Post-War
Maine eyed his plate suspiciously. The strange orange lump to be found there did not fit into most categories he considered 'food' and he wasn't entirely sure it was supposed to. "What the hell are you tryin' to feed me, here," he asked.
Wash mussed his hair playfully. "What, you're tellin' me you've never seen squash before?"
"Sure. It comes in little boxes from the frozen food aisle," he replied, poking at the dubious-looking lump on his plate. "Sure never looked like this."
"Well, it never tasted like that will either, I guarantee," Wash said, leaning down to kiss him softly before returning to the stove.
Maine's eyes followed him as he went and he couldn't help a sly grin. 'Mine all mine,' he thought with a little hum. "You sure I can't help with nuthin'?"
"You just sit and relax," Wash insisted as the pan he was working with sputtered and hissed.
Yeah, relax. That was about the last thing he was right now, but almost in a good way. Maine looked around the large single room that encompassed the kitchen, eating area and living room all in one half of the cabin. It was the kind he might have expected to see reproduced in a museum or in some old storybook, but never really considered people still lived like this anywhere!
The rafters were rough-hewn logs, sloping up to the center ridge beam that spanned the twenty-foot length from the exterior wall through the room to where the first post supported it on the edge of a loft. One side of the kitchen was tucked just slightly beneath the floor for the loft where lights could be set into the ceiling, but the rest of it was out in the open space of the large room.
The table at which Maine sat was situated in an exterior corner next to the kitchen, and the living room took up the whole other half of the room. In the very center of the wall was a huge stone fireplace with a thick wood mantle and raised hearth around it. Again, the kind Maine never expected to really see with his own eyes.
Arranged around the fireplace was a couch, two thick, plush chairs, another smaller wooden chair to one side, several end tables, and a thick rug covering the otherwise bare wood floor that ran throughout the house. It would have been rather dark but for the large windows that faced west through which a low sun spilled an orange glow on everything.
His attention was drawn quickly back to Wash when he came over and forked a large slab of meat onto his plate. Then he poured two glasses of wine and finally joined him at the table. Wash watched him for a moment, then laughed. "Oh, now I know you've seen meat before," he chided.
Maine chuckled. "Of course, of course." He stared at his plate for a moment, then glanced up at Wash, a new expression on his face now. "Thank you. This is... this is really great."
Wash squeezed his hand lovingly, then picked up his knife and fork. "Get to it, before it gets cold," he said and began to cut the steak into bite-sized pieces. Maine followed suit, pausing after he had taken the first bite and chewed a few times.
"Dude... there's... something seriously wrong with your beef," he said. It was odd, because it didn't taste spoiled, not by any means. It just tasted nothing at all like beef.
"That's because it isn't beef," Wash said, then damn near choked at the look of horror Maine gave him.
"What the hell is it," he demanded spitting the first pieces out as fast as he could.
"Calm down. God, you're dramatic," Wash said, still laughing. "It's elk. Just give it a chance."
"Elk? No, I mean... it doesn't taste bad, I just... What the fuck, where do you buy that?"
"You don't buy it, Maine. You take a really big gun and you hunt it."
Maine seemed to perk up a little. "Oh yah? Now that sounds like fun."
"Well, I hope you appreciate it, cause it's the last from the freezer. We'll have to go shoot something if you want seconds."
Maine just shook his head, chuckling, and felt a bubbly sense of mirth surround them both. "No, it's good," he agreed, taking another bite. "Just, never tasted it before."
The rest of the meal went fairly smooth. Maine admitted that nothing on his plate tasted anything like what he was used to, and he couldn't bring himself to say that was a bad thing. His idea of a weekend meal was whatever frozen dinner he could pop in the microwave and eat in front of the TV, whereas Wash... goddamn, he actually cooked his food. On a stove!
In fact... this was the first time anyone, besides his mother of course, had actually cooked for Maine. He took a sip of the wine, not his thing but not bad, and thought about that for a moment. This was... this was nice. This was better than nice, he could get used to this kind of treatment.
"Someone's got a mind-full," Wash said softly, casting a smile in his direction.
"Just thinking," Maine said, setting the glass back down.
"About what?"
Maine smiled, not quite ready to give up that little nugget of information yet. "You really gonna take me out hunting?"
"If you want," Wash nodded. "Not the season for it, but yeah."
"I think I could like it out here," Maine mused.
"Some day you'll have to explain to me the logic of being out of the army at last and yet you can't wait to get a gun in your hand and go shooting something."
"Well, it's fun when you're not being ordered to do it," he insisted. "And when the thing you're shooting isn't trying to shoot you back."
"There is that," Wash agreed.
The rest of dinner went much the same, they made playful banter back and forth, and they both seemed to unconsciously make constant tender gestures towards one another as often as they could, now that they finally could do so. It didn't even have to be much. Hands brushing one another as they passed dishes around, or just getting lost in one another's gaze for a moment. All the things they didn't have to hide or fight any longer.
When dinner was done and the table cleared, they settled in on the couch for a while. Wash was sitting with his back against the arm and his legs over Maine's lap. Maine was rubbing his feet gently while Wash read aloud from one of the many books he kept.
"With chin and cheeks so sweet
of blended red and white,
with grace then him did greet
small lips with laughter bright.
To my body will you welcome be
of delight to take your fill;
for need constraineth me
to serve you, and I will."*
"I'm thinking," Maine hummed softly after Wash had fallen silent and the book had been laid aside, "it'll be nice to sleep in a real bed, not have to get up for anything in the morning."
Wash nodded in agreement. Maine continued. "It'll be nice to not have to be quiet so next door can't hear us."
Wash looked up and caught the glimmer of naughtiness in Maine's eyes. "Oh really?" he said, a grin spreading on his lips. "So, you like to be loud?"
Maine nodded. "It's nice when I can be," he said. "But I was more thinking I'm gonna make you scream."
They looked at one another for a moment, no words yet definite understanding passing between them. Then they were off down the hall like a shot, laughing and struggling out of their clothes as they tumbled onto the bed. It was a good, solid bed, queen-sized, with a plush down comforter. The mattress was far and away more comfortable than anything the army had ever supplied them with, and Maine chuckled even at the way the right corner squeaked just slightly.
Maine was good as his word, too, coaxing moans and cries from Wash that he never had been able to do before. He himself was significantly louder when, as he had said, there was no need to keep it down lest the neighbors hear them. It was then that he decided that this little cabin in Oregon in the middle of nowhere might just be the most perfect spot on the face of the earth.
Wash discovered that night that being loud, for no apparent logical reason, made orgasms that much more intense. He also realized that it was hard to let go of being so guarded all the time, of thinking that any moment they might be discovered. But he was very much looking forward to letting that one go.
Maine was stretched out on his back, one arm propped behind his head and the other holding Wash close to his chest. Wash's leg was hooked over Maine's and they were both floating in that wonderful afterglow.
"Wash?" He asked, nuzzling his lover and hoping he was not yet completely asleep.
"Hmmmmmwhat?" Wash said, pulling himself back to consciousness for a moment.
"Thank you for bringing me here," he said.
Wash nodded, edging up a little more to kiss him a few more times before snuggling back against his chest. Maine closed his eyes as well now. He didn't fall asleep right away. The odd noises that surrounded the cabin in the night continued to tug at his soldier's sense of awareness. Each new noise had to be identified and deemed not a threat before he could finally relax.
Wash, already softly snoring in his arms for some time, had fallen asleep almost instantly to the familiar comforts and safety of home. Maine held him a little tighter, his mind skipping rapidly from one topic to another. The softness of the bed, the warmth of the blankets, the amazing sex, the sound of animal cries in the distance, the odd creek of the wooden members of the house. But in the end his mind finally stopped its buzz of activity and let him fall asleep as well.
Maine never slept as deep or as peacefully as he did that night.
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*excerpts from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, translated by JRR Tolkien.