Weekdays-The Sequel Of Weekend.

Shit. FUCK. This is SO not where I want to be right now. At Tony's. Making out with and undressing TONY. 'Why am I doing this again with you? I HATE you Tony, for what you did to me. Making me tell Chris like that.' I say between hot little kisses. Fuck me and my inability to resist the straight little fucker. Or maybe not so straight now.

'It didn't end too badly, did it? I mean, I was never really going to tell him. Did it ever occured to your gay little brain that all I wanted was to talk to you, spend time with you..do this with you?' He asks, at which point he rips off my shirt.
'Not too badly? He drank himself out of it for three days. Didn't even take any drugs or anything. You call that not too badly? I was terrified. I thought you were going to tell him. I believed you, you bastard. You're the one who didn't want to be public and get called my boyfriend.' I rip his shirt off in reply. Tony was silent for a minute. Ha, no answer, you prick?

'I always wanted to be with you, you know that, right? Fuck, you're hot.' Tony unbuckles my belt, pulls down my jeans.

'And you're a bastard. A fucking cute bastard, but a bastard all the same.' I unbuckle his, but pull his jeans right off. We move to his bed, leaving a trail of clothing up the stairs and down the hallway.

'I was a scared bastard. And no-one's ever really seen me scared, so don't say anything.' Tony begs. I file that little piece of information under 'Revenge if needed.' Afterall, Tony had put me in a horrible position with Chris a couple of months ago, and I was worried I'd need to return the favor.

'Sure. Where's the condom?' I ask semi-distracted.

'Top drawer. I'll get it. You stay there, and take them off.' He cheekily snaps the waisband of my briefs. I throw on the covers and after a moment of hesitation I rip them off, and throw them to the floor. Tony crawls in back under the covers and leans on his arms above me. I grin, grab his face and kiss him, then take the wrapper from his hand, rip it open and roll the condom onto his hardness. God knows I'll probably go to pieces again later. *He* is an ever re-occurring thought since me and Tony hooked up that weekend. Not that I've done anything with anyone since, mind you. It's really fucked with me.

'Max?' Tony shocked me out of my thoughts.
'What? Sorry.' I respond, pushing the thought to the back of my mind. We resume where we (read I) left off, with hands, mouths, and skin..

When the both of us are finished (read fucked), and we're in a familiar position wrapped in each other's arms in the dark, I ask him what he wants from me this time, 'A quick fuck? Something long term?' He smirks in the moonlit patch of the bed.
'Friend with benefits.'

'Fuck you, Tony fucking Stonem. Why did I agree to this? Why did I go along with it?' Strangely enough, that's a question I've asked myself before, a very long time ago, a time I've tried to run from, to never go back to, but one that follows me around in my head.
'Because I'm the best fuck you've ever had. Or ever will.' The smartarse replies.
'The only.' I confess. Fuck. Didn't mean for that to slip out. He pulls me in closer for a cuddle and kisses my head. Then he whispers 'Seriously?'

I snap. 'Yes, really, Tony. I haven't been stupid enough to get high or drunk without Cris there so I don't make THAT mistake again.'
'Is that because of-' Tony begins.
'Stop Tony. I'm not talking about this. It's just going to end up the same. We fuck, I turn into an emotional mess, you comfort me, you suck me right into your games then you leave and who gives a shit how I feel? I'm leaving. So you can just fuck off, alright? I'm fucked up enough as it is. The only reason I made it through the last weekend is because I spent most of it high, so get lost.' I say, as I get out of bed, throw on my clothes and turn to leave.
'It's different this time, I swear, Max. Come on. Come back to bed, and we'll sort it all out.' Tony pleads. And, fuck me, I give in. Just. Like. That.
Fuck.

I lose all resolve, strip down to my underwear, and crawl back into his bed, his arms. This is such a bad idea, I tell myself. But somehow, in that bastard's arms, I can't seem to care much. 'Since that weekend, it's all been fucking with me. So I haven't done booze or drugs unless Chris was around to stop me doing something stupid. And this really hasn't helped, Tone.' I take a smoke from his bedside, put it to my lips and grab a lighter as well, flicking the flint and holding the flame to the smoke, inhaling as it went. I then realise all the time I haven't worn my shirt exposes my scars for the bastard to see. I panic for a moment, and my hand flies to my forearm, where months of burn marks are still healing or scarred. Stupidly, I used that hand to take my smoke off my lips to hand it to Tony. He gasps.

'Jesus Christ, Maxxie. What the fuck have you done to yourself?' he asks, shocked to learn that my past is not my only problem; that it's created many others. Self harm being one of those. 'I put on a frock and went on a date with a girl. What do you think I did?' I snap, not for the first time that night. 'Fuck, Max. Why?' He fingers the scars, kisses my head and waits patiently for me to explain.
'Because I'm fucked up. It's the prime example of why we shouldn't be doing this, Tone.' My voice is quiet. 'He moved in next door, so now I can't get away from him. So, I do something about what I feel. I take it out on myself. I punish myself for not leaving sooner, for not saying anything.'
'Max...' Tony begins.
'Don't, Tone, please.' I say, turning over and putting out the smoke in his ashtray. I curl up and shut my eyes. Within a minute, Tony has curled up behind me and has his arm around me. 'Goodnight, boyfriend.'
'Don't use that fucking word.' I mumble.
'Whatever, Max, you'll change your mind.' I ignore him and fall asleep.