Twist and Shout

By

E. S. Young

Note: To the people who are reading my Max/OFC story Here, I apologize for the ridiculously long wait. College and other matters have eaten away at my time, and on top of that, I am suffering from a severe case of writer's block (which is kind of odd, since I have the whole plotline set up; it's just a matter of filling it in). So, I decided to make good on the promise that I made all the way back when I wrote Oatmeal Raisin Cookies—a slash story involving a tickle fight on the grounds that it is just too cute an idea to pass up. I've never written anything that could be considered pure fluff before, so bear with me on this. Hopefully it will be as adorable as the plot line would lead you to believe, although I'm not promising anything.

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Yawning widely, he stretched his arms up high, careful not to disturb Max, who was beneath him, still fast asleep. Really, he didn't understand how it was possible for the lazy bugger to be tired, considering the fact that he knew that Max received well over the recommended nine hours of rest almost each and every day. It was quite funny, at times, to watch the other boy go down. Kinetic, with a seemingly boundless supply of energy, Max could be flitting about the apartment one minute and then conked out in Sadie's laundry basket, a half-finished beer or a still-smoking joint held weakly in his hand, completely unconscious as if someone had unplugged him.

At the moment, though, he could tell that Max was really just dozing and not completely gone—the way the other boy's long, thin fingers kept twining themselves with his dark hair was a telling sign. Had Max been truly asleep, then he, Jude, doubted that he would have been able to bring himself to wake him (though he was loath to admit it, his best mate was too damn cute when he was asleep). However, because this was not the case right now, he had no qualms about rousing the other boy from a daze. Especially when he himself was feeling a faint buzz of electricity building within him. Odd, when he was the considerably more down-to-earth of the two. Perhaps having Max as his lover meant that the blond was rubbing off on him in more ways than one?

Nonetheless, after the little romp between the sheets that they had just shared, he was feeling quite at ease and very content, but still inexplicably awake. Not to mention bored. And so, before Max drifted into an even deeper slumber (the kind that were next to impossible to wake him from), he decided that they both needed to get out of bed.

Deftly, being as careful as he could be, he pushed himself up a little, leaving a trail of kisses across his lover's bare chest.

The corners of Max's lips twitched, but other than that, the blond didn't move.

"Max," he stated quietly, then, with more frustration, "C'mon, y'lazy arse, I know you're awake."

The smirk grew noticeably wider, but Max still refused to move.

With a roll of his eyes, he decided to try a different tactic. Reaching over, being as careful as he could, he brushed his fingers across the other boy's stomach.

It garnered more results than his previous attempts to rouse Max had. This time, at least the good-for-nothing bastard squirmed a little.

Biting his lower lip, he lightly wiggled his fingers again.

Refusing to give in, Max kept his eyes closed, but swatted at him nonetheless, muttering a groggy, "Stop it, man…" before falling limp once more.

And then, suddenly, he recalled a conversation that he had had with his lover not too long ago, one that had resulted in the revelation that Max was, in fact, rather ticklish. He remembered saying, at the time, that he wouldn't try anything just then, but instead save this wonderful piece of knowledge for a later date.

Well, it certainly was a later date.

It was a cruel thing to do. Really, Max worked all day to get them money to buy them things, and, he imagined that, for a boy who had grown up wealthy and had lived a privileged life where practically everything had been handed to him, it wasn't easy for his friend. His lover probably was beat. But then, honestly, how difficult and strenuous could driving a cab be? Besides that, he was bored.

And so, grinning slightly to himself, he promptly reached out and tickled his best friend.

The reaction was instantaneous—and very satisfying. Max's eyes flew open and he tried to curl in on himself protectively, but it was of no use. By now, he had already straddled the blond and was tickling him mercilessly, laughing his arse off all the while.

"Jude! Shit, man!" the other boy gasped, arms and legs flailing. "Knock it off! I mean it—aaaah, oh God! You sonofa bitch!"

"That's no way t'talk about me mum!" he teased, fingers dancing up at down the American's ribs.

"Asshole!" Max exclaimed between giggles. "So dead! You are so dead, Jude, I swear to Christ—aaaaah! You prick!"

"Keep talkin', luv," he said, grinning like mad. "I'm not backin' down anytime soon."

Max aimed a couple of fruitless kicks at him, still hurling empty threats.

"Hahaha, oh God! I mean it!" he warned, throwing a few feeble punches that missed their mark completely. "I'm gonna kick your ass! Ahaha, Jude! Just you wait—ahahaa, just wait! I'm gonna—hahaha—I'm gonna get you back!"

And so, on it went like that for a few more seconds before he determined that his best mate was well and truly awake (and also that Max wasn't going to spring back up and get his revenge). Still snickering a little, he rolled off of the other boy, flopping down next to him on the bed.

There was silence for a bit, apart from quiet laughter from him and frantic wheezing from Max.

"I meant…what I said…" the other boy panted. "I'm…gonna—"

"Kill me, kick my arse, get me back, so you've said." He looked over at Max and grinned.

"Fuck you," his friend whispered breathlessly. "Jesus, my heart's beating so fast—feel." Reaching blindly, the blond took his hand and laid both of their palms against his chest.

"Shit, you're right," he murmured, a little surprised at the feel of his lover's heart thudding erratically beneath his fingers. "Hope I don't send you into cardiac arrest or anything."

"It would serve you right," Max muttered scornfully. "Tickling me while I was trying to sleep."

"Like you don't get enough sleep."

"That's not the point!"

"Well…" he began, trying to rack his brain for a proper defense. "…think of it as payback for all those times you've interrupted me while I was trying t'work."

"That, my friend, is a lie and you know it. I am very, uh…respectful and…" Max scowled, searching for the word. "…considerate when it comes to your finger paintings and stick figures. I even hang them up on the refrigerator when you're all done."

"Bastard," he muttered against Max's chest.

"And if we had any gold stars, I'd totally give you one," Max finished, absentmindedly beginning to play with his hair. The other boy's heartbeat had slowed to a smooth, steady rhythm, a relaxing pulsation beneath his hand.

He yawned a little, though Max took no notice, saying, "Well, I'm awake now. Whaddaya wanna do?"

"Mm, doesn't matter…" he replied sleepily. His eyes felt heavy and he vaguely marveled at how comfortable Max was despite being such a boney little git.

"You mean you went through all of that and you can't even think of anything fun to do?" Max said in a tone akin to both a whine and a demand.

He shrugged as best he could while laying on top of the other boy.

"Not really. 'M kinda beat, actually…" And he yawned again.

"Oh, don't you dare, Jude Feeney. Don't you dare."

"Too late," he replied, and he let his eyes fall shut.

Distantly, he heard Max say something along the lines of "Nuh uh. Not gonna happen" before there was a great whomph and something big and soft collided with his face.

Gasping and now fully awake, he tried to push himself into a sitting position but was too slow and the pillow caught him again, this time nearly knocking him over.

Max cackled, "Revenge!" mercilessly hitting him over the head again and again with a pillow.

"You little bastard, I was asleep!" he exclaimed, raising his arms in a pitiful attempt to block the feathery blows.

"Ha, not anymore!" his friend retorted as he lifted the pillow above his head. Seeing that Max was poised to execute another attack, he seized his opportunity and dove forward, tackling the skinny blond to the ground.

They both let out equally unmanly yelps of pain when they landed on the hardwood floor, but Max was quicker in recovering, already wriggling out from underneath him and attempting to crawl away.

"Where d'you think you're going?" he demanded playfully, pushing himself to his knees. "You're not getting away!"

"Must…reach…pillow..!" Max gasped dramatically, struggling in vain to grab said object, which rested just inches out of his grasp.

Lunging forward, he wrapped his fingers around Max's boney ankle and pulled the blond backward and away from the pillow.

"You're gonna get it, now!" he warned, tickling the sneaky American bastard once more.

"Aaaah, nonono! Stop!" his friend giggled, flailing blindly. Or at least, he thought it had been blind flailing. But then, two seconds later, a pillow connected with the side of his head.

"Jesus, mate, you could've put my eye out!"

Max snickered, "You sound like my mother!"

"S'too bad I'm not your mother, 'cause she never would've done this!" He quickly yanked a blanket from the bed and threw it over Max, then proceeded to pummel him mercilessly with a second pillow.

"Give up?" he asked, laughing.

"Aaah, okay, okay, truce!" said Max's muffled voice as he waved his arms in defense.

"That quickly?" he wondered, leaning against the side of the bed and smirking in amusement as he watched his best mate struggle with the blanket. Somehow, the crazy bugger had managed to become completely entangled with it, so much so that it resembled a cocoon more than anything else.

"Hey," Max said, pausing in his wrestling with the blanket to jab a finger at him, which looked rather odd considering that the gesture was made beneath a mound of fabric. "Don't forget, man: That shit doesn't work for me. I'm a lover, not a fighter."

Shaking his head, he leaned forward, and in one swift movement, tugged the blanket off of his friend. Blinking in surprise, Max stared back at him, his face pink, hair disheveled and staticky, sticking up in all different directions. They both grinned a little.

"No, not a fighter," he agreed, inching forward until their lips were very close. "Most definitely a lover, though."

And he leaned in and kissed him.

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Aww…boy-love is so adorable it's ridiculous, seriously. Especially when said boys are Max and Jude.

Notes

Max worked all day to get them money to buy them things – yay for my actually managing to make a Beatles' reference in one of my slash stories. It's actually kind of funny that it should be "A Hard Day's Night," since I've been wanting to write a Max/Lizzy one-shot that's built around that song.

…laid both of their palms against his chest. – I don't want to say that the story was built around this (mainly because it wasn't), but the image hit me very suddenly when I first started writing this story, and so, for me, I sort of had everything else building up to it. To me, despite the fact that Max is pissed off and winded and Jude is giggling like a schoolgirl, it's a very tender moment for them as lovers.

Disclaimer: I own nothing; you guys know that, and I'm sure that you're all kind, decent people who wouldn't dream of suing me. Hopefully. :D