He ends up closing his eyes as the helpless laughter subsides, leaving him relaxed and loose and warmer than he's felt in years. Maybe laughter really is theraputic. He feels good. Especially with York resting against him. It just feels right somehow, the curve and hard planes of the other man's body against his. He likes the feeling of strength. Reminds him that York isn't fragile, isn't someone who Wash can break.

When he opens his eyes again, York is still there, just looking down at him. There's something in that look that brings the colour back to his cheeks, and he smiles, lazy and a little shy. "Hey."