goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

Wash glares at him, not fooled for one second by the innocent act. He was terrible at it. "I can't believe I let you do this to me," he mutters, dropping his head back down against the pillow. "Fine! You... you're really fucking hot and this feels good. Don't stop."

Well, in that case, he's going to take his shoes off and climb on up. "You're going to give me that kind of power over a library of movies? Then we are absolutely watching at least one Bond film." He's assuming this is a one time offer of just one movie. But maybe York intends for it to be as long as they please.

"I didn't mean period, Mal. I meant to start." He snorts as he cues up his collection on the laptop, the background a photo of him, Carolina, Wash, Maine- all of them piled into a bunk doing more or less just what they're about to do. "We're bonding. Through a mutual love of explosions and spies."

"Such language- but I'll take it." He smirks, tipping his head down to mouth his way down the length of Wash's cock, tongue sliding flat along the underside until he reaches the head. Hands braced on Wash's hips to hold him still he works his way down little by little, taking his time with this. At least till Wash stops talking then, well. He quits. Brows lifted, looking up at him all over again.

Wash growls at him, but that trails off into a gasp and a groan when York slide his tongue against his cock, working his way up in a series of licks and kisses. It's extremely thorough, all that concentration being lavished on Wash. And then..

He snarls and throws his arm across his face. "You- cockbite. For- You have great arms. Like... really great. And I am sure that anyone would want more after kissing you."

York pulls off with a wet pop. "That an insult or a request?"

Just to be a dick he does drag his teeth (lightly) along the skin of Wash's cock, careful to keep from catching on the head. It's a tentative thing, he hasn't worked out all what will work Wash up.

"Fuck."

There's a bit of a gasp to it, his eyes flying open as York's teeth graze along that really incredibly sensitive part of his anatomy. It shouldn't feel as good as it does. Anyone else and he'd probably have sent them flying by now. If he wasn't already getting hard, he is now. "I can't believe you."

"I'm not sure if that counts as a nice thing or not." He props his cheek on Wash's thigh, tonguing at the skin there while he watches that reaction just, roll up the length of his spine. Okay. So that's a good thing. Like he does with any other trick or catch in a lock- York exploits this.

Shamelessly.

He peels his lip back from his teeth enough that Wash could, if he wanted, watch him repeat the gesture- dragging from the skin just under his navel to the base of his cock in a long line all the way up to the head, stopping just shy to swap out for the tip of his tongue rolling around the far more sensitive skin instead.

"Right, then we're starting with Bond and moving on to Terminator, and then we'll see where this takes us." Movie nights are not usually so cuddly for him. But he can certainly make the exception here. "You look happy," he notes of the picture, and why wouldn't he be. "All of you. It's a good look. How long ago was this?"

"Can do." He actually rolls a dice from the side table to pick the Bond Movie (Tomorrow Never Dies) and cues up the first Terminator film. Popcorn can wait. He blinks a little at his desktop- it's been awhile since he used the damn thing, and smiles. "Coupla years. We're all still around."

A beat.

"Well. Almost all of us. Everyone else is still running in the other Shatterdome. I wasn't welcome."

That is cute that he has a die just sitting there. He'll have to ask about that later. "Wasn't welcome? Why not?"

"Clair's father runs the Dome." He shrugs. "Kinda didn't want me there after. The twins kicked up a fuss- I think Maine and Sigurd said some shit they probably shouldn't have- hell even Reggie wanted me to stay but..."

"I swear to god Taylor..."

He pushes himself up a little on his elbows, just in time that he can see as York does it. It's not painful, just shy of that, promising it, a hint of something dangerous and it turns him on like crazy.

"Christ... Taylor..."

"But after what happened, he put his foot down, as a grieving father." Understandable. Unfortunate, but understandable.

"Well, you've got your good memories, too. And we'll make new ones. Come now, let's not dwell."

"Mhmm." He flops back on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle, and offers Mal one of his pillows. "I am all for making new memories."

Well with an opening like that he can't NOT take advantage, York pulls away with a slick, wet sound and murmurs, completely straightfaced. "Don't swear to god. Swear to me."

Because what is being serious in bed mid-blowjob anyway?

Wash groans and gives York a sour look, but his lips curve up at the edges. "You are just asking for a lightning bolt to hit you, talking like that."

"Maybe a li'l." He snorts a laugh before getting back to it, teeth dragging oh so light, tongue laving over the skin afterward. Working Wash back up into that absolutely gorgeous desperation he'd had before.

"Forgive me York, for I have sinned..."

It is terrible, blasphemous, but if he'd ever been religious, it'd been knocked out of him a long time ago back in the Project. As it is, is makes him grin for the moment before York is back on him, forcing the breath from his lungs as pleasure sparks through him.

Okay that's kind of hot. He marks that on the list of things he didn't know about himself or about David for future reference (of course they'll be doing more of this in the future) and works his way down the length of him in slow, measured bobs. The angle's not ideal for getting more of him in his throat but it's more than enough to swallow around him and to keep adding the edge of his teeth here and there. Dangerous little surprises.

York's mouth is hot and wet and the most fucking perfect thing he's ever felt. Wash squirms beneath him, breath starting to come in desperate little gasps as York goes down on him. Each bob of his head pushes Wash further towards the edge, makes heat pool in his belly and his groin, sends his hips jerking up towards that hot mouth.

This is cozy. A little uncomfortably so, but he eases up as the first movie goes on. Malcolm is not usually one for commentating, but Bond movies? He's commentating. He's seen them all so many stupid times. They make popcorn and curl up for the next movie, finishing cold stale coffee and maybe sharing the rest of that jaeger blood, wincing or laughing at certain flavours that come up. They won't get drunk off sharing the rest of the flask, and Malcolm loosens up a lot.

A lot.

Even just this, popping in a third movie (might as well Die Hard, right), he's really starting to feel connected to Taylor on a level only Trip had been able to get on before, and even still, it goes deeper than that. It becomes nice. It feels like they've done this every week since York's gotten here.

Maybe drifting shouldn't be so frightening. Once this feeling fades, the fear will come back, he knows, but this feeling of rightness is pleasant. Once they drift, won't it feel that way all the time?

York slips one hand up to rest light and easy against Wash's stomach, rubbing small circles into the skin there as he works his head up and down, pulling back to suck hard at the head of his cock. He pulls out every dirty trick he's ever learned, every flick of the tongue, every deep throated hum, anything that ever worked on him. Works Wash hard and fast in his mouth, waiting for the tell tale twitches of his orgasm.

Terminator is full of stories, anecdotes really. Shit he and the others did, shit he tried as a kid. Comparing the machines in the movie to jeagers and muttering how Lockdown was better even if she wasn't so big. The popcorn is buttery and the coffee is bitter but the blood is sweet and easy between them.

It's nice.

Better than he thought it could be and he's well on his way to invading Malcolm's personal space, arm looped casually around his shoulders, cheek resting against his hair. Warm and comfortable like he hasn't been in forever. "Okay, trufax: My family and I would marathon these for Christmas. Every year."

Wash's hands fist into the bedsheets, twisting them between his fingers as York sucked at the head of his dick. It was a harsh press of suction coupled with the tease of his tongue. Where the fuck did he learn how to do this? It's driving him crazy and it's not fair to make him lose his mind like this. He can't hold back for long. He's driven forward, hard, desperate, towards his orgasm, a strangled cry dragged out of him.

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