RP Open Post

[goddamngrenades]

Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything.
PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, whichever
Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with
Tag and go, baby!

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[goddamngrenades]

He tips his head to the side, thumbs hooked through his beltloops as he tries to make up his mind. "Hmmm... I don't know. Probably going to have to see more to be sure."

Doesn't stop him from stepping that last little bit forward and letting his hands trail over those scars he'd seen a week before, eyes dark from more than just lust. "Think I just might."

[beforeblue]

"Way to boost my ego there, Taylor," Wash says, trying the name out on his tongue. "York."

York is frank with the way he touches him, touches the scars. There's no shyness about it, and no condemnation either, or revulsion. "Guess you're not bad yourself."

[goddamngrenades]

"You know. Back when I was a rookie my friends called me Tay." Because the second syllable was too much goddamn effort. "Be honest. How much hell am I gonna catch if I call you Davy?"

Because this shouldn't be so serious. And it shouldn't be wrapped up in the lingering claws of the project. He steps in easily and slides his hand up Wash- David's ribs, grinning. "Cuz I think I could like calling you that."

[beforeblue]

"Tay?" he says, sounding sceptical. It doesn't quite fit for him. Even Taylor feels strange to say when he's been York as long as Wash has known him. And he hasn't been David in years.

He almost laughs when York suggests Davy though, but then there's a hand sliding up his ribs, a hot palm against his skin. "Keep on like this, you can call me whatever you want."

[goddamngrenades]

"Yeah. It fit better when I was skinny and hadn't bulked up yet." When he was Wash's age at the time of joining the project. "Stick with Taylor."

York is- york was. Taylor is.

Is busy with his hands on David's skin, tracing an erratic path like he's looking for the catch to a lock. The trick to popping this safe.

[beforeblue]

"I like that better anyway," Wash says, grinning as he imagines Taylor as a skinny gangly kid. It's kind of hilarious.

He just can't keep occupied with it when York is touching him, hands splaying out across his ribs, stomach, the muscles of his back. Dextrous hands. It's not surprising.

Wash hooks his thumbs into his sweats and pushes them down, underwear and all, and kicks them off to one side.

[goddamngrenades]

"Someone's eager." Not that he isn't himself, hands immediately slipping down to smooth against the line of Wash's hips, dipping back to squeeze his ass. It really, really is a nice ass. Niner wasn't wrong. "Goddamn. What have you been lifting- I do not remember you this cut."

[beforeblue]

"It's- it's been an age since I was this close to anyone," Wash admits, turning his head away awkwardly. "And this feels good." He wanted to bask in it, save up the moment as something to remember when everything inevitably fell apart. Of course it would. It always did.

Taylor's hands are warm and firm against his ass and Wash laughs. "I work out a lot. I promised... I swore I'd never be defenceless again."

[goddamngrenades]

"You and me both." He leans in, licking a line from Wash's collar to his throat, nibbling on his earlobe once he reaches it. "Course it feels good. I'm the one doing it."

Light and easy, he needs this to be light and easy so he won't do the usual dumb York bullshit of falling in head over ass. They don't need that. Not now. "Nothing to defend against here. Just you and me."

[beforeblue]

It makes Wash laugh and that in turn makes him relax against York so he can just savour whats being done to him instead of holding himself like he's ready to be attacked at any moment. "Wow, so modest there."

He slides his arms around York, splaying fingers against his back and rubbing lightly, getting adjusted to the feeling of skin beneath his fingers, and tilts his head to give York better access to his neck. "Just us."

[goddamngrenades]

"If you wanna get lucky you gotta be good." Rather than better to be lucky than good. Here? He's all steady hands tracing lines down Wash's spine, easy teeth grazing his jaw. Working out what makes Wash shiver and sigh in all the good ways. The right ways. It doesn't take long for him to hook onto the skin just under his jaw to start sucking in a bruise, hands busy massaging his lower back and ass.

[beforeblue]

"Did you practice that?" Wash asks, grinning, an expression that goes sharp with pleasure when York latches onto a spot under his jaw that just feels so damn good. His neck should not be an erogenous zone. He slides his hands down York's back, and down the back of those tight jeans that make his ass look unfairly good, pulling him as close as he can manage while there's still material between them.

[goddamngrenades]

"Nope, just came to me." He smirks right back against Wash's skin, dragging his teeth down a bit to start a line of bruises and lovebites. It's not like Wash is ever out of the armor regularly, it's not like anyone's gonna see. Now if Wash marked him up a little...The idea shouldn't be so damn appealing, but it is. Enough that he's pressing back against Wash's hands, rocking his hips forward when they reach his ass and he really, really needs out of his pants.

[beforeblue]

It drags a soft noise of pleasure from Wash. He enjoys the ache of it, and the feeling of York's mouth against his neck. He grips tight against York's ass for a moment and then growls, fumbling for the button of them because York is wearing far too many clothes and he needs to stop that immediately. "Get these damn pants off, I swear to god Taylor."

[goddamngrenades]

Now that's a good sound. A fucking great sound and he needs to wring more out of them- he's always appreciated vocal partners. "Or what?"

Not that he needs more incentive than Wash's fumbling he hooks an arm around his shoulders and leans back, dragging the zipper down and rolling his hips in a way that can't be anything but full of obscene promise.

[beforeblue]

"Or something I'll think up when I have brain cells again," Wash mutters. Christ, had York always been this much of an asshole, or was it just when he was about to get laid?

The way he rolls his hips is definitely deliberate and makes Wash groan, full of frustration and need, but at least the pants are coming off.

[goddamngrenades]

"Not anytime soon-" He snorts a laugh and works his jeans off little by little before stepping back in close and tight, grinding their erections together. Not slick enough so there's catching and dragging but it's hot and real and still pretty fucking good. "Jesus-"

[beforeblue]

"You are so goddam co-" He doesn't finish the sentence because then York is grinding against him, rubbing their dicks together. It's a little rough, but feels too damn good for him to do much more than press his face against York's shoulder, mouthing at it.

[goddamngrenades]

Who's smug? York's smug. Smug and slithering the rest of the way out of his jeans, nudging Wash back against the bed because it's so much more comfortable when they're horizontal. And, you know, have lube. Lube would be good. He's got some on the nightstand- wishful thinking mostly.

[beforeblue]

The smuggest. Wash is not about to resist being pushed backwards until the backs of his legs hit the bed. The bed is exactly where he wants to be right now. He sits down, using the opportunity to look York over, able to take his time to enjoy it this time. Appreciate all the lovely skin and the slide of his jeans coming off. "You look good."

[goddamngrenades]

"You're no slouch yourself, rookie." Stripped to his skin he stretches and yeah, maybe he flexes a bit. poses since he's got the time before he swings a leg over Wash's thighs and presses a kiss to his lips, his chin, his throat. "How we doing this- and what are you good with doing? I mean me, I'm a fan of everything but comfort levels vary yadda yadda consent yadda yadda."

[beforeblue]

Maybe that's true. It's harder to notice in himself than it is in York and had he always looked this hot or had Wash just been blind back in the Project? Or maybe too naive and intimidated to really spend time appreciating him. Finally York is naked and against him, pressed up in his lap. Wash slides his hands down York's back, grips his ass to pull him closer as York's lips find his throat.

"Right now you could probably get me to do anything." He shifts his hips upwards, cocks brushing to prove his point.

[goddamngrenades]

"Yeah but-" Jesus that doesn't help him think, the slide of Wash against him not any slicker than it'd been before but it's so fucking distracting. It's been so goddamn long but he had a rep back then and he means to keep it now. "What. What do you want. Words, David."

He leans down enough that his cheek is resting over some of the scars on Wash's chest, breathing slow and even. "I need to hear you say what you want. So much of what they did to us happened without our say so. I'm not gonna be that guy."

[beforeblue]

It freezes him for a moment, makes his breath stutter and halt and his eyes sting. It shouldn't. He knows that. Knows that this shouldn't be anything to get that much of a reaction from him. But it's been a long time since anyone has asked him what he wanted. They'd told him he was going to have Epsilon. They'd told him helping Charon was the only way he was ever going to be free. They'd told him to come to Chorus.

He can feel York's breath against his chest, over scars that he'd never had back then. He slides his fingers into York's hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. "Christ Taylor...You are about a million times too good for me. You were always too good for the Project."

He can't help but be awed by how York... Taylor... has come out of all the shit they've gone through and is still this kind of person. A good person. It makes his own actions that much more sickening.

"I want you to kiss me again. Can we start with that?"

[goddamngrenades]

"Debateable." He shrugs and tugs himself up, nosing along the line of David's jaw. They all did things they weren't proud of. The trick is that he recognized them for what they were, what he could help, what he couldn't, and moved on from there. But right here, right now, that doesn't matter. What matters is what was done to them- and what he can do to make David forget.

"Whatever you want." Like it's a burden to slot their lips together. To let all that manic, painful need fall to the wayside to focus on the brush of skin to skin, the hitching of breath, the lazy pass of his tongue.