[Open Log] Kinks and Freaks, Oh My!

[lightofdawn]

Hold on tight, hope you ain't scared...

Comments

[cryptos]

No, Wash just liked being able to get up in the middle of the night and not have to worry about breaking a toe because his armor was strewn out everywhere. That, and it lessened the chance of his armor getting knocked out of working order.

Which for a paranoid ex-Freelancer would pretty much be the worst possible scenario at this point.

"I know these lines sound good to you in your head, but you'd think after the amount of times you've struck out, you'd learn by now that they're freaking terrible." Despite his snarky comments, there was no denying the hungry way Wash was looking at him. The blond was most definitely checking him out.

He finally managed to undo the clasps holding his chest piece and pack piece together and carefully set it down as well, thus leaving him at least unarmored from the waist up. Wash wasn't going to take anything else off because he didn't trust himself or Tucker in their inebriated states.

"Be that as it may, I'm not sleeping with you tonight, Tucker. So either take it or leave it." That was just about the last thing he wanted but Wash would put back on every piece of armor he'd shed so far and walk out that door because as was already previously stated, he was lameass buzzkill.

[lovernotafighter]

"Hey! I told you about my strikeouts in confidence, not so they could be used against me later!" His lips screwed in an annoyed little scowl, but he sure as shit didn't miss the way Wash was looking at him, that needy crawl of a hungry gaze over his body. All those strikeouts suddenly seemed negated by the expression on the Freelancer.

And Tucker's look wasn't any better; fuck, Wash looked good unarmored. The amount of times he had seen it could be counted on both hands, but this held a different context, a different meaning. The line of his chest, shit, the hint of his collarbone and the curve of his fucking shoulder fuckfuckfuck. When had everything started to change? When had it started to move into this new territory?

It wasn't just the booze, was it? It just wasn't the fucking Church shit. When he thought Wash had been captured by the other army, he had felt--

"Blowjobs count?" But Wash was predictable so he sighed and rolled his brown eyes as the song next to him changed. "Look, fine, whatever. You can, like, sleep next to me at least. I'll only dream-grope you once or twice."

And he was only half kidding.

His loose legs opened a little on the bed. "Just get the hell over here already before the blue balls start."

[cryptos]

"Tucker, I've seen you hit on and strike out with no less than a dozen women in the time I've known you. All I'm saying is maybe you should get some new material." Yet despite the terrible come-ons, here was Wash with a heated and hungry look in his eyes as he stood there halfway un-armored.

The older man had a pretty spectacular body thanks to the active and fit lifestyle he lived. He wasn't as tall as say Caboose or burly like say Sarge but was a nice happy medium between the two. And thanks to the skin-tight reinforced mesh of the kevlar bodysuit, every well-defined muscle was on display.

"Blowjobs absolutely count." He blandly stated and when Tucker suggested he spend the night sleeping next to him, he looked visibly torn. "I don't think you'd appreciate me crawling into bed with my armor on, Tucker. Learn some patience, would you?" Wash sounded aggravated but his eyes predictably followed the movement of Tucker's legs until there was an inviting space between them that he wanted to crawl up into. It wasn't that Wash didn't want this any less than Tucker did. He just had more control than the Sim trooper and knew that any relationship that got its start in booze was almost certainly bound for failure.

After a moment's hesitation, he reached for the clasps of his lower armor and began to fully divest himself of those heavy metal plates.

[lovernotafighter]

“Apparently, I was just using them on the wrong person, huh, Wash?”

Because none of it was getting lost on Tucker, not those looks, not the path of those eyes. Wash was really good at denying himself and Tucker? Tucker was the opposite; he was indulgent. And right now, he wanted to indulge in a little Freelancer.

But who could blame him? That fucking Kevlar looked so goddamn good on him that it would be all he could think about for nights, for days, for weeks when he would slip off for a little Alone Time. If it looked that good on, then off—

Goddammit, was Wash teasing him? Was that why it was taking this long, because Tucker was only mildly afraid he might pass out from all the booze he drank and what then? How unfair would that be, after all this? Two could play at the teasing game, though, because yeah, his eyes were right where Tucker wanted them to be. Good. Now get the hell over here and kiss me!

Nope, fuck just thinking about it. He opened his mouth, and,

“Fuck patience, come make out with me now, Wash!”

There. Even if it wasn’t in the same as what Wash meant. Even if it was the rudest way of asking him. Even if Tucker would have been happy sleeping next to him in armor, just as long as he didn’t have to wake up alone with pieces of that suit staring at him, reminding him. He’d take cold metal legs any day.

[cryptos]

"So it would seem." Wash agreed with another heated look. There was no denying how much he would love nothing more than to crawl into bed with Tucker and fuck him until they were both sweaty and sated. But Wash just couldn't get over his own moral hangups to do that. They were both drunk and hurting, not to mention it felt vaguely disrespectful considering all they had lost today.

He had to bend down in order to work at removing the armor from his lower legs and Tucker would be treated to the sight of that very nice ass and the long line of Washington's back.

Finally, after what was no doubt an eternity for that impatient Sim trooper, Wash had finished climbing out of that bulky armor. The son of a bitch even lined up his boots against the edge of the bed before climbing onto the bunk.

"If you're this impatient, I'm kind of worried about your staying power, Tucker." Wash teased as he settled in between those splayed legs and he could ease his body weight down on top of the younger man. A mischievous looking smile was flitting at the corners of his lips and Tucker would discover Wash actually had dimples which automatically took almost a decade off of his face. It was such an incongruous expression for the somber and stoic Freelancer.

[lovernotafighter]

Okay, yeah, that bastard was doing it on purpose. Tucker let his eyes roam over that ass, the tight curves from a million laps and probably two million squats every day, and it showed. Hell, it was perfect.

"I'm like the Energizer bunny, asshole." Which was a lie. He had once been told that he belonged in the Old West (i,e, master of the quick draw), but dude, after a few minutes, he was always ready to come back. That had to count for something, especially because after his first climax, he could go for a lot longer if he was interested.

And right now, he was fucking interested.

Wash's weight was comfortable on him, all the pieces fitting where all the pieces should, and he couldn't help but bring his legs in a little tighter on the other's sides to hold him there. Maybe that's what he was doing, not that he had a chance against the Freelancer, but he liked to think maybe he had a shot. "You know, you're the one bringing up staying power, Wash. This mean you're changing your hard stance on no sex?"

Fuck, he felt good. He felt good everywhere, and Tucker's hands ran up the other's back as he leaned in to kiss him again. Dimples. Wash had dimples and Tucker kissed them because they were cute. Fucker never smiled, but he should more. He definitely should more.

[cryptos]

All those leg days had certainly paid off because you could bounce a quarter off that ass. Despite the fact that Was was more comfortable wandering around in full armor 23 hours out of the day, he didn't seem particularly self-conscious about it.

"I have no idea what that is, you do realize that, right?" Oooo but if he had then no doubt Wash would have been making some choice cracks about Tucker's staying power.

Wash had most of his weight resting on his elbows which were stretched out next to Tucker on the bed but he allowed enough of his weight to press down on Tucker that the younger man could feel the semi-hard line of his cock against him.

They fit together nicer, moreso than he might have thought but there was the perfect amount of distance in their heights that neither had to stretch up too far or down in order to kiss each other.

"I have not, ask me again tomorrow when we're both sober." Wash managed to get out before Tucker was leaning up to kiss him once more. It didn't last as long as he might have hoped and for some ridiculous reason, the other man was skimming his mouth along his cheeks, an action he considered protesting before it hit him. Right he'd forgotten about those damned dimples. It had been so long since Wash had seen himself smiling in the mirror or some other way that he'd very nearly forgotten about them.

[lovernotafighter]

"What a surprise to absolutely no one." Ask a question about guns or military strategy or anything of the sort, and Wash could answer it, sometimes (often) with way too much detail. Ask him about pop culture shit or apparently music, and it was all on Tucker. That's fine; he liked being needed.

Dude, Wash was semi-hard. He could feel it, couldn't help but grind his hips up into him in a slow rock. Yeah. Yeah. His own cock was full on hard, but it wasn't his fault when Wash had an ass like that. If you did bounce that proverbial quarter off it, you'd get back two dimes and a nickel.

"You saying you won't like me when you're sober?" He was teasing, only half teasing, and he couldn't help but kiss those silly dimples again. They were cute. Right, left, and back to his lips in the middle, hard, demanding to be felt, to be tasted. His hands found the Freelancer's broad back, blunt nails running along spine, along muscles, around shoulderblades.

"Did you know," he murmured against his lips, the drunken lilt more obvious in his words the lower his voice got, "that you've got dimples? Scary Freelancer has dimples. Never would've guessed it." He slid down, kissing under his jaw as he trailed teeth over his skin. "They're cute, dude. It's now my life's mission to get a picture of you smiling and add it to my wall."

[cryptos]

"Sorry I'm not so well-versed on your ridiculous culture from literally hundreds of years ago. Why don't you make some references from the last hundred years, huh?" Wash grumbled with what could only be described as a petulant twist to his mouth. It was hard to picture the deadly serious Agent Washington as pouting but he sure was pretty damned close to doing that exact same thing right now.

He was semi-hard but the slow rock of Tucker's hips grinding them together like that threatened to bring him to full hardness. The quietest of gasps escaped the former Freelancer and the full body shudder that went through him betrayed just how much he'd enjoyed that.

"Thus implying I like you when I'm sober?" Wash asked blandly with all the deadpan humor in the universe. "It's not like that, I just don't think either of us are in a place right now to be making drunken decisions." He kept talking even as Tucker kissed his way around his face while alternating between each dimple.

"Yes, I'm aware but I fail to see how that is relevant." The tips of his ears were beginning to grow pink with embarrassment. He eased the rest of his weight down on Tucker, just freeing up his hands and he wasted no time in moving to capture the younger man's jaw between his hands so that he could hold Tucker still long enough to kiss him firmly. "Please stop taking."

[lovernotafighter]

"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.

[cryptos]

“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.

[lovernotafighter]

"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?

[cryptos]

“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.

[lovernotafighter]

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.

[cryptos]

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?”

[lovernotafighter]

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."

[cryptos]

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."

[lovernotafighter]

"...huh?"

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?"

[cryptos]

“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.”

[lovernotafighter]

"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.