I hate trying to putmy desire into words when my body knows exactly what to say. Come home. (You can’t start a fire without aspark.)
Maxson’s throwing papers from his journal on the fire, andSam wouldn’t care, except he went to a lot of work to cobble that thingtogether and really, Maxson’s writing isn’t bad, from what Sam’s been allowedto see, so he’s not sure what requires such vehement ripping and tossing.
“Hey,” he says, and Maxson glances up, scowls, andslaps the journal shut, and Sam doesn’t get a word out of him.
Something should be said here, Sam thinks, something poetic,or witty, or even something along the lines of ‘was it good for you too?’ oreven the crass 'I really want to fuck again sometime soon’ but instead they’reslumped together, panting, not looking at each other, sweaty and messy, and Samdoesn’t know how to say anything he should, but Maxson isn’t speaking either,so whatever.
“So,” Sam says, and Maxson rolls over, props hishead up on his fist.
And then Sam’s at a loss, because what the hell is hesupposed to say when Maxson looks so tired and dishevelled and vulnerable andreally, you know what, kisses are better, so he goes for one of those. Maxsonobliges.
What Sam wants to say is: I can’t get enough of you.
What Sam does say, because as he opens his mouth heremembers it’s been a year, exactly, since the Prydwen burned and Maxson wasthrust out of his old life and into–well–whatever this is: “You everthink of yourself as Elder anymore?”
Maxson’s head snaps up and his gaze is ice, colder than it’sbeen towards Sam for months, and fuck, he deserved that.
Sam doesn’t try to explain what he meant, that he meant I struggle with my past too, that hemeant I never know what I’m supposed tobe without that structure, that he meant I’m not sure if we can ever make up for what we’ve said and done andsupported but that doesn’t mean we don’t go forward, right, because hedoesn’t even know how to say those things to himself.
With his head on Maxson’s shoulder, Sam yawns and taps thejournal page Maxson is looking down at. “Read to me what you’vewritten.”
Maxson chuckles. “Roses are red, violets areblue–”
“That’s not what it says.”
Sam feels Maxson kiss the top of his head. “No. Butthat doesn’t matter.”
