Chapter Text
The air in the Wheeler house always smelled faintly of lemon pledge and Sunday pot roast, a normal scent that felt jarringly at odds with the hollow weight in their chests. They sat around the dining table in near silence, the clinking of silverware against porcelain loud and rhythmic in the absence of conversation.
Karen had served them generous portions, but nobody seemed particularly interested in eating. Mike stared down at his plate as if it contained the answers to questions he didn't want to ask. Will picked at his food. Dustin kept shifting in his seat. Even Lucas, who usually found a way to fill uncomfortable silences, had barely said a word. The house looked exactly the same as it always had, warm and welcoming and painfully ordinary, as if the world hadn't lost someone it couldn't afford to lose.
They had just come up from the basement after what felt like a final goodbye. Nobody had called it that, but everyone understood. They had lingered longer than necessary, wandering around the room that had once been the center of their universe. Every inch of the basement seemed haunted by happier versions of themselves. Leaving it had felt wrong, like abandoning something sacred, like closing the door on a chapter none of them were ready to end.
Karen hovered by the kitchen counter, a dish towel wrung tight between her hands. She looked at their face and was about to open her mouth to offer the usual maternal platitudes like you’re moving on to bigger things, college will be an adventure, etcetera. But the words died in her throat.
The Upside Down was gone. The rifts were closed for good, the ash had cleared, and two years had passed since the sky had torn open. But looking at them, Karen knew the truth. The battle was over, but the war inside these kids would never truly end. The scars weren’t just on their limbs or minds; they were stitched into the very fabric of who they were. So, she simply set down a pitcher of water, pressed a gentle hand to Mike’s shoulder, and left them to their quiet grief.
An hour later, the summer heat had softened into a cool, breezy dusk. The five of them crowded onto the Wheelers' front porch, sitting on the steps like they used to when they were fourteen. The night was still young, but they were stranded; the basement was officially off-limits now, currently echoing with the high-pitched giggles of Holly and her friends.
"So, what now?" Will asked, leaning his head against the wooden railing, his eyes fixed on the streetlights flickering to life. "We just sit here and wait for tomorrow?"
Max, sitting on the top step with her knees pulled to her chest, shifted her gaze. The shadows hid the faint lines of exhaustion on her face, but her blue eyes were sharp. "We could go to Stacy’s party."
Dustin blinked, looking up from where he was tying his sneaker. "Stacy’s party? Since when do you care about high school parties?"
"I don't," Max said smoothly, a tiny, familiar spark of mischief returning to her voice. She pointed a finger at him. "But you said she invited you, right?"
Dustin shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing. "Well... yeah?"
Max clapped her hands together, the sharp sound breaking the heavy evening air. "Great. Let’s go. We can be your chaperones."
"I don't need chaperones to attend a party," Dustin shot back, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that felt wonderfully, reassuringly normal.
"Well, yeah, I know," Max replied, leaning forward with a smirk. "But we all need a ticket to enter the party. And you, Dusty-bun... are our golden one."
Lucas burst out laughing, a genuine, rich sound that made Will smile, while Dustin just stared at them with a flat, unimpressed look.
But as the laughter faded, Max’s eyes drifted over to Mike. The playful light in her expression dimmed, replaced by a cautious, heavy consideration. They all felt it. It was an unspoken rule in the group. Every decision, every plan, had to be weighed against the phantom ache they all carried. It was still so hard to imagine having a life, to imagine celebrating, when El wasn't there to share it.
Mike noticed the sudden silence. He looked up, his brow furrowing. "What?"
Lucas shared a brief, understanding look with Max before turning to Mike. He asked softly, his voice grounding and steady. "Would you wanna come to the party, Mike?"
Mike looked at them, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, a small, faint smile touched his lips. "Yeah. If you all wanna go."
He sounded normal. He sounded like a guy who had just graduated, who was genuinely okay with a night of cheap beer and loud music. Like after two agonizing years, the wound had finally healed. But as Lucas looked closer at his best friend, he knew better. They all did. Mike wasn’t healed; he was just learning how to walk while still bleeding inside.
"Let's go to this party," Mike repeated, his voice gaining a bit more strength. He stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We only graduate high school once, and this is our first actual party, you know? We should go."
A collective wave of relief washed over the porch. Will smiled softly, nodding, and Lucas let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Alright, Dusty, all set up," Max cheered, her voice loud and bright as she stood up, the old, defiant Max fully taking the reins. "We're gonna party."
Dustin opened his mouth to argue, probably to complain about being used for his social currency, but he caught the look on Max's face. The desperate, beautiful need for just one normal night. He looked at Lucas’s encouraging nod, Will's smile, and Mike’s quiet approval. His shoulders dropped.
"Alright, alright," Dustin sighed, a fond smile breaking through his feigned annoyance. "We go there."
Max cheered the loudest, a sound that finally shattered the lingering ghosts of the afternoon. Before anyone could change their mind, she reached down, grabbed Lucas by the hand, and pulled him down the porch steps.
"Come on," she laughed, tugging him toward the sidewalk, headed to his house. "Get the car ready and I'm gonna change."
Lucas stumbled after her, his fingers locking securely into hers. He laughed when Max almost tripped and let his bossy girl pulled him inside the house.
♡♡♡♡♡
The bass vibrated through the floorboards of Stacy’s house, rattling right into their bones. By the time they walked through the front door, the party was already roaring halfway to its peak. Red plastic cups littered every surface, the air was thick with the scent of cheap beer and sweet perfume, and a strobe light cast frantic, jagged shadows across the packed living room.
For the first few minutes, the five of them looked less like high school graduates and more like lost children caught in a foreign country. They stood in a tight, protective knot near the entryway, shoulders tense, their eyes darting around the crowd. To everyone else, this was just a Tuesday night celebration; to them, a crowd of screaming people still triggered a faint, instinctual urge to look for an exit or a weapon.
But the spell broke the moment Stacy spotted them. Or rather, spotted Dustin.
With a squeal that cut right through the music, she darted through the crowd, grabbed a bewildered Dustin by the arm, and pulled him straight toward the makeshift dance floor. Dustin shot a wide-eyed, panicked look back at the group, but within seconds, the panic melted away. He was actually having fun. He threw his hands in the air, laughing as a few other girls circled around him, matching his goofy, uninhibited rhythm.
With Dustin successfully embedded into the high social scene, the rest of the group naturally began to drift apart. Will stayed near the edge of the dance floor for a little while, swaying awkwardly to the beat and watching Dustin with a fond, quiet smile. But eventually, the heat and the noise became too much. Needing a drink to cool down, Will squeezed his way to the kitchen, grabbed a cup of soda, and wandered back out to the relative quiet of the hallway couch.
There sat Mike.
Mike hadn't danced. He hadn't even really talked. Since the moment they arrived, Mike had been consistently, methodically drinking. He didn't look angry; he just looked vacant, staring at the swirling liquid in his cup as if searching for something lost at the bottom of it. Will sat down beside him, not saying a word, just offering his quiet, steady presence. Mike didn't look up, but he shifted slightly, acknowledging his best friend in the way he always did—without words.
Meanwhile, out under the flashing lights, Max and Lucas were in a completely different world.
They were practically glued to each other. Every ounce of the heaviness that had weighed them down at the Wheeler house seemed to evaporate on the dance floor. Max’s laughter was loud and breathless, ringing out over the thumping bass whenever Lucas pulled off a ridiculous dance move just to make her smile. They hyped each other up, moving together in a rhythm that belonged entirely to them, completely oblivious to the rest of the party. Every few songs, the dancing would slow, their arms winding tightly around each other's necks and waists, leading into breathless, messy kisses that tasted like sweet punch and freedom.
But as the clock ticked past midnight, the physical toll of the night began to show. Max’s steps grew heavier, her weight leaning more and more into Lucas’s chest. Her eyes were bright but glassy, a loose, carefree grin fixed on her face. She was, without a doubt, completely drunk.
Lucas, on the other hand, was doing his best to stay grounded. He had only taken a few sips of a single beer all night. He was the one with the keys to his dad’s station wagon, and more importantly, he was the self-appointed guardian of his fiercely independent, currently uncoordinated girlfriend.
Max stumbled slightly, a loud laugh bubbling out of her as she tripped over her own sneaker. Lucas caught her instantly, his strong hands catching her by the waist and pulling her flush against his chest.
"Whoa there, Hollywood," Lucas murmured near her ear, a warm, indulgent smile playing on his lips. "Easy."
"I'm fine!" Max cheered, her voice slightly slurred as she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder before looking up at him with a mischievous gaze. "I'm great. Let's dance more, Stalker."
"I think your legs are staging a mutiny, Max," Lucas chuckled, gently swaying her side to side rather than actually dancing. He looked at the flushed pink of her cheeks and the way her eyelids fluttered. He loved her like this. Free, unburdened, laughing. But he also knew that if he didn't keep an eye on her, she'd end up trying to do a backflip off Stacy’s kitchen island just to prove a point.
♡♡♡♡♡
Hours later, the dashboard clock ticked closer to midnight, the green neon numbers glowing softly against the dark interior of the Sinclair family station wagon. The frantic, neon energy of Stacy’s party was finally winding down, leaving the five of them utterly exhausted. It was time to go home.
The drive back was an exercise in pure patience. Lucas kept his eyes glued to the dark Hawkins roads, his hands steady on the steering wheel. In the back seat, the casualties of the night were thoroughly piled together. Dustin was slumped against the window, snoring softly, his signature hat knocked askew. Mike was staring blearily out the other window, completely drunk, his usual brooding intensity melted into a quiet, heavy-lidded daze. Will sat next to him quietly.
And Max? Max took shot gun but drapped across the consol, her head resting heavily on Lucas’s right thigh. One of her hands was loosely curled around his knee, her thumb occasionally twitching against his jeans. She was fast asleep, the fierce, sharp-tongued girl completely softened by cheap alcohol and sheer emotional exhaustion.
"Just take us to Mike's. We're gonna crash there," Will said from the back seat.
Lucas nodded, turning the car down the familiar, tree-lined street. Pulling into the Wheeler driveway, he cut the engine, the sudden silence of the night wrapping around them like a heavy blanket. Together, Lucas and Will managed to get Mike out of the car. Mike’s legs were like lead, his arms slung clumsily over their shoulders as they practically carried him up the porch steps. With practiced stealth, Will unlocked the front door—luckily, Karen had left it unlocked for them—and they guided Mike inside, setting him safely on the living room sofa. Mike muttered something incoherent about the stars before rolling over and instantly passing out. They did the same to Dustin.
Will gave Lucas a tired, grateful nod. "I'll stay here and make sure they don't choke or anything."
"Alright, then," Lucas murmured, offering a brief clasp of hands. "But I need to get Max home, so I can't stay."
"That's okay. You are the one who get the most difficult job," Will chuckled.
Lucas walked back to the station wagon alone. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and summer pine. When he opened the passenger door, the interior light flickered on, casting a soft glow over Max. She stirred slightly, leaning on the window, blocking the light with her forearm with a faint, discontented groan slipping past her lips.
"Hey," Lucas whispered gently, leaning into the car. He reached out, carefully brushing a stray strand of red hair away from her face. "Max. We're home."
She didn't open her eyes, just mumbled something that sounded vaguely like a threat involving his skateboard.
Lucas smiled, a wave of profound, protective warmth washing over his chest. He didn't want to wake her up fully; she had spent too many nights over the last two years tossing and turning, haunted by nightmares. If she was sleeping peacefully now, he wasn't going to break it.
Lucas moved the car to his driveway and killed the engine as fast as possible so it didn't bother his sleeping parents. Carefully, Lucas leaned further into the vehicle. He slipped one strong arm beneath her knees and wrapped the other securely around her upper back. With a smooth, deliberate lift, he pulled her out of the car and into his arms.
Max instinctively reacted to the shift in gravity, her hands reaching up to clutch at the fabric of his shirt. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, her warm breath puffing against his skin. She felt remarkably light, yet every inch of her body was soft and relaxed against his chest.
Lucas kicked the car door shut with his heel, the thud sounding dangerously loud in the dead silence of the neighborhood. He froze for a second, holding his breath, scanning the darkened windows of his own house just across the lawn. The lights were out. His parents were asleep.
Step by step, Lucas carried her across the driveway, navigating the shadows with absolute caution. Every movement had to be silent. He couldn't risk the creak of the porch steps or the sharp click of the front door waking his dad. Holding Max tightly against him, her weight shifting perfectly with his stride, he felt a sudden, sharp ache of reality. They were eighteen. They had survived. And right now, holding her in the quiet dark, the rest of the world felt beautifully, wonderfully far away.
Lucas carried Max down the hallway with agonizing slowness, his sneakers pressing into the carpet with deliberate care to avoid the floorboards he knew would creak. When he finally reached her bedroom, he nudged the door open with his hip and stepped into the familiar, dimly lit space. The room smelled faintly of her favorite vanilla body spray and old comic books—a comforting contrast to the stale beer scent clinging to them both.
He moved toward the bed, gently lowering her onto the mattress. Max let out a soft sigh, her head sinking into the pillow, her red hair fanning out like a halo in the moonlight filtering through the window.
Lucas knelt beside the bed, letting out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since they left the Wheelers'. "Alright, baby," he whispered, his voice low and tender. He reached for the zipper of her oversized denim jacket. "Let’s get this off. You reek of Stacy’s cheap punch, and you’re going to be miserable tomorrow if you sleep in it."
As he carefully slid the denim off one of her shoulders, Max’s eyes fluttered open. The glassy, hazy look from earlier was still there, but beneath it was a sudden, sharp spark of mischief. Before Lucas could pull the jacket completely away, her hands shot up, wrapping around his collar and pulling him down.
Her lips met his in a clumsy, breathless kiss.
"Max," Lucas mumbled against her mouth, surprised, trying to pull back just an inch. "Hold on, let me get the jacket—"
"Don't care about the jacket," she murmured, her voice raspy and thick with sleep and alcohol. A slow, teasing smile spread across her lips. She didn't let go of his shirt; instead, she used his momentum to shift her weight, tugging him closer until she managed to swing a leg over his lap, straddling him right there on the edge of the bed.
Lucas froze, his hands automatically resting on her waist to steady her. The sudden warmth of her body pressing against his made his heart do a violent flip. Max leaned down, pressing her lips to his jawline, trailing a path of soft, burning kisses down to his neck. Her hands slid up from his collar, wandering into his hair, gripping the short curls. She was getting bolder, her movements filled with a sudden, urgent hunger.
"Max, hey—stop for a second," Lucas managed to say, his voice straining as he gently tried to push her shoulders back. He loved her, and God knew he wanted this, but his brain was screaming at him to be the responsible one. "Max, look at me. You're drunk."
Max paused, sitting back on his thighs. She looked down at him, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her breathing shallow. "I'm not that drunk, Stalker," she whispered, her gaze dropping to his lips before locking back onto his eyes.
"You stumbled into the car, Max. You passed out on my leg," Lucas countered softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles into her hips, trying to ground her. "I want you. You know I do. But I don't want you doing something right now that you’re going to regret when you wake up tomorrow morning with a massive headache."
Max stared at him for a long moment, the playful defiance in her eyes softening into something incredibly raw, vulnerable, and entirely sober in its intensity. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his, her hands coming up to cup his face.
"I won't regret it," she said, her voice dropping all the teasing playfulness, leaving only a quiet, fierce certainty. "Lucas, look at me. I know exactly what I'm doing. I know who I'm with. I'm ready. I've been ready."
The sheer honesty in her voice cut through his defenses. He looked into her blue eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, but found only the familiar, stubborn determination of the girl he had loved for years. The girl who had survived the dark, and who was choosing, right now, to step into the light with him.
Lucas let out a low, defeated groan, the last of his restraint snapping. "Fine," he whispered.
He didn't give her a chance to answer. Lucas gripped her waist and gently, smoothly flipped their positions, shifting his weight so that Max was lowered onto the mattress beneath him. He hovered over her, his eyes locked onto hers for a fraction of a second before he leaned down and captured her lips in a deep, burning kiss that made her gasp.
The hesitation was entirely gone. Max’s hands immediately went to the hem of her own white tank top. Lucas pulled back just enough to let her move, his breath hitching as she pulled the fabric over her head and tossed it blindly to the floor, leaving her in the soft moonlight. She didn't waste a single heartbeat. She reached right back up, winding her arms tightly around Lucas’s neck, and pulled him down into another fierce, consuming kiss, drawing him into the warmth of the bed.
The room was entirely silent save for the sound of their shallow, synchronized breathing and the rustle of the sheets. Lucas shifted his weight, his kisses growing slower, more deliberate, as he moved from her lips down the sharp line of her jaw. Max tilted her head back against the pillow, a soft sigh escaping her as he pressed his mouth to the sensitive skin of her throat. He nipped gently, just enough to elicit a sharp intake of breath from her, before soothing the spot with his tongue.
Slowly, his trail of burning kisses drifted lower, tracking the warmth of her skin down to her collarbone and the top of her chest.
They had reached this threshold once before, months ago, in the quiet safety of his bedroom when his parents were away. But back then, a line had been drawn. He had never unclasped her underwear, never ventured past the boundaries she explicitly set, always hyper-aware of her comfort and the physical scars she carried. He had been content just to hold her, to kiss the skin she allowed him to touch.
Tonight, however, the air felt different. The ghost of their childhood was gone, left behind in the Wheelers' basement, and the heavy, protective walls Max usually kept locked tight had completely crumbled. She didn't want boundaries tonight. She just wanted him.
Reaching behind her back with a sudden, fluid movement, Max unhooked her bra and slid the straps off her shoulders, tossing it aside into the shadows. Before Lucas could even register the shift, she reached up, her fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck, and pulled him down against her bare chest.
A soft, breathless moan rippled through the quiet room as Lucas’s lips found the bare skin of her breast. He moved with an innate tenderness, his mouth warm and reverent as his thumb brushed across her nipple. Without the barrier of fabric between them, the sensation was electric, a sudden rush of heat that made Max arch her back slightly into his touch. It felt incredibly real, incredibly close, stripped of all the hesitation that had dictated their relationship for the past two years.
Eager for more, Max reached down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her denim shorts, trying to shimmy them down her hips.
Lucas paused, lifting his head slightly, his breathing ragged. "Max..." he whispered, his voice a low, warning rumble against her skin. He wanted to make sure she wasn't rushing, wanted to ensure the alcohol wasn't just fueling a reckless impulse.
But Max wasn't having it. She pulled him down by his shirt, cutting off his words with a fierce, deep kiss that tasted of absolute certainty. Her hands worked frantically at the denim, pushing the heavy fabric past her hips.
Realizing there was no stopping her —and truth be told, no longer wanting to— Lucas relented. He pulled back slightly and slid his hands down her legs, helping her tug the stubborn denim down her thighs and calves until it fell off the bed completely.
When he leaned back over her, he froze for a fraction of a second. The silver moonlight washed over her, highlighting the soft curves of her waist, the pale skin of her stomach, and the faint, faded silver lines of old scars on her legs. A sudden, overwhelming burst of affection and fierce, consuming love tightened in Lucas’s chest. She wasn't just his girlfriend anymore; she was a woman who had fought through hell to be standing—to be lying—here with him. To him, she was the most beautiful thing in existence.
Max noticed his hesitation and reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, pulling him back down to earth. "Lucas," she breathed.
He didn't make her wait. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a slow, deep kiss that carried every ounce of the emotion swelling in his chest. From there, he retraced his path, his mouth wandering down to the hollow of her throat, lingering over the steady, frantic flutter of her pulse point, before moving across the slope of her shoulder. He descended again, his mouth devouring the warmth of her chest, his tongue tracing light circles that made her entire body tremble.
Max instinctively slammed the back of her hand against her mouth, biting down on her own knuckles to smother the loud, desperate moan that threatened to echo through the quiet house.
Lucas looked up, a soft, wicked smile playing on his lips in the dark. He reached down, gently grasping her wrist and pulling her hand away from her face, replacing it with his own fingers as he lightly squeezed her breast. "Be quiet, baby," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick and teasingly low. "My parents' room is right down the hall."
The restriction only made it more intense. Another smothered groan escaped her lips, her hips lifting slightly off the mattress as Lucas’s hands began to roam freely, mapping every inch of her bare skin, while Max’s hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer into the heat of the night.
The heavy summer air finally broke. With a sudden, dramatic roar, a torrential downpour slammed against the windowpane, the rhythmic thumping of the rain and the low rumble of distant thunder filling the bedroom. The summer storm was loud, beautifully loud, providing a perfect, natural shield that would drown out every sound they made.
In the middle of their heated embrace, Lucas abruptly shifted, lifting himself off her. Max let out a soft, frustrated whine, her hands instantly reaching out into the empty space he left behind.
"Hold on," Lucas whispered, his voice thick as he slipped off the edge of the bed. He moved quickly through the shadows to the bedroom door, pressing his thumb against the lock until it clicked securely into place. With his parents' room down the hall, he wasn't taking any chances.
When he returned to the bed, Max was waiting, her blue eyes dark with impatience. As he leaned back over her to resume his worship of her skin, she hooked her fingers into the collar of his t-shirt. "Off," she demanded breathlessly. "Take it off, Lucas."
He smiled, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest as he sat up just enough to pull the shirt over his head, tossing it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor. The moment his bare skin was exposed, Max’s hands were on him. Her palms slid up his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone, her fingers digging gently into his shoulders. She pulled him down, burying her face against his neck, inhaling the scent of him, kissing his chest, and trailing her lips over his collarbone.
"Mine," she muttered against his skin, her voice fierce, almost possessive, a stark contrast to her usual guarded nature. "You're mine."
"It's all yours," Lucas whispered back, leaning down to press a deep, lingering kiss to the crown of her head. "Always have been."
But his breath hitched when her hands wandered lower. With the uninhibited confidence of the alcohol flowing through her veins, Max’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, trying to shove her hand straight down.
"Whoa, hey—not yet, baby," Lucas gasped, quickly catching her wrists and gently pulling her hands away from his pants.
Max pouted, her brow furrowing in a beautiful, frustrated scowl. "Lucas..."
"Let me love you first," he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, dropping a tender kiss onto her pouty lips to soothe her frustration. Max huffed, a dramatic little sigh escaping her, but she finally relented, relaxing back against the pillows and completely surrendering herself to his touch.
Lucas hovered over her, his heart hammering against his ribs. Slowly, deliberately, his hand slid down the smooth expanse of her stomach, stopping just at the edge of her underwear. He paused, his dark eyes locking onto hers in the dim moonlight, silently asking for permission, wanting to be absolutely certain she was with him every step of the way.
Max didn't just give him consent; she lost her patience entirely. With a sharp, breathless laugh, she reached down, practically yanked her own panties down her legs, and tossed them carelessly into the dark.
Lucas wanted to laugh at her trademark bluntness, but the sheer sight of her, completely bare and completely trusting under his gaze, sent a violent jolt of desire through his veins. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, while his hand finally reached down to touch her.
Max arched into his palm with a breathless, beautiful moan. Lucas shifted his focus, his mouth sliding down to suckle at one of her nipples, while his free hand gently massaged the other, teasing the peak between his fingers. When his finger finally parted her petals and slid inside, finding the tight, slick warmth of her, Max thrashed her head back into the pillow.
Her moans grew bolder, louder, completely uninhibited now as the storm outside grew into a crashing crescendo. Lucas kept his movements steady and slow at first, curling his finger inside her to map out the contours of her body, finding the sweet spot that made her entire frame shudder. He added a second finger, increasing the pace, matching the wild, chaotic rhythm of the rain lashing against the glass.
Max was a beautiful, moaning mess beneath him. Her fingers tangled violently in the bedsheets, her hips lifting instinctively against his hand, chasing the friction, searching for the release that was building just below the surface.
"Lucas—" she chanted, her voice breaking, a desperate plea wrapping around his name. "Lucas, please."
After a few more intense, agonizingly perfect moments, Max hit the crest. Her body went completely rigid, her back arching off the mattress as a long, shattered moan escaped her lips. Her internal muscles clamped tightly around his fingers as her orgasm washed over her in powerful, pulsing waves. Lucas didn't stop immediately, wanting to prolong the pleasure, but after a few seconds, Max weakly reached down and tugged his hand away, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
"Too... too sensitive," she panted, her eyes closed tightly as the aftershocks rippled through her.
Lucas smiled smugly, a wave of profound satisfaction washing over him as he looked down at his handiwork. He leaned over her, showering her face, her jaw, and her throat with soft, worshipful kisses, silently thanking the universe that they had survived long enough to share a moment like this.
But when he lifted his head to look at her face again, the room had gone quiet. Max’s eyes were shut, her features completely relaxed, and a cute, tiny little snore escaped her parted lips. The combination of the heavy drinking, the emotional day, and the intense physical release had completely knocked her out.
Lucas couldn't help but chuckle softly. He shook his head, a look of pure, unadulterated adoration taking over his face. Carefully, trying not to disturb her newfound peace, he slipped out of bed and walked quietly into her adjacent bathroom. He grabbed a clean, warm washcloth, dampening it with a bit of water, and walked back to the bed. With utmost tenderness, he cleaned her up, ensuring she would be comfortable, before opening her dresser drawer to pull out an oversized t-shirt. He gently guided her arms through the sleeves, dressing her for sleep.
Once she was safely tucked beneath the heavy comforter, Lucas leaned down one last time. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, then to her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her flushed cheek. God, he really couldn't get enough of her.
With a final, deeply affectionate look at her sleeping form, Lucas quietly walked to the door, unlocked it without a sound, and slipped out into the dark hallway. He walked over to his own bedroom across the hall, ready to get into dry clothes, get some sleep, or... well, take care of his own unresolved business before the night was completely over.
♡♡♡♡♡