Chapter Text
Eventually, the effects of the spores wore off and Wilson passed out from overstimulation. Maxwell pulled out, sighing in relief that he could finally catch a break. He spent a few minutes staring at Wilson, he felt accomplished finally seeing him relaxed, compared to the desperation and agony he had been in earlier. Though Maxwell thought he'd be content with this outcome, something made his gut wrench uncomfortably.
He hastily fixed up his clothes and tucked Wilson in under the covers. Noticing Wilson’s own clothes littered on the floor around the bed, he took the time to fold and neatly stack them on the chair he had been sitting in earlier that night. There luckily didn't appear to be any stains, not any that would last anyway.
Maxwell stared longingly at Wilson one last time, then he sighed heavily and exited the cabin.
The next morning was quite jarring. Wilson immediately awoke to every one of his joints being sore. He felt knackered.
Groaning as he sat up, he noticed a lack of presence within the room. Glancing around he realized that Maxwell was nowhere to be seen, he must’ve returned to his own cabin after Wilson had passed out.
Following his usual routine he tried to get up out of bed but was instantly confronted with how numb his legs were, which caused him to stumble back onto the bed. He should’ve known being manhandled and fucked for a few hours straight would render his legs quite useless.
‘Bloody hell…’
When he reached his hand up to massage his neck and shoulders he felt the scarring from Maxwell’s biting and scratching across his skin, a slight panic settled when he realized how hard it was going to be to hide those marks. Bracing himself, he stood up and slowly shuffled over to the chair with his clothes on it. He was barely able to stand, let alone walk, though he managed to pull the chair closer to him before he fell back.
When he sat back down the bed screeched loudly, something in the frame must have broken thanks to last night's events. Wilson sighed heavily, he just needed to stick to cleaning himself up and finding Maxwell- he could worry about his broken bed later.
Now that the chair was in arm's reach Wilson was able to fix himself some clothing, some of his garments looked a little worse for wear, but none had visible stains and that's all he cared about at the moment.
He pulled a scarf from inside his bedside drawer, it was the only solution he could think of for hiding the bitemarks and hickeys across his neck, just a temporary solution, it was. At least it made some sense now that Winter was getting closer and closer with each passing day.
It took a few minutes and a few failed attempts until Wilson was actually able to walk out the door, walking to the main hall without drawing attention to his wobbly legs would be even more difficult without anything to steady himself on. Cursing under his breath he slowly and groggily made his way over to the meeting hall, knocking on the thick wooden doors before showing himself inside.
As usual, Wickerbottom was there flicking through various checklists and assorted books while enjoying her morning cup of tea. Webber and Walter were also present, eating their breakfast and chatting. All 3 of them went quiet and turned their head as soon as Wilson entered.
“I was worried you weren’t going to wake up, lord knows it’s hard taking Maxwell’s word on these kinds of things- are you feeling alright?”
Wickerbottom set down her tea.
Judging by her calm and collected reaction, Wilson felt safe in assuming no one, or at least not Wickerbottom, had heard him and Maxwell last night. He felt a bit of relief at that prospect until he processed what else had been said;
“Maxwell’s word? Is he up already?”
“Up? He’s already left, and he took the seed pack-it with him.”
She quickly noticed Wilson’s visible confusion.
“He told us you were still resting and that he would go out alone, I assumed that when he told us this you might’ve known and agreed to it?”
Wickerbottom explained, raising an eyebrow in his direction.
Wilson was even more confused now, he didn’t question why Maxwell might’ve gone back to his cabin to sleep, but why would he go out to collect more seeds, alone? It could certainly be explained by him just wanting Wilson to rest, perhaps even anticipating he might wake up with an inability to walk properly, but something didn’t feel right. He dashed over to the ice box and snatched up some leftovers;
“My apologies, I need to go, er- good day then!”
Wilson waved over his shoulder and quickly exited the lobby, running out the door before any of them had the chance to fare him well.
Webber and Walter looked over at Wickerbottom with worried looks on their face;
“What’s gotten into him?”
Walter questioned.
“We heard from Warly last night that he was attacked by a strange plant,”
Webber added, taking another bite from his bacon & eggs.
Wickerbottom chuckled, she took a long sip from her tea and then smiled at them with a calm, reassuring expression;
“I assure you he’s fine, from what I heard anyway.”
Wilson started down the path that he and Maxwell had followed the previous day, there was always a chance he'd gone in a different direction, but of all the forest paths surrounding their camp he just had to hope. If his legs weren’t like jelly he would’ve run down the path until he eventually caught up with Maxwell, but for now, a steady pace would suffice as long as the former nightmare king was actually doing his task and stopping every now and then to pick up seeds.
As he walked he started to ponder Maxwell’s reasoning. Wanting Wilson to relax was certainly plausible, but if that was the case why wouldn’t he leave a note, tell Wickerbottom, or even just inform him directly? All these factors made Wilson sure that Maxwell was in fact, avoiding him. Did he only do all of those things last night because he was trying to help? Was none of the praises he so passionately whispered in Wilson’s ear true? Was it really only because he was trying to aid his ache and nothing more?
No matter how he thought of it, nothing made sense, Maxwell was a performer- yes, but there wasn’t a single moment where Wilson felt that there wasn’t truth behind all the things he said or did. At least that’s what he thought, maybe he was just in denial.
Just as his legs were starting to fail him again he noticed a tall figure in the distance, instantly recognizing it as Maxwell by his suit tails waving around in the wind behind him.
Wilson waved out to him;
“Maxwell!”
He yelled.
The tall figure turned towards him, stopping in his tracks. Wilson tried to speedwalk towards him but his knees fell from underneath him and he stumbled to the ground, just barely catching himself.
Maxwell immediately ran up the path towards him, diving down to pull him onto two feet;
“What do you think you’re doing out here!?”
He pressed. Wilson brushed the dirt off his knees, squinting up at the taller man, clearly quite annoyed;
“You’re avoiding me, aren’t you? Why?”
“What? That’s absurd- why would I-”
“Don’t take the piss, just give me a good reason.”
Wilson pushed him away and took a few steps back, his tone very irritated. Maxwell remained silent for some time, unable to even maintain eye contact. There were a few moments where he’d open his mouth to speak, but then quickly abandon his attempt. Maxwell’s hesitance made Wilson all the more vexed.
The taller man sighed heavily, fiddling with his tie, he finally spoke;
“I have some… regrets about last night.”
He said with closed eyes. Wilson was quite dismayed by this statement;
“Regret? What exactly did you regret? I think you ought to tell me.”
“I don’t mean it in that way, honest.”
“Stop being vague! You know what, look… if you can’t be arsed enough to give me a proper reason, then I think that’s saying enough.”
Wilson's voice was shaky. He rolled his eyes and turned away to start back up the path. For now, he would just like to go home and sleep some more.
But just as usual when Wilson tried to walk away, Maxwell grabbed his wrists to stop him. This time he was far more gentle and far more hesitant.
"I enjoyed last night, a lot."
Wilson stopped trying to pull away.
"I'm just not sure if I should have… indulged in you, I don't think it was right."
"What? What do you mean by that?"
Wilson faced him. Maxwell fiddled with his glove, it was such a strange sight to see him this way. The former nightmare king was always calm and composed, his approach was always well thought-out and he exudes confidence with everything he does, but this was different. For once, Maxwell seemed truly… nervous.
"Well then…? Go on,"
Wilson ordered.
"You were not in your right mind last night. That plant was affecting you, who am I to know if you were sound enough to be making those decisions-?"
He sighed;
"-Making love to you is not my regret, it is the circumstances of which that came about."
Wilson stared up at him with wide eyes. He'd never seen this side of Maxwell before, he didn't even know it existed. A part of him was perplexed about what to do. You'd think on the way down here that he would've thought of what to say, and in truth, he had, he'd just never expected this.
Still, he could see the guilt in Maxwell's eyes, but what was there to be guilty about?
"No. No, you've got it all wrong,"
Wilson said;
"All those spores did was, well, get me going… they didn't alter my mind in any way."
"Are you sure of this-?"
Maxwell was cut off by Wilson grabbing his tie and yanking him downward, both of them were eye-level now. With quite an intense face, he continued;
"Listen… there was a reason that you helped with the ache. If I didn’t want to do it with you I would've just left the bloody cabin while you were asleep, or simply continued to touch myself."
Wilson put his lips to Maxwell's ear;
"You made me feel good, and I wanted you to make me feel good, not that bloody flower."
He let go of Maxwell’s tie and backed away. Both of their faces were flushed red, and they were far too embarrassed to look each other in the eye. For a while they stood there in silence, fidgeting and listening to the sounds of the wind and the birds chirping. It was quite awkward, really.
Maxwell broke the silence;
“So does that mean… you’d do it again?”
He asked. Wilson’s face went an even brighter red;
“I suppose it does, doesn’t it?”
They both chuckled quietly to themselves. Maxwell gestured to Wilson and they started to walk along the path together, may as well make some distance and do their task as they… discussed what they’d be doing moving forward.
“Are your legs feeling ok? And I can see you’re wearing a scarf.”
“They’re feeling better now, still a bit wobbly. And yes, I have to wear this unless I want to show off all the marks you gave me.”
Wilson elbowed him, Maxwell smiled and rolled his eyes before lightly elbowing him back.
They walked and talked for a bit more after that. Both of them were just glad that the awkward tension had dissipated, and a peaceful stroll along the forest path was the optimal outcome of this situation. There would still be some things to resolve, of course, especially if Wickerbottom or any others decided to speak out about what they’d heard. Not that they knew of that yet. For now, they just enjoyed nature.
Wilson turned to Maxwell with a smug expression;
“Oh, and by the way, you broke my bed- I got up this morning and it was screeching like a mandrake every time I moved.”
“Sciencerest apologies-”
Maxwell peered down at him with an even more shifty look in his eye;
“-Say, when I do replace it… perhaps I make a double bed instead? What do you think of that?”
Wilson’s eyes shifted;
“I… I think I’d like that.”