"Fuck- Charles- ah-" Max whined, as he straddled his lap.
Charles pulled his head in for more, open mouthed kisses and hands wandering everywhere.
Max's hands tugged at the Monagasque's bangs, and Charles groaned, letting himself be moved wherever Max wanted him.
It was desperate and a little sloppy, the kind of kissing where teeth knock and breathing gets ragged between licks of tongue and the taste of shitty redbull.
Max kept shoving at Charles’ hair as his hands snuck under Max's shirt, thumbs tracing the ridges of his ribs as if trying to memorize the shape of him.
Their hips ground together, friction sharp and messy through two pairs of jeans and Charles’ stupid, clingy shirt. Max wanted it off him—wanted all of it off them both, right now.
Max whimpered, nails digging into Charles's shoulders, and arched his back. "You're—"
Charles silenced him with another kiss, softer this time, almost reverent. His lips ghosted over Max's jaw, down his neck, tracing the rapid pulse there. "I'm what?" he murmured against the skin, voice hoarse.
“I- you- fuck just- charlie..” He whined in that sweet voice and god how could he not give him everything.
As the stupid gaming chair or whatever crackled underneath them,
Charles wrapped both hands around Max’s waist, one palm splaying between the knobs of his spine, the other settling inside the waistband of his sweats.
The elastic was nearly shot, so it took little effort for Charles to push it down, the fabric bunching at Max’s hips.
Max squirmed, half-laughing, half-whining until Charles’s knuckles brushed the skin above his ass, and then Max went pliant and shivery.
“Is this okay?” Charles’s voice was soft, and Max yanked his head up by his hair, teeth baring, kissing him hard in answer.
They were in their own world, moaning and groaning and heated.
The chair almost toppled onto the desk at some point but not enough to tear their hungry mouths off eachother.
until.
"Yo…Max?”
.
Both Charles and Max froze. As they looked towards the...
...
..
Wait..
the stream turned..
on?