#max webber

“Go fuck yourself, Max.”

“Benny…” He pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. As usual, his childe was being difficult. The Sheriff had stopped by just to “chat”, which meant he was there to complain about every little thing that had happened both at the police station and during his patrols of Seattle, conveniently an hour or so before sunrise. Max usually didn’t mind, but his day had been full of people who had no idea what they were talking about when it came to their own vehicle. The mortals in the shop weren’t much help either. He just wanted to curl up on the couch and let the chill of the auto shop lure him to sleep. At the moment, though, the couch housed a vaguely annoyed Benny who had quite literally stormed into their haven and taken it all for himself. Another sigh leaves Max’s lungs as he defeatedly slumps into the office chair across from the couch.

“What happened tonight?”

Probably the same series of events that have happened every time Benny got comfortable somewhere. He picked a spot he liked. People he didn’t like started to “invade” it. And Benny defended his space like a guard dog that wasn’t taught to heel. Max shakes his head as his childe describes exactly that. Apparently, the newest hideout for the Anarchs was in an old, broken-down building near the outskirts of Seattle. He listens to this for a minute, just staring at the couch and nodding along to what the other is saying.

“I wonder…” he thinks, then acts before he can pull back. Max pushes the chair away from the cluttered desk and towards the couch. He leans back, then props his feet up over Benny’s legs. The Sheriff keeps ranting like it’s the most normal thing in the world. His sire almost wants to time him to see how long it will take before he notices, but just as that thought enters his mind, the man seems to slow down his venting. He watches Benny shift lower as if trying to push Max out of his space.

“Keep talking… It's good to ramble.” He smirks before letting his feet dangle back down against the floor. “I like hearing your voice, too.” Max sees the look in the other’s eyes and stands, moving his legs out of the way before joining Benny on the couch. He hums softly as he lets himself sink into the leather. It’s much more comfortable than the-

“Hey!” He’s thrown out of his thoughts by large hands on his waist. They lift him up with ease, setting him down in the Sheriff’s lap. The same Sheriff who now has the hint of a smirk on his scarred lips. Max shrugs and settles there instead. He tries not to wiggle too much, but the thought of making Benny a little bit more frustrated is enticing. A similar smirk spreads over his own lips. Maybe he can help his lover relax a little after all. The Brujah stretches, lifting his arms up and purposefully rising from the other’s lap, only to be met with strong, gentle hands pulling him down again. And again. And again… Until Benny finds a rhythm he likes and starts to ramble again.

“Smithy was… and Wheeler…”

“Gumball got into the old case files again…”

“Fuckin’ Katsumi… Anarch bullshit…”

Max nods, letting out soft hums of acknowledgement like he’s actually listening and not just running his hands over the man’s shirt, all while slowly grinding in his lap. Neither are hard, or even close to it. They just need the familiarity of each other. The closeness. The touch. He feels Benny adjust under him, and it’s just enough to untuck his shirt. The Sheriff shakes his head, earning a small pout from his sire. Max does it anyway, of course, sliding his hands up the man's hairy chest just to feel his lover under his fingertips. Benny does the same with his hoodie and the shirt under it, much less patient and much more eager to grope at his chest. A gasp echoes through the small room.

“That's not fair-”

It earns him a chuckle from Benny. The bastard pinched his nipples before soothing them over with his thumbs.

“It’s fair when you’re actin’ like a teenager.”

“Benny…”

“Can’t take your clothes off ‘cause your mama’s down the hall.”

“Shut up-”

Max bites his cheek to stifle a smile. It doesn’t work. The man beneath him sees it, and a chuckle rumbles in his chest. He leans over Benny to nuzzle against his neck, fingers hooking the hem of the turtle neck to pull it down and expose his skin.

“Is your daddy gonna beat my ass for-”

The Brujah is cut off with a sharp gasp. His wonderful sire, who never lets him have any fun for too long, had the audacity to press a kiss to his neck before poking his sharp-as-hell fangs against the scared skin. It stung for a moment, but a moment is all Max wanted. A moment is all he ever wants. Benny swears he hears the other’s best attempt at a growl, even though it sounded more like a disgruntled puppy. He settled in on top of Benny with a soft hum. His warm hands splayed out on the sheriff’s chest over his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. The other’s cold hands rested on his back and waist beneath Max’s hoodie. The sun was rising. They were still on the couch, tangled up in each other’s presence.

“Chuck’s gonna find us like this…”

His childe grumbled. Neither made any attempt to move from the couch. Max shifted again before settling his weight on Benny with a quiet, sleepy murmur.

“Fuck Chuck… he’s seen us do worse.”