Never
Title: Never
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Continuation of Tell Me I'm Wrong, Please... Stay, Not Yet, Don't, That's Kinda Hot
One of the benefits of having a lover who is a trained killer is the excellent understanding they posses of human anatomy. This carries with it many inherent and excessively enjoyable benefits. Maine let out a prolonged moan of pleasure, letting his body just sink into the bed. "God, you're good at this."
Wash smiled and pressed his thumbs in deeper, coaxing out more sighs from Maine's lips. A hiss followed as Wash hit a particularly tender knot of muscles, but he managed to massage it away after a bit of careful attention. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Maine's back, leaving a trail of kisses across his shoulders that earned him even more moans of delight.
"That was wonderful," Maine hummed.
"You should take better care of yourself," Wash admonished playfully. "I can't be piecing you back together every time you get the urge for some full-contact sparring."
"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, rolling over beneath his lover so he could look up at him now. "Maybe I like having you put me back together, ever think of that?"
"Yes," Wash said simply, settling down over him as they gave each other playful kisses. He admired Maine's spirit and found his youthful energy and arrogance amusing. Watching him in the sparring ring was always a treat, especially as Maine won most of his matches. He could turn any situation to his advantage with his quick thinking and quicker reflexes.
Besides, it gave him the perfect excuse to get his hands all over him. He enjoyed giving massages and particularly enjoyed the way Maine thanked him afterwards.
The next day was long for both Agents. They were in and out of briefings, tests and more briefings and physical evaluations until their mental fatigue was almost a match for their physical. Both stretched out on the bed, with Washington being more quiet than usual. He wasn't ready to think about it yet, or talk about it, so he pressed another kiss to Maine's lips and reached for his book, propping it on Maine's shoulder as he began to read.
They had developed a cute habit since it was discovered that Maine was mildly dyslexic and had trouble with reading. He enjoyed the stories, even the more serious ones that Wash tended to read, and so on lazy evenings when just being together was enough, he would read aloud as Maine listened - eyes closed - and soaked in the words and the sound of his lover's voice. It was a first for him and he discovered that he loved being read to.
Tonight, though, Wash didn't read very long before he put the book back. "Maine?" he said softly, resting his palm against the other's chest.
"Hm? What's up, hon?"
"The rating tests today..." By that, of course, Wash meant the ratings for implantation. "I just can't shake this feeling that... that this will turn out badly." They had discussed very little of the project with one another, or their thoughts on AI. It seemed they usually both wanted their off-hours to be time away from such things, but Maine had learned enough of Wash's mannerisms to detect the subtle hint of worry that he was trying to hide.
"When's the big day?" he asked, tracing his fingers down Wash's cheek.
"Wednesday," he said, which was four days away
"I think I get mine Monday," Maine hummed. "Buy don't worry. I promise not to have too much fun without you." He teased gently, but only because humour was his normal way of coping with stress. His touch was much more gentle and caring, seeking to calm the worries that were etched on Wash's face.
Even knowing Maine's personality, Wash shook his head. "I'm serious."
"Yeah," Maine murmured. "Yeah, I know. But hey, this is what we've been training for, right? And you're strong, I know you'll be fine."
"No, it's not that," he said, then dropped his voice and added, "Well, not just that."
Maine furrowed his brow. "What, then?"
"They'll be in our heads, Maine. In our thoughts. They'll know everything we do. What if... what if they find out?"
He began to see that whatever was bothering Wash was a lot deeper than he had originally guessed. He shifted a little so they could face each other and caressed the other's face. "What do you mean?"
"About this, about us. We'll be in the brig before we can say 'court marshal'." He hated to speak his next thoughts, hated to even think them, but he had to. "Even if we stop now, that's no guarantee we're safe."
"S-... stop?" Maine felt his chest clench and a sickening ball form in his stomach. "No. No! Wash, that won't happen! Not ever!"
"Be realistic!" he snapped. "Those programs are going to be in our heads! Whether we end up on trial or they send us packing or we just... no matter what, this might be the end for us."
"Yeah?" Maine was angry, but mostly because somewhere deep inside he was afraid that Wash might be right. "Well I've got a big fucking gun over there that says they can't do shit to us." He sat up, pulling a hand through his hair in frustration as he tried to wrap his mind around what Wash was saying. "You'll find out just how fast I can blow a hole in this fucking place if they try it."
He was sitting up in front of Maine now, one hand on the back of his neck and the other resting on his chest. Wash, for all his worries and anxiety, couldn't help but smile a little. "You would, too. Wouldn't you?"
"You're goddamn right," Maine said, spoiling for a fight thinking about it. "Trust me. I won't give you up that easy."
Wash nodded. "I do trust you, Maine."
"You... you wouldn't give up on me, would you?"
Leaning in, he pressed gentle kisses to his lips, whispering, "Never," over and over. He let Maine's optimism and blind determination win him over, even if he was not truly convinced himself, but it was better than worrying over things he could not control or even know of for certain. Two more days and Maine would have his AI. Four more and he'd have his. Then they would see. No matter how much he wanted to believe it would be okay, he could not shake the feeling that tragedy was just a few days away.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Continuation of Tell Me I'm Wrong, Please... Stay, Not Yet, Don't, That's Kinda Hot
One of the benefits of having a lover who is a trained killer is the excellent understanding they posses of human anatomy. This carries with it many inherent and excessively enjoyable benefits. Maine let out a prolonged moan of pleasure, letting his body just sink into the bed. "God, you're good at this."
Wash smiled and pressed his thumbs in deeper, coaxing out more sighs from Maine's lips. A hiss followed as Wash hit a particularly tender knot of muscles, but he managed to massage it away after a bit of careful attention. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Maine's back, leaving a trail of kisses across his shoulders that earned him even more moans of delight.
"That was wonderful," Maine hummed.
"You should take better care of yourself," Wash admonished playfully. "I can't be piecing you back together every time you get the urge for some full-contact sparring."
"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, rolling over beneath his lover so he could look up at him now. "Maybe I like having you put me back together, ever think of that?"
"Yes," Wash said simply, settling down over him as they gave each other playful kisses. He admired Maine's spirit and found his youthful energy and arrogance amusing. Watching him in the sparring ring was always a treat, especially as Maine won most of his matches. He could turn any situation to his advantage with his quick thinking and quicker reflexes.
Besides, it gave him the perfect excuse to get his hands all over him. He enjoyed giving massages and particularly enjoyed the way Maine thanked him afterwards.
The next day was long for both Agents. They were in and out of briefings, tests and more briefings and physical evaluations until their mental fatigue was almost a match for their physical. Both stretched out on the bed, with Washington being more quiet than usual. He wasn't ready to think about it yet, or talk about it, so he pressed another kiss to Maine's lips and reached for his book, propping it on Maine's shoulder as he began to read.
They had developed a cute habit since it was discovered that Maine was mildly dyslexic and had trouble with reading. He enjoyed the stories, even the more serious ones that Wash tended to read, and so on lazy evenings when just being together was enough, he would read aloud as Maine listened - eyes closed - and soaked in the words and the sound of his lover's voice. It was a first for him and he discovered that he loved being read to.
Tonight, though, Wash didn't read very long before he put the book back. "Maine?" he said softly, resting his palm against the other's chest.
"Hm? What's up, hon?"
"The rating tests today..." By that, of course, Wash meant the ratings for implantation. "I just can't shake this feeling that... that this will turn out badly." They had discussed very little of the project with one another, or their thoughts on AI. It seemed they usually both wanted their off-hours to be time away from such things, but Maine had learned enough of Wash's mannerisms to detect the subtle hint of worry that he was trying to hide.
"When's the big day?" he asked, tracing his fingers down Wash's cheek.
"Wednesday," he said, which was four days away
"I think I get mine Monday," Maine hummed. "Buy don't worry. I promise not to have too much fun without you." He teased gently, but only because humour was his normal way of coping with stress. His touch was much more gentle and caring, seeking to calm the worries that were etched on Wash's face.
Even knowing Maine's personality, Wash shook his head. "I'm serious."
"Yeah," Maine murmured. "Yeah, I know. But hey, this is what we've been training for, right? And you're strong, I know you'll be fine."
"No, it's not that," he said, then dropped his voice and added, "Well, not just that."
Maine furrowed his brow. "What, then?"
"They'll be in our heads, Maine. In our thoughts. They'll know everything we do. What if... what if they find out?"
He began to see that whatever was bothering Wash was a lot deeper than he had originally guessed. He shifted a little so they could face each other and caressed the other's face. "What do you mean?"
"About this, about us. We'll be in the brig before we can say 'court marshal'." He hated to speak his next thoughts, hated to even think them, but he had to. "Even if we stop now, that's no guarantee we're safe."
"S-... stop?" Maine felt his chest clench and a sickening ball form in his stomach. "No. No! Wash, that won't happen! Not ever!"
"Be realistic!" he snapped. "Those programs are going to be in our heads! Whether we end up on trial or they send us packing or we just... no matter what, this might be the end for us."
"Yeah?" Maine was angry, but mostly because somewhere deep inside he was afraid that Wash might be right. "Well I've got a big fucking gun over there that says they can't do shit to us." He sat up, pulling a hand through his hair in frustration as he tried to wrap his mind around what Wash was saying. "You'll find out just how fast I can blow a hole in this fucking place if they try it."
He was sitting up in front of Maine now, one hand on the back of his neck and the other resting on his chest. Wash, for all his worries and anxiety, couldn't help but smile a little. "You would, too. Wouldn't you?"
"You're goddamn right," Maine said, spoiling for a fight thinking about it. "Trust me. I won't give you up that easy."
Wash nodded. "I do trust you, Maine."
"You... you wouldn't give up on me, would you?"
Leaning in, he pressed gentle kisses to his lips, whispering, "Never," over and over. He let Maine's optimism and blind determination win him over, even if he was not truly convinced himself, but it was better than worrying over things he could not control or even know of for certain. Two more days and Maine would have his AI. Four more and he'd have his. Then they would see. No matter how much he wanted to believe it would be okay, he could not shake the feeling that tragedy was just a few days away.