Fairest of them all.
Title: Fairest of them all.
Rating: Mild R?
Pairing: Cash/Marshall
Word-count: 908 words.
Summary: Marshall is proud of his scruff!
Author's notes: This is everybody's fault. ♥ Especially this video's.
Whenever they can score a hotel room, Marshall inevitably finds himself getting up earlier than the others. He does this so he might spend a few minutes each morning standing in front of the large bathroom mirror, turning his head slightly from side to side, inspecting the soft hair growing on his face. Scrutinizing, even, in the buzzing neon light. This morning is no different. Is it longer? Is there more? If he shaved it, would it grow back?
Hair tousled and clothes rumpled, Cash appears in the doorway. "Marshall, man, I have to piss," he says, voice rough with sleep.
Not breaking eye-contact with his reflection, Marshall mumbles an "Uh huh" and then "Go ahead." He thinks about whether the bandage on his chin is impeding the growth of his awesome beard.
Cash steps inside the small bathroom and shuts the door behind him, hobbling over to the toilet.
Catching the awkward movement in the corner of his eye, Marshall sighs. "How's your knee?" he asks softly. It's been less than week since the accident, and it'll take much longer for them to mend completely.
"I dunno. Hurts more in the morning. Haven't taken my painkillers yet, but it'll be fine by tonight." Cash shrugs. "How's the damage to your precious little face?"
"Healing, I guess." He pokes at the bandage. "Changing the Band-aid all the time is fucking up my scruff."
Cash flushes the toilet, grinning. "Bro, you're way too proud of that. It's kind of sad."
"Hey! Whatever, it's awesome."
"It would be a lot more awesome if you were still fourteen." He nudges Marshall aside gently with his forearm, turns on the tap to wash his hands. "Sorry to be the one to tell you this-- you're arriving a little late on the puberty train."
This breaks Marshall's concentration, and he gives Cash the death-glare in the mirror. Cash looks up and notices. It only encourages him. "Seriously. The rest of us have been shaving every morning for years. You're a little behind."
Marshall frowns harder. He isn't certain if Cash is exaggerating or not.
"Aw, don't pout. Girls love the plastic Zac Efron kind of thing. They grow up thinking of Ken dolls as the ideal man or whatever."
"I'm not a Ken doll!" Marshall splutters in response. "What the fuck!"
"No, not anymore!" Cash turns, reaches up with a wet soapy hand to cup the side of Marshall's face. "Now you've got a big thick beard."
Marshall takes a step back, face turning red, grabbing a towel to swipe at his cheek. "Fuck you, man, seriously."
Cash chuckles a little. Marshall only curses this much when he's really irritated, but it's more cute than threatening. "No, dude, it's okay. It's normal. Your body is changing. You're becoming a man! I bet you're getting your pubes, too!"
"Cash!"
"What?" He drops his voice with faux-concern. "Oh, sorry, are you still, like, smooth?"
"No!"
"Aw, Marsh. It's okay." Cash raises his eyebrows sympathetically, watching Marshall in the mirror. "They'll come in soon."
Marshall just stared at Cash, blushing harder. "You're such an asshole."
"It's not my fault you're the hairless wonder, bro."
"I'm not--!"
"Don't worry, I won't tell the guys."
"Fuck. Off." In one fluid movement, Marshall grabs Cash's hand as it reached for the towel and swiftly pushed it down his pyjama pants. "See?"
Of course, Marshall realizes what's he's done a split-second later, that Cash was only kidding, obviously. He expects Cash to shout or push him away or maybe punch him. He flinches.
He does not expect Cash to stop breathing. Or for his hand to be so warm, and still wet. Marshall also hadn't thought so far ahead in his reaction to steel himself against how amazing it'd feel to be touched again after being on the tour for so long already.
And he did not expect Cash's expression to change to... this. The teasing smirk is gone, with a small, curious smile left behind. Palm flat against Marshall's skin, wrist up, and his fingers barely flexing in the light fuzzy curls. Just pressing hard enough against his skin that it wouldn't tickle, but it's all still sort of innocent. "Yeah," Cash breathes. "Okay, you've made your point." He doesn't venture further. It's not about that.
Marshall doesn't move away, either, his eyes half-closed. He'd be purring if he could. Cash leans in a little closer, Marshall can feel how warm he is from sleep still, but his one hand doesn't slip down any further, no.
A knock on the door. "Uh, hello?" Ian's voice is muffled by the door. Cash pulls his hand back quickly, dropping his eyes from where he'd found himself contemplating Marshall's mouth. There are other sounds now, too. Mattresses squeaking, zippers being pulled. Everyone is slowly waking up, moving around. They have to pack, drive a couple of hours to the venue, load in. Another day.
"Just a second," Cash manages to croak out. He finishes drying his hands.
Marshall shifts his gaze back to his reflection. He touches the bandage on his chin and slowly peels it off. It doesn't look so bad underneath; he's healing. He looks up in the mirror, meeting Cash's eye. "Maybe if I let my beard grow really thick, my face won't look so bashed in."
Cash reaches for the doorknob. "Don't worry about it, you'll be fine. Forget that Efron pussy-- chicks dig scars."
Taking one last discerning look, he hopes Cash is right.
Rating: Mild R?
Pairing: Cash/Marshall
Word-count: 908 words.
Summary: Marshall is proud of his scruff!
Author's notes: This is everybody's fault. ♥ Especially this video's.
Whenever they can score a hotel room, Marshall inevitably finds himself getting up earlier than the others. He does this so he might spend a few minutes each morning standing in front of the large bathroom mirror, turning his head slightly from side to side, inspecting the soft hair growing on his face. Scrutinizing, even, in the buzzing neon light. This morning is no different. Is it longer? Is there more? If he shaved it, would it grow back?
Hair tousled and clothes rumpled, Cash appears in the doorway. "Marshall, man, I have to piss," he says, voice rough with sleep.
Not breaking eye-contact with his reflection, Marshall mumbles an "Uh huh" and then "Go ahead." He thinks about whether the bandage on his chin is impeding the growth of his awesome beard.
Cash steps inside the small bathroom and shuts the door behind him, hobbling over to the toilet.
Catching the awkward movement in the corner of his eye, Marshall sighs. "How's your knee?" he asks softly. It's been less than week since the accident, and it'll take much longer for them to mend completely.
"I dunno. Hurts more in the morning. Haven't taken my painkillers yet, but it'll be fine by tonight." Cash shrugs. "How's the damage to your precious little face?"
"Healing, I guess." He pokes at the bandage. "Changing the Band-aid all the time is fucking up my scruff."
Cash flushes the toilet, grinning. "Bro, you're way too proud of that. It's kind of sad."
"Hey! Whatever, it's awesome."
"It would be a lot more awesome if you were still fourteen." He nudges Marshall aside gently with his forearm, turns on the tap to wash his hands. "Sorry to be the one to tell you this-- you're arriving a little late on the puberty train."
This breaks Marshall's concentration, and he gives Cash the death-glare in the mirror. Cash looks up and notices. It only encourages him. "Seriously. The rest of us have been shaving every morning for years. You're a little behind."
Marshall frowns harder. He isn't certain if Cash is exaggerating or not.
"Aw, don't pout. Girls love the plastic Zac Efron kind of thing. They grow up thinking of Ken dolls as the ideal man or whatever."
"I'm not a Ken doll!" Marshall splutters in response. "What the fuck!"
"No, not anymore!" Cash turns, reaches up with a wet soapy hand to cup the side of Marshall's face. "Now you've got a big thick beard."
Marshall takes a step back, face turning red, grabbing a towel to swipe at his cheek. "Fuck you, man, seriously."
Cash chuckles a little. Marshall only curses this much when he's really irritated, but it's more cute than threatening. "No, dude, it's okay. It's normal. Your body is changing. You're becoming a man! I bet you're getting your pubes, too!"
"Cash!"
"What?" He drops his voice with faux-concern. "Oh, sorry, are you still, like, smooth?"
"No!"
"Aw, Marsh. It's okay." Cash raises his eyebrows sympathetically, watching Marshall in the mirror. "They'll come in soon."
Marshall just stared at Cash, blushing harder. "You're such an asshole."
"It's not my fault you're the hairless wonder, bro."
"I'm not--!"
"Don't worry, I won't tell the guys."
"Fuck. Off." In one fluid movement, Marshall grabs Cash's hand as it reached for the towel and swiftly pushed it down his pyjama pants. "See?"
Of course, Marshall realizes what's he's done a split-second later, that Cash was only kidding, obviously. He expects Cash to shout or push him away or maybe punch him. He flinches.
He does not expect Cash to stop breathing. Or for his hand to be so warm, and still wet. Marshall also hadn't thought so far ahead in his reaction to steel himself against how amazing it'd feel to be touched again after being on the tour for so long already.
And he did not expect Cash's expression to change to... this. The teasing smirk is gone, with a small, curious smile left behind. Palm flat against Marshall's skin, wrist up, and his fingers barely flexing in the light fuzzy curls. Just pressing hard enough against his skin that it wouldn't tickle, but it's all still sort of innocent. "Yeah," Cash breathes. "Okay, you've made your point." He doesn't venture further. It's not about that.
Marshall doesn't move away, either, his eyes half-closed. He'd be purring if he could. Cash leans in a little closer, Marshall can feel how warm he is from sleep still, but his one hand doesn't slip down any further, no.
A knock on the door. "Uh, hello?" Ian's voice is muffled by the door. Cash pulls his hand back quickly, dropping his eyes from where he'd found himself contemplating Marshall's mouth. There are other sounds now, too. Mattresses squeaking, zippers being pulled. Everyone is slowly waking up, moving around. They have to pack, drive a couple of hours to the venue, load in. Another day.
"Just a second," Cash manages to croak out. He finishes drying his hands.
Marshall shifts his gaze back to his reflection. He touches the bandage on his chin and slowly peels it off. It doesn't look so bad underneath; he's healing. He looks up in the mirror, meeting Cash's eye. "Maybe if I let my beard grow really thick, my face won't look so bashed in."
Cash reaches for the doorknob. "Don't worry about it, you'll be fine. Forget that Efron pussy-- chicks dig scars."
Taking one last discerning look, he hopes Cash is right.