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The cafeteria of the provisional government of the New Federal Republic of Chorus is, one, about half the size of its name, and two, pretty sporadically occupied. There’s kind of a boom around sunset, when everyone notices it’s getting dark and trucks in for dinner, and in the morning there’s kind of a steady stream of people grabbing fruit or bagels and then booking it to the workstations, but lunch is more or less randomized. So at the moment, it’s just a bunch of empty, shitty tables and a salad bar all crammed under an overhanging rock shelf, and Wash settled in at the furthest table back, rearranging pieces of salad with one hand and chewing idly on the tip of a pencil.
“Your fork’s in the other hand, Wash,” Tucker said, dropping into the chair next to him. Wash jerked, nearly knocking his helmet off the table.
“What – yeah, I know, Tucker, I was just thinking.”
“What about?” Tucker craned his neck. “Are those diagrams for the fortifications again? We already picked a layout for the fortifications! We spent three hours voting on a layout for the fucking fortifications. Why are the fortifications making you confuse graphite with lettuce?”
“I know, I know, I’m just – double-checking.”
“It’s too fucking late to double-check, dude! We’ve already started building them. I’ve been hauling sandbags around all morning, and let me tell you, if you go out there and tell people to move all the fucking sandbags again because you came up with something more mathematically exact, they’re going to shove all of ‘em up your ass. I’ll help.”
Wash sighed. “You’re right. I just…”
“You’re being a paranoid ex-ops guy about it,” Tucker said. “This is the best layout we’ve got. We worked on the damn thing long enough.” Tucker had slept three hours a night for the last stretch before they locked the designs in.
“Okay, look, maybe I don’t feel right about just sitting around while everybody else works, all right?”
Tucker sighed. “Everybody takes breaks, dude! Kimball fucking ordered it. We’ve got a plan, we’ve pooled supplies, we’ve probably got at least a month before that asshole and his pirates get back here, so now’s the time to fucking hang around and rest and boost morale and shit. You’re not gonna do shit by being too wound up to shoot straight, so chill and eat your lunch. Also, salad? Seriously?”
Wash blinked. “That… was actually a pretty good speech. And I happen to like salad.”
“Of course it was a good speech, I give great speeches,” Tucker retorted.
“No you don’t.”
“You just complimented my speech about having fun!”
“That was one speech. One good speech.”
“It was a speech about, like, your least favorite thing in the world, that’s gotta give me extra points.”
“Relaxation is not my least favorite thing in the world –”
“Oh, I’m sorry, your least favorite thing in the world after getting shot –”
“Ugh.” Wash scoffed, shaking his head, and reached for the papers again. “I give up.”
“Nuh-uh!” Tucker grabbed for the notebook, knocking Wash’s hands away. The pages crumpled. “We just got through talking about this. I won! You’re putting away the stupid fortifications. You’re going to learn how to relax for five minutes. Which reminds me, we have got to get you laid.”
“Tucker –”
“I’m serious, this can’t be healthy,” Tucker said, settling the notebook next to him. “I mean, there are way too many people on this base who are wound to hell, it’s just wrong. I’m about ready to volunteer, that is how badly you need to get laid.” He turned to jab a finger for emphasis, and stopped, because Wash was looking at him, head braced against his hand, eyes evaluative and sharp. And very, very definitely traveling along the length of Tucker’s body. “Holy shit, dude, are you actually thinking about it?”
Wash’s ears turned a brilliant red, but he met Tucker’s eyes, stubborn and unflinching. “It’s been a very long time.”
“How long is long?” Wash wasn’t a bad-looking guy, really, with the spikey hair and the little freckles and the biteable jawline. The stick up his ass was probably an obstacle, though.
Wash’s mouth twitched. “Since I joined the project?”
“Wait, really? Holy shit. That’s years.”
“Yes, well, it was never the right place or the right time.”
“That’s why you fuck in the broom closet, Wash.”
Wash sighed, low and gusty. “That’s not quite what I meant. Incidentally, who have you been sleeping with?”
“Not enough people, I can tell you that.” Tucker snorted. “Okay, but seriously, if you haven’t gotten laid in like eight years I will blow you right now, like, that’s just not right.”
“Tucker, we’re in the middle of the cafeteria.”
“Okay, Jesus, I’ll blow you in like two minutes, this is an act of charity.”
“I don’t need –”
“Oh, c’mon, not like that. Look, do you want your dick sucked or not?” Tucker rolled his eyes, noticing the way Wash was folding and refolding his hands on the table, thumb brushing at the catches on his gloves. It probably shouldn’t have caught him by surprise when Wash sighed again, heavy and low.
“I’m probably going to regret this,” he said, “but yes. If you’re genuinely interested, well… yes.”
“Wait, seriously?” Tucker blinked. “I totally didn’t think that was going to work.”
“If you don’t want to –”
“No, c’mon, this is happening.” Tucker grabbed his arm. “Your room or mine? Mine’s closer.”
“Mine’s cleaner.”
“How the hell do you know that? You’ve never been in my room.”
“Tucker, I’ve met you. My room is cleaner.”
“…fair enough.” Tucker shrugged, shoving himself out of his chair. “We going or what?”
Wash stood too, grabbing for his stuff; Tucker still had hold of his wrist, which probably didn’t help, but some weird instinct made him hang on. It was impossible to feel skin or the pulse of his blood or anything else sexy over the armor, but still.
“This way,” Wash said, jerking his head. He’d done nothing to reclaim his arm, either. Tucker rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, dude, I know where your room is,” he said, and set off. Wash took two steps with him and stopped, blinking.
“Wait a moment,” he said, and coughed. “I don’t have condoms.”
“What? Oh, Dr. Grey gave me the whole anti-microbial billionth-level mega-germpurge a while back, haven’t banged anyone since. We don’t need ‘em, unless you’ve got a real lasting crotch fungus you didn’t tell me about.”
“This is literally the first time I would have mentioned – I don’t have anything, no,” Wash sighed, and followed when Tucker started moving again. He was apparently getting an early start on the walk of shame, shoulders slightly hunched and eyes fixed firmly on the ground, which could be that Wash was just a prude or could be that Wash thought Tucker was really that far below his usual standards, but whatever, Tucker was a fucking catch and the guy wasn’t getting any better offers anytime soon.
Past the doorway, Wash finally tugged free of Tucker long enough to dump his armload on the little table and then turn, holding his arms out to the space. “Well. Welcome.”
“Yeah,” Tucker said, tugging off his helmet. He let it fall. “Hey, just get out of your armor first, okay? That’s not foreplay, that’s just frustrating.”
“Very seductive of you, Tucker,” Wash said, but he reached for the fastenings of his gloves. Tucker rolled his eyes, undoing his chestpiece.
“I’m just trying to be practical here, dude.”
“Sex isn’t practical!” Wash protested, peeling his gauntlets and shoulder guards away. He piled them on the table, on top of his papers. The armor came with a kind of plain kind of shirt-and-pants thing, like really thin sweatpants, to wear underneath; Tucker’d thought about skipping it, once, and then thought about chafing. It clung pretty nicely along Wash’s arms, showing off some bulk to him.
“Of course it’s practical,” Tucker retorted, clicking metal plating away from his wrists. “Endorphins and shit, I just said.”
“Believe it or not, Tucker, I don’t actually get off on practicality,” Wash said, eyes on a patch of floor by his left foot as he fumbled with the fastenings on one shoulder. Tucker sighed.
“All right, fine, if you’re gonna be such a princess about it,” he said, and crossed the room in two quick strides, catching Wash’s face between his hands. Wash started; from there it was the work of about a second to lean in and start kissing the fuck out of him.
It went pretty well; Wash’s mouth fell open in the first start, and from there it was easy, stubborn pressure and a quick scrape of teeth. Wash actually got his tongue involved first, licking along Tucker’s lower lip in a way that made heat settle under Tucker’s skin, and Tucker grinned and sucked at his lip in turn.
“There,” he said, pulling back. “Now can we get the stupid armor out of the way?”
Wash was wide-eyed, a flush rising up his neck; he blinked once, twice, and pulled himself together. His mouth shone red already, which was fucking promising; the surprise on his face edged a little closer to insulting, but hell, Tucker could work with low expectations.
“Princess?” Wash said.
“Oh my god, you know what I meant,” Tucker said. “Unless you’re into that, I mean, if you’ve got a tiara hidden under the bed or something I can work with that.”
“I – no.” Wash coughed. “I don’t have a princess fetish, no.”
“All right, that’s cool. Now can we ditch this stupid armor before we get back to that?”
Wash just nodded, getting back to work.
There wasn’t really any kind of sexy way to take off a codpiece, or if there was Tucker sure as hell hadn’t found it yet (and he’d tried), so he just did it as fast as possible and moved on to the greaves and shoes. Wash actually more or less kept pace with him, military efficiency presumably working out the same as Tucker’s need to get every naked second he could, until they both stood there in… well, still an awful lot of clothes, but at least ones that were made of fabric instead of metal and could reasonably be groped around underneath.
Or, of course, they could stand around and look at each other like a couple of assholes. Wash was watching the floor again, hands plucking at the edge of his shirt in a way that had a lot less to do with sex and a lot more to do with being fidgety and nervous. Although, come to think of it, Tucker’d never seen him do anything like that before. Armor tended to fuck with clothes-fiddling.
“Dude,” Tucker said aloud, “you’re definitely thinking too much.”
Wash flushed; it looked different, somehow, without all the metal and everything. Just a guy a little older than Tucker in soft loose clothes, scruffy helmet-hair that had outgrown its crew cut by now and a shirt that fell away from the pale curve of his neck. “I told you,” he said, “it’s been a long time.”
“Yeah, and I bet you were really smooth before,” Tucker said, looking at the tiny patch of shadow just under where Wash’s jaw curved into his throat. He kind of wanted to bite that, but the space still hung between them, the gap of time between agreeing to do a thing and actually doing it. (Heh. Doing it was right.)
And then Wash straightened, shook his hands out at his sides, stepped forward, and pulled Tucker in to him.
It was a fucking awesome kiss, one of Wash’s hands at the small of Tucker’s back and the other twisted in his hair, tugging just enough to tease. Wash wasn’t the most built guy in the world, but he was still a nicely solid weight to lean against, and Tucker could really do with more of that mouth on his, all hot and sure and just the right amount of tongue.
“No,” Wash said, pulling back, “I absolutely wasn’t. Smooth.”
He was still really close, close enough for Tucker to see his weird blond eyelashes and a weird little scar on the side of his cheek, so it kind of took him a second to tune back in. “That wasn’t rough, dude,” he said, and then felt his cheeks flush hot. Perk of being dark-skinned: totally incognito blushing. Wash ducked his head, a smile sneaking around the corners of his mouth.
“Well, I try,” he said. He leaned in, slowly, and kissed Tucker on the mouth again, close-mouthed and quick this time. It kind of wasn’t a fucking-style kiss, but before Tucker could pursue that line of thought, Wash said, “So, ah… have you slept with men before?”
“What?” Tucker blinked. “Dude. I think you seriously underestimate me, I’m not picky. Sex is sex and sex is awesome, that’s my philosophy. What, have you not?”
“Mostly, actually,” Wash said, shrugging. Tucker’s hand had ended up around his shoulders, somewhere, and he kind of liked how the movement felt. “I like women sometimes, but…”
Tucker shrugged. “Okay, then. So we both know our way around someone else’s dick. Are you leading up to a wishlist here, or did you just want to know?”
“I, ah – no, no wishlist.” Wash was flushing again, not meeting Tucker’s eyes anymore, and okay, things needed to start getting sexy a lot quicker here if anyone was going to get off any time this week. “Just,” Wash continued, “um, whatever you’d like.”
“Sweet,” Tucker said, leaned in, and attached himself to that really tempting place right under Wash’s jaw, because c’mon.
Every single inch of Wash tensed and then relaxed in one sharp gasp of “Oh holy fuck, Tucker, I – fuck!” He grabbed at Tucker, at his hair, his hips, swaying into the touch; Tucker stifled a shit-eating grin for reasons of needing his mouth right now and kept sucking, taking a second to flick his tongue against Wash’s skin. Wash whimpered, fingers digging into Tucker’s skin, and Tucker eased up a little bit – gotta stay just on the right side of painful. He kept it up, though, all suction and tongue as Wash made strangled little noises into his ear, until finally Wash gasped “Okay, okay, enough.” Tucker pulled back, letting that grin escape.
“Jesus Christ, Tucker,” Wash said, reaching up to rub his neck. He left his other hand on Tucker’s waist, fingers spread out. “I’m not going to be able to go outside without my armor for a week.”
“You could always show it off, dude,” Tucker said, grinning at the spreading nebula of purple and red that he’d left on Wash’s throat. “You’re allowed to get laid, you know.”
“I know, I just – I prefer to keep things private,” Wash said, flushing. Tucker shrugged.
“Well, I’ve wrecked your neck anyway, so want me to do the other side?” Tucker asked.
“Oh God yes, do that again.” Wash pulled his head forward, digging his fingers into the spaces between Tucker’s braids and trapping his face next to Wash’s neck, and okay, yeah, Tucker could get into that. And by ‘could,’ read ‘was definitely getting into that, oh baby.’ He worked him over, Wash hissing desperately beside his ear, the pressure of his hand still holding Tucker close. Tucker scraped his teeth over the skin and Wash groaned – quiet, but definite and startling – and pulled him back, faint shocks of pain coursing through Tucker’s skin from his hair on down. It was all kinds of not a bad kind of pain, either.
“Sorry,” Wash gasped. “Didn’t mean to pull.”
“What, my hair? Dude.” Tucker blinked at him. “Are you also gonna apologize if you suck my dick?”
“What – I. Oh.” Wash combed his fingers slowly through Tucker’s braids, wrapping his fingers around the ends and tugging lightly. Tucker let his neck loll where Wash pulled him, tilting back. He could still see Wash glance at his throat, lick his lips and look away. “So you’re a bit of a masochist?”
“I’m not the one begging anyone to bite their neck out, Wash,” Tucker said. “Although, I mean, if you wanna, because you’re sure staring at my neck enough.”
“But you like getting your hair pulled,” Wash repeated, keeping the slow pressure up. Tucker sighed.
“Yeah, I do. Basically any time. Just don’t leave bald spots, okay? That’s not cool.”
“Right.” Wash jerked at him, this time, causing not a slow ache but an electric burst of hurt that pulled Tucker’s whole head back until he had an eyeful of ceiling. “But this is good.”
“I mean, usually when people pull my hair I’m doing something with the rest of my head,” Tucker panted. “But, hey, my dick’s right there if you want to find out whether it’s working for me.”
“Excuse me for trying to communicate,” Wash drawled, but he relaxed his grip, and when Tucker eased himself forward he could see Wash’s gaze aiming definitely low. He thrust his hips forward, grinning.
“Like what you see?”
“You don’t look that excited,” Wash said, but there was a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth, and he hadn’t looked up yet. Tucker sighed, brushing a thumb over one of the hickies – they hadn’t turned out that matched after all, one a few inches lower than the other, but nobody was gonna look at Wash’s neck from any angle and not realize he’d got his dick wet.
“Okay, so do something about that,” he said.
“I’m –” Wash started, scowling, and then paused, looking Tucker slowly up and down. “Take off your shirt.”
“Your hand’s kind of attached to my head, dude,” Tucker pointed out.
“Oh, for –” Wash snorted, grabbed for the hem of Tucker’s shirt with both hands, and yanked up. Tucker sputtered, head (naturally) immediately entangled in about eight miles of black fabric folds. Wash stepped back, hands still on Tucker’s shoulders, looking satisfied. “I’m tempted to leave you like this.”
“Dude,” Tucker said, spitting out shirt. “Not cool.”
“All right, all right…” Wash disentangled him, careful and gentle. Kai would’ve just ripped his shirt or bent his nose back, probably – which was super hot in its way, don’t get him wrong, nothing like knowing somebody couldn’t wait to get to business, but the caution was interesting too. New. “All right, where was I?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“Sometimes people think aloud, Tucker,” Wash said, but he was trailing a hand down Tucker’s chest now, light and tantalizing. “Let’s see…” And then his fingers found Tucker’s nipple, and okay, he knew exactly what he was going for.
“Good plan,” Tucker breathed, shivering as Wash’s hands rolled over his skin. Wash smiled, ducking his head a little bit.
“Well,” he said, “if you complain about sensitive nipples for three months, people start to get ideas.”
“Yeah, and they’re the fucking right ideas, aren’t they?” Tucker said, twitching again. Wash’s other hand was at his waist, keeping him steady, solid and warm.
“You’re shameless,” Wash said, still tracing that single fucking finger over Tucker’s nipple in that steady little circle that made Tucker’s skin feel too tight and too loose and like sparking all at once.
“What’s to be ashamed about?”
Wash hesitated, his finger stilling too, and shrugged. “Fair enough.” And with that, he ducked his head, trailing hot breath and the slow brush of his lips over Tucker’s collarbone, his chest, down to oh hey the other nipple this time, just in case that half of his body wasn’t oversensitive and trembling enough. He was clever about it, slowly circling Tucker’s nipple with his tongue, sucking a bit, and Tucker planted his hands on Wash’s shoulderblades and breathed hard and let the little shivers of excitement roll up through him.
Finally Wash lifted his head, hair mussed from leaning up against Tucker for so long, face still flushed. He smiled, brushing the back of his hand down the center of Tucker’s chest. “That was fun.”
“That’s the point,” Tucker said. “I thought you said you’d done this before?”
“I –” Wash started, stopped, and sighed, a sharp exhalation that made his lips puff out. “You are impossible, you know that?”
“See, most people would say I’m pretty easy,” Tucker said, and Wash sighed again and grabbed his hair, dragged him close to bite a kiss – and some silence – into his mouth.
“Dude,” Tucker said. “Was that just to shut me up?”
“I now understand how gag fetishes start,” Wash said, and then stopped, raising a hand between them. “If you have a ball gag in the closet, just – leave it there, all right?”
“I’m pretty sure there are better ways for you to keep my mouth busy, dude,” Tucker said.
“Tucker,” Wash said. “You’ve already got me in bed. You can stop leering at me now.”
“Says who? Also,” Tucker said, “this is a floor. Which, floor sex is awesome, but I’m just saying –”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Wash said, grabbed Tucker by the waist again, and jerked him around to shove him onto the bed, and okay, Wash’s regular exasperated voice just got about a hundred times hotter.
“Wow,” Tucker contributed. Wash ducked his head.
“Was that okay? I mean, you liked –”
“Yes, Wash, you can shove me down onto the bed,” Tucker said. “Jesus, how have you gotten laid ever? This isn’t a fucking trading rights and tariffs debate!”
“Tariffs?” Wash raised an eyebrow. “Hold on, not the point – look, I just. I don’t want to… take advantage, somehow. All right?” He looked away, cupping one hand around his other elbow, a weird hunched-in way to stand, and Tucker rolled his eyes.
“Okay, dude, get on the bed and let me suck your dick before you explode, you are way too wound up for someone who’s having sex with me,” he said.
“You’re awfully pushy for someone who likes being pushed around that much,” Wash said, but he stepped closer, shaking his arms loose at his sides. Tucker snorted.
“Yeah, when a guy apologizes every time he gets toppy with me I start to think maybe it’s time for me to call a few shots,” he said. “You’ve been bossing me around for months and you never pulled this shit, what the hell?”
“As your commanding officer, it’s my job to give you orders,” Wash said. “Or it was. But as a, a sexual partner, the boundaries are different.”
“Oh, for –” Tucker sighed, because this was making him think about the grappling hook story again, about a soft and grudging forgiveness uncurling underneath the layers of irritation and not-giving-a-fuck, although this time there was nothing to forgive. But there was something about Wash being stupid overcareful, something about the waver from shy to sure to apologetic and around again, that Tucker kind of liked. Not that it was hot, but – it was nice, even if it was kind of in the way, that Wash figured this (he) was worth worrying about. So maybe he didn’t sound quite as annoyed as he might’ve when he said, “Do you want me to blow you or not?”
“I – yes.” Wash licked his lips, stepping closer. “I’d like that.” He reached out, carefully, and settled two fingers underneath Tucker’s chin, tilting up. Tucker caught his breath, glancing from the outline of Wash’s cock in the thin pants to his shining lips to his eyes, sure and stubborn through the embarrassment flushing across his face. “I’d like that a lot.”
“So,” Tucker said. “Do you wanna be on your back for it, do you want me on my knees, is there something…”
“I – on my back sounds good,” Wash said, tongue flickering over his lips again. “If there’s room.”
“I’ll make room,” Tucker said, scooting down towards the end of the bed. Wash hesitated, then sat carefully, pulling his legs up until he was sitting cross-legged on the neatly-made blankets. Tucker was about to despair of him for like the eighteenth time this afternoon, but Wash reached out, slid his fingers through Tucker’s braids in a slowly authoritive curl and pulled him in. They were back to slow melting kisses, apparently, except that Wash kept pulling, leaning slowly back and drawing Tucker with him until they were stretched out, legs tangled, Wash’s cock pressing against Tucker’s hip. Tucker braced his forearms on either side of Wash’s face – suffocating the guy you were fucking? almost never a good plan – and let Wash hold him down, his other hand stroking smoothly up and down Tucker’s chest.
“I’ll say this for you,” Wash said, wry, every exhalation brushing against Tucker’s lips, “it feels like you’ve gotten shot in the front a lot more than the back. Or stabbed, I suppose.”
“What? No, those –” Tucker started, because oh shit, Wash probably meant the C-section scars, which hurt like hell to get and Tucker was kind of proud of surviving that bullshit, but it’s still not like he went charging headfirst into battle or anything. “Tell you later,” he said instead, because bringing up kids was sometimes a dealbreaker and almost always a bonerkiller, and reached in between them for the edge of Wash’s pants. “Yeah?”
“Please do,” Wash said, and Tucker pulled them down and off of him, leaning back enough to see the flicker around Wash’s mouth as his cock sprung free. Self-consciousness or just relief? Who the fuck could tell, but either way, Tucker was going to make sure it got replaced with oh fuck yeah any second now. Tucker whistled.
“All right, not bad,” he said. “Pretty sure mine’s longer, though.”
Wash groaned, and not in the good way. “Tucker.”
“What? It’s for science!” Tucker protested. “Yours is thicker, does that help?”
“Please stop analyzing my dick and put your mouth on it before I walk right back out that door,” Wash said, covering his face with his hand. Tucker snorted.
“This is your room, dude,” he said, “and also, I will pay you to walk out there like this, like, seriously.”
“What? I – oh,” Wash said, glancing down at himself. Tucker tried really hard not to just burst out laughing at the idea of everyone’s faces if Wash actually walked out into the compound with his hard-on waving hello at them all. He tried. There was still some snickering.
“Tucker, for God’s sake –”
“Okay, okay, I’m getting there!” Tucker managed to stop laughing. “I mean, if you want me to hurry up, you can make me.”
“You mean –” Wash started, and just as Tucker was about ready to scream, he stopped and sat up just a little, looking Tucker slowly over. “Tucker,” he said, his voice a little deeper; he was flushing furiously, but back to keeping his eyes locked on Tucker’s, sharp and uncomfortably seeing. “Hurry up and suck me off. Right now.” He settled his hand over the back of Tucker’s neck, a stubborn pressure made of gun-calluses and muscle.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Tucker said, leaned down, and sucked as much of Wash’s shorter-but-thicker dick into his mouth as he could. He wasn’t really up to deepthroating right off the bat, at least not sober, but he had a pretty good sense of how much of the heavy weight of Wash on his tongue he could get before things got bad. It was enough for Wash to gasp, at least, a sharp sound like Tucker had punched him instead of this. Tucker decided not to be offended by the surprisedness of it and pulled back enough to lick a long stripe up and down him, then back up to the tip. Wash tugged at his hair.
“On,” he panted. “Please?”
“Okay, you’re really missing something about the whole topping thing here,” Tucker said, before it occurred to him that he was technically on top of this arrangement. On the other hand, Wash grabbed at him again in a burst of demanding white-hot pain, and Tucker decided to try for a little more of that. He let the head of Wash’s cock brush against his half-open lips.
“Tucker!”
Tucker rolled his eyes back to look at Wash, and smirked. “Make me.”
Wash twisted at his hair to keep him still and snapped his hips up, and Tucker took it happily; Wash didn’t push in any further than Tucker’d already taken him, just up to that point, and Tucker rolled his tongue against the underside of his head and listened to Wash actually groan. He hummed around the length of him, making it as smug as he could make a totally nonverbal sound.
“God, that’s good,” Wash whispered, and it caught Tucker off-guard and shivered through him, a ghosting heat in his face and his eyes and in the hot pool of want in his gut. Wash was so quiet about it, like a half-heard little confession, like it wasn’t even meant as praise for Tucker – which, Tucker was all about praise, but hearing Wash talk like Tucker’s mouth was, was a dose of painkillers he’d been pretending not to need or some shit? Fuck yeah, he’d take that. He hummed again, and pressed his tongue into the soft saltiness of his slit. “God,” Wash breathed again, fingers stuttering in Tucker’s hair; it was a rough, distracted thing, and it gave Tucker enough slack to pull back, leave Wash’s cock brushing at his lips again.
“Can I use my hands?” he asked, and ended the sentence with a quick flick of his tongue against the tip of Wash’s dick for style points. Wash hissed.
“Yes – please – I mean, your mouth too, but. Yes.” So Tucker grinned and wrapped a hand around him, rubbing his thumb over Wash’s cockhead while he ran his tongue up and down the sides, trying to keep it unpredictable. Wash just kept fucking making noise, not loud sounds but a steady rush: a whimper when Tucker traced the tip of his tongue along a vein, a choked-off grunt when Tucker tightened his hand and jerked at him, a startled gasp when Tucker braced his own weight against an elbow and ran careful fingers over Wash’s balls and back behind them, and when Tucker sucked him down again he earned a muffled cry. When he looked up, Wash had his own fist shoved in his mouth, biting vicious marks into his own whitened knuckles to stifle the noises that Tucker was coaxing out of him. Because of course Wash was going to get all weird and self-conscious about this and refuse to scream the roof down or whatever, and apparently that was what it took for Wash to keep quiet when Tucker wanted him to feel good. Tucker’s mouth on Wash’s cock was good enough that Wash had to practically chew his own hand off to keep quiet.
Tucker breathed a noise somewhere between a hum and a whine, squirming down against the bed; Wash twitched up, just then, and it pushed him right to the edge of a gag reflex, but it also pulled a groan out of Wash that practically echoed, hand or not. If Tucker’d known Wash appreciated head this thoroughly he’d have started blowing him two years ago, because holy fuck. He himself probably didn’t look amazing, with his feet hanging off the end of the bed and the fact that he was practically humping the mattress, but Wash wasn’t looking; Wash was gasping into his hands, his thighs trembling against Tucker’s shoulders.
“Fuck,” Wash panted, “I – Tucker – I – fuck, I,” and then the first spurt of saltiness hit the back of Tucker’s throat, and okay, usually Tucker was more of a facials guy, but he swallowed that and kept his mouth wrapped around Wash’s dick through the next burst and the next, keeping the movement of his hand carefully up. Wash wanted him to take his load, he could do that.
Finally Wash exhaled, collapsing: hips dropping heavily against the bed, his thighs gone still and steady, his fingers loose and light as he cradled Tucker’s head. “Sorry,” he breathed. “I meant to warn you.”
“It’s cool, you’re not subtle,” Tucker said, pulling off. “Besides, I can totally take more than that.”
Wash cracked one eye open, squinting. “Is that so.”
“Yeah,” Tucker said, sitting up. Wash’s hand slid down to the mattress, dead weight. Tucker was awesome at dicksucking. Wash actually looked kind of funny like this, softer than usual: naked except for his hiked-up shirt, his lips all red and his cheeks all flushed, his dick softening against his thigh and shining with spit, his hand bitten red and white around the knuckles, all of him limp and boneless. He was breathing hard too, harder than Tucker’d ever seen him.
“You’re smirking,” Wash said, faintly suspicious. Tucker decided to take the fact that it was faint suspicion as a sign of how awesome he was at giving head, if Wash was too drained to care about something that looked like trouble.
“I’m pretty sure I just successfully fucked the stick out of your ass with nothing but my mouth, it’s called being smug,” Tucker retorted. He didn’t squirm – it would kind of ruin the smug part – but he wanted to; he was hard still, sensitive and flushed, and he wanted to come already. It was kind of hard to shove his pants down around his feet when sitting on his heels, but he’d had plenty of practice, and he was just getting a hand around himself when Wash grabbed at him.
“Tucker, wait.”
“What?” Tucker stopped as soon as Wash’s hand touched his arm, but he glared. “I did not sign up for orgasm denial, dude, c’mon.”
“What? No.” Wash pulled himself up, moving his hand from Tucker’s forearm to the inside of his thigh. His hand was still shaking a little. “I just… give me a second, all right?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Oh, for – I’m not going to make you get yourself off, Tucker,” Wash sighed. “Just let me breathe for a minute.”
“It’s not like I mind,” Tucker said, blinking. He’d actually done this a lot, with Kai, before they’d lost track of each other – eat her out for like an hour and then sit back and jerk off all over her stomach and breasts while she grinned up at him, the show of it all running through him like electricity. They’d agreed that if there were any cameras on base they could make a killing as porn stars.
But apparently this was going to be some kind of a big deal for Wash, who was settling himself between Tucker’s knees, running his fingers over the bare skin of Tucker’s thigh above his pants, so Tucker shrugged and braced his weight on his elbows. “I’m not gonna turn down a handjob, though,” he added.
“Mmm.” Wash brushed a thumb over the crease where Tucker’s thigh met his hip, and Tucker twitched. “It’s the least I can do.”
“It is seriously weird that you’re all polite in the sack,” Tucker said, squirming a little so his cock bumped against Wash’s bare knee. It wasn’t enough to really help with anything – no real friction, no pressure – but Wash snorted.
“Will it make you feel better if I tell you to shut up and let me get you off?”
“As long as you don’t actually expect me to be quiet about it,” Tucker said.
“That’s fine,” Wash said, and wrapped a hand around the base of his cock.
“Ohhh yeah, baby,” Tucker breathed, rolling his hips up. Wash smiled, just a small quirk of his lips, and jerked at him hard enough for Tucker to gasp. “Aw yeah, make me come all over…”
“That would be the plan,” Wash murmured, bracing his free hand against Tucker’s shoulder. The guy had freckles on his neck, Tucker noticed, a little cluster just by one of the brilliant hickies Tucker had left on him, and then Wash traced his thumb over the head of Tucker’s dick and he stopped caring about freckles.
“Fuck that’s good,” he gasped, letting his eyes fall half-closed. “Oh, please keep doing that, c’mon…”
“If there’s anything else you want, just as –” Wash stopped, closing his mouth and stilling his hand, which made Tucker scowl at him. “If there’s anything else you want, let me know and I’ll decide whether you can have it,” he said slowly, meeting Tucker’s eyes. Tucker grinned.
“Fuckin’ sold,” he said. Slowly, Wash’s thumb ran over the slit of his dick.
“So. Is there anything?”
“Please don’t stop touching my dick,” Tucker said, rolling up against his hand. Wash snorted.
“Funnily enough, I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, slowly rubbing against the underside. “Anything else?”
“Uhh…” It was getting hard to talk; Wash did something that hit Tucker like a fucking lightning bolt, and he groaned as sluttily as he knew how, letting his head fall back. “Ahh, baby, yeah… play with my balls?”
“I think I can manage that,” Wash said, sounding a little strangled, but he trailed his hand down from Tucker’s shoulder over his ribs, stomach, thigh, a gentle counterpoint to the sharp heat of his hand pulling steadily away at Tucker’s cock. He slid one hand back, easing Tucker’s legs a little further apart – always a good one – and yep, that was Wash’s palm rolling carefully over his balls. Tucker moaned again.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” he breathed.
“Glad to hear it,” Wash muttered, and his hands tightened so suddenly that Tucker’s whole body jumped.
“Fuck, please do that again,” he choked, clutching at the blankets. Wash grinned, and leaned in to kiss his throat.
“I didn’t know you were this easy to please,” he said, lips just brushing the curve of Tucker’s ear, his hands still jerking at him quick and steady while Tucker struggled to breathe.
“How – did you – not know I’m easy,” he managed to gasp, as Wash flicked a finger against his head. “C’mon, I –”
“I didn’t – oh, forget it,” Wash said, adding the pressure a little bit, and Tucker groaned loud enough to startle even himself. “Are you close by now, or are you always this loud?”
“I’m a fuckin’ screamer,” Tucker panted, and then whined – he was losing track of what exactly Wash was doing with his hands, just that it felt so fucking good, that it made every nerve and muscle in his body tighten and shudder, that it filled him up with humming heat. “But I’m close – fuck, Wash, just a little more, please, I wanna –”
“That’s the point,” Wash said, and Tucker groaned and collapsed, coming all over his hands and their intertwined thighs in three heavy, shuddering breaths.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed.
“Mmm.” Wash straightened, slowly shaking his hands. “Fuck, I need to find a towel or something.”
“Oh, come on, just use the sheets,” Tucker said, stretching his legs out along the bed. His feet were tingling. Wash sighed.
“That’s disgusting, Tucker.”
“You can wash them afterwards, dumbass,” Tucker said easily, leaning back on his elbows. He was warm and easy, comfortable, and he had a freckly naked guy in his bed – or, okay, other way around or they wouldn’t be arguing about sheets, but still. For a freaky war-torn planet, life was good.
Wash rolled his eyes. “Stay here, I have a clean towel in the closet.”
“I’m not moving,” Tucker said, and yawned as Wash levered himself carefully free. There was some rattling around in the bathroom, a thump and a quiet curse that made Tucker snort. He closed his eyes, and then blinked when terrycloth brushed over his thigh out of fucking nowhere.
“What?” He blinked his eyes open and found Wash kneeling next to him, wiping him off. “Dude. I can do that.”
“Just – hold still,” Wash said, turning pink around the ears. He’d already cleaned himself off, although there was definitely a stain at the edge of his shirt. Tucker kind of hoped he wouldn’t notice for a couple of days; it was kind of funny, thinking about Wash going around all the fortifications and everything and not realizing he had that little mark of Tucker’s love juice hidden under his armor.
“You already can’t keep your hands off me, huh?” Tucker asked. “Like, I know I’m hot, but it’s been five minutes.” Wash rolled his eyes at him, but his hands stayed gentle, carefully cleaning off Tucker’s thighs and his stomach and brushing super-carefully over the sensitive skin of his dick. The contact made him twitch anyway, but it was kind of nice, made him feel all warm and settled-down.
He’d kind of expected Wash to ignore him other than the eye-roll, but after a few minutes he exhaled slowly, sitting back on his heels. “This is what I do,” he said. “It’s not that I particularly mind casual sex, but I’ve always felt that, well, if you’re going to do this, you should be good to each other. Even if it’s just for a little while.”
“I’m not going to be hurt if you don’t clean my jizz off me, dude,” Tucker said slowly.
“I realize that, but –” He gestured with the towel, shrugging. “This is how I operate.”
“Yeah, you said that.” Tucker shrugged. “Hey, I’m down for a little pampering if it makes you feel good about it. Go on.”
“Well, you’re pretty much cleaned off,” Wash said, but he rubbed his bare hand cautiously over Tucker’s knee. “And – oh, for.” He glanced across the room, scowling. “It’s almost fifteen-hundred hours.”
“Aw, shit.” Tucker sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head. “You gotta go, right? And I need to talk to Kimball pretty soon anyway.”
“Yes.” Wash sighed, slowly levering himself off the bed. “Well. Here’s your shirt.” Tucker took a moment to appreciate his ass while he leaned over to get it.
“Thanks,” he said, pulling it over his head. “Your pants are by the bed here,” he added, pulling his own back on.
“I saw, thank you,” Wash said, a little stiffly, looking down at himself as he stepped back into them. The quiet stayed with them as they got their armor back on, piece by piece, until finally they were both standing by the door, helmets under their arms, waiting. Wash coughed. Tucker noticed there was still just the edge of a hickey visible, back behind his ear.
“Well, thank you again,” he said. “That was… good.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Tucker said, smirking. He paused, one hand on the door. “Hey, since you’re all sentimental about this and shit…”
Wash glanced up. “Yes?”
“Here.” Tucker leaned in and kissed him quickly, a super unsexy brush of lips. “Seeya. Gotta go.” And with that, he shoved the door open, but he still managed to glimpse Wash ducking his head to hide a smile.
Tucker was whistling as he left.