“You say that now, but that’s only because you haven’t seen what I can do with my hands. You know, other than a whole lot of stabbity.”

But he leaned back, sort of hoping that Wash would perform the strip tease after all. Was it even possible with that heavy armor? Tossing the gauntlets had the potential to knock him flat on his back, if not dent a floor or two, and there was nothing sexy about a concussion. Okay, well, well, maybe a little because it would have been earned by stri—

Focus.

“Fine, you wanna take it slow, so just hot makeouts and handjobs. Got it.” Bare heels dug into the bed as he smirked. Waiting. Fuck, he didn’t realized how bad he wanted it until now, how goodelectricbuzzing his body felt from the alcohol, and it seemed that at the moment whiskey dick wasn’t going to be a problem. As he scooted along the bed, his pajama pants slid a little further down his hips, flashing the shape of his bones and the delicate dust of fuzz of a thin happy trail; it deterred from the stirring shape between his legs.

He hummed along to Fat Bottomed Girls, randomly singing to the chorus in a hushed little sound. “Oh, won’t you take me home tonight? Oh, down beside your red fire light. Oh, and give it all you got.” Queen, man. Queen.