Later
Summary: Wash/Maine... Part 1 of...? So this is kind of going perhaps a bit too far with the 'creative license' and all, but I couldn't help it. I mean, you know what it's like when the muse gets an idea and refuses to let go. It's like a dog with a chew toy. The harder you tug, the deeper it sinks its teeth in. The only real way to win is to let the damn dog have the toy and after a while it'll get bored and drop it on its own.
Um... what was I saying? Ok, so anyway, here's part 1 of some.. undetermined number.
One day later:
That morning had been perfect, waking up wrapped in love and warmth, no commitments, nothing dragging them out of bed and away from one another. They had just laid in one another's arms and enjoyed knowing they could, and there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it.
A chuckle passed his lips as he thought back to the plane ride the day before. They had sat side by side, and Maine had taken his hand. Wash had squeezed it, then quickly pulled away before anyone could see them. Then they looked at one another, and realized, they didn't have to hide it. Wash took his hand again and held it the entire flight from Atlanta to Seattle, and then the connecting flight to Portland.
It had been so strange; so wonderfully, amazingly strange. And there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it.
And then last night, all the things he didn't have to hide, all the times he didn't have to bite his tongue or repress a moan... it was going to take a lot of getting used to. And he looked forward to it.
Now, as he sat on the edge of the bed listening to the sound of the shower run, it occurred to him that, once again, he didn't have to wait any more.
He slipped out of the pajama bottoms he had put on moments before and snuck into the bathroom. Maine's head was under the spray of water when Wash opened the shower door and scared the living hell out of him. Then he had pushed him against the wall and kissed him. For the first time in their relationship, they showered together as a couple.
And there wasn't a god damn thing anyone could do about it.
Four days later:
"God, I haven't had pancakes since... hell, I must have been twelve," Maine mused, leaning against Wash's back as the pan sizzled. "We were still in the old apartment on fifty-third avenue."
Wash reached back with his free hand and ran it up Maine's side, giving a little hum of delight when Maine kissed the back of his neck.
"Hey Wash?" he hummed. It was still so odd to think of each other by any other names. "How long have you lived here?"
"Hm? Um.. I think we moved here when I was three or something," Wash said. "Can't remember exactly, now."
"Damn, no wonder."
Wash flipped the pancake onto a plate before turning to face Maine. "No wonder what?"
"That you wanted me to come out here with you so bad," he said. "You really consider this place home."
Wash smiled softly, then shook his head. "No, Maine. This is home," he said, kissing him softly and wrapping him up in his arms. "No matter where I am; this will always be home. I just thought we could both use some peace and quiet for a change."
One year later:
"I FUCKING HATE YOU!"
The phone flew across the room, barely missing one of the pictures on the opposite wall as it broke into several pieces and clattered to the floor. Wash flinched, sighing as he dropped his eyes.
"Fucking, useless, hateful bastard!" Maine was screaming, so angry he was crying as he paced back and forth in the room. "How dare you, HOW DARE YOU! Fucking jackass! SHE WAS MY MOTHER! YOU ASSHOLE!"
He let out a guttural scream and pulled at his hair, and immediately Wash was on his feet, dragging him most unwillingly into an embrace, if for no other reason than to make him stop before he hurt himself. Maine fought ineffectually against him for a few seconds, then finally just let himself be held as he gripped on to Wash's shirt.
Wash brought him with as they sunk to the floor, holding him tight and rocking gently as Maine cried and screamed and vented his anger and pain. It took about an hour before Wash had finally managed to soothe him enough to where he had stopped crying. Wash was sitting with his back propped against the couch and Maine was curled in his arms, his words coming soft and thick with memory.
"She did everything in the world for me."
Wash was gently stroking his hair, pressing kisses to his forehead once in a while.
"Worked two jobs just to keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I should've done more. Quit school and worked or-"
"Hey.. hey shh.. it wasn't your fault."
Maine took a shuddering breath and sunk further into Wash. "She just... it was hard on her, being alone. I guess I can't really blame her. Just wish she hadn't married such a useless prick."
"He can't hurt you anymore," Wash whispered.
Maine closed his eyes and just took in a slow, deep breath.
"At least you found out," Wash said.
"Too late... I was too late. Fuck! I'll never... I'll never get to say all those things..." Maine began to tear up again. "So many things I would have told her. God, it hurts. I can't even tell her I love her anymore, she's gone!"
"He can't stop you from going, you know," he murmured.
"He won't stop me from bringing you, either" Maine replied, his voice broken with emotion. "I'll break his fucking neck if he... if he ever-" Maine seemed about to gear up for another round of anger, but then it drifted away like smoke on the breeze as he turned his thoughts elsewhere.
"He has no power but what you give him. Don't give it to him."
"Mom would have liked you," he hummed. "Oh she'd have given me her whole disapproving speech. But ultimately, she would have liked you anyway. Probably even would have forgiven me on account of you."
Wash felt his heart twist a little, sad that he would never have the opportunity to meet her. From all Maine had said of her, she sounded like a strong woman who had given her son every chance she could in life. He saw that strength reflected in Maine.
The funeral was three days later. Maine and Wash both went, taking the first flight to New York they could get. His cousins, more or less, seemed accepting of Wash's presence, though one of his aunts refused to speak to either of them. But he was at least able to say goodbye to his mother, set flowers at her grave-side.
For better or worse, Maine ended up in jail for a few nights after beating the living fuck out of his step-father. It seemed to close some of the wounds he had carried for far too long, though, and Wash couldn't even be angry at him for it. After a two day hold that the bank put on the funds, Wash was finally able to make bail, and he took Maine home. Home, where it was peaceful, and quiet, and Maine could heal.
Um... what was I saying? Ok, so anyway, here's part 1 of some.. undetermined number.
One day later:
That morning had been perfect, waking up wrapped in love and warmth, no commitments, nothing dragging them out of bed and away from one another. They had just laid in one another's arms and enjoyed knowing they could, and there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it.
A chuckle passed his lips as he thought back to the plane ride the day before. They had sat side by side, and Maine had taken his hand. Wash had squeezed it, then quickly pulled away before anyone could see them. Then they looked at one another, and realized, they didn't have to hide it. Wash took his hand again and held it the entire flight from Atlanta to Seattle, and then the connecting flight to Portland.
It had been so strange; so wonderfully, amazingly strange. And there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it.
And then last night, all the things he didn't have to hide, all the times he didn't have to bite his tongue or repress a moan... it was going to take a lot of getting used to. And he looked forward to it.
Now, as he sat on the edge of the bed listening to the sound of the shower run, it occurred to him that, once again, he didn't have to wait any more.
He slipped out of the pajama bottoms he had put on moments before and snuck into the bathroom. Maine's head was under the spray of water when Wash opened the shower door and scared the living hell out of him. Then he had pushed him against the wall and kissed him. For the first time in their relationship, they showered together as a couple.
And there wasn't a god damn thing anyone could do about it.
Four days later:
"God, I haven't had pancakes since... hell, I must have been twelve," Maine mused, leaning against Wash's back as the pan sizzled. "We were still in the old apartment on fifty-third avenue."
Wash reached back with his free hand and ran it up Maine's side, giving a little hum of delight when Maine kissed the back of his neck.
"Hey Wash?" he hummed. It was still so odd to think of each other by any other names. "How long have you lived here?"
"Hm? Um.. I think we moved here when I was three or something," Wash said. "Can't remember exactly, now."
"Damn, no wonder."
Wash flipped the pancake onto a plate before turning to face Maine. "No wonder what?"
"That you wanted me to come out here with you so bad," he said. "You really consider this place home."
Wash smiled softly, then shook his head. "No, Maine. This is home," he said, kissing him softly and wrapping him up in his arms. "No matter where I am; this will always be home. I just thought we could both use some peace and quiet for a change."
One year later:
"I FUCKING HATE YOU!"
The phone flew across the room, barely missing one of the pictures on the opposite wall as it broke into several pieces and clattered to the floor. Wash flinched, sighing as he dropped his eyes.
"Fucking, useless, hateful bastard!" Maine was screaming, so angry he was crying as he paced back and forth in the room. "How dare you, HOW DARE YOU! Fucking jackass! SHE WAS MY MOTHER! YOU ASSHOLE!"
He let out a guttural scream and pulled at his hair, and immediately Wash was on his feet, dragging him most unwillingly into an embrace, if for no other reason than to make him stop before he hurt himself. Maine fought ineffectually against him for a few seconds, then finally just let himself be held as he gripped on to Wash's shirt.
Wash brought him with as they sunk to the floor, holding him tight and rocking gently as Maine cried and screamed and vented his anger and pain. It took about an hour before Wash had finally managed to soothe him enough to where he had stopped crying. Wash was sitting with his back propped against the couch and Maine was curled in his arms, his words coming soft and thick with memory.
"She did everything in the world for me."
Wash was gently stroking his hair, pressing kisses to his forehead once in a while.
"Worked two jobs just to keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I should've done more. Quit school and worked or-"
"Hey.. hey shh.. it wasn't your fault."
Maine took a shuddering breath and sunk further into Wash. "She just... it was hard on her, being alone. I guess I can't really blame her. Just wish she hadn't married such a useless prick."
"He can't hurt you anymore," Wash whispered.
Maine closed his eyes and just took in a slow, deep breath.
"At least you found out," Wash said.
"Too late... I was too late. Fuck! I'll never... I'll never get to say all those things..." Maine began to tear up again. "So many things I would have told her. God, it hurts. I can't even tell her I love her anymore, she's gone!"
"He can't stop you from going, you know," he murmured.
"He won't stop me from bringing you, either" Maine replied, his voice broken with emotion. "I'll break his fucking neck if he... if he ever-" Maine seemed about to gear up for another round of anger, but then it drifted away like smoke on the breeze as he turned his thoughts elsewhere.
"He has no power but what you give him. Don't give it to him."
"Mom would have liked you," he hummed. "Oh she'd have given me her whole disapproving speech. But ultimately, she would have liked you anyway. Probably even would have forgiven me on account of you."
Wash felt his heart twist a little, sad that he would never have the opportunity to meet her. From all Maine had said of her, she sounded like a strong woman who had given her son every chance she could in life. He saw that strength reflected in Maine.
The funeral was three days later. Maine and Wash both went, taking the first flight to New York they could get. His cousins, more or less, seemed accepting of Wash's presence, though one of his aunts refused to speak to either of them. But he was at least able to say goodbye to his mother, set flowers at her grave-side.
For better or worse, Maine ended up in jail for a few nights after beating the living fuck out of his step-father. It seemed to close some of the wounds he had carried for far too long, though, and Wash couldn't even be angry at him for it. After a two day hold that the bank put on the funds, Wash was finally able to make bail, and he took Maine home. Home, where it was peaceful, and quiet, and Maine could heal.