goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"Fuck."

There's a bit of a gasp to it, his eyes flying open as York's teeth graze along that really incredibly sensitive part of his anatomy. It shouldn't feel as good as it does. Anyone else and he'd probably have sent them flying by now. If he wasn't already getting hard, he is now. "I can't believe you."

"I'm not sure if that counts as a nice thing or not." He props his cheek on Wash's thigh, tonguing at the skin there while he watches that reaction just, roll up the length of his spine. Okay. So that's a good thing. Like he does with any other trick or catch in a lock- York exploits this.

Shamelessly.

He peels his lip back from his teeth enough that Wash could, if he wanted, watch him repeat the gesture- dragging from the skin just under his navel to the base of his cock in a long line all the way up to the head, stopping just shy to swap out for the tip of his tongue rolling around the far more sensitive skin instead.

"I swear to god Taylor..."

He pushes himself up a little on his elbows, just in time that he can see as York does it. It's not painful, just shy of that, promising it, a hint of something dangerous and it turns him on like crazy.

"Christ... Taylor..."

Well with an opening like that he can't NOT take advantage, York pulls away with a slick, wet sound and murmurs, completely straightfaced. "Don't swear to god. Swear to me."

Because what is being serious in bed mid-blowjob anyway?

Wash groans and gives York a sour look, but his lips curve up at the edges. "You are just asking for a lightning bolt to hit you, talking like that."

"Maybe a li'l." He snorts a laugh before getting back to it, teeth dragging oh so light, tongue laving over the skin afterward. Working Wash back up into that absolutely gorgeous desperation he'd had before.

"Forgive me York, for I have sinned..."

It is terrible, blasphemous, but if he'd ever been religious, it'd been knocked out of him a long time ago back in the Project. As it is, is makes him grin for the moment before York is back on him, forcing the breath from his lungs as pleasure sparks through him.

Okay that's kind of hot. He marks that on the list of things he didn't know about himself or about David for future reference (of course they'll be doing more of this in the future) and works his way down the length of him in slow, measured bobs. The angle's not ideal for getting more of him in his throat but it's more than enough to swallow around him and to keep adding the edge of his teeth here and there. Dangerous little surprises.

York's mouth is hot and wet and the most fucking perfect thing he's ever felt. Wash squirms beneath him, breath starting to come in desperate little gasps as York goes down on him. Each bob of his head pushes Wash further towards the edge, makes heat pool in his belly and his groin, sends his hips jerking up towards that hot mouth.

York slips one hand up to rest light and easy against Wash's stomach, rubbing small circles into the skin there as he works his head up and down, pulling back to suck hard at the head of his cock. He pulls out every dirty trick he's ever learned, every flick of the tongue, every deep throated hum, anything that ever worked on him. Works Wash hard and fast in his mouth, waiting for the tell tale twitches of his orgasm.

Wash's hands fist into the bedsheets, twisting them between his fingers as York sucked at the head of his dick. It was a harsh press of suction coupled with the tease of his tongue. Where the fuck did he learn how to do this? It's driving him crazy and it's not fair to make him lose his mind like this. He can't hold back for long. He's driven forward, hard, desperate, towards his orgasm, a strangled cry dragged out of him.

There it is. York swallows it down with a grimace- it's been awhile since he's done this but spitting is just impolite and it's better than a mouthful of blood. He pulls off when the last of it's done, licking Wash clean before crawling back up to flop down next to him. "HOw's that for a 'good morning?"

He feels weak and drained in the best possible way once York is done with him. The focussed attention of York's tongue against his sensitive flesh is more intense now somehow, makes him whine , and then he gives York a dazed, but sated sort of look. He rolls over, throws an arm over York's chest.

"How the fuck am I supposed to go to work after that?"

"Maybe take a day off? Sleep in and relax a little." God knows Wash probably needs to. "I gotta wash up and run drills with the kids, though. So you can stay here, sleep and watch some movies or somth'n till I get back. Cool?"

Wash gives him a thoroughly sceptical look. "I can't do that." That's his first reaction, the instinct. He doesn't take days off. He isn't sure that he remembers how to take time off. He works, he trains, he sleeps. He presses closer to York side, unwilling to let him go yet. "Run away with me," he says impulsively. It's mostly a joke. "Let's just... run away. Other side of the planet. Hole up somewhere. Do whatever we want."

"Yeah, you can. In fact I kinda think you should. Let me do the worrying for today, mkay?" He's shifting, getting ready to roll out of bed and find his sweats for the jog when David presses close. That statement-

Wow that takes him all the way back to the freight elevator. Zero G, suits on, Carolina so damn certain and- she'd been right at the time.

He hadn't trusted her enough to tell her. He should've. Taylor reaches up to comb his fingers through David's hair, voice gentle. "Nah, not today. Promised Palomo I'd let him try the sniper rifle on the range if he behaved and he has. Mostly. Ask me again tomorrow."

He huffs in protest when York tries to pull away. He really doesn't want to move. Really doesn't want to leave the room. There's responsibilities outside. Reports to be made. Plans to figure out. It's complicated outside. "You'll get wrinkles if you worry too much."

He squeezes York more tightly for a moment before reluctantly letting him go. Tomorrow there will be another thing that York has to do. It's a nice way of letting him down.

"If you get shot, i will never let you live it down. I will fucking mock your motherfucking ghost if that's what it takes."

"Hey I'm not gonna be on that side of the firing line." He dips his head to kiss David's forehead- his nose, his cheeks, his lips. "Promise. I'll be careful. Sleep in, rest up, take a day. I'll tell Kimball you needed it, okay? You've earned a breather. Tablet's got a buncha bootleg movies on it if you want."

He has to roll out of bed then, or he'd never leave. Off and scratching the small of his back while looking for boxers- digging what he needs out of an old duffle. The first thing he hands over is the tablet, the second a wireless comm hub. "Sometimes that thing gets music, so, if you're feeling lucky."

The rest he leaves till after he's gotten dressed. Scrubbed the tangles out of his hair and done a few early morning streatches. Contortions. Streatches.

"Does Palomo know which side he's aiming at, is the question." The jibe could be a lot crueler than he makes it, but it's tinged with good humour. He kisses back, catching every bit of skin that he can until York pulls away.

"Wow, you really did think of everything," Wash says when he hands the hub over. "Is this part of some nefarious plan I should be worried about?" He's touched by how thoughtful it is.

And then comes the stretches. And those Wash happily observes, lying on his back, head tilted over the edge of the bed as he watches York do his workout.

"Honestly? Nope." This all was kind of spur of the moment. He always did do better in improv than he did a solid plan. "Just happy coincidence."

York moves carefully through each series of stretches, twisting and bending, contorting and arching till all his joints feel nice and loose. Good start to the day, there. "I'll come by with lunch, if you need clothes for any reason, though I am of the opinion you should stay naked, you can borrow mine."

"Well... good choice then." Hooray for coincidence.

He's normally up and finished with stretches and his morning workout by now and here he is, still in bed, half asleep, even as he watches York do the same. He grins wickedly at him. "I bet you like that, don't you? The idea of me just... wandering around your room naked. Maybe I will just laze around all day like this. Knowing that you're out there, training rookies, and thinking about it."

"...when'd you become evil, man. I missed that memo." But he's red and warm and can still taste David on the back of his tongue from earlier and staying in is starting to become massively important but-

But.

He's got work.

"Lunch. I'll- um. Be back with lunch. Be good." He grabs up what he needs and heads for the door, turns on his heel to stalk back over to the bed and lick his way into David's mouth. Just cuz he can. Just to leave him as breathless and aching as he is. "Okay. Going now."

"That's what you get for playing dead," Wash replies lightly. "If you don't leave a forwarding address..." Then how can you be expected to be kept up to date on your former comrade's slow descent into insanity and murder?

He clutches a hand against the back of York's neck when they kiss, holding him there for as long as he can, until he absolutely has to let go. It's an awkward position, but they make it work. "The sooner you go, the sooner you can get back, right?"

"Right, right. Going." One last quick kiss before he ducks out the door.

Okay. Drills. The recruits are far too energetic this morning and he's pretty sure he sees money exchange hands but it doesn't matter, they got work to do. Grappling, throwing, knife work, range work, running laps in formation. He's got them confident enough to be teaching the rest of the recruits in due time and that? Saves everyone some pain. There's only one of him. Kimball gets an actual memo about Wash taking a day and before he knows it lunch rolls around and it's salad.

He could cry.SALAD. someone has a garden on base or something. Grilled chicken and fresh vegetables and a canteen of tea, he brings it all back to his room on a tray.

He makes one short trip back to his own room to grab some stuff, dressed in his sweat pants and one of York's shirts. Grabs what he needs and then wraps himself back up in York's bed, a movie playing on the tablet.

On his own tablet, he starts to compile his files. Every scrap of information he has on Charon, on the Feds, on the Counsellor. All the official stuff is easy. The less legit stuff takes a bit more work, but he manages it. Supplements it all with his own notes, observations, anything that might be useful to York when he-

It'll have to be the communications. If he can get those working again, get rid of the dampening, then that makes a lot of things much easier. He can take Charon's mercenaries if he can surprise them. As long as Carolina isn't there then it should be fine.

The last bit is a recording. A confession. An apology. A last will and testament. Whatever.

Locks it all down with his own encryption, saves it to a hard drive that slides over the back of one of the dogtags he still wears. Wipes the tablet. Just in case.

He's drowsing, half asleep as he watches a movie when York returns with dinner.

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