goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

The first touch of David's hand has him locking up, shuddering out a crackling moan of his name, and spilling into his palm. Too much, too good, too perfect in all the best ways. He goes limp against David's body, panting, harsh and loud in the otherwise still bathroom.

"Oh fuck," Wash gasps, and he goes still for a moment, feeling every shudder that Taylor makes right through to his cock. He'd come, just like that. Wash wraps his free arm around him, holding him tightly as he starts to move again. He's close, so close, and all it takes is a few thrusts before Wash comes, his groans of pleasure muffled against Taylor's shoulder. His harsh breathing is impossible to miss though, pressed hard as he is against Taylor's body.

Perfect. Fucking- perfect. He whines under his breath, rolling back against David for those last few, too hard thrusts, all but collapsing against the tile afterward. His legs are jelly. Sleeping tonight is gonna be fucking easy- which was kind of the goal.

Wash ends up shuddering against him, almost dead weight for a moment before he remembers how to stand up, breathe, all those little things. He still remains leaning against Taylor, face buried against the back of his neck until he has the energy to step away and pull out of him. "You okay?"

"Mmnn..." Words. Words are not a thing. Nor is moving. He is just a lump against the tile.

Wash chuckles softly, and he stays leaning against York's body comfortably for a few moments more. "I..." There's so much he wants to say and he settles for kissing the back of his neck. "You're amazing."

"Mmm...I try." He mumbles as soon as words are a thing again. "Not half bad yourself, rookie."

"Had to pick up a few things over the years, right?" Wash replies. He nuzzles against York's neck before pulling away reluctantly. "Gonna sleep tonight."

"Gonna sleep WELL tonight." He murmurs, turning enough to loop his arms around Wash's shoulders and lean in for a slow kiss.

"Sleeping better than I have in years since you got here," Wash replies. He leans into the kiss, and it's a little desperate. His fingers clutching the back of York's head. Make it count. He had to make it count.

"Nightly dose of vitamin York will do that." He snorts a little before leaning into it, warm and lose and easy, trying to gentle the desperation in Wash's grasp.

He doesn't let go. Can't let go. Even when they break apart, he pulls York back, resting their foreheads together, fingers brushing through the short hair at the nape of York's neck.

"What's gotten into you, mm?" He knows what got into HIM for the most part and enjoyed it a hell of a lot- but this was. New. Maybe just more of that skinhunger. Maybe more of that lonliness.

There's a tight knot in his throat and he can't make himself reply for a moment because of it. And there's no way that he can explain. Not now. He lets out a shuddering breath, forces a smile. "I just... I'm really glad that you're here."

"Y'know what? Even with the civil war and the shooting me on sight thing and...everything?" He rubs their noses together, smile small but real. Honest in a way he hasn't felt since before the Project. "Me too."

It's a pretty ridiculous gesture, and he loves it. It makes his smile more genuine. "I am sorry I dragged you into this. But... you reminded me what I should be." What being human was. And even knowing that York won't feel this way after tomorrow... it's good to hear.

"We all need them now and then." He's shut the water off, leaving just- them breathing and hanging on to each other in the dark showers. The run back is chilly and slippery and full of laughter but they manage to make it to his room without incident.

Well.

Without MUCH incident. One sentry may have gotten an eyefull. There also might've been whistling. Didn't matter. He had a warm bed, he had David, and he had a plan for the morning. He's all too happy to drag him into the covers and curl up around him, dropping off to sleep quickly and deeply for the first time in years. Dead to the world, is York.

He sleeps a little. Not much. Prefers to spend it awake, enjoying the feeling of York's arms around him, body pressed up against him. Because this is it. He wants to delay. He wants nothing more than to sleep out the rest of the night, and wake up with him and go on the mission with him. And he can't. Delaying any longer is going to bring Carolina down on him and he can't risk that.

He extracts himself carefully from York's arms and then slips his dogtags and the hidden memory chip off and presses them into York's palm, closing his fingers around it. He'll need that intel.

He leans in to kiss him gently, strokes his cheek. "I love you. I'm sorry."

His armour is waiting for him, and the weapons that he'd gathered up. Clears out his room of everything, activates the camo unit and then slips away before light even starts to touch the sky.

York sleeps like the dead- sleeps through Wash leaving. Only mumbles, mostly asleep and muzzy 'five more min-' when wash strokes his cheek. He's out for at least another hour, maybe two before the cold bed rouses him.

Before he blinks to where Wash had been and starts to worry until the tags in his hand click and-

No.

Not again, not another fucking message left behind after-

After.

Wash is in trouble. He doesn't know how or what or why this is happening but too much felt just off enough to be worrying and now he's sitting with the pieces again and the kid is gonna get him killed and-

He pops the chip in his tablet, grinding his hand against his good eye. Tries to wake up. To pay attention to what the kid's been trying to tell him.

There's a video file on the chip, the first thing that pops up, automatically when the chip is inserted. It's in York's room, on the bed the previous day. He looks pensive, a little ill, exhausted and sad.

"Hey York. Taylor. I- If you're seeing this message it means I've gone. And I'm sorry about that. I really am, but there's some stuff I need to take care of and it's better if you aren't there."

He scrubs a hand down over his face. "On this chip are all of my files. Everything I know about Charon Industries and a man called Malcolm Hargrove. But, I should probably start at the beginning.

After things went bad in the project I- I was stuck there. They declared me Article 12 which means that they could hold me indefinitely. The Director suspected that I knew about what he'd done to the Alpha. Epsilon left me a whole lot of information. And they tried everything to get at it. Succeeded too. If I hadn't already been declared insane, I probably would have then.

I got an offer. Hargrove is head of the Oversight Committee. He offered me a deal. If I worked for him, gave the information to bring down the Director, he'd get me out. Clear my record. Make it possible for me to have a life."

He ducks his head, staring down at the bed for a long moment before back at the camera. "I took it. It wasn't really a choice. And I got out. It was... easy jobs at first. The same kind of stuff we'd been doing anyway. And then the jobs got... riskier. Nastier. Mercenary work. Assassinations. And I went along with it. At first because I- I didn't have much of a choice. And then because I guess I'd reached a point where... I was dead. Why pretend I was anything other than a killer?

And then this mission. Chorus has a lot of alien tech. Things humans can't even imagine yet. And Charon wants it. The trouble is the population. So me and another merc in much the same position as me were sent here. They were already in a civil war. Our orders were just to... keep it going. Until there's no-one left. No-one to blame if the population killed themselves right? And he can sweep in and claim the tech."

He looks straight up at the camera. "And then you show up and... I remembered what I was supposed to be.

So I'm going to do what I can. Get the communications running at least."

He reaches out to switch off the camera and then pauses.

"The other merc with me... it's Carolina. She's... different. I don't know what happened to her but... be careful. She wanted me to bring you in. Don't know what she's got planned."

Another long pause, the camera just lingering on him. "I'm sorry. I told you I was a monster. And... I love you."

The camera switches off.

Edited 2015-09-04 15:04 (UTC)

He has to play the recording twice more- the first bit about the project has his ears ringing and all he can see, all he can hear is how it's still fucking everything up. How it's STILL twisting up the lives of those that survived it. How it's still got it's claws deep in people that should be able to go home.

The second time all he can hear is he got duped. Again. By someone he trusted- those times David had been on his own, 'calling in?' Wasn't calling Kimball. He'd been playing this angle and of fucking course he'd been shooting to kill. Of fucking course he wasn't teaching the kids to fight properly. Of course he'd been anxious about him actually managing to teach them something, about humanizing them about BEING here.

He loses a little time, then. Staring at the last image of Wash, tired and calm and resigned. Considers the data that he's got left on the chip. Remembers the last time someone he cared about, someone he trusted pulled this shit and-

it's exhausting. it's frustrating. Everything he worked for, everything he put behind him and put to rest shoots up through him like sparks to old embers and all he can do is cling to the tablet with trembling hands, white knuckled and jaw locked as he listens one last time. And plans.

Suits up. Reports to Kimball. Requests Wash be left to him. They know where the Fed commander is- the capitol. And if anyone can get in, can get WORD to him, can prove this shit? it's York. That makes it a solo op. Wash can handle his shit on his own for the moment- the radio tower is the second stop. Doesn't think about Carolina alive. Doesn't think about Wash falling out because of- what? Three days? A few good nights in the sack? A fucking sentiment that didn't mean a goddamn thing when he'd been rolling right along with a plan to wipe out an entire FUCKING planet? Anger runs hot and gives him focus. Getting into Armonia doesn't take near as long as expected.

Getting to Doyle to provide a copy of the data Wash left him? Cake. Waking him up after he faints- well. That takes a bit.

Data offered, diplomacy extended, a truce- a shakey one kept way, WAY the fuck on the down low and god help him if Kimball goes back on it and kills the man, all of that squared away- he grabs a pelican from Armonia and flies his ass to the radio tower. Because he's got an appointment with two old friends. And for once he's not going to go in expecting things to end well.

The pirates hadn't stood a chance. They were lazy, arrogant. Never expected an attack to come, especially not from one of their own. Gotta hand it to the cloaking tech, it makes things a damn sight easier. They're dead, black armoured figured scattered around the radio tower, all taken out with knives to keep things quieter. No sense drawing trouble to himself before he has to. He wants to avoid this confrontation for as long as he can. He can't win against Carolina. He can't win at all.

He has the casing of the signal jammer open, setting charges. Still camouflaged because it buys him a little time if anyone does show up. The charges are on a short timer. He's not taking any chances with these being deactivated. As soon as it's over, he'll broadcast the information, make sure that everyone sees it. The whole damn planet.

He pauses when he hears something. Is that... is that a Pelican?

Oh god. He finishes setting the last charge, seals it as best he can to make it a pain to get at, and starts moving in that direction, setting up with his rifle as the pelican lands.

Landing's easy- after all the yelling Niner used to do about how he'd crash the sims, he figured out how. He's expecting a fight not...a bunch of dead pirates with knives in them. Huh. Wash got to work. Figures he never forgot what Connie taught him. No signs of snapped necks or gunshots, he'd been keeping it quiet. York slips out and starts wandering- trying to find whoever was alive or the command console. Whichever came first.

It reminds him of that day, only a couple of weeks ago. Watching York in the canyon. Should've used the camo unit then. Should never have got involved. It was easier to be dead, to not care and just follow orders whenever his leash was tugged. He could probably still fix things now. Shoot York here, to kill or to incapacitate him. Hand him over. He's sure Control would just love having another Freelancer in his hands.

He can't do it. He can't.

He approaches York, stays out of reach though, makes it awkward for him to get a shot in, and then decloaks.

"You should have stayed away." And there's nothing there, his voice cold and empty of emotion. He can't afford to care if he wants to get this done, so it's the mercenary who faces York.

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