Rating: PG-13 for language.

Pairing: Maxxie/Tony.

Spoilers: Anything up to and including episode 6. There are a few mentions of Russia.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, OK. Not mine.

Summary: It's the morning after another party and Maxxie finds himself in bed with unwanted company. One shot.

Strange Bedfellows

I've been lying here for ten minutes now, trying to ignore the slither of sunlight shining right in my eyes from the crack in the curtains. It puts a whole new twist on the expression seeing red. Turning my head away, I reach a hand up to cover my face; the bright light making me feel nauseous. Too much vodka had been consumed and I'd popped one too many pills. Last night had been one hell of a ride. I don't really remember much. The only reminder I seem to have is the unsavoury taste in my mouth; stale alcohol and smoke. It isn't pleasant.

That early morning sun still unsettles me. I groan, pushing myself up on an elbow, the fingers of my right hand rubbing over my sore and tired eyes. As great as our parties are, the mornings after are always shit. I need water, but I can't bring myself to move. Besides, I have someone lying beside me, their limbs tangled with mine. Moving isn't an option.

With a sigh I force my eyes open, staring down at my companion through splayed fingers. Shit. I immediately wish that I had remained motionless. It couldn't have been Cass, could it? This is the last thing I need. Tony sprawled out beside me on his stomach, one of his legs curled around mine and an arm slung lazily about my hips. His mouth is agape and he's snoring softly against my shoulder.

We are lying in his bedroom, curled up in the middle of his bed, and for once, we're actually alone. Fuck, this isn't good. This isn't good at all.

I stare down at him, swallowing down the lump that is gradually forming in my throat, and attempt to patch together the events of last night. But nothing comes to mind. I can't remember anything. I especially can't remember anything that will explain how we ended up in bed together.

Not that it matters. It's time to get out of there. Save my dignity. The last thing I need is for someone to find us like this.

The problem is, the moment I begin to inch my way to the edge of the bed and slide the covers away, I feel Tony's hand grip my wrist; his long fingers curl around my arm and he starts to pull me back down. When I moved, his head had dropped down onto the mattress, and his voice is lost against the sheets when he finally speaks to me. 'Where the hell do you think you're goin'?' he demands.

Is there the possibility that he thinks I'm someone else? Michelle or Sid perhaps? But then, I suppose that's wishful thinking on my part, this is Tony after all; he always knows exactly what he's doing and who he's doing it with. He gets off on it. Screwing with people's heads has rapidly become Tony's favourite hobby. And now, even after everything that happened in Russia, he is still trying to get one up on me. Fuck that. No way. Not again.

As I snatch my arm away from his vicelike hold, Tony cusses and there's a brief scramble as he moves to sit up behind me. To be honest, I'm thankful that I'm not sat there naked. Tony on the other hand could quite well be. I hadn't stayed there long enough to establish whether he'd decided to keep his boxers on or not before. But as he leans in closer to me, pressing his body against my back and begins to nibble at my ear, I find my question answered.

Once more I make to get away, ducking my head down and his teeth graze my flesh at the action causing me to whimper. 'Fuck off, Tone,' I mutter, finally finding my feet and planting them firmly on the carpet.

'Not what you said last night, Max,' he responds coolly.

Smarmy bastard. He probably has a toothy grin firmly in place, enjoying it as I squirm beneath his stare and at the sound of his words. But it's not like he has an audience right now, so what's the point in it. I turn my head so that I can get a good look at him, and sure enough, his trademark smile is in place as he casually plays with his dark hair.

In that instance I want to lash out. He's enjoying this too much. He thinks he's in charge again. In this moment he's Tony Stonem, popular, good-looking and loved by all. I'd like to tell him otherwise.

Tony rests his chin on my shoulder as he tiptoes his fingers across my back, walking my spine. 'Coming back to bed?' he questions in that casual manner he has perfected so well. The way the words roll off his tongue it's as though he's meant to be saying them to me. But he's not, this is all so wrong, and how the fuck did I end up in his bed anyhow? Where's everyone else?

Turning from him, I get to my feet and stalk to the door. I need to get as far away from him as possible. When I reach it, I place my hand to the doorknob and I hesitate, my head dropping down in defeat. I can hear him moving behind me, the mattress springs creaking as he gets up from the bed.

A minute later he's on me again, his hands laid flat against the door, pinning me there. It was stupid of me to think that Tony would just let this go. If he wants something, he'll keep going after it again and again until he succeeds. He's turning me into one of his games. Just like Michelle. He wants to be able to pick me up and put me down whenever he feels like it. But, unlike her, I can't simply ignore it. The games in Russia were bad enough, but this, this is so much worse. I'm not a toy and I don't appreciate being treated as one.

'I meant what I said,' I manage eventually, turning my body around so that I'm leaning back against the door and looking up at him. It doesn't help that he's stood there in front of me naked. Clenching my fist at my side I try to ignore the fact and concentrate on getting my point across. 'You can't play-'

He doesn't let me finish, covers my mouth with his own in a unique protest. It's unwelcome but I don't pull away. Tony tastes of pot and tequila and I imagine I taste much the same. The kiss ends up more feverish than I expected and soon my hands have found their way into his hair and I'm drawing him in closer, wanting more. At some point during the fumble I end up banging my head off the door and the sound is loud enough to wake anyone in close proximity. I don't care right now, neither does Tony.

But it wasn't supposed to get this fucked up, and even he knows that.

'See,' says Tony, breaking away from me. 'You don't want me to fuck off. Not really.'

I'm staring at him, that much I'm aware of. But I do want him to fuck off; I don't care what he says. I want him out of my thoughts and out of my head, and more importantly, I want him to leave me the hell alone and go and play his mind games with someone else.

'Everyone wants a piece of me, Maxxie. And even though you choose to deny it, I know you do, too.'

Tony cocks his head to the left. He is so sure of himself right now. Yeah OK, kissing Tony isn't so bad; I quite enjoy it. But that doesn't mean I want a piece of him. Quite the opposite in fact.

Biting down on my lip, my eyes sweep over his body and I reach for the door handle once more. 'I don't think I'm the one in denial here, Tony,' I say. He does a double take, blinking his blue eyes. It's like Russia all over again. He doesn't understand what I'm saying to him. He doesn't like it much either. And it's fantastic. 'See you downstairs,' I add as an after thought and then I open the door.

It's over now. He can't say anything else, can't do anything else. Chris is sprawled out across the landing floor, dozily burying his head in what looks suspiciously like my jeans and Cassie is sat at the top of the staircase, staring over in our direction, her eyes wide. 'Tony, wow,' she observes distantly after a somewhat pregnant pause.

Behind me, Tony's bedroom door slams shut.

No, I'm definitely not the one in denial.