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!
"It was not learning to let go that made him do what he did. We lost people. We'll always lose people, getting bitter over it, clinging too hard to the past? That's what made it wrong." He combs his fingers through David's hair, nuzzling his temple. "How does helping this side make you a monster?"
He shouldn't let this go on. It makes things too hard. But moving just... isn't going to happen. He's already too invested. "You think there aren't thousands of innocent people on the side of the Feds? People who are too scared to defect. It's a civil war, not aliens trying to wipe us out. It's messy."
"Trick is talking Kimball into it and then getting word over without being shot." He drums his fingers on the ball of Wash's shoulder, considering. "Could try an encrypted wave but that'll take some doing."
Wash hums softly, leans in to press a kiss against the curve of York's neck. "This is quite the pillow talk. You make a habit of talking politics in bed?"
"You don't need to babysit me, York. I should be able to figure this stuff out on my own, without dragging you into it." He smiles, presses a quick kiss to York's lips. "Yeah, in the morning."
"Yeah. Just takes a little getting used to. Not worked with anyone in a while." He closes his eyes and settles back. "You know you've got drills to run in about... six hours right?"
"Mhmm. I'll get enough sleep." He runs on about four hours anyway, but fine. He tugs up the blanket at the foot of his bed and lets himself doze, hoping for a good, quiet night.
Surprise- it's a quiet night. A dreamless sleep. All close and comfortable and hazy and his internal alarm doesn't start kicking him till about five hours later.
He hasn't slept that well in a while. Not without being half dead with exhaustion. It gives him time to wake up slowly, savour it, before he starts to wriggle out from beside York.
Wash groans and flops back on the bed, not able to keep himself from laughing. "Well one, the answer is yes, obviously, and two... that is some middle-school flirting right there."
"And yet here you are, in my bed." He kisses the corner of Wash's jaw, dragging himself down in a steady path from his chest to his navel, licking and nibbling here and there all the while.
"No-one ever accused me of having good taste in men." Now there's a good way to get woken up properly. He slides back to where he'd been lying, tangles his hands into York's hair as the other man starts to kiss hiw way down his body.
"You have the best taste, shush." York tilts his head and bites at the angle of Wash's hipbone, licking the welt that comes after. "Say nice things about me or I'll quit."
"I'm pretty sure I remember you pretty strongly criticising my taste before." The bite makes him gasp, surprise rather than any real pain. "That is entirely unfair. That is blackmail."
"What'd I say?" He'd been nuzzling his way to the base of Wash's cock but now, well. He just tucks his chin there and peers up the line of Wash's body, brows lifted, eyes all hurt innocence.
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Stalling. He's stalling. Like if he can just delay for long enough then he can fix things before York finds out.
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He's warm enough without the blanket, but curls up beneath it when York pulls it over them anyway. Maybe he'll actually sleep decently for once.
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