goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"Hey." The mat might be thick but landing from that one's a doozy- he drops into a crouch, hand resting on Wash's shoulder while he settles himself. "Need a second?"

He feels the ache of it all down his spine. It's a bitch to recover from, even when you know it's coming.

"I'll be fine," he says, but takes the second that York's offering him to catch his breath.

"I got home brew icy hot in my bunk. You can borrow it when we're done." He peers over to Jensen and Bitters, how they're arguing about how flexible you'd need to be to do that- but al of them should be capable of this stuff. Its' why he's showing them. Ten, fifteen seconds, hell a whole minute and a half goes by before he pushes himself up to his feet and offers Wash a hand up. "Slow this time. Try not to drop me on my head."

It's more kindness than he expected after how their last conversation they'd had, but York had always been kind. Kinder than Wash deserves. "Sure."

He lets York pull him up again, squeezes his hand just a little too long before he lets go and readies himself.

It's one thing no one's burned out of him yet It's one thing he's always going to hold onto until there's no reason he can't. Wash might be an apathetic jackass but he's trying to cope. IT's not the healthiest way of going about it, but who's he to judge?

So he steps back and does the run, slowing when Wash gives him that same point of impact. SLow, so damn slow and it makes getting the momentum to get to his feet a bitch and he has to steady himself with his arm around his waist and a hand on Wash's hip before he's able to take control of the flip. Slow like this he can be infinitely more gentle in how he brings Wash over and bears him down to the mat.

It takes a bit more work to get it right when they're moving so slowly, more teamwork than fighting against each other. He has to steady York with an arm around him, but the principle is the same. Hopefully the rookies should get that you're not supposed to help the enemy flip you.

The impact isn't quite so hard this time, but the fact that they're gripping each other brings York down on top of him.

The idea is to keep on your feet but he hadn't wanted to Drop wash and they were hanging onto each other so this is how it is, him braced on top of Wash, flush from chest to thigh, swallowing as he looks down at the kid. For a long moment he's not sure what he should say or if there's another part of the lesson he needs to move onto and god damn had his eyes always been that bright? His jaw that angled.

When the hell did the awkward kid he treated like a brother win puberty and grow into exactly his type? Seriously. Not fair. Wash wasn't allowed to win Puberty.

Thankfully the LTs were too busy whispering intently between each other to notice this long, awkward moment. Intense moment? It feels intense. All that heat and muscle and- shit.

York is very very close to him suddenly. He can feel the warmth of his body full flush against his. It makes his pulse race, a faint flush on his cheeks and goddam he's always been pale. Up close, Wash can see every detail of York's face, the laughter lines around his eyes, the way his lips curve. And there's an attraction that comes from competence, from having someone who knows you as well as anybody.

He can feel York's breath against his lips.

He licks his lips, apprehensive suddenly, and very aware of how long it feels like they've been like this.

It's just skin hunger. It's just- been so damn long since he's been with anyone. For any reason. Since he's been safe or comfortable enough to even think about it. But here's as safe as any. Here's comfortable.

Here is also incredibly public and wildly inappropriate.

York swallows and gives himself three second to panic and think of a way to play it off. When in doubt, joke. How to joke? Inappropriately. One round of Gay chicken for the rumor mill coming up. He leans in slow and easy before tipping his chin up and nipping the point of Wash's nose

"You're it."

It's familiarity, it's relief that he's alive, anger, longing. The remnants of the trust and affection that he'd felt for York back in the project. It's a need for human contact that he's been denying for so fucking long. The rise and fall of York's chest against his is intoxicating somehow.

York is leaning in, lips parted. Wash holds his breath. Can't deny that he wants it.

York nips his nose and suddenly he's laughing. His head drops back against the mat and he laughs, a warm, genuine thing that gets the attention of the rookies better than screaming would have.

The space after the bite but before the laugh is just long enough for him to consider rolling off Wash and settling back on his feet. If they were alone? He'd- do something else stupid to make Wash smile again. He shouldn't be scowling like this all the time, it wasn't him. It didn't fit. It was fundamentally wrong like him being all alone in his head.

But they're not alone and he's got a lesson plan to stick to but Wash is just. Laughing. And it looks good on him and he doesn't really want to move. So he calls out instead- "Take five, guys. Run a lap, cadence of 'I'm Blue.'"

The LT's snap to it and head out, starting with the chorus of 'da ba di da ba dai'. One lap will give them a little breathing room. To talk about this. Or not. Or just spar some more. Or give him time to prop up on one elbow and just look down at Wash like they got all the time in the world.

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."

"Hey. So. Realtalk for a second." He rests his cheek on one hand, eyes on Wash. "I've been kind of a dick this past week. A judgemental dick. You're just- trying to get by and what works for me doesn't work for you and what works for you is bizarre to me but I didn't have essentially another person try to and then succeed in killing themselves in my head so- yeah. This is how you're coping."

He shrugs, free hand reaching up to toy with Wash's hair. It's longer than he's ever seen it- everyone more or less kept to regulation so this is- shaggy and not a bad look for the kid. The kid that's not a kid, that's very much a man that's been through a lot of shit. "I made your issues about me and that- that's not fair. Also I miss you. Seems kinda stupid to hold a grudge for a week when I went almost a decade thinking you were dead. You've changed. Punishing you for that is really dumb and I'm trying to not be that kinda dumb anymore. I'm a little old for it."

Coping. Yeah. That was one way of putting it. Slowly destroying himself by cutting out everything good he'd ever had is another. His breath catches when York runs fingers through his hair. It feels... bizarrely good. Better than good, and he could drown in it if he lets himself.

He swallows past the thick ache in his throat and he wishes at this moment that he could cling to York, confess everything, how far out of his depth he is, beg him to fix things. Even if it ends with York finishing the job that Wash has never managed by putting a bullet in his head.

"I was just as much of an asshole," he says quietly. "I'm not a good person York. I'm not coping, I haven't been coping since the project pretty much, but I don't know how to change. I shouldn't have... done a lot of shit. I know you looked. I know you tried and you did a good thing. You're a better person than I will ever be and I- I screwed up."

He sighs, closing his eyes again. Part of him hopes that York will realise how awful things are, how far past fucked up this whole situation is, so they can just end this.

He wonders what would happen if he just skipped the next check-in. Nothing good probably. Charon holds his leash and he doesn't know how to slip it. He owes them too much.

"You're probably better off holding the grudge honestly. I'm not a good person."

"Hey-" God he knows that look. Wash used to have this face when he started hanging sins on his own tree that weren't exactly his to hold onto. York probably did the same thing. Even after the Project it's a familiar expression. More than enough for him to slip the fingers from his hair to Wash's jaw and-

okay wow that is intimate but he needs the kid to listen. To pay attention.

And maybe it just feels good enough to steal a touch when he can. After all. He is a thief by trade.

"Then you do better. We all did things we weren't proud of in the project, after the project- to survive. None of us are on the side of angels here. Probably won't ever be. The point is not what you are or what you did." Another fluid shrug, chin coming off his hand so he can lean in just a little, so he can get a good bead on Wash's eyes. They were always so damn expressive back in the day. "It's what you do moving forward. Sure. You're here helping for payment. Okay. But you're helping. That's what matters."

He sucks in a breath when York does that, his fingers warm against the line of his jaw. It's very intimate. He opens his eyes to look at him, and York is so very close. In the back of his mind, Wash is calculating the hundred or so ways he could kill him while they're like this, the constant background noise of his life these days.

But mainly he's just concentrating on York touching him.

He doesn't know the half of it. He wonders if York can see the guilt in his face, the wretched taint that he carries with him every day since he'd made his deal with Charon in exchange for his freedom. He wasn't sure it was worth it.

"Yeah," he says, the words bitter as ash in his mouth, "helping." He turns his head away just so he doesn't have to see the look on York's face. "You think there are some things you can't come back from?"

In the back of his mind he's counting how much time they've got left. Bitters is probably tired and a little winded from Smith throwing them both down so that'll probably get them an extra minute or two since running in formation means staying in formation. The fact that he can trust Smith and Jensen to keep the group moving or at least keep the group a group is a bit of a relief and a note he's taken to get them a little more responsibility.

No one else really seems to mind.

Right now he's glad for that time because this? Feels like it goes deeper. Also staying with Wash like it's a lazy Sunday lay in- a warm and fuzzy morning after instead of the aftermath of a lesson on the mats is nice. Stupidly nice. Bad idea nice.

"David." Gentler now, thumb smoothing a line along his cheek. "Genocide and what the Director did. That's about it. Anything else you can just- dust off, make amends as best you can, and move forward."

He wishes that this was real. He wishes that he could just laugh it off, say that York is right and he'll do better now, and also that the guy should really just kiss him or stop teasing like this.

Genocide.

He can't come back from this one can he? He's gone too far down a path and no matter what he does, he'll never run fast enough to get off it. The question is, is it worth it to try, or should he just give it up as him being a lost cause and be Charon's lapdog for the rest of his life?

Is there any way of fixing this?

"Right. But apart from that..." His smile is brittle, an awful fractured glass thing.

How do you even start making amends for something unforgiveable?

"And dying my hair blue. Again." That smile is so fucking- wrong. Warped and awful so tossing something up from the past to get it to be a little less broken? Not below his dignity. "I mean, man. That was well timed and everything, but I got a reputation here as a badass. Can't be a badass if I have blue hair."

Footsteps from around the bend and they got about sixty seconds to make up their minds. His mind. Not sure if it's a good idea but wash is- wash has always been safe.

Nothing warped and twisted like with Carolina, nothing obligatory like with North. "We'll be fine, David."

It's a quick, chaste thing and sure maybe he was enough of an asshole to time it to when just Jensen came around the bend and could see but York does close the distance. Presses their lips together once like an apology, like forgiveness before he rolls off Wash and offers him a hand up.

He laughs at that, not half as bright as it had been last time, but still there, still something. "I dunno. I think you managed. Maybe something more manly, like red?"

He can hear the return of the troops, and Wash is just about to push York away, put some distance between them before he way York says his name makes him scream.

And then York is kissing him. It's a soft little thing, sweet and more forgiving than Wash deserves. He's a monster and York already said, even unknowingly, that he's crossed a line he can't come back from. But it feels too good to reject it and maybe he's always been this weak.

He lets York pull him up, keeps his head ducked while he composes himself. He can already hear the whispers and rumours.

"So. How many breaks?" He always has to ask because- they'll always need them and being aware of limitations keeps people from getting killed. Once he explained that to them they stopped resenting the idea.

"Two!" Jensen offers, eyes flicking between Wash and York. "...should we take another lap, sirs?"

It is tempting. Hell he's still holding onto Wash's hand for a few seconds too long before he makes up his mind. He'll deal with this- this whatever it is later. Time to teach kids not to die.

"Pair up. Go over what we just learned. We'll do grappling tomorrow."

York takes over seamlessly, like they hadn't just been on top of each other a moment ago. He's glad for it. Gives him time to recover, let the flush fade, let him pull himself together because fuck, this is going to kill him. It's a terrible idea to get close to people. It's an even worse idea now. He knows where he stands, even if York doesn't.

At some point everything is going to crash and burn, and still he relishes the feeling of York's fingers against his.

"She's too smart for our own good," he mutters once the kids have paired off to start practicing.

"Best eyes of the bunch too- when her contacts don't dry out." He keeps insisting she swap to glasses and have a solid person partnered up with her to catch the peripheral blur but it hasn't come to anything just yet.

Still.

He leans over enough to bump shoulders with Wash, clearing his throat. "...Dinner later? I hear they actually got chicken."

"I'll keep an eye out for contact fluid when I go on my next raid," he says. Easy stuff. Business. While he figures out what the hell he's going to do.

He gives York a surprised, slightly wary look before he nods, smiling. "Sure. I'll even forgo the armour for the evening."

"Now look who's getting fancy." This is- easier. Probably not smart. probably not a good plan. But Wash is smiling and it had felt too damn good to have someone he knew wasn't going to kill him that close.

It's been so long and Wash is- wash. Wash is safe.

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