I don't own the Thundermans.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X
"So there's this guy.."
Max blamed himself. Privacy was a given at the simple push of button among the variety at his workstation and yet...
"Tell me more."
The faster she spoke the sooner she could leave, he told himself. But Phoebe had it backwards, so instead she giggled, then stifled the one-sided amusement and cleared her throat to narrate through not so brief pauses of fake uncertainty.
She was embarrasingly predictable, he thought, a lofty coward behind the confidence Thunder Girl demanded. He was a master of the art. Her lies, unfortunately, had multiples handles.
Max wondered how it came to be... Simply out of genuine curiosity. He was usually dismissive and she just as much if not more. But somewhere down the line, she conceded, unknowingly disarming his inconsideration to the point that whenever she spoke, she was met with generous obligation.
Max tried not to mind. Even at times she abused the privilege. His input became somewhat requirement. Be it her insecurity on which dress to wear and accessory to go with for an occassion. There were moments he was tempted to toss the kid gloves but would find no such courage to put a dent in her obvious and depressing craft.
He sighed miserably. Tonight was one of many since the one she decided to go bolder. No longer did she sit at his bedside. She had taken her chances and complained about the cold he had not felt and climbed into his bed to linger behind him. It became a habit in the crossfire of his pursuit for sleep that consistently wore his patience thin to threads.
He had the facts but lacked the resolve to act.. Not with her deliberately gentle voice in his ear and her warm body suggestively brushing against his with just the right amount to make him hesitate.
His vacant reaction seemed to encourage her further. The vague feeling against his back became undoubtable substance, that led him to discard pretence to improve her poor strategy for the sake of his own sanity.
She tried to object at first, but realised it corresponded with her motivations and made a show of reluctantly giving in. He kissed her harder and touched her chest to indicate that there was more in store. She became excited. But he put a stop to it when he ran out of breath.
"Go to bed Phoebe.."
Argument and desperation crept to her face.
"I can stay."
"We'll talk tomorrow. I promise."
He convinced her with a slow kiss. She relented and left. He breathed easier when she did. What he did was a bit out there but it guaranteed overdue peace of mind.
Satisfied, he yawned, closed his eyes and gradually fell asleep.