Author's Note: So this was initially just supposed to be a smutty one-shot but it ended up becoming really earnest and romantic and actually one of my favourite things I've ever written. Is it out of character for Max to be a stripper? Maybe, maybe not! Let's not think too hard about it, okay?
August 25, 1994 - Manhattan, New York, NY
Mike stumbled towards the nondescript entrance to what was supposedly Roxxane's Tavern, somewhere in the bohemian chaos of Greenwich Village. A neon sign depicting the flashing outline of a woman kneeling and throwing her hair back was the only indication that the peeling, black-painted door led to a strip club. He flashed his ID, his Indiana driver's license earning some prolonged scrutiny before he was patted down roughly by the intimidating bouncer who looked like a member of ZZ Top.
It was his classmate Craig's bachelor party, and Mike was already fairly tipsy from the first two bars they'd been to. He was swept down the narrow hallway by the rowdy group of men, an Aerosmith song growing louder as they neared the club's main area.
Mike had just moved to New York City a few weeks ago for graduate school. So far, his days had consisted of getting lost on the subway while searching for secondhand furniture with which to furnish his laughably small room in the apartment he shared with three other guys. He'd met Craig the very first week, when he'd found Mike fruitlessly wandering the hallways of the computer science building, searching for his supervisor's office. He wasn't invited to the actual wedding that upcoming weekend, but Craig knew Mike didn't know anyone else in the city so he'd taken pity on him and invited him to the bachelor party.
It was becoming increasingly apparent throughout the night, however, that Craig's friends were kind of obnoxious and insufferable.
"Man, how did you find this place?" someone from the back of the group called out.
Peter, the best man, laughed and clapped his hand on Craig's shoulder. "Craig here, despite being engaged to the WASP-iest girl on the East Coast, secretly likes freaky, tattooed, alt chicks, so I asked around just for him."
"Shut up, man," Craig chuckled, shoving his friend against the wall.
Mike's eyes widened as they ducked through a black velvet curtain and were immediately greeted by the sight of a girl with blue hair and nipple piercings kneeling on the stage in the middle of the room, flipping her hair around. Holy shit, he thought as he looked around and took in the dimly lit space, is this a strip club or a biker bar? Both the clientele and the girls walking around serving drinks were covered in tattoos and clad in leather; cigarette smoke curled upwards in front of the bright flashing stage lights from nearly every table.
The group crowded around an empty table towards the back, pulling up extra chairs and orienting themselves to get a full view of the stage. Not even a minute later a waitress in a latex skirt and push-up bra brought over a tray of tequila shots, and before Mike could protest he had a shot glass shoved into one hand and a lime wedge in the other.
"To Craig's last night of freedom!" Peter shouted, lifting his glass in the air before downing the shot. Mike tipped his head back, wincing as the cheap tequila burned down his throat just as the music died down and the lights dimmed.
"Gentlemen, get your wallets ready and please welcome to the stage everyone's favourite fiery redhead… Maxine!" The crowd burst into boisterous cheers and applause at the DJ's announcement as a blue spotlight illuminated the stage. "Don't get too handsy boys, this one bites."
Mike froze with the lime halfway to his mouth. There's no fucking way, he thought to himself. It had to just be a coincidence. He saw movement on the stage out of the corner of his eye and he looked up sharply as the sultry notes of "Glory Box" by Portishead started playing over the speakers.
And then there she was.
Her hair was longer, reaching all the way down to her lower back, and she had colourful tattoos decorating her arms and legs, but that was definitely Max Mayfield sauntering onto the stage in dark red lipstick, thigh-high boots and not much else. She had some sort of black heart-shaped stickers covering her nipples with a long-sleeved mesh shirt over top, and what could only be described as denim hotpants with a bright red thong pulled up over her hip bones.
Mike felt his brain short-circuiting as he watched this ghost from his past saunter up to the pole, effortlessly hoisting herself up and spinning around with her head thrown back.
He racked his brain trying to remember the last time he'd seen her. She'd moved away halfway through their freshman year of high school; her stepdad couldn't handle staying in Hawkins after Billy's death so he'd moved them to somewhere in New Jersey over winter break. Despite Lucas's desire to try a long-distance relationship, she had abruptly ended things with him just before the move, and no one had heard from her since.
On stage, Max had flipped herself upside down, legs wrapped around the pole and her arms stretched out to the sides as she twirled elegantly, the ends of her red hair trailing on the floor. It felt like all the chatter around him was suddenly muted, blood rushing in his ears as his world narrowed down to just her. She was completely mesmerizing. As a kid, she'd always been athletic, but he had no idea she could be so graceful as well. A glint of silver metal above her belly button caught his eye, and he wondered if she had anything else pierced. Jesus, stop thinking about her like that, you sicko, he chastised himself.
The guy beside him elbowed him in the ribs and Mike tore his eyes away from Max. "Hey Craig, I think Farm Boy just fell in love."
Craig looked over at Mike from across the table with bloodshot eyes and laughed. "Close your mouth, man. She's hot, but you're gonna drool on the coasters."
"Killer rack on that chick," someone else chimed in.
Peter snorted. "All I know is, you definitely gotta have major daddy issues to work in a place like this." Mike wrinkled his nose in disapproval and looked back at the stage in time to see Max slide down and slowly drop into a perfect split with the pole at her back as dollar bills rained down in front of her.
Then she got on her hands and knees and crawled to the front of the stage while groping male hands tucked more bills into her thong and shorts. He felt a little guilty watching her like this, but he also couldn't look away. She was so confident, so in control.
Max lay on her back, her hair hanging over the edge of the stage, running her hands over her body while the men crowded around continued going wild for her. She rolled over and propped her chin up in her hands, giving a flirty wink to the younger guy who was seated directly in front of her, prompting him to hold out a five-dollar bill as if hypnotized.
The song faded out and she jumped to her feet and blew a kiss to the crowd, clutching at the bills that were threatening to fall out of her waistband as she took quick, shuffling steps on her impossible heels and vanished behind the tinsel curtain at the back of the stage. Some security guys came to gather the rest of the tips from the floor, but Mike's eyes stayed glued to the fluttering silver strands as if he could see through them if he stared hard enough.
One of the guys, who he thought was named Josh, clapped his hands on Mike's shoulders. "Hey Indiana, I'm about to make your fuckin' night."
"Huh?" Mike frowned, glancing up at him.
"We bought you a private dance with the redhead."
"What?" His eyes went wide, and he felt his stomach fly into his throat. This could not happen. "No!"
Josh hauled him out of his chair and turned him towards the waitress who was tapping her foot impatiently. "I already gave 'em the cash. Go ahead, man."
Mike dug his heels in and tried to grab onto the backs of the chairs. "No, I really–"
"Come on dude, it's my bachelor party," Craig slurred as he got unsteadily to his feet and shoved Mike away from the table. "Live a little!"
Despite his emphatic protests, Mike was led down a dimly lit hallway by their waitress and shown through a beaded curtain into a small room that had a cracked vinyl bench on one side and mirrors on all three walls. He contemplated making a run for it but one look at the three-hundred-pound bouncer standing just outside the room killed that idea quickly.
The world felt like it was spinning as he threw himself onto the padded bench in resignation. He hung his head down between his knees in an effort to quell his growing nausea while he tried to figure out what the fuck he was going to say to Max for the first time in almost a decade.
In a strip club.
Where she fucking worked.
Beverly, the gravelly-voiced, middle-aged back-of-house manager poked her head around the corner of the dressing room. "Maxine, you got a private dance waiting in room three."
Max nodded and gave a wave of acknowledgement as she finished organizing the tips from her dance into a neat stack, trying to mentally calculate how much she'd be taking home after paying out Carlos, the owner, at the end of the night. It was shaping up to be a pretty decent night for a Thursday—she thought she might even be able to treat herself to some new, non-stripper clothes for once.
Her coworker Brandi dashed into the room and threw herself onto the stool next to Max. "I just saw him go in, he's real cute."
Max snorted. "I don't trust your taste in men, B. I've seen your baby daddy."
"What's wrong with Ricky?" she pouted in the mirror as she retied her bleached blonde pigtails.
"Nothing, if you don't mind having to reach things on the top shelf for him for the rest of your life," Max said as she wiggled into a black body suit that consisted primarily of straps crisscrossing all over her torso. "Plus I'm pretty sure he's in the mob."
"Oh whatever, Max," Brandi snapped, her strong Brooklyn accent coming out. "At least I'm gettin' some. When's the last time you even got laid, huh?"
"I think The Golden Girls was still on the air," one of the other girls interjected.
Max chuckled, not bothering to protest as she pulled on her favourite leather mini dress that had a zipper going all the way up the front and adjusted her boobs in the mirror. It hadn't really been that long, but certainly more than six months at this point. She bent over to give her hamstrings a quick stretch and then cracked her neck as she left the dressing room and headed down the hallway. Time to make some money.
"You ready for me, big boy?" she asked breathily, the strands of wooden beads clicking together as she walked through them.
"Um, hi Max!"
"Mike?" Max froze in her tracks and blinked rapidly. Was she hallucinating? Did Brandi slip PCP into her water bottle again? Because this could not be Mike Wheeler sitting in front of her waiting patiently for a lap dance. "What– what the fuck is going on?"
The opening notes to Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun" started playing over the small speaker in the ceiling. Damn, I love this song, she thought somewhere in the back of her jumbled mind.
Mike held his hands up in surrender, a look of sheer panic on his face. "I'm really, really sorry. The guys I'm with paid for it and they forced me in here," he explained. "I can just sit here, you don't have to like… do anything."
Max shook her head after several moments of paralyzed bewilderment and glanced at the bouncer side-eying her from the hallway. Fucking Greg. Greg was an asshole and would definitely rat her out to Carlos if he saw that she wasn't maximizing her chances of getting tips. There was no getting out of this one—she would just have to pretend Mike was any other customer and not her fucking childhood acquaintance. At least he's unlikely to try and cop a feel.
"Actually, I do," she sighed, steeling herself and rolling her shoulders back, "or I'll get shit from my boss. So sit back and enjoy the show, I guess."
"Oh, um… okay," Mike stuttered, clasping his hands on his lap and fixing his gaze somewhere above her head, his knee bouncing anxiously.
She started to slowly unzip the front of her dress and took the opportunity to study him. He'd grown out the dorky bangs he'd had when they were kids, his wavy dark hair a little past his shoulders now, and he was wearing black jeans and a grey and black flannel. And even though he was sitting down she could tell he'd gotten quite a bit taller.
The dress fell to the floor with a swish and she glanced down at his shoes, noticing he still wore beat-up black Converse. She wondered if he'd had the same pair since high school or if he just kept buying the same ones. Her gaze flicked back up and she saw that Mike was looking at her now. He was valiantly keeping his eyes on her face, but she noticed the muscle in his jaw twitch at the effort.
Now Max found that she kind of wanted him to crack—she always did like a challenge.
"So, what brings you to Roxxane's?" she asked as she strutted the few steps towards him, heels clicking on the worn hardwood floor.
"Um, bachelor party," Mike said, his eyes widening when she came to stand between his knees.
Max raised an eyebrow. "Yours?" She bent at the hips and rested her hands on his shoulders, making sure he caught a whiff of her perfume and a face full of her glittery cleavage.
This time his gaze flicked down for half a second before darting back up in alarm. "No! Uh, a guy in my master's program."
Her hands trailed down his arms to his thighs, his breath hitching when she firmly shoved his knees wider apart. Then she straightened up and lifted one leg, placing her left foot on the edge of the bench, the three-inch platform of her boot dangerously close to his crotch. Her eyes dropped down as she slowly trailed her left hand from her ankle, up her vinyl-clad leg, all the way to the pale skin of her inner thigh. She glanced up to ensure Mike's gaze followed the path of her fingertips the whole way. It had. His throat bobbed as he swallowed audibly.
Max dropped her foot back to the floor and crouched down in front of him, gazing up into his darkened eyes as she nudged his thighs closer together. She straightened up slowly before turning around so she was perched on his knees, and then she leaned forward and arched her back.
Glancing at the mirror to her right, she saw that his eyes were fixated on the butterfly tattoo on her lower back. She flipped her hair back and shifted backwards in his lap, spreading her legs wide over his, grinning to herself triumphantly when she felt that he was getting hard. She leaned back against his chest and turned her head so her nose was nuzzling his jaw, noting in the back of her mind that he smelled really good. Like soap and pine needles.
"Let me guess," she murmured next to his ear. "Columbia?"
"Um, yeah," Mike replied, his voice raising an octave as she pushed her ass back against his growing erection. "Computer science." He kept his gaze forward and she knew he was watching them in the mirror on the other side of the room. She smirked to herself. Victory.
Max stood slowly and turned around, planting a knee on either side of him so she was straddling his lap. One of his hands reflexively rose to rest on her hip and after a second she swatted it away, although she didn't really want to. His hand was… intriguingly large.
"No touching," she whispered, tilting her head towards the hallway, "or Greg will kick your ass out onto the street." Mike nodded rapidly and lifted his hands, glancing around and ultimately deciding to rest them on the bench on either side of him.
"How um, how long have you been doing this?" he asked, clearly trying to distract himself while she writhed in his lap to the slow beat of the song. His gaze was trained over her shoulder on the mirror behind her and he'd started breathing heavily, his warm breath fanning out over her chest with each exhale.
"I started doing it to put myself through college," Max explained, "but it turns out a degree in postmodern literature doesn't lead to very high-paying jobs, so…"
"Oh." Mike leaned back and looked up at her, and she noticed his eyes were glassy and a little unfocused. He must have been pretty drunk. Maybe he won't remember any of this tomorrow, she thought to herself hopefully. "I'm sorry."
"It's not so bad. Taking money from pathetic guys," she teased, leaning her hands behind her on his knees. "Sometimes it even feels pretty good." She ground down against the hardness straining at the fabric of his pants and he made a strangled noise that sent a jolt of satisfaction pulsing through her.
The truth was, she really didn't hate it. She'd become good at it—wielding power over men, seeing how much money and dignity she could make them give up over the course of a five-minute song. She'd quickly learned that if she acted aloof and treated them like shit they'd fall all over themselves just to get a second of her attention. But now as she continued to slowly grind against Mike to the song's final chorus, Max found she was actually getting kind of turned on herself—her heart rate picking up and her skin tingling in a way she hadn't felt in quite some time. She bit the inside of her cheek painfully as a distraction.
So it had been a while. It had nothing to do with how good Mike looked since he'd grown into his features and developed truly insane cheekbones. It was probably just because he was her first customer of the week who didn't reek of stale beer and cigarettes.
Usually, she was completely numb to the customer's attentions, sometimes they even grossed her out, but getting a physical reaction out of Mike was making something akin to pleasure bubble up inside her and simmer under her skin. A wave of embarrassment rolled over her as she remembered the very brief crush she'd had on him back in Hawkins before it became clear he was very much off-limits. Plus, it would have been way too pathetic to have a crush on the boy who was mean to her. Do not blush right now, Mayfield, she scolded herself. Get your shit together.
She hooked her fingers into his belt loops and lowered herself backwards so her torso was draped over his legs, arching her back and dropping her head back until she could catch an upside-down glimpse of them in the mirror. He was staring at her body openly now, his eyes roaming hungrily over her tits and stomach and then down to the Chinese dragon snaking down her right thigh.
Mike cleared his throat loudly. "Cool tattoos."
Max chuckled and lifted herself up. "Thanks." But she had too much momentum and shifted forward inadvertently, gasping at the friction of her barely covered crotch rubbing against his clothed erection. When he tipped his head up to look at her their faces were much closer than before, and it felt like something palpable passed between them in those few seconds.
Her gaze dropped down to his parted lips. He did always have those lips that any girl would be envious of. The screeching guitar faded out as the song came to an end, and she couldn't stop herself from gently cupping his chin and pressing her thumb against his bottom lip.
"Our time's up, Wheeler," she murmured, gazing into his dazed brown eyes for a long moment before standing abruptly, putting physical distance between herself and that moment that was far too intimate considering the circumstances.
Mike dug around in his pocket while she bent down to pick up her dress, and she reminded herself this was nothing more than a business transaction.
He held out a fistful of cash. "I uh, I dunno how much–" Max avoided his eyes as she snatched a fifty and twenty from his hand, sticking the bills in one of the straps of her bodysuit before turning to leave. "Wait," Mike called out before she could disappear through the curtain. "Um, can I see you again? Outside of here?"
What the fuck? She frowned and whirled around. "I'm a stripper, not a hooker, Wheeler."
"No, no! I meant, like, to get a drink or something," he stammered, holding his hands up. "I'll pay. For the drinks! Not for–" He paused and took a breath, meeting her eyes earnestly. "Just to catch up. I, um, I don't really know many people here."
Max crossed her arms and shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't drink alcohol."
"Oh."
She looked him up and down, irritated by the conflicting feelings warring inside her. She wasn't sure if it was the crestfallen look on his face or the fact that it had been a boring-ass summer so far, but she kind of wanted to see where this bizarre reunion would go.
So before she could overthink it, Max sighed and said, "I do drink coffee, though."
"Yeah?" Mike looked up at her with a goofy grin. "Uh, me too." Ugh. Why was he kind of cute when he was flustered?
Max ran her tongue over her top teeth, hoping she wasn't going to regret what she was about to do. "I'm working an early shift tomorrow, so I should be done around nine. If you wanna meet me here, or whatever."
Mike nodded and gave her a small smile that was way too eager and made something strange twist in her stomach, so she just gave him a curt nod in return and left the room, the beaded curtain clacking noisily behind her.
The next day, Mike found himself outside Roxxane's Tavern for the second night in a row, adjusting his hold on the scalding hot coffee cups in his hands, trying to look casual and hide the fact that he was completely freaking out on the inside.
Seeing Max last night had been a total mindfuck. He'd spent the day alternately puking into the toilet and picturing her grinding on his lap, smelling like flowers. She'd just… blown up his entire perception of her, forcing him to see in her a whole new light.
Back when they were kids he'd barely given her a second glance since he'd been so obsessed with El. They'd even been openly hostile towards each other at times. But now… now he'd been single for over three years, and she looked… well, grown up, that was for sure. And Mike found he was really looking forward to getting to know her again outside of the chaos and drama of Hawkins, even if there was a zero percent chance she was interested in anything more than just a friendly hang.
He took a deep breath and glanced around. It was an idyllic summer's night—the Village was teeming with people and buzzing with energy. The residual heat from the day was still radiating off the asphalt, the restaurant patios were full, and buskers were playing music on every other corner, filling the air with a discordant harmony of sounds that was almost overwhelming. He didn't think he'd ever get used to all the noise—the ever-present dull roar of traffic in the background, the endless honking horns and wailing sirens.
Then the door in front of him swung open, and his heart skipped a beat when Max came out, glancing around for a second before spotting him and heading over.
Mike swallowed as he looked her over. She was wearing a black t-shirt that looked like the bottom half had been cut off, showing off her stomach and the top of the black fishnet tights she was still wearing under her baggy light-wash jeans. She'd taken off her heavy eye makeup and lipstick, but there was still a dark red tint staining her lips; and instead of platform heels, she had on scuffed black combat boots that looked like they'd seen better days. She looked… way too cool to be seen with him.
He handed her one of the blue and white coffee cups and she took it cautiously, her eyebrows raised as if she hadn't expected him to get it for her.
"It's just black," he explained. "I didn't know how you like it."
She nodded and gave him a half smile. "Black is good."
Mike peered down at her shirt, smiling when he recognized the image. "You always did like Bowie."
Max glanced down at herself and then back up at him, a bemused look crossing her face. "I– yeah, I… can't believe you remember that." He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. "Um, wanna walk through Washington Square Park?" she asked, tilting her head across the street. "It's just up ahead."
"Sure, I haven't seen it yet," he nodded. They started down the block and walked past a busy Chinese restaurant, the door swinging open just as the host called out, "Goldberg for four?"
"Ha, just like Seinfeld," Mike pointed out.
Max looked up at him. "What?"
"Seinfeld?" he repeated, only to be met with a blank look. "There's an episode where they wait for a table at a Chinese restaurant all night and then they leave before they get it?"
"I don't really watch TV," she said, turning her gaze forward and taking a sip from her cup.
"Oh."
An awkward silence descended over them as they approached the entrance to the park. There was a large open area bordered by chess tables where old men hunched over the boards, brows furrowed in concentration as they studied their pieces in the orange glow of the street lamps.
"So–"
"Did you–" they both started at the same time.
Mike winced. "Sorry, go ahead."
"No it's okay, you go," she insisted.
"Oh um, I was just gonna ask how work was?"
Max shrugged. "Pretty good for an early shift. This group of Wall Street guys came in, already wasted, celebrating some kind of deal or merger or whatever. They always throw their cash around and try to outspend each other. It's like some kind of coked-up corporate dick-measuring contest."
Mike chuckled and followed her down a fork in the path, peering up at the dusky sky as the last light of day faded away. No chance of seeing any stars here.
"How long have you been in the city now?" she asked after a minute.
"Just under a month. My graduate program starts after Labour Day so I've been buying furniture, meeting my classmates and my thesis supervisor, and getting ready for the classes I'll be assisting with," he explained.
"How are you liking it so far?"
"It's… different. I went from Hawkins to Ann Arbor which was slightly bigger, but this…" he trailed off, gesturing broadly.
"Yeah," Max nodded. "I love it though."
Mike glanced over at her, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. "It's growing on me."
"In Hawkins, everyone knew everyone's business, but here you can walk out your door and just… disappear in a crowd," she said, gesturing at the busy path ahead.
Mike opened his mouth to reply but then Max's hand clamped down onto his arm and she tugged him to the side just as a cyclist went careening by, missing Mike by inches and not even sparing a glance at the person they'd almost just run over.
"Shit, thanks," Mike breathed, his heart racing from the close call. After a few seconds, his gaze dropped down to where her hand was still lingering on his bicep. She seemed to become aware of it as well because she quickly pulled it away as if she'd been burned.
"No problem," she mumbled, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup and looking up at him almost shyly, and he was struck for the first time by how pretty her eyes were. Like two pools of glacial water. How had he never noticed before?
Max cleared her throat, turning her gaze forward as they started walking again. "So, how's El?"
"I uh, wouldn't really know," Mike replied, kicking at a loose pebble on the path.
She looked up at him sharply. "You're not...?"
"Together?" He shook his head. "Nope. After high school, she took a gap year because she wanted to travel and see the world before joining me in Michigan but then she just… didn't wanna come back."
He still felt a fleeting pinprick of pain at the memory of the unexpected phone call that had ended his first and only serious relationship. There had been a handful of other girls since then, but they were nothing more than casual hookups after parties. The truth was that lately, Mike found that he kind of missed having a girlfriend. Maybe it was time to put himself back out there.
"Last I heard from Will, she's working at some elephant sanctuary in Thailand," he added, pulling himself from his introspection.
"Wow," Max shook her head slowly as if the news was difficult to grasp. She glanced over at him after a few seconds. "You still talk to Will, then?"
"Yup, he's in Los Angeles now," Mike smiled, thinking of his best friend. "He uh, he lives with his boyfriend, actually."
"Oh." She jerked her head back in surprise for a moment before nodding in acceptance. "That… kinda makes sense. Do you keep in touch with everyone from back home?"
"I try to. Dustin and Suzie are like this academic power couple, they're both on some kind of theoretical physics Ph.D. fast track. And Lu– uh, never mind," he stuttered, cutting himself off.
"It's okay, you can talk about him," Max chuckled. "It's been almost ten years."
Mike took a deep breath. "Um, Lucas is married."
"Huh."
"Yeah," he said, glancing down at her and trying to gauge her reaction. She didn't seem upset, just mildly surprised. "He started dating this girl his first week at Arizona State and they tied the knot this past June, right after graduation."
Max nodded. "He always did love commitment." They split apart to opposite sides of the path as they circumvented a flustered dog walker who was attempting to untangle the leashes of what looked to be five or six hyperactive dogs. "How's Nancy?" she asked once they fell back into step with each other.
"Oh, about… seven months pregnant," Mike chuckled.
"Shut up. Jonathan?"
"Yup."
"Wow," she shook her head. "Nancy's gonna be a great mom." She nudged him with her elbow. "And you're gonna be an uncle."
"I guess so," he laughed. "Babies kinda freak me out, to be honest."
"Oh, me too," Max agreed. "That soft spot on top of their heads? No, thank you."
She stopped and held out her coffee cup for him to take before bending down to tie up her shoelace that had come undone. Mike's eyes were drawn straight to the small tattooed butterfly spreading its wings across her lower back. A monarch, he thought. An image from last night floated to the forefront of his mind—black straps framing the back dimples he'd never known she had. He looked away as she stood, pretending he'd been examining the tree next to them and praying his cheeks weren't flushed.
"Thanks," she said, taking her cup back. "And um, what about your younger sister?"
"Holly? She'll be starting her sophomore year of high school."
Max huffed out a laugh. "Crazy…"
"Yeah," Mike sighed. "Time flies." She stopped to drop some change into the hat of an elderly saxophone player who was performing a rendition of "Careless Whisper", and Mike did the same.
"What about you?" he asked once they resumed their course, meandering along the paved path. "How are your mom and stepdad?"
"Um, my mom's okay," Max said unconvincingly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Neil died of a heart attack a couple years ago but she's still over in Trenton."
"Shit, I'm sorry," Mike winced.
Max snorted. "Don't be. She's uh, actually not doing the best on her own," she added, twisting the silver ring on her middle finger. "I try to take the train over there once a week if I can. Clean up, check that she has groceries, make sure she didn't pass out with a bottle of Jameson and burn the house down…"
Mike nodded sympathetically, remembering how chaotic Max's home life had always been, even when they were kids. There was always a sadness lurking just below the surface of her sassy comebacks and biting remarks.
The path opened up as they reached the bustling center of the park. Mike stared up at the ornate arch towering over them, illuminated from below by bright spotlights. Groups of fanny pack-wearing tourists crowded beneath it, posing for pictures. Everywhere he looked people were milling about, sitting around the massive fountain in the middle or even splashing around in the water to find some relief from the humidity. A Beastie Boys song was blaring from a speaker near a group of skateboarders who were attempting tricks on the edge of the fountain, filming each other with bulky handheld video cameras.
He really wanted to ask Max if she was seeing anyone but he didn't want things to get weird. So instead he nodded towards the rowdy group of skaters. "Do you still skateboard?"
"Yeah, I do actually," she said, as if she was surprised he remembered. "Usually to and from work if the weather is nice." Mike had always thought it was cool that she knew how to skateboard. He certainly didn't have the athletic ability.
Then a bright red hackysack landed in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.
"Kick it over, yo!" a younger boy in comically oversized clothes called over. Mike picked it up and dropkicked it towards the group, cringing when it went in the completely wrong direction and landed in a bush, prompting Max to burst into laughter.
"What the fuck, man?" the boy exclaimed, glaring at where the hackysack had vanished into the shrubbery. Way to go, spaz, Mike thought to himself.
"Uh, sorry!" he called out, quickly walking in the opposite direction to get away from the disgruntled-looking teens.
"Oh god," Max cackled, still laughing at his fumbled kick. "Smooth move, Wheeler. I see you still have the hand-eye coordination of a drunk toddler."
"Shut up," he grumbled, causing her to throw her head back in laughter again. He became momentarily transfixed by her smile, realizing he'd so rarely seen her laugh so freely. His eyes landed on a small mole under her jaw that he'd never noticed before, and it hit him how little he'd really known her back then. She was always more Lucas's girlfriend than Mike's friend, and he wondered why that was.
"That's another thing I'm not used to," he started once Max regained her composure. "Regular teenagers? Already scary. New York teenagers? Whole different breed of intimidating."
"God, I know, right?" Max chuckled. "Sometimes I'll cross the street if I see a group of them sitting on a stoop. And why do they all wear their pants so fucking low?"
"Kids these days," Mike grinned, shaking his head in mock disapproval.
They walked a leisurely lap of the arch and fountain while they finished their coffee, and he told her about all the sights he'd seen so far and the classes he'd be taking, and she told him which bodegas had the best bacon egg and cheese and which subway stations to avoid at all costs. The conversation flowed easily and Mike lost track of how much time had passed. They also quickly got more comfortable teasing each other like they used to all those years ago.
Before leaving the square they'd stopped to get hot dogs from a cart and Max had insisted on paying.
"Ew Wheeler, just ketchup?"
"What?"
"You gotta have mustard too."
"I don't like mustard."
"Oh my god, what are you, nine?"
Eventually, they had wandered down the path that led to the opposite entrance and continued strolling down the busy sidewalk. Max was definitely still just as snarky and sarcastic as she'd been as a kid. But now instead of grating, Mike was actually finding it kind of charming. Once or twice their hands brushed by accident and he tried to ignore the spark of electricity that seemed to travel up his arm.
He was just checking his watch to see how late it was when Max came to an abrupt stop and he almost walked right into her. He squinted up at the street signs on the corner that told him they were at Avenue B and East 4th Street. He'd been so enthralled in their conversation that he didn't even really remember leaving the park.
"Where are we?" he asked, glancing around and nearly tripping over a homeless man who was sprawled out on the side of the sidewalk. This was definitely not the nicest neighbourhood.
"Alphabet City." She scratched at the back of her neck. "My uh, my buildings just up ahead."
"Oh, okay," Mike said, masking his disappointment at the prospect of the night already being over. He was still buzzing from the late-night caffeine, and talking to someone from home had felt really nice. And he may have been delusional but he could swear the energy between them was bordering on flirty. "Um, where's the closest subway station?" he asked, peering around the intersection.
"Actually," Max started, prompting him to look back at her sharply, "do you maybe wanna… come up and smoke a joint?" she asked, fidgeting with the ends of her hair. "I scored some pretty bomb weed from one of the bouncers at the club, so…"
Mike's heart leapt in his chest. Max just invited him up to her apartment. He thought he might faint, but instead, he shrugged nonchalantly and nodded his head. "Yeah, sure."
What the fuck am I doing? Max thought to herself as she and Mike climbed the five flights of stairs to her studio apartment.
But if she was being honest with herself, she knew exactly what she was doing.
He'd been easy to talk to, and she was lonely and didn't want the night to end. They reached her door and she could feel him looming behind her while she unlocked it. He really had gotten tall.
She opened the door and led him into the cramped entryway, wishing she'd had the foresight to clean up a little, but then she had never in a million years thought she'd be inviting Mike Wheeler back to her place.
"Nice place," he said, hands in his pockets as he took everything in.
"It's a shoebox," Max scoffed. "But I kind of love it," she added, looking around the space she'd worked hard to make her own. There were several potted and hanging plants she was attempting to keep alive, band posters covering the peeling beige paint on the walls, colourful stained glass ornaments hanging in front of the window, stacks of books on every available surface, and, on top of the dresser, her prized possession—the 70s record player she'd found at a flea market.
"Meow"
Mike jumped when a small black kitten darted out from behind a pile of books, eyeing the intruder warily with a single bright green eye, the other one closed in a permanent wink.
"Hi baby," Max cooed, crouching down to pet her cat. He'd just shown up on her fire escape one morning when she was out there a few weeks ago and hadn't left since. She glanced up at Mike. "This is Kurt."
He raised an eyebrow as he knelt down, holding his hand out cautiously for Kurt to sniff. "Like Cobain?"
She grinned and straightened up. "And Vonnegut."
She got the tub of cat food from the hallway closet and shook a small amount into the bowl on the floor. Kurt dashed over and immediately buried his face in it, devouring the kibbles as if he hadn't eaten in days instead of just that morning.
Mike stood and pushed open the door that led to the bathroom. "I'm just gonna use your–oh."
Max whipped around to see him standing frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide as he took in the numerous tights and thongs and bodysuits she'd hand-washed yesterday, and which were still hanging up to dry all over her bathroom.
"Shit, sorry lemme just…" She pushed past him, cheeks burning as she collected her skimpy undergarments and balled them up in her hands. "Okay, all yours," she muttered as she slipped around him, beelining for her dresser and jamming everything into the overflowing top drawer. Well, that was fucking embarrassing.
While he was out of the room Max sprang into action, hastily stuffing her cash from the day into the pillowcase she kept behind the mattress and throwing a knit blanket over the disorganized pile of thigh-high boots and lucite heels in the corner. Then she put the new Hole album in the record player and lit a stick of incense, instantly feeling calmer as the music played and the tendril of earthy-smelling smoke swirled upwards towards the ceiling.
When Mike emerged she was sitting cross-legged on the single metal chair at her tiny dining table, sprinkling weed into a neatly creased rolling paper. He began to wander around and peer at her extensive collection of well-worn books while she worked.
"So I guess this is why you don't watch much TV," he said, bending down to examine one of the stacks on the floor. He picked up the book on top and flipped through it. Max glanced up and saw it was the tattered and heavily annotated copy of her favourite novel, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
"Yeah, I can usually get them for like fifty cents at the flea market," she explained. "That's where I get a lot of my stuff." She licked the edge of the paper and carefully smoothed it down before twisting the end, satisfied with the even conical shape she'd created. "Let's go," she said, tucking the joint behind her ear as she crossed the room to her window.
She slid the pane upwards and hoisted herself through the window and onto the rattling fire escape. Mike followed, taking a seat beside her on the platform, both of their legs dangling over the edge.
Max took a second to breathe in the warm night air, basking in the familiar sights and sounds of her neighbourhood. There were men yelling on the next street over; hip hop music blasting from a boombox somewhere; the usual gaggle of transgender sex workers gathering on the corner, calling out to men passing by; a symphony of car alarms going off several blocks away.
"Is it safe for you to live here alone?" Mike asked, peering worriedly at a scuffle down the street.
Max shrugged. "Having a roommate doesn't really work with my hours right now. Plus, I can take care of myself." She leaned back and grabbed the lighter that she kept on the window ledge. "Have you smoked pot before?"
"Um, yeah, I have," he chuckled as she lit up the joint. "There was a semester in my sophomore year where I wore a lot of baja hoodies and listened exclusively to the Sublime album."
"Oh no, Cali stoner Wheeler?" she laughed as she smoothly exhaled a cloud of smoke and passed the joint. "I would have killed to see that."
Mike took a drag and shook his head. "Well, you never will. That was definitely just a phase. Or a post-breakup identity crisis," he joked, tilting his head back and blowing his smoke up into the sky.
They stayed like that, watching the smoke curl and dissipate into the sticky night air, passing the joint back and forth in comfortable silence. Each time, their fingers would brush and it started something simmering beneath her skin that didn't go away even after the joint was finished.
After a while, she realized neither of them had spoken in quite some time. Shit, that really was good pot. She licked her lips, noticing her mouth was uncomfortably dry.
"I got a watermelon from the fruit stand the other day," she said.
Mike looked over at her, eyebrow raised. "Okay?"
Max blushed, realizing how dumb her statement was. Nice one, dork. "Um, I mean, do you want some?"
"Oh, sure," he nodded.
"Be right back." She got to her feet and clambered through the window, strangely giddy from the combination of strong coffee and stronger weed.
She grabbed the Tupperware of neatly cut watermelon triangles from her mini fridge and then paused, standing behind the counter and staring at the silhouette just outside her window. Max scraped her teeth over her bottom lip thoughtfully and gave an incredulous shake of her head. Mike Wheeler, sitting on her fucking fire escape. How the hell did they get here?
She was suddenly reminded of a quote she knew she'd underlined in her dog-eared copy of Love in the Time of Cholera.
'But when a woman decides to sleep with a man, there is no wall she will not scale, no fortress she will not destroy, no moral consideration she will not ignore at its very root: there is no God worth worrying about.'
And it was right then and there that she decided she wanted to sleep with Mike.
Just this once. Just to scratch this itch.
Because it had been way too long and because he looked really good and he seemed so different from the asshole kid she used to know but he also felt familiar in an extremely comforting way.
And she was pretty sure there was something there between them… Although, it had been a very long time since Max had flirted with anyone she wasn't trying to coerce a tip out of. What if it was all in her head? Maybe it was just the haze of weed and exhaust fumes making her feel things that weren't there. She sighed. This would require a little further investigation before she made a move and risked making a complete fool of herself.
Before rejoining Mike, she checked the box of condoms under the array of pallets that served as her bed frame, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that they weren't expired. Kurt blinked at her with his one good eye from where he was curled up on her bed, flicking his tail judgmentally.
"Oh, don't you give me that look," she hissed at him. "You weren't even born the last time I had a guy here."
Then she made her way to the milk crate that housed her record collection, flipping through them hurriedly. "Okay," she muttered under her breath, "what's a sexy album… aha!" She pulled out her Mazzy Star vinyl. I'd definitely bang to this. She swapped out the records, turning up the volume as the dreamy opening bars of "Fade Into You" began to play.
When she settled herself back onto the fire escape she intentionally sat closer to Mike so their denim-clad thighs were pressed together, her stomach flipping with excitement when he didn't move away. She balanced the Tupperware on her knee while they devoured the cold, sweet slices of watermelon, tossing the rinds into the bushes below when they were finished. When some juice dripped messily down her chest and into her cleavage, Max decided to take advantage of the situation.
"Oh, oops," she murmured, drawing Mike's attention as she deliberately reached down and traced the line of pink liquid upwards with her finger before popping it into her mouth.
He stared at her open-mouthed, eyes widening after a second before he tore his gaze away, clearing his throat forcefully. "So um, when did you get your tattoos?"
Max grinned, satisfied by how much she'd rattled him. She gave him a tour of all her tattoos that were currently visible, starting with the very first stick-and-poke skulls on her shoulder that her friend had done in the high school bathroom; then a few random flash designs she'd gotten just because she thought they were pretty; a magnolia flower on her bicep that reminded her of her grandmother who'd died while Max was in college.
Mike reached out and traced his fingertips lightly over the one tattoo she'd yet to explain—Roman numerals reading VII·IV·LXXXV that scrolled vertically up her forearm in red ink.
"Seven, four, eighty-five," he translated out loud, looking up at her sharply when he made the connection. "Is that–?"
"The date of Starcourt?" Max nodded. "Yeah. It's kind of a… tribute to Billy I guess," she explained, trying to ignore the way her skin was still tingling where Mike had touched it. She swallowed past the lump in her throat that always threatened to appear whenever she thought about her stepbrother. "Do uh, do you have any ink?"
"Nah," Mike shook his head. "I don't even know what I'd get."
Max shrugged. "It doesn't have to mean anything, it can just be whatever you think looks cool. Just don't get like, Bugs Bunny smoking a blunt or something."
"Oh well, fuck, never mind then," he replied dryly. She laughed loudly, shoving her shoulder against his, unable to remember the last time she'd smiled this much.
"So, postmodern literature?" he asked after a minute, raising an eyebrow at her.
Max chuckled bitterly and folded her arms across the horizontal railing in front of her, resting her chin on top of her hands. "I guess after… everything that happened in Hawkins and then the move, I kind of had a crisis. I was pretty depressed and alone, and Neil was…" she trailed off, opting not to finish that sentence. "I started reading everything I could get my hands on, just to escape the real world for a bit, and I ended up being drawn to the weirder stuff like Murakami, Salman Rushdie… So I went to NYU, and now I have an assload of student loans that I'm paying off in sweaty dollar bills while I apply for other jobs."
"What kind of jobs?"
"I wouldn't mind working in publishing. For like a literary magazine or for an actual publishing house. It's really competitive though."
"Shit, that sounds tough," he nodded, turning to look at her, their thighs pressing harder together. "It's um, it's really cool that you're doing all this on your own though."
"Thanks," she smiled, keeping her gaze on the street below. "I don't really mind it. The stripping." She decided to test the waters and lifted her head to look back at him. "I… kinda like to think I'm pretty good at it."
Mike's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Um, yeah. I mean from what I saw. I liked– uh, you were good."
"Oh yeah?" she smiled wider, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. It wasn't all in her head. The chemistry between them was undeniable. She was going to go for it.
His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to her lips and her heart sped up, hammering against her chest in anxious excitement. "Yeah."
"Hm," she hummed in reply, starting to lean towards him just as he did the same. They met halfway, their lips brushing for half a second before slotting firmly together, and oh wow, his were really soft.
Her hand reached across them to clutch at the fabric of his t-shirt as the kiss deepened. His tongue flicked against her top lip and she opened her mouth, letting their tongues move together in tandem. He tasted like an addictive combination of weed and watermelon.
They weren't nearly close enough like this, Max decided, and her neck was starting to hurt from the angle, so she urged him backwards, breaking their mouths apart so they could pull their legs out from under the railing and rotate.
Once they were further back on the cramped balcony she planted a knee on the rough metal on either side of him, straddling him as she grabbed his face and resumed their frenzied kiss. He really did smell so good. His hands rose up but froze, hovering hesitantly over her waist.
"I'm off the clock, you can touch me," Max reassured him.
"Thank god," Mike breathed, firmly grasping her hips before leaning up to kiss her again. He sucked on her bottom lip, giving it a soft bite that made desire pulse between her thighs.
Warm hands slid up her waist and under her cut-off t-shirt, pausing for a second when he realized she wasn't wearing a bra before cupping her breasts and squeezing gently. She whimpered and shifted forward so she could grind down against his hardness.
"Ow, fuck!" he hissed against her lips. She pulled back in alarm but he quickly shook his head. "Not you, the stair's digging into my back."
Max grabbed his arm and tugged him up as they scrambled to their feet, but before she could turn to crawl through the window he was crowding her against the wall next to it. He leaned his forearm above her, caging her in, while his other hand came down to grasp at her hip, curling over the waistband of her tights.
"Hi," he whispered.
She blinked up at him, admiring the way the shadows played across his striking features. "Hi."
"This is crazy, right? I feel kinda crazy."
"Let's not overthink it."
"Okay," Mike nodded as he leaned down, running his lips over her jaw and down to her neck.
Max let her head fall back against the bricks as he started sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there, a soft moan escaping her in response. He'd probably leave a mark she'd have to cover up before work tomorrow but she didn't care, not when every graze of his teeth was causing a throb of arousal deep in her core. She wove her fingers through his dark waves, deciding that she really liked his long hair.
"Inside," she demanded, tugging him away from the hollow of her throat and the undoubtedly impressive hickey he had been working on.
Max climbed through the narrow window and turned on the floor lamp she'd draped a scarf over, casting a romantic, reddish glow around the small apartment. Kurt gave a displeased meow as she scooped him up from where he'd been sleeping on the bed and deposited him onto a stack of books. "Sorry baby, you gotta move."
As soon as Mike's feet landed on the floor he wasted no time, tugging his shirt off and sitting on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes before shimmying out of his jeans, while Max toed off her boots and kicked them towards the kitchen. She tore the rest of her clothing off hastily—the fact that she did it for a living meant that when it came to the real thing she usually had zero desire to draw it out and make a production of it. She whipped her shirt over her head and stepped out of her jeans before rolling her fishnets down, leaving her in nothing but her black thong. Once most of their clothes were on the floor they stopped and stared at each other, their position oddly mimicking the one they were in just last night.
Max twisted the ends of her hair around her fingers, resisting the urge to cover her chest. She was suddenly feeling nervous and a little shy, even though she hadn't been wearing much more than this when she'd been writhing in his lap less than twenty-four hours ago.
"You're so hot." Mike breathed, leaning back on his hands and shaking his head in disbelief as his gaze swept over her body. She bit her lip, feeling a warm flush spread across her neck and chest. "What do you like?" he asked, meeting her eyes.
Max furrowed her brow in confusion. "What do I–?" Jesus Christ, she didn't think a man had ever asked her that before. She didn't think she'd even had enough good sex to know what she really liked. This was too much. All she'd wanted was a decent fuck, not an existential crisis.
"Um, lie down," she instructed, needing to take control of the situation for a bit. Mike obediently shifted backwards to the top of the bed while she drank him in with her eyes, ogling his lithe, pale form. Who knew he'd been hiding a pretty hot body under those grungy clothes?
Once he'd situated his head on the pillows she crawled slowly onto the bed and over him until she was straddling his hips. His fingers twitched like he wanted to touch her but he just stared up at her, waiting patiently for her next move.
Hovering just over the very apparent bulge in his underwear, she resisted the urge to just grind her already wet center down on him. Instead, she grabbed his wrists and put his hands on her tits.
"Not too rough," Max said. He nodded enthusiastically, gently brushing his thumbs over her rapidly hardening nipples. Then she finally lowered herself down, resting her hands on his thighs behind her so she could glide back and forth over his erection while he caressed her with careful fingers.
The whole time, he gazed up at her with such reverence, like he felt lucky just to be underneath her. And it shouldn't have felt special—men looked at her like that five nights a week at Roxxane's—but it did. Maybe because it was Mike, and he'd known her before all of this, or because she wasn't putting on a show, allowing herself to be vulnerable for once. Or maybe it was just the weed.
They were both breathing harder now, and Max felt herself growing wetter with each grind of his cock against her clit and every tweak of his fingers around her nipples. Once they'd tightened into sensitive peaks, one large hand slid down and landed on her ass, stilling her movements, while the other trailed gently up and down the dragon tattooed on her thigh.
"What's this one for?"
"Nothing," Max shrugged, "I just thought it looked hot."
"Hm," Mike looked up at her with a wicked gleam in his eye, "I think I should get a closer look." Her eyes widened as he slid down until she was straddling his face, his hands wrapping firmly around each thigh.
Then he turned his head to the side and started planting kisses along her inner thigh in a way that was almost unbearably tender, but when she glanced down at him, the dark look in his eyes was decidedly hungry. She wanted to scream from the infuriatingly slow pace at which he was moving towards her center, leaving a burning hot trail on her skin where his lips had been.
Finally, finally, he pressed his tongue to the wet spot on the fabric of her underwear and she let out a breathy gasp, hips twitching forward involuntarily, chasing the small amount of friction he'd granted her.
Mike dropped his head back and smirked up at her before hooking two fingers under the seam of her panties and yanking the thin strip of fabric to the side. Max found she was suddenly very glad that her line of work necessitated frequent hair removal and that she'd just gotten waxed yesterday.
"Fuck," his hot breath fanned out over her wet folds as he spoke, making her breath catch in her throat, "you've got a pretty pussy, Max." She stared down at him in shock while he spread her open with his thumbs. Jesus. Who was he? This wasn't the same awkward boy she'd been walking in the park with just a few hours ago. Then again, she should have known an annoying little shit like Mike Wheeler would have a dirty little mouth too.
She wondered if he was always like this in bed or if, like her, he was feeling emboldened by the potent drugs and the urgency of late summer.
Slowly, he slid his tongue across the center of her, all the way down to her entrance, and her head dropped back as she let out a high-pitched moan. He continued tracing his tongue over her, maddeningly avoiding her clit. Max didn't know what to do with her hands so she tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging at it gently and causing him to groan into her folds. He flicked his tongue inside her and collected her juices before finally moving up to her clit and focusing his attention there.
"Oh fuck," she groaned. It was so stupidly good. She rolled her hips, practically riding his face, desperate and wanton and wanting.
Then he lifted his free hand and she felt him reach behind her, circling the tip of his finger around her opening. Max tipped forward to give him a better angle, catching herself with her hands on the exposed brick wall behind her bed.
Mike ran his finger up and down along her slit a few times, coating himself with her slickness before returning to her entrance. A whine caught in her throat when he sank into her slowly, easily, with how dripping wet she was. She cried out with each steady pump of his finger, and he seemed pleased with her reaction because he hummed into her before closing his lips around her clit and sucking firmly.
His rhythm was slow and exact—pressure, release, pressure, release—continuing to work at her unrelentingly, and Max felt the wave of her climax cresting inside her. Mike must have sensed the desperation in her movements, noted her walls clenching around his finger, because suddenly the speed of his tongue increased, pressure and suction and the heat of his mouth sending her spiralling into ecstasy as her orgasm crashed over her. Her thighs spasmed on either side of his head, fingertips scraping uselessly against the wall as she tried to ground herself while wave after wave of pleasure shuddered through her.
She was still panting, trying to regain control of her limbs when she was yanked forcibly from her euphoric state by three quick, angry thumps on the wall behind her.
"Oh no," Max groaned, sitting back and covering her flushed face with her hands. "Mrs. Petrakis is definitely gonna give me dirty looks in the hallway now." Mike snickered as he wiped his face on her inner thigh, leaving behind a slick streak of fluid.
"Sorry," he grinned up at her. Max peered down at him through her fingers. The look on his face was far from contrite, and way too smug.
But then it was her turn to smirk as she reached back and palmed him through his boxers, feeling him thick and hard under her hand as she lightly scraped her nails across his length. He inhaled sharply, stomach jumping, and released a slow, shaky breath.
She moved backwards, kneeling over his thighs before tugging his boxers down. And damn it, why was his dick so big? It's like he was an android created in a lab for the sole purpose of making her come.
Maintaining eye contact with him, she brought her palm up to her mouth and spit into it before reaching down and wrapping her hand around his hot, rigid cock. He sucked in air through his teeth as she slowly twisted her hand up and down his shaft, intentionally pressing her thumb against the sensitive underside of the head with every pump.
"Fuck, Max," Mike's hand flew up suddenly and grabbed her wrist. "Do you want this to be over already?" he asked, his voice strained. Max shook her head, a flash of pride running through her at how easily she'd made him fall apart.
She released him and quickly stood up to rid herself of her underwear while Mike kicked his boxers off the rest of the way. Then she climbed back on top of him, leaning over to grab a condom from the box she'd taken out earlier.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as she tore the wrapper open with her teeth and carefully rolled the condom down his length. She lifted up onto her knees, lining his tip up with her opening, and they gasped simultaneously as she slowly lowered herself onto him. She slid down only partway to allow herself to get used to the stretch, lifting back up and repeating the motion, pausing when he let out a noise of frustration.
Max decided that she liked the tortured look on his face, so she used the strength of her legs to bounce up and down his shaft, never going more than halfway. Mike's hands grabbed desperately at her hips, and he looked up at her, confused, before he realized what she was doing. Then he loosened his grip on her, seemingly unfazed, a tic at the corner of his jaw betraying his irritation.
His patience must have run out because, after another minute of her languid taunting, he suddenly groaned and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her off of him and rolling them over so she was flat on her back.
"I should've known you'd be a fucking tease," he murmured, his lips just barely grazing hers.
"I just wanted to see how long it would take before you broke and took what you wanted," she shot back, biting sharply at his lower lip.
Mike chuckled and shook his head as he rose up on his knees, situating himself between her bent legs. He wrapped a hand around her right calf, lifting it up and pushing it back towards her chest gently because he didn't know how flexible she was. Max tilted her hips up, straightening out her knee and letting her leg fall easily out to the side.
"Oh shit," he groaned, a pained look on his face as he stared down at her. "You're gonna fucking kill me."
She raised an eyebrow. "Well, what a way to go."
He scoffed. "You're something else, Mayfield." And any sassy remark she may have had for that was turned into a shuddering gasp when he grabbed her waist and slid into her in a single smooth stroke.
"Mike," she moaned as he thrust in and out of her deeply, "fuck me hard." She was too worked up from her earlier teasing and now she just needed the incredible stretch of his thick cock bottoming out inside her to completely overtake her senses. She wanted him to make her forget her own name. Mike seemed to agree, groaning and nodding breathlessly into her neck as he started to pound into her steadily, their skin slapping together each time their bodies connected.
"Oh god," she whimpered, clawing at his back as she felt the embers of another orgasm sparking inside of her. His fingers tightened where they were still wrapped around her outstretched leg, pressing it down into the mattress and spreading her open impossibly wider as he thrust in and out of her clenching walls.
Max turned her head to where he was panting next to her, breathing in his air as she wrapped her other leg around his waist. "Please, I'm so close," she begged, straining her hips up to meet his every thrust, determined to take him with her.
Mike's eyebrows knit together and he lifted himself up on his elbow, changing the angle of their hips. And the next time he slid into her it did something that made her eyes fly wide open as she cried out in pleasure, each stroke of him inside her causing the inferno in her core to burn brighter as the edges of her vision turned fuzzy.
And then it was only a few more pumps and she was tensing around him, sinking her teeth into his shoulder to stifle her scream as she shattered into a million pieces, every nerve ending in her body exploding with bright, crackling electricity.
Max vaguely registered Mike groaning and stilling inside her a few seconds later, his cock pulsing against her tight walls as he joined her in shared delirium.
He eventually rolled off of her with what appeared to be great effort, disposing of the condom in the bathroom before sprawling out next to her on the bed.
They lay there for a few minutes, naked and sweaty, breathing raggedly as the soft acoustics of "Into Dust" played from the record player. Max was studying the shapes of the light brown water stains on her ceiling, trying to figure out what to do with herself now that she'd just had the best sex of her life with Mike fucking Wheeler and his magical fucking cock, when his hand brushed lightly against hers, sending her thoughts scattering.
"Sorry," he mumbled, flinching his hand away. But her fingers seemed to chase his of their own volition as she slid her hand over and rested her pinky almost imperceptibly against his.
Another minute passed and she heard him take a deep breath. "So, you do drink coffee, and you do smoke pot, but you don't drink alcohol, and you don't watch TV…" Mike listed off, his gaze never leaving the ceiling. "Do you eat dinner?"
Max laughed weakly. Okay, that was smooth, Wheeler. "Yes, I eat dinner."
"Maybe we can do that together sometime," he suggested, finally turning his head to the side to look at her. "Soon."
She looked back at him, her heart fluttering at the hopeful look in his eyes. "Yeah, maybe we can."