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This is the third time.
The third time Victoria’s stumbled into Max Caulfield’s room after a party. The third time they’ve stayed up late into the night rambling about photography and school and bitches to one another. The third time that they’ve ended up together in Max’s bed, ready to go to sleep even though Victoria’s room is right across the hall. The third time Victoria’s pretended not to see that little pink blush in Max’s cheeks, the effect of alcohol that Max still isn’t that used to.
Max pretends otherwise, of course. She puts on an air of easy confidence with everything she does, and yet Victoria can always see it. She hasn’t done this before. Not any of it. But she takes easily to everything Victoria’s offered since day one, slipped into the role of the Cool Girl like Rachel never left. But Victoria can see the signs. She saw them in herself years ago. The hidden wince when she takes a shot, the slight hesitation before her smiling acquiescence to Vortex Club party favors. It’s not an act, not a performance, not quite. She does want to do these things, all these things. But there’s something underneath that she’s pushing down.
Only Victoria has gotten to see the real Drunk Max. Three times, now. When Max is presenting her photography or speaking in class, she speaks with confidence but rarely explains herself. It’s not her way. She doesn’t owe you an explanation. But here, in her room in the dark of the night, she’s ecstatic. She talks about her camera and the film she uses and the work she puts into every shot, she talks about Jefferson and his work and how it inspires her, and she asks Victoria about her own technique and borrowing her equipment and she looks at her like she’s finally found someone who gets it.
Victoria remembers feeling that way about someone a long time ago. She had the same shine in her eyes when she and Nathan first started talking. But Nathan is fading away into anger and silence and Max is here, and Max is…
This the third time Victoria’s avoided the thoughts of why she doesn’t just go home at the end of the night. It’s the third time that they’ve lain awake in bed, on their sides, facing each other in the dim light of Max’s open laptop. But this is the first time that Max has smiled like that.
Her teeth are a little crooked and her eyes are foggy and she has dimples. She looks down, giggling. Victoria’s heart leaps in her chest.
Fucking don’t, Victoria.
She can’t help but smile back even if she’s not sure what she’s smiling about but she will not giggle and she will not reach out and touch Max like she wants to and she will continue being cooler than Max because that’s her whole job. Sure, Max is cool. But everyone knows Victoria brought her in and Victoria’s the one who’s closest to her and nobody else gets to fucking step.
God, she wants to be even closer to Max. Her stomach has a chill just thinking about it, just hearing that cute little giggle.
Max sniffs and looks back up, her blue eyes shining. “God, we are so gay,” she says with a laugh, and Victoria’s heart stops.
“What? No. No, I’m not gay.” She hasn’t lied aloud like that yet. It doesn’t feel any better than when it’s just in her head.
Max laughs. “Really? None of this is gay to you.”
“I mean, if you wanna get all lesbo, I’ll just leave. You can do that shit on your own.”
“I bet you’d like to see that.”
Max looks a little shocked at the words that just came out of her mouth. That second of hesitation. But she seems to like what she sees as she stares at Victoria, and the wiggle in her smile vanishes. Victoria’s mouth runs dry.
“Don’t say weird shit, Max,” Victoria attempts, but she can see that Max isn’t convinced. Goosebumps rise on her skin. This is terrifying but her nerves are absolutely sparking. She feels paralyzed. She doesn’t want to leave. She doesn’t want Max to make this all real. To bring it out here, out of her own mind, and yet she does, so badly it aches.
Max draws her limbs together and sits up. “Really. So you’re not feeling anything even though we’re cuddling right now.”
“No!” Victoria insists, following her lead and sitting up against the wall. “Look, Max, you — you’re getting the wrong idea—”
“So no part of Victoria Chase lllloves the lllladies,” Max says. “So you wouldn’t like it if I did this.”
Max comes forward, faces Victoria and puts a hand on her shoulder and it’s warm and Victoria can’t move. She’s not even sure she’s breathing.
“I mean, if you’re totally straight, then you should just go,” Max continues, slowly dragging her hand down. Victoria can feel the pad of each finger pressing into her skin.
“You can get up and leave,” Max adds, a cocky smirk on her face as her hand draws nearer and nearer to Victoria’s breast. “Push my hand away. Something.”
“Are you actually playing gay chicken with me right now like we’re fucking football douchebros?” Victoria asks.
“Mmm hm. And you’re gonna deal with it.”
Victoria clamps her mouth shut. Max’s hand is on her breast now and everything in her is tingling. Max experimentally squeezes and Victoria looks anywhere but at her.
“So this isn’t doing anything for you,” Max says, moving just two fingers across Victoria’s chest, pressing down until she finds her nipple. Victoria looks at the ceiling and swallows, trying not to make any...noises. She can’t let Max know how this feels. Not just what she’s doing with her hands, but that confident, mocking tone in her voice, the goofy grin she can’t keep off her face even as she’s trying to control this situation. She’s never seen anyone enjoy her like that. It’s intoxicating.
Max pinches her through her bra and silence goes out the window. Victoria can’t help but gasp. “That’s a very heterosexual noise,” Max says with a chuckle. Victoria squeezes her legs together, feeling warm and slick, trying not to let it show. It’s insane how wet she is. Pathetic. Unnatural. She shouldn’t feel like this.
But there’s excitement in Max’s eyes. Her hand shakes on Victoria’s body as she flattens it and keeps moving down. Max wants this. The laughter, the joking, the teasing, it’s all cover for what she’s really feeling. Want. For Victoria. Of all people.
“I’m sure this is going to be just awful for you,” Max says with a chuckle, pushing under the waistband of Victoria’s slacks. Victoria bites her lower lip. Max’s fingers on her bare skin, so sensitive, so close to—
Max’s facade slips a little when she makes contact. She takes in a sharp breath, her eyes blown wide in thin blue light. Her mouth turns from a curve into an oval.
They’re frozen there for what seems like eternity, Victoria’s body pulsing against Max’s fingers. They look at each other’s eyes. Victoria knows her face is giving her away, but Max seems to want just one push. Just one confirmation. Victoria knows then that this is also something Max hasn’t done. Something she wants to do but hides her nervousness and inexperience with it in order to get it done anyway. She’s fearless.
Victoria wishes she could be her. But she also wants her to not stop.
“A-are you giving up?” Victoria asks, raising an eyebrow.
“You don’t want me to,” and Max’s smile returns, a smirk now, her cheeks flushed. And slowly, God, so slowly, she rubs in circles around Victoria’s clit. It’s a tight fit between her body and her clothes, and that just seems to add pressure to Max’s touch. Victoria’s muscles tense. Her breath turns ragged as Max tortures her.
“If you were gay this would probably be really nice,” Max teases, pressing down harder in longer strokes. Each time she approaches Victoria’s entrance she hitches, closing her eyes and cutting into her bottom lip even harder. “But no, you’re obviously just tolerating it,” Max continues. Victoria’s arching her back against the wall and she knows it’s disgusting how she’s begging for this, how all she wants is for Max to finally just really take control and fuck her.
Max notices.
She always has such an eye for detail.
She gets on her knees and withdraws her hand for a moment, only to unzip Victoria’s pants and pull them down her legs. Victoria makes no move to stop her, she can’t pretend anymore, her body’s crying out to just have Max on her again, in her, now.
She can hear Max’s staggered breath in the silence of the night. She wonders how Max is feeling. If she’s electrified like Victoria is. If she’s this wet and ready and needy.
When Max enters her, it sends a shock through her. She grabs the sheets with her hands, grits her teeth. She can feel Max’s fingers moving inside of her, exploring, looking for where to strike. When Victoria summons the urge to look down, she sees the same mask of concentration that comes over Max when she’s lining up a shot in the quad. It’s everything Victoria loves about her at once, and then Max does hit it, and Victoria loves a new thing about her entirely.
Max grows bold as she thrusts against it, that grin returning as she whispers, “Yeah, I’m just fucking a straight girl right now for sure.” God. God. The power in her. The power she holds over Victoria, that she’s always held, that Victoria tried to pretend didn’t exist, it feels so good to finally just give into it. To admit she loves it, with her body and with the sounds she makes as Max brings her closer and closer to the edge.
When she’s pushed off, she can’t stop herself. She squirms under Max, clenching around her, body vibrating as she cries out. Max looks amazed in the brief second Victoria catches her eyes before squeezing her own shut tight. When Max pulls out of her, an aftershock travels up her body, and all she wants is for Max to stay.
And Max does. She scoots up beside Victoria, laying a wet hand on her chest. When Victoria’s stopped panting, she turns her head. Max is smiling, small and secretive.
“I don’t know who wins if that happens,” she says with a small laugh.
“You did,” Victoria admits.
Max’s lips are the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted.