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[ they don't talk about it, after.

wash wants to, desperately, but whenever he gets the chance the words stick in his throat and maine doesn't say much anyway so there's no bringing it up on his end. after his first few failed attempts, he stops trying and focuses back on his work and training, biding his time until he can find a way to talk to maine without floundering pathetically.

and later, when he's exhausted from the day's work, he retires to his bunk and jerks himself off to the thought of maine's mouth and hands.

two weeks pass, and wash is given an assignment and partnered with maine. covert information gathering, absolutely no one can know they're there, and a list of other bullets and points that wash honestly doesn't pay attention to. he doesn't question why they're specifically being sent on this assignment, nor does he particularly care. he just hears maine and that's enough to have him saying his yes, sirs before being sent on his way.

they're three and a half days out when they stumble across a derelict bunker and make camp for the night. wash eats, then disassembles his sidearm for cleaning, and it's not until he's completely finished, resting his gun in his lap, when he looks at maine full in the face instead of glancing at him sideways.

and finally: ] Hey.

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[Authoritative. Greedy. Things Maine can distinctly appreciate, even as he responds in kind, smirk sharp when Wash pulls away. There's a momentary huff, wry amusement cut through with definitive interest, and he instead lingers for a moment. An asshole move, perhaps, but he's never claimed to be anything less.

It's only for a moment that he stays himself, though, because with all the strangeness between the both of them for the past few weeks, he's not entirely in the mood for actual delay. Not that he'd even be given the chance, what with Wash already scrabbling at his his armor. He can echo that sentiment, though, and he pushes Wash's hands away, works at the latches until there's a heavy thunk of his chest piece hitting the floor and he's moving to shuck off his gloves. Momentary distraction, really.]

[ wash doesn't mean to sound demanding, but sometimes when he's caught between nerves and aggression, he can't help but react with force. maine is receptive, either way, shucking off his chest piece and gloves, and after a few moments of standing there and watching him, wash begins to follow suit.

fair's fair, after all.

he somehow manages to piece off his armor without fumbling awkwardly, even as he rushes through the motions. once he's stripped down to his undersuit, he's stepping close and pressing into the length of maine's body, raking his nails up his back. such awful fucking timing, is what he's thinking as he cups a hand over the nape of maine's neck and drags him down to bite a mark into his throat. horrible timing. the worst.

but, god, maine looks good, and wash doesn't often get the chance to be alone with him like this, away from the prying eyes of the other freelancers. ]

[Is it risky to devote attention to this while on active duty? Probably. In his current position, Maine couldn't care less, because risk and reward have always been such fickle things, and he'd much rather live in the moment right now than try to ever think through the consequences of his actions.

And right now, it's Wash's fingers curling around his neck, Wash's mouth at his throat, and there's really nothing he can be assed to pay attention to beyond that. Keeping his composure isn't necessarily difficult, but there's still a rough exhale with the sensation, approval and bemusement all in one.

Armor is discarded haphazardly, ignored for the time being in favor of fingers curling along Wash's shoulders, searching for seams and seals in his undersuit to start working it off. Wash has pushed, it would behoove him not to push back, because things have gone this far now, the interest is there.]