#Malex | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

So... can I request a malex oneshot involving the manes brothers? Like just them being over protective about how touchy Michael is? Even thought they're married he gets death stares and throat clearing and "keep your hand where I can see them"

@brittz-2123

***

Michael had never been so uncomfortable in his life.

Go to dinner, Max had said.

Get to know your brothers-in-law, Isobel had said.

Screw them both. This was a nightmare, and Michael wanted to die.

When Alex had come home that evening, phone in hand, Michael had known something was wrong just by the look on his face.

“Hey, beautiful,” he’d said, having just finished with making them lunch. “What’s up?”

“Um,” he’d pursed his lips. “Greg’s inviting us over for dinner.”

Michael’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Great!”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his brow still pinched. “Uh . . . Clay’s gonna be there.”

Michael’s smile had fallen. “Clay? As in, the oldest Clay? As in . . . big-guy-that-looks-too-much-like-Sargent-Dick-and-knocked-on-our-door-when-we-were-dating-to-interrogate-me-and-tell-me-he-was-doing-a-background-check-on-Max-and-Isobel-and-warn-me-that-I-better-be-careful-with-you-during-sex Clay?”

Alex had grimaced. “I’ll cancel.”

“No, no,” Michael had caught his hands and taken his phone. Because he was a stupid dumbass who’d only seen the hesitance on his husband’s face, known Alex wanted a night with his brothers as they all worked hard on mending the bridges between them and having the relationship they should’ve had before their father had pinned them against each other—and his brain immediately went into fix-it mode. Before their marriage, Michael had promised himself that when Alex wanted something—whenever and whatever Alex wanted—Michael would give it to him. And he had seen Alex want this dinner.

So here he was, sitting six feet away from his Alex and feeling ready to slaughter the whole freaking dining room. Why was he sitting so far away, one might ask?

Oh, that was because Clay Manes was insane.

See, Michael had spent so long separated from Alex, putting space between them when in actuality it had been the last thing either of them had wanted, that the second they’d started dating, he’d dropped the cool pretense and gotten used to sliding his chair right up against Alex’s so that their thighs were touching. Some part of them always had to be touching.

Except when they’d sat down, and Michael had instinctively moved his chair against Alex’s only for Clay to stare him down with a cold look that made Michael feel like he was molesting his own husband. The glower hadn’t faded until he was nearly outside of arm’s length from Alex.

Michael was not having fun.

And boy oh boy, was Flint making it worse.

“What,” he’d scoffed upon arriving to find them separated, “not sitting on his lap this time?”

Only for Clay to narrow his eyes at Michael and quietly demand, “You do that in public?”

“No, I—”

“With this town’s biggest homophobes wandering around?”

“I wouldn’t let—”

“Are you trying to get Alex hurt?”

“Never, he’s—"

“He doesn’t need that kind of attention.”

Michael had hoped Greg’s arrival would soften the night’s conversation, and for a moment, it looked like it would. Greg had given Alex a one-armed hug and ruffled his hair, and had rolled his eyes at the distance between him and Michael.

“Bro, c’mon,” he’d told Clay, “they’re married, stop making Guerin uncomfortable.”

To which Clay, without taking his eyes off Michael, had simply responded with, “So having respect for Alex’s personal space makes Guerin uncomfortable, does it?”

There was no winning with this guy. It should’ve uneased Michael how much Clay looked like Jesse—hell, it might’ve given him enough excuse to ignore his every word and sit on Alex’s lap like Flint had so joked about—but Clay’s concern for Alex was obviously so genuine that Michael found he wanted to prove himself. Even if the whole world posed a threat to Alex, Michael would protect him. No matter how many dangers he faced, Michael would not be one of them.

He was just about to tell Clay exactly that when Clay suddenly asked, “So, Michael. Alex tells us you’re a genius. Physics nut, right?”

Michael’s heart swelled with pride. He wouldn’t deny it was an ego boost to know that after everything he’d done, after all his foolish mistakes, Alex still thought he was clever.

“Yeah,” he said, trying not to sound too smug. “I mean, I’m pretty good.”

“But you never went to college,” Clay continued, and Michael’s ego punctured. “And you’re a mechanic?”

“W-Well,” Michael cleared his throat, momentarily faltering before he tried to salvage the conversation. “Yeah, no, I had some big plans when I was younger, but I ended up staying in Roswell. I don’t think I’ll ever actually leave this town for good.”

Clay hummed, and glanced at Alex. “Because you’re married.”

“That’s right,” Michael straightened. That’s it, he thought. Getting back on track, you tell that Clay Manes how much you love his brother. Keep going! “I stay where Alex stays.”

Alex smiled warmly, love in his eyes, and Michael felt twelve feet tall. Then Clay said—

“Are you saying my brother is holding you back?”

“I—” Michael lost his footing. “Uh, what?”

“You’re blaming him for your lack of ambition?” he tsked. “I don’t think I appreciate that.”

“No, I . . .” Michael looked around helplessly, but Greg looked like he was hiding a laugh in his mashed potatoes and Flint was nodding along as he speared a carrot, like Michael being a failure was no surprise to him. Alex had his lips pressed together, but his expression was closed off. If they were sitting closer, Michael would’ve reached under the table to hold his hand, a silent reassurance.

Right now though, he just kind of wanted to cry.

“I-I’m saying that I love Alex too much to ever be away from him!” he defended.

“You love him too much?” Clay narrowed his eyes. “That sounds like a burden, is loving Alex supposed to be a burden to you, Michael?”

“No!” he gaped, and to Alex, “No.” Back to Clay, “No, what I’m saying is that I would rather die than live away from him!”

“So my brother is now responsible for your life,” he shook his head. “Do you have any idea how much pressure that is?”

“I—”

“Your codependency issues are forcing him to settle, and you’re proud of yourself for that?”

Forget kind of, Michael definitely wanted to cry. Blindly, he reached out despite the wide space and desperately grabbed for his husband’s hand, having to lean off the edge of his chair to do it.

“Clay,” Alex sighed, “knock it off already.”

“I’m just making sure Michael here is providing a safe and comforting home for my little brother," Clay said, narrowed eyes on Michael. “So far, I have concerns.”

“C’mon, bro,” Flint said, nudging him with his elbow, “leave him alone.”

Michael’s eyes widened—he couldn’t believe his ears; Flint was defending him?

“I mean,” Flint shrugged, “what’s the point? He’s too dense anyway. Don’t waste your breath.”

“I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” Michael growled.

“Interesting,” Clay remarked, rubbing his jaw. “Tell me, Michael, have you always had issues with aggression?”

Greg choked on a laugh, and Michael looked to Alex for help. Alex held up his free hand, his other currently being crushed between both of Michael’s.

“Clay,” Alex said, smiling tightly, “one more question, and my husband and I are leaving.”

Clay pursed his lips, seemingly displeased at not getting to interrogate Michael more, though the threat of Alex leaving with their relationship still as fragile as it was seemed to upset him more. He nodded once, stiffly, and the others ate in silence. Michael felt it more heavily than the interrogation.

He glanced at Alex, who was offering him a reassuring smile, and tried not to feel like the worst husband ever. He knew how contentious Alex’s relationship with his brothers was, he knew how long he’d been looking forward to tonight. He didn’t want to be the reason Alex didn’t get the family he deserved.

Setting his utensils down next to his untouched plate, Michael tapped his fingers on the table as he thought. Alex gave him a curious look, but Michael only said, “I’m not perfect. I didn’t always do right by Alex, and that time will haunt me until the day I die. All the things I said, the way I treated him . . .” he swallowed and looked to Alex, and offered a sad smile. “The time I wasted.”

Steeling himself, he met Clay’s hard gaze and felt very much like he was on the edge of a cliff. He took the leap. “I can’t take that time back. You don’t have to tell me that Alex can do a lot better than me, I already know it, but I will dedicate my life to being as close to perfect for him as I can because he deserves nothing less. I know that much, too.”

Clay stared. And stared and stared and stared. Then he looked to Alex and said, “Fine,” and went back to eating as though there’d been no interruption. Flint was rolling his eyes as he took a swig of his beer, and Greg gave him an approving smile.

Michael looked to Alex who looked back at him in the same he’d done when they were seventeen, and they had felt so much for each other that neither of them was able to put into words. Swallowing, he took the win no matter how small and scooted his chair closer to his husband’s, needing desperately to touch him.

“Don’t push it,” Clay said, and Michael scooted right back.

“Right,” he said, fully planning on clinging to Alex the second this dinner from hell was over.