The sense memory attached to Wash's hand flares up in Delta like- well. His filters are down, he's out of practice, and pulling apart right now isn't exactly an option. Too deeply twined at the moment to flinch away and swear- but being seen as a crier in front of the other mercs? Not good for his reputation. Maybe. It's not what keeps him from pulling away- if anything there's a sharp, bird like tilt to his head that doesn't belong to York, eyes narrowing on Washington's face.

You actually-

I was lonely and he was there, okay? Okay. Good talk.

We can use that.

Maybe. Quit staring it's creeping him out.

York's eyes drop from Wash's to his jaw, his lips, his throat, and- well. It's hard not to remember how he'd tasted, the sounds he'd made. He steps in that much closer and honestly he's not sure if it's him or Delta that has them closing the distance in a kiss that's more chaste than anything.

"...Thank you."