“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.
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.