It was at that moment that Oscar realized that a hot tub and Jacuzzi were not the same thing, but he wasn't going to say a word to Max about his misunderstanding. He didn't know why he was playing dumb about how he felt about Max either. Clearly he had a thing for him, neither of them would be here otherwise. He decided that it had to be a defensive thing. A way of protecting himself from the crushing disappointment if it didn't go well. But Oscar was done pretending and playing dumb. He was ready to jump into this like he always did–with both feet.

First things first, he turned on the water. He was used to having to wait on a water heater from biblical times, so it was a habit for him to leave it running while he undressed. Next, was the shirt around his waist and then the one he was wearing. Once they'd hit the tiled floor and while he was pulling off his belt, the full extent of Oscar's tattoos were on display. They didn't cover him completely and he clearly couldn't afford much in the way of color, but they patterned their way from his shoulder blades to his hips, across his chest and down his arms. Some were animals, a few had to do with his gang, and some were nothing more than tribal trash.

Max tossed the gym bag on the bed then leaned in the doorway for a moment, just observing Oscar like he was a statue in a museum. A trashy, but perfect, sexy piece of art, and he only blushed harder when he realized he was blushing. Him. He was blushing over seeing Oscar naked. Max drew in a deep breath and quickly looked away as he pulled his own fitted t-shirt off over his head and stepped out of his Beckett Simonon sneakers.

Once they were both barefoot, Oscar strode right up to Max, leveling his gaze with him and straitening his back before letting out a curt "Fuck," as he realized that he was officially the shorter of them both. With that battle lost, his gaze traced down Max's bare, smooth torso to the hem on his shorts.

A smug expression appeared on Max's flushed face. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them down his muscular thighs. "I guess you were right. I can't help it," he said almost bashfully.

"You flexy son of a bitch," Oscar hissed, biting back a smile as a slight tint of red stretched across his cheeks and nose. Now he knew why all those girls hung on Max every chance they got. He captured Max's lips in a heated kiss. Goddamn, he wanted him. He didn't even care who was on top at this point, though he was admittedly a little intimidated by having to find a place to fit that thing, he figured anything was possible with enough confidence and lube.

Max was quick to take charge of their kiss, pulling Oscar down with him slightly as he bent to get rid of the rest of his own clothes, before backing Oscar towards the steaming pool of water that'd filled the oversized tub. He broke their kiss, giving Oz a playful push. Then he headed for the light switch, but he didn't flip the lights all the way off, just turned the dial next to the switch, dimming them, and bathing the porcelain and tile in a warm golden light.

Oscar slid into the water. The tub was huge—big enough for four, maybe five, people and Oscar hardly filled it as he folded his arms over the lip to watch Max. "Nice mood," he commented.

A cheeky wink was Max's reply, and Oscar caught him glancing once at the mirror to fix his hair, even though it looked great when slightly tousled. Once he was seated in the tub, though, he grabbed Oscar's chin and engaged his lips in another kiss. Max pushed his tongue into Oz's mouth, claiming it for his own for a moment before pulling back for a breath. "Is it weird that this doesn't feel weird?"

Oscar's eyes opened when the kiss ended all too soon. "Who the fuck cares?" he huffed as he seated himself astride Max's lap and pulled him back into a more demanding kiss. His fingers tangled in the mess of silky, reddish-brown locks while he drank in the taste of his...friend? Lover? Mafia Prince?

He supposed that all could be ironed out later. They had nothing but time.

Max's groan was muffled by Oscar's forceful kiss and his eyes slid closed. His member was already growing stiff enough to put pressure on Oscar's inner thigh. Grasping Oscar's slim waist, Max pulled their bodies as close as they could be, which was a hell of a lot easier in the water, with so little resistance. Skin slid effortlessly against skin, shooting sparks of sensation through Max. His fingers glided from Oscar's hips to his shaft, giving it a few gentle test strokes. Max's heart was pounding in his ears. It had to have been going a mile a minute. He'd definitely be skipping cardio this afternoon.

Oscar was already pretty solid. Just like his bike, it didn't take him long to go from zero to a hundred. His hips adjusted and rocked against Max's length unabashedly. He had to break their kiss to catch some air, but set his lips to the task of kissing Max's neck, which quickly turned to licking and biting as he toyed with the idea of leaving marks across his flawless flesh.

As he stroked the two of them at a steady pace, Max let his head rest back against the edge of the tub, only then remembering the sore spot he had there. But his groan of discomfort melted into one of pleasure.

"Carefu-" Max began when the pressure from Oscar's teeth felt like it could leave behind evidence. "You know, never mind," he amended, tone soft and husky. "Fuck me up."

Oscar obliged and appreciated that Max understood the fundamentals of his general personality, in that nothing he ever did was careful. It was his basic nature to do everything fast and rough with no reservations. "That would...take a lot...more lube." His words broke across Max's ear between pants, his hips still rocking in time with the stroking.

"What'd you think was—ahn-in the bag?"

At that moment, Oscar locked eyes with his friend, and the sultry look that Max gave him—coupled with his admission, was all it took to push Oscar over the edge. The confirmation that Max had planned to do this all along, and the fact that this was not what friends should be doing, was too hot for him to hold back and a shuddered moan escaped him as his body tensed and then relaxed.

Oscar wasn't the first person Max had gotten to climax, by any means, but he'd never been so painfully turned on just by seeing someone peak before. He gently released Oz's tender shaft, and barely got through stroking his own a few more times before he was overtaken with ecstasy. Max arched into Oscar, gasping as he rode out his own release.

An hour and a half later, Max got up to get the door, and soon came back into the living room with the takeout he'd ordered—Vietnamese food from one of his favorite places that delivered to the east end.

"You're not gonna believe how fucking good this is," he said, setting the bag, loaded with steaming hot boxes and round, lidded, styrofoam containers, on top of the glass coffee table. "I think there's some forks in the kitchen," he added, as he immediately turned and headed that way.

Max was a nice view, no matter the angle... Shirtless, with a pair of heather gray sweatpants that somehow hugged all the right places in all of the right ways. Maybe they were some stupid expensive, special kind of sweatpants...cuz they certainly didn't look the way a pair would on your average Joe coasting around a Walmart, that was for damn sure.

"You want a drink?" Max called as he started checking out the kitchen drawers for silverware.

"Yeah," Oscar tossed back, from where he lounged on the couch, surfing the hundreds of channels in nothing but his black boxer briefs. His legs dangled over the arm and his head was planted oddly in the center cushion as though he had been resting it on someone's lap.

Compared to Max, Oscar's attractiveness was more of an acquired taste, not so effortlessly handsome as he was effortlessly himself. And right now, he was in his element, an entire evening ahead of them that had no plan, no boundaries, just whatever the fuck they wanted to do. Which he figured would definitely involve each other at some point, when they were ready for round two.

He was starting to regret turning down Max's Japan trip, only just realizing what he'd taken as a flex might have just been harmless fun for a rich boy from the East side.

Max returned with a humble hard lemonade for each of them, and held out a fork to Oscar, but when Oz reached for it, Max withdrew his hand, grinning, and demanding a kiss before he'd hand it over.

Their fun and dinner, however, was cut short by Max's phone.

Max made a face and rolled his eyes as he snatched the device off the table, but whatever he'd seen on the screen pulled his lips into a tight frown. He quickly stood, muttering that he needed to take the call, before retreating back over toward the kitchen.

Once the call had apparently ended, Oscar could tell Max was about to say something disappointing by the way he walked back into the living room.

"I gotta go, and I'm probably gonna be a few hours, sooo," Max huffed out a sigh. "I can take you home, or you can hang here if you want. Either one isn't a problem."

Disappointment was a sneaking son of a bitch—avoiding rearing its ugly head until the moment Oscar had let down his guard. Yet, he wasn't angry about it. For Oscar, disappointment was just a fact of his life. Just like washing your bike would make it rain, and bread always falling butter-side down. It was unavoidable.

And he knew he'd already failed. He was attached to Max, and he knew that would only make things harder for himself when he'd eventually have to let him go. But he didn't show a bit of it on the outside as he turned off the TV and stood.

"Home, I guess." At least his stuff and his bike was at his place. Here, he'd just be held prisoner in a mansion he didn't belong in with only a TV and some kick ass Vietnamese food to occupy him.

They shot the shit for some of the way back, but the somber notes hanging over them sucked. It was like the air on a school bus on that last trip home at the start of summer break, when you lived across the city from all of your friends. You were excited to be done with school, but the thrill of freedom was ruined by the pain of the impending loneliness.

By the time they'd crossed into the west end, Max was able to at least act more like himself. Nodding his head to the music streaming through the speakers, and stealing glances at Oz.

This wasn't going to be the last time they did this. Not by any stretch. This was just the beginning. The long-game foreplay until the next time their lives came crashing together. Max was already antsy for that next collision. It was gonna be tough to focus on anything else.

"Thanks for the fun, Oz," Max said as he pulled up to the cracked curb in front of the run down apartment building. It hadn't bothered him so much when he'd picked Oscar up, but now Max stared at the shitty place with a level of resentment.

It wasn't the building's fault, of course, that he was having to return Oscar to it, but Max didn't give a shit. He still didn't want to, but he knew he was already digging himself a sizable hole by taking the time to bring Oz back in the first place. "I'll text you when I'm free," he added, trying to sound as chill as possible about it.

"You better," Oscar teased, keeping the tone light as he gave one last wave over his shoulder before retreating inside the apartment building's lobby. He decided that while his mood was in the dumpster already, he might as well stop by the wall of mailboxes to check for anything before heading up to his apartment.

The elevator was still broken, no surprise there. Everything was just as he left it; even the dark stain on the carpet just outside his neighbors' door, where their trash regularly sat.

Suddenly, Oscar stopped in the middle of the hallway as he noticed that his front door was ajar and a chill ran up his spine. He remembered locking up when he left, while he was talking to Emma...right?

His hand slid to his waist only to realize that his gun was missing. "Fuck." It was still sitting on the end table in Applerock. Taking a deep breath, Oscar turned and knocked on Emma's door, hoping she hadn't called it a night early for once and feeling immensely relieved when the door cracked open.

"Oh! Hey, Oscar!" she exclaimed, closing the door to release the chain before opening it all the way.

"Yeah, hey Em. Um, you didn't see anyone go into my apartment, did you?"

"Oh, yeah! I saw your boyfriend. He said he was wanting to get his plant, or something that you were watching for him? Anyway, I still had that key you gave me, so I just let him in."

Oscar's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he racked his brain, trying to think of anyone who might call himself his boyfriend. He'd not bestowed that title on anyone that he could think of, but the mention of the plant rang some alarm bells.

"What'd he look like?" Oscar asked more carefully, and Emma looked understandably confused.

"Big guy, with a beard? Looks like he was in the same biker gang as you."

"Fu—I mean, yeah, right... That's him!" Oscar said, striding back across the hall and into his own apartment.

When he flicked on the lights, the scene that met his gaze was just about what he expected: what little he had was tossed around like a bull or a tornado had come through.

"Oh, shit!" Emma exclaimed as she lingered in the door frame. "Um... Did you two have a fight?"

"Not yet..." Oscar murmured, as he began to pick up his things.

We've been so eager to put this chapter up that last Thursday felt like forever ago!!

So! Are you liking these two train wrecks as much as we do? Anyone curious about this supposed "boyfriend" who paid Oz a house call?? ✋👀

Shout out to rascalsuffers ! Thanks so much for your support!!