn't happen, so delusional.

part one (Max's POV), part two (Brooksie's POV)

Word count: 5127. The other two parts combined were 6512. But I promise there's a lot of good stuff going on in there. jisforjane reads/betas/does everything awesome to help these stories exist. Woooo! Enjoy.



Oh shit. What was that supposed to mean?

I was becoming comfortable as the last thing on his mind. But then, of course, he had to remind me that I wasn't. How's that for pressure?

There was always, always, always the possibility that it hadn't been what I thought it was. I don't necessarily remember the words, but I remember the look in his eyes, the way he held me as I slept, and I had to wonder. Had I been imagining things? Was I just drunk? I had a way of being drunk and applying my affections in weird places, seeing opportunities in places that didn't exist. Whatever had happened, it couldn't have meant what I thought it meant, or wanted it to mean. I couldn't make assumptions here, I couldn't make a fool of myself, and I most certainly couldn't let myself be his fool. Setting myself up to please him would just be a mistake--I'd never get there.

The next game we played, I got focused and energetic and pleased with myself and I actually scored a goal. It wasn't just a garbage goal, off a defenseman's skate or something, but a real goal, a wrister from the left circle and I beat him glove-side. I try not to think of names when I'm playing--it doesn't help. But I'll say it. I beat Martin Brodeur. Those are always great words to come out of your mouth. I didn't stop smiling all night. Scoring did that to me, got me high as a kite, made me behave in silly, bizarre ways. I saw him as I was changing, already dressed, walking towards the exit confidently, not looking at me. I felt my insides twitch when I finally managed to catch his eye, knowing that I'd drawn him to it, and also realizing that I was half-naked. I think his mouth moved--the lips parted, there was a flicker of a smile. But then he walked out. I've never gotten dressed so quickly in my entire life.

Outside, it was almost spring, but there was winter still stinging the air, making the still-wet surface of my skin suddenly vulnerable, pale, and awake. I know I'd just played, but I could have gone for hours, it seemed, running in the melting snow, smelling the dirt in the almost-but-not-quite warm sunset. He was getting into his car, and I just barely got there. I tried not to look too obvious, to him or anyone else who was watching. "Hey," I said. "Wanna get a drink?"

His face went from intense and wide-eyed to that smile of his in less than a half-second. The teeth were straight, white, a filter for the exhale of laughter that escaped his mouth. "Sure," he said.

"Follow me," I said, pointing stupidly at my car. I realized I'd left my coat. A breeze came to my cheekbones, stirring my senses further. I wondered if I'd ever sleep again. I had to take control of this. I wasn't his fool. The next move had been mine, and I was doing well.

I knew as I walked to my car and fished my keys out of my pocket that I had less than two minutes to decide where I was taking us. It could be a place near my house, a place near his apartment, a place nowhere near either of us, a place in the middle. . .the choices crashed around in my head like I'd already had a few, the night air swirling around me, but I was determined not to be cold. Dead-set on it. I didn't turn the heat on in the car as a testament to my achievement. I turned the key in the ignition and backed out, trying not to see him waiting for me in the rearview mirror as I knew a swelling of awkwardness would rise in my stomach at the sight.

I decided on far away in that instant. At his place, he was always weirdly seductive and dominant, trying to bait me like I was a fucking dog. At my house, it was like having sex inside a Greek tragedy and I always came close to crying for some reason. I didn't feel as I backed out of the parking lot that I wanted this to end up either of those places, nor did I want either of those places to be an option. We couldn't just go to someone's house and fuck. No, no, no. I'm putting my foot down on this one. We were going on an adventure.

Down across the Fort Pitt Bridge. All the city lights vanishing behind my car was strangely romantic, but I knew he was following me so I tried not to think anything stupid, for fear that he would have some way of knowing, some way of sensing my insecurities. I tried to drive fast because I knew he liked to drive fast. I was catching myself trying to please him and I hated it but I couldn't stop. We would have to talk about this, somehow. We'd have to establish which of us was trying to please the other. We'd have to lay some ground rules and I was going to have to man up. He was riding my ass in the tunnel. I laughed, trying to go faster, but never fast enough. I slowed down. I thought we'd crash. But he was just that good.

I was trying to remember where this place was and it was killing me. If I missed the exit I would be an idiot and I'd be forced to take a circuitous route to some half-conceived backup plan, probably get lost, and find myself in an awkward situation in the middle of some fucking woods, which, on second thought, might not have been so bad. But I wanted to be drunk first.

Seeing the appropriate sign, I put my signal on, and he followed. I drove in circles maybe twice looking for it--but it wasn't hard. A little brick dive bar with a Steelers logo on the front and guys in flannel smoking outside. Maybe not friendly for men who had sex with each other, but friendly to us, because we were more than that in the world, generally.

"What is this place?" Brooks asked me, coming up to me as I locked my door. I hadn't even thought to notice his arrival. I was too wrapped up in wondering frivolous things. Should I order food or not? Were we just drinking beer and talking? Where would we go after this if we were drunk? I was planning on a night when there were no plans, when all bets were off. The arch to his eyebrow let me know he was by no means prepared to take me or any of my decisions seriously.

"Someplace where we won't be bothered," I said, smiling lopsidedly, trying to sound like I had some semblance of understanding as to what was going on around me. I was failing. He knew. We walked inside together.

I got a booth, a huge glass of draft beer, and I ordered waffle fries because I could. He just laughed at me like I was just so incomprehensible and ordered a Blue Moon. We had nothing to talk about until I noticed a television in the corner playing a rerun of the game I'd just played. He wasn't facing it, and it was muted, and I noticed that in about five minutes of clock time, I was going to score. Noticing the tied scoreboard, I remembered that it was the game-winner, and I smirked stupidly, trying to get a handle on something to say to him that would seem at least halfway intelligible.

"Stop watching yourself, Talbot," he said, catching me off guard. How did he--

"It's on over there, too," he said, gesturing with his beer bottle over my shoulder. "Can we not watch it or something?"

"Shut up," I said, hating the way I sounded.

"It's okay," he said, pausing, drinking. "Jesus, you just got ran into by Oduya," he added, his accent and tonality making it sound natural, powerful, condescending.

"Yeah, I think I'm still feeling that one," I said, noting the tightness in my shoulder. On a night like this, though, I was glad to feel beaten up. I was sensitive to everything else.

"Oh, you always still feel everything," he said, matter-of-factly, smiling with self-satisfaction like he had me all figured out.

"What, like your teeth on my neck?" I said unblinkingly before sipping my beer. I hated being like this, but he wasn't going to get away with treating me like this forever. My back was straight, my drink was bigger than his, and I was looking at him levelly. It could work.

There was a moment of silence. I wouldn't call it awkward silence because I had totally anticipated it. I could sense that he'd stopped breathing for a moment or two. I set my beer down and crossed my arms in front of me on the table, furrowing my brow into what I imagined was a serious face. He broke gaze with me, stuck his tongue out just a little and bit his lip.

Finally, he looked at me, cocked his head to one side in a confused way I'd never seen before. "Excuse me?" he said.

My waffle fries came. I thanked the waitress and stuffed one in my face, totally unfazed. "These are the best waffle fries for miles, you know that?" I said loudly through a mouthful. "They don't even need ketchup, they're that good."

His head fell back, clunk on the wooden back of the booth, which were higher than most, almost halfway to the ceiling. He laughed a little, in a way I can gladly describe as nervous.

"Hey--I mean--" he started, and then gave up, shaking his head at me and grimacing into his Blue Moon again.

"No, I meant what I said," I continued, half-smiling, reveling in the moment. It was like watching a reel of outtakes from a very dramatic movie. He was the heroic lead and he'd broken character.

"Since when are we talking about this?" he said in a lowered but panicked voice, palms to the ceiling.

"Don't you think it's about time?" I asked him, finally slouching in my seat, being serious again, regrettably.

"Jesus," he said, rolling his eyes a bit.

"What are you expecting out of this? Because I honestly don't know." I was being a dick and I loved it.

"What are you expecting out of this? How do you think I feel?" he said, visibly injured by the question I'd asked. He was still powerful, even in his vulnerability. I caught his voice cracking a little. And I hated to admit this, but I was aroused by it. I elected to keep shoving waffle fries in my mouth to keep my mind off it, at least for a little while.

"I don't know," I said, by this point just talking to hear myself talk.

"I feel like shit. You confuse me. All you ever do is confuse me, Max," he said, absentmindedly checking the time on his phone, pulled out of a pocket somewhere. He put it back and stared me straight in the eyes. I didn't flinch. It was a conscious effort, because he looked pissed. Intense, even.

"Well, I think we can agree that we confuse one another," I said, trying to avoid the reassuring smile I felt like giving. He wasn't getting away with it, damn it.

He looked around, laughing indignantly. "Oh, oh, should I have been more direct? I wasn't direct enough for you?"

"Direct about what?"

"Nothing, nothing. You don't remember." He looked crestfallen. I took another big drink of beer, trying to figure out what he could mean--but I was drawing a blank.

"Sorry?" I said, giving him the most winning, confident, judgmental stare I could manage.

"You know that's not a real apology," he said, refusing to look at me.

I closed my eyes, counted to five, and tried again. "I'm sorry, Brooks. I still don't know what you're talking about, though." I was trying to be genuine, but wondered for a moment if I ever really did say anything genuine.

He looked at me, and the expression was one of giving in, one of consent, one of a vulnerable pride. His jaw set squarely with a smile threatening to break from it, the line of his mouth curved ever so slightly upward, his eyes shining at me in a way that must have broken hearts in the past. He seemed close to blushing.

"No. I really am," I said, my bastard grin putting in its first appearance of the night.

The smile got closer.

"So very, very deeply sorry," I said.

Closer.

"Sorry enough to need to repay you, if that is even possible," I said.

He was actively trying to hold back now.

"Sorry enough to feel years of shame over what I've done. Whatever that is."

There it was. A real smile.

"Like I said. I am so sorry. I could practically. . .I could practically take you out back and have my way with you behind the dumpsters the way I feel sorry right now. Would you like another beer?"

He laughed for real. Thank god I was funny. Was he really blushing? Good lord.

We didn't say much else the rest of the time we were in there. I didn't touch my waffle fries much more. We both finished drinking. I took care of the check, dropped complimentary peppermints into his hands like he was a little kid.

We both got into my car without speaking--it just made sense. I started driving, we both sucked on peppermints and compulsively changed the radio station every 90 seconds, giggling and talking about absolutely nothing. I blew past Pittsburgh; it was somewhere near us, hovering, and then gone.

Eventually, everything around us gave way to dark--there were a few houses, but everything was mostly trees, wooden fences, and open fields with cities or towns glowing somewhere over the next hill. I was having fun at this point, making random lefts, instinctive rights, as if I intended to get lost. I remembered only two hours ago when getting lost seemed like a bad thing.

Soon, we were winding up a hillside, I think, and I suddenly hung a left down a gravel road, momentarily not caring about the paint job on my car. The sound was terrific and I was probably going a tad too fast. Which made it all the more relieving when I realized that the road ended, having been blockaded by a metal fence covered in spraypainted graffiti, encroached heavily upon by brambles, bushes, and more trees--and I managed to slam the brakes on in time, coming to a glorious halt, and as the car lurched forward following the sudden stoppage, my bumper just lightly tapped the fence. A barely audible pop as dust settled around us. The fence looked huge, startlingly clear, under the gaze of my headlights, like a fucking nightmare.

"Disaster averted," he said throatily, crunching on the last sliver of peppermint between his teeth, looking deadpan into the woods before us.

"Hey," I started, but due to the way he looked at me I really couldn't say anything.

"What?" he breathed.

"Nothing."

I reached out and pulled him in gently for a kiss. It just made sense.

I didn't want to be too forward, so I gave him a little, just a bit of tongue, expecting him to dive right in like he always did, but he just. . .didn't. He kissed back only a tiny bit, only enough to make it mutual.

"Have you never kissed a guy before, Brooksie?" I said, breaking the kiss, noses touching.

He just breathed into me a little, and I was almost ready to speak again when he said, "Shut up."

I thought for a moment. "No," I said, and kissed him aggressively, like he kissed me, or at least that was what I was trying to replicate. I put my hands in his hair, pulling gently, running them down his neck, across his shoulders and into his jacket, taking it off expertly. I reached next for the buttons of his shirt and made short work of them, all the while subjecting him to my kiss, eventually letting it trail down from his mouth, slightly sticky with peppermint, to his throat and to his collarbone. I bit a little, let my tongue swirl sensitive patterns onto his skin. He reached up under my shirt, scratching at my sides and my back, but I was determined again. I wasn't going to make a sound. He'd break first--

"Jesus, Max, oh god," he said as I applied my mouth to his neck again, biting again just below his ear, and I knew that finally it was my turn.

I nuzzled his neck, breathing into his ear heavily, and finally I managed to get a single word out of my mouth. "Backseat," I said impatiently.

He pulled back, apparently stunned at what I'd said.

"You first," I implored.

After a smile flashed, subtly, begrudgingly perhaps, he scrambled to get his body through the gap between the two front seats, and it wasn't easy. He got there and slouched against the passenger side door, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his shoulders. I looked back at him, as I'm sure he'd looked at me so many times before. An air of awkward helplessness surrounded us. He was helpless to do anything but lie there and wait for me, and I was willing to tease him for as long as I could. And I was just as helpless to resist him.

I crawled over a little more slowly, but I landed hard and hit my knee on some random, plastic part of my car that probably served no function whatsoever. I slumped next to him and looked at the fence, still looming in the high beams in front of us. Inexplicably, it started raining a springtime rain, barely filtering down through the thick canopy of trees that likely covered us. The raindrops echoed their small, soft noises throughout my car. I used the door handle as leverage to slowly pull myself on top of him, and we had just a brief moment together in the dark, where our thoughts seemed electrified, broadcast to radio stations for miles around--he was a little confused. I was a little ashamed. But goddamn it, if I wasn't going to channel that shame into something constructive, I'd rather be dead from it. I kissed him, gave him a chance to readjust his body under the pressure of my weight, and kissed him again. I put my tongue in parts of his mouth that I'd never tried before, running it along and underneath his top lip, sucking gently. I felt his nails dig into my side, I heard the little gasps and moans, stifled as they were inside my own mouth. I broke the kiss and let him slide my shirt off and we collapsed into one another, a mass of warm skin and chilled sweat from the humidity outside. The rain was picking up. I felt myself get hard as he squirmed beneath me. I guided him as best I knew how. Sometimes, he would push back at me, as if trying to get on top, but I put my weight into things and used what touches and movements I could to make him want it from me.

"What are you doing?" he breathed into my mouth as I kissed him hard again, and moved on to the next step of undoing his pants.

"Do you want this?" I asked, pointedly, but still in a way that I liked to think of as appropriately sexual. I found his erect cock within the folds of his boxer briefs, and pressured it with my palm, enjoying the feeling of tension.

"Want what?"

"Me." Bite, on the neck. "Here." Bite, at the earlobe. "Like this." Bite, at the collarbone. Hard.

He choked on a gasp rising from his throat, and bit back, gently in the dips of my collarbone, and parted my lips with his tongue and fluttered his eyes shut, moaning as I continued to palm his cock and run my other hand through his hair. Finally, he thrust up towards me, and the voice that came out of his mouth was soft, humble: "Yes. Please."

I worked on getting his pants off, because that was as clear an answer as I could expect. He started to kiss back with more involvement, more aggressiveness, but he still deferred under the weight of my hands and seemed to melt into my arms. I noticed our breathing getting faster and louder, as I managed to finally free him of his shirt. I kissed his chest, his shoulders, his neck. His little urgent movements up toward me grew more frequent as I felt him growing tense beneath me, impatient, desperate. He slid his fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled down, muttering something in my ear that sounded like, "That. . .please. . ."

I helped him get the pants the rest of the way off, though through sheer determination I'm sure he could have managed on his own. Now nothing separated us but his boxer briefs, and I felt myself warm between his legs, pressing into him, grinding my erection into his own. He did this thing he does sometimes where he tries to play with my ass, maybe tease me a little at my opening before he puts it inside me, practically an instinctive move on his part--but I guided his hand away, dragged it back to my hip where he dug in again, whimpering as I pressed my weight on top of him. I would have stopped, asked if he was okay, but all he did was kiss back enthusiastically and beg for more attention.

Finally, I got it in me to pull his boxer briefs off, the thin black cotton finally disappearing onto the floor somewhere, revealing him totally to me in a light I had admittedly never seen him in before. There was just a little bit of light filtering into the backseat. . .some from the sky, maybe the moon peeking through the rainclouds, but most from the car's dash and the headlights that preceded us, back there in our own little world. I could see his face, just barely illuminated, a shadow of a smile on it yet again--but it faded.

"I have a condom in my pants pocket," he whispered. "I trust you. . .but. . ."

"I think sooner or later we won't worry anymore," I said, and reached down to where I knew his pants were, finding the package immediately in the back pocket with his wallet. I'd never done this to him before, and it was a weird role reversal. I put it on. I realized how little I had trusted him, and how little he had trusted me. By saying he trusted me now--was that an empty gesture, or the truth?

"Thank you," he said, his voice shaking, which instantly made my stomach drop fifty feet underground.

"I won't hurt you. Just. . .just talk to me."

He responded by leaning upwards and kissing me, pulling me back down on top of him, rearranging his body athletically so that he was ready for me. I realized that if I didn't do it then, I might never be able to do it--and I pushed myself in. I could tell that this was new to him, the way he uncomfortably shifted beneath me. But he didn't seem discouraged. After a long, slow exhale, he kissed my neck reassuringly, and whispered in my ear with a voice that sounded like it had been dragged through gravel: "It's okay, Max." I was frozen still there at the sound of his voice, the feeling of his breath warm on my skin. But it was my turn. My turn to make him take me for who I really was. To make him notice all the things about me I was never sure if he'd known.

I tried to go slowly to start off. He felt wonderful and it was hard to hold back--it was like finding all of the concentrated warmth of his body in one small, secret place that few had been before. But I had promised not to hurt him and I wouldn't dream of it. I could hear the sounds coming from his mouth progressing--from the slight whimpers that had started off, to heavy, tentative breathing, to little moans. I myself was not silent, unable to stifle my own words of approval for him as he started pushing back towards me with less and less inhibition.

I took all of these things as indications that I could increase my pace, and as I did he became more involved, but still decidedly deferent under the weight of my hands, which coursed through his hair and slid down to his hips, usually narrow, now pushed wide to accommodate me. My name escaped his lips in a fluid, hot whisper as he buried his face into my shoulder and my hand somehow found his. I pressed it into my own, settling at an awkward angle somewhere near the door handle, and I remembered stupidly that we were in a running car and that it was just ridiculous to be here. I could barely see out the window due to the way the rain had picked up without our noticing. But then. . .I could smell the inimitable scent of him at the nape of his neck. I could taste him as I slid my tongue into his mouth, initiating a wet, hard kiss, one that only sees the light of day between people who are conflicted. The rhythm I rocked into him was perfect, the things I felt for him as pure as I'd known in a long time, but I have to admit--it was hard. Hard to admit to myself how much I cared for him, hard to show him the force of nature I wanted to be. He was powerless beneath me, writhing delightedly as I kept myself steady and consistent. How many times had he turned my brain to mush like this? I was loving every second of it, and couldn't imagine giving it up, but all the while I was shaking a feeling of embarrassment and confusion.

As he scratched my back with his free hand, I knew he was about to finish, and he did--suddenly a mass of white-hot energy beneath me, moaning expletives and losing himself in a way I'd never seen before. It was too much for me. I came, too, holding onto him desperately, trying to get everything I could from his specific moment, whatever it was, so that I might be able to draw it up again--so that I'd remember it, and it would be real. We held each other there for a few moments, without saying or doing anything. And then we kissed once more. It was solid, sweet, almost startlingly perfect the way our mouths came together. It said everything we hadn't said out loud. My kiss was gratitude. His was acceptance. Nothing needed to be said.

I found an old t-shirt somewhere and used it to clean us up, wondering if he could see me smile in the dark. We put our clothes back on despite being folded in cramped positions, using our flexibility to make it work. I reached into the front seat to turn the engine off and dropped the keys into a cupholder. The inside of the car was hot and it carried the overpowering odor of sex, which was lovely, except it was somewhat hard to breathe. Again, without speaking, I opened the driver's side door and stepped out.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle and I found myself standing in mud and leaves, the gravel having tapered off a few feet back. Brooks crawled out of the door and followed. Neither of us was wearing shoes, and we blearily looked up and around, smelling the night air. I shut the door behind us, leaned against the car, and breathed deeply. He leaned next to me and looked down at his feet, crossing his arms in front of him, shivering slightly.

"Hey," I said, and I imagined him smirking uneasily.

"That was. . ." he started, before reaching out a hand and placing it on my damp wrist, pulling me closer as he wove his fingers into mine.

"What?"

"It was incredible," he said, still staring down, a bit of a shake in his voice.

I leaned in to find his face, to kiss him, but he beat me there, his tongue plunging deeply into my mouth, his arms quickly wrapped around me as if he'd never let go. Rainwater trickled down our faces, joining the saliva in our mouths as we broke and rearranged the kiss more times than I could ever describe or count. Bites, nuzzles, mutters, swears. In the end, we were just hugging each other, shifting weight from foot-to-foot, slow-dancing to imaginary music.

We did this for what seemed like forever, but then the temperature was dropping as the night got longer, and we were both getting cold. It took him a full half hour to convince me to take him back to his car, and even as my teeth were chattering and I began wondering if you could get hypothermia on the warmest night March would likely bring us, I didn't want to leave. I could have done that forever. Hopefully, I thought, we'd be able to try it again.