Title: The Morning After

Rating: PG13 for language

Summary: After waking up from their first night together, Maxxie has a little meltdown and runs. When he returns home he must face the consequences and a very confused Tony.

Disclaimer: I don't own Skins.

It's late when Maxxie finally lets himself back into the flat. He turns the deadbolt and drops his keys into the little dish on the table by the door. Tony's are lying in the dish as well, meaning that he's somewhere in the flat. A small miracle in of itself.

"I'm home," he calls tentatively, shrugging of his jacket and hanging it up. He steps out of his trainers and moves into the living room. Tony is stretched out on the sofa, reaching a book. He glances up at Maxxie briefly but doesn't speak.

"Are you hungry?" Maxxie lamely holds up the bag of Indian takeout. H hate it—it stinks up the flat, and the smell won't leave for days—but Tony loves it, so he's brought it as an attempt at a peace offering.

If it will lessen the shit he's in, he'll do anything.

Tony looks up from his book. He doesn't say anything, just raises an eyebrow. His eyes move from Maxxie's face to the bag in his hand back to his face. "What's this?"

"Bombay Palace."

"You hate Indian food," he replies coolly, sliding a bookmark into his novel and setting it aside.

"I do," Maxxie says, setting the bad onto the counter. "We'll burn the flat down tomorrow, just get in here and eat."

Tony reluctantly stands and follows Max into the small kitchen of their flat. As Maxxie begins to unload the food, Tony takes out silverware. They don't speak, and to Maxxie its deafening.

"Pretty decent disappearing act you pulled this morning," Tony says, breaking the silence. He reaches into the cupboard above the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. "You should really think about going into the magic business. Make a killing at birthday parties."

"I'm sorry," Maxxie replies. "I know I just—I freaked out, alright?"

Tony sets the bottle onto the counter with a loud thunk. "About what?"

Maxxie pulls out the rest of the takeout from the bad and sets it to join the wine. He leans against the counter, resting his chin against his chest. Finally, after several minutes of silence, he looks up.

"I didn't want to be there when you woke up and decided that the whole thing was a mistake," Maxxie says. He doesn't want to say what he really wants to. That he was a mistake.

Tony chuckles, rolling his eyes. "When have I ever regretted having sex?"

Maxxie looks at him sharply. "I'm serious! I basically forced you into it. We were drunk, Tony! We were drunk, and I was lonely and angry, and I tricked you into it."

"You're giving yourself to much credit here, Max," Tony laughs. "I don't do anything that I don't want to do. Surely you know that."

Maxxie stops short. "I—what?"

"You're such an idiot," Tony mutters, shaking his head.

Maxxie opens his mouth to spit an angry retort, but Tony cuts him off by grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling roughly toward him so that they are only separated by a hair. Before Maxxie can even form the impulse to push him away Tony fiercely presses his lips against Maxxie's. Everything in the flat dissappears, and the only thing that matters—that exists—is them and this point in time and space where their lips meet.

"Don't you realize how important you are to me?" Tony whispers.

Maxxie can only stare at him, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Tony shakes his hand and grabs his wrist, pulling him toward the bedroom.

"What about the food?" Maxxie asks.

Tony smiles, slipping his hands into the seat of Maxxie's pants and squeezing. "That's what microwaves are for, Max."