For we are a woven thread.

[the_marshal]

WHO| Wyatt and Maximus
WHAT| Reuniting and it feels so good.
WHERE| Wyatt's room in the Ten suite.
WHEN| After his death, finale of the arena.
Warnings/Notes| Feels. Of the Waximus variety. Perhaps some adult-esq content? Maybe, putting it down just in case.



There were likely some watching out there, from the warm, clean safety of their homes, who found it all rather anticlimactic. After all that fuss, all that time. Wyatt though, there in the strange clarity that came when a body realized what was happening to it, found it oddly fitting.

He'd wondered, before, as surely most men in his position did, if someday he wouldn't meet his end at the end of a barrel. And there it was, all this way from home, the answer to that old question found face-down in a shining puddle of his own fluids.

It was better in some ways, he supposed. Worse in others.

There was too much time. Several long moments as his heart beat his life's-blood onto the ground. Too much time to know he'd failed. To wonder if Howard was alright, back in the Capitol. To remember the feel of Max's lips against his own.

To realize how much he was losing, as he lay there, clasping tight to all the pretty promises Max sent him. His bloody fingers smearing the neat, fine print as the darkness stole away the rest.

The canon boomed, the game went on. His killer rode away with the crown.

And while the Capitol sang her praises, against all odds, Wyatt stirred. A quickening breath, his eyelids fluttering. The familiar blue ceiling swimming above him.

Back again.

A cricket called, a soft cree-cree and his heart slammed against his ribs.

Alive again.

The room came into a sudden, sharp focus as he lurched upright, awake with a snap like lightning.

The hologram wall, the figures on his desk - everything exactly as he'd left it an arena ago. ...Everything except for the little bag, his name scrawled across the front, sitting on his desk, and the chair, dragged up to the bedside. And the figure in it, slumped, chin against his chest, in sleep.

Last he'd seen Max, the Peacekeepers had been dragging him from the room.

Wyatt hadn't been able to reach for him then, and now, despite the hard kick in his gut - the instinct - he hesitated to.

What if it wasn't real? What if it was a dream? A picture, like the wall beside him?

Some hell he'd never imagined - close, but never quite enough.

"...Max?" Need won out. He shifted, sheets rustling, and reached for him.

Comments

[gluteus]

His eyes closed, a low groan in the back of his throat as he felt - as he heard - Wyatt's pleasure. Though before Wyatt he of course had no idea how to pleasure a man this way, he was fairly confident in his ability to learn it quickly, and he put every single lesson to task now. He would prove to Wyatt just how much he had missed him, with every flick of his tongue and every press of his lips.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt had always considered himself a strong man. Firm and steady, a holder of ground capable of taking a blow with the best of them and still come back to see the job done. But there he was, all but undone by the teasing lap of a tongue. By the muffled rumble of a groan in his ears, humming against his skin.

If he'd been on his feet, he'd have been brought to his knees.

The pleasure was so sharp, cutting away everything but Max and the things he was doing. He spoke, roughly, breathlessly. Murmured words to echo the tattoo his heart was beating against his ribs.

Promises and curses and pleas.

All love, all for Max, as the pleasure, and the pressure built. As his guts twisted, muscles jerking, a helpless buck as the flames - brighter, hotter, sweeter than any the Capitol could ever hope to strike - washed over him.

[gluteus]

He could feel the build up and he moved with it, encouraging it, edging Wyatt closer and closer until he felt him break - until he could taste his pleasure on his tongue. He drank it down, gladly, waiting until Wyatt was completely spent before raising his lips and offering a warm smile, and a gentle kiss to his hip.

"... Welcome home," he murmured.

[the_marshal]

Eyes closed, body still beneath Max's, Wyatt might have been dead. Save for the rise and fall of his chest as he fought to catch his breath; save for the thundering drum of his heart.

Save that death had never been so sweet.

Clumsily - still working on getting his limbs all back in order, muscles and nerves and bones behaving on command again - he reached for Max, trying to coax him back up where his lips could reach him.

"...I'd say, I should go more often--" His mouth found skin, and took a long taste. "But I ain't sure I'd survive it."

[gluteus]

He let Wyatt guide him back upward, though his lips kept taking tastes of Wyatt's skin as he moved.

"I'm sure somehow you'd manage," Maximus rumbled, amused, as he finally slid in against him. His own arousal had only be encouraged by Wyatt's pleasure, and he rocked his hips against Wyatt's thigh in a slow, rolling rhythm.

"And if not, well, there are worse ways to die..."

[the_marshal]

Wyatt laughed, a low, breathy chuckle rumbling against Max's jaw as his lips worked their way along the strong ridge bone. The scratch of the man's beard a pleasant echo, sending small aftershocks through his blood.

"'Spose we'll have to wait an' see," he murmured roughly, the words almost lost as he found Max's mouth and took in a long kiss. The taste - that heady combination of Max, of salt and sweat and heat, and himself - stronger than anything he'd ever found in a bottle. "...'Cause I ain't plannin' on goin' anywhere."

He could feel him, hot and hard and heavy against his thigh in that slow, torturous rock, and the only thing he wanted was to bring his lover pleasure.

To give, as much as he had taken.

He didn't have a wealth of experience in the area, everything he knew learned in moment's such as these, with Max, but he had instincts. He knew what felt good - and he had an open, creative, mind.

Gripping Max's hip with one hand, he shifted. With the other, he reached between them. A guiding hand as he opened his thighs enough to give Max something to slip into, to grind against.

[gluteus]

"Nor I," Maximus said, before his voice slipped into a rough, gravelly groan. It was so simple an action they may as well have been teenagers, but the resulting friction was almost impossibly sweet. It took his breath away as he pressed close, slowly moving his hips, rocking himself to thrust himself between Wyatt's thighs. He might have been embarrassed, if it was no so perfectly satisfying.

"Wyatt--" He murmured, half a gasp as his head ducked against the man's throat, teeth playing at his neck as he moved.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt might have been satisfied - wholly, entirely - just moments before, but still his blood surged with every stroke. Still his heart thundered, a runaway train, threatening to crash through his ribs.

His arms banded around him, hands rough and tender by turns as they played over the muscle bunching and flexing beneath Max's skin.

"...Go on, Max," he encouraged, groaning the words, growling them against Max's shoulder, teeth closing on damp, salted flesh. "Come on with me."

[gluteus]

There was no defense that Maximus could possibly raise against those words. Nothing he could possibly do to stem the tide as the pleasure rushed up over him, and with a long growling groan completely overcame him. His release was so intense it caused light to spark in his vision, nearly blacking out as if everything left him all at once. Gasping, he shuddered as his hips thrust with every aftershock, until finally he just collapsed heavily on Wyatt's chest.

[the_marshal]

He'd just gotten out of the arena. Max had just, too easily, turned him inside out. He shouldn't have had anything left... but he felt it, just the same. A wild ride, his heart racing along in his chest like a champion thoroughbred.

He felt the pressure built in every snap of Max's hips, heard it in each shuddering breath. Tasted it in the salt of his skin, the hard, desperate kisses.

The release was like his own. A glorious rush of heat and pleasure that faded, but lingered, as his senses came back around. As the quiet settled around them again, the sweat a cool tickle as it dried on his skin, his heart thumping in time to the one pressed to his breast.

Passion and lust giving way to love. To joy.

To a bone-deep contentment.

His grip loosened, gentled, looped around Max's waist, draped over his shoulder. He laughed, a low, breathless rumble and brushed his lips lightly against Max's ear, the only movement he had energy enough for.

"Best way," he mumbled. "For sure."

[gluteus]

He was breathing hard, trying to get his heart to quiet, to get his blood to stop it's backbreaking torrent. He could feel Wyatt's laugh, the rumble vibrating through both of them, and couldn't help but laugh breathlessly in reply.

"I think.... I will be able to sleep for a week," He muttered into Wyatt's throat as he kissed it roughly.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt made a humming sound in the back of his throat, a purr - rough, but content. For the first time since the start of the arena, perfectly, and completely, happy.

"We'll put a sign on the door..." He smiled up the ceiling, eyes half-lidded as he considered doing just that. "Tell 'em we've decided to hibernate."

He could live on Max, he decided.

[gluteus]

He chuckled, low and full of relief - content in the same happiness that ebbed through Wyatt.

Ebbed through them both.

They were still slaves, still beholden to this place, but now it would be much more difficult to separate them. Maximus thought that he could continue on, with that knowledge.

He reached out, threading his fingers through Wyatt's, turning his head to offer the man a warm, fond smile.

"No," He murmured. "No one else needs to know what we've found." The smile spread. "It's none of their business."

[the_marshal]

Wyatt's fingers closed around Max's, adding his strength to the knot that wove them together.

The Capitol would come eventually, and he would have to go again, but they had this.

Bringing their joined hands to his mouth, Wyatt brushed a tickling kiss across Mac's knuckles, then let them rest against his heart, thumping lazily away in his chest.

They had this room, this moment - one another - and that was enough for now.