#its very soft tho | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

momotonescreaming · 1 year

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This started as me word-vomiting into @unclewaynemunson 's inbox, and thanks to them encouraging me to flesh it out - I now have this whole thing. Wayne Munson and Scott Clarke build a home together. Clarkson. (3.5k)

Looking back, it seemed inevitable, the pair finding a new home together.

Scott would have never felt comfortable moving into Forest Hills, packing up a whole house worth of stuff and cramming it all into a trailer not even half the size. Living in the middle of many other trailers, where you could hear everything your neighbours did. Mrs. Carter, from the trailer behind them, turned her TV all the way up and you could hear the show as clear as anything from the Munson’s own living room. John and Katie, from just down the way, had screaming matches whenever he got home late from the bar, drunk as anything.

Everyone knew everyone’s business in the trailer park.

Wayne didn’t begrudge Scott that, the same way Scott didn’t blame him in the slightest for not feeling comfortable in the suburbs. In his big house on a street full of semi-identical houses. Full of middle class families with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence, who knew who Scott was, and loved to gossip even though they claimed they didn’t. His house was too quiet, too big, too different.

So they would stay the night, or a weekend, and then drift back to their separate houses. It was fine at first, as they figured out their relationship. Where they stood, how the other worked. But the more time passed, and the more time they spent together — the more Wayne could feel the ache in his chest when they parted. Settling low in his ribs when he had to leave for his shift at the plant, gripping at his chest when he went back to his trailer.

It wasn’t pleasant, but it was enough knowing that he had Scott, even for those short moments.

Then he lost his job at the plant, found himself working during the daylight hours now, and the aching grew worse when he could finally spent full nights curled up in bed with Scott. He knew exactly what he was missing when he left.

Wayne had taken that ache, the longing that seeped into his every pore, and let it grow into something solid. Something he could hold in his hands, run over in his mind. And when it was finally something he could grip, something he understood, he talked to Scott.

In the quiet of Scott’s house, in his bed, when it was just the two of them and the moonlight shining through the gap in the curtains — Wayne held Scott’s hand and asked him if he had ever thought about getting a home together.

And that was how it started.

Wayne would look at the houses for sale in the paper, circling ones he was considering. Scott visited the local real estate office, looking at photos and brochures of what they had on the market. It was a little touch and go for a while, the pair figuring out where the balance was between Scott’s nice suburban house, and Wayne’s cosy trailer.

Eddie had helped, pointing out houses that he said had charm, that told a story. Ones that were fun, or unique, that he thought would be cool to live in. To say that you own.

They had found it eventually, their perfect house. Wayne always thought it was cheesy TV drama, when those couples in real estate shows talked about how they ‘just knew’ when they found their dream home. It didn’t seem so cheesy now that he had it himself.

The house was advertised as a ‘Fixer Upper’. A cosy future home in need of some TLC. A semi-secluded house by the lake front, down a long gravel drive in a small clearing and surrounded by the forest. Two bedrooms and a detached garage.

Wayne and Scott had discussed it intensively — making sure it was what they wanted, it was the right move, if they were able to fix it up or not. Wayne had talked to Eddie, and to Steve. Running it past both of his boys — while Scott had talked to the bank. Getting opinions, calculating every variable, dotting their I’s and crossing their T’s.

And then there was no reason for them to refuse. So they bought it. They owned a house together.

The real estate agent wasn’t lying when they said it was a fixer upper. The paint was peeling off of the siding, and off the windows. The wallpaper was old and faded. The ceiling leaked. The kitchen didn’t work, and the plumbing was iffy at the best of times. The land was overgrown, and there was a long list of minor things to fix. It was barely inhabitable.

It was perfect.

And so Wayne kept his trailer, and Scott kept his house, and they slowly started to pack things away as they spent weekend upon weekend working on their house.

They get Eddie and Steve round to help clear the long driveway of branches and rocks, to strip the wallpaper and start to give the whole house a deep clean. Eddie only complains the whole time. Wayne smiles at Scott as Steve threatens to dump a bucket of soapy water over Eddie’s head, laughing all the while.

Many an evening is spent flipping through wallpaper samples and paint swatches, Scott passing one over to Wayne to ask for his opinion, only for Wayne to reply that he’s really not an expert on these things. The walls stay bare for a long while. Scott continues to show Wayne colours, determined to find one he will have an opinion on, while Wayne focuses on getting the house habitable first.

Each weekend they make a little more progress. Wayne puts his handyman skills to work, steadily working his way through the house. Scott helps out with the electrics — checking the light fixtures, the switches, making sure nothing major is wrong. They do a lot of cleaning. A lot of cleaning.

But it isn’t always hard work, thankfully. Wayne doesn’t think his back could take it, if it was. There are cool afternoons spent wandering through the empty rooms of their house, cracking open windows to air the place out. Drifting through the rooms with their hands entwined together, discussing what should go where.

How they should lay out their living room, what furniture to keep and what they can get rid of as they merge their things together, do they want curtains or blinds. Shelves and hooks for Wayne's mugs and hats is a given. Scott says so offhandedly, casually — of course they’re going to display his collection in the living room — and Wayne smiles softly in return, kissing his partner on the cheek.

Scott spends ages talking about where to put the snake tank — telling Wayne about climate and temperature control, adequate space, snake behaviour and the need to hide. He gestures with his hands as he talks, the excitement and sheer joy lighting up his face. Wayne smiles fondly, and it’s nice knowing he doesn’t have to hide that here. He can smile at the man that he loves, and doesn’t have to worry about anyone else, about the outside world. It’s just them, together.

Wayne didn’t realise exactly just how happy this would make him. He knew he loved Scott, and he knew he wanted to be with him, but the sheer happiness of building up their home together had him feeling giddy. He was almost embarrassed about it, how excited for the weekend he was — because he knew he would be wiling away the hours working on making their house a home.

They’re not quite sure who bought it up first, but they end up with an air mattress on the floor of their new master bedroom, piled up with old pillows and spare blankets. The embarrassment fades when Wayne realises that Scott is just as excited to start this new chapter of their lives together. They’ll spend the night on their mattress on the floor, clothes neatly piled up on the hardwood floor next to them.

None of the rooms have curtains yet, so the cold of the forest seeps through the glass window, but Wayne finds he doesn’t mind. He can hear the chirping of the crickets, and can see the stars out the window. It’s nice, he thinks, having their bed face the window so they can see the forest outside. There’s no metal trailers, no raccoon eating trash, no nosy neighbours.

Scott pulls himself closer, entangling his legs with Wayne, wrapping his arms around Wayne’s middle. Their blankets trap the heat, and the cool of the air around them makes the warmth more enticing. Everything is soft and slow, as if the room has slowly filled with molasses. He curls up to Scott, eyes fluttering shut, feeling the warmth of his breath on his skin. Wayne falls asleep to the soft murmurings of Scott softly describing the constellations to him.

Wayne wakes up slow, mouth dry and eyes bleary with sleep. He’s warm, limbs heavy as he slowly slips into waking. Blinking, he opens his eyes to find that him and Scott have shifted even closer in sleep; can see that they’ve entangled themselves laying face to face, legs still entwined. Wayne’s legs are bare, having taken his jeans off to sleep only in his boxer briefs. Scott brought a spare pair of pyjama pants (he always did feel the cold a lot more than Wayne), and he can feel the soft fabric of them where Scott’s leg is sandwiched between his own.

The sun is only just rising, sky dusted with soft pinks and oranges. It’s beautiful, but Wayne can’t help but ignore the curtain-less window to watch Scott. He’s still asleep, breath warm and steady as it brushes Wayne’s face with hot air. Face lax, still weighed down by sleep, lit only by the soft glow of the dawning sun. Shifting his arms, Wayne holds Scott loosely, slowly rubbing one hand up and down Scott’s back — feeling the bumps of his spine.

Scott hums contentedly, still asleep, and nuzzles closer to Wayne. He brings his other hand to rest at the base of Scott’s neck, fingers slowly running through his hair. They don’t have anywhere to be, there’s no rush to get to work or school, so Wayne lets himself lay there watching Scott. Feeling the warmth of his body pressed into his, the soft fabric of his undershirt underneath his hands. He doesn’t know how long he stays there, watching Scott sleep, feeling the sun slowly rise as the warmth of it shines through the window. The birds are singing happily in the trees, chirping and tweeting at each other.

He could get used to this; waking up to the sounds of the woods, and the sun, and his lover wrapped in his arms inside their house. There’s a shifting, the air mattress moving underneath them as Scott slowly drags himself into waking. He blinks, eyelids fluttering open and then immediately scrunching shut at the light. Wayne chuckles, leaning over to kiss Scott on the cheek. The mattress squeaks underneath them.

“Mornin’” Wayne whispers, not yet daring to speak at a normal volume. They’re in a sleepy little bubble, wrapped up in their blankets, and it feels as if one wrong move will make it burst, and then they’ll be shocked back into reality. There in the early morning, with his love by his side, on the floor of their new house, the world doesn’t feel real yet. It’s just them, together.

Scott peels his eyes open slowly, sluggishly, smiling at Wayne’s lips on his cheek. “Morning,” he mumbles in return. Half asleep — still barely awake — Scott drags his hand so its resting on Wayne’s waist, thumb running in gentle circles. They melt into the moment, still heavy with sleep and the knowledge that they don’t have to be anywhere else. They can stay in bed, in the rising sun, watching the love on each other’s face.

Drawing his other hand up to cup Wayne’s cheek, Scott gently presses and draws Wayne closer. There’s no pressure, no rush, as Scott leans in to kiss him. Wayne lets himself be handled, sinking into the kiss in return. It’s languid, familiar. A slow, sleepy drag of lips against lips. Scott’s body is warm where it’s inching closer to his, and his 5 o’clock shadow scratches against his own. Wayne smiles against Scott’s lips, joy bubbling up inside, wriggling in his stomach. His hand trails down to settle at the small of Scott’s back, resting there, not pushing or pulling.

There are no expectations, no goal — except for kissing Scott. Scott, who hums happily against Wayne’s smiling lips, feeling it rumble in his chest. They follow the motions of the kiss, not deepening it — hungry and eager — but letting it settle as something soft and sweet. Feeling sleep heavy and a little love drunk.

“I could get used to this,” Scott murmurs into Wayne’s mouth.

“My thoughts exactly,” He replies, their kissing slowing down, morphing into quick pecks, gentle presses of lips in between words. “Good thing we have a house then.”

Scott smiles softly. Another gentle kiss. “Can’t wait for it to be ready.”

“You just want to put me to work,” Wayne jokes, tone light and voice still quiet as he kisses the corner of Scott’s mouth, feeling it draw up into a smile beneath his lips.

“You do look very handsome in a tool belt.” Scott laughs, his voice honey sweet. He presses a quick kiss to Wayne’s cheek, and then leans back, smiling, raking his eyes over Wayne’s face. He looks happy. “Thank you. For doing most of the work on this place. I know I’m not the biggest help.”

“You help plenty.” Wayne replies, gaze softening at Scott’s words. “I couldn’t do this without you. I wouldn’t want to.”

“Thank you,” Scott replies, slowly drawing away from Wayne. He misses the warmth already . “Speaking of helping, I’ll make us coffee.”

They kiss quickly, Scott pulling himself upright and stretching with a sleepy grunt. Wayne follows the motions, letting his hands drift along Scott’s sides as the other man sits up. He lays there for a second, watching Scott, before slowly peeling himself out of bed with only mild grunts at easing his aching back off of the air mattress.

Scott stands there, next to the mattress in his undershirt and pyjama pants, smiling fondly down at him. “You don’t have to get up. I was going to bring the coffee to you.”

“Not as nice without you,” Wayne simply says with a subtle shrug of his shoulders, as if it was a known fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and everything was nicer when Scott was there.

“Come on then,” He says, holding his hand out for Wayne to grab, using it as leverage to ease himself off of the bed and into a standing position.

They don’t speak as they get dressed, falling into a familiar routine. Words aren’t necessary here. He can see Scott’s fondness on his face as he smiles, can feel it in the simple way he hands him his pants before he can even reach for them himself. Knowing that Scott’s eyes raked over his body and saw him shiver in the early morning air — anticipating his need before he can.

So in return he brushes away Scott’s hands, looking up at him through his lashes and buttoning up his shirt. Making sure it matches up, he hasn’t missed a buttonhole, leaving the top buttons undone, just the way he knows Scott prefers. He runs his hands over the fabric, smoothing it out and brushing off imaginary dust. Feeling the warmth of Scott’s chest, and the familiar fabric underneath the rough callouses of his hands.

Scott smiles at him, before leaning over to pick up Wayne’s discarded flannel shirt. He helps him into it, straightening the collar so it lies flat. Wayne smiles back. It somehow feels more intimate helping someone put their clothes on, than it does taking them off.

He follows Scott out of their bedroom, and into the kitchen. It needs a lot of work, and Wayne can’t help but notice it every time he enters. There’s no fridge, the oven is broken, half the cupboards have broken hinges, the floor might need re-tiling. But it has nice big windows that look out the back of the property — over the woods and the lake, the sun reflecting back at them.

Wayne can ever so clearly picture them spending their lazy mornings here together. They’ll put a little table by the window, and Wayne will smile when Scott calls it a ‘breakfast nook’. He’ll cook — making them eggs and toast, or a big stack of pancakes — while Scott brews them up some coffee. They’ll be in their slippers and dressing gowns, fighting off the cold. He’ll be reading the newspaper, while Scott flips through one of those science magazines he’s subscribed to.

There’s a click, and Wayne watches as Scott turns on the small gas cooker they bought from the camping supply store. It’s a small cheap thing, but it does the job. They’ve sat it on the counter, next to a large jug of water they’ve been boiling to help clean off some of the more stubborn dirt. Scott puts a pot on, fills it with water, and lets it heat up as he sets up some of the supplies they prepared. Some of Wayne’s mugs — ones that he didn’t mind leaving at the house, instant coffee, sugar, milk powder. Some basic groceries that would last, should they need them while they worked on the house.

Wayne gestures with his head, lets Scott know he’s heading outside, and leaves through the back door just off the kitchen. The door is still sturdy, with peeling red paint and a small stained glass window in the middle. It leads off onto the back porch, fairly large, with a white railing and a set of stairs that led down into the clearing out the back. The one with the path that led down to the lake.

They had talked about putting Wayne’s porch couch there, on this new porch, so they could have a place to sit and look out over the lake. It was a nice idea, but for the moment it laid bare, save for an old ashtray. Wayne leans on the railing, and considers why he actually came out here. He doesn’t feel the itch to smoke, the urge shaking his hands, and is surprised but not complaining. So he leans, and breathes, enjoying the sounds of nature and the shimmering lake.

There’s a dock down there, jutting out over the water. Some of the boards were loose, and damaged with time — but it was theirs. Scott had checked with the agent, that dock was theirs to use as they pleased. One day — Wayne wanted to fix it up. Make sure it was sturdy with no risk of breaking any time soon.

He can picture himself using it to go fishing in the early morning, sitting on a deck chair, watching the water and waiting for the sun. Enjoying the chirping of the birds and buzzing of the insects. The sound of the water gently lapping at the dock. Or perhaps a small boat. He can picture Eddie and Steve, heading down to the dock in the heat of the summer sun. In the afternoon, when it was hottest and most oppressive. They’d jump off, splash around, swimming in the lake until their fingertips wrinkled. He can picture Scott sitting on the end, dangling his feet into the water, smiling at him. Maybe he’s reading a book, maybe he’s sitting next to Wayne, telling him all the assorted fish fact he’s picked up over the years of teaching.

The smell of freshly brewed instant coffee draws him back inside. The back door creaks, but Wayne finds he doesn’t mind. Scott’s at the kitchen counter, stirring their coffee with a cheap plastic spoon. He turns when he hears Wayne enter, smiling at the sight of him, before holding out one of the mugs. It’s white, with a a decal of a fish in the middle of some text that read WOMEN WANT ME, FISH FEAR ME. Eddie had laughed his ass off when he gifted it to Wayne, knowing the pair of them were as gay as anything. Scott’s mug was a faded shade of brown, with looping text in the centre that advertised IT’S COOL TO BE A COWBOY. He smiled at it.

Wayne takes the coffee, thanking Scott, enjoying the warmth of it as it seeps into his hands. He leans against the counter, and takes a sip. It’s perfect. Exactly how he likes it. Scott smiles at him fondly over the top of his own mug, steam curling up into the cool air, almost caressing his face.

The coffee is instant, the cracked tiles cool underfoot, and none of the appliances work — but Wayne wouldn’t have it any other way. Not with Scott looking at him like he does, in a house that’s theirs.

#Stranger Things #Wayne Munson #Scott Clarke #Wayne Munson x Scott Clarke #Scott Clarke x Wayne Munson #Clarkson #My Writing #writing this out was how i spent most of my weekend so i hope you like it #im not so sure on the first bit but its done now #the soft sweet shit was very fun to write tho i like those bits

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