85. CARE AND STUDIES

/Charles/

“Scent.
The most important thing right now is this scent. 
The second is the warm water gently enveloping us, the third is him acting as a pillow, making me feel particularly comfortable in this respectable but medium-sized tub. Let's say it's just right for two, but you can't do much in it. 
Max had floated the idea of a shower together, but I preferred to soak in the water and the bubble bath, which at a certain point almost devoured us from how much it had been. 
The idea of having sex in the tub is more out of the movies than reality. Or rather, it's fine, but you have to be in a huge spa-like tub and you have to be athletic enough. You can do everything in life, but not when the priority is getting the stink off. 
I declared that I would stay in here until my skin was soaked in perfume instead of dromedary, and he laughed and slipped in with me, positioning himself behind. 
Max's chest is warm, soft and comfortable; he wraps his arms around me from behind, with incredible sweetness. The back of my neck nestles perfectly in the crook of his neck, and every now and then he places a kiss on my temple or my forehead. 
He caresses me underwater without sexual intent, appreciating the simple well-being that comes from bathing together and, above all, from each other. 
Simply being together like this is wonderful, but our skin in direct contact is pure bliss. 
Finally, I no longer have that unbearable stench in my nostrils. 
I was about to vomit, even though it wasn't that extreme. I'm just obsessed with certain things. In the end, the dromedary ride was nice, but mostly because Max liked it.
I'm absolutely fucked. 
It was as if the brake I was driving with wasn't allowing me to speed at will, and as soon as I took it off, I was hurtling through curve after curve at full speed. 
Max is intoxicating; the more I experience him unrestrained and freely, the more I can't help it and I'm addicted to it. I know this is nothing compared to what's to come, because even if we've known each other for a lifetime and been courting each other for half of it, in the end being a couple is different, you discover and see sides that you hadn't even vaguely glimpsed before.
The photos I took scroll before us, the phone in my hands, thoroughly dry and out of the water, held high before our faces, and together we look at the photos from the entire vacation that's now coming to an end. I've already done the sorting, so what we see are all photos beautiful and worthy, naturally including the ones I took of him without him noticing. Few of these are truly well-made, except for a few that I'm proud of. He looks and comments on these with little interest, completely incapable of lying or masking his thoughts or feelings. I don't know how he does it; after all this time, I can only do it with him and a select few others. He is always the same with everyone. 
- Don't you like yours? Some of them turned out well… - Max shrugs.
- Mpf… - from the tone of his response, I can tell what kind of expression he has, even though I can't see from here. 
I wait for the rest of the expected response, and seeing that he doesn't seem inclined to complete his "Mmf," I try to move my head to look at him, even though I'm poorly positioned and can barely see anything. To keep me from moving, since he clearly enjoys being like this, he quickly adds something that might satisfy me, even though knowing him I don't think he has the slightest idea what to say. 
- Yes, they're nice photos, maybe I looked good, but I'm not interested in being photographed. I know other people like it, and I let myself be photographed, and I'm happy if the person taking it likes what comes out, but it's not something I'm really interested in. 
- Is it photos in general, selfies, or is it something else? - with him, certain things are like a minefield. To stick with 'our relationship is a race’ comparison, perhaps I could say that certain topics are like curves that are difficult to navigate flawlessly without going off the rails. 
However I was surprised by how communicative he was, and I think I was quite clever with my response. 
I try not to hold my breath while I wait for his, so as not to let him know how interested I am. I start scrolling through the photos again, and he finally decides to say something. 
- Well, a bit of everything, I think. I don't know, I've never thought about it. I prefer to live in the moment and etch it into my memory, remembering the emotion I felt at a certain moment, rather than thinking about taking photos. The question of photos has never crossed my mind; I never thought I needed them to better remember something. 
I decide to stay on topic without letting it slip, trying as always to skillfully guide him in the direction I want him to go. Max remains relaxed beneath me; I can feel it with every muscle in my back; I certainly can't misunderstand. His breathing is slow and calm. 
- Photos are evocative. You can remember something perfectly, but sometimes nothing catapults you back to that moment like a photo, a video, a specific scent, a particular flavor... 
Max listens to my opinion on the photos, which isn't a way to convince him to have his picture taken, but rather a way of sharing something I like and care about, something I've bombarded him with over these three wonderful days together. 
He doesn't know that beyond this moment of sharing, there's also a digging and studying him. I have to be careful not to let him escape. 
- In this sense, they actually have a different meaning. - he finally admits. I smile, happy to have made him understand a part of me he couldn't quite grasp. 
- But it seems to me that you really don't like looking at yourself in photos, or am I wrong? - maybe I overdid it. 
I bite my mouth for getting too carried away; being with him makes me become him. Max is the impulsive one who never thinks before he speaks. 
For a moment I think, 'OK, I overdid it, now he'll escape and leave.' 
But he, on the other hand, perhaps because we just had a really beautiful moment together at the end of three days where we had a wonderful time, satisfies me once again and surprises me. 
- Probably yes. It's another thing I've never thought about. When I look at photos of myself, I feel nothing. I think maybe they're more or less decent. I even find the ones on photoshoots beautiful and I don't even recognize myself, but I don’t... - he reflects, sighs and shrugs again. - I don't know, I don't understand why take a picture of me, you know?
My emotions skyrocket as I put my phone on the stool next to where we put our things when we came in, and I dip my hands into the water, searching for his on my stomach. I find them, intertwine my fingers and he holds them close.
- Well, a lot of people don't have the selfie thing. It depends on how narcissistic they are, I think. Some people are really narcissistic and like to constantly see themselves, take pictures, looking in the mirrors and so on. But I like taking pictures of you because I like seeing you again and remembering that beautiful moment together. I like hanging out with you, so it makes perfect sense to take pictures of you! 
I try not to put too much emphasis on the ‘narcissist' thing, which would be a perfect start for ‘but if someone suffers from low self-esteem, they'll never like themselves in photos or want to be photographed, and if you have no self-esteem, we need to figure out why!'
I'd like to tell him he's a handsome guy, he has a unique kind of beauty like many others. Mine is perhaps more classic, but the concept of beauty is wonderful precisely because it's actually personal most of the time. Or rather, there's the objective, classical one and the ‘particular’ one. I'd like to lecture about him and what I like, but I think I'd end up making him nervous, so I'll let it go and keep it broad. If he wants, he can elaborate on that point, but knowing him I don't think he will. 
- Now that I know why you like taking pictures of me so much, you can take as many as you want!
A victorious, spontaneous smile lights up my face. I don't know why, I don't even think about what my smile looks like anymore. There was a time when I was obsessed with it, because I knew I had a problem and I was depressed and I wanted to get out of it and I didn't know how to do it, so I tried to understand myself, to see myself for who I was on the outside. Because sometimes the problem is that we don't perceive ourselves for who we really are. We evaluate ourselves in an unrealistic way, and so most of the work, the best therapy you can do for yourself, is trying to understand yourself better, get to know yourself and look at yourself objectively. 
But now I'm no longer obsessed with it. Now I no longer try to understand who I am, what I do and how I really am, because I know I'm fine. I feel it. 
I smile spontaneously and twist myself against him to look at him, even though I can't do it properly from this position; I grab him by the nape of the neck and almost tear his head off to be able to kiss him, and he, complaining about my lack of sensitivity, lets our lips meet all askew. It's still a kiss, even if it's spastic, and that makes me happy, just as he and taking pictures of him make me happy. 
Max wraps his arms around my chest and holds me close, grateful and relaxed. Grateful for this intimate moment between us, which certainly does much more than any visit and any beautiful thing we've done together. 
I think if it had been up to him, we would have stayed in the room the whole time cuddling, maybe played some silly game, and maybe even eaten just to keep from dying. He's more simple and sentimental between us, even if I don't think he seems that way on the surface. 
- It’s getting cold… - he mutters after I give him my mouth and head back, revealing an inconvenient truth. It's clearly talking about the water we've been submerged in for, I think, over an hour. I can tell not only from the chilly water, but also from how the exaggerated foam from before has practically vanished.
Despite myself, I have no intention of moving and getting out; I'm too comfortable here with him, so in response I settle myself more tightly against him and, moving only my toes, I grab the plunger on the faucet, push it and that opens the tub's valve, draining the water. 
- Oh? Was it that easy? - Max asks amazed that after an hour of being submerged without the slightest intention of moving, it’s so easy to get out. But I don't even smile; I push myself more against him, as he grips the sides of the tub with the insane aim of pulling himself up and getting out. I place my hands on his, just to anchor him here, and I turn on the water faucet with my foot, which is still at the same temperature as when we filled the tub earlier. 
Max's hoarse laugh fills the room, merging with the sound of the water running from the faucet and simultaneously coming out of the drain. When I judge the water level has dropped sufficiently, I close the plug again with the same toes, still without moving from above him. 
- So? Are we just going to do another one? How long are we going to stay here? 
- I told you, until the stench of those beasts is gone from our skin. I can't kiss your neck and mistake you for a dromedary! 
I'm quite firm and picky about this; in fact, I'm a general. I don't argue about this detail about the smell, it's just the way it is. Although in this case I know the animal smell is gone and it's just an excuse to stay here with him because I like it so much.
Max continues to laugh and shakes his head, taking the bottle of body wash, which he squeezes into his hands and runs them over his neck, making me move so he can also run it over his shoulders and the parts of his body that remain above the water. Forced to move I look at him annoyed and when I see what he does, I laugh too and take his hands still lathered to run them over my neck; Max agrees to massage me rather than wash me, and I move against him again to get better access to his mouth, which I forcefully take possession of. It's not difficult; he immediately comes towards me continuing to caress my neck, shoulders and arms. 
In the renewed silence, immersed once again in this splendid and pleasant warm water, always rigorously scented, our tongues play a bit until the not-so-comfortable position for making out begins to make me contemplate the idea of leaving here. 
Before my priority was to get rid of the smell, now it's fucking him, I think. I can tell by my groin starting to heat up, and not just from the water. 
The usual feeling of arousal overwhelms me as I try to rub myself against him, but although the tub is comfortable, it's not enough to allow for certain couple maneuvers, so, huffing, I give in and quickly stand up. 
Max, amazed by the gesture he hadn't imagined would happen now, looks up at me from below while still sitting in the water. 
- Well? - he asks, pretending not to understand. 
I remain with my feet inside, between his open legs where my ass had been pressed against his pelvis which wasn't exactly flaccid, just as my toy isn't now pulling and throbbing ever more vigorously. 
- Well, isn't that what you wanted? Now that you've triggered me, take responsibility for it! - I say as if he has no say in the matter. The usual bully.  
- But we've put the hot water back on, I'll stay a little longer, I hate waste... 
With this, he adjusts himself better, sliding a little further down, his neck leaning back on the padded headrest, his eyes closed and the water caressing him up to his chin. I stare at him, remaining inside, standing in front of him, incredulous that he really dares not make a move to get out of here and fuck. 
Fine, I know he's doing it on purpose to provoke me because he likes the way I react. 
Without thinking too much, I lean against the wall with one hand, while my foot rubs against his cock which responds easily, letting me know he obviously wants it. 
His mouth curls into a mischievous, satisfied half-smile, but he doesn't open his eyes and pretends to relax for the bath. 
- So you're really a monkey, you can do anything with those feet…
Those famous prehensile monkey feet. I'm not offended, although those definitely don't smell like lilac either. Just don't ask me to go to a zoo and everything will be fine. 
I bite my lip as I try to masturbate him with the sole of my foot and my toes, which isn't exactly easy because rubbing and squeezing is one thing, but here I'm trying really hard to convince him to give in, and if he doesn't get really turned on, it won't work. 
Max bites his mouth and sighs with pleasure, while his cock gets harder and harder. His arms still spread wide on the edge of the tub, his head thrown back at my complete mercy, his eyes wonderfully closed. If we were more comfortable, I'd stick my cock in your mouth, but in a damn bathtub that's not really feasible because you risk slipping if you make a strange move. So when I feel his pleasure about to unleash, I stop right there and step out, grabbing one of the large towels provided with the suite. 
I don't wrap myself in it or even dry. I count in my head as I walk naked to our room. 
One, two, three... at the fourth second, Max insults me in Dutch and stands up with a grace that makes him look like a buffalo, to keep on the subject of animals. 
I don't turn to look, I advance towards the bed with a victorious and satisfied smile, only to feel him come at me from behind; his hands slide under my arms and grab my nipples which he pinches making me squeak in surprise and pain. His mouth simultaneously reaches my shoulder and bites making me scream even more. As he does so, he pushes me towards the bed where I throw the towel before I end up on top of it, soaked in the water that we've meanwhile dripped all over the floor. 
My laughter is lost in a mix of moans and groans, but I don't resist, I let him do what he wants, curious to see how far I've pushed him this time. 
- You’re a wonderfully sexy, spoiled little prince! You always want whatever you want, any whim is a command, huh?
I just laugh and comment: - Mm, you finally got it... and yet we've known each other for a while! 
Max laughs in turn and nibbles again, sucking occasionally as he moves over my soft, wet and scented body. 
I'm not offended because it's true, and in any case, while he describes me so beautifully, his mouth moves down my back reaching my buttocks between bites and licks. He sinks his teeth there and with a little cry, I give him more bending one leg to the side. The sensual curve of my body goes to his head; I feel his fingers replace my tongue in the middle of my slit, and he enters my hole that, waiting only for him, curious to see if he'll top me now. 
Normally it would be a fight for position, but I want to see Max's evolution. 
I know that when he wants to fuck me, it means he'll be emotionally better, that his personal, intimate and complex journey will be at a good point; so I let him do what he wants just to understand my boyfriend in the most intimate and deepest part of himself, the place I want to reach. 
His fingers slide in and out aided by his saliva, and it's a fucking intense pleasure. I writhe and arch beneath him closing my eyes, hoping only that he'll actually fuck me. At this point he can't even think of stopping; I'd kill him if he did. 
But just as I'm hoping he'll get up and put it in me, just as my mouth is about to give in and I'm about to ask him, Max pulls away from my ass and moves to the side. Once there, he gets on all fours and whispers in his damned, raspy voice that drives me crazy: - Fuck me right now...
And nothing, it doesn't take much. You can imagine me not doing it. 
I turn my head and see him in that position, sucking on his increasingly well-trained biceps, looking desperate for my cock inside; there's no need for him to say it, no need for him to egg me on with some dirty talk. I just need to look at his pleading eyes and his borderline expression, I just need to see the position he's assumed, his legs folded under him, his arms bent, his face pressed against the bed, his ass waiting only for me. 
I'd like to say something, I'd like to regain control and decide for myself. I'd like to tell him, 'Come on, you do it to me today,' but it wouldn't come naturally, and it's true that in general I prefer to be on top. I prefer to be in charge. To fuck. 
But a small part of me reminds him that this is a conversation that's just been postponed. We were almost there, he's better. He's getting better and better, but he doesn't know it. He knows nothing of what's going on inside him. He knows absolutely nothing, so I just have to have the same infinite patience he had with me when I was unwell and let him get better, let my care take effect and let him get better. Better to the point of wanting to fuck me, if he wants. 
This time I'll do it, like the others. 
I'll take care of him, with determination, desire and a hint of gentleness. Just enough for him to get used to it and allow me to move. 
His butt welcomes me willingly, he tenses and as I caress and kiss him, he relaxes; as soon as he does, I begin to move inside him until he slowly comes towards me. 
The Max needing warmth and being wildly desired, is here beneath me, and now while I fuck him he feels better. He's calm, moaning, coming towards me with thrusts and giving in to the pleasure that invades every inch of us. 
The Max who wants to be guided reaches orgasm with me which doesn't take long to explode, given how much we'd teased each other before. 
He comes first on the towel beneath us with a long, liberating moan. I feel him stretch and arch, and under my hands I see the muscles of his back tense to the point of spasm, then slowly release everything. At this point I straighten up and increase the intensity and speed; I see him completely surrendered before me, allowing me anything with his body, and this thought is the final blow. 
I come inside him rolling my eyes and throwing my head back, my body throbbing with pleasure. 
I’ll free that little caged lion from your beast-taming jailer. I’ll let that lion out and unleash himself, doing whatever he wants not only because I owe it to you for everything you've done for me, but because the feelings I have for you are so profound that I can't imagine you still hurting inside, hurting so much you don't even realize it. 
You're free to do whatever you want, Maxie. No one will ever force you to do what you don't want to do or what anyone else orders you to do. No one. In the meantime, I'll take care of you however you need.

/Max/

“I simply needed to feel him inside. 
It was a distinct, clear and urgent need, like when you have to run to the bathroom. I needed Charles inside me. 
I thought about taking him myself, I know I will one day, I want to do it practically all the time, but he was so submissive to me in that moment that I realized he was testing me, or rather studying me to understand something. 
It wasn't for that, though; it was just a flash. 
I understood he wanted to see if I would do it, and I was convinced I wanted it, but it's as if an intimate part of me understood that if he wanted to see if I would do it, there was a reason, and that reason is that I'm not really ready to take charge. 
As soon as he enters me, I disconnect; every particle of me is on fire, my body becomes soft and gelatinous, and I'm so ecstatic, I’m feels so good. I'm in my place. I'm fine. 
Charles takes care of me, that's all I wanted. 
To be important to him, to take me and be his, to be desired so much. It's a mental addiction. I can't give up this feeling. 
Of him wanting me so badly to the point of entering me and making me come before him. 
I'm his, I want to be his, I want to drive him crazy and be his only private property. 
I'm fine now, I need this. There's nothing else behind it, even though I know he's trying to understand something about me, something I don't believe really exists. 
And yet... what if he's right? 

His heart pounding under my ear as he acts as my pillow. His hand gently caresses the nape of my wet neck; it's drying now, but my hair is still damp and messy. I imagine his own. He'll definitely wet it again to have it the way he wants. 
The idea of what Charles is really like makes me smile, and sensing it—just as he senses every insignificant thing about me because he simply notices and pays attention to it, as if I were important above all else—he asks me what's wrong with me. 
- I was thinking I didn't imagine you were so meticulous. You're obsessive about so many things! 
Charles chuckles. 
- You don't know so much about me yet. You'll discover my worst sides!
At this outburst I raise myself up to look at him, amused and excited. 
- Worse than the ones you've already shown me? You mean there's even worse?
Charles laughs excessively on purpose and then goes back to watching me from beneath me. The towel used to keep the bed from getting wet and dirty has been removed and thrown to the floor. We're still naked, and I don't know if we still smell of that endless bath or if we reek of sex. Maybe it's somewhere in between, but if he suggests another bath, this time he'll do it himself! 
His green eyes return to mine and he's not laughing anymore. 
- You’ll discover so many more things about me... 
I lean forward reaching his lips which I kiss, feeling over the moon at the thought of discovering so many more things about him, so deeply. It's like a privilege. How many people know him so well, closed off as he's always been with everyone? 
Pierre, perhaps? But I'll surpass his level of knowledge. I'll know him so deeply and so well that not even he, his mother, his brother and Joris will know him like I do."

NOTE: I like to use every detail to advance Max's journey (just as I did in the previous parts with Charles). Charles studies Max through every single thing they do, from normal daily activities like photos and his reactions to them, to sex and the way they do it. There are people who are so attentive to their partners and others, I know a few (I'm one them, actually), and I've always liked the idea that Charles was like this with Max. So attentive to every detail he almost seems telepathic (which would be a mentalist, right?). 
Now the content of the next chapter (which you've already read) makes much more sense, obviously; both the one regarding Max's photos and the joke about Charles' flaws.  
Until next time. Kisses, Akane