[ As soon as they touch and their chests light up, Maine wonders if this was a mistake. He can feel Wash's worry, relief, and curiosity. Tries to shove aside his own worry — although it's really more akin to dread.
For all that Maine looks composed, his emotions are a maelstrom. Guilt and shame bubble just beneath the surface. Hurt and affection push and pull at each other, and both go deep. There's something softer beneath it all, a sense of the love Maine feels towards one of his best friends, but it's clouded by everything else.
It's a fucking mess. A conflict with no sense of beginning or end. Maine breathes out, trying to focus. Still trying to crush his own fear.
Memories flit through his mind. Things he doesn't want to think about right now — so naturally, they make an appearance. He pushes them aside as fast as he can … but not fast enough.
Maine is standing between Wash and Church in what looks like a small apartment. The door is open, and it appears as though someone barged inside. Maine has one hand on Church's shoulder and the other on Wash's chest: he's physically holding them apart. Wash looks younger than he does in New Amsterdam. He's looking at Church and speaking quickly, his voice low and cold with anger.
"I'm telling you what you're doing is dangerous," Wash says. "You're putting Maine and yourself at risk. You wouldn't get into a broken piece of armor, and trust that everything's going to be okay—"
Maine flinches like he's been struck. Shock shoots through him, quickly followed by disbelief. Something raw and wounded takes its place, hurt digging deep into him. And then, like blood welling from a wound, there is rage.
Wash realizes his error. Tries to say, "Maine—"
Maine doesn't listen. He grabs a fistful of Wash's shirt, lifts Wash off his feet, and throws him out the apartment door. Then he stalks after Wash, livid. Shaking with rage. The words echo in his ears — broken piece of armor, broken piece of armor — and Maine spits on the ground between them. Slams the door in Wash's face.
On the street in New Amsterdam, Maine's feeling of hurt briefly surges. He pushes it back down. Reminds himself that that wasn't this Wash. Reminds himself that he needs to keep them separate. That they're not the same person. That what he felt and experienced with that Wash shouldn't impact his relationship with this one.
Another memory floats through his mind:
Maine is lying on his back on a giant bed. He has his arms and legs stretched out like a starfish. Wash is there, laughing at Maine's antics. Then Wash kicks off his boots and crawls onto the bed. Lays down on Maine's stomach like it's the most natural thing in the world, an elbow on either side of Maine's hips.
"Well, fancy meeting you here," Wash says, his tone teasing. "How are you going to escape my clutches now?"
Maine hums thoughtfully and brings a hand down to brush it through Wash's hair. Wash leans into the touch, still smiling.
And another:
They're lying on a different bed this time. Stripped to their underwear, Wash on top of him, Maine squeezing Wash's ass and pulling him closer. Wash's teeth find the line of Maine's jaw, and Maine tips his head back to expose his throat.
"More," Maine growls.
Wash doesn't immediately acquiesce. Kisses Maine's throat first, sweet and soft. Then Wash nips again. Runs a hand down to cup Maine through his underwear.
"Jesus, Maine," Wash breathes.
Maine laughs, shrugs, and pulls Wash closer.
In New Amsterdam, Maine isn't looking at Wash. He has his gaze purposefully averted. Watching the streets around them, keeping an eye out for any monsters that may try to attack. He has no idea that he just did the very thing he's been so afraid of. He has no idea that he bled not just one, but three memories. ]
brief nsfw part
For all that Maine looks composed, his emotions are a maelstrom. Guilt and shame bubble just beneath the surface. Hurt and affection push and pull at each other, and both go deep. There's something softer beneath it all, a sense of the love Maine feels towards one of his best friends, but it's clouded by everything else.
It's a fucking mess. A conflict with no sense of beginning or end. Maine breathes out, trying to focus. Still trying to crush his own fear.
Memories flit through his mind. Things he doesn't want to think about right now — so naturally, they make an appearance. He pushes them aside as fast as he can … but not fast enough.On the street in New Amsterdam, Maine's feeling of hurt briefly surges. He pushes it back down. Reminds himself that that wasn't this Wash. Reminds himself that he needs to keep them separate. That they're not the same person. That what he felt and experienced with that Wash shouldn't impact his relationship with this one.
Another memory floats through his mind:And another:In New Amsterdam, Maine isn't looking at Wash. He has his gaze purposefully averted. Watching the streets around them, keeping an eye out for any monsters that may try to attack. He has no idea that he just did the very thing he's been so afraid of. He has no idea that he bled not just one, but three memories. ]