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Tucker’s never liked winter much. He always gets a fucking cold, which means Junior usually ends up getting one two, and then they’re both just stuck in bed for days all snuffly and miserable and dealing with Caboose and Donut’s attempts to help them feel better. And it’s way harder to try to talk Wash into a swimsuit when it’s like ten fucking degrees outside.
Every year, it’s the fucking same. After he and Junior finally get over their colds, Donut has his stupid party where he makes them go along with his dumb gift exchange thing, then the next week they all get dragged along to go skiing at some dumb lodge that Simmons’ dad owns, and then it’s just nontstop until Christmas with the shopping and decorating.
And it’s not that Tucker minds all that, but it’s just gotten so old. It feels like it’s the same damn thing every year. He sighs heavily as he flips the calendar over to December and a new kitten stares him down. Where Caboose found the kitten calendar with the creepiest dead eyes, he doesn’t know. Same old, same old.
Week One
On December third, the pipes in Wash’s apartment break.
“--no, no… yes, I understand. Alright. Alright fine.” Wash sighs and hangs up the phone. He’s still dripping a little, leaving a small puddle on the floor of Tucker’s living room. His hair’s all damp and his jeans are soaked through to the knee.
Tucker hadn’t really meant to listen into the call while he grabbed him a pair of sweats to borrow, but it had been kinda hard next to. “Not good?” he asks, heading over to pile a change of clothes into Wash’s arms.
Sighing, Wash shakes his head. “They shut the water off, but they aren’t going to be able to fix the pipes in the building for a week and a half.”
“Shit dude, that blows.” It’s not like Wash has the nicest apartment in the world, actually, Tucker’s been kinda trying to talk him into moving some place better for a year and a half. But still, it sucks being stuck having to find somewhere else with literally no notice. “You know where you’re gonna stay till then?”
Wash frowns a little, looking at his phone. “Not exactly. Hotels are expensive and Maine’s out of town until the tenth…”
“Just stay here then.” Tucker says it before he can really think about it. And really, he shouldn’t have to think about it too much. Wash has crashed there plenty of times before. But they’re sort of almost a thing now. Or Tucker’s pretty sure they are at least, it’s kinda hard to tell with Wash, the dude never actually says what he fucking wants. Tucker doesn’t have that problem… which might make things a little awkward if Wash stays on the couch when he’d really rather get him in his bed.
But whatever. The dude needs a place to sleep and it’s not like Tucker’s gonna let him just go back out into the cold. Because Wash and his fear of cars would just walk all over town trying to find somewhere else to crash. And it’s not snowing yet, but it sure as fuck feels like it’s going to soon.
“I don’t know,” Wash says slowly, because he can’t make anything easy ever, his eyes flicking toward the door to Junior’s room. “You’ve already got Junior and Caboose here. I wouldn’t want to impose--”
“Dude, it’s not imposing if I’m the one asking you to stay. You know I’ve got room and Caboose and Junior love you, so it’s not like you’re gonna be getting in the way or anything. Hell, this just saves me the time coming over to your place to grab you every other day for Christmas shit.”
Tucker’s pretty sure there’s a hint of a smile on Wash’s face as he nods reluctantly. “I suppose that’s true. Well… if you’re really sure…”
“I’m fucking sure, dude. Now go throw your shit in the laundry. You know where it is,” Tucker says, already on the way to the hall closet. There’s always a couple extra blankets and pillows in there. Someone crashes on the couch at least a couple times a week, so it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.
“I think I know where it is better than you do.” Wash shoots him a teasing grin and heads down the hall. Tucker just snorts, because… yeah okay, Wash ends up doing laundry like half the time he’s there. It’s not Tucker’s fault he forgets, laundry is just so boring and half the time he forgets to put the soap in so he’s gotta do it twice.
He drops a pile of blankets and pillows onto the couch and shoots off a couple texts to Junior and Caboose, already knowing they’re both gonna be thrilled to have Wash stay over. Junior responds immediately, asking if Wash can help him build a snowman. The kid’s optimistic about that every year and Tucker can never bring himself to tell him that an inch and a half of shitty slushy snow, if they get that, isn’t gonna make a great snowball. Caboose just sends a mass of emojis, which Tucker’s pretty sure means he’s excited.
His phone buzzes again and Tucker’s eyebrows rise when he sees Donut’s name. And then he remembers. Groaning, he sinks back onto the couch. “Hey Wash, are you going to Donut’s stupid party this year?”
“I was planning on it,” Wash says as he returns from the laundry room and heads into the kitchen, probably to judge the state of the fridge and the cupboards like he usually does. It’s not Tucker’s fault that ordering take-out is easier than trying to make stuff. There’s a sigh as Wash opens the fridge. “When was the last time you went shopping?”
“I dunno… June? There’s most of a pizza left in there if you’re hungry.” Tucker leaves it there, because he knows that no amount of protesting is going to stop Wash from filling up the fridge. He’ll just shove a couple twenties in Wash’s wallet later, the guy never counts that shit.
Wash wanders over, a plate in hand, because he insists on eating like an adult. He lightly shoves Tucker’s legs off the couch so he can sit and only makes a faint noise of protest when Tucker gets them up and onto his lap just a moment later. The plate ends up on Tucker’s legs and one of Wash’s hands finds its way to Tucker’s ankle. It’s familiar, easy.
“So what was that about Donut’s party? Are you not going this year?” Wash asks, somehow still sounding curious with a mouth full of pizza.
“Nah, I’m going. If I don’t, I’m gonna hear it till the next fucking party.” Tucker lets his phone drop onto his chest and makes grabby hands at Wash until he hands over a piece of pizza. “Just don’t wanna do the dumb gift exchange thing, I always get like… fucking Sarge or someone and I never know what to get. Dude, you didn’t heat this up, what the hell?”
“I like cold pizza,” Wash says shrugging. “It’ll be fine, nothing can be worse than the time I got Simmons those self-defense lessons.”
Tucker snorts. “Yeah, he still sometimes panic flips people, it’s kinda great.”
“I created a monster,” Wash says, shaking his head. It’s taken four years, but he’s finally learned how to be melodramatic sarcastically, Tucker’s never been so proud. “But I’m sure it won’t be that bad. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Why would you say that? Dude, you totally just jinxed me. I’m gonna get Tex now and she’s gonna put me through a fucking wall if I get her something shitty.”
Wash just laughs at him. “Then don’t get her something shitty. Simple.”
It’s easy to go back and forth with Wash for hours until Junior gets in and charges the couch, throwing himself in the middle, already giggling like mad and talking a million miles an hour about all the stuff Wash has to do while he’s there.
“--and I got a new set of legos you gotta help me build. Oh and this new video game, dad sucks at it, so you gotta be my player two,” Junior says, bouncing on the spot where he’s tucked himself between them.
Tucker squawks. “Hey, it’s not my fault, the controls for that game are weird as fuck. Who the fuck makes Y the jump button?”
Wash looks like he’s fighting down a laugh as he nods and lightly musses Junior’s hair. “Sure. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying, but I’m sure there’ll be time for me to help you, buddy.”
Junior sticks out his lower lip and Tucker knows what’s coming. The kid likes people leaving even less than Tucker does, which… is kinda saying something. So Wash starting with that isn’t great. Probably better cut in before Junior breaks out the sad eyes to try to convince Wash to stay for a month.
“Hey, Junior, how ‘bout you get Wash to help with your homework. I’m gonna order food. You want pizza again?” Tucker’s already pushing himself up and heading for the fridge. The whole front is covered with a collage of take-out menus, artwork Junior’s made at school, and pictures mostly of the two of them, Caboose, Church, and Wash.
Junior makes a lot of complaining noises, but when Tucker glances over his shoulder, he’s laying out his homework on the coffee table and talking to Wash about a test he has to study for. Attentive as always, Wash nods and leans to look at the papers as Junior settles in leaning against his side. It takes all Tucker’s self control not to snap a picture. Most of his camera roll is just pictures of the two of them.
Cause the thing is, Junior’s a shy kid, he always has been. Sometimes he still gets a little nervous with his grandparents, but he’s never had a problem with Wash. It’s almost enough for Tucker to try to get Wash to just move in already. If that wouldn’t make things super weird.
Sighing, Tucker shakes his head a little and turns to the fridge. Wash isn’t staying, he never does, he can’t get used to this. If only that was enough to stop him getting his hopes up.
As expected, Donut’s party blows. And not in the fun way. The whole thing always kinda just feels like Donut’s excuse to show off his fancy house and all the decorations he’s somehow talked people into helping him put up. And okay, yeah the giant waving snowman display is pretty impressive and nice and non denominational. There’s also lights in every color Tucker’s ever heard of, and a few he’s pretty sure Donut just made up, and they’re fucking everywhere. Tucker kinda feels like shit about the white twinkle lights he’s got at home that he hasn’t even put up yet, maybe he can steal a string od Donut’s lights when no one’s looking. It might make him feel at least a little better after the name drawing goes just as he figured.
Tucker huffs as he shoves the piece of paper Donut forced him to draw out of a bright pink cowboy hat (he knows where Donut got that and wishes he didn’t) into his pocket. Tex, of fucking course he’d get Tex. He brought this on himself somehow. And he couldn’t even get Junior to trade with him, Grif’s so much easier to shop for. Just get him any kind of food and he’s good.
So now he’s brooding out on the balcony, hands cupped around a mug of eggnog. Alright, maybe it’s mostly booze, but Tucker’s pretty sure if anyone gave Donut shit about his eggnog recipe, it wouldn’t end well. Not like it matters, they’re all staying over, so he’s not driving tonight.
He should probably head back in soon, it’s cold as dicks outside. Still no snow though, and no sign of any coming, which… might be why Junior’s been sort of grumpy, and probably why he didn’t want to trade. Shit, Tucker should go check on him.
Glancing in through the glass door, he spots Junior sitting on the couch with Tex, looking at something on her phone. They’re both laughing, which he’s gonna take as a good sign. He’ll give them a couple minutes. More time for grumping.
Tucker turns back to look out at the sky. And it still sucks that there’s no snow, but without any clouds, the stars do look pretty awesome.
The door opens behind him and Tucker half glances back and finds Wash, a mug of cocoa in his hand. Even though he saw him put it on before, Tucker still can’t get enough of the stupid reindeer sweater Wash’s wearing. He had got it for Wash as a gag gift two years ago, but Wash never lets anything go to waste. But hell, if there’s ever a time to wear a sweater with reindeer humping all over it, it’s Donut’s stupid party.
“Having fun out here?” Wash asks, moving to stand next to him, leaning against the railing.
“Yeah, so much fun, dude. I love freezing my ass off at shitty parties.”
“You can come back inside, y’know?” Wash sounds like he’s trying not to laugh at him, which is sort of nice. “Donut’s about to start party games.”
Tucker snorts. “That just makes me wanna stay out here longer. You know he’s gonna try and talk us into playing Twister again.”
“Better that than Musical Chairs, do you remember last time?”
“Not really, but I’m pretty sure that’s cause of the concussion.” Being the last one left in a game of Musical Chairs with Carolina and Tex is just about the most terrifying position Tucker’s ever been in, and that’s saying a lot.
“I don’t think it’ll get that out of hand this year,” Wash says, sounding more confident than he looks.
Tucker keeps sneaking little looks at him from the corner of his eye. With the lights Donut’s got up out here, Wash kinda looks like he’s glowing, the lights and the stars sparkling in his eyes. The bags under them aren’t as bad as usual, something Tucker’s taking partial credit for, because his couch is comfortable as hell, and if anyone needs a decent place to sleep, it’s Wash.
Apparently he stares a little too long, cause Wash’s eyes meet his and he cocks an eyebrow at him. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
Fuck. Tucker shakes his head. “Nah, just uh… the lights kinda make everything look weird out here.”
Wash blinks at him, then looks up at the roof hanging over the balcony. “I guess they do, but--wait. What’s that? Oh tell me Donut didn’t…”
“Huh?” Tucker looks up and goes still. That’s definitely mistletoe. He’s seen little clumps of it all over Donut’s place. So far, he’s pretty sure most people have gone out of their way to avoid it, because they know someone’s gonna be the asshole that insists on following the tradition.
Tucker glances at Wash, who’s turned a little bit pink, and he’s pretty sure that’s only half from the cold. “Well,” he says slowly, “you know the rule…”
Wash looks at him sharply, eyes wide and Tucker almost bites his tongue. Fuck, okay, that definitely sounded weird. Maybe he can just play it off. “I mean, it’s not like we have to. Not like anyone’s seen us out here, hell, Donut might not even remember he stuck that shit out here.”
For some reason, that doesn’t make Wash look relieved. Actually, now he’s kind of frowning a little as he glances toward the door. After a second, he shakes his head. “No, it’s… I don’t mind…”
The fuck does that mean? Tucker blinks at him. “You sure, Wash? If you don’t wanna--”
“I do. Want to.” Wash goes from pink to red, but there’s this weirdly determined look on his face as he sets down his mug on the railing. And then he leans forward, cupping Tucker’s face with both hands as he plants one on him.
It’s warm. Wash is really, really fucking warm, so Tucker leans into him. He fumbles a little for the railing to set his own mug down so he can get both hands free to shove them up under Wash’s stupid sweater. Oh shit, that’s even better, especially when Wash shivers a little and presses up against him. His mouth is warm and he smells like the hot chocolate he was just drinking and Tucker just wants to wrap himself up in him.
They break apart when the wolf whistles start. Tucker blows out a visible breath as he turns to glare at the door, it’s still closed, but at least eight people have their faces pressed up against the glass. Junior gives him a big thumbs up and Tex makes a couple hand gestures as tips for what they should do next.
Wash groans and presses his face into the crook of his neck. “I changed my mind, you’re right, these parties are terrible.”
Tucker hums, reluctantly pulling a hand out from under Wash’s sweater to tangle in his hair. “I dunno, I think I’m coming around on that.”
He gives Wash’s hair a little tug, pulling him into another kiss. Wash makes a slight noise of surprise, but doesn’t protest, winding his arms tightly around Tucker’s waist, and Jesus Christ his hands are cold when they sneak up under Tucker’s shirt. It’s too cold and too warm and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
Tucker extends a middle finger toward the sound of more cheers and whistles, but he’s grinning against Wash’s lips and he can’t make himself stop. Maybe some of this winter stuff isn’t so bad. He’s definitely going to have to steal some mistletoe before they leave.
Week Two
It’s snowing the next time they kiss. The snow is half the reason why they all keep going along to the fancy old cabin Simmons refuses to stay in alone. Tucker doesn’t actually mind the drive as long as he can keep Caboose from blasting Christmas music all the way there. And the cabin itself is actually kinda cool, even if Simmons swears it’s haunted as fuck. There’s honestly only one problem Tucker has with the yearly trip: the fucking sweaters.
“Do I really have to wear it?” Tucker is 100% not pouting at the ugly as fuck sweater he just dug out of the gift bag Donut had dropped off with Wash that morning. He’s half tempted to ask if Kai was the one that picked the colors. Because who the fuck else would put teal, blindingly bright red, and a sickly shade of neon green together? The bright yellow T just makes it worse.
“Yes,” Wash says, arms crossed over the W on his equally horrendous sweater (lemon yellow polka dots and mud brown lines crisscrossing randomly). “Sarge started these back in April, we’re wearing them.”
Which is fine for Wash, because even the stupid sweater looks good on him. The aggressively blue W kinda brings out his eyes and it’s a little snug on his arms, so his biceps look fucking huge and it’s not fair. Tucker’s going to look like he’s trying to wear some kind of shitty circus tent.
“Daaaaad, hurry up, we gotta go!” Junior pokes his head into the room and does a big sigh that he definitely learned from Church. “You’re not done packing yet? We’re supposed to leave like… now. Caboose’s already in the car.”
There’s a honk from outside that just hammers in Junior’s point, so Tucker groans and takes the sweater, throwing it into his duffle. “Fine, fine. Just gimme two minutes.”
It actually takes them about twenty minutes to get in the car with all the scrambling around to find things last minute. Even Wash, who had made a point of telling Tucker two days before that he was already packed, has to rush back in when they’re about to leave to grab his toothbrush. After double checking one last time, they finally get on the road… and have to stop almost immediately for gas.
At least after that, it’s mostly smooth sailing. Tucker lets Wash take shotgun so he can manage the radio. Wash is pretty much the only one in the car he trusts to keep it at a decent volume, himself included. Junior and Caboose don’t seem to mind too much when Wash switches from Christmas songs to something a little less mind numbing, the pair of them leaning together over a handheld video game in the back seat.
“So you wanna crash with me this time?” Tucker asks Wash, carefully casual. There aren’t enough rooms in the cabin for everyone, though the place is still pretty huge. “Junior really wants his own room this year.”
“I didn’t really have any plans, but if you don’t mind sharing, that’s probably easiest,” Wash says, shrugging a little as he fiddles with the heater. Tucker’s pretty sure there’s a few little side glances he’s getting now, just like all the ones he’s been getting since Donut’s party, but he’s gotta keep his eyes on the road.
They haven’t really talked about it, but they did kinda make out until Wash was yawning into his mouth and then they ended up crashing in one of Donut’s guest rooms. Wash had been gone before he woke up, which kinda sucked, but whatever. There hasn’t been much weirdness, but Wash keeps looking at him. Like looking at him. Tucker knows those looks, in fact, he would consider himself an expert on that particular kind of looking.
But that’s all Wash has done. It’s like all his confidence shriveled up and died after the mistletoe thing, which fucking blows, cause Tucker’s been playing that night on repeat in his head since it happened. And alright, maybe he would get it if that was the first time they’d ever made out, but it’s not. It just… felt a little different than the times before, like it was a little more. If only Wash would just make a damn move or something.
Wash fiddles with the radio and after putting on some mellow pop song, he asks about the room situation and they fall into casual conversation as easy as breathing.
“Snow time!” Junior says, for about the tenth time. He’s bouncing up and down on what’s going to be Wash and Tucker’s bed, cause apparently none of the rooms left have two, which Tucker has to pretend he’s not secretly happy about. Next to him, Tucker can feel every bouncing shift of the mattress where he’s lying, watching Wash meticulously fold all his socks before putting them in a drawer.
That would be kind of cute if Tucker wasn’t itching to peg Church with a snowball. Actually, it’s still pretty cute, especially with the way Wash’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth, like he’s focusing intently on another pair of socks with little cats all over them. Tucker’s pretty sure Junior got those for him a few years back, but they almost look like they’re brand new.
Wash gives Junior a fond smile. “You two can go if you want. I need to get everything unpacked, and then Simmons wanted help cleaning up the cabin a little.”
“Cleaning what?” Tucker sits up and cocks an eyebrow at him. “No one lives here the rest of the year. Did the fucking ghost leave a bunch of crumbs everywhere or something?”
“It still needs dusting and disinfecting,” Wash says, shrugging, like that’s all there is to it. “And Simmons isn’t letting anyone in the kitchen until he’s scrubbed it down, so it’s better if two people work on it… unless you don’t want to eat tonight.”
Groaning, Tucker pushes himself to his feet. “Fine, but you’d better meet us outside when you’re done. C’mon Junior.”
Tucker crouches so Junior can hop on his back and they leave Wash to his nerd stuff.
Wash doesn’t end up making it outside the first day. Cleaning apparently takes about five hours, so he’s just getting started on dinner when Tucker and Junior trudge back inside, chilled and slightly damp, but still laughing like mad. Wash greets them at the door with blankets and steaming mugs of hot chocolate.
Tucker takes his and leans in a little so Wash can drape a blanket over his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Junior bounce his way over to the couch, where Caboose and Grif are already sitting under several dozen blankets, watching something on TV, probably Die Hard.
“It looks like you had fun out there,” Wash says, hand going to Tucker’s hair, probably to brush away a clump of snow that’s still hanging on.
“Yeah, it was awesome. You’ve gotta tag along tomorrow, the teams were so uneven cause Grif called dibs on Carolina. We got crushed.”
“We’ll see.” But there’s a smile on Wash’s face that Tucker takes as a good sign. Good enough for him to lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek before grabbing at his hand to pull Wash over to the loveseat.
Wash doesn’t protest, letting Tucker push him into sitting on the couch and then shifting to let him sit more or less on his lap, legs bracketing Tucker’s hips, arms draped loosely around his waist, chin on his shoulder. Sitting like that, it doesn’t take long for Tucker to feel warm down to his toes. He silently offers Wash sips from his mug and grabs at one of Wash’s hands so he can tuck his freezing fingers in against his warmer ones.
He could get used to this, he wants to.
That thought sticks with him the rest of the night, even curled in bed just inches away from Wash, watching him sleep. They’re so close, he could just reach over and start playing with Wash’s hair or roll closer and throw an arm over him. That’s all it would take. They’re almost something and Tucker’s starting to think that ‘almost’ is gonna murder him.
Tomorrow, he’ll do something about it tomorrow.
Tucker forgets any plans he has when he wakes up to a snowball in the face and finds Junior and Wash peeking at him from around the door frame. Spitting out bits of snow, Tucker sits up, cursing. “This isn’t what I meant, Wash.”
Junior giggles and Wash looks only a tiny bit sheepish as he steps more into view, dressed like he’s ready to go right back outside in a massive, puffy gray coat. “I know, but this just seemed like a good way to get you up.”
“It’s too fucking early for snowball fights.” Tucker rubs at his eyes, and tries to get the snow mostly off the bed. He’s not sleeping in a fucking ice cold puddle. “What is it, like eight in the morning?”
“It’s almost noon.”
“Well fuck.” Groaning, Tucker forces himself up to get dressed. “Fine, fine, I’m up. You better not be hiding more snow out there.”
Wash and Junior exchange a look and Junior very quickly darts away, the sound of a squeaky wheel following him, just like the one on Grif’s old cooler. Oh goddamn it. Tucker just shakes his head and pulls on a third sweater and his gloves. At least he got up before they dumped like ten gallons of snow on him.
It takes about five minutes for Tucker to find his boots, he always manages to lose one, and then he follows Wash and Junior out into the freezing air. Junior grabs both of their hands and drags them over to an already mostly constructed snow fort that Tucker had helped him put together the day before. It’s pretty nice, definitely one of the best ones they’ve ever made, and sturdy enough to stand up against Carolina’s throws, which is saying a lot.
They’re behind the fort for less than a second before a barrage of snowballs come flying over the top of it. Tucker presses his back to the snow wall, cursing under his breath. “Shit, has it been like this all morning?”
Junior nods from his spot making snowballs and stacking them carefully. “Grampa Sarge wanted to start at dawn.”
“Jesus Christ.” Not for the first time, Tucker kinda wonders why he’s friends with these people. But he takes a breath and grabs a couple snowballs. “Fine, lets give them hell, yeah?”
Junior cheers and Wash gives a firm nod, expression already growing serious as he balls up snow in his hands, ready for the war. On Tucker’s mark they move and the battle begins.
It rages on for a few hours, laughter and screams filling the small field in front of the cabin. They’re pretty close to fucked at first, until Caboose comes charging out of the cabin and to join the fight and he serves as a human shield, letting Wash get close enough to dump a massive pile of snow on Donut’s head. The other side attacks back just as fiercely when Carolina calls for a charge. Tucker honestly has no clue if either side is winning, but he feels pretty good about the shot he got that nailed Grif in the face and the time he dodged out of the way of a throw from Carolina that he’s sure would have looked awesome in slow motion.
Things start to slow down when Junior and Caboose get hungry and head inside for snacks and after Simmons storms inside, Grif trailing after him, half apologizing for the snow he shoved down the back of his pants, half still laughing about the way he’d screamed when it happened.
Tucker leans against the snow fort, watching Wash draw up battle plans for when the fight resumes after lunch with a stick in one of the few areas of mostly clean snow. He looks pretty busy… very distracted… leaving himself open for revenge for that morning. Tucker hasn’t forgotten the snow to the face, it’s fucking payback time.
Casually, he scoops up a nice handful of snow and sidles up to Wash, hands behind his back, expression carefully innocent. “What’cha working on, Wash?”
“Hmm? Just trying to figure out some strategies. I’m thinking we attack from the left next, they always leave it unguarded,” Wash says, pointing with his stick.
“Yeah? Huh.” Tucker does his best to sound interested as he shifts a little closer, shoulder brushing Wash’s. He’s not wearing a scarf, leaving a nice strip of his neck exposed just above the collar of his coat. The perfect spot. If Tucker can just get a little closer. “What about over there?”
Wash looks off where Tucker points, leaving himself open. Perfect. Tucker grins and moves, shoving the snow down the back of Wash’s coat. He lets out an earsplitting screech and bats at Tucker’s hands. “Tucker, what the fuck?!”
“Payback’s a bitch, dude!” Tucker tries to turn and run, but Wash is way faster, grabbing at him, making him stumble.
They both topple over into the snow. Tucker turns to ask Wash if he’s okay, only to get snow flicked in his face, Wash grinning where he looms over him. Oh, now it’s on. Tucker gets him upside the head and Wash pays him back with snow shoved up under his shirt. They roll over and over, both of them laughing and cursing until Tucker finds his back in the snow, Wash pinning both of his hands down. They’re both a little breathless and Wash is all pink in the face and Tucker leans up before he can think about it.
Wash meets him halfway and his lips are freezing, but it’s still fucking awesome. He half giggles against Wash’s lips before wiggling a hand free so he can get his fingers tangled in Wash’s hair, the hat he had been wearing lost somewhere in the snow. It’s cold and warm and stupid and amazing and he never wants it to end.
But it does, and Wash slowly sits up, leaning back on his heels, eyes still bright and shining. “We should… probably move this inside.”
“Yeah, guess so.” Tucker pushes himself up a little more slowly, glancing around them. They’re the only ones still outside. Spotting a hint of gray, he reaches for it, digging Wash’s hat out of the snow. He motions Wash closer and he leans in so Tucker and put it back on. Tucker’s fingers linger on Wash’s hair, his face, slowly trailing down to his shoulders.
He’s too close. They should go back inside, but Wash is so pretty like this, the only color in a muddied white world, everything about him rumpled and askew (though the hat part of that is kinda Tucker’s fault). This is everything he wants, to be the one who makes Wash smile like that, to be the reason his hat is half hanging on his head and his eyes are so bright.
“Move in with me,” Tucker says, not thinking.
“What?” Wash’s face is still flushed from laughing and the cold, snow clinging to his eyelashes. This is the worst place to have this talk, but fuck it.
Tucker shrugs. “Just… I’m into you, you’re into me and you’re already over all the time. Let’s just… just cut the shit and make it official.”
Wash blinks at him. His hat is still on crooked and there’s a bit of dirt on his cheek that Tucker wants to carefully brush away. “Are you… are you asking for a relationship or a roommate?”
“Both. I guess. Yeah, yeah definitely both.” Tucker gnaws at his lower lip. Fuck. Okay yeah, there’s better ways he could’ve said that. He should’ve planned this or at least like… thought about it a little more, talked to Junior and Caboose or something. Maybe he should take it back, it’s too much, it’s too--
“Alright,” Wash says, face going brighter pink.
For a second, Tucker’s sure he heard wrong, his eyes widening. “Wait, really?”
“Well, yes. I’ve… Tucker, I’ve wanted to date you since the month after we met.” And Wash looks at him the way only Wash can, with that weird exasperated fondness, his eyes all soft and crinkly and Tucker has to kiss him again.
Week Three
Wash moving in takes about half an hour. His apartment’s still fucked, so he’s been piling more and more of his stuff in the corner, insisting that he’s going to get it out of the way as soon as he can find a new place. So it takes barely more than twenty minutes to get his stuff put in Tucker’s room or the closets. It slows down a little when Caboose and Junior insist on helping and get distracted by Wash’s coin collection and make him sit with them at the coffee table and tell them about each and every coin, but Tucker’s able to use that as a distraction so Wash doesn’t notice him just shoving his clothes into drawers without folding them.
He shoves the drawer shut and straightens up quickly when Wash walks in, hands quickly tucked behind his back, doing his best not to look suspicious. But apparently he doesn’t have to bother cause Wash isn’t looking at him, attention instead on the string of lights in his hand. “Hey Tucker, I found these in the hall closet and--what were you doing?”
“Just putting your stuff away, dude.” Okay now Wash is looking at him and he’s so busted, but Tucker’s just gonna move past that part and draw closer, picking at the string of old lights. “I guess I should probably put these up, huh? Just sorta… didn’t get around to it this year. These ones are kinda old and shitty, feel like I should get some new ones.”
Wash frowns a little. “Do they still work?”
“Yeah, but they kinda look like shit next to the neighbor’s stuff, I’ve been meaning to get some new ones, but… the good shit’s kinda expensive, y’know?” Tucker shrugs, not looking at Wash. It sucks to admit it, but there’s only so much money he’s got for holiday stuff, and if it comes down to it, he’s gonna spend it getting Junior cool stuff instead of new decorations they’re gonna use maybe once a year. Speaking of making money…
Tucker’s phone alarm goes off in his pocket and he curses, pulling it out. “Shit, I gotta get to work, got the afternoon shift today. You cool with watching Junior?”
“Of course,” Wash says, like they’ve already got a routine worked out. He even leans automatically for Tucker to kiss his cheek, almost like they practiced and alright, that’s kinda awesome. Yeah, he’s so good with this relationship stuff.
He gives Wash’s arm a little squeeze as he passes and stops to give Junior a quick hug on the way out, wondering if he can maybe find a place with decently priced lights on the way home.
Decorations are stupid expensive and it’s not fucking fair, cause Tucker has to drive past six million awesome displays on the way home to his sad looking apartment. Maybe he should take Junior out to at least see the cool lights later… or would that just bum him out more?
Sighing, Tucker parks in his usual spot. At least there’s a little bit of snow. It’s falling slow, in big clumpy flakes. He pauses for a second to catch a few on his tongue before heading into the building and upstairs.
He pushes the door open and comes to a dead stop, brow furrowing. There’s a blanket fort taking up most of the living room that he definitely doesn’t remember seeing when he left that morning. “Junior? You in there, buddy?”
A blanket flap lifts up and it’s Wash, not Junior that looks out at him. “Junior’s in his room. We made a deal, twenty minutes in the fort for twenty minutes of homework.”
Tucker snorts and nudged the door shut behind him. “You really got him to agree to that?”
“There may have also been a promise involving cookies before dinner.” Wash shoots him a slightly sheepish smile.
“Figures.” Tucker shakes his head a little, but he can’t pretend he hasn’t made that deal with Junior a few dozen times before. He shrugs out of his goat and throws it onto the coffee table as he moves to the fort, dropping to his knees to get a better look. “How long did y’all spend on this?”
“Most of the day,” Wash admits, but he looks a little proud of himself as he glances at the fort around him. “It’s more impressive on the inside.”
“Yeah?” Tucker cocks an eyebrow and lightly bats at Wash, so he can slip past him into the fort. It’s roomier than he expects, blankets and pillows laid out over the floor. “It guess it is kinda nice in here.”
“You have to lay on your back,” Wash says, pushing at his shoulder a little.
Tucker resists the urge to roll his eyes and lays back. For a second, he just looks at the blanket roof above them, brows knitting together. Wash fumbles around with something just outside the fort near the wall, probably a plug. Then the twinkle lights come on. Wash has them wound all over the ceiling of the fort, set so then blink on and off slowly changing patterns. It’s so simple, but Tucker can’t look away.
The blankets and pillows shift next to him as Wash lays down close enough for their arms to brush. “I thought they might look nicer in here. We can take them down if--”
“I love it.” Tucker looks to Wash, finding him already staring, eyes a little wide. “This is so fucking cool, dude. You did this for Junior?”
Wash shrugs, looking a little sheepish now. “Well… he wanted to decorate and I thought this was better than trying to set them up outside, so…”
Tucker leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Wash’s lips. “You’re fucking amazing, y’know that?”
Face pink, Wash shrugs again. “I don’t know, I just thought--after everything you and Junior have done for me… this is the least I could do.”
“It’s still awesome.” Tucker turns to look back up at the lights. His hand moves, fingers trailing down Wash’s arm to find his hand, slowly linking their fingers together. A little smile spreads over his face as Wash squeezes his hand.
Not everything about winter is great. Tucker’s going to hate scraping the ice off the car tomorrow and stepping through the slush, but this part, the lights, curling up somewhere warm with Wash, that’s enough to make every snowball in the face and awkward family gathering more than worth it.