Work Text:
“Bad service again?” Max looks over at the back door, raising an eyebrow. Quentin just nods and shrugs his messenger bag off.
Every time either of them has a bad day, whether it be during a service or otherwise, they’ve just met up and shared a meal at midnight while talking the other through it and just overall trying to lift spirits. It started right after the first service with Adam as head chef, when he chewed out and humiliated David and Helene for the various reasons he deemed necessary. Quentin was outside of the kitchen doors folding silverware into cloth napkins, and it sounded horrible. When he walked into the kitchen to talk to Tony, Max was scrubbing at a random station furiously. They ended up eating extra food from the group dinner at around midnight while Max complained about Adam.
Quentin’s in his street clothes now, and Max has his chef’s coat off. Quentin pulls a stool over from the wall to Max’s station and sits down, dropping his bag down where it won’t get in the way of Max moving as he cooks. “How’d you know? And is that a cheesecake crust I smell?”
Max smiles slightly and nods, kneeing the handle to the oven he’s standing next to. “You walked out without saying anything to me, I figured you would be back so I never really left.”
“Aw, so you do care,” he teases, putting one of his arms down next to the metal bowl on the cold counter and laying his head on it, “Didn’t know you had it in you with that assault charge and all.”
“He plated the monkfish wrong three fucking times, Quentin, three fucking times . Fat fuck deserved it. You saw how he was.”
He does know how that was. Quentin was the one that called the police and led them back to find Max, chef’s coat covered in a blood splatter and severed nose in the fish locker. He was arrested and put into a French prison for a year, and Quentin confessed his feelings to Max right before Max got out, and they’ve been dating ever since. They haven’t even kissed yet, and Quentin’s completely okay with it. Max wanted to take his time and get used to the outside world again, and Quentin was just happy to have his best friend and the love of his life with him again no matter what.
“I hear Reece was this close to firing him before that,” Quentin lifts his free hand and pinches his fingers extremely close, “too bad you didn’t wait a week, he wouldn’t have had to hire you with Adam.”
He drops his hand and looks up at Max, who is currently mixing the cheesecake filling in the bowl Quentin’s head is near. His dark brown curls are falling over his forehead, and he looks relaxed like this. No screaming American behind him, just talking with his friend. He has a purple bandana tied around his head today, a lavender color contrasting the darkness of his hair. They’re both more comfortable like this, not having to just talk during smoke breaks in stuffy suits or chefs coats, sharing a cigarette or eating off the same plate during the after-service meal none of the other servers eat at. They all go out, except for him, Kaitlin, and Tony.
He must have zoned out while staring at Max, because the thing that brings him back is a metal spoon poking into his cheek and leaving the cream cheese mix on it in its absence. Quentin snaps out of it and opens his mouth. Max puts the spoon in his mouth, and Quentin gets a taste of the mix as Max pulls the spoon out of his mouth. It’s the best cheesecake he’s ever tasted, and that fact is evident in the look on Quentin’s face. He wipes the remnants from the spoon off of his cheek with his thumb and licks his thumb clean.
“Goddamn, Max, that was fucking delicious. If we don’t eat all of that tonight I’m taking it home.” Quentin looks at him again. He’s pulling the crust out of the oven, and it smells heavenly.
Max puts the crust down on one of the burners at his station and leans down, kissing Quentin suddenly for a split second before pulling away while licking his bottom lip. “Hm, you’re right. That is a good filling.” He goes quiet for a second before speaking again. “You had some on your lip.”
Quentin just stares at him, lips parted. He has no clue what just happened. Well, he does, but he doesn’t know why it happened. He just knows he wants it to happen again, but he doesn’t plan on bringing it up again just yet. “Yeah, did you not believe me?”
“A good chef always tastes a dish before serving it, does he not?”
“A good chef also doesn’t just leave the man he kissed hanging like that.” Quentin manages to make out again, albeit quieter than he meant it to be. He pushes the bowl to the side and hops onto the counter he was resting his head on, and Max moves to stand between his legs while kicking the stool to the side. The wood clatters against metal, hitting another station behind them.
“What else would a good chef do?”
“Well, he’d explain himself… But a three star chef would do it again because it was nice and a certain member of the serving staff who happens to be sitting in front of him would like it to happen again. And maybe explain himself afterwards.”
Without another word, Max kisses him again, a simple press of his lips against Quentin’s. Max’s hands are on the counter, right next to Quentin’s hips. Quentin braces himself against the counter, putting his hands behind him and leaning into Max. It stays soft, the two of them just sitting here like this for a moment or two before Quentin kisses him harder. Max moves to put a hand on Quentin’s hip, and Quentin lets out a quiet and raspy breath into the kiss. Max takes advantage of that and slips his tongue into Quentin’s mouth. Quentin moves a hand onto Max’s abdomen in a halfhearted attempt to ground himself. It just makes the situation all too real to him, and makes the blood rushing to his crotch leave him without a single thought in his head other than “Oh my God, this is happening”.
Quentin slips his hand under Max’s sweat stained undershirt, running his fingertips over the exposed skin right above the hem of his pants. Max groans into the kiss and it doesn’t help the warm feeling in Quentin’s crotch go away at all. Max presses his hand against Quentin’s crotch and Quentin whimpers into Max’s lips, finally managing to bring himself to pull away from him. They’re both breathing heavily, and Quentin’s lips feel swollen. A string of saliva connects their lips, and Max raises a hand to wipe it away with his thumb. Max’s usually-bright eyes are dark and blown, and his cheeks have a pink tint to them. Those pretty green eyes, filled with lust just for him. Quentin’s sure he looks the same, but he just rolls his hips against Max’s hand once to let him know he wants more. Max just presses his fingers down, the slightest amount of pressure on Quentin’s clit through his clothes making him breathe out roughly. He starts unbuttoning his jeans slowly, watching Max’s expression for any change at all.
“I… I think I’m ready now.” Max whispers, his Italian accent thicker than it usually is. Quentin’s never heard or seen him this way, and it’s honestly turning him on even more. It’s a side of Max that nobody but Quentin has seen in a very long time.
Quentin slips the hand on Max’s torso up more, slowly feeling every dip and groove of his sides, his heartbeat, his breathing as he pushes his shirt up on one side of his body. There’s a small rose just underneath his pec on his side and Quentin moves his hand slightly to let his pinky brush over it. It looks new, but healed. “I’m more than happy to do anything …”
Max shudders slightly and pulls his hand off of Quentin’s crotch to slip his shirt off the rest of the way, dropping it next to them. Quentin lets his hand fall and he lifts his hips as Max pulls his jeans and boxers down slowly, over his black sneakers before letting them fall to the ground as well. Quentin looks up at Max, admiring him. Quentin’s eyes slowly move from Max’s dark curls cascading over his forehead, down to his thick eyebrows and eyelashes to his bright green eyes to his high cheekbones and nose, and finally down to his lips. He’s soaking in every inch of the sight in front of him, shifting slightly to be able to spread his legs without them sticking to the cold metal counter underneath him.
Max slowly trails his fingertips from Quentin’s knee to his inner thigh, making Quentin shiver both with anticipation and because of how light Max’s touch is. His calloused fingertips feel amazing against his skin, and Quentin whimpers quietly. Max leans down and kisses Quentin gently before whispering against his lips, “Can you take your shirt off for me…?”
Quentin immediately obliges, unbuttoning his flannel shirt before letting it drop down around his shoulders. It must be a strange sight, still having breasts but chest hair covering most of what’s there in a thin layer of curly hair. It trails down in a thin line down to his hips, but thickens up more as it reaches his pubic bone area. He doesn’t look at Max, he feels so exposed and almost embarrassed. He’s sitting here in just his socks and shoes, feeling Max’s eyes all over him. It’s turning him on more, and Max stops moving his hand once he reaches where Quentin’s thigh meets his hip area.
“You are beautiful, Quentin… Even more than I imagined, you are perfect,” Max purrs out, “Can I touch you?”
“ Please .” Quentin whispers, finally looking at Max. He doesn’t think he’s ugly, or looks weird like this, and that’s all he’s ever wanted. Somebody not to look at his body like he was a mistake. Max rubs his thumb over Quentin’s clit and Quentin lets out a quiet sigh, trying not to move and to just let Max do his thing. But it’s shooting lightning bolts throughout his whole body, and he can’t help but breathe out after every slow circle of his thumb against the big bundle of nerves. Max is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and it’s not the hormones talking. He knows why he fell head over heels the first time they met, and it’s the way Max is looking at him. The way he always looks at Quentin.
Max starts circling his thumb quicker, a small smirk painting over his face when he sees the way it affects Quentin. His thumb slipped just slightly to be right on top of Quentin’s clit, and it feels so good it almost hurts. It makes Quentin’s breath hitch in his throat and it makes him wholeheartedly moan. Whenever Quentin’s played with himself, it never felt this good even though he was doing the same thing Max is doing now. He’s never genuinely been able to make himself make a noise while he was masturbating before, and nobody else has been able to do it either. Not the random guys he’s met at bars Kaitlin’s dragged him to, not Reece, not anybody. He can feel warmth welling up in the bottom of his stomach, and he weakly pushes Max’s hand off of him while breathing harder than before.
“Was I doing something wrong?” Max’s face softens and he wipes the wetness from his thumb onto his pants.
Quentin shakes his head, “I almost… Yeah. Too fast, would’ve been embarrassing…” It is embarrassing. He’s been dreaming of a moment like this for a while now and now that it’s happening he won’t let it slip by too quickly.
Max chuckles quietly and leaves a kiss on his neck. “ Amore mio , do not worry about that… I will make sure this lasts longer than that, I assure you that.” He moves his hands down to his waistband, and he undoes his pants before pushing them down just enough to get his cock out. Quentin didn’t realize how much this would be affecting Max as well, but he isn’t disappointed at all. “I am clean, I promise. I got tested as soon as I got out. Not like anything went on in there, anyways.”
The air around them feels hot and stuffy, and it couldn’t be a better feeling as Max moves closer and Quentin kisses him again. He slowly moves the kisses from his lips down his jaw to his neck, where a bruise is forming from a rogue piece of cutlery hitting Max’s neck in one of Adam’s hissy-fits. He puts his hands on Max’s hips and feels him shudder with every kiss, only stopping for a moment to whisper against his skin. “Then go ahead… Please just do it, Max, I need to feel you.”
He sounds desperate, just as desperate as he feels to have any part of the man in front of him touching him again. Without warning, he feels Max push into him, and he gasps loudly. It’s not a bad gasp, not in the slightest. He’s filling him up slowly but surely, and it’s making Quentin’s legs shake. He wraps his arms around Max and keeps his face hidden in his neck while still kissing over the bruise. Max grasps Quentin’s chest with one hand and squeezes as he bottoms out, rolling his thumb over one of his nipples. It’s hard from the cold air of the kitchen and just how aroused he is right now.
He feels like he could burst at any second, and Max lets out a raspy moan into Quentin’s ear before he starts thrusting slowly. He shifts his hips just slightly with each thrust. They’re slow but hard, and it makes Quentin dig his nails into Max’s shoulder blade every time he moves. Every squeeze to his tit and thrust and every little pleasured sound Max makes into Quentin’s ear makes him cling closer to Max. His legs are wrapped around Max’s waist and his blunt nails are leaving crescent marks on his bare skin. He’s moaning into Max’s neck, leaving small hickies he won’t be able to hide with his chef’s coat’s collar. Neither of them are able to keep themselves quiet.
Max snaps his hips in just the right way that makes Quentin bite down into the skin on Max’s shoulder to keep from getting too loud, and he doesn’t move from that angle. His thrusts get faster, and Quentin rocks his hips into them whenever he can. Every single one is sending a shock through his system, and he’s squeezing his eyes shut at this point. He’s tearing up, and that pressure and warmth is building up quicker than it was before. He doesn’t want to make Max stop, he doesn’t want to even speak and ruin the moment.
“Please…” Max makes out, whispering more sweet things in Italian into Quentin’s ear. His thrusts are getting erratic, and Quentin’s moans into his shoulder are getting more high pitched with each thrust until all that pressure releases into a wave of ecstasy washing over his whole body. He tenses up around Max, and that pushes him over the edge as well. He lets out a string of curses in Italian as he keeps thrusting through both of their orgasms, slowing to a stop after a moment.
Quentin relaxes and loosens his grip on Max, and Max pulls away just enough to where they can look at each other. Quentin’s hair is a mess and his cheeks are ruddy from what they just did. Max on the other hand, his curls are all over the place and some are sticking to his forehead.
His bandana slipped down over his forehead more and Quentin pulled it off entirely, making more of Max’s hair go into his face. Quentin runs a hand through it and manages to get some of it back the way it was without the bandana, but he wasn’t able to do much. Max’s face is just as red and his pupils are blown. They’re both breathing extremely hard, and after a second Max pulls out.
Quentin feels Max’s cum drip out of him slowly, and he’s relishing in the feeling. A dopey smile creeps onto his face and he unfurls himself from around Max. “I… I guess you have… Have to clean up more.”
“I guess so.” Max breathes out, laughing as he pulls his pants up. “Do you want to go back to my place?”
Quentin pulls his shirt back onto his shoulders and starts buttoning it, giving Max a bewildered look. “Can a man not rest for a second?”
Max just laughs again, bending down to grab Quentin’s pants and underwear from the ground as he grabs his shirt. He puts Quentin’s clothes on the counter before slipping his shirt on in one fluid motion. Quentin gets off the counter and pulls the rest of his clothes on, struggling a little because he still has his shoes on. Faint music is coming from the dining area, so Tony is probably in there doing his nightly paperwork. The last thing he wants to do right now is deal with Tony. “I’d love to go to your place, I don’t even care if David’s girlfriend is there at this point.”
“Why do you hate her so much?” Max walks off to a locker and grabs some cleaning supplies from it before kicking it shut.
“It’s not that I hate her, she just gives us these weird looks. Like we’re gross or something.”
“But does David not also like men?”
Quentin grabs a tasting spoon from Max’s little stash and scoops a little bit of cheesecake filling onto it, eating it before responding, “That’s the fucked up thing, how are you gonna be homophobic if your boyfriend likes guys?”
Max smirks at Quentin’s comment and makes his way back over to his station, wiping up the mess they made before spraying the area with bleach. The smell burns Quentin’s nostrils, and he just picks the bowl of filling up and moves to sit on Adam’s station.
[BURNT]
The small two room apartment smack in the middle of downtown London is filled with the scent of bacon when Quentin wakes up. He’s wrapped up in the dark gray quilt Max has had since before Quentin ever met him. It smells like Max’s body wash and like it was freshly washed, and Quentin just lifts it to his face. He’s too warm to want to move right now but the other side of Max’s bed is cold and the bacon smell is evidence of somebody else being awake. It’s obviously not Sarah, she hates cooking.
Quentin pushes the blanket off of him halfheartedly and climbs out of the worn down but still comfortable bed. The scuffed floor is freezing on his feet but he has no clue where his socks are. He scoops a t-shirt out of the basket of clean clothes on the desk chair and pulls it on before walking out of the bedroom in his boxers. Quiet conversation, the news, and bacon frying fill the small apartment and Quentin walks down the few steps from Max’s bedroom to get to the kitchen/living room area. He lets out a sigh of relief because he doesn’t hear Sarah’s voice.
“- Seriously, does he not believe that some people actually have lives outside of work?” David says, sleep heavy in his voice. Quentin walks around the corner and sits down next to the man bundled in a blanket he took from the couch.
“Adam again?” Quentin pipes up, plucking a piece of bacon from the plate in front of them while trying to stifle a yawn.
Max turns and puts the pan he was using down on the counter, nodding. He looks wide awake, but the large mug next to the stove explains why that is. “It is always Adam with David. It is always Adam in general, but especially so with this one.”
Quentin nods and rests his head on the counter, yawning quietly. Max nudges a cup of coffee to him and smiles down at him.