goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

She grew up with (half) brothers. Carolina is certainly familiar with superhero basics, if nothing else.

The posture change works. She can see the lines of his own personal military history in it, snapping a nod in reply to his 'yes ma'am', and she even gives him a headstart down the hallway before stepping back into the room and quickly gathering up his clothing, tossing it into a sports bag she'd saved for such an occasion. She can easily excuse it as her own if questioned - and she is expecting questions once downstairs.

By the time she's done, and exiting the room, it's just in time to see York enter the elevator - she'll catch the next one. For one thing, it's less suspicious. For another, it'll provide him with lead time.

"Ahh...lateness, probably. Not next day. People also drink a lot at these parties and a little is okay but a lot blurs lines." And he did hate him some blurred lines. Ugh.

Three, two, one, ding. The doors open and he keeps his head up, his shoulders back, and his pace clipped. Like any Pissed Off Officer he'd had to see barging his way after another- well. Hijink? Shenanigan? Something he did that he probably shouldn't have, more or less. It's easy enough to replicate and sure enough- no one looked at him twice. He could force his way through the crowd without a word till he got across the lobby, out the door, and into the car.

Safe. Kickass.

"...okay I might have to do this more often, holy shit. No one blinked at me."

A lot ot keep track of, Carolina and Wash- so much he wants to touch, so much he wants to taste. He leans in where he's pulled and keeps his hands busy- one working over Wash's dick and the other daring to drift up and curl in Carolina's hair. His touch with Wash is familiar, affectionate- with Carolina?

It's reverent. Awed.

Wash gives a low groan and rocks against York's hand, desperate for more of that touch. He presses his lips fervently against York's neck, desperate kisses against his skin. He just needs the reminder that they're here, that this is real and maybe he has another chance.

Carolina lets the kiss linger, her own hand curling against the back of York's neck to hold him. "You're wearing too much York."

[ He's here, she can, and she can have him whenever and however she wants from now till he actually does die. Which isn't anytime soon- no dying on Carolina. Not again. Even if he didn't know he'd been doing it the first time.

He clings to her legs and leans up to get as much out of that kiss as possible, falling back against the pillow with dark eyes and swollen lips.

The things she does to him.

The things she'll let him do to her.

It's easy to nudge her forward- pull her legs up so she's resting on his shoulders- hands carefully cradling her ass as he leans up and presses a warm, opened mouth kiss against the warmth of her. It's almost chaste except for how the flat of his tongue laves out to drag across her folds, to dip inside and tease at her. Sorting out what she likes, what she doesn't.

She'll tell him. ]

[ She'll tell him, though not in words. It will be in the flex of muscle beneath his palms, cheeks cupped by his hands and powerful thighs framing his face. It's in the sway of her hips as she settles herself, and the way her back stiffens at that initial contact, the catch of her breath before she wills herself to relax.

Her fingers clench and unclench against the headboard. There's a slow deep breath, before she lets herself sink slower, parting thighs a little wider where their positions allow, and lower lip is caught between her teeth in anticipation. It's not unpleasant, not if the way she slowly yields to mouth and tongue thereafter is any indication to what she thinks-feels about that prelude, sinking lower against him if only to make his job 'easier'.

Control. She'll hold it, for as long as he'll allow, for as long as her body can manage. How long that control doesn't last.. She can't wait to see how long she can ride this out. ]

"Then I will trust you to be only a little late." Or a lot late. But with plans to return. Her tail switches a bit at the mention of blurred lines. She can appreciate his caution there. Who knows who might attempt to jump him on his journey - and her unable to come to his defense?

The car is waiting, as instructed. That York follows the plan to the letter is both a good and bad sign - good, because deviations (even those they made allowances for) could cause chaos. Bad, because it indicated how high his anxiety levels must have been up above.

After the door to the car pops open, York will find Delta waiting inside for York to board. Only once he's secure does the driver pull away, and the first of sigh of relief is released. "Try not to overdo it," advises Delta, regarding disguise. "They'll realise what we've done if we attempt it too often." Now to drive around the block a time or two, then collect Carolina..

As soon as he's in he takes off the glasses and slumps back into his seat, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. The throb of tension he'd been carrying is still ebbing away bit by bit, but they're safe. Secure. He can wind down. Winding does involve hooking one of his ankles around Delta's- it doesn't mean anything but contact is grounding. Keeps him present, keeps him stable.

"True enough. Sorry, man. I don't know what set me off."

Drunken makeouts are fun. Drunken hookups? No. Not with his issues, not with how he gets all wound up and tense and impossible to talk down- well. Not lately but he'd rather not risk it all that much. The more time he spends around Carolina the easier it seems he sleeps. It's the security of having her keep an eye out, he guesses. "I'll text you so you know what's up if I'm gonna be out long."

Drunken hookups under supervision? Seem to be a borderline. She does at least look satisfied at the compromise of being texted. "It is a very convenient form of communication," she comments offhandedly, again. This modern era had plenty of those.

Speaking of: "Your mother won't appreciate you not responding promptly to her voicemail, by the way." Or so she assumes. She's seen the haggard look he's worn after avoiding a previous call.

"...Fiiiine." Stretched out in a petulant whine, he flops over on the sofa and stretches for the phone. One call won't kill him. If he's lucky? She won't answer. "Calling now."

Whoever made the default button press on his cellphone the bubble wrap noise is a genius, even if it's distracting. Several digits and he waits for her to pick up, one hand over his eyes.

"So is that an order to get naked?" He smirks even as he untangles himself from them, rolling off the bed to peel his shirt up good and slow. It's not much of a striptease but it's something. To show he's putting in an effort. That he wants this good. Fun. That he wants to show off.

"Absolutely," she replies, warmth obvious in her voice.

Wash lets York pull away, albeit reluctantly and watches him pull his shirt off. Sure, he's seen York naked before, but there's something special about this, about watching him tease and play.

When he's done he sits back and pulls his own shirt off, a little less self-assured than York is, but still taking his time on it.

Secure, certainly. They'll only be safe (to Delta's point of view) once they've arrived at the airport and the plane has taken flight. But remaining a stable force in York's chaotic life has been his role for some time and he's hardly about to forsake his friend now.

"There is no need to apologise, York. Given what you had already been through, it would have been unkind to keep you longer." And they weren't about to feed the press any excuses to belittle an artist with PTSD. After addressing a few matters on his smartphone, the device is stowed, and green eyes peer in concern a moment. Before clearing his throat.

"You are entirely certain you still wish to do this trial run with Carolina as part of your security team?"

Since York has claimed the couch in defeat, Carolina settles for smirking and slipping onto the armchair, oozing much like a cat into a comfortable position before adjusting her wings. They probably shouldn't be able to bend that way, but they do and they are, and her tail flicks back and forth at an even, steady tick as she watches.

And both ridged brows lift a little when the call connects. Oh. Oh ho ho. This might be good.

"...do you think we shouldn't?" Normally he makes a call and sticks with it, come hell or high water. Delta can and has talked him out of some particularly bullshit ideas before but right now? He's a little shook up even if he's winding down. His hands aren't trembling anymore and his ears aren't ringing and he can feel his pulse slowly dipping down to normal, but it's there. Times like this he needs D to be what he is.

An anchor. A guiding light. "Is it that bad of a call? You know her better than I do."

Shirt and sweats come right off and, hey, he's never been a big fan of boxers if he didn't have to wear them. All this skin and all these scars but it's all for them as he slides onto the bed, drawing his hands up Wash's ribs to nuzzle at his shoulder. "Gorgeous. Both of you, so goddamn pretty. The hell did I do to deserve this?"

Wash smiles, leans against him, warm skin and scars but he's never thought those were a deterrent. He wouldn't be York without them.

He shares a look with Carolina at that because really? Can't York figure it out? "You kind of saved us."

"...Hi mom!" Oh and here it is. A lot of questions he doesn't feel like answering and-

Oh.

Oh shit. "It's just for work, mom. It's debunking- what? Oh come on you know magic isn't real, right? It's just for show, sometimes I feel like using a few props to make it look like it's working but it's harmless. No one's getting hurt by this. Oh- her? She's my new roommate. Yeah. General studies. Transfer from overseas, still getting used to how things work on this side of the pond. Well- uh. Military brat? Look I- no. She's not coming for Thanksgiving. Because she's got her own shit to do? I'll ask but- Nnnnnnoooo I don't- Ma look- Ma. MA! I'm gonna hang up if you don't-"

For a moment, his fingers drum against his thigh as Delta considers his response. "I do not wish to waste her time," he says at length. "She does not have the luxury of full time work as you and I do, and if you are only asking her to remain because she is an attractive woman.." Then better to end this now, his expression says.

There is not a lick of judgment in his tone. Just plain fact. And, a hint of protectiveness for a woman who is also his half sister.

That tail doesn't cease swishing the entire time York keeps talking. If anything, its her expression that begins to look further and further amused, and she relaxes back in the chair, linking taloned fingers together as his mother neatly railroads right over him. Yes, yes she can see why his clan as a strong matriarchal line indeed.

Her head does tilt at the series of Don't and threats to hang up, however. Now what is that about?

"Well- I wasn't gonna leave you both behind again." He had his issues, he was still angry, but he can't blame them for being used. He blames himself more than anything else. "Not like that. Not with him."

Well that kind of stings. It's fair but it's

Actually no.

It's not fair. York does his bullshit stuff on the side but he's not once let it get involved with work or the people he asks Delta to hire seriously. This is a serious request and he's allowed to be offended. "You know me better than that, D."

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