Lightened by the silence//Max and Phoenix
He could feel it as he traced his finger along the curve of turquoise track that spidered downwards across the other male’s wrist. A steady beat, a pulse that was set to a gentle rhythm; echoed by the soft hum of his breath. Max let his finger wander down stream, blunt crescent of his thumb nail following the sinuous flow of vein until it became invisible about half way up his forearm. But Phoenix wasn’t reacting to the feather soft touch of the others thumb, his own eyes focused on the screen that was flickering; pixilated colour bouncing blue off the light coloured walls. Max sighed, attention span at that of five year olds, shifting slightly in his seat.
The two were sat on one of the two threadbare couches, tossed precariously atop were an abundance of garishly coloured throw cushions; unessicary bulges that his mother and Lavender alike had insisted on. The younger of the two was sat in between Max’s legs, head resting on his torso, bobbing up and down with every inhale and exhale.
“Can we watch something else?” he murmured into the others ear, letting his lips linger for longer than nessicary, only pulling away to retrieve the remote that was balancing on the arm of the sofa. It was peaceful. Things between the two always were, gentle hum of the television set filling the silence that was otherwise comfortable, with a unessicary purr of sound. Sound that wasn’t needed, it was odd really how natural silence was between them. How they could lie, without a single word uttered, for hours on end without the want or need for conversation.
Max’s eyes flickered momentarily to the side, eyes greeting the tiled surfaces of his lead in kitchen. Phoenix had made dinner and the crockery was still sat on the kitchen counter. Unwashed plates and sterling silver forks jewelling the granite in a display of laziness. Neither wanted to face the sud ridden fate that washing up entailed, so they left it, retiring to the sofa with far more enthusiasm.
“Monday night TV is horse shit…” Max muttered to himself, flicking between channels. Thumb pressing the plastic button with increased force as the options dwindled to that of the news and a poorly executed documentary on the Amazon. “Shit, shit, more shit…” he continued remote pointed to the box, repeating the same stations over and over in the false hope that something interesting would crop up between the rubbish. But that’s when the other shifted, the hips that were positioned between his thighs pushing back some as he stretched, Phoenix didn’t have to say anything but even Max was becoming bored of the routine, tossing the control to the floor with a nonchalant flick of the wrist.
“We’ll have to make our own entertainment wont we?” he said with an impish grin, tongue coming out to drag across the skin of his bottom lip. Max let his hand trail the skin of Phoenix’s forearm once more, coming up and over the crease of his elbow this time before swooping back down to rub the roughened clench of his knuckles. “Thanks for dinner” he said simply, placing his hands either side of the man’s hips pulling him closer, so the space between them was nonexistent. Max’s lips settling in quarry of Phoenix’s bent neck, folds pressing into the skin up and down the neck repeatedly.