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2021-05-26
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Wilting away with you

Chapter 31: Infected wound

Summary:

Wilson does his best to help, and ends up finding out just how deep Maxwell's problems are.

WARNINGS: Sexual content, dubcon

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As soon as his lips touched Maxwell's, Wilson felt his whole body tensing up. But it was a good thing to feel nervous about this, right? The kiss was just a small, light little peck. He didn't want to scare Maxwell. He wanted Maxwell to feel how he felt, know what he knew, he wanted Maxwell to feel important and wanted and safe. He curled his other hand behind Maxwell's lower back, his other hand pressing on the man's cheek softly.

He had to admit that he felt a bit light-headed, no doubt because of the wound or the medicine, but it felt kind of good. It made him feel a bit dizzy, like he was drunk, without the annoying side-effects. Just pleasantly tingly and woozy.

He moved carefully, wanting to offer comfort to the other man, wanting to keep him close and safe and lov   cared for, inside his arms. And Maxwell stood there, nice and soft and... and there, not moving a muscle.

Wilson felt his feet starting to tremble and his back sting from the way he needed to stand on his toes to reach Maxwell's face, and he hesitantly broke off the kiss. Why did the man have to be so tall (It was his fault, not Wilson's, Wilson was perfectly average height).

He took in a quiet breath and leaned back down, cracking his eyes open and gazing into Maxwell's black one's. The man had little to no expression over his face, but he was clearly flustered, and his brows were ever so slightly pulled together in almost a frown of some kind. Wilson blinked and stared at him, warm breaths running from his lips. Maxwell's own were closed.

Wilson expected the man to say something, react in someway, but he just stood there like a statue, quiet and still and watching Wilson with half-closed eyes. Wilson did the same. He wanted to hear what Maxwell thought, he wanted to hear did he get his feelings through, did it make Maxwell feel any better...

But the man just stood there, like Wilson's kiss hadn't even happened. The shorter man waited, but as it seemed, so did Maxwell. After the silence had gone on long enough to be uncomfortable, Wilson bit his lip and leaned against the older man's chest.

"I know I have been harsh on you, and it hasn't been fair... But I want you to know that I really care about you, a lot. I care about you in a very, uh, um... special way..." He squeezed the other man and closed his eyes, waiting for a reaction. Maxwell must've understood, right? He must've put two and two together, he must've realized what Wilson meant with all these hugs and kisses and touches...

"What about Wes?"

Wilson  pulled away to give Maxwell a look, and the man turned his eyes away. Wilson had almost forgotten that Maxwell wouldn't know about him and Wes, he hadn't exactly announced it very clearly to anyone. Then again, he hadn't exactly made their relationship known in the first place either. Despite not trying to hide it, he hadn't exactly told anyone that he was together with anyone.

"We're... we're not together anymore. He broke up with me."

An emotion, that was hard to recognize or identify, flashed through the other man's face, and a resemblance of smile tugged the corner of his lips.

"... Ah. That's... that's fine, then." the man said with something in his voice, some tone or tint that Wilson heard but couldn't understand. He just started to caress Maxwell's cheek with his hand, gazing into his dark eyes that seemed blacker than the nightly darkness. Maxwell met his eyes, but it was as if he wasn't really looking at Wilson at all, as if he was staring into someplace else.

"Maxwell, please... I wish you would stop pretending that you don't feel anything, like you're just an empty body. I like you when you're you, when you get angry and snobby and annoyed... I like your face when you smile. And when you look calm, and I like when you speak and when you show off... I... I don't want to lose everything that makes you you, and I'm going to do everything I can to bring you back."

To not really his surprise, Maxwell shook his head and chuckled quietly, closing his eyes.

"Fine... I'll play along with you."

"No, I... This isn't some game, Maxwell, I'm trying to show you how much I care-" Wilson groaned in frustration, but a small laugh burst out of Maxwell, interrupting him.

"... Yeah, okay." Maxwell opened his eyes and watched Wilson with exhaustion. He looked like he wanted to collapse and give up, like he was drained empty and hollow... And still, he just couldn't rest, couldn't find help by closing his eyes and relaxing.

Wilson knew that feeling. The exhaustion was easy to treat. But the feeling of exhaustion, the weight of thoughts and emotions that harassed your head in every waking moment, were not so agreeable to treatment. He'd have to do more than just force Maxwell to take a break every once in a while.

The scientist let his hands drop down to hold Maxwell's own, as he rested his head to the man's chest once more. He heaved out a sigh.

"Maxwell, what are you after by doing this?" He asked in a low, quiet voice, and felt the other man make a restless movement "What do you want?"

A silence fell inside the tent, and Wilson could almost hear the fast, frantic heartbeat underneath the other man's clothes, the chest rising up and down slowly as he breathed.

"... It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"No."

There was no bite in either of their voices. Wilson was still feeling a bit woozy of the medicine and blood loss, Maxwell was probably feeling whatever he had been feeling these last weeks.

"... Fine. Could you at least eat a little bit?"

No answer. Wilson huffed out a sigh, and pulled away from the hug, tiredly starting to wobble towards the opening, pulling the other man with him.

He led them to the firepit, where he sat Maxwell down and put a piece of dragonpie on his plate, sitting next to him. It took a while before he was able to finally prompt the older man to eat at least a couple of bites, but Maxwell eventually ended up eating the whole piece of the pie. He must've been hungry, but when Wilson asked if he wanted more, the man just shook his head.

Everyone knew that Maxwell wasn't fine. But there was no use trying to  argue with him, not for too long anyway. Wilson knew how stubborn the man could be when he had decided so, and he would rather waste his energy on something more productive than trying to move the unmovable object.

So as Maxwell once more stood up to leave, Wilson hurried to catch him before the man could disappear, and instead of letting him go and overwork himself, he led him to sit at the wooden desk, and placed a large, blank paper in front of him.

"If you want to be useful, make us a map. There are some sketches and notes we have taken, and one rough version of the actual map Woodie tried to make..." Wilson explained and offered a very unsure looking man a feather pencil "If you're not sure, just ask me. I'm not far, I promised to help Wolfgang with something, so... see you later." He patted the man's back, leaving him sit there, staring at the table like he had never seen one before.

The rest of the day went by rather quietly, which helped Wilson let go of his worry for a while. The dizziness in his head and weakness in his body lessened during the light work he did, and every so often he checked in with Maxwell, pleased to see that the man was still sitting at the desk and drawing. It made him feel better to know that Maxwell wasn't somewhere doing something reckless, and that he was able to make sure that the man had at least rested and eaten something today.

When the sun started to set, he wandered around again, stopping to stand behind Maxwell, prying over his shoulder at the map he had been making. Knowing how much Maxwell sucked at everything he did on his first try, Wilson had half-expected the map to look like a particularly wonky drawing that people saw and said 'at least you tried'.

But it wasn't. It was almost beautiful. Wilson could very well recognize the places in it, but Maxwell hadn't only drawn the roads and biomes and marked where the dangerous or useful creatures were located. He had decorated the map with small pictures and notes, and the pictures actually looked rather nice. Maxwell wasn't a great artist, but still, there was something very eye-catching and sympathetic in the little scribbles of hounds and rocks and tallbirds. It reminded Wilson of those very old maps, were people seemed more interested on drawing pictures of imaginary sea monsters eating their ships than actually making a decent map.

"It's amazing." he whispered, and Maxwell jumped and turned to look at him with a mortified expression, slamming his hands over the map to hide it. Wilson gave him a tender smile, and softly removed his arms from the map "I bet that even Willow would use a map, if it's this well made."

Maxwell said nothing, but turned his head away and nodded. His face didn't seem as empty or pained as before, almost just a little confused, as if the man wasn't sure what to answer to an actual honest compliment. Wilson supposed it might've been a long time since Maxwell had heard one.

"You know..." Wilson straightened his back and started to tap a finger on his chin "The camp could use a little decoration here and there. It's therapeutic to be surrounded by pleasant looking things. And it would help us all feel more like home. Do you want to try the potter's wheel?"

Maxwell shrugged, but it wasn't the same tired, forced heave of shoulders as it had been lately - this time it was fast and stiff, like Maxwell was just embarrassed to admit he wanted to try it. Wilson smiled at him.

"Come on, let's go sculpt something." he encouraged the other man, and as Maxwell stood up, a small paper caught the air and flew down from the table. Wilson turned and knelt to pick it up.

"Oh, Wickerbottom won't like if we leave a mess-"

"Don't touch it!" Maxwell's frantic, almost angry growl startled Wilson, and he automatically backed away from the other man, holding the piece of paper on his grip as Maxwell made an attempt to snatch it away.

"Why?" He asked, knitting his eyebrows together. Maxwell bit his lip and said nothing, but his hands shook as he slowly clenched them into fists. Wilson's frown deepened, and he folded the paper open and took a quick look.

It was a list. Or some kind of a catalog of different words. A very negative, unkind words, that were commonly used to describe something or someone unpleasant. Wilson didn't read the whole thing, didn't want to, as he lowered the paper down and gave Maxwell a confused, concerned look.

"What's this for?" he asked, and the other man turned his face away.

"It's personal." Maxwell's voice was almost a whisper.

"What. Is. This. For?" Wilson tried again, firmer.

"It. Is. Personal." Maxwell's voice matched his, as he spat the words between gritted teeth, furiously glaring at nothing in particular. Wilson opened his mouth, realized that he didn't know what to say, and lowered his eyes once again on the paper. He had a hunch who Maxwell had written this for. Maybe making the man say it out loud wouldn't be such a good idea.

Wilson folded the paper up again, and slipped it into his vest pocket. He saw Maxwell make a nervous movement, as the man noticed that he put the paper away, but the man ended up just standing there quietly, fists shaking and brows drawn into a discomforted scowl.

"... It's late. Let's eat something small and then go sleep, okay?" Wilson tried to sound neutral and as unaccusing as possible, when he took a few step towards the firepit, and was relieved when after a while Maxwell followed. They didn't speak as they ate, at least not to each other. Wilson spoke with the rest of the group and Maxwell ate a couple of bites and spent his time poking the food, but at least he was present and actually sitting with them now. Webber spoke to him a little bit, and Maxwell muttered out a couple of answers.

Eventually the hustle and bustle of the survivors calmed down as many headed to bed, and others to work through the night. After a while Maxwell also stood up, and cleared his throat.

"I... I thank you for lending me your tent, Wilson. I will return to my own place tonight, and I sincerely apologize for being inconvenience to you all. Good night." The man bowed his head politely, and turned to leave back to his worn and barely usable strawroll near the lonely tree, but Wilson took his wrist and grinned.

"Yeah, you know what? Maybe you should go to your own place tonight..." He said innocently, tugging Maxwell to walk with him to the opposite direction of his former sleeping place. He led them to the direction of the tents, and stopped near his own, but not before it. Beside his own tent stood another, a new tent.

"Ta-dah! Wolfgang helped me to put it up. It's for you." Wilson tilted his head towards Maxwell, smirking at the man while inspecting his reaction. Maxwell blinked at the sight without a word, dumbfounded expression on his face. He blinked a few more times, before his hand slowly rose to his stomach and grasped his shirt tight.

"You can still sleep in my tent with me, if you want to. But now you can sleep comfortably, safe, and in your own privacy, if that's your choice." Wilson kicked the ground, feeling the little heat under his skin "... Look. There are lot of things that have been unfair to you. I hope I can make up for at least some of them."

"I..." Maxwell stared the tent, wide-eyed and dumbstruck "I don't deserve..."

"You do. It's only fair, and I feel awful for not making you one sooner. If you want..." Wilson tried not to blush and sound too obvious " I, umm... I could, you know... help you settle in?" he glanced the older man from the corner of his eye.

Maxwell stared, uncertain of how to feel. The whole day had been a roller coaster, a lot to take in. Webber and his purple gem, Wilson saving him from the tentacle, the map-making, Wigfrid not wanting to gut him in sight, and now the tent. Everyone had been so nice to him today for some reason. He didn't understand. He told himself that it was some kind of a cruel joke, that as soon as he turned his back, they were laughing, mocking him, making fun of him and everything he did.

But he couldn't help but feel something disgustingly warm and light lift his chest up, clearing some kind of smoke away and making it a bit easier to breath. It felt nice. He just didn't understand.

It was a shame that Wilson took his list away, this was exactly why he needed it. He had to remind himself of what he was, whenever these unwanted nice feelings tried to invade his mind. He shouldn't forget. He had to stay strong, he had to remember, he had to keep holding onto the truth.

"... Maxwell?"

Maxwell flinched and turned to look at Wilson. The younger man watched him curiously, cocking his head slightly.

"I uh, asked if you would like me to help you settle in...?" the hopeful tone in Wilson's voice was almost sad. Maxwell couldn't have denied him, even if he had wanted to. So he nodded, and once again, let the man take his hand and lead him in. There was hardly anything inside when they entered; A lantern, a bedroll, a chest, and Maxwell's suit jacket and tie folded on the self-made pillow.

It wasn't much, but compared to his previous settlement, it was certainly a nice upgrade. Maxwell tried to tell himself that he didn't deserve or want it, but he was tired, he had been feeling tired for a while, and he just... he was tired of fighting against this weird game Wilson had decided to put him to play. Sure, if they wanted so much to just force these nice things on him, he'd accept them, and later hear the complaints and blames for being a greedy selfish jerk.

Maxwell dragged his feet to the fur roll and practically fell to sit down on it. He leaned to open the chest and was surprised to see that it already had something inside, namely a few puddles of nightmare fuel and a life-giving amulet.

"Someone has left their belongings in here." he informed Wilson, and the man knelt down to see inside the chest, and then let out a chuckle.

"No, they're for you. You always tell me you need more nightmare fuel, and, well... The amulet is just an extra safety measure. You are kind of an accident prone." he grinned teasingly, and Maxwell huffed out a sound of offense, before placing the purple gem inside, and after hesitating a while, he carefully lowered Codex inside the chest as well. Wilson quietly watched him, and Maxwell felt a sting of fear as he lifted his fingers away from the cover and closed the lid of the chest.

"Well... that takes care of that..." he muttered and turned to Wilson to ask if this was all the man had come to watch him to do, but stopped dead on his tracks as his eyes met with the scientist. Wilson had a serious look on his face, watching Maxwell in thoughts. The taller man felt something rose in his gut, an uncomfortable feeling grasping his insides.

"...Maxwell." Wilson called, voice solemn, as he leaned closer, and Maxwell had to fight the sudden panic that rose it's ugly head again "There are a lot of things I want to tell you. A lot of things I need to discuss with you... But right now, can I ask you a question?"

Maxwell didn't know why, but he very much felt like a prey chased into a corner. Wilson stared him down with stern eyes, as if he was contemplating on where to strike first.

"Ask." Maxwell answered quickly, mostly to keep his voice as steady as possible, a word short enough to avoid the nervous stutter that threatened to come out. Wilson eyed him a while longer in silence, before opening his mouth again.

"What do you really think of me? Just this once, be honest with me. What do I mean to you?"

Was there anything worse that Wilson could've asked? Anything that might've hurt or humiliated the ex-King even more? It wasn't enough that Wilson knew, it wasn't enough that Wilson didn't care. No, of course he needed to take this even further, needed to make Maxwell admit out loud how disgusting and sick he was. Maxwell was not allowed to feel those kind of feelings for Wilson. He had tried to get rid of them, he really had, but the little feelings that always lit around Wilson refused to leave.

"I... I-I..." Maxwell started glancing around in search of something that would either by him time or let him escape this situation altogether. Should he tell Wilson the truth? Would a lie save both of them from the terrible revelation that was clearly visible, but still safely below the surface? Maxwell would do anything to make sure it would never emerge.

A cold sting pierced his chest when Wilson's words from the past echoed through his head, ripping his insides like sharp claws, the familiar hurt and humiliation crawling into his chest.

Why would I ever like you?

Why would I ever like you?

It felt so long ago, but the wound was still as fresh as could be. Wilson had made it clear, that if Maxwell truly thought he might be able to get his feelings returned, he was not only an idiot but also selfish beyond measure. After what he had done, after how he had acted, was there really ever going to be anyone who could feel those kind of warm, deep feelings for him? No. And even the thought that he'd have to tear the old wound even wider open by confessing it out loud, by telling Wilson how he felt with his own words and voice...

Not many things in his life had actually hurt him. Obviously he had felt his fair share of sadness and fear and anger, embarrassment and discomfort, but those had been nothing but mere scratches on the surface. He had been able to brush them away and move on with no trouble.

But this, this was something that had not only made a wound, but infected it, gnawed it's way deep inside to make a nest, feasting and growing stronger, until eventually Maxwell had realized, that this wound was not going to scar over as the time passed on. It's like the feeling inside always returned to eat a little bit of him away, day by day, never letting him forget.

And now Wilson wanted to see him tear the wound open, split his flesh, spill his blood, with his own hands. Maxwell thrust his eyes close. He reminded himself once again, that this was what he deserved, that he owed this to Wilson, and Wilson was entitled to have an honest answer to his questions.

"I, w-well.. You're very... I, I have... when you're close, I... I, I don't know how to explain it." Maxwell mumbled in a voice so low it was barely even audible. He felt Wilson leaning closer.

"It's okay... take your time."

Maxwell swallowed a thick pressuring feeling down his throat.

"... I, I care about you, a lot, and... I've always admired, I mean... you, you're very important to me, I... I..." Maxwell took in a shuddering breath "I like you very much."

There, he said it. Not as clearly as he could've, but that was the best he was able to force himself to do. He just couldn't go through with the same thing as before. He cringed even remembering how he had somehow thought, that there was something happening between them, that he had seen something in their interactions back then. He couldn't hear it from Wilson again, that offended, terrified voice, suspicion in the warm brown eyes. He just couldn't.

He forced himself to stay still when he felt Wilson's hand touching his chest, and the younger man crawled closer, almost leaning over him, and soon Maxwell felt the warm huff of air against his face. He didn't dare to open his eyes.

"... Would you say you...um, like me enough... to... um..."

Maxwell felt his heartbeat getting louder, faster, afraid. Wilson's lips lingered nearly close enough to touch him, but not quite, not yet.

"... to... to maybe..."

He felt Wilson tilt his head, he felt Wilson's knee brush against his inner thigh, he felt the fingers curl to grasp his shirt. Wilson was waiting for a mark to go ahead, he was teasing Maxwell, pressuring him to break and just say it, just come clean, just pull those feelings up above the surface, so there would be no denying any longer, no matter how he'd wished.

"... Yes" Maxwell let out a shaky whisper, and Wilson immediately pressed against his lips, and Maxwell's heart jumped almost out of his skin.

Wilson kissed him with a passion of a man who had not seen another human being in a thousand years. Maxwell felt him trace the edges of his sharp teeth with his tongue and pushing against his own serpent-like muscle, trying to prompt him to match his own movements, and Maxwell, obediently, followed his lead.

Wilson burrowed a hand under his shirt, feeling around his ribs like he had never touched another man before, and had to feel every single inch with his fingers. It tickled, it itched. Maxwell hadn't been touched like this for a while. He didn't remember how long it had been, who had it been, where had it been. Maybe someone from the theater he had thrown a show in. Maybe someone in the men's restroom at the bar on some night after a few drinks.

But not in the Constant, not like this.

Maxwell swallowed a bittersweet taste down, his heart aching, as Wilson's hands caressed him, pressed and groped and scratched and stroked, the man's lips pecking kisses on his lips and fondling his chin gently.

"I can't tell you how long I've been denying this from myself..." Wilson panted against his ear, and Maxwell cracked his eyes open, staring at the green fabric of the tent. How long had Wilson denied this from himself...? How long had he refused to strike Maxwell where it hurt the most? Too long. Wilson truly had a patience of a saint. This was a long overdue punishment, a form of humiliation that Wilson had been holding back.

It would feel good to Wilson. For Wilson it was just pleasure and play. But not for Maxwell. For Maxwell, it would be another tagger in the heart, turning and twisting and wounding, because Wilson didn't care about him a single bit, and there was nothing in these touches that was meant to be received as fondness or affection. It was just to hurt him, to make him at least good for something, to make sure he could be used.

... Saving the best for last, wasn't that how the saying goes?

But if Maxwell managed to forget everything outside this very moment, he might've been able to pretend that Wilson did this out of something else than a deep, bitter hatred. What a ridiculous thought... what a pretty lie.

So he leaned his head against Wilson and  held him tight, as the short man ran his hands through his body and huffed breaths on his skin, his lips every once in a while pressing to give a small kiss or lick to his neck.

"I want this, I want this with you" more avid words were husked in the air. Maxwell tried to think that Wilson wanted this with him for some other reason than to use it as an opportunity to hurt him, punish him even more, punish him in the worst way he knew how to.

After all, he was so deeply, throughoutly unlovable.

A noose around Wilson's neck.

Why, why would Wilson ever like him, when there was nothing at all to like.

Maxwell let his own hands drop down to rub Wilson's thighs, and the other man moaned, answering Maxwell by pressing himself to the touch.

Maxwell had always wanted to be loved. He had wanted to feel, that the occasional kisses with some eager stranger in the dead of night had some warm emotion behind them. He had wanted to believe, that despite being a shy and clumsy one of the two brothers, his parents would still at least care about his small achievements in life. He had wanted to think, that They chose him, because there was something great and powerful in him that They strangely adored-

His hand happened to briefly touch the chest pocket, where Wilson had sealed the list of the words he had written in.

.. And he had really wanted to hope, that Wilson might have just a small amount of fondness for him.

Maxwell felt the persistent salty drop forming on his lower eyelid, when he exchanged touches with the other man in the stuffy, sweaty air of his new tent. Somewhere along the way his shirt had been opened, as well as Wilson's vest.

"M-max-" Wilson whimpered and pressed his mouth over his neck, kissing him, sucking gently "touch me."

Maxwell did. How could he not? He owed Wilson more than he could ever pay back, and if this was how the man had chosen to take what was rightfully his, who was Maxwell to deny it. It's not like he didn't want it, it's not like he didn't want Wilson. But to know that Wilson wanted him as little as one possibly could made something dark and heavy twist inside him.

Maxwell undid Wilson's pants, and as he started rubbing him, Wilson started to moan and mewl in pleasure, thrusting eagerly into his hand, hands tightening on Maxwell.

Maxwell felt strangely fulfilling feeling rising inside his chest. Finally, he thought, as the knot grew in his throat. This was the kind of hurt he had been longing for, the kind of feeling that grasped the dark, needle-sharp claws around his pitiful heart and crushed it until it bled out all the happiness and hope and pleasure he had ever felt in his long miserable life.

He bit his lip and felt a tear escape his eye. Every husked whisper and breath sounded like nails on a chalkboard, every touch burned like a melted iron. This was what it felt like to be meaningless. This was what it felt like to not matter. This was the touch that didn't love, this was the kindness that was meant to hurt, this was his life, this was his worth, this was what Maxwell was, to his very core.

"M-maxwell...?" Wilson sounded alarmed, broken away from the cloudy bliss, and Maxwell felt his warmth lean away. For the first time since they kissed, he actually met Wilson's eyes. The scientist quickly furrowed his brows, hand rising to gently press to his cheek.

"...What's wrong?" He sounded so confused. Maxwell shook his head and pulled Wilson closer to give him a kiss, fighting away the selfish, cruel need to cry.

"Nothing. Everything is just fine, pal." he muttered against the younger man's lips. A thumb softly swept a trail of salt away from his cheek, and Wilson pressed his other hand to Maxwell's wrist to stop the touching.

"Why are you crying? You're trembling..."

Maxwell let a smile rise on his face as he sat up, softly pushing Wilson on his back, and lowered to lay over him.

"It's fine, Wilson... Let me make you feel good." he muttered and descended down between Wilson's legs. Maxwell opened his mouth and closed the man's dick inside. Wilson jerked back and gasped, letting out a breathy moan as Maxwell let his tongue curl around his arousal, starting to suck him teasingly.

"Oh, ah, Max..." Wilson whispered out a shuddering breath, and his member throbbed inside the other man's mouth. It took a while for the scientist to be able to form another sentence, but when he did, Maxwell was almost annoyed of what it was.

"Ah-are you sure that it, that it's fine?" Wilson mumbled, weakly thrusting into his mouth. Maxwell pulled away, leaving a red, eagerly standing dick coated in precum and saliva unattended for just long enough to answer.

"This isn't the first time I've had to do dirty things to pay off my debt, don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

That snapped Wilson away from his lustful haze, and he tried to pull himself away.

"Wait - Is this the same thing as before? Are you just doing everything you've told to do?!" The younger man shook his head in disbelief and worry, his voice a bit firmer now, but before he was able to continue any longer, Maxwell drew a tip of his tongue on the slit, moving to caress his glands, making Wilson shiver and shudder in a breath.

"I told you... I have a lot of debt to pay. It has never mattered how I feel before, why should it start to matter now?"

"M-max, nah, no... w-wa-wait-"

Maxwell felt a burning feeling in his stomach. Wilson was such a beautiful thing, a shuddering and trembling mess, unable to resist the kind of rush of pleasure that Maxwell gave him. It was so hilariously obvious that Wilson was feeling great, that he was building up orgasm faster than probably either of them had anticipated. Maxwell leaned up give Wilson a short look, massaging his thighs softly.

"I can be useful to you, let me prove that you can have something out of me..." Maxwell closed his mouth around the red, twitching member and worked his magic

"Maxwell no, you- nAh~" Wilson threw his head back, his legs twitching as his dick throbbed and leaked precum down Maxwell's throat. Maxwell gladly let the man thrust deeper, feebly chasing the feeling he was offered. At least Wilson wanted this. He could help Wilson to relax after a hard day, he could help Wilson clear his head when he was too anxious, he could help Wilson to drop his burdens and just enjoy himself for a while. If he was good for nothing else, he could be good for this.

Wilson tried to interrupt him a couple of times, but it was clear the orgasm was building up at fast rate and he had a hard time keeping his thoughts together, hard time fighting against the waves that washed him with bliss. 

Then Wilson gasped in a shuddering, deep breath and bucked up his hips, cumming into Maxwell's mouth, shivering and moaning in ecstasy. When Wilson had spent every last drop that he had in him, Maxwell finally freed his boneless member, and lifted himself to sit on his knees. The tent was quiet, except for the scientist's deep, heavy breaths. Maxwell swept his wrist over his lips and closed his eyes, savoring Wilson's taste in his tongue. It was probably the closest thing to love he could ever get. It was fine, he was fine. All that mattered was that he had been able to do something good to Wilson, that he had been useful and worth of Wilson's time.

Maxwell felt a feeble smile pull on his lips.

Wilson was probably going to make fun of him to the others. They were gonna laugh at Maxwell, laugh that he had told Wilson how much he liked the young man, how much he cared, how much Wilson meant to him. They were gonna talk about how disgusting he was and how repulsive it must've been to kiss him and talk to him like he was a human. They were gonna snicker and mock him for being good for nothing else than this.

And it was fine. If being a laughingstock, a beast of burden and a willing hole to empty his seed in was all that Maxwell was to Wilson, then he was glad that he was at least being of some use to the man.

"... I can't believe you." Wilson groaned in a thick voice, and as Maxwell rose his head up, he hardly had time to meet the storming, glowering eyes when Wilson had already rose up his hand and slapped him across the face. There was only a loud smack in the air, and then the quiet returned in the tent stronger than ever.

"You do matter, I care about your feelings! Why do you think I have been acting like this?!" Wilson huffed after a small, tense silence. Maxwell stared into the middle distance with an empty expression, then slowly turned to face Wilson again.

"... I... I don't understand." the man sputtered in lost tone in his voice "I did what I was supposed to, I... I did what you wanted, didn't I? What did I do wrong?"

Wilson scowled and threw his hands in the air.

"What do you think, Maxwell? What do you think you did wrong?!" the younger man snapped, frustrated and hurt. Maxwell blinked a few times, before his mouth curled into a smile that was anything but joyful. Wilson lost some of his anger when Maxwell's hands rose to tug his thin hair and his shoulders started shaking.

"I try. I swear, I really try to do the right thing, but I- I... I don't even know what I'm supposed to do..." Maxwell's voice shook like he was holding back a panic attack "I try to stay out of your sight and that's not right, I try to be here and that's not right either, I speak and it's not right, I won't and it's not right, I don't know why I'm here or what you want from me and, and I... I feel like I'm going insane..."

Wilson's expression softened as he watched Maxwell trying to keep himself together as another tear slowly rolled down his face, his voice layered with thickness, strained with breaths that only halfly got out of his lungs. The shorter man sighed, and gently rose his hands to cup Maxwell's cheeks, and the man snapped his attention to him again.

"I didn't mean to-"

"Maxwell." Wilson sternly interrupted him, then took in a breath, and continued in a softer, kinder tone "Why on earth would I want you, if I really disliked you so much?" Wilson smiled tiredly. Maxwell lowered his eyes down.

"To... to use me for at least something that makes me worth keeping around. Anything I do, there's someone else who does it so much better. And I know that I owe you too much, it only makes sense to let you do what you want-"

"Let me do what? Abuse you and use you as a personal cum bucket?" Wilson asked in an irritated tone, rising an eyebrow. 

"If you want that, yes."

"Maxwell..." Wilson sighed and let go of the other man to massage his own temples. He felt relaxed and calm after ejaculating, but now he felt a headache coming after dealing with this mess at this hour of the night "This wasn't an act of violence against you, I didn't do this in attempt to hurt you in some way. I really do think you're a great person, deep inside, if you would just let yourself be that person."

"I try to-" Maxwell started, but Wilson didn't give him a chance to go on, shaking his head and giving a sigh.

"Max, you try to be a good, harmless idea of a person that doesn't exist. You must've been a person even before the throne, right? Who was that Maxwell like? Who would that Maxwell like to be? If you want so hard to pay me back this debt that you have made up in your head, then maybe start by being yourself again. Just, try being a nicer Maxwell."

Maxwell heaved out unsteady, rapid breaths, and when Wilson reached his hands to hold the man, Maxwell almost fell over him, leaning forward and bobbing his head down on his shoulder. Wilson hummed and rubbed his hand over the other man's back.

"It's okay, I got you. You'll see... everything will be fine. I won't give up on you."

"Wilson... I'm tired... " Maxwell mumbled against his shoulder when his breaths had calmed down enough to let him speak, and he rose his claws to hang tight to Wilson's vest "I don't know what to think or how to feel, and suddenly everyone is acting as if they don't even hate me... It's so tiring. I'm so tired of these games. How am I supposed to believe that anyone cares, when you all have made it so clear that you don't?"

Wilson sighed gently.

"Well, Webber hasn't acted that way, have they?"

"...N-no... But it's Webber, it's different-"

"How about Wolfgang, or Wickerbottom?"

"Not all the time, but-"

"How about me?"

Maxwell shrunk down and fell quiet. It was a worrisome reaction, but Wilson just rubbed his back gently and gave him time to answer.

"... I don't know." came the quiet, unsure mumble "I have thought a lot of things of you, and many times I've been proven wrong. But I know that people don't describe someone they care about 'a noose around their neck'. That gave me a pretty clear picture. If that is truly how you see me, then it is."

"Max... I know that what I said was... it was very cruel. I was angry and frustrated, I was still recovering, the green caps had hurt my head pretty badly. It all just piled up, I didn't mean it. That's not what you really are to me." Wilson hushed the other man, stroking fingers on his back.

"I... I don't want to make you feel like that, you know." Maxwell turned his face against the younger man's neck "I don't want to make things bad for you. You don't have to tolerate that. You're not obligated to play my friend just because you pity me, and I know... I know you want to do it because you are better man than I am, but maybe it would be easier if you were just honest to yourself."

Wilson opened his mouth to protest, but Maxwell spoke over him before he was able to even start "If I'm not worth the honesty, then at least you are. Let me wilt away. Leave me to rot. I'm sure it would lessen the burden on your shoulders a lot if you just gave up this... this thing you're doing with me."

Wilson bit his lip, feelings himself shrinking down in shame.

"... Remember when I told you that I didn't have many friends before Constant?" he let out a small, pitiful laugh, tightening his careful grip on Maxwell "By many, I meant... any, at all. Not  a single one. I don't do it on purpose, I just, I don't know how to be around other people, I've always been a bit... well, I guess my family would say 'unusual', at least when other people can hear... I'm not hurting you on purpose, I, I never wanted to hurt you. I just, sometimes I'm not sure if it's a right time or place to do something, and sometimes there are feelings I don't know how to handle and I... I guess I always end up messing up when I try to make sense of it all."

Maxwell was quiet for once, resting his head on Wilson's shoulder, waiting for him to continue. Wilson didn't know if Maxwell actually was listening because he wanted to, or if he just didn't think he had a choice. Wilson continued either way, really just hoping it would give some insight to the situation, hoping he would be able to explain it somehow.

"When you spoke to me the first time, I was very flattered, I thought you reached out to me because I was special. You made me feel like I was finally appreciated, like maybe you enjoyed talking to me, like you enjoyed listening to me." Wilson took in a small, shallow breath and tried to wipe the tear away from his eye without alerting Maxwell - this wasn't about how he felt, this was about Maxwell and showing him that he mattered "I guess I should've doubted your motives, but I felt so good with you that I pushed all the suspicion away. You were right to call me out on that, it is my fault for being so stupid-"

"I never thought you're stupid."

Wilson paused, turning his head slightly towards Maxwell, but the man fell quiet once more. Wilson waited a bit longer, but when no elaboration ever came, he warily continued.

"I... You make me feel odd, and it's not a bad thing, I just... You betrayed me before, and I have been angry about it a long, long time. I'm not anymore, but things like that, they don't really ever leave, you know...? I was afraid that what if, what if I stop being angry, what if I stop holding up my defenses, what if, w-what if give in to my feelings and it turns out that I was wrong again." Wilson tried not to let his voice tremble. He didn't want to make this about himself more than he should, and he didn't try to guilt Maxwell by telling him this. He only wanted to let Maxwell know how he felt.

A quiet between them stayed still for a while. Then Maxwell carefully shifted on Wilson's shoulder, hunching up against him and curling up weakly.

"I hurt you a lot. Nothing will ever change that, nothing will ever undo the damage I've done." the man muttered, grasping Wilson's shirt in his hands tight "After all that I've done, after all that I've taken, there is no way to make things better. I'm not worth the trouble, Wilson, I don't want to hurt you. If you could just let me do what I can, I'm sure you would realize that it's not a bad thing. I know it doesn't fix anything, it doesn't change what I am, but at least you wouldn't get hurt anymore."

"Sshh, Max..." Wilson slowly started petting his hair, leaning his cheek on top of his head "I really wish you would understand. I'm not lying to you, I'm not making fun of you, I'm not doing this to hurt you. These... these touches and umh... kisses... I've meant them. I really have. You are important to me, I... I care about you in very, very many ways."

Maxwell's hands gripped his clothes tighter, and Wilson gently started to press him down on his back again, laying beside him on the bed. Maxwell sucked in a breath like he just now stopped holding himself back.

"I want to believe you..."

"I know." Wilson whispered softly and pulled the blanket over them, pulling Maxwell close to himself.

"I've done terrible things-"

"You don't have to do them anymore."

"I ruined your life."

Wilson was quiet for a while. Then he leaned away, forcing Maxwell out of his hiding place from the crook of his neck, and gave him a dreary, tired smile.

"I think I ruined it myself well before you even had a chance." he chuckled, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Maxwell rose his hand over his face and bit his lip, and Wilson watched his adam's apple bob up and down when he tried so, so hard to hide how much he wanted to cry. The younger man left a tender kiss on his temple.

"What's done is done. I regret a lot of things, and I know you regret even more. But one thing I've never regretted even once was freeing you from the throne."

Maxwell stayed behind his hand, but he rose the other one up, and Wilson let himself be pulled closer. He closed his eyes as the other man held him tight, unsteady breaths running through his lips quietly. Wilson only pet his hair softly and held him until the morning.

Notes:

I've had an inside joke with myself that half of this fic is just Maxwell trying to put up a tent, and something always comes in his way. But now he has one, yey!