goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"Yeah," he breathes, his voice shaky with need and lust. It's been too fucking long and he can't deny what he wants now., the one bright spot in his life. He needs this if he's ever going to drag himself out of this pit.

He can't bear to let go of York even when they're hurrying back to his bunk.

Hands on his waist, on his back, curling through Wash's hair as they stumble back to the nearest door and he actually manages to get his key into the slot on the first try. Turns it, pops the lock and pushes Wash inside while he kicks it closed.

A week in and he's pretty settled. There's data tablets of shit he's found, things he's sorted out, drills that need doing. Photos from the project, from home, from his first unit. Things that the other Freelancers gave him. The bunk's got a home knit blanket that Smith recovered on the last run that's a deep blue and soft as hell.

He's already sliding his hands into York's shirt, wrestling with buttons which are at this moment the worst invention humanity has ever come up with. York's hands are all over him and it isn't enough. Too many clothes in the way, too much material keeping him from touching skin.

He does pause, briefly, to look around. In a week York has made his room look more like home than Wash has managed in months. That's a little sad.

Door locked and lights up he starts peeling his shirt off- careful not to tear it because it's not something he owns, just something he's borrowed. The jeans, though, he doesn't mind ripping again as he pops the button on his fly and kicks off his boots, stalking back over.

"C'mon kid. Lemme see you."

He watches. How could he do anything else? York is perfect, flawed and scarred and gorgeous with it. The scars just make him seem more real. He's survived and that's hotter than just a pretty body could make him.

He is awfully pretty though.

Wash reaches down to tug his tank top up and over his head, sweatpants already riding low on his hips. "Like what you see?"

He tips his head to the side, thumbs hooked through his beltloops as he tries to make up his mind. "Hmmm... I don't know. Probably going to have to see more to be sure."

Doesn't stop him from stepping that last little bit forward and letting his hands trail over those scars he'd seen a week before, eyes dark from more than just lust. "Think I just might."

"Way to boost my ego there, Taylor," Wash says, trying the name out on his tongue. "York."

York is frank with the way he touches him, touches the scars. There's no shyness about it, and no condemnation either, or revulsion. "Guess you're not bad yourself."

"You know. Back when I was a rookie my friends called me Tay." Because the second syllable was too much goddamn effort. "Be honest. How much hell am I gonna catch if I call you Davy?"

Because this shouldn't be so serious. And it shouldn't be wrapped up in the lingering claws of the project. He steps in easily and slides his hand up Wash- David's ribs, grinning. "Cuz I think I could like calling you that."

"Tay?" he says, sounding sceptical. It doesn't quite fit for him. Even Taylor feels strange to say when he's been York as long as Wash has known him. And he hasn't been David in years.

He almost laughs when York suggests Davy though, but then there's a hand sliding up his ribs, a hot palm against his skin. "Keep on like this, you can call me whatever you want."

"Yeah. It fit better when I was skinny and hadn't bulked up yet." When he was Wash's age at the time of joining the project. "Stick with Taylor."

York is- york was. Taylor is.

Is busy with his hands on David's skin, tracing an erratic path like he's looking for the catch to a lock. The trick to popping this safe.

"I like that better anyway," Wash says, grinning as he imagines Taylor as a skinny gangly kid. It's kind of hilarious.

He just can't keep occupied with it when York is touching him, hands splaying out across his ribs, stomach, the muscles of his back. Dextrous hands. It's not surprising.

Wash hooks his thumbs into his sweats and pushes them down, underwear and all, and kicks them off to one side.

"Someone's eager." Not that he isn't himself, hands immediately slipping down to smooth against the line of Wash's hips, dipping back to squeeze his ass. It really, really is a nice ass. Niner wasn't wrong. "Goddamn. What have you been lifting- I do not remember you this cut."

"It's- it's been an age since I was this close to anyone," Wash admits, turning his head away awkwardly. "And this feels good." He wanted to bask in it, save up the moment as something to remember when everything inevitably fell apart. Of course it would. It always did.

Taylor's hands are warm and firm against his ass and Wash laughs. "I work out a lot. I promised... I swore I'd never be defenceless again."

New job, new school and it's supposed to be cake. They're gradeschoolers. It's a simple gig and supposed to be good for, well, getting him used to people again.

This is a terrible idea and can only end badly but until that happens he's just gonna do as best he can. Sit behind the desk, keep his bad eye to the wall so it doesn't bug the kids and the kids don't startle him, check in books, check out books. Easy peasy. Hell they even let him listen to music when it's slow, which it isn't since they've got a class coming in. Martha's out sick so he's at the front today away from his little nook and his wall and he's open on all sides and hello tall drink of water. The reflex to flirt kicked past the instinct to panic and he responds with a wide smile. "Hey yourself. Having fun with the herd?"

"You and me both." He leans in, licking a line from Wash's collar to his throat, nibbling on his earlobe once he reaches it. "Course it feels good. I'm the one doing it."

Light and easy, he needs this to be light and easy so he won't do the usual dumb York bullshit of falling in head over ass. They don't need that. Not now. "Nothing to defend against here. Just you and me."

It makes Wash laugh and that in turn makes him relax against York so he can just savour whats being done to him instead of holding himself like he's ready to be attacked at any moment. "Wow, so modest there."

He slides his arms around York, splaying fingers against his back and rubbing lightly, getting adjusted to the feeling of skin beneath his fingers, and tilts his head to give York better access to his neck. "Just us."

"If you wanna get lucky you gotta be good." Rather than better to be lucky than good. Here? He's all steady hands tracing lines down Wash's spine, easy teeth grazing his jaw. Working out what makes Wash shiver and sigh in all the good ways. The right ways. It doesn't take long for him to hook onto the skin just under his jaw to start sucking in a bruise, hands busy massaging his lower back and ass.

"Did you practice that?" Wash asks, grinning, an expression that goes sharp with pleasure when York latches onto a spot under his jaw that just feels so damn good. His neck should not be an erogenous zone. He slides his hands down York's back, and down the back of those tight jeans that make his ass look unfairly good, pulling him as close as he can manage while there's still material between them.

"You dream of demons often?"

Her tail curled up, curled around her leg, while dark red hair shifted over cyan scales as she tipped her head at him. Entirely unbothered by the prospect of a heavy bat being applied, though one claw lifts to wag at him. Ah ah ah, now.

"You invited me. You remember that much, I hope."

"It will remain 'yet' until after tonight," is the firm voice behind him, before Delta joins them, extending a hand immediately to the redhead, who remains looking pretty unimpressed by 'Big T'. "Thank you for coming."

"You'll owe me," she says simply, shaking it. "So how long have these incidents your reports mentioned been escalating for? And what, exactly," green eyes fix on Taylor, "did you do?"

"Nope, just came to me." He smirks right back against Wash's skin, dragging his teeth down a bit to start a line of bruises and lovebites. It's not like Wash is ever out of the armor regularly, it's not like anyone's gonna see. Now if Wash marked him up a little...The idea shouldn't be so damn appealing, but it is. Enough that he's pressing back against Wash's hands, rocking his hips forward when they reach his ass and he really, really needs out of his pants.

"Only during finals." The quip comes out easy as anything while the rest of his mind makes a mad scramble to put together what the hell he'd done last night and-

The book, the KETCHUP, the everything. Shit. That worked? That worked.

And now there's an extremely attractive demon on my sofa with claws and scales and really pretty eyes and oh shit this is gonna end bad

"...I think I've seen this horror movie. Did I offer my soul? Tell me I didn't offer my soul. I wasn't that drunk, was I?"

"Come oooon, a few photoshoots, a weekend or two in Venice, it'd be extra money! And Publicity. You always say you want me to do more 'positive' PR, right?" Though how positive it'd be depended on the photographer and a bunch of other stuff he couldn't be bothered to keep track of, really.

He flips the door closed and leans back against it, looking from Delta to Carolina and back again. "Um. You're gonna have to elaborate on 'incidents' and 'what did I do' since both are kind of..."

He shrugs. "Nonspecific. There have been many incidents and I've done a lot."

It drags a soft noise of pleasure from Wash. He enjoys the ache of it, and the feeling of York's mouth against his neck. He grips tight against York's ass for a moment and then growls, fumbling for the button of them because York is wearing far too many clothes and he needs to stop that immediately. "Get these damn pants off, I swear to god Taylor."

She looks from Delta to Taylor, then back again, ignoring the babble about photoshoots abroad. She's traveled before, the novelty of such having worn off years ago, but there's an almost incredulous widening of her eyes as she puts two and two together. Either he simply wasn't taking any warnings seriously, or...

..Oh god. Delta hadn't told him. The thinning line of his lips and stiff posture all but confirmed it. "Should I be asking what you haven't done, then?" She replies offhandedly, before turning a glare on him. She could still work with this.

"What made you choose Errera for your final venue?"

RP Open Post

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Schoolteacher AU

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