Hey, they could do that! They could totally do that, or something like that; was dry humping off the table? Sure, blowjobs, handjobs, and sex were (not his idea on that, either), but grinding through clothes...? Come on. Give him something! Throw him a bone.

Bow chicka bow wow.

And this close, he felt that cock twitch. Oh, Wash, how they mutually suffered for that ban he placed, and he felt the frustration in every part of him, every drunken piece of him. His own cock fucking ached, throbbed, needed. Needed so damn much and--

Hands slid down from the blonde hair, down that broad back as he mapped out muscles he had long since assumed but never felt. He went lower, over ribs and waist and the small of his back before he could grab that perfect ass and squeezed. It felt fucking better than it looked, too. Don't flaunt it if it wasn't there to be grabbed, sweet cheeks.

"So," he asked, using that same tone because it was fun with the way the Freelancer reacted. "Since we're not boning--" Worst choice of words, but he was none the wiser. "--can you at least tell me what you want to do with me? And no cryptic one liners, Wash; give me the good shit."