How funny that the person kissing Wash now was sporting that almost painful too-familiar armor.
The hard plates of Wash's suit didn't feel so uncomfortable now, and Tucker could taste whiskey (his whiskey) on his lips. It didn't burn when it was painted over someone else's tongue, and he tried, he tried to slip his his against the seam of the other's mouth, just once. He was kissing Wash. He was kissing Mr. Give-Me-Ten-Laps Wash, and it felt--
--good.
The hand not holding the bottle found its way up into the Freelancer's short hair, combing through it as his brain pieced together how they got from Point A to Point B. It wasn't a long trip. It was one he'd even make again, he thought, with or without Whiskey Car.
Wash's hair felt good against his palm. He liked it.
Tucker pulled back to end the kiss, but not far enough to go anyway, to stop sharing the same breath, the same space. And when he spoke, poignant words were murmured against Wash's lips.
"She's a Killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatin, dynamite with a laser beam."
Why do you like him, Wash?
The hard plates of Wash's suit didn't feel so uncomfortable now, and Tucker could taste whiskey (his whiskey) on his lips. It didn't burn when it was painted over someone else's tongue, and he tried, he tried to slip his his against the seam of the other's mouth, just once. He was kissing Wash. He was kissing Mr. Give-Me-Ten-Laps Wash, and it felt--
--good.
The hand not holding the bottle found its way up into the Freelancer's short hair, combing through it as his brain pieced together how they got from Point A to Point B. It wasn't a long trip. It was one he'd even make again, he thought, with or without Whiskey Car.
Wash's hair felt good against his palm. He liked it.
Tucker pulled back to end the kiss, but not far enough to go anyway, to stop sharing the same breath, the same space. And when he spoke, poignant words were murmured against Wash's lips.
"She's a Killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatin, dynamite with a laser beam."
What? It's on the radio.