"I can't imagine you as regular anything. Like, not even stupid shit like cooking or doing laundry or whatever. You'd do it all Batman-cryptic and overdramatic and just tell me to do laps around you, but screw off, because I'm not answering to Robin."
Tucker laughed, and none of the words were cruel or even mocking, just teasing. Just friends trying to make a shitty night less shitty as they mourned for all their losses, singular and inclusive. He...liked it. He liked being able to look at Wash like a friend and just be here.
...But then he had to go and fuck it up and talk about leaving.
Tucker pulled off of him, his eyes narrowed as he stared. "Seriously? That's your fucking excuse?" Because he wasn't sure if Wash was the one uncomfortable or if it was him, but he couldn't stop fucking staring. That bisected eyebrow. How'd he get that? Was he born with it? A fight? Did he run and trip over a fucking chair?
Goddamn, he hated the height difference right about now. He leaned up, curling a leg under him so they could get nose to nose, his eyelashes long and half-mast as he looked at freckles.
Wash. He had hated Wash because he wasn't Church, and now Wash was the only person he could go to because he didn't have Church. He was the only one he could trust with this fucking grief. He was the only one--
"You're a fucking idiot." He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or the Freelancer, but he spoke it low and soft and against Wash's mouth before he kissed him.
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Tucker laughed, and none of the words were cruel or even mocking, just teasing. Just friends trying to make a shitty night less shitty as they mourned for all their losses, singular and inclusive. He...liked it. He liked being able to look at Wash like a friend and just be here.
...But then he had to go and fuck it up and talk about leaving.
Tucker pulled off of him, his eyes narrowed as he stared. "Seriously? That's your fucking excuse?" Because he wasn't sure if Wash was the one uncomfortable or if it was him, but he couldn't stop fucking staring. That bisected eyebrow. How'd he get that? Was he born with it? A fight? Did he run and trip over a fucking chair?
Goddamn, he hated the height difference right about now. He leaned up, curling a leg under him so they could get nose to nose, his eyelashes long and half-mast as he looked at freckles.
Wash. He had hated Wash because he wasn't Church, and now Wash was the only person he could go to because he didn't have Church. He was the only one he could trust with this fucking grief. He was the only one--
"You're a fucking idiot." He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or the Freelancer, but he spoke it low and soft and against Wash's mouth before he kissed him.