"Hey, you're the one that came back for seconds." Which wasn't it at all, but who was counting? Goddamn, that little gasp turned him on, everything Wash was doing was turning him on, and he couldn't wait to hear that sound again. C'mon, Wash, gimme. Gimme.
There was a roll of his hips again. "And I think you're in the best place, don't you?"
He almost laughed at the Freelancer's insistence to talk while he kissed around him. Really, dude, the topic was over and done with; they wouldn't get it on, fine. He didn't like it, but he wouldn't pressure Wash either; the guy would probably bail if he did, and while Tucker loved watching him leave with an ass like that, being alone for the night didn't sound nearly as pleasant as this.
"It's all relevant for future dates." There. A plan. A door opened for it, and he would keep him on it even when his head wasn't full of cotton and air and liquid courage. He opened his mouth to add something - he always had to add something - when that weight was down on him, a warm blanket of heat and strength. Hands were on his jaw a second later, his lips being kissed, and the pounding in his chest was loud enough to be heard in his ears. Fuck, that was hot. That was so hot. Fingers twitched against the other's back before digging in.
"Give me a reason to stop talking," he whispered with a sly smile, his glassy eyes sparkling in the dim light.
“I didn’t—ugh—you are the most vexing person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting in my life.” The way Tucker was grinding them together was supremely distracting but felt so damned good that Wash didn’t have to heart to tell him to cut it out.
He nibbled delicately at Tucker’s mouth in a teasing manner that seemed out of character for the stick in the mud Washington. “You’re so convinced there’s going to be a second date. Let’s try and make it through this without you completely turning me off with that damned mouth of yours.”
There wasn’t any real venom in the blond’s voice but instead, it sounded both font and exasperated all at the same time. His thumbs swept along the sharp jut of Tucker’s jaw and his eyes seemed to darken with need in the face of that sly challenge.
Tucker wanted him to give him a reason to stop talking? Well, he’d just have to work on that, now wouldn’t he?
This time, when he kissed Tucker, it was with more passion than he’d shown so far. He practically devoured the younger man’s mouth and pressed against the seam of his lips with his tongue, insistently begging entry so that he could explore further.
"Well, considering you won't let me turn you on with it..." Blowjobs. He's talking about oral sex, Wash, and the vehement denial of anything that fun. His look said just that, whispered it in low, sultry tones. Come on. Argue. He dared you.
But fuck all, he hoped Wash would take that challenge when he was touching him, when there were thumbs against his jaw. Fuck, Wash looked hot when he was plotting, when the wheels turned in his head, and Tucker wanted to know what the hell was going on inside his head.
Stopping was going to be hard. Possible, of course, but fucking hard.
And then that kiss came, the kind that stole breath, stole all conscious thought, that was as much of a bodily experience as it was just his mouth. His arms slid up, slipping into that blonde hair, clutching it as he opened his mouth to Wash's tongue, to his taste, and his own tongue slipped up to meet his. His legs wrapped around the other's waist, his glorious calves squeezing tight, while Freddie sang about his best friend in Tucker's ear.
Why hadn't they done this sooner? Why did it take someone dying to get to this point?
“I can see delayed gratification is going to be a problem with you. Haven’t you ever heard of the concept of anticipation just making the eventual act all the sweeter?” Wash probably knew a lot about that, the damned tight-assed bastard. He knew better than to rise to that particular bait at least and let the implication go by unremarked upon.
Wash seemed to sense that Tucker enjoyed the way he was cradling his jaw between his palms so he didn’t move them just yet even though his fingers were itching to reach out and touch the other man’s hair and explore his skin.
For a tight-ass buzzkill, the blond man was shockingly good at kissing. Wash had always been tight-lipped about personal things like his sexual history or even his personal preferences. Well, after tonight, Tucker could check at least one box off in regards to the mysterious ex-Freelancer. Wash seemed to have little problems with kissing his male teammate.
The blond man groaned his approval into the kiss when Tucker tightened his legs around him. Their tongues tangled and stroked slickly against one another, trading and gaining ground on a whim. It was heated but languid in a way, a thorough exploration of each others mouths without racing or the finish line. Of course Wash’s meticulous anal-retentiveness would carry over into the bedroom like this.
The sounds Wash gave him were delicious, encouraging, and when all he wanted to do was roll them the fuck over and just rut like weasels, Tucker surprisingly kept himself in check. Self-control might not have been his forte, but he was even impressing himself. Especially when Wash was basically exploring his mouth like Lewis and Clark on a foot trail across the goddamn country.
Fuck.
Most of the pain of the day was burned away from the way he kissed Tucker, but the sharp edges remained. What would Church (Epsilon. It's important here) think of them, them together? Kissing. Seeking out something akin to comfort in alcohol and each other. Could all of the fucking projections and calculations lead them to this?
Would this be the same tomorrow, when the pain was a little less?
Tucker slowed the kiss, tapering it off, turning his head to brush his lips over that stubbled cheek that said it was five o'clock somewhere. His own face was surprisingly smooth, no hair, no marks, just dark skin that was soft to the calloused fingers on his jaw. "Wash," he whispered, and it was low, sultry, dark and soft like velvet as he loosened the hold of his legs. He just wanted to see what the other man would/could do.
Wash was certainly tempted to do just that. Roll over and rut together until they reached messy completion. He was fully hard now thanks to the friction and kissing.
He would be lying if he tried to pretend he hadn’t thought about this, maybe not in this manner but definitely about kissing Tucker. Usually, it was because he just wanted to shut that smart mouth up but Wash was self-aware enough to recognize this attraction had been going on for while.
Wash wasn’t thinking about Epsilon right now, wasn’t thinking about Carolina’s pain and how it made is own heart ache in sympathy. All he cared about was the slick brush of tongues and damp breath shared between the two of them.
But when Tucker moved to end the kiss, he respected the unspoken command for some space and didn’t try and follow those lips as they pulled away from his. Hearing his voice uttered in that silky tone of voice make his cock twitch and when he opened his eyes, Tucker would find them glazed over with need. The thin ring of gold surrounding the pupils could be seen this close. “Yeah?”
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."
Wash's pupils dilated abruptly when Tucker helped himself to a handful of his ass. It felt great but it also didn't exactly make his decision for them to not have sex tonight.
"Do I really look like the dirty-talk type to you, Tucker?" The blond asked, thoroughly exasperated.
He rolled off the younger man and further into the tight confines of the bed until his back was pressed against the wall. Then he reached out to pull Tucker closer into a spooning position with arms wrapped around him and one leg thrown over his to further nestle him closer to his body.
"We're going to sleep now and in the morning, while we struggle with our hangovers, we can talk about where you want this to go."
Because seriously, what the fuck? They had been getting good, getting hot and heavy, he had a raging hardon and he knew he wasn't the only one. And, sure, they weren't going to have sex, but dude, petting? Dry humping? Mutual masturbation? Something?
But then...that. Then he was held, a tiny spoon against Wash, and Tucker just blinked. The mattress was comfortable and the warmth of the body all around him could make anyone drowsy, but that was the booze talking, that was the fight talking, that was the grief talking. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want nightmares to pass out.
Apparently, asking for dirty talk was off limits.
"Wash, dude, we were just getting started." He wriggled against, weakly, and the music ended on a high note, his playlist finally over. Silence stretched in the little room, other than a few FINALLY! Thank fucking god it's off! heard through the walls.
"I don't want to sleep," came the small pout. Tucker frowned a little as he turned over under Wash's arm and leg, his face against the other's neck, his chest. He could hear his heartbeat and it was the most calming thing he had ever heard in his life. His eyelids blinked heavily as he looked up at him.
"What do you mean, 'where I want it to go'? Do you already know or something?"
“What the hell is the point of starting something when we’re not going to finish it?” The blond man grumbled. Wash was surprisingly warm even through the full bodysuit.
He audibly signed in relief when the music went off because sorry, Tucker, you were never going to sell him on the virtues of Queen.
When the younger man moved to squirm around in his arms, he didn’t try and stop him and it was only after Tucker got more comfortable that Wash let his arms tighten around the younger man again.
This close, the Sim trooper could smell the curious combination of musk, cordite, gun oil and metal that made up the predominant top-notes of Wash’s scent. But underneath was the barest trace of the spicy smelling soup he liked to use in the shower and strangely enough, vanilla. Maybe it was his shampoo or the shaving cream he used but it wasn’t the sort of scent you would expect out of a hardened ex-spec opts agent.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He murmured into the top of Tucker’s head as he own eyes started to drift shut. “I’d say that speaks of what I want. Now, go to sleep, Tucker. Tomorrow is going to be a long day too.”
"Wash," he muttered into his chest, "you smell good."
Tucker might have blushed after that, a hint of heat in his cheeks as those arms were suddenly tighter around him, as Wash admitted where they stood. He was there. He was close and in bed and they had fooled around and Wash hadn't taken advantage of him. Maybe it was because Tucker was drunk, maybe it was because Wash gave a shit. Maybe it was because he cared.
"Fuck tomorrow," he whispered. Tomorrow meant seeing Carolina. Tomorrow meant talking to Caboose. Tomorrow meant debriefing and press junkets and facing a day without Church, one of many. He opened his eyes and stared at that Kevlar suit, could feel it against his face, could smell his whiskey breath as against it.
But tomorrow meant Wash would be there, too. So, at least there was that.
"Don't tell me what to do," he murmured, and it was the booze talking. "I...I outrank..."
But the rest was lost in a quiet breath as he finally went to sleep. Or, rather passed out, but it was close enough.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lightofdawn) wrote2016-05-31 01:00 pm
no subject
There was a roll of his hips again. "And I think you're in the best place, don't you?"
He almost laughed at the Freelancer's insistence to talk while he kissed around him. Really, dude, the topic was over and done with; they wouldn't get it on, fine. He didn't like it, but he wouldn't pressure Wash either; the guy would probably bail if he did, and while Tucker loved watching him leave with an ass like that, being alone for the night didn't sound nearly as pleasant as this.
"It's all relevant for future dates." There. A plan. A door opened for it, and he would keep him on it even when his head wasn't full of cotton and air and liquid courage. He opened his mouth to add something - he always had to add something - when that weight was down on him, a warm blanket of heat and strength. Hands were on his jaw a second later, his lips being kissed, and the pounding in his chest was loud enough to be heard in his ears. Fuck, that was hot. That was so hot. Fingers twitched against the other's back before digging in.
"Give me a reason to stop talking," he whispered with a sly smile, his glassy eyes sparkling in the dim light.
no subject
He nibbled delicately at Tucker’s mouth in a teasing manner that seemed out of character for the stick in the mud Washington. “You’re so convinced there’s going to be a second date. Let’s try and make it through this without you completely turning me off with that damned mouth of yours.”
There wasn’t any real venom in the blond’s voice but instead, it sounded both font and exasperated all at the same time. His thumbs swept along the sharp jut of Tucker’s jaw and his eyes seemed to darken with need in the face of that sly challenge.
Tucker wanted him to give him a reason to stop talking? Well, he’d just have to work on that, now wouldn’t he?
This time, when he kissed Tucker, it was with more passion than he’d shown so far. He practically devoured the younger man’s mouth and pressed against the seam of his lips with his tongue, insistently begging entry so that he could explore further.
no subject
But fuck all, he hoped Wash would take that challenge when he was touching him, when there were thumbs against his jaw. Fuck, Wash looked hot when he was plotting, when the wheels turned in his head, and Tucker wanted to know what the hell was going on inside his head.
Stopping was going to be hard. Possible, of course, but fucking hard.
And then that kiss came, the kind that stole breath, stole all conscious thought, that was as much of a bodily experience as it was just his mouth. His arms slid up, slipping into that blonde hair, clutching it as he opened his mouth to Wash's tongue, to his taste, and his own tongue slipped up to meet his. His legs wrapped around the other's waist, his glorious calves squeezing tight, while Freddie sang about his best friend in Tucker's ear.
Why hadn't they done this sooner? Why did it take someone dying to get to this point?
no subject
Wash seemed to sense that Tucker enjoyed the way he was cradling his jaw between his palms so he didn’t move them just yet even though his fingers were itching to reach out and touch the other man’s hair and explore his skin.
For a tight-ass buzzkill, the blond man was shockingly good at kissing. Wash had always been tight-lipped about personal things like his sexual history or even his personal preferences. Well, after tonight, Tucker could check at least one box off in regards to the mysterious ex-Freelancer. Wash seemed to have little problems with kissing his male teammate.
The blond man groaned his approval into the kiss when Tucker tightened his legs around him. Their tongues tangled and stroked slickly against one another, trading and gaining ground on a whim. It was heated but languid in a way, a thorough exploration of each others mouths without racing or the finish line. Of course Wash’s meticulous anal-retentiveness would carry over into the bedroom like this.
no subject
Fuck.
Most of the pain of the day was burned away from the way he kissed Tucker, but the sharp edges remained. What would Church (Epsilon. It's important here) think of them, them together? Kissing. Seeking out something akin to comfort in alcohol and each other. Could all of the fucking projections and calculations lead them to this?
Would this be the same tomorrow, when the pain was a little less?
Tucker slowed the kiss, tapering it off, turning his head to brush his lips over that stubbled cheek that said it was five o'clock somewhere. His own face was surprisingly smooth, no hair, no marks, just dark skin that was soft to the calloused fingers on his jaw. "Wash," he whispered, and it was low, sultry, dark and soft like velvet as he loosened the hold of his legs. He just wanted to see what the other man would/could do.
no subject
He would be lying if he tried to pretend he hadn’t thought about this, maybe not in this manner but definitely about kissing Tucker. Usually, it was because he just wanted to shut that smart mouth up but Wash was self-aware enough to recognize this attraction had been going on for while.
Wash wasn’t thinking about Epsilon right now, wasn’t thinking about Carolina’s pain and how it made is own heart ache in sympathy. All he cared about was the slick brush of tongues and damp breath shared between the two of them.
But when Tucker moved to end the kiss, he respected the unspoken command for some space and didn’t try and follow those lips as they pulled away from his. Hearing his voice uttered in that silky tone of voice make his cock twitch and when he opened his eyes, Tucker would find them glazed over with need. The thin ring of gold surrounding the pupils could be seen this close. “Yeah?”
no subject
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."
no subject
"Do I really look like the dirty-talk type to you, Tucker?" The blond asked, thoroughly exasperated.
He rolled off the younger man and further into the tight confines of the bed until his back was pressed against the wall. Then he reached out to pull Tucker closer into a spooning position with arms wrapped around him and one leg thrown over his to further nestle him closer to his body.
"We're going to sleep now and in the morning, while we struggle with our hangovers, we can talk about where you want this to go."
no subject
Because seriously, what the fuck? They had been getting good, getting hot and heavy, he had a raging hardon and he knew he wasn't the only one. And, sure, they weren't going to have sex, but dude, petting? Dry humping? Mutual masturbation? Something?
But then...that. Then he was held, a tiny spoon against Wash, and Tucker just blinked. The mattress was comfortable and the warmth of the body all around him could make anyone drowsy, but that was the booze talking, that was the fight talking, that was the grief talking. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want
nightmaresto pass out.Apparently, asking for dirty talk was off limits.
"Wash, dude, we were just getting started." He wriggled against, weakly, and the music ended on a high note, his playlist finally over. Silence stretched in the little room, other than a few FINALLY! Thank fucking god it's off! heard through the walls.
"I don't want to sleep," came the small pout. Tucker frowned a little as he turned over under Wash's arm and leg, his face against the other's neck, his chest. He could hear his heartbeat and it was the most calming thing he had ever heard in his life. His eyelids blinked heavily as he looked up at him.
"What do you mean, 'where I want it to go'? Do you already know or something?"
no subject
He audibly signed in relief when the music went off because sorry, Tucker, you were never going to sell him on the virtues of Queen.
When the younger man moved to squirm around in his arms, he didn’t try and stop him and it was only after Tucker got more comfortable that Wash let his arms tighten around the younger man again.
This close, the Sim trooper could smell the curious combination of musk, cordite, gun oil and metal that made up the predominant top-notes of Wash’s scent. But underneath was the barest trace of the spicy smelling soup he liked to use in the shower and strangely enough, vanilla. Maybe it was his shampoo or the shaving cream he used but it wasn’t the sort of scent you would expect out of a hardened ex-spec opts agent.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He murmured into the top of Tucker’s head as he own eyes started to drift shut. “I’d say that speaks of what I want. Now, go to sleep, Tucker. Tomorrow is going to be a long day too.”
no subject
Tucker might have blushed after that, a hint of heat in his cheeks as those arms were suddenly tighter around him, as Wash admitted where they stood. He was there. He was close and in bed and they had fooled around and Wash hadn't taken advantage of him. Maybe it was because Tucker was drunk, maybe it was because Wash gave a shit. Maybe it was because he cared.
"Fuck tomorrow," he whispered. Tomorrow meant seeing Carolina. Tomorrow meant talking to Caboose. Tomorrow meant debriefing and press junkets and facing a day without Church, one of many. He opened his eyes and stared at that Kevlar suit, could feel it against his face, could smell his whiskey breath as against it.
But tomorrow meant Wash would be there, too. So, at least there was that.
"Don't tell me what to do," he murmured, and it was the booze talking. "I...I outrank..."
But the rest was lost in a quiet breath as he finally went to sleep. Or, rather passed out, but it was close enough.