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maxybabyy · 7 months

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The power has been out for an hour when he finds the kid looming around in the hallway.

He’s in the same old NYU shirt that Daniel always sees him in. The shoulder seams hang loose from his frame, and there’s a giant hole in the sleeve, big enough to fit a thumb through if you tried. Max must have done that before, he thinks, chewing away at the strings. The silly plastic thing is gone too, leaving nothing but the frayed tips.

“I reckon it’s gonna be out for a while,” he says when Max just keeps staring at the emergency light flicker. The one fucking thing this shitty building actually has. Maintenance is shit, and he’s pretty sure there’s a new species of black mould growing in the hallway window. But at least their little void on the seventh floor follows the safety guidelines.

He taps his socked foot against Max’s scruffy sneakers, watches him turn around with a frown.

“I was playing with my friends, and then the electricity went out. I thought it was for me only, so I checked the fuses,” Max tells him with his hands high in the air, his fingers flicking along with his words. Daniel doesn’t even know where he would look for the fuse box in his shithole of a studio. “But it is of course the entire building. I think maybe it is the lightning,” he adds.

“Nah, the building is just shit,” Daniel tells him. “If it’s not a water leak or a fucking rat problem, it’s the power. Same old shit and they won’t fix it. Just wait until winter when the heating will go away too.”

Daniel has learned to keep himself busy when the snow starts falling. LA, in particular, is great around Christmas when New York becomes too unbearable.

“I was here in the winter also,” Max says, gestures to door where he lives like Daniel doesn’t already know. “It was so nice of you, giving me a Christmas present. I of course had not bought you anything, but you said –“

Blake had dropped off the newest batch of merch samples right around New Year’s, and they had all been shit. The design was wrong, and the colour palette was completely off. They still haven’t gotten the peach the right colour, but the other shit looks fine now. Back then Max had – he would walk around in the same fucking shirt he’s wearing now. Skinny jeans frayed at the hem in a way they aren’t supposed to be, a rolodex of white tee shirts from Target, and a thin, barely-there windbreaker to fend off the cold.

Daniel had given him the leftover merch, he had to. There was no fucking way he couldn’t do it.

He taps Max’s shoe again, watches him crack a grin before he nods his head towards his apartment. “Do you wanna come in? I just have like, a candle and shit, but we can chill until the power comes back.”

Max nods and follows him inside.

Daniel doesn’t offer him a beer, sips at the can while they both watch the flicker of the wick. He doesn’t have another candle, so this one will have to last, the whispers of sea breeze faint between them.

He’s telling Max about his latest gig – some dive bar with a shitty ironic name like Cheers or Sam’s, or shit like that – when Max reaches out to poke at the candle. His skin looks glowing in the candlelight, a warm contrast to Max’s usual pale skin. His fingers look long, elegant as they curl around the candle, his thumb stroking over the dripping wax like it was –

“Daniel?” Max prompts, eyes flickering from the wick to his face and back again, “The drummer is of course an idiot, but it went alright, you said?”

Daniel jerks back into the couch. He swallows loudly. Tries and fails to convince himself he hadn’t been zoning out on the kid’s hands like a fucking weirdo. Safety first, he thinks faintly, can’t have a fucking fire during a power outage.

Max keeps playing with the candle wax, making it drip down onto Daniel’s shitty white wood Ikea table he had carried home in the subway. But every time he touches it, Max sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth, presses down to make it run faster, and Daniel cannot find it in himself to stop him.

Max’s in the middle of a story about his family dog back in the Netherlands, when he accidentally touches the flame. He’s quick to pull back, hissing loudly as he sucks his pointer and middle finger into his mouth with a muddled, “Fuck!”

“Careful!” Daniel scolds. He’s already halfway across the couch reaching for him like a fucking mother hen. But instead of his hand, Daniel grabs onto Max’s thigh in his panic, the muscle firm in his grip. Max watches him back, flexes his thigh as he sucks the fingers deeper into his obnoxiously big, oddly fitting mouth, and Daniel cannot keep – has to look away.

Stares at Max’s knees instead, awkward and protruding and littered with odd bruises.

Daniel wonders how he got them, forces himself to think of less nefarious reasons for how they could appear. Once, Daniel had gotten so drunk that Scotty couldn’t get him to come down from the bar, dancing away until he felt dizzy with exhaustion and drink.

Back then, when his body had been young and spry, he had slammed to his knees before swinging his legs to the side to get off the bar. They had been black and blue for a week before his knees had recovered.

But Max doesn’t let him ponder for long, slides to the floor in a move impossibly fluid for someone to not have done it a hundred times over. He’s quick to reach for Daniel's jeans, one hand still spit-slick as he pulls at the zipper, and Daniel has to – cannot let him do this.

“Hey, mate,” he says, laughs nervously. “Aren’t you like sixteen or something?”

Once, he had tried to give the kid a twenty so he could buy himself some food for the night. Gaunt cheeks and lanky body a cruel reminder of his own teens. Refusing money from Grace and Joe to prove he hadn’t screwed up by running away to America to make it big.

But the kid didn’t take the money and had instead stared at him, brows drawn together much like he is now. “I’m nineteen,” he says.

“In a year or two, maybe.” Daniel scoffs. But still, he doesn’t move. Max’s hand stays on his dick, heavy and warm despite the temperature of the apartment. “Be real, man. I’m fine with you sticking around but –“

Max snarls. He stays on his knees, but Daniel cannot meet his eyes, stares himself blind where his jeans have become undone. “Always you do this. You are so kind to me, flirting with me, but then you run away when I respond!

“Now you ask me to come to your apartment, with the mood lighting also, and again you will not touch me. This is not fair, Daniel.” Max says and digs his nails into his thighs, forces Daniel to look at him – at the furious glare and the too-red lips.

It’s unfair how good he looks sitting between Daniel’s spread thighs. There’s a dusting of pale, blonde hair at the top of his thighs where his shorts have crawled up, and his entire face is flushed with emotion. It’s all Daniel can do to not put a better name to it – the death of creativity for once not a foe. His cheekbones sit high and sharp on his face, a mole on his lip revealed only when Max doesn’t bite into it, looking so fucking pretty.

Maybe that’s why he’s here of all places. Scouted off the fucking streets and put in a shitty apartment in some mirror nightmare of Daniel’s, waiting impatiently for Vogue to call.

Max is still staring at him, and Daniel doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He’s not going to fucking card Max in his own apartment, that’s a cunt move. Max would probably throw the card in his face, if he asked, indignant little glare before he would lean in and –

“Yeah, alright,” he whispers but it’s enough. Max hears him, and he does lean in to pull his jeans the rest of the way off.

Max takes him into his mouth, lips stretched around the head almost obscenely, and suddenly Daniel has to force himself to close his eyes shut. It’s too much already, watching Max take him even deeper into his mouth as his head thumps back against the couch. He clearly knows what he’s doing, relaxing his throat as he goes. His hands are firm on Daniel’s hips, keeping a steady pressure until Daniel gets with the programme and fucks into his mouth.

He barely has the time to let Max know before he’s coming. But Max doesn’t move, keeps him on his tongue until his mouth is full and Max has to swallow.

“Shit, Maxy,” he moans, thighs still shaking as Max climbs to his feet. “You’re not. You don’t have to –“ But Max doesn’t leave, drops into Daniel’s lap with his shorts abandoned on the floor.

Max jerks himself off with one hand balanced on Daniel’s shoulder. It’s closer than Daniel’s been to someone else’s dick in years, since Scotty got down on one knee and fucked everything up. A cock is a cock is a cock, but Max’s dick looks almost pretty held in his own fist.

It makes him think of the fucking candle from before, how the wax had dripped between his fingers, and how quick he had been to suck them into his mouth, like he had just done to Daniel, to his dick.

“Daniel,” Max begs, watches Daniel watch him fuck into his own hand desperately. “Please.”

“Okay, yeah. I got you, Maxy.” He says and slips his fingers into Max’s mouth. It’s only the first two, but his dick still jerks at the reminder of the warm heat of Max’s mouth, the tight pressure and how his tongue cannot keep still. Max whines when he pulls them out, shoots him another furious look that is quickly replaced with a shout when Daniel brushes over his hole. “Like that, yeah?”

Max nods, eyes wide for another moment before they screw themselves shut as he comes with another sound. It’s another few minutes before Max speaks again, the words muffled against Daniel’s chest where he still hasn’t moved. “What’s that?”

Max huffs and sits upright, rubs at the spot on Daniel’s shirt where his dick has left a smear. “I said, the lights are back.” He says, gestures to the room now bathed in light.

“Oh.” Daniel couldn’t tell you when that happened, if it was before Max went to his knees or after. The candle still flickers behind them, pools of wax already hardened on the wood. “I guess they are, yeah.”

#maxiel #my writing #dont look at me ...#Rent au #but the reader decides how close to canon we are #if max's getting his degree at NYU or getting tied up at the cat scratch club #my fic #fic

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

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Entering and Breaking

(tw: gun, break-in, kidnapping, chain, zip-ties, chains, gore mention, cat scratch) [Drabble Masterpost]

Shoutout to @hidden-dreamland for this idea - I just had to write it <3

Too remote.

The burglar knew that.

They knew that they shouldn’t be going somewhere quite this remote - people who live out in the middle of nowhere like this tend to do their own hunting. Which means guns.

But.

It’s an old house. Older car. Well unkempt.

And most importantly no cameras.

Since the burglar had been living large, jumping house to house in the town, not only had people started installing their own security systems, but the fucking city started putting up cameras, too.

It just wasn’t safe anymore. They couldn’t afford to go to jail - they just couldn’t. Too much was at risk.

So. That meant driving. That means rural homes. That meant rural homes that weren’t estates that weren’t crawling with security systems. That means places like this.

Ugh.

The burglar stood in the treeline, watching the owner of the home as they came home - unlucky break, that. Should have gone in while they weren’t there. Of course, the burglar didn’t know they weren’t there at that time.

They watched as the owner moved around a warm-lit kitchen, singing along to music that barely tickled at the air through the windows. Watched as they cooked. Watched them fold laundry and throw a penpoint laser around the room, kitten chasing it.

Strange thing, that kitten.

The burglar could swear it saw them when it sat in the windowsill, wide yellow eyes dilated out into the night. All-knowing, overly saturated whole moons that someone shoved and pushed into the little thing’s skull until it was able to see some desperate little creature sitting in the treetops of a darkened timber, shrouded in leaves with a deflated duffle bag strapped to their back.

Unsettling, that kitten.

Stripes that blended into the blinds until the burglar wasn’t even sure if the cat was there at all. Maybe they were just staring too long into windows.

Regardless, the lights were out for hours before the burglar finally worked up the courage to shimmy down their little pine tree, sap screaming across the front of their black hoodie and catching at their long hair, before their feet hit the ground, greeted by damp, muggy leaves.

They moved to the house as swiftly and simply as they could, sliding a thin, metal ruler into the gap between the window and sill, persuading the latch to oonch a little more little more littttttle more to the right with tiny nudges and taps until it finally popped free.

Carefully, they pressed the window up, careful to touch only the pane, not the glass. It creaked and shuddered as wood ground against wood, but they kept the ascent as smooth as possible.

In a moment, they were able to curl upward, heaving themself over the edge and setting one soft foot onto the hardwood of the living room.

Their eyes skittered around the room, immediately searching for any sign of threat or notice. A flick shocked through their silent body as eyes flashed in the darkness - kitten perched on the piano with those haunting yellow eyes shining at them. Just watching. Uncaring and all knowing.

The burglar swallowed, snugging the window back down to avoid outdoor noises that might alert their victim of their presence.

Carefully and silently, the burglar began to shift through the house. Checking. Stashing. Silver spoons, identified by the tarnish. A slightly outdated but still valuable console. An ipad that they tucked under their arm - not wanting it broken by the other contents of the bag. They needed to wipe it before they left anyway in case there was a tracking option on it.

They moved carefully, plucking up small electronics and…..stepping around the damn kitten that insisted on weaving between their legs as they moved. “Shoo- shoo, I need to nodontgothere-” the burglar groaned as the kitten started climbing up their leg.

They stumbled as a tiny claw dug into their leg, hissing at the pain as they clattered to the ground. Evidently their main priority was cradling the ipad like a baby- keeping it perfectly safe while the burglar landed on a bag full of sharp, cold, and hard. They managed to keep their yell to a minimum as corners and edges bruised into their back and side, pinching the kitten by the scruff and setting them aside.

Floorboards creaked above them, the owner of the house shifting out of bed.

“Fuck-” that was a lot of noise- shiiiiiiiit- they pushed up to standing and slipped into the closest closet they could find, pushing the kitten out after them as the staircase groaned and shuddered under the oncoming footsteps of doom.

The burglar’s breath slammed so hard against their ribs as they stood behind the door they didn’t dare close completely - it would make too much noise to latch, focusing instead on the -fucking KITTEN TRYING TO CLAW IN AFTER THEM - SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHI-

Without thinking much, they found a random, jingly cat toy at their feet and flicked it through the crack between door and pane, holding painful breath in tight lungs as the sound echoed through the moonlit house.

The kitten followed, skittering and pouncing on the fuzzy thing.

The burglar heard a sigh - footsteps wandering up to the kitten. They could barely see a hand reaching into frame, scritching behind the kitten’s ears. The little terror, in turn, rolled over, grabbing and biting playfully at the hand in a viciously harmless attack.

“Precious thing, you need to learn to be quiet at night..” the voice was soft. Groggy from sleep. Clearly a little relieved it was ‘just a kitten’ they heard.

The burglar took a small step back, away from the crack in the door lest the owner glance up and see the streak of light glinting off a wide brown eye through the crack.

Panic snapped through them and their breath caught as their heel dropped into nothing. In a flash, all the burglar could see was them tumbling - stumbling and flailing through the darkness into a cool, cavernous pit of nothing - bones crunching against stone as they hit the bottom.

But they didn’t fall.

Their hand slipped to the side, gripping a wooden rail their instincts must have deemed there.

They turned, eyes wide in the darkness now illuminated by that strip of light.

….not a closet.

Basement stairs. A landing.

The burglar took a deep, shuddering breath.

They were too loud. Breathing too loud. They could swear the owner of the house could hear their heartbeat slamming- echoing off the walls.

They had to get further away.

So..down the stairs they went.

Carefully - so carefully - they stood on the crosses of wood, walking only where they could see nails.

The wood was new. Unfinished. Barely sanded. Handmade.

But strong. Strong and sturdy.

It, blessedly, didn’t creak under their weight as they slowly descended into the darkness.

Foot tapping blindly out at the air on each step, they clutched the duffle bag and ipad close, terrified of dropping either of them and making a clatter. Terrified of hitting the ground before they realized it was there. Terrified of…everything, really.

Their breaths came a little more freely the further they got from the door, quiet, wet pants all but echoing off stone walls. Close. Telling them at least that the space was small. Fairly bare. Mostly for storage, then.

….maybe there would be things there? Family heirlooms or even a safe? People keep shit like that in basements, right?

They could bide their time here while they waited for the owner to fall back asleep - which meant waiting a couple more hours to make sure they were dead enough up there that they could sneak back out the window without the hell kitten waking them up again.

Then they’d get out and it would be fine and no one could call the police and everything would be fine.

Breath choked against their throat as their foot hit a little too hard against concrete - the bottom of the stairs now.

The little colden slit of light didn’t extend nearly far enough. Eyes still adjusting, the burglar reached blindly out in front of them, hand moving through cool, musty air. Touching nothing as they blindly shuffled forward with eyes plastered open - wide with the desperation to see.

They didn’t dare turn on a light - maybe they would if it were one on a dimmer - just to get a little glo- OH-!

They stopped, turning around the ipad in their hands. They pulled the cover around to block the flashlight, at least mostly, then opened it, swiping and flicking on the flashlight option.

A spit of light swarmed out from the area in a small arch, and the burglar clamped their hand down over it.

They just needed a glow. Just enough to know they weren’t going to hit someth-

Their heart stopped dead and painful at the sound of footsteps groaning against the floorboards above their head.

They were breathing so hard it came in a round, muffled panting breaths coming so sporadically and echoing that it almost sounded like there were two of them here.

Eyes wide and plastered to the ceiling, they kept their breath dead still and the light clutched and covered against their chest as they blindly tracked the steps across the room. Through the kitchen. Up the stairs again. A soft cooing and chittering as they did.

They were bringing the damn cat with them.

Good.

The burglar took a deep breath, peeling back the cover of the ipad again and squinting against the fresh wash of white light as it turned around the room.

Shelves. Desk. Oddly…clean - no storage? Closet an-

The burglar’s breath clattered to a stop as the ipad slipped from their fingers at the flash of eyes staring back at them - haunted face outlined only briefly until the light fell and flickered away.

They stumbled back against the floor, fear and panic tangling up their stomach and squeezing at their lungs in an icy, branching fire. They choked on it, breaths harsh and desperate. New threat located.

Their fingers scrabbled for the ipad again, hand raking across the broken screen to force the light back on again. Hitting the side of it with the heel of their hand as they shoved themself back - dufflebag forgotten on the ground in the middle of the room - until their back hit the wall.

When the light finally did turn back on, it was flickering - sporadic. They shoved the light at the face they saw, begging the universe to let it just be a trick of the light. A strange marking in the store or an old coat hanging strangely on a chair like the ‘monster in their closet’ when they were a kid. That they’d see the creature’s face and it wouldn’t be real at all. Please please please-

But that didn’t happen.

They saw bloodied, dirty hands and elbows, forearms crossed up over a face they couldn’t see anymore.

Torn clothes..

On the wrists…zipties..

The burglar’s breaths were coming so fast now they were starting to get dizzy. Then softly sob - no - no that wasn’t them - no, that was the creature. The person. The person who was chained up in a fucking basement.

The burglar took several deep, shuddering breaths, keeping the ipad pointed at them.

A small, hoarse voice cracked across the room, not even amounting to a whisper. “pl-ease-”

The burglar stared, beam of light trembling over the wall - shaking like a projector with far too aggressive a fan rattling the image during a grade school movie day.

The burglar couldn’t think of a response. Couldn’t think of..anything. But they did point the light away.

They set the ipad down on the ground, light pointed up so it scattered a gray haze over the entire room.

Tear-sparked eyes peeked out from behind shaking hands as they light moved away from the poor creature.

They were small. Frail. Littered in bruises. Tear-tracks slid down their cheeks, cutting through the dirt, blood, and grime.

“Wh-hho a-re you-??” they dared to ask..

The burglar..didn’t know how to answer that either. “I…n..I’m not anyone- I j….wh-ats going on??”

The little human scrubbed at their eyes. “Y-oure not with him?”

The burglar shook their head in small twitches. “No- just…I….I was..no I don’t know him.”

They seemed to breathe a little easier now - eyes flicking swiftly up to the ceiling - then descending to the burglar again. “C-ccan y-ou get me o-ut-?”

The burglar swallowed down the knot in their throat. It caught on dryness and fear, but they forced it down anyway.

“Yeah- y-yeah I can …do that-” they glanced around the room, whisper growing in pitch as they moved up to a crouch, looking around for..a key..? “..how?”

The human stood carefully, chain around their ankle chafing and rattling slightly - it echoed through the room. “Th-eres bolt cutters i-n the cabinet-??”

The burglar did not want to think about what the fuck this sicko needed bolt cutters in their torture basement.

Their mind filled in the answer to that question anyway.

Bile rose to the back of their throat, but they nodded, standing and tugging it open. They felt around in the darkness for the thick, heavy metal, and dragged it out with a grumbling scrape and a small clatter. They winced at the sound, but heaved it up against them - fuck it was heavy-

They carried it across the room to the captive, anyway.

“..wrists first-?”

The captive nodded desperately, holding out their wrists.

The burglar took a moment of heaving to get the teeth of the bolt cutters properly in place where they wouldn’t bite through skin, but snapped them together fairly easily.

The captive shuddered a soft sob, relief dripping from their eyes as they rubbed at their wrists.

The burglar didn’t wait for further instruction, they needed to move.

They knelt down to the captive’s feet, slotting one link of the chain between the thick metal teeth, then braced one handle against their thigh as their hands pulled back.

It bruised and dug into the flesh of their leg, but they didn’t stop.

The metal didn’t relent, but they didn’t stop.

Teeth grit, fueled by fear and desperation, the burglar pulled harder and harder, feeling the bruise work against the bone and listening to their back crackle at the strain.

They shifted, readjusting - maybe just one half of the link?? It was dented- that was a good sign - but not nearly enough.

They had to break it.

The captive rested both hands on the burglar’s shoulders, steadying both of them as the burglar groaned under the effort. They flinched hard as a hand pressed over their mouth, indicating quiet. They were making too much noise.

They were so stupid.

Silencing their voice with a small nod, the burglar moved back to the agonizing pull, jerking the handle to and fro, desperately trying to force the iron link to submit to iron teeth, crumbling to the ground.

They almost cursed as a little body brushed soft against their leg. “Not the time-” they scooted the kitten away from their leg with their foot, resuming their posi-

…

..how did you get..h..-

The burglar straightened immediately, terrified eyes turning to the stairs.

The owner sat there, crouched in the shadows.

The softest glint shone off the barrel of the pistol that was lazily pointed at the pair of them. Footsteps moved all but silently down the stairs - heavy all the same. The burglar flinched at every muffled step.

Silence clattered away as the owner’s shoe crunched against the discarded ipad, sending the world dark.

A ‘click’ and the room flickered into blinding, garish, rotting light from the dusty orange of a dangling bulb.

“Ohhh honey, did you pick the wrong house..”

[Drabble Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @uvanuva @a-whumped-tea)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

#gun #break-in #kidnapping #chain #zip-ties #chains #gore mention #cat scratch #2600 words #ew #whump #whump scene #whump drable

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