Mad Maxed
folder
M through R › Mad Max
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
2,763
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Mad Max
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
2,763
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Mad Max, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 4
The next morning Max awoke to a very familiar sound he knew from years of spending time with men, and of course, with himself. Goose was wacking off. The man was trying to be quiet about it, but his breathing gave him away, his fist was making that very specific sound of flesh against flesh, and, most surprisingly, he was doing it on the floor under a blanket.
Max didn't know, but Goose had felt strange sleeping in the bed after what had happened between them, and once he was sure Max had fallen asleep, he had crawled onto the floor to spend the night. He was also feeling surprised, like Max, about what he was doing there and not able to bring himself to stop.
Goose had woken from fitful dreams of the way Max had looked at him at first, the way he had kept touching him, although admittedly his fingers had never once moved. Goose just couldn't get it out of his mind that maybe he had actually reached something in Max, that maybe there was the slightest most infinitesimal chance that Max would give him what he needed, that maybe he had done the right thing after all.
He was about to find out.
Max stalked over to him, indignant at knowing that the man was likely using him to relieve himself, but when he looked down at Goose, saw the splotched face of lust colored red highlighting his cheeks, the anger receded, and that strange prickling feeling washed over his skin again.
His blood began hammering through his veins, his groin began to tighten, but that time he didn't run away from it. That time he met it head on, although not in the way that Goose would have certainly liked the most.
A bare foot rose and kicked the blanket off Goose, exposing the man to Max's view. Goose struggled not to reach for cover, sensing that the move was aggressive but not actually meant to be harmful. His hand stopped moving, however, not sure what to do, although it stayed gripped to his length, a length that Max was staring at closely for the first time ever.
Slowly he started stroking himself again, praying he was making the right choice, and while Max watched with his own quickening of breath, Goose soon cried out softly at the feel of his seed flowing over his hand under the intensity of the gaze Max held him under. It had turned out to be the best damn hand job he had ever given himself.
Max continued to stand frozen for a moment, as the heat in his eyes cooled and he began to breathe normally again. He didn't know what to do. He had actually watched a man jerk off in front of him, a man he knew desired him. It both revolted him and thrilled him. He could feel something strange in Goose calling to him, but he was far from ready to accept it.
And, at that point, it was unly hey he ever would. Max was just in too much turmoil at the turn his life had taken. With a snort of disgust at himself, he stepped right over Goose and went into the bathroom. It was time to take a very cold shower.
When he came out, feeling marginally better, especially physically, Goose was dressed and standing by the window. He turned to Max, a hopeful look on his face that their friendship was intact, but Max avoided his eyes, grunting, "I'm going home."
Two hours of silence and tension later, Max dropped Goose off at his flat and went to his beach house to sleep the sleep of a very confused man.
(END CHAPTER 4)
The next morning Max awoke to a very familiar sound he knew from years of spending time with men, and of course, with himself. Goose was wacking off. The man was trying to be quiet about it, but his breathing gave him away, his fist was making that very specific sound of flesh against flesh, and, most surprisingly, he was doing it on the floor under a blanket.
Max didn't know, but Goose had felt strange sleeping in the bed after what had happened between them, and once he was sure Max had fallen asleep, he had crawled onto the floor to spend the night. He was also feeling surprised, like Max, about what he was doing there and not able to bring himself to stop.
Goose had woken from fitful dreams of the way Max had looked at him at first, the way he had kept touching him, although admittedly his fingers had never once moved. Goose just couldn't get it out of his mind that maybe he had actually reached something in Max, that maybe there was the slightest most infinitesimal chance that Max would give him what he needed, that maybe he had done the right thing after all.
He was about to find out.
Max stalked over to him, indignant at knowing that the man was likely using him to relieve himself, but when he looked down at Goose, saw the splotched face of lust colored red highlighting his cheeks, the anger receded, and that strange prickling feeling washed over his skin again.
His blood began hammering through his veins, his groin began to tighten, but that time he didn't run away from it. That time he met it head on, although not in the way that Goose would have certainly liked the most.
A bare foot rose and kicked the blanket off Goose, exposing the man to Max's view. Goose struggled not to reach for cover, sensing that the move was aggressive but not actually meant to be harmful. His hand stopped moving, however, not sure what to do, although it stayed gripped to his length, a length that Max was staring at closely for the first time ever.
Slowly he started stroking himself again, praying he was making the right choice, and while Max watched with his own quickening of breath, Goose soon cried out softly at the feel of his seed flowing over his hand under the intensity of the gaze Max held him under. It had turned out to be the best damn hand job he had ever given himself.
Max continued to stand frozen for a moment, as the heat in his eyes cooled and he began to breathe normally again. He didn't know what to do. He had actually watched a man jerk off in front of him, a man he knew desired him. It both revolted him and thrilled him. He could feel something strange in Goose calling to him, but he was far from ready to accept it.
And, at that point, it was unly hey he ever would. Max was just in too much turmoil at the turn his life had taken. With a snort of disgust at himself, he stepped right over Goose and went into the bathroom. It was time to take a very cold shower.
When he came out, feeling marginally better, especially physically, Goose was dressed and standing by the window. He turned to Max, a hopeful look on his face that their friendship was intact, but Max avoided his eyes, grunting, "I'm going home."
Two hours of silence and tension later, Max dropped Goose off at his flat and went to his beach house to sleep the sleep of a very confused man.
(END CHAPTER 4)