goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"Okay FINE just. Hold please." He presses the phone to his chest and scrubs at his face, muttering darkly under his breath. This is going to be terrible. "...She wants to talk to you. To make sure we're getting along."

With Hargrove. No, York wouldn't have. And there's so much there that still needs to be fixed, still can't think too badly about him without their minds shying away from it. But it's a start.

"But you could have," Carolina says firmly. "Plenty of people had. He has more than enough people working for him." And not one of them had spoken against what was happening.

He is and should be offended, and the green eyed stare back is unwavering. ..Until it drops, something like relief evident. York IS taking this seriously. "I do," he admits, "but I needed to be certain. It usually requires more discussion--" hint: Delta Frowning loudly, "--for you to take matters or the need for additional security personnel seriously."

"And she is very good at her job."

"She does?" Well that is interesting. There's a slither before she's off the couch, rocking on the balls of her feet, before there's steady steps taken towards York. "Why would we not get along?" Is that loud enough? She's assuming that's loud enough to sound muffled in the background. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

There's a smirk before talons reach for the phone, but there's a serious in her eyes that belays the humour. What does this woman really want?

"Nooooo we get along like peas in a pod, right? Mutual boundaries and respect and all that jazz-" He hands the phone over knowing however this goes?

It'll end bad for him.

Shit.

On the other end of the line a crisp, calm voice murmurs. "He hasn't even told me your name- does he know your name? Has he been having problems with his memory again?"

"She got me out of there. She knew something was wrong before I got gassed, got me out, got the scene cleared, and kicked the dick's ass while gassed up herself." That's convincing enough. "I got gassed backstage at my own show. No one not on the lists is supposed to be back there, I don't know how they got in, and as long as she's around? I don't need to worry."

"Just means we got a lotta people we need to kill to make this right." That- that shouldn't be his first thought. Find the work around. Pop the lock, expose the goods. Not- murder.

But it fits the anger in his gut, the possessive clench of his hands around theirs.

"Pretty much," Wash agrees, not noticing anything wrong with York's assertion. They'd killed enough people already, what were a few more? "Most of the mercs are being paid or being promised other things," he says, chewing pensively on his lip. "Freedom, having a record expunged. A lot of them are ex-UNSC." And Charon had promised them a life when they couldn't adjust to being a civilian anymore. "But there's plenty are employed directly for Charon."

[ Long as they knew each other for everything that was said there'd been five to ten things unsaid that they knew from the tilt of a head, the set of their shoulders, the twist of their breath. Down against the pillows he couldn't see much or hear much, bracketed by her thighs, but he could feel the clench and flex of her muscles well enough to know he had this right. And even if he wasn't sure the way she let herself rest on him properly, give him more pressure an room to work- that was more than enough for him to smirk and push harder.

To pull her down and really lick in deep- at this angle it wasn't uncomfortable or a strain on him.

He could lie back and suck on her clit or lick her pussy as long as she wanted- he was having a fine time spelling out her name with steady, pointed flicks of his tongue. ]

"It's Carolina," she informs the prim voice, lightly swatting away at her summoner as he fusses and fumes, looking increasingly more distressed. Leaning past him, she pulls one of his enrollment forms out from under an increasingly large stack of books on the cabinet next to the couch. There's a glance up. "Church."

An ironic name choice.

Phone is shifted a moment, settled between cheek and shoulder, as she puts said paper down and starts scratching at it with one talon. "And outside of confirmation for rent purposes, I do not see why he'd have reason to mention me, ma'am."

"We'll take care of it. Make things right." He tugs Wash that much closer, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Make them pay."

Vicious vengeance isn't his bag- but maybe now it matters. Because they hurt people that were his. No one gets to do that.

"He's always told me who he was living with and what they liked so I could send care packages. Taylor isn't always easy to live with- it's not his fault and he is working on it but some people don't really understand him and I worry. Aside from what happened to him during his tour he hasn't ever kept secrets from me and I'm sure he didn't mean to this time- probably doesn't want me assuming things like I did with the last young lady he roomed with a year or so ago." She rambles and on the sofa? York cringes. Sighs. Buries his face in a cushion.

Somehow, and he's not sure why this should be any different, but when York says it, Wash thinks he can believe it. There's a cool certainty about him right now and it's easy to sink into that, wrap it around himself protectively.

He tilts his head back, exposing his throat and giving a needy little groan when York kisses him.

Before it'd been an idle thought. Now? Now it's a plan. They'll make it happen. Cut Hargrove down for size, put HIM in the chair.

See how he likes it when his brain's being scrambled.

it's cold and hard and vicious and Delta- tucks it away along every other plan they've made for future consideration. Right now there's skin to touch and taste and tease, D sitting happily in the back of York's mind, cataloging what stimuli gets the strongest response and pointing it out idly to York so his hands can move to repeat the gesture or explore further.

To wring out more.

It feels better than ever right now. Maybe it's just that they have time and honesty between them right now and they can enjoy it so much better when they're not lying to each other. Wash sprawls himself back along he bed, stretched out and pliant beneath York while Carolina presses up against York's back, heat and curves barely hidden by her t-shirt.

And York seeks out the best places, like he just knows which spots will make them moan and shiver. Which places to lick and suck, which spots to bite down on.

He settles between Wash's thighs, biting and licking bruises from his throat to his navel, Carolina a distracting set of murmurs and soft hands, touching him, instructing him- apparently she's dreamed of this as much as he has. If not quite this way, specifically. He can't fault her. Wash is gorgeous every which way and has this look about him that makes people want to take care of him.

For Carolina and York it's a bit more thorough than most. He nudges her up to start kissing Wash, distracting him there while York slid off Wash's sweats and gets down to licking his cock, calculations and intuition going a mile a minute to leave him absolutely boneless.

They're both very thorough and confident and that's a turn-on in its own right. He'd never thought that Carolina had any interest in him like this, and everything had been professional between them. She's been his CO for years and he wouldn't have dared, but she's the one guiding York like she's spent time thinking about it. He drops his head back against the pillow, arm pressed against his mouth to try to stifle some of the more embarrassing noises, at least until Carolina is there, tugging it away and leaning in to kiss him. And what a kiss. She's got a hot mouth, like everything else about her and her weight holds him down, enough that he barely notices what York is doing.

At least until there's York's mouth against his cock and he whines against Carolina's mouth, body jerking at the first touch of lips and letting out a low moan against her mouth.

Edited 2016-01-13 22:34 (UTC)

[ She's given over control here, and she's enjoying it. She'd hoped she would, and god, why didn't they do this sooner? (She knows why, all fingers point back to herself, but they're here now, and oh God--)

She can feel that smirk, the way his lips move against her, and as he applies a flick there, pressure here, and there, a moan escapes her. It's a deep shuddered sound, unlike her, accompanied by an involuntary spasm of muscle and jerk of her hips. And if York had any doubts at all after that, the unsubtle slam of her free hand against the headboard likely helps dispel them.

Her breath soon switches over into huffs and puffs as she tries to keep her breathing even, and it's becoming difficult to keep her kmind focused, to remember the plan here. ]

God, just... [head tips back, lower lip caught between her teeth] Tay.. Tayl-ahhhh..!

"That's kind of you, but I do not require anything."

There's a flicker, before the form flashes before her eyes, and the fully formed, completely valid and not at all magically created enrollment form sits on the table. Since York is too busy hiding his face, Carolina makes do by...sitting on his lap. Double the discomfort, though at least her wings are wrapped around her and well out of the way, the hand not holding the phone draping over the back of the couch.

"I like my privacy," which is true, to a point, "and my sharing this apartment was a matter of convenience for the both of us. Any secrets he may has, you'll have to take up with him." And no doubt will, because everything about this conversation speaks of Familial Obligation.

"Then neither of us has anything to worry about, except for those details." He grimaces, before glancing out the window. Ah, second lap already? That was quick. "Fortunately, your next tour isn't until next year, and I would hope you'd put time into your second album before then." After the upcoming vacation, of course.

The car slows soon after, then pulls up to the curb. It's barely stopped when the door opens, a bag is tossed in, and Carolina slides across the seat, looking a little harried, certainly hinting at Vexed, but otherwise unscathed.

"We've got that list of ideas." A notebook full of lyrics. Contrary to popular belief- he writes. He writes a lot. It's just a lot of it doesn't make the cut on account of being too much, too little, or too nonsensical. Sometimes something good gets put together but for the most part? He doesn't use a lot of it.

Carolina settles in and York, more in his skin than before, leans forward to offer her one of the bottles of water on hand. "You ok?"

"Are you sure? It's no trouble and I know it'll make him feel better." Or at least she's always assumed it made her son feel better.

York, for his part, squeaks and covers his mouth with his hands, glaring at her for the sitting. What is she doing. What. The. Hell. Is she doing?

"I'm still surprised he hasn't mentioned you. How long have you been living together?"

"I am certain." There is nothing that she wants from this woman. Not at this time, however. "We rarely interact, save for rent arrangements and occasional meal overlap. We have very different schedules." She assumes. She glances at York when he squeaks, and smirks at him, relaxing against the back of the couch. He'll have to shove her off his lap to displace her.

Anyway. "He's turning some interesting colours out of nervousness, I should hand the phone back before he thinks you're revealing terrible childhood stories to me."

One does not SHOVE demons. Especially if there are weird ass power dynamics in play that you don't really understand. At all.

Ever.

He sits. He endures. He buries his face in his hands and tries to ignore her but it's not all that easy when she keeps talking and smirking like that.

"Well if you want terrible childhood stories I have plenty. There was the time when he tried to shave the cat with his father's good clippers."

There's something like a snort close to laughter, before Carolina says "It was nice speaking with you," and hands the phone back to the man squirming with embarrassment beneath her.

She remains seated there, for now. Though she props one elbow on the back of the couch as she leans there, watching York.

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