typewrite | (no subject)

[ 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.

Threaded | Flat

[Whatever could have come from things, it doesn't. The night passes, and everything goes back to the way it was before, no words exchanged and no acknowledgement.

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.]