this is from before i ever shared any fic with the hbo war fandom, and it was the intro to a big, epic WIP that just never would’ve happened, because i always start with grandiose ideas and then have to pace myself to come up with anything shareable. but heck, you know, i think i’ll share the bits i feel could maybe stand alone today, why not?
this has some heavy smoochin’ but nothing more serious than that.
“Gene. Hang on a minute.”
With an exasperated but fond smile tugging at his lips, Eugene sighs and lets his hand slip off the handle of his truck’s driver’s side door, turning back toward the house he just left for – they said they’d discussed this enough times to understand, and that they weren’t going to let their thoughts get bogged down in maybes or what ifs, but stride confidently into battle on opposite sides of the world – what could be the last time.
Gene should’ve known better, though. If Merriell has a single gift stronger than the rest, and his gifts are as plentiful as they are powerful, it’s for hanging on where he needs to let go and letting go where he needs to hang on. Maybe that’s just such a strong gift that he doesn’t trust his instincts, tries to pull a bait and switch on them, but whatever the case – he doesn’t need Gene anymore. What he needs is to let go.
So naturally he’s already going back on their goodbye.
“Yeah, Merriell?” He turns and rests a hip against the side of his truck, looking into his best friend’s illusive green-grey eyes; they take up the better part of Merriell’s tan face, and while sometimes they give Merriell away when he’s trying his hardest to play dumb, other times they deceive better than any spoken lies ever could. It’s about as safe as planning your future around what you see in a crystal ball, trying to read Merriell’s intentions in his eyes. But what other options does Gene have when Merriell says nothing, just stays standing in his doorway with an expression so lost that it makes Gene’s stomach give a painful twist?
“Merriell,” he says more firmly, finally giving in just enough to walk back to the front door and clap a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t look like that. You’ll get by without me. You ain’t never really needed me, not like -”
With a choked noise that he tries to stifle by sucking his lips between his teeth and biting down hard, Merriell grabs Gene’s other arm and yanks him back into the house, kicking the door closed behind him and backing him up against it until they’re nose to nose. His mouth is even redder and fuller than usual when he finally loosens the clamp of his jaw around it, lips parted and wet, which makes Gene’s heart stutter strangely in his chest.
He can’t look away. Merriell’s got him pinned to the door, breathing heavy and hot against his skin, a friend he’s had for five years and suddenly he thinks he doesn’t know the other young man at all, and all he can do is stare at those lips as though he’s been transfixed.
“What if I do, Gene,” Merriell finally says – not asks, although it’s worded as a question, because he’s got a way of flattening his already monotone voice in tense moments so that his inflection renders everything a cool, dispassionate statement. “What if I always did, huh. What – ain’t you ever fuckin’ wondered why I enlisted with the marines when I knew you was in the army?”
There – it’s all breaking apart now, all of his guard. Gene chances a look back into Merriell’s eyes and sees nothing but pain, conflict, the same things twisting his entire face. What’s he getting at? A deliberate attempt to avoid Gene during the course of the war by putting half the world between them - but why, where would the sense be in that?
“Merriell…” Gene doesn’t want to sound as cautious as he feels, but truth be told, he’s almost frightened. Merriell’s never restrained him physically, despite showing more than once that he’s happy to use his body to make others uncomfortable if it’ll guarantee him the upper hand. He can feel himself shrinking up against the door a little and he doesn’t want to, but he can’t convince himself that he should feel safe. Not with Merriell like this. “What’re you sayin’?”
“Fuckin’ idiot,” Merriell sighs harshly, and Gene’s just opening his mouth to object when Merriell decides to close the scant distance between their faces, which leaves Gene kissing his male best friend with an open mouth because he can’t correct any of the things wrong with that statement in time to make them untrue. His eyes widen when he realizes what’s happened, what’s still happening, and he tries to push Merriell away but then Merriell catches up and his mouth opens too. Then a kiss that was nothing but awkward and ill timed becomes hot and wet, Merriell’s tongue slicking aggressively over Gene’s lips and into his mouth.
Then their tongues meet and Gene thinks that sparks must shoot from the corners of their lips, because nothing but electricity could send such a powerful jolt through his body.
“Jesus,” Gene gasps when they break apart long enough for him to catch his breath, his cheek pressed against Merriell’s and his hands fisted up in the front of Merriell’s shirt, “Jesus Christ,” and when Gene won’t move his head enough for Merriell to find his mouth again, the lips Gene couldn’t stop staring at press right up against the pulse point in his neck instead and he slumps back against the door with a quiet whimper. “Nom de Dieu…”
“Quel blasphème, Gene,” Merriell purrs against his skin with obvious delight, and Gene truly feels his head drop below the surface, somehow knowing even from that first moment that he’ll never see the world from above it again.
some snafroe (does it have a name? can i call it that?) for @webgottrash who admittedly likes it as a brotp, but it’s not aggressively shippy (i’m creepy, i saw you say this elsewhere and was so excited to see someone else who liked it that i spotted it immediately). this is a snippet from an rp line where they knew one another from childhood.
If Merriell shared his reasons for feeling uncomfortable at home, Eugene would probably posit that he takes up too much space with his very being to have enough anywhere. Well, no, he wouldn't say it aloud, but he'd think it - even now, he could sit on the bed, Merriell's left enough physical room, but he's on the floor with his back resting against it instead because all that extra presence around Merriell is taking up the rest. He's huge, massive, for such a skinny boy.
Eugene is small. Granmé used to tell him not to make himself so small when he was very young, when she was still alive; she talked about his aura, and his energy, and the shadow that haloed his head. It wasn't meant for him, she said, that shadow. His môman just said he looked like he was born with the worries of an old man. Everyone else glanced at him sidelong, the frown lines carved so deep into a young and chubby face, and found him a bit unsettling.
Except Merriell. Maybe Eugene allows Merriell to have enough space in his company by taking up so little. The thought would make his heart skip and flutter uncomfortably - if Merriell shared any of his thoughts. Better that he didn't, and doesn't. Eugene can already get drunk on how much he feels for Merriell without any input.
