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typewrite2015-07-03 01:47 am
fulminator) wrote in typewrite2015-07-03 01:47 am
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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.
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.
no subject
It's peculiar, feels some degree of confusing, but in the end it's easier to put things out of mind, go back to the grind of work and missions and anything and everything beyond having to sort through the intricacies of intimacy and interactions. He's always been the quiet type anyways, words and subtleties too difficult to really devote energy to. Best to let things lie, rather than risk the world.
Out of sight, after all. Certainly not out of mind.
Instead, memories of the instance are regulated to late nights, times when he can find himself the privacy to recount every small noise Wash was capable of making. Of the clench of fingers and the taste of salt and metal on his tongue. To think to hard though, it could easily drive him to distraction.
Which would seem to make things difficult when the next round of assignments are handed out. But no, Maine is professional, reminds himself to keep his thoughts in check when orders are handed down. Stealth isn't his forte, he's too big, too loud, made to distract and destroy, but he can put his faith in Wash and know that things won't go horribly wrong.
By the time they finally break for the night, it's a welcome relief. Quiet and caution are wearing on his nerves, and so he busies himself with taking care of his armor, running diagnostics, anything that can keep his attention for more than a moment.
But the silence is broken by Wash's voice, and it takes a moment for Maine to register it. He turns, glances over, blinks slowly to acknowledge that he's heard and to continue, and it's strange now, with the lack of words between them as of late.]
no subject
maybe that's not right. maybe there's too much he can say and not enough words for everything he wants to express. maine glances at him, lightning quick and with barely a tic of his head in his direction, and wash swallows, wets his bottom lip with his tongue and stares hard at maine's knee.
he doesn't say anything. the silence stretches on, broken only by the heavy clinking of maine's armor as he shifts, and the low, buzzing hum of the wind and sand outside the bunker. normally, wash wouldn't think of this as strange. after all, maine rarely has anything to say, and when he does, he's usually responding in low grunts and apathetic rumbles. his current behavior is completely normal and completely expected.
wash is the strange one, here. because while he's not as loud and rambunctious as some of his colleagues, he's also not a particularly quiet person.
minutes pass before wash stirs and sets his sidearm on the bench beside him. he breathes out hard and rubs a gloved hand through his hair, nails scraping down the back of his scalp until his hair sticks out at odd angles. ]
Come here.
no subject
He could be proven wrong, has been in the past, but nothing has reared its head yet. Hopefully wouldn't.
But Maine is a patient person, doesn't rush, doesn't prompt; while it may be strange, they have time. Unease and disconcert he can push back, he's not so green as to be completely thrown off by abnormal behaviour. If it's the wrong decision, so be it, he'll deal with the consequences as they come.
But it doesn't seem to be, because Wash is talking again, and it prompts a quiet rumble of acknowledgement followed by the scrape of his boots against the ground as he rises, makes his way over. Doesn't sit, but stares, one brow raised in question. what?[
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he's pleasantly surprised when he moves (and with a terrifying amount of grace for a man of his size; wash has no idea how he carries himself so fluidly). maine stands above him and casts a shadow that dots out the fluorescent ceiling lights, and wash looks up at him, silent, considering.
that could be the end of things, too, with wash saying nothing and turning away and maine eventually walking off to finish his diagnostics. wash isn't that much of a coward, though, even if he'd like to be, and for once he's not nervous, just restless and tired of his own bullshit and thinking instead of doing because shit, david, you'll never get anywhere in life this way.
maine asks what in arched brows and silent stares, and wash answers with the flicker of one hand up his thigh. he traces the hard lines of plating up to his hip until he can dig his fingers under the blunt edge of his breastplate and urge him down, and if he goes, to scrape his teeth across his throat.
an unneeded apology, maybe, and a piss-poor place and time to be digging up weeks old history. wash never claimed to be good at this shit. ]
no subject
Weeks ago this had been something, but memories of experiences had been summarily regulated to the back of his mind, pushed away in favor of never overstepping bounds, of assuming anything. It's such an inopportune place to draw back to everything now, an inopportune time, but something about that feels as though it works. Awkward talk or serious discussions wouldn't have fit.
After all, it had been with only cursory banter that they'd ended up together the first time.
Teeth he isn't expecting, it brings forth a surprised inhale and a warning rumble deep in his chest before he contains himself, but he still cards his armored fingers through Wash's hair regardless. Dangerous perhaps, the servos there mean that he could crush a man's skull with only moderate effort, but this isn't the battlefield, Wash isn't the enemy, and so the touch stays almost gentle, benign as he can be given the situation. No motion to reject the move though, more curious than anything else. Why this, why now, why.]
no subject
maine never has to say anything for wash to understand what he means, and wash likes that he doesn't have to speak to him in words. there's too much talking, sometimes, especially in freelancer, and the buzz of constant speech wears on wash's nerves.
this is different. and good. there's no room for bullshit in action.
the difference in size between them feels so much more apparent when maine is decked in full armor. with a soft clink, wash pushes himself against him and strains to reach as he noses up his jawline, catching his earlobe between teeth and tongue. ]
no subject
It's still awkward, but only in the sense that size still is an issue. Will always be an issue, if this ends up being more than a two off. That's too far to think ahead though, Maine would rather focus on the present, on Wash's attempts to reach. No tangible reason is reason enough.
Armor makes things difficult, it isn't surprising on any level, but it does inspire frustration again, momentarily forgotten with the small, sharp burst of sensation of teeth and tongue at his ear. The distraction doesn't last long though, and it has his hand moving, fingers straying down to curl along Wash's jaw and pull him away, direct him back so that Maine can awkwardly lean down, slot their mouths together. He isn't one to be so passive, and if there's no reason to give other than want, then he does want, doesn't feel the need to give further explanation.]
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can't be helped now. he's learned better, at least.
the kiss starts slow but turns sharp and hard the longer wash goes without air. he pulls back when his lungs burn and tips his head to nudge their noses together, fingers clawing at maine's armor until he finds a latch and pulls. ]
Take it off. [ impatiently, even as he's working on the task himself. ]
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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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]