Settle Into Home (The Cab, Ian/Marshall)
Title: Settle into home
Rating: R
Pairing: Ian/Marshall
Recipient: Alyssa/miserylovedme
Beta: why_me_why_not. (Remaining mistakes are my fault, not hers.)
Notes: Written for the cabfic fic exchange, autumn 2008. This is complete fiction, and implies nothing about the people whose names are utilized. If you got here by googling yourself or because a fan linked you, you should click the back link.
Summary: Ian and Marshall head to Washington for a break after Rock Band and touring with the Plain White Ts.
"Just so you know? This totally sucks." Marshall tried to keep the whine out of his voice, but it managed to bleed through. Ian would feel bad, but. He was just as tired as Marshall, and his own shift at the wheel was coming up soon. His least favorite driving, in the quiet, dark night on a deserted interstate, where there was nothing but the occasional set of passing headlights to keep him from being hypnotized by the rhythm of the road.
"We'll stop in another hour and I'll switch with you. By the time we need to stop again, we'll be close to Albuquerque and it'll be morning and Cash's turn to drive."
Ian couldn't really complain about getting the worst shift of driving. Under other circumstances, they'd have stayed in Columbus later with Tom and everybody, then driven back to Vegas over a couple of days, in plenty of time for everyone to have Thanksgiving with their families. Flying from Vegas to Seattle with Marshall along, with the intent to spend some time at home, introduce Marshall to his mom's side of the family, and pack up his crap and drive it to Vegas, had seemed like an excellent idea when they first planned it, back before the Rock Band Live tour started, before the Plain White Ts had asked them to open for them for a few more club dates. Awesome as they were - arena shows were his new favorite things, but club gigs and hanging out with fans who knew them and their music would never not be awesome - those extra shows pushed them a thousand miles north and two days away from their flights. Now? It seemed like maybe not the best plan. But the Alexes and Cash all agreed with Ian that they should capitalize on whatever popularity they gained via RBL and keep momentum by touring as long as it was a viable option.
Which left him and Marshall pushed to drive straight through the night to get back, dump their equipment in the practice space, and head to McCarran.
He let his head loll on the headrest and eyed Marshall. One hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, while the other tapped a steady rhythm on his thigh. Without thinking about it, Ian reached out and stilled it, winding his fingers between Marshall's restless ones. His thumb rubbed Marshall's wrist soothingly. Marshall glanced over briefly, then focused on the road in front of them, blinking and then opening his eyes wide in order to concentrate. Ian yawned and stretched a little, trying to shake off any residual sleepiness.
"Don't do that - yawning's contagious." Marshall's chest heaved in a suppressed yawn before he continued, "I'm sleeping the whole flight to Seattle."
"You can use me as a pillow," Ian offered.
"Dude, your shoulder is too fucking bony. I'm getting a pillow from the stewardess when we board."
Whatever. Ian knew that no matter how tired he was, Marshall would stay awake through Ian's leg of the trip. Then, the moment Cash's ass was in the driver's seat, Marshall would be tucked up in the back seat of the van, his nose pressed against Ian's collarbone, their limbs tangled together in a knot. Too bony, his ass.
* * *
"We are never driving that far straight through again. Ever." Even Johnson, who was used to marathon car trips with his family - when he was younger, his dad took the family on road trips to every National Park west of the Mississippi during summer breaks - was glad to get out of the van.
"Shut up and help me with this amp. We're almost finished." Ian just wanted the unloading done. That way, he and Marshall could do a couple of loads of laundry at Marshall's parents' house, and maybe if they were lucky his mom would make them supper before they crashed.
* * *
They were beyond tired, to the point that Ian felt drunk with exhaustion. Apparently it was visible, because Mrs. Marshall took their backpacks into the laundry room to start the wash herself, fed them reheated plates of supper, and then sent them upstairs. Both of them shucked their jeans and tumbled into Marsh's single bed, too incoherent to savor the fact that they were horizontal together in something more comfortable than a car seat, and slept until she woke them ten hours later.
Ian woke at her knock, and cracked an eye open when he heard the door open. She smiled when she saw that he was awake. Marshall's arm was dead weight over his waist. He was always slow to wake.
"You boys have three hours before your flight leaves. The airport'll be a madhouse today, so you should get moving. I've got coffee downstairs."
Marsh groaned a protest into the crown of Ian's head, and Ian grinned sleepily. "Coffee? I love you. Run away with me, please?"
She smiled and nodded at Marshall's arm, eyeing the way he curled tight against Ian's back. "I would, but it would break his heart. Breakfast in twenty." She closed the door quietly.
Ian turned, careful to hold onto Marshall so he didn't get pushed off the other side of the bed. For a second he just looked at Marsh, the sweep of his hair, messy over his eyes, and soft curve of his lip. He touched his own to it.
"Get up, Sleeping Beauty."
"Mmph."
"C'mon, Marsh. Big plans. Traveling long distances in a vehicle other than a van. Seattle. Turkey day in a place that has actual seasons."
"You are entirely too energetic for this time of morning." Marshall's voice was rusty, which did all sorts of pleasant things to Ian's nerves. He shivered, and Marsh's arm tightened, his palm flattening at the small of Ian's back, pulling him closer. Ian rested his forehead against Marshall's and tried to collect his thoughts.
"I'm just. We're going to see my family. We'll be at the cabin for a few days - it's gorgeous, you've never seen mountains until you've seen the Olympic Mountains in winter." He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop himself. "And then we're going to come back here with my stuff and look for a place." A place together. A place other than the van or a hotel room or Shane's sofa or the single bed that Marshall had had since he was four years old. A place that was theirs. Ian was beyond excited.
Marshall hummed an agreement, and his arm tightened briefly before he flopped onto his back. "Time's it?"
"Time to get up. You're mom's making breakfast. Think she'll take us to the airport, or do we need to call Cash?"
Marshall finally sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "Probably. I think she usually has today off." He looked around blankly.
Ian got up and went to the dresser, pulled out a couple of pairs of shorts. He threw one at Marshall.
"Coffee first."
* * *
Mrs. Marshall took them to the airport. Instead of just dropping them at the departures area like Ian expected, she parked the car and grabbed Marsh's backpack. She waited through check-in, and when they reached security, she hugged Marshall tightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Ian, to his surprise, received the same treatment.
"Call me when you arrive," she asked softly.
Ian knew that she wanted Marshall home for the holiday, and the only thing that kept her from objecting was the knowledge that they'd be in Las Vegas for Christmas.
"We will," he promised, hefting his guitar.
Despite his promise, Marshall didn't sleep during the flight. The plane was packed full of travelers, and they considered themselves lucky to have two seats next to each other. As soon as they were seated, Ian dug his iPod out of his pocket and offered an earbud to Marshall, and they spent the flight, minus the "no portable electronics" moments, fighting for control of playlists and going back and forth between Bob Dylan and Led Zeppelin. Ian was not-so-privately of the opinion that Marshall had spent entirely too much time hanging out with Brendon and Ryan on this tour; he wasn't sure he approved, given the resultant musical choices, even if that meant he did always have really good weed from Jon's stash.
When they disembarked and found their way to Baggage Claim, Ian's mom was leaning sedately against an inactive baggage carousel; Paige, on the other hand, was bouncing on her toes, waving a brightly colored "ROCK STAR WANTED" sign.
Ian sighed. Were younger sisters supposed to be a curse?
He hugged her, or tried to, but she eeled away. "Sorry, who're you, you freak? I'm looking for a dude from this cool new band. You might've heard of it. It's from Las Vegas, and--ooh!" She squealed, an exaggerated sound of excitement, and threw herself into Marshall's arms. "Hey, Alex! Ian finally got you here!"
Marshall caught her before she injured herself or him with her sign. "Hey, babe. How's tricks?"
"Awesome, now that school's on break." And she was off.
Ian's mother laughed at the pair, then swept Ian into a tight hug. Ian felt muscles he hadn't known were tight relax.
"Did you check bags?"
"Yeah, we just tossed all our stuff into one duffle."
"Is it enough for the weekend, or did you want to stop at home?" She didn't even wait for a response before she continued, "If we head to the cabin now, we'll make it across the sound before all the holiday traffic gets bad. Maureen and Jack and the kids are already there, and Will and Katie should arrive with the twins later tonight."
"Yeah, we're good. I need to go through everything later anyway, figure out what I'm taking back to Vegas."
"You're really doing it?"
Ian nodded nervously. He'd never flat-out told his mother that Marshall was his boyfriend. She knew that they were close, knew that Ian had been with guys in the past, but Ian had not actually said the words to her. He sort of figured that telling her that they were looking for an apartment together, that him bringing Marshall home for Thanksgiving, to the big family weekend at the cabin, was as much of an announcement as she needed. Paige suspected, Ian knew - she spent enough time on Buzznet to see pictures and speculation that their fans posted, even if she wasn't old enough to really understand details.
Ian's not really sure he understand the details. He and Marsh talked about looking for a place in Vegas, true, but they haven't talked about their shift from casual handjobs or blowjobs when they didn't have the time or energy to pick anyone up after shows to not fucking anyone else, even if they can pinpoint the moment it happened. Ian still couldn't separate the tangle of jealousy and utter want he felt when he'd stumbled on Marsh fucking a blonde outside the club in San Antonio while they were on the DATC tour. That night he'd gotten more than a little drunk and picked up his own girl - she'd blown him with the practice of a pro, but instead of the curly red hair under his hands and blue eyes looking up at him, he'd imagined sweep of brown hair and dark eyes watching as he came apart. The next day had been uncomfortable and awkward, and after an argument over nothing that ended with them fucking in the back of the van while Steel Train were on stage, neither Ian nor Alex had bothered with other hookups. Their relationship was negotiated with silent gestures and unspoken assumptions; Ian thought of Marshall as his boyfriend when he thought about them outside the context of the band, but he never asked if that's how Marshall classified them. A small, rarely-acknowledged part of his mind occasionally wondered if at some point in the nebulous, far-off future, they'd go from being boyfriends and bandmates and roommates to just being one of those things; Ian had no idea how he would handle that day if it came.
For all his experience with girlfriends in the past, Ian felt like he was stumbling blindly here. This was important. It was him and Marshall, but it was also more than them, it was the band. He thought it would be okay, hoped it would. But he wasn't sure, no matter how much he covered it with a grin and a laugh when someone asked. Somehow telling his mom steadied him, made him sure that it would work.
"Yeah, there's an apartment opening in Brendon and Shane's building." He hoped mentioning Shane's presence would reassure her. "Smaller, but that's okay - we don't need a lot of space. We'll be on the road again after the New Year."
She freed one hand from their hug and tried futilely to tuck his hair back behind his ears.
"Okay. I guess Paige'll start spending more time with your dad and step-mom's family," she sighed.
Before Ian could say more, the carousel beside them rumbled to life, bringing Marshall and Paige running. The other travelers crowded closer, but Ian didn't pay much attention. Instead, he watched as Paige conned Marshall into loading her Buzznet page on his iPhone, enjoying the color that washed his cheeks when he saw the pictures she'd posted of their last visit to Seattle.
* * *
The family cabin was only a cabin by the broadest stretch of the word's definition. It was built on the edge of the Olympic National Park before the NPS got vicious about boundaries and public use for more than day and back-country hikers. They usually used it heavily in the summer time, at Thanksgiving, and for Christmas, and lent it to friends the rest of the year. Ian hadn't been there for a couple of years, not since he started playing in bands and needing to be in the city when he wasn't in school, but not much had changed: dirt and gravel road off the main road, sitka spruces, snow-capped mountain views, and a clapboard house nestled in a small clearing. The house held multiple bedrooms, so it was big enough to hold all the cousins for their get-togethers; other than the master bedroom, which his eldest uncle and aunt claimed, the rooms were outfitted with bunkbeds, so they'd be sharing. As he'd explained to Marshall, they'd have time together, but it wouldn't be alone-time, not until they got back to Seattle and Paige went back to school and his mom returned to work.
Light glowed from the bay window, and as soon as they pulled to a stop the front door opened. Aunt Miriam waited on the front porch, but Kevin, Brynne, and Andy tumbled down the steps before Ian was even out of the car. Brynne headed straight for Paige, but Andy and Kevin didn't stop until they plowed right into Ian.
"You're here! We have all sorts of questions. What's it like? Are the guys cool? Can you get us their autographs? We really--" Andy's words stuttered to a halt, and her cheeks flushed the brightest red Ian had ever seen when Marshall climbed out of his side of the car. There was a flurry of greetings and hugs, and then they were pulling their stuff from the car's trunk and heading inside. Ian's mom - "Call me Caroline" - pulled Marshall into the great room while Ian dumped the bag on one bed and his guitar on another, staking their claim. By the time he joined them, the awkward introductions had apparently passed, and Ian was left wondering if his mom had left it with Marshall being his friend and bandmate, or if she'd elaborated. Not that he cared so much about some of his more distant relatives' opinions, but he didn't want the next few days to be awkward, either. There was no uncomfortable silence or pregnant pause when he joined Marsh on the sofa, though, so he assumed it's all good.
* * *
Ian's family had a few Thanksgiving traditions: they watched the Macy's parade; the kids always played an obscene amount of video and board games; the moms all camped in the kitchen to cook (and to gossip); the dads all watched football. A great deal of turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce were consumed, along with cider and wine.
There was a minor scuffle over the rights to the TV, which ended with the kids moving the PlayStation into the master bedroom to play there. Ian and Marshall, who weren't particular fans of the Lions or the Cowboys, joined them... until they realized that the game Paige loaded was Rock Band. (Seriously, the bane of his existence.) Even then, they'd have stayed, but the first song that queued up was One of Those Nights, and after an extremely long moment of watching as Kevin fumbled the controls, they left the teenagers to it.
Instead they retreated to their room, blessedly empty, since there were sports, leftovers, and games being played, where Ian pulled his guitar from its case. Marshall settled on the bed, his back to the wall, and Ian got comfortable so that he could hold the guitar in his lap while his legs were draped over Marshall's.
"What do you want to hear?"
"Play me something you've never played for me before."
Marshall's hand was a warm weight on Ian's ankle, and the guitar was a familiar presence in his hands. Ian let his fingers decide, absently strumming some Pink Floyd. He wasn't even paying attention until Marshall jostled him.
"Hey, hold on. Show me that."
"What?"
"That transition you just played, let me see it again." Marshall sat up, and Ian instantly missed him.
Ian replayed it. He watched Marshall, whose brow furrowed as he concentrated on Ian's fingers on the frets.
"Here." He handed the Fender over and scooted over, rearranging them so that he could put his arms around Marshall to show him the chords. They went through it once together, and Ian could feel when Marshall got it. He let his hands fall from the guitar's neck; they slid down the hollow body and between Marshall and the guitar, but Ian didn't move away. He stayed there, drowsy and content, enjoying the sound of Marshall, who usually stuck to his keyboards unless the song dictated a need for more strings, playing his guitar.
Marshall'd gone through the rest of Time and moved on to Tom Waits when Ian realized they were being watched. When he looked over at the door, Paige straightened. She smiled at them in a way that made Ian want to blush, and warned, "Mom's going to slice the pumpkin pie. If you don't get out here soon, there won't be any left."
* * *
They woke the next morning when Maddy and Jess squealed loud enough to be heard from the bedroom down the hall. They stumbled out behind Kevin to find the twins excited by the overnight addition of snow to the view out the window.
"Can we-"
"Please, Mom, please?"
"We'll bundle up-"
"We promise not to go far-"
"Breakfast first, girls. Then we'll see."
Aunt Katie sounded perfectly reasonable, but Ian knew there was a catch. There was always a catch: because they were basically out in the middle of nowhere, and they could easily get turned around and lost if they wandered into the forest, kids couldn't play without an adult out there with them. And from the way his Uncle Will was fondling the remote and discussing college football with Uncle Jack, he was pretty sure which adults would end up outside.
He tried to forestall it with, "Marshall doesn't really have winter outdoor gear, and I didn't pack any either," when the kids had abandoned the trough and gone to find their snowpants, but that only earned him a questioning look from Marshall and a waved hand at the hall closet.
"I'm sure we've got stuff you guys can layer."
"Mom."
"Ian?"
"Fine."
Later, Ian admitted to himself that it was actually fun. Not the keeping track of the twins, who wanted to play hide-and-seek in the trees, no. Seeing Marshall, all bundled up in multiple layers, playing in snow like he'd never seen it before, though, that was pretty fucking cool.
"I've been in the north before. Just, you know, while we were touring. Seeing the snow and ice outside the van window isn't the same," he admitted as he flicked at the heavy-laden branch of a pine tree, just to watch the snow fall.
"You never went skiing or anything for family trips?"
"Nah. My mom's not a big fan of cold. We went to Disneyland or Mexico for family vacation."
"Ah. So you've never built a snowman."
"Nope." Marshall ducked his head, hiding reddened cheeks for a moment before turning to check Jess's progress along the treeline.
"Never made a snow angel?"
"Uh-uh." Marshall still wasn't looking at Ian, so he took the opportunity to scoop up some snow and pat it into shape.
"Never participated in a snowball fight?"
"What? No, already, why are you-" Marshall's words were interrupted when Ian's snowball splattered against the side of his head. He looked stunned for a second, then he was gathering his own scoops of snow.
"Oh, it is so on, Crawford."
Shrieks of laughter brought Jess and Maddy running, and soon the snowball fight had become a snow-battle, which only ended when all four participants were in a snow-covered tangle, and Ian's mom called for a truce in order for lunch to be served.
They sat there in the snow, panting.
"Do you concede the battle, now that our minions have abandoned us?" Ian demanded.
"Never. I just need a little bit of practice, then I'll take you."
Ian grinned at Marshall, whose hat was crusted white with snow, his cheeks and nose brilliantly red, and flopped onto his back. The scent of pines made his nose tingle, and he stayed still, thinking about the differences between the hot, desert wind and the cold, wet air making his hair curl even more wildly where it escaped from his hat.
"Do you miss this?" Marshall's voice was quiet, serious.
"The snow? It's not like this in Seattle proper."
"No, I mean your family. Being far from home."
Ian took a minute to frame his answer; a serious question deserved a thoughtful answer.
"I miss Mom and Paige. But I always knew that I wouldn't stay in Seattle. Don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that Shane knew a guy who needed a guitarist. But if The Cab hadn't come along, I probably still would have moved to L. A. or New York to look for work in the business. Vegas just happens to be where you are."
Marshall studied him, but Ian wasn't sure what he was looking for, or what he could see. Ian felt tension stretch between them; he wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen, but Marshall flopping onto his back wasn't it.
"Alright. Next item on the agenda: snow angels."
He flailed his arms and legs a little bit, carving out the shape of wings and robes in the snow beneath him.
Amused, Ian hauled himself onto his knees and crawled over.
"You are such a dork. Seriously. Are you twelve?"
"Asks the man who started a snowball fight with me and his ten-year-old cousins." Marshall smirked, flicked some of the snow he'd dislodged in Ian's direction.
"I was winning, too-"
"Were not, you liar." Marshall's denial was accompanied by a fistful of loose snow, which landed on Ian's neck and slid down his collar.
"Motherfucker! Just for that-" Ian climbed closer to Marshall, and the snow fight restarted, and quickly degenerated into shoving snow in each other's faces, collars, and hair.
"Truce. Truce!" Marshall conceded, only when Ian managed pin Marshall's hips between his knees and insinuate snow-covered mittens under the waist of his jacket.
"Do you yield?"
Ian could tell Marshall didn't want to admit defeat, and he leaned down to rub his cold nose on Marsh's neck to encourage him. Now that he was in this position, though, Ian wasn't in any hurry to move.
Marshall shuddered in response. "Yes. Yes!"
"Say it." Marshall's neck was warm against Ian's lips.
"I yield!" Marshall's whole body quivered underneath Ian, a response to the chill and to the extra squeeze of his thighs around Marshall's hips.
"Good," Ian whispered against his neck, "I'm sure we can come up with a peace treaty with mutually agreeable terms."
Ian lifted his head; he had every intention of moving his lips to Marshall's lips, but Marshall shivered again, even without the touch of cold directly to his skin.
"Hey, it's not that cold out."
"Maybe for you. I grew up in a place where a hoodie was the heaviest winter jacket I needed," Marshall muttered.
Ian pushed up and staggered to his feet. He frowned when realized how wet Marshall's jeans and hat were.
"Come on." He offered Marshall a hand, tugging him up and leading him back to the house.
By the time they stripped off their outer layers in the mudroom, Marshall was shivering continuously. Ian herded him into bathroom and turned the taps on.
"Sit."
Ian gestured at the stool. When Marshall obeyed, Ian stripped off sodden socks and shirt, then gestured him up again, so that they could wrestle cold, wet jeans off. Marshall leaned closer, burrowing his face into Ian's neck, his nose cold in the hollow below Ian's ear. Warm breath on his skin had Ian shivering sympathetically, and he could feel Marshall smile before he whispered, "Warm."
"In." Ian had to force himself to say it, to drop his hands from the spot they'd migrated to on Marshall's hips. Marshall didn't make any effort to climb into the bathtub. Instead, Marshall wrapped his arms around Ian's back and brushed a kiss on the cord of Ian's neck. "Are you getting in too?"
And, okay, that was totally an invitation. Ian hesitated. It'd been days since they'd been alone together, and no one was around - his relatives were all busy having lunch or watching TV or otherwise entertaining themselves - but Ian didn't want to traumatize anyone. Then again, Marshall clearly needed warming, and standing there naked might be turning Ian on, but it wasn't doing Marshall any good.
"I'll get warm much faster if you're helping me." Marshall looked up at him through his eyelashes, and that was it. (He knew what that did to Ian, the tease.)
Ian's grip flexed on Marshall's arms, then, "Yeah, okay. Get in."
Shucking the last of his layers and locking the door only took seconds, and then Ian joined Marshall, who had the shower-head aimed to pour warm water down his back and over his shoulders. While Ian watched, Marshall's goosebumps disappeared, and his shivers subsided.
"Better?"
Marshall tipped his head back into the stream of water, clearly enjoying the warmth. Ian crowded closer, wanting some for himself.
"Hm." His eyes opened. "Yeah, but... here, let me..."
Marshall twisted, setting Ian off balance enough that they bumped together as he turned them sideways and leaned back against the tile. Ian propped an elbow next to Marshall's head and let his body come to rest against Marshall's, enjoying the way the water sealed their skins together. Marshall's lips were cool and slick against his cheek, but they warmed when Ian opened his over them, and Ian relaxed into the swipe of tongue and tug of teeth and the slide of warm skin beneath his hands, and the build-up of heat between them.
When the curl of his tongue around Marshall's elicited a whimper and an insistent squeeze of Ian's hip, Ian acknowledged Marshall's unspoken request by closing a hand around Marshall's cock, hard now, pressed between their bellies.
"I know you're okay if you're turned on - blood's recirculating in the extremities."
"Getting the blood pumping is an excellent way to combat hypothermia," was Marshall's too-solemn reply.
"We weren't out there long enough for it to be hypothermia." Ian's words were muffled against Marshall's neck. Despite his words, Ian thumbed the head.
"Ian." Marshall's voice was somewhere between a whine and a demand. Ian curled his hand more tightly around Marshall's dick and stroked from base to head, then paused. When Marshall whined his name again, Ian held his gaze and dropped to his knees. Marshall swallowed, and Ian watched as his Adam's apple bobbed, watched as rivulets of water ran down his chest and abs, over the cut of his hipbones, trickling over Ian's hand and Marshall's dick.
Ian blew out a deliberate breath and watched Marshall shiver in response. "Did you know that ninety percent of accidents in the home occur in the bathroom?"
But it wasn't an accident when Ian licked a stripe across Marshall's hip and took Marshall into his mouth.
It was hard to breathe, with water in his face and his nose pressed against Marshall's skin and his mouth full of cock, harder to do this than usual. Instead of drawing it out, Ian did everything he knew turned Marshall on: the press of his tongue to the divet under the head, a not-gentle squeeze of his balls, sucking harder just as he pulled back, then immediately returning, so that his lips met his hand where they circled the base. He tilted his head back to try to watch, which was maybe not a good idea - he could only keep his eyes open for second in the spray - and saw Marshall watching him, his eyes slitted open and focused on Ian's hand and mouth around his cock, teeth sunken in his lip. Ian wished for a second that he had another hand to get himself off at the same time, because Marshall was always hot, but having him like this was amazing. He was distracted when Marshall's hand cupped his cheek, pressing against the cock in his mouth, and Marshall's hips bucked forward.
"Ian..." Marshall's hand dropped to his chin, squeezing it in a warning, but Ian stayed where he was. He let the first spurt of come hit his tongue, and then drew back. The rest splattered his face and Marshall's wrist before the steady fall of water washed it away.
Marshall drooped against the tiles.
"C'mere."
Ian climbed shakily to his feet, letting Marshall direct him into a deep kiss. He couldn't stop himself from rubbing his hard-on against Marshall's hip as they kissed; he didn't care how he got off now - his hand, Marshall's, whatever - but he wanted it to be soon.
"You should fuck me now."
"I-what?"
Because Ian's brain was seriously impaired at the moment, but that was not one of the options he'd been considering. Not that they didn't fuck. But they didn't often, because they were always in the van (Fuck Singer and his stupid Van Rules.) or someone else's place, and skeezy venue bathroom sex might work for handjobs or blowjobs, but they had to draw the line somewhere. And they'd definitely never done it without lube and condoms.
Marshall groped for the shelf to his right and waved... a bottle of conditioner. When Ian didn't move, other than a (purely reflexive!) jerk of his cock, Marshall squirted some in own hand and Ian's. He propped his foot on the opposite lip of the tub, so that his leg bracketed Ian's hip, and trailed his hand down between his legs. His eyes closed, and Ian watched, unable to move. He could feel the muscles in Marshall's arm move against his stomach, and when Marshall hummed slightly, it finally spurred him into action. He swiped his fingers through the pool of conditioner in his palm and traced them down the crack of Marshall's ass. He hesitated, then lined up his index finger with Marshall's and pushed in with Marshall's next motion.
Which, okay, that was. The feeling of Marshall around him and Marshall's finger moving next to his? Hot. Apparently Marshall thought so, too, because his leg jerked against Ian's hip, and his cock twitched tiredly. Ian didn't want to be impatient, but the noises Marshall made were not helping him in the don't-come-too-soon sweepstakes. He added another finger, and then, "Is that-?"
"Yeah, do it."
He spread the remainder of the conditioner on his cock, braced his legs, and tilted Marshall's hips, forcing his shoulders tighter against the wall, and pushed in. It was awkward, a weird angle, and in the end, Ian tipped forward so that Marshall was bearing most of his weight. He set up an unsteady rhythm, and while it worked for Ian - because, seriously, hot, tight, fucking Marshall would never not get Ian off - he wasn't sure it would be enough to get Marshall hard and get him off again. He kissed across Marshall's lips and down his neck, resting his forehead against his shoulder, trying to gather what control he could muster. He reached for Marshall's cock. It thickened, hardening in his hand, and Marshall, Marshall squeezed around Ian, and he couldn't help it; his teeth sank into the muscle of Marshall's shoulder. In response, Marshall's cock jerked in his hand, and Ian couldn't stop his hips from bucking, forcing himself in harder, deeper.
"Fuck, yes. Like that. Do that again."
Marshall knocked Ian's hand away and started jerking himself off, and Ian braced himself against the tiles and complied.
* * *
They sneaked out of the bathroom wearing only their towels, and they were almost to their bedroom door when, "You boys have a good time out there?" came from the other end of the hallway.
Ian stopped dead and turned to his mother, acutely aware of the bite mark on Marshall's neck and his own kiss-swollen lips.
"Uh-"
"I never made snow angels before. Ian had to demonstrate proper technique," Marshall interrupted. His grin was broad, just a little bit wicked, and earned a raised eyebrow in response.
"Uh-huh. And proper technique for prevention of frostbite?"
"He's a pianist. We wouldn't want him to have any problems with feeling in his extremities." Ian practiced his most innocent expression.
She snorted, indicating that she recognized that face, and she wasn't buying what Ian was selling. "Whatever. There are leftovers in the kitchen whenever you're hungry."
Ian and Marshall retreated to their room for clothes as soon as her back was turned, laughing slightly hysterically in their embarrassment.
* * *
"Is winter always like this here, so calm, so still?" Marshall's voice cutting through the night's quiet wasn't unexpected; Ian had heard his footsteps on the porch.
Ian stubbed out his cigarette on the step and took a deep breath.
"Still? Yeah. I remember thinking it was boring when I was their age." He twisted so he could wave inside, where the kids were trying to argue that they were old enough to have wine with dinner, like the adults. A second breath, and then, "You'll see when we come back next year."
Marshall paused in the midst of sitting down, then settled, his shoulder against Ian's. He smiled and tipped his head forward in a single nod. "Next winter."
Rating: R
Pairing: Ian/Marshall
Recipient: Alyssa/miserylovedme
Beta: why_me_why_not. (Remaining mistakes are my fault, not hers.)
Notes: Written for the cabfic fic exchange, autumn 2008. This is complete fiction, and implies nothing about the people whose names are utilized. If you got here by googling yourself or because a fan linked you, you should click the back link.
Summary: Ian and Marshall head to Washington for a break after Rock Band and touring with the Plain White Ts.
"Just so you know? This totally sucks." Marshall tried to keep the whine out of his voice, but it managed to bleed through. Ian would feel bad, but. He was just as tired as Marshall, and his own shift at the wheel was coming up soon. His least favorite driving, in the quiet, dark night on a deserted interstate, where there was nothing but the occasional set of passing headlights to keep him from being hypnotized by the rhythm of the road.
"We'll stop in another hour and I'll switch with you. By the time we need to stop again, we'll be close to Albuquerque and it'll be morning and Cash's turn to drive."
Ian couldn't really complain about getting the worst shift of driving. Under other circumstances, they'd have stayed in Columbus later with Tom and everybody, then driven back to Vegas over a couple of days, in plenty of time for everyone to have Thanksgiving with their families. Flying from Vegas to Seattle with Marshall along, with the intent to spend some time at home, introduce Marshall to his mom's side of the family, and pack up his crap and drive it to Vegas, had seemed like an excellent idea when they first planned it, back before the Rock Band Live tour started, before the Plain White Ts had asked them to open for them for a few more club dates. Awesome as they were - arena shows were his new favorite things, but club gigs and hanging out with fans who knew them and their music would never not be awesome - those extra shows pushed them a thousand miles north and two days away from their flights. Now? It seemed like maybe not the best plan. But the Alexes and Cash all agreed with Ian that they should capitalize on whatever popularity they gained via RBL and keep momentum by touring as long as it was a viable option.
Which left him and Marshall pushed to drive straight through the night to get back, dump their equipment in the practice space, and head to McCarran.
He let his head loll on the headrest and eyed Marshall. One hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, while the other tapped a steady rhythm on his thigh. Without thinking about it, Ian reached out and stilled it, winding his fingers between Marshall's restless ones. His thumb rubbed Marshall's wrist soothingly. Marshall glanced over briefly, then focused on the road in front of them, blinking and then opening his eyes wide in order to concentrate. Ian yawned and stretched a little, trying to shake off any residual sleepiness.
"Don't do that - yawning's contagious." Marshall's chest heaved in a suppressed yawn before he continued, "I'm sleeping the whole flight to Seattle."
"You can use me as a pillow," Ian offered.
"Dude, your shoulder is too fucking bony. I'm getting a pillow from the stewardess when we board."
Whatever. Ian knew that no matter how tired he was, Marshall would stay awake through Ian's leg of the trip. Then, the moment Cash's ass was in the driver's seat, Marshall would be tucked up in the back seat of the van, his nose pressed against Ian's collarbone, their limbs tangled together in a knot. Too bony, his ass.
* * *
"We are never driving that far straight through again. Ever." Even Johnson, who was used to marathon car trips with his family - when he was younger, his dad took the family on road trips to every National Park west of the Mississippi during summer breaks - was glad to get out of the van.
"Shut up and help me with this amp. We're almost finished." Ian just wanted the unloading done. That way, he and Marshall could do a couple of loads of laundry at Marshall's parents' house, and maybe if they were lucky his mom would make them supper before they crashed.
* * *
They were beyond tired, to the point that Ian felt drunk with exhaustion. Apparently it was visible, because Mrs. Marshall took their backpacks into the laundry room to start the wash herself, fed them reheated plates of supper, and then sent them upstairs. Both of them shucked their jeans and tumbled into Marsh's single bed, too incoherent to savor the fact that they were horizontal together in something more comfortable than a car seat, and slept until she woke them ten hours later.
Ian woke at her knock, and cracked an eye open when he heard the door open. She smiled when she saw that he was awake. Marshall's arm was dead weight over his waist. He was always slow to wake.
"You boys have three hours before your flight leaves. The airport'll be a madhouse today, so you should get moving. I've got coffee downstairs."
Marsh groaned a protest into the crown of Ian's head, and Ian grinned sleepily. "Coffee? I love you. Run away with me, please?"
She smiled and nodded at Marshall's arm, eyeing the way he curled tight against Ian's back. "I would, but it would break his heart. Breakfast in twenty." She closed the door quietly.
Ian turned, careful to hold onto Marshall so he didn't get pushed off the other side of the bed. For a second he just looked at Marsh, the sweep of his hair, messy over his eyes, and soft curve of his lip. He touched his own to it.
"Get up, Sleeping Beauty."
"Mmph."
"C'mon, Marsh. Big plans. Traveling long distances in a vehicle other than a van. Seattle. Turkey day in a place that has actual seasons."
"You are entirely too energetic for this time of morning." Marshall's voice was rusty, which did all sorts of pleasant things to Ian's nerves. He shivered, and Marsh's arm tightened, his palm flattening at the small of Ian's back, pulling him closer. Ian rested his forehead against Marshall's and tried to collect his thoughts.
"I'm just. We're going to see my family. We'll be at the cabin for a few days - it's gorgeous, you've never seen mountains until you've seen the Olympic Mountains in winter." He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop himself. "And then we're going to come back here with my stuff and look for a place." A place together. A place other than the van or a hotel room or Shane's sofa or the single bed that Marshall had had since he was four years old. A place that was theirs. Ian was beyond excited.
Marshall hummed an agreement, and his arm tightened briefly before he flopped onto his back. "Time's it?"
"Time to get up. You're mom's making breakfast. Think she'll take us to the airport, or do we need to call Cash?"
Marshall finally sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "Probably. I think she usually has today off." He looked around blankly.
Ian got up and went to the dresser, pulled out a couple of pairs of shorts. He threw one at Marshall.
"Coffee first."
* * *
Mrs. Marshall took them to the airport. Instead of just dropping them at the departures area like Ian expected, she parked the car and grabbed Marsh's backpack. She waited through check-in, and when they reached security, she hugged Marshall tightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Ian, to his surprise, received the same treatment.
"Call me when you arrive," she asked softly.
Ian knew that she wanted Marshall home for the holiday, and the only thing that kept her from objecting was the knowledge that they'd be in Las Vegas for Christmas.
"We will," he promised, hefting his guitar.
Despite his promise, Marshall didn't sleep during the flight. The plane was packed full of travelers, and they considered themselves lucky to have two seats next to each other. As soon as they were seated, Ian dug his iPod out of his pocket and offered an earbud to Marshall, and they spent the flight, minus the "no portable electronics" moments, fighting for control of playlists and going back and forth between Bob Dylan and Led Zeppelin. Ian was not-so-privately of the opinion that Marshall had spent entirely too much time hanging out with Brendon and Ryan on this tour; he wasn't sure he approved, given the resultant musical choices, even if that meant he did always have really good weed from Jon's stash.
When they disembarked and found their way to Baggage Claim, Ian's mom was leaning sedately against an inactive baggage carousel; Paige, on the other hand, was bouncing on her toes, waving a brightly colored "ROCK STAR WANTED" sign.
Ian sighed. Were younger sisters supposed to be a curse?
He hugged her, or tried to, but she eeled away. "Sorry, who're you, you freak? I'm looking for a dude from this cool new band. You might've heard of it. It's from Las Vegas, and--ooh!" She squealed, an exaggerated sound of excitement, and threw herself into Marshall's arms. "Hey, Alex! Ian finally got you here!"
Marshall caught her before she injured herself or him with her sign. "Hey, babe. How's tricks?"
"Awesome, now that school's on break." And she was off.
Ian's mother laughed at the pair, then swept Ian into a tight hug. Ian felt muscles he hadn't known were tight relax.
"Did you check bags?"
"Yeah, we just tossed all our stuff into one duffle."
"Is it enough for the weekend, or did you want to stop at home?" She didn't even wait for a response before she continued, "If we head to the cabin now, we'll make it across the sound before all the holiday traffic gets bad. Maureen and Jack and the kids are already there, and Will and Katie should arrive with the twins later tonight."
"Yeah, we're good. I need to go through everything later anyway, figure out what I'm taking back to Vegas."
"You're really doing it?"
Ian nodded nervously. He'd never flat-out told his mother that Marshall was his boyfriend. She knew that they were close, knew that Ian had been with guys in the past, but Ian had not actually said the words to her. He sort of figured that telling her that they were looking for an apartment together, that him bringing Marshall home for Thanksgiving, to the big family weekend at the cabin, was as much of an announcement as she needed. Paige suspected, Ian knew - she spent enough time on Buzznet to see pictures and speculation that their fans posted, even if she wasn't old enough to really understand details.
Ian's not really sure he understand the details. He and Marsh talked about looking for a place in Vegas, true, but they haven't talked about their shift from casual handjobs or blowjobs when they didn't have the time or energy to pick anyone up after shows to not fucking anyone else, even if they can pinpoint the moment it happened. Ian still couldn't separate the tangle of jealousy and utter want he felt when he'd stumbled on Marsh fucking a blonde outside the club in San Antonio while they were on the DATC tour. That night he'd gotten more than a little drunk and picked up his own girl - she'd blown him with the practice of a pro, but instead of the curly red hair under his hands and blue eyes looking up at him, he'd imagined sweep of brown hair and dark eyes watching as he came apart. The next day had been uncomfortable and awkward, and after an argument over nothing that ended with them fucking in the back of the van while Steel Train were on stage, neither Ian nor Alex had bothered with other hookups. Their relationship was negotiated with silent gestures and unspoken assumptions; Ian thought of Marshall as his boyfriend when he thought about them outside the context of the band, but he never asked if that's how Marshall classified them. A small, rarely-acknowledged part of his mind occasionally wondered if at some point in the nebulous, far-off future, they'd go from being boyfriends and bandmates and roommates to just being one of those things; Ian had no idea how he would handle that day if it came.
For all his experience with girlfriends in the past, Ian felt like he was stumbling blindly here. This was important. It was him and Marshall, but it was also more than them, it was the band. He thought it would be okay, hoped it would. But he wasn't sure, no matter how much he covered it with a grin and a laugh when someone asked. Somehow telling his mom steadied him, made him sure that it would work.
"Yeah, there's an apartment opening in Brendon and Shane's building." He hoped mentioning Shane's presence would reassure her. "Smaller, but that's okay - we don't need a lot of space. We'll be on the road again after the New Year."
She freed one hand from their hug and tried futilely to tuck his hair back behind his ears.
"Okay. I guess Paige'll start spending more time with your dad and step-mom's family," she sighed.
Before Ian could say more, the carousel beside them rumbled to life, bringing Marshall and Paige running. The other travelers crowded closer, but Ian didn't pay much attention. Instead, he watched as Paige conned Marshall into loading her Buzznet page on his iPhone, enjoying the color that washed his cheeks when he saw the pictures she'd posted of their last visit to Seattle.
* * *
The family cabin was only a cabin by the broadest stretch of the word's definition. It was built on the edge of the Olympic National Park before the NPS got vicious about boundaries and public use for more than day and back-country hikers. They usually used it heavily in the summer time, at Thanksgiving, and for Christmas, and lent it to friends the rest of the year. Ian hadn't been there for a couple of years, not since he started playing in bands and needing to be in the city when he wasn't in school, but not much had changed: dirt and gravel road off the main road, sitka spruces, snow-capped mountain views, and a clapboard house nestled in a small clearing. The house held multiple bedrooms, so it was big enough to hold all the cousins for their get-togethers; other than the master bedroom, which his eldest uncle and aunt claimed, the rooms were outfitted with bunkbeds, so they'd be sharing. As he'd explained to Marshall, they'd have time together, but it wouldn't be alone-time, not until they got back to Seattle and Paige went back to school and his mom returned to work.
Light glowed from the bay window, and as soon as they pulled to a stop the front door opened. Aunt Miriam waited on the front porch, but Kevin, Brynne, and Andy tumbled down the steps before Ian was even out of the car. Brynne headed straight for Paige, but Andy and Kevin didn't stop until they plowed right into Ian.
"You're here! We have all sorts of questions. What's it like? Are the guys cool? Can you get us their autographs? We really--" Andy's words stuttered to a halt, and her cheeks flushed the brightest red Ian had ever seen when Marshall climbed out of his side of the car. There was a flurry of greetings and hugs, and then they were pulling their stuff from the car's trunk and heading inside. Ian's mom - "Call me Caroline" - pulled Marshall into the great room while Ian dumped the bag on one bed and his guitar on another, staking their claim. By the time he joined them, the awkward introductions had apparently passed, and Ian was left wondering if his mom had left it with Marshall being his friend and bandmate, or if she'd elaborated. Not that he cared so much about some of his more distant relatives' opinions, but he didn't want the next few days to be awkward, either. There was no uncomfortable silence or pregnant pause when he joined Marsh on the sofa, though, so he assumed it's all good.
* * *
Ian's family had a few Thanksgiving traditions: they watched the Macy's parade; the kids always played an obscene amount of video and board games; the moms all camped in the kitchen to cook (and to gossip); the dads all watched football. A great deal of turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce were consumed, along with cider and wine.
There was a minor scuffle over the rights to the TV, which ended with the kids moving the PlayStation into the master bedroom to play there. Ian and Marshall, who weren't particular fans of the Lions or the Cowboys, joined them... until they realized that the game Paige loaded was Rock Band. (Seriously, the bane of his existence.) Even then, they'd have stayed, but the first song that queued up was One of Those Nights, and after an extremely long moment of watching as Kevin fumbled the controls, they left the teenagers to it.
Instead they retreated to their room, blessedly empty, since there were sports, leftovers, and games being played, where Ian pulled his guitar from its case. Marshall settled on the bed, his back to the wall, and Ian got comfortable so that he could hold the guitar in his lap while his legs were draped over Marshall's.
"What do you want to hear?"
"Play me something you've never played for me before."
Marshall's hand was a warm weight on Ian's ankle, and the guitar was a familiar presence in his hands. Ian let his fingers decide, absently strumming some Pink Floyd. He wasn't even paying attention until Marshall jostled him.
"Hey, hold on. Show me that."
"What?"
"That transition you just played, let me see it again." Marshall sat up, and Ian instantly missed him.
Ian replayed it. He watched Marshall, whose brow furrowed as he concentrated on Ian's fingers on the frets.
"Here." He handed the Fender over and scooted over, rearranging them so that he could put his arms around Marshall to show him the chords. They went through it once together, and Ian could feel when Marshall got it. He let his hands fall from the guitar's neck; they slid down the hollow body and between Marshall and the guitar, but Ian didn't move away. He stayed there, drowsy and content, enjoying the sound of Marshall, who usually stuck to his keyboards unless the song dictated a need for more strings, playing his guitar.
Marshall'd gone through the rest of Time and moved on to Tom Waits when Ian realized they were being watched. When he looked over at the door, Paige straightened. She smiled at them in a way that made Ian want to blush, and warned, "Mom's going to slice the pumpkin pie. If you don't get out here soon, there won't be any left."
* * *
They woke the next morning when Maddy and Jess squealed loud enough to be heard from the bedroom down the hall. They stumbled out behind Kevin to find the twins excited by the overnight addition of snow to the view out the window.
"Can we-"
"Please, Mom, please?"
"We'll bundle up-"
"We promise not to go far-"
"Breakfast first, girls. Then we'll see."
Aunt Katie sounded perfectly reasonable, but Ian knew there was a catch. There was always a catch: because they were basically out in the middle of nowhere, and they could easily get turned around and lost if they wandered into the forest, kids couldn't play without an adult out there with them. And from the way his Uncle Will was fondling the remote and discussing college football with Uncle Jack, he was pretty sure which adults would end up outside.
He tried to forestall it with, "Marshall doesn't really have winter outdoor gear, and I didn't pack any either," when the kids had abandoned the trough and gone to find their snowpants, but that only earned him a questioning look from Marshall and a waved hand at the hall closet.
"I'm sure we've got stuff you guys can layer."
"Mom."
"Ian?"
"Fine."
Later, Ian admitted to himself that it was actually fun. Not the keeping track of the twins, who wanted to play hide-and-seek in the trees, no. Seeing Marshall, all bundled up in multiple layers, playing in snow like he'd never seen it before, though, that was pretty fucking cool.
"I've been in the north before. Just, you know, while we were touring. Seeing the snow and ice outside the van window isn't the same," he admitted as he flicked at the heavy-laden branch of a pine tree, just to watch the snow fall.
"You never went skiing or anything for family trips?"
"Nah. My mom's not a big fan of cold. We went to Disneyland or Mexico for family vacation."
"Ah. So you've never built a snowman."
"Nope." Marshall ducked his head, hiding reddened cheeks for a moment before turning to check Jess's progress along the treeline.
"Never made a snow angel?"
"Uh-uh." Marshall still wasn't looking at Ian, so he took the opportunity to scoop up some snow and pat it into shape.
"Never participated in a snowball fight?"
"What? No, already, why are you-" Marshall's words were interrupted when Ian's snowball splattered against the side of his head. He looked stunned for a second, then he was gathering his own scoops of snow.
"Oh, it is so on, Crawford."
Shrieks of laughter brought Jess and Maddy running, and soon the snowball fight had become a snow-battle, which only ended when all four participants were in a snow-covered tangle, and Ian's mom called for a truce in order for lunch to be served.
They sat there in the snow, panting.
"Do you concede the battle, now that our minions have abandoned us?" Ian demanded.
"Never. I just need a little bit of practice, then I'll take you."
Ian grinned at Marshall, whose hat was crusted white with snow, his cheeks and nose brilliantly red, and flopped onto his back. The scent of pines made his nose tingle, and he stayed still, thinking about the differences between the hot, desert wind and the cold, wet air making his hair curl even more wildly where it escaped from his hat.
"Do you miss this?" Marshall's voice was quiet, serious.
"The snow? It's not like this in Seattle proper."
"No, I mean your family. Being far from home."
Ian took a minute to frame his answer; a serious question deserved a thoughtful answer.
"I miss Mom and Paige. But I always knew that I wouldn't stay in Seattle. Don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that Shane knew a guy who needed a guitarist. But if The Cab hadn't come along, I probably still would have moved to L. A. or New York to look for work in the business. Vegas just happens to be where you are."
Marshall studied him, but Ian wasn't sure what he was looking for, or what he could see. Ian felt tension stretch between them; he wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen, but Marshall flopping onto his back wasn't it.
"Alright. Next item on the agenda: snow angels."
He flailed his arms and legs a little bit, carving out the shape of wings and robes in the snow beneath him.
Amused, Ian hauled himself onto his knees and crawled over.
"You are such a dork. Seriously. Are you twelve?"
"Asks the man who started a snowball fight with me and his ten-year-old cousins." Marshall smirked, flicked some of the snow he'd dislodged in Ian's direction.
"I was winning, too-"
"Were not, you liar." Marshall's denial was accompanied by a fistful of loose snow, which landed on Ian's neck and slid down his collar.
"Motherfucker! Just for that-" Ian climbed closer to Marshall, and the snow fight restarted, and quickly degenerated into shoving snow in each other's faces, collars, and hair.
"Truce. Truce!" Marshall conceded, only when Ian managed pin Marshall's hips between his knees and insinuate snow-covered mittens under the waist of his jacket.
"Do you yield?"
Ian could tell Marshall didn't want to admit defeat, and he leaned down to rub his cold nose on Marsh's neck to encourage him. Now that he was in this position, though, Ian wasn't in any hurry to move.
Marshall shuddered in response. "Yes. Yes!"
"Say it." Marshall's neck was warm against Ian's lips.
"I yield!" Marshall's whole body quivered underneath Ian, a response to the chill and to the extra squeeze of his thighs around Marshall's hips.
"Good," Ian whispered against his neck, "I'm sure we can come up with a peace treaty with mutually agreeable terms."
Ian lifted his head; he had every intention of moving his lips to Marshall's lips, but Marshall shivered again, even without the touch of cold directly to his skin.
"Hey, it's not that cold out."
"Maybe for you. I grew up in a place where a hoodie was the heaviest winter jacket I needed," Marshall muttered.
Ian pushed up and staggered to his feet. He frowned when realized how wet Marshall's jeans and hat were.
"Come on." He offered Marshall a hand, tugging him up and leading him back to the house.
By the time they stripped off their outer layers in the mudroom, Marshall was shivering continuously. Ian herded him into bathroom and turned the taps on.
"Sit."
Ian gestured at the stool. When Marshall obeyed, Ian stripped off sodden socks and shirt, then gestured him up again, so that they could wrestle cold, wet jeans off. Marshall leaned closer, burrowing his face into Ian's neck, his nose cold in the hollow below Ian's ear. Warm breath on his skin had Ian shivering sympathetically, and he could feel Marshall smile before he whispered, "Warm."
"In." Ian had to force himself to say it, to drop his hands from the spot they'd migrated to on Marshall's hips. Marshall didn't make any effort to climb into the bathtub. Instead, Marshall wrapped his arms around Ian's back and brushed a kiss on the cord of Ian's neck. "Are you getting in too?"
And, okay, that was totally an invitation. Ian hesitated. It'd been days since they'd been alone together, and no one was around - his relatives were all busy having lunch or watching TV or otherwise entertaining themselves - but Ian didn't want to traumatize anyone. Then again, Marshall clearly needed warming, and standing there naked might be turning Ian on, but it wasn't doing Marshall any good.
"I'll get warm much faster if you're helping me." Marshall looked up at him through his eyelashes, and that was it. (He knew what that did to Ian, the tease.)
Ian's grip flexed on Marshall's arms, then, "Yeah, okay. Get in."
Shucking the last of his layers and locking the door only took seconds, and then Ian joined Marshall, who had the shower-head aimed to pour warm water down his back and over his shoulders. While Ian watched, Marshall's goosebumps disappeared, and his shivers subsided.
"Better?"
Marshall tipped his head back into the stream of water, clearly enjoying the warmth. Ian crowded closer, wanting some for himself.
"Hm." His eyes opened. "Yeah, but... here, let me..."
Marshall twisted, setting Ian off balance enough that they bumped together as he turned them sideways and leaned back against the tile. Ian propped an elbow next to Marshall's head and let his body come to rest against Marshall's, enjoying the way the water sealed their skins together. Marshall's lips were cool and slick against his cheek, but they warmed when Ian opened his over them, and Ian relaxed into the swipe of tongue and tug of teeth and the slide of warm skin beneath his hands, and the build-up of heat between them.
When the curl of his tongue around Marshall's elicited a whimper and an insistent squeeze of Ian's hip, Ian acknowledged Marshall's unspoken request by closing a hand around Marshall's cock, hard now, pressed between their bellies.
"I know you're okay if you're turned on - blood's recirculating in the extremities."
"Getting the blood pumping is an excellent way to combat hypothermia," was Marshall's too-solemn reply.
"We weren't out there long enough for it to be hypothermia." Ian's words were muffled against Marshall's neck. Despite his words, Ian thumbed the head.
"Ian." Marshall's voice was somewhere between a whine and a demand. Ian curled his hand more tightly around Marshall's dick and stroked from base to head, then paused. When Marshall whined his name again, Ian held his gaze and dropped to his knees. Marshall swallowed, and Ian watched as his Adam's apple bobbed, watched as rivulets of water ran down his chest and abs, over the cut of his hipbones, trickling over Ian's hand and Marshall's dick.
Ian blew out a deliberate breath and watched Marshall shiver in response. "Did you know that ninety percent of accidents in the home occur in the bathroom?"
But it wasn't an accident when Ian licked a stripe across Marshall's hip and took Marshall into his mouth.
It was hard to breathe, with water in his face and his nose pressed against Marshall's skin and his mouth full of cock, harder to do this than usual. Instead of drawing it out, Ian did everything he knew turned Marshall on: the press of his tongue to the divet under the head, a not-gentle squeeze of his balls, sucking harder just as he pulled back, then immediately returning, so that his lips met his hand where they circled the base. He tilted his head back to try to watch, which was maybe not a good idea - he could only keep his eyes open for second in the spray - and saw Marshall watching him, his eyes slitted open and focused on Ian's hand and mouth around his cock, teeth sunken in his lip. Ian wished for a second that he had another hand to get himself off at the same time, because Marshall was always hot, but having him like this was amazing. He was distracted when Marshall's hand cupped his cheek, pressing against the cock in his mouth, and Marshall's hips bucked forward.
"Ian..." Marshall's hand dropped to his chin, squeezing it in a warning, but Ian stayed where he was. He let the first spurt of come hit his tongue, and then drew back. The rest splattered his face and Marshall's wrist before the steady fall of water washed it away.
Marshall drooped against the tiles.
"C'mere."
Ian climbed shakily to his feet, letting Marshall direct him into a deep kiss. He couldn't stop himself from rubbing his hard-on against Marshall's hip as they kissed; he didn't care how he got off now - his hand, Marshall's, whatever - but he wanted it to be soon.
"You should fuck me now."
"I-what?"
Because Ian's brain was seriously impaired at the moment, but that was not one of the options he'd been considering. Not that they didn't fuck. But they didn't often, because they were always in the van (Fuck Singer and his stupid Van Rules.) or someone else's place, and skeezy venue bathroom sex might work for handjobs or blowjobs, but they had to draw the line somewhere. And they'd definitely never done it without lube and condoms.
Marshall groped for the shelf to his right and waved... a bottle of conditioner. When Ian didn't move, other than a (purely reflexive!) jerk of his cock, Marshall squirted some in own hand and Ian's. He propped his foot on the opposite lip of the tub, so that his leg bracketed Ian's hip, and trailed his hand down between his legs. His eyes closed, and Ian watched, unable to move. He could feel the muscles in Marshall's arm move against his stomach, and when Marshall hummed slightly, it finally spurred him into action. He swiped his fingers through the pool of conditioner in his palm and traced them down the crack of Marshall's ass. He hesitated, then lined up his index finger with Marshall's and pushed in with Marshall's next motion.
Which, okay, that was. The feeling of Marshall around him and Marshall's finger moving next to his? Hot. Apparently Marshall thought so, too, because his leg jerked against Ian's hip, and his cock twitched tiredly. Ian didn't want to be impatient, but the noises Marshall made were not helping him in the don't-come-too-soon sweepstakes. He added another finger, and then, "Is that-?"
"Yeah, do it."
He spread the remainder of the conditioner on his cock, braced his legs, and tilted Marshall's hips, forcing his shoulders tighter against the wall, and pushed in. It was awkward, a weird angle, and in the end, Ian tipped forward so that Marshall was bearing most of his weight. He set up an unsteady rhythm, and while it worked for Ian - because, seriously, hot, tight, fucking Marshall would never not get Ian off - he wasn't sure it would be enough to get Marshall hard and get him off again. He kissed across Marshall's lips and down his neck, resting his forehead against his shoulder, trying to gather what control he could muster. He reached for Marshall's cock. It thickened, hardening in his hand, and Marshall, Marshall squeezed around Ian, and he couldn't help it; his teeth sank into the muscle of Marshall's shoulder. In response, Marshall's cock jerked in his hand, and Ian couldn't stop his hips from bucking, forcing himself in harder, deeper.
"Fuck, yes. Like that. Do that again."
Marshall knocked Ian's hand away and started jerking himself off, and Ian braced himself against the tiles and complied.
* * *
They sneaked out of the bathroom wearing only their towels, and they were almost to their bedroom door when, "You boys have a good time out there?" came from the other end of the hallway.
Ian stopped dead and turned to his mother, acutely aware of the bite mark on Marshall's neck and his own kiss-swollen lips.
"Uh-"
"I never made snow angels before. Ian had to demonstrate proper technique," Marshall interrupted. His grin was broad, just a little bit wicked, and earned a raised eyebrow in response.
"Uh-huh. And proper technique for prevention of frostbite?"
"He's a pianist. We wouldn't want him to have any problems with feeling in his extremities." Ian practiced his most innocent expression.
She snorted, indicating that she recognized that face, and she wasn't buying what Ian was selling. "Whatever. There are leftovers in the kitchen whenever you're hungry."
Ian and Marshall retreated to their room for clothes as soon as her back was turned, laughing slightly hysterically in their embarrassment.
* * *
"Is winter always like this here, so calm, so still?" Marshall's voice cutting through the night's quiet wasn't unexpected; Ian had heard his footsteps on the porch.
Ian stubbed out his cigarette on the step and took a deep breath.
"Still? Yeah. I remember thinking it was boring when I was their age." He twisted so he could wave inside, where the kids were trying to argue that they were old enough to have wine with dinner, like the adults. A second breath, and then, "You'll see when we come back next year."
Marshall paused in the midst of sitting down, then settled, his shoulder against Ian's. He smiled and tipped his head forward in a single nod. "Next winter."