Orientation: The Benchmarks Series

and the way you kiss. I like the way you feel up against me."
Even at this close range, we still had to shout to hear each other, and I wasn't sure I understood everything Max was saying, but that didn't matter because I felt it. I felt the heat of his interest. The tight coil of his undivided attention. The burn of arousal low in my belly.
For the first time in an age, I was the object of someone's affection, and I enjoyed it more than I thought possible.
"Same here," I replied.
Max shifted me to face the stage and positioned himself behind me, his arms wrapped around my torso as he resumed swaying with the music.
Never in a million years would I have chosen an evening like this one for myself. My feet were sore. My throat was growing raw from all the shouting. There was a curious stain on the elbow of my sweater. And if I slowed down long enough to listen, I'd hear all the fears and worries and avoidance waiting for me on the other side of these good feelings.
But right now, there was nowhere else I wanted to be.
* * *
After watching the entire concert and lingering at the Lawn for a bit, Max and I hopped on the subway with the intention of finding a taco stand all the way up in Davis Square. Because that made sense.
"This doesn't make any sense," Max said as we filed onto a Red Line train with—apparently—half the population of Boston. And they were all drunk. "This is crazy. Where's everyone going?"
He led me to an open square of standing room at the end of the car. It wasn't much, but at least we could tuck ourselves up against the wall rather than jostling for room around one of the poles.
"Maybe they heard about the tacos too," I said.
Max wrapped his arms around me as a chime sounded and the train jerked forward. "I'll fight 'em off for you, babe."
With each stop, more passengers boarded and our corner of the car seemed to shrink. Somewhere between Downtown Crossing and Park Street Station, I found myself pressed into every ridge and groove of Max's body.
And, my god, that body was hard.
All at once, I realized my ass was shoved up against one hell of an erection and the sound in my ear was a low, ragged growl and his hands kept fisting and releasing the hem of my shirt.
And—for no other reason than wanting to—I rocked back against him.
A grunt snapped out of him, deep and harsh like a warning. "Watch it, Hayzer."
The chimes sounded again when the train rattled to a stop at Charles Street. Passengers forced their way in, driving us closer together. Tighter. Harder.
There were people everywhere and they were loud. Rowdy, even. And they were close enough for me to count their eyelashes and taste their beer breath. This was my least favorite part of public transit, though the cattle car anonymity of it all didn't bother me too much. Even if it should've cranked up my anxiety, it didn't. Just another reason brains were weird.
I squirmed a bit to avoid the person with the foul beer breath and—
"Hayzer," Max growled.
Since I loved the irritated pinch in his voice and wanted to see if it looked as sexy as it sounded, I shifted to face him. As I moved, the train lurched and I lost my balance.
"Seriously, Hayzer." Max caught me around the waist, twisted me away from the beer breath, and hauled me up against his chest.
That was when I learned two things. One, his cock was unreal. That beast would split me in half and I'd thank him for it.
And two, I liked Max enough to let him. Maybe not right now, maybe not tonight. But someday.
"Is that big boy for me or do you have a thing for subways?" Max asked, his fingers splayed on the small of my back.
"It's not the subway," I said, my forehead dropping to his broad chest.
"Didn't think it was." He held himself still, leaving the train to stroke my body over his. Another stop—and another and another—came and went, the train jerking and chiming and lurching as if dry humping and depravity were on the the secret menu.
Max shifted his other hand to my waist, twisting his fingers around my belt. That subtle shift jerked my hips back, just enough for him to shove his thick thigh between my legs.
"Go ahead," he rasped into my ear. "Ride my leg. Show me how you get it, baby."
This train was too crowded—and too drunk—to notice anything out of the ordinary. I was certain we looked like any other couple locked in an embrace at the end of an exciting evening. It didn't matter whether every jolt and bump of the train drew a groan from my throat or deepened the flush washing over my face. It didn't matter whether I wanted Max to slip his hand under my clothes and stroke me with the same assertiveness he employed to grip my belt like it was a collar and grind my shaft up his thigh. I knew none of it mattered and I knew we could get away with it too.
"I have some bad news for you." He dragged his scruffy beard down my neck and I shivered into him. "Very bad news, babe."
"What's that?" I panted.
The chimes sounded again. The passengers shuffled toward the doors.
He bit my earlobe. "This is our stop."
I felt like I was going to burn from the inside out. Like I was going to turn into a human supernova. Like my body wasn't my own but a swollen bundle of need just waiting to be stroked, sucked, bitten—anything. Anything.
It made me dizzy and delirious, and I didn't pay any attention to where we were going. Max led the way, ordered the tacos, sat me on a bench with orders to drink a bottle of water while we waited for our food.
Never in