faderift | Now I'm gonna reap what I sow

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Now I'm gonna reap what I sow

WHO: Maxwell Trevean and Gavin Ashara; Gavin Ashara and Pel Ashara
WHAT: Maxwell and Gavin crush awkwardly, Gavin's ex-fiance wanders in. Dun dun duuuun.
WHEN: Forward dated slightly to just before the Mire signups.
WHERE: Battlements
NOTES: All the sadz. Maybe some language? Will updated if needed.

Walking the battlements, Maxwell was on patrol. Watching the dark night sky and the cold, moonlit horizon for rippling wings or marching shadows. In reality the only he'd seen were shining stars and the occasional animal - foxes and rabbits, kiting across the ground.

Humming to himself, a old Marcher battle hymn, he leaned against the stone and chased a familiar constellation with his eyes.

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Watch the ears.

He remembered that too, and his eyes flicked to the high, fine points of Gavin's ears almost without prompting. Knowing it didn't mean anything, but unable to help himself.

"I don't have a team," he replied after a moment, with a little clearing of his throat. "I'm sure yours is already full, even if the scouts actually wanted me."

"I'm pretty sure there are more than a few of them that will jump at the chance to not have to trudge around in a bog," He pointed out with a sideways grin, having managed to get his heart to slow enough to look at Maxwell again.

"I can put a good word in for you, with Harding. See if I can get you on board with us." He reached out to press his fist gently into Maxwell's arm, somewhere between a punch and a cat pressing its head into someone's leg.

Not at all a punch, basically.

"Don't go making up reasons you can't come already," he teased.

Maxwell reached, fingers brushing over Gavin's fist - an odd heartbeat lingering uncertain even what he meant to do - then he teasingly waved him off, as if fending off of a blow and massaged his arm, played wounded.

"Leeches and mud and undead and apparently a deadly plague..." he chuckled, and shook his head. "I know I've been cooped up too long."

The air was so thick Gavin could taste it, his ears turning hotter than they were before, though he retracted his hand. (Could feel the lingering tingle on his knuckles from where they had been brushed.)

"Maybe you just want my company," He teased - the same way he would tease anyone - the words coming out before he even thought of them. But it wasn't the fact that it was a reflex, that made the flush in his ears spread. It was that once said, he a) couldn't take them back and b) hadn't realised just how much he wanted that to be the case.

"There is that," Maxwell laughed, but the sound was soft and low, as his fingers continued to rub at his arm. They needed something to do, lest he give into the itch, deep in his palm and do something he couldn't take back.

He wasn't sure it was wise to look at him then, his heart thumping at the gentle teasing, but he did it anyway. His gaze lingered on the lean profile of Gavin's face, his copper skin tinted blue in the moonlight looking soft and cool - though the quick brush had told him he was warm....

"It's not the worst way I could spend my time," he said, softly.

He met Maxwell's look an his heart thumped, heavily, missing a beat, and then putting two together to quickly as if to make up for the earlier lack.

"I don't know about that," He said quietly, unable to look away. He couldn't misunderstand that look, now. Or the soft tone in Maxwell's voice, or... well. Or what that soft tone did to his chest, twisting it in strange ways. He swallowed, reaching out to slide a hand around Maxwell's elbow, stepping ever so slightly closer.

"... You haven't seen the bogs yet."

Their eyes met and held, and Maxwell's breath caught, knotting in his throat. He'd asked before, and Gavin had turned away with a laugh, but that was the furthest thing from the look on his face now. Maybe... maybe there could be something. Anything.

His chest tightened. His tongue flicked to touch his lower lip, flashing quickly before disappearing again.

"No," he agreed. "That's true." He shifted, just slightly, turning a fraction to face Gavin. "But I do know--"

I kiss all my friends. That was the thought that came, unbidden, as Maxwell's words trailed off. It was true, in a sense - Gavin had always been perfectly comfortable showing his friends physical affection. Including some more, ah, sensual versions of it that most people tended to see outside the realm of platonic. But it didn't matter to Gavin. He was happy, if his friends were happy, if everyone was having fun.

This. This was not platonic. Even just holding Maxwell's gaze made it hard to breath, and it was a half heart beat later that a very real, intense panic took over.

For a moment he looked like he might bolt - a deer, suddenly realising it stood next to a hunter, staring at him until it took off into the woods. He sucked in a breath, his fingers on Maxwell's arm loosening, fully intending to pull away - before even the thought of letting go now made his stomach twist painfully.

There wasn't another thought - one second he was about to bolt and the next he was pushing up on his toes, raising himself so that he could meet Maxwell's lips, so that he could take them in the kiss that they'd been longing after for nearly four years.

Pel must have cosmically bad luck, to walk in on these particular people at this particular moment. It takes her a moment to see them, and her steps slow as she passes, to halt when she realizes that's Gavin kissing someone. And it's weird. At first it's this out-of-body experience, him kissing someone who isn't her. It's not like she didn't know this happened a lot, but she's never had the misfortune to see it.

Whatever she lacks, this stranger seems to have plenty of. She doesn't mean to stop and stare, but she does. Maybe if she watches, she can punish herself into getting over this.

It doesn't last long. A heartbeat later, she can't take it. She turns away and starts jogging in a direction, whatever direction she happened to turn in, not even the one that leads to her destination. She just needs to get far away before this teetering wall crumbles entirely and the water pours in.

A small part of him had hoped, but how quickly it had turned to dread, the quickened beat of his heart wrenching and slowing. Thickening as Gavin's face paled and those green eyes widened.

Clear, undeniable panic.

He told himself to turn, to remember his place - what he was, what they were - but before it was anything more than a chiding whisper, Gavin was moving. He was raising closer, the moonlight and the stone falling away as Maxwell's sight was eclipsed by Gavin's eyes, his mouth moving in. The whole of his senses were shuttering away and filtering through the press of those lips. The feel of them against his own, warm and lightly trembling; the taste of them - like salt and something else, something fresh.

He had hoped, but he had never imagined that it would be like that. That would be that simple. That he would feel the pieces falling into place just like that.

It was what he had wanted then, yes. And it was what he wanted now. And he could easily, so easily, want tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.... He started to reach, his trembling fingers moving toward Gavin's cheek, readying to cup him closer - then he heard it, somehow, over the drum of his heart.

The shift of stone, a stumbling step.

His lips broke away from Gavin's in time to see the woman turning and hurrying away.

It may as well have been a canon shot, for how abruptly he pulled away. He turned in time to see her - the silhouette absolutely unmistakable. The panic that had almost been pushed away when Maxwell's lips had pressed back that tender kiss had now returned full force, and far eclipsed it.

Pel.

The knowledge of what had happened was instant, and made his heart plummet right into his stomach. Idiot. He was an absolute idiot. He turned quickly back to look at Maxwell, his expression torn between apologetic and panicked, and he squeezed his arm once, tightly.

"Sorry," he said in a rush. "Maxwell, I--- Sorry, I have to--" But he couldn't finish the sentence, just abruptly let go, turned on his heel, and ran off: swearing under his breath as he chased after Pel.

He might have laughed, was starting to smile - a stranger, embarrassed for having walked in on them; him, blushing, but happy - but both died quickly when he turned back and saw the look on Gavin's face. He had just enough time to process that something was horribly wrong, but before he could even ask, Gavin was pulling away.

"Gav--"

Then he was running away. And in a heartbeat, Maxwell was standing alone in the quiet of the battlements, feeling like he'd been struck. Uncertainly, his hands flexed at his sides and he turned, eyes blank. Lost.

There was nothing to say. There was nothing to do.

He could only stagger back into his patrol, watching the strangely emptier horizon.

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Now I'm gonna reap what I sow

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