goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

At first it felt like he could stay here forever, now he's racing headlong for the finish- body curling up tight to hold more of David as he twists and thrusts, breath coming in great shuddering gasps as he tries to hang on long enough to get David off. When in doubt, and stimuli- he sneaks his free hand down to curl around David's cock and give it a squeeze, hand working slick and hard over the sensitive skin.

Now that's a good look for Mal. Taylor grins and hooks an arm around his waist to draw him in close for the next turn, somehow avoiding whacking anyone around them or making shit, well, awkward. They're just- dancing. In synch.

York leads, but Malcolm is right there with him, in time. York avoids collisions by being aware, and part from Malcolm inching them one way or another. Here they are. There is a moment where it is them, enjoying the music and each other and them, only them, close heat and synchronous rhythm. They haven't quite reached that point in sparring, though they're getting there. Here is different. Here they move together as two halves of a whole.

It's enough to feel Taylor's pulse, in time with his own, and that alone is...different. Not wrong. He can't say wrong, but it's different, and he's becoming aware of this. He has the good sense enough to wait until the familiar beat dies down for a different one to wind up before he pulls himself away and says nothing, just makes a straight line for the bar.

It feels right. There's no logic to it, no reason, it just- they fit. THey fit here like they don't on the mat and Taylor doesn't think a damn thing of it other than Mal can really move when he wants to, Mal's got a good swing to his step and it doesn't click as anything odd. Even when he eases away to- well. York just keeps dancing because the music's good, the company is fine, and that pretty blonde from before is wandering his way back.

It's fine. They don't need to fit here, he and hte blond, they can fit somewhere else.

His skin feels like it's vibrating, a vague buzz that has nothing to do with sweat or with the music jolting his bones. And it already feels like he's coming down off of some kind of very small high. Another drink will steady him, ease him back into...into normalcy.

From afar, he eyeballs York and that hot little number he'd picked up. Good. Good for him. Better that way, maybe.

His breath comes more ragged now, and he can feel every muscle in his legs. Not exactly the way he usually works out after all. He pushes himself up for a moment only to press back down, trying to shove himself over that shining edge. Not quite, but so close. He jerks when Taylor wraps a hand around him, calloused fingers rough against his cock, hips seeking more. "Christ, Taylor... please..."

It's not quite the same, dancing with the blond. Something's missing- but then there are hands on his shoulders and lips on his neck and damn that's nice, that's good. THey manage to stumble back to the bar long enough for him to wave to Mal- let him know where he's headed before he's dragged out into the night.

He feels human again for the first time in months that night.

Good wingman. Mal should follow suit. Find a pretty number himself to spend time with. But he finds that he's distracted, and after some only meager and mostly abortive attempts, he calls it a night. The air is better, helps clear him up, and the longer he's away, the better he feels. (No. Not the right phrase, not better. Normal. More normal.)

Still, sleep isn't going to come easily tonight, so he works out instead, beating a bag until he's pretty sure he'll have bruises, a long shower (as long as he thinks he can get away with, anyway), and settling into sleep. He's actually anxious to see Taylor when they next meet. Like he isn't sure if something's going to be changed between them or not, or if he's just...crazy, somehow. Maybe he's crazy. Maybe there was something in his drink. Still, he'll stick to being his stern and stiff teacher side than the dancing wingman, especially on base. Easier to slip back into that.

Best wingman. Apparently dancing with Mal got the blond riled up a little and now he's walking back home in the morning bright and early, bruise blooming on his jaw and a new set of lines down his back. He'd been a bitter and York? Does not mind. Quick shower to get the funk off and then he's there, stripped down and ready for his first session with Malcolm.

"Morning, Reed." Even he knows that things are different on the mats. Here he's the student.

Right. Maybe he's crazy, then. Malcolm takes a look at his student up and down, trying not to smirk. "I hope you're well rested after the night you've apparently had." Maybe this can be normal. There's nothing out of place here. Nothing happened.

He hadn't had a chance to really notice how it felt- since the blond slipped right in after Malcolm slipped away and then he, later, slipped into the blond but there was this odd sensation of-

Rightness.

The guy last night had been fun but here? In the dome, on the mat, that's where he belonged. For him he tries to write it off as renewing his desire to be a pilot again. Not Mal.

Even if Mal's a big part of why he's feeling up to it. "Not as much as I usually get, but still plenty to kick your ass, sir."

"It looks like you're the one whose ass got kicked. I'll not judge what anyone is into," he adds with an actual smirk this time.

"All right, let's see how you're doing with that eye when you don't have anyone to warn you what's coming. We'll start with routine three pins, then we'll move on from there. Ready?"

If he had enough thoughts left for words, he'd probably say something about anything David wanted- but words are the furthest thing from his mind right now. All he can focus on is the clench of David's muscles, the grip of his body, and the thick heat of his cock in his hand. He rolls his thumb across the crown as he grinds in harder, faster, trying to hang on with his nails till the last possible second.

"Ready." God he can't wait to get to the staff work- at first he'd been dreading it but after last night? He feels like maybe this can work. That he can manage to do this with the right partner. The right eyes on his bad side. "Bring it."

It's enough, all of it, the prick of Taylor's nails against his hip, the heat of his hand and slide of his thumb against David's cock, the heat and pressure and slide of Taylor inside him. It sends him tumbling over the edge of his climax, breath ragged, words moreso, a string of curses and begging and desperation.

Oh the staff work is coming. This is just a quick warmup match. Some days are quick, some days are a struggle, but at the same time it feels like it's all getting easier, smoother between them. That they're flowing between moves better. Reading one another better. The first pin is hard won, and it feels good. It even feels good to be this close to him. A heat, closeness, moving together with each other. Malcolm barely remembers to get up and offer his hand. Don't get distracted now.

As talkative as York normally is- while in the thick of it and right here, on the cusp, crest, and rolling over in orgasm he's almost silent. Forehead pressed tight to David's shoulder as he locks up entirely, his entire body wracked with shudders. It's good. It's flying, falling, crashing as he goes limp against David's bedspread.

Better. He's better every day, taking each hit and rolling into the next and there's a moment when he almost has Mal before he's pinned. Laughing just like the first time. Laughing and grinning because this? This feels good. This fits like they had on the dancefloor. "godamn. One day I will see that coming, you cheat."

He feels Taylor shudder, rocks against him to drag the last of the energy from the both of them. He just wants to melt against him now, could give up everything right here and now and lie here forever.

When Taylor flops back onto the bed, Wash is still numb and fuzzy with pleasure. He pushes himself up and off Taylor's body, only enough to moved the few inches he needs to collapse next to him, a sprawling heap, lazy and boneless and satisfied.

"I think that day is fast approaching, young grasshopper." So much for super stern and strict teacher. He still has a loose feeling from the night before, but only around Taylor, apparently. Thank god nobody else is here to see this.

Maybe he's getting soft. No, that's not it. He's just a little tired and distracted, and that's why York pins him down next. It's a nice dance they have going. Call and reply. He's slightly dazed for it. "Excellent form," he compliments all the same, because it's true.

Words still aren't a thing right now, but he can move enough to roll and tangle himself in David. Tuck him close and comb his fingers through his hair- panting and sweaty and so blissfully sated. That. That had been the best orgasm he'd had in awhile.

Nevermind it's the only one he's had in awhile, shush.

The next round is quicker- both of them pretty well warmed up, both of them loose and easy. But it feels right, every move, every form, the trick he pulled one he learned from watching Malcolm, actually. "It should be."

Drawling as he offers Malcolm a hand up. "It's your form."

"Seems you've actually been picking up a few things from watching me, and I am not, in fact, teaching thin air." He laughs a little. "Maybe we should skip straight to the stickwork, see just how you are with a versatile melee weapon, since I know how good you are hand to hand."

"I told you my skull wasn't that thick." Hauling Mal up leaves them a little closer than normal and sure, he lingers but- he kind of. Wants to linger. "Um...sure. Stickwork."

"I don't know, we still might want to get an xray to make sure of that." Malcolm pulls himself away, feeling like he can breathe a little easier once he does, to retrieve the short poles. "We could always try fencing sometime. More strict, more finesse, not your style at all. Maybe I just want to laugh at you to make me feel better about myself." He tosses one over.

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