goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"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.

"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.

"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.

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."

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.

"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.

"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-"

"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.

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.

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."

"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."

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.

"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."

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?"

Edited 2015-06-03 14:37 (UTC)

"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.

"No, I know it," Wash replies, deep and heartfelt. Taylor had been the best of them. He closes his eyes when York nuzzles against his jaw, letting out a shuddering breath and sliding his arms up to hook against the back of York's neck when they kiss.

It's a good kiss. Slower this time, taking their time to enjoy it rather than the desperate need they'd had up until now, although that still colours it. "Feels good," he says when they finally part and York is very very close. There's a warm flush on Wash's cheeks.

"Giv'n me too much credit here, rookie." He murmurs against David's lips, hands infinitely gentle as the cradle his jaw. Like he's not hard and aching and it hasn't been forever. Like they've got all the time in the world. He drags his teeth over David's bottom lip and gives it a sucking tug before propping himself up on his elbows to get a good look at him. "It should. Or I'm not do'n it right."

"Credit where its due," Wash replies, barely above a whisper. Every breath, he can feel, every twitch of Taylor's lips. The scrape of teeth makes him moan, makes his breath come faster, and it would be so easy to demand more right now, make it fast and rough and hot. But he wants to savour this. Hold it to himself. The last good memory he'll get.

"This is very very right."

"What else do you want, Wash?" he'd honestly be content to roll his hips a little and keep kissing him for the rest of the night. Probably why he doesn't stop himself from leaning in and brushing his lips against David's again and again, soft little touches that catch the curve of lip, the corner of his mouth, the dip of his chin. "Tell me so I can make it good."

If this was all he could have, he could honestly be content with making out like teenagers all night. If they had all the time in the world, he probably would. It's difficult to think when Taylor is kissing him like that, driving thought out of his head with every movement, every press of his hips.

He catches York's face between his hands, holding him still for a moment just to give himself time to breath. And to kiss him again, taste his skin, explore the angle of his jaw. "How am I supposed to think when you're driving me crazy, Taylor?" He kisses him again, lets it linger. "I want... god, everything. But... you want to fuck me? That... I want that."

He goes still when David brings his hands up, letting him guide how this goes now that he's actually taking initiative. While he's more than happy to debauch David at his own pace- knowing what he wants? Helps. And this is more than good. "Mmm...well you're not supposed to."

More than a little proud that he's still got it, that he hasn't forgotten how to connect with another human being like this. "We got time for everything."

But that? God. That has him shivering, has his hips grinding forward with more than just lazy intent. "Gonna have to move a little." Give him room to work. To touch.

He gives a breathless laugh, kisses Taylor again and presses his face against his shoulder so he can nuzzle at his neck. Wants to leave a couple of marks of his own now he's more comfortable. "Promise?" he asks, a teasing note to his voice. It's not something he can promise but it's nice to imagine it, right?

He catches his breath, rocks his hips up to meet Taylor's, his skin already sweaty and flushed. "Whatever you want. Just... tell me where you want me."

"Promise. I'm not go'n anywhere." He's only been here a week but he's invested. These kids need a guide, these people have a good cause. Honestly he'd rather try for some kind of treaty since all out war just-

He hasn't been impressed with it. But he' a soldier, not a diplomat. Maybe Kimball will do better.

Pushing her out of his mind while he's got David so eager and warm and right fucking here is so damn easy. "I want you right where you are. Just gotta open your legs up for me baby."

It's a cheesy fucking line that he mitigates by nipping at the underside of David's jaw. "Gimme some room."

"Thanks," Wash says, and the relief is genuine. "I need you here. You remind me what I should be." Somehow York makes him human, makes him want to be human. It was easier being a bad guy.

He flahses a smile at the endearment, so cliche it hurts and he loves it all the same. Especially when it's followed by the scrape of York's teeth against his neck and the warm promise in his voice. He parts his legs wide, hands skimming against Taylor's sides. Just can't get enough of him.

"Then I'm not gonna head out anytime soon." He drops his lips to Wash's again, slow and sweet. "Not while you need me."

Bit of a weakness of his, being needed. Clair needed a second in command, he stepped up. The project needed a locksmith, hey, he signed on. It's something he probably should see a professional about but there's never really been any time. But now? Now he's got David like this, open and ready and it's a matter of skill to uncap the lube with one hand and get his fingers slick, but he's got enough practice to make it count. "Gonna be a little cold."

He warns, smoothing his slick hand from the crease of David's hip down and in.

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