2046-02-25 The Geometry of Pedestals

From X-Factor

The Geometry of Pedestals
Date Posted 2016/02/27
Location Alexandra and Ciel's Apartment - Avenue B Apartments
Participants Alexandra, Maxim
Summary This argument is about geometry. Really.
Rough sex, adult language.
This two-bedroom apartment on the seventh floor of the Avenue B Apartments would be a bit more desirable if not for the fact that the fickle building elevator often turns it into a seventh-floor walk-up. The apartment actually opens to the moderately professional environment of ABC Investigations, which the living room is dedicated to with a large desk, a couple chairs, and various other items. The overstuffed sofa on one side is the homiest piece in the room.

The kitchen is a bit cramped, sacrificing space to the living room, but has all the necessities of fridge, oven, stove, and a very few cupboards. Two doors off the living room lead to the two bedrooms, both on the smaller side but serviceable enough. A third leads to a bathroom a little overstuffed with hygiene and beauty supplies.

A scribbled sign on the apartment door announces it as home to ABC Investigations.

Maxim has been put to work. That is: Lexie is hungry, and Maxim is here, which means that she probably only had to mention hunger to get him to cook something. (Or asked. She can ask, too.) But the end result is Lexie sitting on the counter swirling a glass of whine -- that is, wine in a regular water glass, because she doesn't have real wine glasses -- and adjusting the arrangement of flowers that are also in a water glass -- she doesn't have vases -- on the counter next to her. "Hey, have you ever had a threesome?" she asks brightly.

What Maxim is making is pasta, because pasta is easy and one of those things that is easy to throw together from pantry ingredients without having to put on shoes to go out into the winter terribleness. The water is boiling and he's doing something with a pan sauce and vegetables and lemon butter, shuffling the pan to keep them from sticking, when the question is dropped. He doesn't drop the pan, but he stops shuffling them, blinking owlishly at her before scratching his chin. "Not...exactly."

/That/ has Lexie interested. Her eyes go round and curious. "What does /that/ mean?" she wonders, laugher already warming her voice. "It's more of an either/or kind of thing, Max."

"Sometimes I helped," Maxim answers, going back to his vegetable sauteeing, "But it was more for, how you say, logistics? Da, this. I hold up girls, get better angles. It was not so much for me." He measures out pasta carefully, not wanting to make too much. (Too much when he is one of the people eating is a LOT of pasta, for what it's worth.)

"I don't--" Lexie squints at him. She considers his words like she is trying to parse together a foreign language. "What?"

<Events> Rohan has submitted a new event: Super Duper Boy Defends the Earth!

(New BB message (7/10) posted to 'Plots, Plots, Plots' by Rohan: Super Duper Boy Defends the Earth!)

"At parties, for bosses. Sometimes, they get drunk or tangled up, so I help hold people up or upside down or however is comfortable." Maxim sets the pan down and sort of demonstrates, holding is hands out like he's holding someone up by the hips or the like.

Alexandra just peers at him some more. Then, sounding baffled and a little grossed out, "For your /bosses/?" After a beat, she wonders, "Did you have /hot/ bosses?"

"Mostly they were hairy and a bit fat, so, not so much my taste, no." Maxim goes back to the pan sauce, adjusting the temperature down a little so as not to burn the butter.

"Okay, so I'm going to count this as a /no/, you have not had a threesome," Lexie decides before lifting her glass to take a gulp of wine.

"That seems fair," Maxim says agreeably, and drains the noodles after checking to see if they're done by sneaking one out of the pot and eating it. He puffs a little at the heat, muttering something in Russian as he burns his tongue. "It was occupational, not recreational." He slants a glance at her, "Why do you wish to know this?"

"Oh, definitely no concrete reason relating to real life at all," Lexie says, eyes going wide and innocent. She nudges the glass of flowers an inch in his direction. "Mikhail got me flowers," she notes idly.

"The nervous lucky boy?" Maxim asks, eyebrows arching. He looks at the nudged arrangement and grunts softly, "Huh. This is interesting."

"And this wine." Lexie wiggles the glass between her fingers next. A slow, curving smile begins to spread on her lips.

Maxim shakes the pasta lightly to keep it from sticking and begins to plate it, adding sauce and vegetables and passing over a plate. Finally, he says, "He is young. You could break him like twig."

Alexandra frowns faintly at this reaction, almost disappointed, although it has a thoughtful air like she's considering avenues of attack. "Mm," she says noncommittally. She sucks a stray drop of wine from her thumb and then she says, "So are you into guys?"

Maxim tilts his head, looking at her closely for a moment before plating his own dinner. Finally he says, "This is different even now in Russia, I think. Especially in prison. Better than old days, of course, but still there is -- stigma? Some stigma. I prefer women. Maybe there are some men who are attractive, but," he gives a little one shoulder shrug, "I have not met so many."

"So if I were to be like, 'hey let's have a threesome,' you'd rather me show up with the hot new girl Tiffany who totally thinks I'm hot and gave me her number," Lexie concludes. Her plate is getting briefly forgotten on the counter next to her.

Maxim is quiet for a good ten seconds, sipping his wine, a tiny furrow between his eyebrows. "Da. If this was something you wished, it would be easier with woman, I think. Also I am better at pleasuring woman, I think." A beat. "I /hope/." Don't fish for compliments, Maxim.

"/Easier/," Lexie says with a little wheeze. "Wait. What would you do if I just came home and was like 'I want to have a threesome with Mikhail?'"

Maxim purses his lips and huffs out a short breath, "I do not want to have threesome with Mikhail. He is just a boy and also, I make him nervous, I think. He was kept prisoner by bratva for years, iskra. Do you think he will see these," he taps his chest, where his tats are hidden by his shirt, "and not be nervous? This is not kind."

"I know he was a prisoner. That's why I want to do something nice for him!" Lexie says, like a threesome is a perfectly reasonable present for someone who's gone through a traumatic life event.

Maxim gives her another look, sideways, "Is this what he wants? To share you with a man he does not know, one time? These do not look like fuckbuddy flowers, I think." He nods his chin toward the flowers. "This looks like crush."

Alexandra gives him a stubbornly innocent look back. "Well, yeah," she says, like this is all super obvious.

Maxim sets his fork aside. "Is this what /you/ want? Very much?"

"Oh my God." Lexie leans forward, somewhat aghast. "Are you about to say yes to a sexual activity you don't even want to do just because I'm being obnoxious?"

"The sexual activity that I /want/," Maxim says, eyelids lowering, "Is to hear you scream repeatedly until you have come so many times you do not remember your own name. This brings me pleasure. If two men will do this for you, I will consider situation and plan accordingly. If it is something I do not wish to do, I will say so, and this is end of discussion." He twists his pasta around his fork and takes a bite, exactingly precise as always.

"Well I don't want to have a threesome with Mikhail with /that/ attitude," Lexie sniffs. She belatedly picks up her plate and remembers to eat.

Maxim exhales sharply, "What? This is new to me. I must think about it." His fork clicks on the plate as he eats, which is unusual given how careful he usually is about that sort of thing. "The geometry of sex is complicated enough with two. With three, especially three who do not know each other well, there is much to consider. To be careful of." He is...tanking the sex?

"/Geometry/." Lexie puts her plate down. "No. You take that back. Sex is not about /geometry/! That's an awful thing to say."

"Geometry is beautiful!" Maxim protests, "Angles and symmetry and friction -- this is all beautiful." He puts his fork down.

Voice lifting, Lexie declares, "I am not a trapezoid, Maxim!"

Maxim throws up a hand, "You would need equal sides for trapezoid, and you are least equal woman I know!" He doesn't get louder, or even more emphatic, just -- exasperated, like, what the heck already. "Geometry is not bad thing! This is how I know how to use leverage without breaking you, woman!"

"What's that supposed to mean," Lexie says, frowning fiercely and immediately. "'Not equal.' What does that mean!" And then she scowls and reaches for the neck of his shirt to try and tug him down to her level. "Hey! My name is not 'woman!'"

"It means you are not predictable," Maxim folds his arms and does not, as he would customarily do, bend over agreeably. She could probably hang off his collar, except the fabric would likely stretch or tear first. "You do what you want, when you want, to the logic that only Alexandra understands. I try to keep up, but I am not fast. I am not lightning, like you."

Alexandra does not hang off his collar, but she sure looks peeved(-but-also-interested). "Well. I don't really get how that is the opposite of /equal/, but I'm also not an /un/equal geometric shape. I'm bossy and bitchy and this is like the /first time/ you've ever even /mildly disagreed with me/." Her chin juts with a stubborn edge to her expression.

"I /like/ that you are bossy and bitchy, sumashedshaya dievochka," Maxim looks down and growls, "But you are being /irrational/ if you think geometry is not sexy. Your symmetry is beautiful, but it is your imperfections that make you my Alexandra and not some plastic doll. I would move the moon for you, and yet you think I am so weak I would not tell you I did not want to do something?" He looms, muscles flexing ever-so-slightly. "I give you what I wish to give you. Right now, you do not know what I am thinking that should be."

Alexandra tosses her hair back and lifts her chin, her eyes glittering dark with challenge. Voice crisp and precise -- almost as precise as he is -- and totally unimpressed by his looming, she says, "Enlighten me."

Maxim's jaw flexes, "Choose safe word."

Lexie's gaze narrows. "Pineapple." It sounds a little ridiculous in the tension of their conflict, but that's kind of a benefit to a good safe word, isn't it.

Without a word, Maxim loops an arm around her waist and tosses her over his shoulder, stalking toward the bedroom with predatory care. The care is the bit where he makes sure she's not at risk to bump her head or anything; the predation comes from the prick of his fingers across her hips, firm enough to lightly bruise.

"You giant Russian fucker--" It's a little like grabbing a wet cat: she was already pissy before he touched her, and tossing her over his shoulder lands him with a mass of wriggling limbs as she tries to twist off his shoulder. "If you think you can just -- /ugh/!" She crackles. Quite literally: he can feel the staticky fuzz as electricity buzzes along her skin.

With a broad palm, Maxim swats her on the ass. "My safe word is piroshki." Y'know. In case of electrocution. "You think I am weak man. I am not weak man. I am man who knows what he wants -- and I am man who has limits to his patience." He tosses her onto the bed and puts his hands on his hips, looking down at her.

"/Hey/." Lexie tumbles to the bed with a noise of protest and then props herself back up on the brace of her arms to glare at him. "I keep forgetting how tall you are because of the view from this pedestal you keep putting me on," she fires back. Her hair is a mess of waves and curls that's starting to frizz with the static of moments before.

Maxim reaches down and takes hold of her ankles, giving a quick, sharp tug to drag her down to the end of the bed, "I have had nothing in my life of beauty," and he reaches down to lay his palm flat against her stomach, holding her down -- not pushing, but simply keeping his hand in place without releasing it -- "Nothing worth protecting. Nothing worth adoration. Until I met you." He bends over, lowering himself and putting his other hand down on the mattress by her shoulder, "So do not mistake my intoxication with loving you for weakness. You are bossy and bitchy and unpredictable and strange, and your feet are cold, and you are still best thing in my life by a million miles."

Something startles in Lexie's expression, there and gone again. She drags a knee up against his hip, but she can't lift or arch into him with his hand holding her down, so instead she twists her fingers as hard as she can in his hair. "So fight me," she says, somewhere between a challenge and a demand.

"Do you think you can win?" Maxim lowers his head to whisper this question next to her ear, then turns his face to nip her ear. His hand doesn't so much as budge an inch from her stomach, not allowing a hint of movement. He is, as bedroom combatants go, a slow-paced awful torturous man who is wicked about withholding orgasms FOR THE LONGEST TIME.

"Of course I can," Lexie hisses back, writhing under the simple but unescapable press of his hand against her stomach. Her chest heaves as she sucks in a breath. "I could make it so that you couldn't even touch me. I'm a fucking livewire."

"Ah, but iskra..." Maxim presses his weight down incrementally, almost like taunting her with proximity, "I did not ask if you could defeat me. You could. I asked, can you win? Because to my mind..." He lifts the hand on the bed and uses it to trace the shell of her ear with one finger, feather-light, "Victory has another meaning. One that does not involve electrocution."

"I can win any game you can invent rules for," Lexie says, the words coming fierce and reckless as she tries vainly to arch her hips into the press of his hand. She twists her head to try and catch the finger tracing her ear between her teeth.

Maxim clucks his tongue and twists his finger to give a short sharp tug on her hair. "Are you sure? You think you can beat me?"

Alexandra bites down harder before giving up in a huff of frustration and glaring up at him. She gasps, neck arching, at the tug on her hair. "Bring it," she snaps at him. Her skin is flush as anger spikes into a heady mix with arousal.

"Last one to come --," Maxim lowers his head and nips at her bared throat, a prick of teeth against skin, "-- wins."

"That," Lexie growls, "is a stupid competition." But she's already trying to wriggle and reach her hands down towards the fastenings of his jeans; unfortunately, there are few people in the world who find electrocution arousing.

Maxim twists his hips back away from her hands and chuckles darkly -- before reaching to try and capture her wrists with the hand he used to tug her hair. (The fact that he can remain bent over like this without actually supporting his weight is attributable to his stupid abs and his stupid core strength.) He has long fingers and a broad palm, all the better to circle both of her wrists with one hand if he can catch them. "If you win, you pick next competition. But I do not think you will win." Because once he captures her hands, his /other/ hand, the one on her stomach, is free to get to work.

Whatever excitement is flushing Lexie's skin, it's not from submitting: she twists and fights when he reaches to pin her wrists. His vastly superior strength might make it inevitable, but she makes him /work/ for it before she's pinned even more breathless than before. She considers him through a narrowed, furious gaze, and then the bare skin of her wrists his hands are grazing goes live: just enough to jolt painfully without seriously /hurting/ him. She tries to twist her hands at the same time, ready to wriggle back out of his grip if he lets go.

Maxim hisses in pain at the jolt, nostrils flaring, but doesn't let go -- this time. Instead, he grips just a little harder, enough perhaps even to bruise, and twists his other hand to slide calloused fingers beneath the edge of her skirt and leggings, tugging the waistband south. "I should put you over my knee," he grits.

"Ohhh, you fucker, I'd like to see you try," Lexie bites back at him. Her knees snap stubbornly shut as soon as his hand starts moving south. Her lips curve in a dangerous smile. "Besides, you like that I can fight you. Most people can't even hurt you."

"I do not need to be hurt but --" Maxim works his hand around to her hip and then with a dark smile, straightens up, hauling her by the wrists along with him until she's upright. He hoists just enough that she might have to go on tip-toe to support her weight, though it doesn't seem to be troubling him at all. He's not even straining. But it does make it easier for him to work on peeling off her lower layers, methodically. "-- I enjoy good fights from worthy challengers."

Well, while she's here, she might as well rub the top of her foot against the front of his jeans. Just to check. She's grinning now, all breathless and bright-eyed with challenge and only encouraged by his words. Lexie tries catching her legs around his waist next, which serves the double purpose of keeping his hands from between her legs and also possibly being in a good position to grind up against him.

Maxim's eyebrows arch and he slides his hand around behind her, beneath the soft fabric of her leggings, to give her a quick sharp pinch right on the fullest part of her ass. And while he plays cool -- he is playing cool, or trying to with some success -- his naturally fair skin shows his heightening color as he flushes; his breath is quickened, his eyes dilated, and yes, as she rubs up against him, he's already hard. But he doesn't give in, instead, drawing his arm up just a little higher, pulling her back and away from him so that even while her legs grip his waist, her torso is bent away from him -- so he can drop his head to her throat and capture a curve of skin, sucking it between his lips hard in a way that is assuredly going to leave a big ol' hickey right above her collar.

Her breath hitches, and Lexie tightens her legs around his waist, trying to get low enough to grind her hips against his. "Ooh, Max," she positively /purrs/, her voice pitched low and enticing. "Don't you want to fuck me? I'm pretty sure you do."

"Da, iskra, I do. And I will fuck you -- when you are crying my name and begging me to," Maxim whispers against her throat, pressing a kiss to it, before straightening up, retrieving his hand to reach up and grab the back of his t-shirt. He tugs it up and over his head -- then uses the fabric, cotton still warm from his body, to twist it around her wrists and tie it tight. Evidently, he wants both hands free.

"A /t-shirt/," Lexie scoffs, sounding positively insulted at what he thinks will restrain her. She twists her wrists in a rather purposeful way that suggests she has some experience getting out of tight spots, depending on just how well he's tied her up. He'll have to get her legs off of him anyways.

The t-shirt likely can't restrain her for long, despite the fact that it's very competently tied (he knows his knots) -- but it might be distracting, which is tactically advantageous either way. Maxim takes the opportunity of her distraction to back her against the wall, keeping her from falling backwards, as he uses both of his hands to pull her sweater up and over her bound hands and head, flinging it away. Naked chest parity is the goal.

The t-shirt likely can't restrain her for long, despite the fact that it's very competently tied (he knows his knots) -- but it might be distracting, which is tactically advantageous either way. Maxim takes the opportunity of her distraction to back her against the wall, keeping her from falling backwards, as he uses both of his hands to pull her sweater up and over her bound hands and head, flinging it UP in a tangle of fabric around her hands. Naked chest parity is the goal.

She does have a bra left -- black and lacy, because why not -- but he's certainly closer. Lexie's still clinging stubbornly with her legs, and then she drops her bound hands around his neck to draw in close. "Come on, Maxim," she whispers into his ear, playing up the whining husk in her voice. "I want to suck your cock." It's a siren song of a plea, and she wriggles against his hips encouragingly like a woman efficiently cataloguing all of the weapons she has available to her.

Maxim looks, for a moment, very much as if he's weighing the worth of winning -- but instead he lowers his brows and shakes his head, once, before reaching down and gripping one of her knees. He's careful, using his strength like that, but he's also pretty determined to pop her loose from his hips (sexy barnacle that she is). "Nyet. This you have not earned."

"Please," Lexie whimpers, even as she continues to twist her hands behind his head trying to work them free. "Maxim. Please. You said you'd give me the moon." Even while she's trying to wheedle out cooperation from him, she's fighting his attempts to loose her legs from his hips; it's slow going with her uncooperativeness and how careful he has to be with the angles -- you know, so as to not break her hips -- but eventually (inevitably) she can't stop him from pulling free.

"I will give you what you need -- and tonight, you need lesson," Maxim growls, and once she's loose from his hips, HOISTS her up over his shoulder again. This whole upright thing has not gone as well as he would have hoped, it seems, because he's quick to flip her back onto the bed again, moving quickly to try and wedge his leg in between hers before she can go back into lockdown mode. So difficult!

"You self-righteous--" Okay, that's the end of the wheedling, then. Lexie growls as he gets his knee between her legs before she can wriggle free. She tries to get at the front of his jeans again, because she can do that even with her hands still tied. "You are being /wildly/ sexist," she accuses him while actively trying to grab his penis. This is ridiculous.

Maxim smirks, tilts his head, and with two hands grips the fabric of her leggings on either side of the seam that runs between her legs and /pulls/. "You pick fight, you like fight, you are /wet/ from fight."

"I am not--" Lexie starts to argue, despite every evidence to the contrary, and next she says, "I swear to God if you rip my clothes--" And then the seam pops and she yells, "Fuck you!" She finally manages to twist her hands free from the tie of his t-shirt and yanks at his jeans to get them open in the world's most ridiculous race.

Ha, he only needs /one/ hand for this part -- Maxim grunts as her hands get to his jeans, awkwardly trying to twist his hips away from her fingers without much success even as he slides his hand in through the newly-made hole in her clothes, clever fingers nudging aside her underwear to find their target. "If you only knew --" He nudges her with his free hand, the one not in her pants, reaching up to grip her hair and tug it again but this time, sweetly, sharp only to her preference, "If you only knew how much I need you, iskra. Only you."

His thumb does its best to demonstrate his devotion; his other fingers do not fail the mission, either.

Lexie's hands perforce still when she suddenly gasps, neck arching as he pulls her hair. "Fuck," she whines as his hand works between her thighs, but this time the expletive takes on a much different tone. She remembers herself enough to finally get a hand down his pants and close around him; her fingers are not as nimble as they might otherwise be, but she's rather determined around all the writhing and gasping. "God -- dammit--"

Maxim bows forward and grazes her breast with his teeth, working through the lace to tease her there as well, even while he keeps up the tight grip on her hair. When her hand grips him, his breath escapes on a hiss of Russian -- exhortations and prayer and profanity all mixed up into one jumble of random sounds, buzzing against her skin. Beyond those, though, words escape him. All he can do is bend his will and intent on driving her up and over, reading the way she moves against him like a guidebook along the way.

<FS3> Opposed Roll -- Alexandra=Body+Body Vs Maxim=Body+Body

< Alexandra: Good Success (7 4 5 8) Maxim: Good Success (5 8 6 3 1 6 3 7)

< Net Result: DRAW

Alexandra has never been shy about her volume, except maybe trying to occasionally be polite when her roommate's home. This is not the case now: her voice escapes her freely in moans and hitches and curses as he draws her to the edge, even while her hand works on him with increasing urgency. Just as she gathers breath to cackle when she can sense him starting to tumble over, she ends up with her thighs trembling and her muscles spasming. She's left wrecked and breathless.

"{Shitfuckmotherfucker!}" Maxim groans as he falls, utterly defeated, but honestly in the best possible fucking way. He collapses onto his side, breathing like he'd just run a race, and his hand in her hair turns from tugging to gentle stroking. Wordless, that, a gesture of care and softness and adoration. It probably also makes her hair floof up goofily but he's not very good about caring about that sort of thing, it seems.

Alexandra is such a sweetheart. You can tell when she insists, still flushed and almost out of breath, "You totally started first."

Maxim peels one eye open, a herculean feat, and rumbles, "I had fingers inside you. /You/ started first."

"I had a hand on your cock!" Lexie argues back. "Why does that count less than your fingers?"

"Because it was you coming that made /me/ come," Maxim retorts, rolling up onto an elbow to glower down at her. His hair, which is getting a little long, dips in an unruly lock over his eyes.

"/Ugh/." Lexie glares angrily at that lock of hair falling over his eyes and reaches to push it back. "Why are you so /hot/," she complains.

"Why are /you/ so irresistible?" Maxim answers, then growls and sighs and scoops his arms beneath her -- with a momentary break to hitch his jeans up so that he doesn't trip over them. "You will be cranky until you win or I lose. Come. We shower. Then we have rematch, and you can show me just how good you are at destroying my self-control, witch."

"What's the point of showering, then," Lexie sighs, going all floppy and boneless sprawled in his arms. For most people carrying her, it'd be super annoying with her weight all distributed awkwardly like that. Not much issue for Maxim, though. "What is the or there? If I win, you lose. Both together. That is how I win."

"Because I can wash your hair and I like doing this," Maxim does not mind the flopping, though he does carefully cradle her head when he carries her through doorways. No bonking the Lexie skull. "Also, because next time I come it will be inside you, and this is less messy. And," here he pauses, looking down at her with a hint of smugness, "Even if I lose, I get to fuck you. This is not so bad for me."

"That is incredibly crude language and I can't believe you would use it in front of a lady," Lexie sniffs, like she wasn't using it two seconds ago. "Also, I'd blow you in the shower, but I don't want to give you an unfair advantage for after, so look what you've done for yourself."

"Usually I say it in Russian so you do not know how crude I am," Maxim swaps to one hand to open the shower and turn it on, letting the water get hot while he unsnaps her bra with one (talented) hand. He seems intent on undressing her, brow furrowed intently as he goes about it with care. His fingers hesitate as they drift over the marks he's left on her skin, skimming along them with the lightest of touches.

Alexandra cackles a little as she settles down onto her feet, although she quiets a little when she sees him hesitating over the early signs of pinpoint bruises her and there. She reaches for his bare shoulder to try and tug him down to her, even as she rises on tip-toe to meet him. "I wanted you to," she murmurs before catching at his mouth.

Maxim returns the kiss, smiling against her lips before pulling back and saying gravely, "Da, this I know. I trust you to stop me if you do not like. Also, you make kitten noises when you like something, so this I understood." He is a troll and awful and, shedding his jeans, he ducks into the shower with a merry whistle.

"I do not make /kitten/ noises," Lexie says, immediately indignant. She shimmies out of skirt, leggings, and underwear, frowning at the popped seam in the second. "You owe me new leggings, by the way," she says, still outside the shower.

"I can fix with needle and thread," Maxim ducks his head from under the spray to blink at her, eyelashes made spiky from the water, and he smiles that open unabashed smile he does sometimes when he's happy. "Do not worry. I would not break if I could not fix."

"Ugh," she says again, positively disgusted by this display. Lexie steps into the shower, presses up against him, and demands, "Tell me you want to fuck me in Russian."

Maxim curls an arm around her, palm at the small of her back, and ducks his head low to say softly, "{You have my heart in a vise, little one. And also I badly want to fuck you.}" It's a good thing she doesn't speak much Russian, probably.

"A lot more words in Russian," Lexie observes. She threads her fingers through his soaked hair and presses her mouth to his jaw before letting him straighten back up. "Do you ever have problems with oxygen levels?" she wonders as she steps under the spray to soak her hair.

Maxim shifts to make sure she has plenty of hot water exposure, picking up a bottle of soap, "Are you asking if you take my breath away? Da. I breathe like normal person, so. I can hold my breath for some minutes, though."

"I was actually asking about the high altitude up there," Lexie says, all wide-eyed and innocent as her hands comb through her hair.

"I am only high on you, my darling," Maxim replies with equal wide-eyed innocence -- but then he lowers his hand and gives her a playful swat on the ass.

"/Rude/." Lexie threads her hand through her hair one last time before settling her fingers light over his hips and bending down to press her mouth to his ribs.

"You will get soap in your mouth," Maxim chides gently, even as his eyes slide closed and he smiles.

"Your face will get soap in your mouth," Lexie responds automatically. "Better work fast if you want to live out your weird fantasies of washing my hair or else I'm gonna do it."

Maxim chuffs with laughter, but sets to it, massaging shampoo into her hair. He really does like doing it. So weird.

Alexandra lets him. Getting your hair washed by someone else is undeniably awesome. After this they will fight about rematches and all of that and hopefully Ciel will not come home before they're through. (For her sake.)

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