Moving Forward

What an Asshole (Prologue)

Max was home, finally. After months of exchanging letters with his sweetheart, who he'd been with since he was sixteen, Max was at last allowed to go home and see him. Although Max had never really liked New York, the big city had appealed to Luke, so that was where they'd ended up. Being from England, where people generally tended to apologise after bumping into each other, New York was a nightmare for Max, especially being a felid shifter - which made him especially sensitive.

And yet, here he was, waiting, standing in front of the door to his flat, feeling the excitement as he tried to find his keys. Sure, Luke could've picked him up from the terminal, but Max wanted to surprise his boyfriend of seven years.

And as he eased open the silent door, he found himself thoroughly shocked. For a moment, he couldn't think of anything. Not what he was supposed to do. Not what he was supposed to say. Not what he was supposed to be happy about.

Because there, on the sofa, was Luke. And a man he'd never met before. Naked. Fucking. Fucking on the sofa that Luke had always refused to even eat on because he didn't want to get it dirty.

"Are you fucking shitting me?" Max snarled over their moans.

"Max!" Luke cried and shoved the other man off him. "Max-"

Max bared his teeth - a habit that Luke hated because 'you're not an animal, Max'. The fucking irony.

"What the fuck Luke?!"

Luke shook his head. "Would you just let me explain?"

"Explain what? That my boyfriend's a fucking slut?"

"Hey now," the stranger tried to interrupt, but silenced himself with a glare from Max. "I think I'll just go grab my clothes."

Weakling, Max snorted. "You fucked that."

Luke nodded. "I- Max-" tears began welling in the other man's eyes. "I-I was just so lonely."

"We skyped. We sent letters. We phoned. And not once did you mention that you were lonely. If you'd broken up with me, I would've understood," Max's calm tone had Luke's tears spilling. "You went behind my back. You fucking lied to me. How long have you been fucking other people, huh?"

"Person," Luke muttered. "He's the only other person I've fucked."

"How long?"

"A-about f-five months." He hiccuped. "Max- sweetheart-"

Max cut him off. "It took a month for you decide 'oh, I know, let's fuck a stranger to make me feel better'? One month. You're so fucking weak. No wonder you weren't lonely." He snarled and turned on his heel. "So much for 'welcome home'."

At his best friend's house, he got a much better reception, but the entire time was filled with tears, ice cream, and mutterings of 'weakling' and 'what an asshole.'

That was where he stayed for a whole six months, with his best friend Marie-Anne, before deciding to move somewhere different.

Somewhere he'd never come into contact with that asshole again.