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"Where did these people get so much fucking hardware?" ~ It's a run for your money ~ It was just a follow-up job. "Tell me about-" A pine tree exploded, needles and snow raining so far around it tickled his nose. ~ Or a run for your life ~ "I think you missed, buddy!" he shouted across the rocky slope toward his partner's cover: a bush with aggressively prickly leaves. It wasn't a shock that his grenade didn't hit its mark, considering the amount of foliage in the way - and the fact that their pursuer didn't touch the ground. ~ Take the suitcase, take the honey ~ "Up yours!" They'd visited this weather station before, making a foray for Freelancer, and now this was a Movement-guided mission to look into what, exactly, the Director had seen there in the first place. ~ Take a bitch for a ride ~ While not a direct hit, the grenade did knock the security guard off the turret mounted on the balcony, and both fell back out of sight with a peal of tearing metal and cursing. The blast also kicked a pine cone into one of the drone's rotors, tilting its gun up and away long enough for the ex-Freelancer to take aim with his pistol. KLINK - the bullet kicked off the rim of the armored plating, just missing its crunchy innards. "Shit," he cursed at his last round and tucked the pistol back into his belt. The drone mulched up the pine cone, righted itself and cut loose with its automatic rifle, turning his own pocket of trees into splinters and sap. He bolted through the vaporized evergreen to crouch behind a boulder on the riverbank. The stereo in his arms didn't mind the interruption, playing its bawdy song all the louder. ~ But don't go crying, when it all goes awry ~ They weren't allowed to ask questions at the time, per Freelancer's usually cryptic briefings. They had infiltrated a locked bunker beneath the research facility, recovered a "coffin" - not your run-of-the-mill lock-box - and then never saw it again, once it passed into the Counselor's hands. Short of raiding Freelancer HQ itself to find out, Agents York and Washington decided to backtrack and see what clues the weather station left behind. Except, it was fortified now. Extremely. "Fucking THROW IT!" Wash barked, and it took a beat for York to realize he meant the stereo, not the grenades he'd run out of, himself. When the drone spotted them - perhaps because York accidently hit a loud button - they hadn't finished recording their findings to the tape deck, so he panicked and grabbed the whole thing, local music station a'blaring. He'd have to revel in the imagery of jumping off a balcony while holding a boombox blasting rebellious mash music later, when they weren't getting hunted down by a kill-copter. He lobbed the stereo over the boulder. ~ That's how the coke crum-KRA-BZZZZT-! It bounced and skated across the frozen river, only coming to a stop thanks to three high-velocity rounds ripping its innards out its speakers and blowing the concert to bits. There wasn't a moment to relish the silence soaking into the wounded trees. York returned a nod from the bushes, and in a blink both ex-Freelancers were sprinting down the rock-and-ice-hewn ravine. The drone's gun swivelled behind its glass eye to track them. "Sonuvabitch!" The report off the ice was twice as loud as the machine gun, and with as little warning the river fractured and tipped the world sideways. Another round streaked past York's head, strangely muted beneath the crackling around his feet. He tried to sink his claws into something that felt like ground, while the entire chunk of ice he was straddling spun towards some hungry rapids. CRUNCH - His purchase shattered and slipped between his toes. He clambered out of the water and over a bank, feet leaving fat commas after the bullets punctuating the snow. The drone swerved into view from the other side, and York rolled out of another burst of gunfire. He had to catch a frothing stone to keep from tumbling over a waterfall. "Get down!" York looked away from the drop - it wasn't a pretty thirty feet - found the drone's gun levelled like a spear at his heart - felt the click through the air of a hammer, the kick of another round - It was like crashing through wet cement, the black foam knocking his wits out, and it was maybe-seconds-maybe-minutes before he got a good gulp of sky. York latched onto the first rock he found, looked wildly around - saw the tail of the drone disappear over the top of the waterfall. He remembered to breathe when a shock of yellow spit out of the water next to him. "Fucking shit, fuck fuck geezus, fuck that thing!" Then he remembered to swear. "Holy hell, that sucked," York agreed as he sidled out of the river after Wash. They stood on a bank of wet pebbles, dripping and disheveled. "You okay?" Wash asked. York swallowed, saving his panting breath for what was feeling to be a much longer trip than expected. He was amazed to have not gashed himself bloody on any of those hideous rocks. "Yeah, shit. I think. Looks like we lost that fucker. Feel like a big fat ice pop, though. How far back to the truck?" Wash snarled and shook the wrist-bound tech on his left arm. "Goddamn pockcom's shorted out. I can't get RPS, or fucking radio or anything." York's shoulders and tail sagged. "Wonderful." "I'm going to personally rip Jenkins' goddamn arm off and club him with it when I see him," Wash continued, flailing the failed device. "He said this was waterproof!" York sighed and strained to pick up their spirits. "All right, Captain Cruelty, hang on to that bloodlust until we get back to our gear, at least." He looked up into the snowflakes falling fresh from the slate clouds with a grimace. "Maybe it'll help keep us from freezing to death." They started north-east - so they thought, judging by their graceless exit from the west-side balcony - and through the trees around the far perimeter of the facility, looking for landmarks that would tip them off to their vehicle's hiding place. Yet Sampi's signature snow flurries chased them, went ahead of them, smothered them from above and below - it felt like the weather station itself summoned a spirit to haunt them. Then the wind came down from the mountain, and they were terrorized by a proper blizzard. York realized they might be in trouble for real, this time, when their visibility was reduced to sideways static that blotted out the trees. He checked behind him, teeth chattering too hard to call to his partner, much less wonder aloud if they'd made a serious error in their navigation - or their entire mission. York squinted at the puddle of grey behind him. "...Shit," he let the wind eat his curse, and waddled back through his tracks to dig Wash out of a drift. Holding the inert, tiny body under his arm told York enough - they had to abandon pushing forward and double back into the woods to find shelter. The storm was so fierce, it was a fight to the nearest visible object. There, found a tree - found its roots in the snow - found some rocks in the roots - found some roots through the rocks - found a crevice, a break in the weather, a pocket of air that didn't bite. York slipped down into the cave, partner in tow. He had to take care not to bump his head on the dangling roots and bring down a rain of frozen soil - made for tall folks, this cave was not. With the angled rocks and odd holes in the wall, it wasn't a perfect shelter, but he would take slightly freezing over an open march into certain frostbite. "Hey." He slapped his partner up against the wall - and then in the face with his open hand. "HEY, Wash, wake your popsicle ass up." The blow knocked a sneeze out of him, and Wash blinked furiously. "Wha-? The f-fuck - y-you hit me?" "Uh huh, you're welcome," York affirmed. "I found this cave. Looks like we're bunkering down until the storm passes." Wash hunched over with a hard shudder. "Oh, g-geezus," he whispered, slowly catching up to being rescued from a snowy grave. "T-Thanks." York partook of another shiver, himself. He looked over the thick glaze of ice on the fur of his arms, the tip of his nose, his pants - god, it was everywhere. The one time he wore a shirt to a mission, thinking it would get a little bit nippy outside, and it didn't help at all. He gave Wash a rough pat on the arm, watching more frost flake off his jacket. "Get out of these clothes, man. Shit's all frozen." "Wha-" Wash huffed, reflexes bogged in a slurry. "Uh. Right, right." They stripped to their under-shorts and beat their ice-starched clothes on the rocks, to disappointing effect. After some time, York had enough dry material to lay out and pretend it was a sleeping mat - better bedding than sheer stone, anyhow. He looked to Wash, and found him making lousy progress in comparison. York liked to dress light ("Easy and breezy is my style," he'd quip), while Wash typically wore thick layers, which would have been an advantage here, before they took a dip in the river. He gave a final tsk at his wet shirt and let it flop to the floor. York could have laughed at how ragged he looked, but tempered it with a chuckle of sympathy. "Com'ere skinny," he offered, pulling Wash over to his scanty bedding. His partner groaned, settled into a clumsy cuddle, and they rubbed each other's shoulders to drag out some warmth. A little while ticked by, gazes drifting around the cave and listening to the howling storm. When their arms grew tired, York simply held his partner and leaned back, savoring as much body heat as he could get. Wash reached for his jacket - the closest article of clothing to being dry - and draped it over them like a blanket. It was too small to do a lot of good, but York didn't gripe. Washington hoarded over gripes like embers in a dying trash fire, his last self-sustaining source of warmth. "What I wouldn't give to be back at the truck right now." "Yeah." "The truck with all our gear." "...Yeah." "And the radio." "Uh-huh." "And blankets. And hot packs." "...yep." "I can't fucking believe..." The bitterness in his voice lost its edge. Wash closed his eyes and pressed his nose into York's shoulder. "I'm-m sorry. Sorry, sorr-y-y." York blinked. "Geh? What're you sorry about?" "T-This mission. I just... I f-fucked up the prep. We could've h-hid the truck somewhere better, we could've brought the gear in with us, I-I just..." A rattling sigh. "We're g-going to die in this stupid blizzard and it's my fault. I'm so sorry, York." "Oh." He let the blame stew there a moment, stirring it with some latent pangs - spikes of frustration and worry since crawling out of that river, and a special prick at the base of his tail that hadn't left him alone the whole way. He could let Wash take the fall for all this, but it didn't soothe a bit of his conscience, much less help anyone, and... he didn't know. He liked to keep his dark thoughts on a tight leash. York realized he had left his partner hanging out to dry, so-to-speak. He reached up and wiped a suspicious snowflake out of the corner of Wash's eye. "Ey, don't go blubbering on me. It's... it's fine, buddy. Shit just happened. Not like you could predict any of this. We're going to be okay." A sheepish cluck chased that thought. "And, you know... and it WAS me that alerted the guard." Wash snickered and shivered harder. "Y-Yeah, you d-did." "Accidentally! That radio button was like, right next to the record button." "S-Sounds like a problem f-for your b-b-big f-fat fingers." "Ouch! You're not complaining about these big, fat fingers keeping your butt warm right now." He stroked Wash's backside for emphasis. His partner's tail rose oh-so-slightly at the touch. "M-mmhmm." "But hey, how cool was that, when we jumped that balcony? I wish somebody was recording that. It had like, a get-away theme song playing for us and everything." Wash saved his breath and nuzzled deeper into his partner's burly arms. "M-Mmm-h-hmmm." York squeezed him, giving him all the warmth he could muster. If only it was the first time he'd held his partner's wiry frame close and felt how distinctly small Wash was - if only he hadn't carried this deceptively frail little body out of mob fights, and gun fights, and jail cells multiple times in their fantastically violent careers. York just wanted them to survive this scrape, so he could rub this whole episode in his face later - make it a joke, something funny to tell around the bar with CT. Yeah, survival, and spite, and... "Heh," York sniffed as a rogue jape crossed his mind. "Too bad you're not a dame. This is the kind of scenario you always read about in Ringers. 'Dear Ringers, I was trapped in a blizzard with this hottie, and they were going to freeze to death if we didn't strip down and cuddle, and one thing led to another...'" Wash opened his eyes just enough to roll them. "Tch, right, I'm a-a real damsel in g-goddamn distress." "Not with that attitude, you won't be." "L-Lord. If only you could actually put that horny energy into s-starting a fire for us." "Yeah, the kind of wood I have right now doesn't make good kindling." Umbrage rolled across Wash's brow, and York felt him tense away from his shorts just an inch. "Geezus. Y-You didn't take an aphro before THIS mission, did you?" York pushed a funny little cloud out his nostrils, remembering not to laugh too hard if he wanted to keep his hot air. "Nah... this ruff's all natural. Good timing, I guess. It's keeping me warm where it counts." Another snort at a duly absurd thought. "What about you? Still on inhibs?" "Tch, no," Wash answered. "N-Not at the moment." "Huh. Good. Told ya, they're cancer." "Hrnn-n-n." York couldn't tell if it was a grunt of annoyance or amusement, iced over with another fit of shivers. It grew quiet. A little while passed, bodies pressed together under their one flimsy jacket. York kept his arms folded carefully around his partner, hands rested on Wash's back in a way that wouldn't ruffle his modesty. The shivering didn't make it feel less awkward. The cold was creeping past the toes York stopped feeling a couple of hours ago, and he was sure the rock walls weren't doing his muscles and joints any favors. He answered Wash's shivers with strokes of his thumb through frost-matted fur, his dwindling energy spent on silent reassurance. After a spell he blinked, chin swerving out of a nosedive and tongue lurching back from a cliff that tasted like grey, gunmetal, the copper bled dry. Somewhere in the time he skipped the jacket had slipped off their shoulders, barely clinging against whips of icy air that kept intruding on their foxhole and making the gaps in the rocks whistle. York groaned, shifted from one numb glute to the other, and prodded his inert partner. It was like starting a rusty lawn mower - Wash seized up, breathed sharply through his muzzle and started shivering again. York turned a glance outside. The blizzard didn't look anywhere near finished. He wasn't prone to worry, but the storm was battering the walls of his cautious optimism a little thin. How much longer could they hold out like this? What if he dozed off again and lost whatever threadbare grip on warmth they had? How would she get out of this situation, laugh it off like another training gaffe, tell him to focus on doing better next time, coyly nudge that appletini across the bar and say it's their little secret, she won't tell the other guys- The key hanging over his heart stung like an ice pick. He stopped thinking about it. "Mh-" He cleaved his tongue from his teeth, the weird click popping his eardrums. That's what he got for snoring with his mouth open, he supposed. His breath didn't make those little clouds anymore, which was probably not good. He could have paid more attention to the Freelancer training sections on sub-zero survival, if he wanted to be certain how well they were biting the dust out here. "Hey." A beat, only answered with discordant shivering. York squeezed him, one claw pointedly digging into the waistband of his shorts. "Hey." "Hnn," Wash responded, hardly batting an eyelid. "Yeah," York roughly agreed. Too cold, too tired. The worst part for him, personally, was the trickling sensation of his own ruff freezing off. He would've taken the consolation of the cold putting a damper on his seasonal urges, but no - he was stuck sitting on an itch in his loins that was (almost) worse than frostbite, and what was really killing him was the idea that he could be back at the base by now, taking care of his sex in the comfort of a hot little bunk. Instead, his favorite post-mission ritual was curtailed by freezing to death. It was too bad - ironic, even, if he understood irony correctly - because nothing would warm his bones faster than... York squinted at his own thought. He wasn't sure if he was being stupid, loopy or flat-out crazy. He decided to go for crazy. York eased into the proposition by stretching his limbs, making a show of discomfort. "Oof. That's it. I'm gonna jerk off." He didn't wait for Wash's reaction, but it definitely found a voice once York sidled up the wall for better purchase and tugged down his shorts. "W-What?" "Yeah, figure it'll thaw me out. I ain't waiting here all day to get the bluest balls of all time, man. Care to join me, or you just gonna sit there?" The idea - ludicrous as it was - animated Wash enough to snort. "Y-You c-can't be serious." York summoned the nerve to pull his hands into the open and rub the palms together, building up a touch in the pads that was less death-like. "The York's always serious about sex. It'll do you some good, too, you know - get the blood flowing." A wink, to inject some cheek into his pitch. "That's science." "I d-don't think..." Wash mumbled, dropping the rest of that thought as he tried to prop himself up and away from York's trunk. Instead he slid off his side, shivering fiercely, and York reflexively threw his arm around to steady him. His next snort was more sardonic than affronted. "...couldn't if I want-t-ted to. Everything's f-frozen down t-there." "Heh." York's smirk turned brighter at the invitation to push the joke. "If that's your only objection..." He started on himself, hissing at icy claws that squeezed his eyes shut - but worked through it, kneading sensations into his groin that were warm and pleasant. "Mmm... yeah... we might be short on kindling, but I still know how to start a fire." Wash was absolutely alert now, and looking flighty as fuck. His gaze flitted around the cave, seeking a perch that wasn't York's burgeoning erection. York found his nervous twitching perversely delightful - he wondered how far he could push this. "Just need a little... ah... friction..." His thumb circled a leaking tip, giving himself some vigorous lubrication. "Ah... here..." "...Um," was all Wash said. It left York wondering why he wasn't bothering to unglue himself from his hip - or move at all. "And here..." York took his sticky-warm hand and drove it down Wash's front. "Geezus!" Wash sat up, finally moving - not exactly away, if not trying to stay. He teetered on York's lap, steadying his shaking breath, and didn't resist the sandy-furred hand creeping through his shorts. Unlike the coarse hairs of his back, the fur around his crotch was - well, if not soft, fine, York decided. Not what he expected. "Come on out, little buddy," York crooned as he squeezed the sheath, making Wash sputter some absurdity. Judging by the emerging tip, York's technique seemed to be effectively embarrassing and arousing at once, which made his grin broaden. "York," Wash growled, warning but not threatening, and definitely not looking, attention turned inward. York held still, enraptured by the precipice - this could fall either way. York didn't really know where Wash stood on... anything like this. York was always tossing around jokes and innuendo with the other guys and gals in the cell, and flirting with their contacts, but that kind of talk always bounced off Wash's short, bristly pelt without comment. For the longest, the closest he got to discerning his sexuality was during their (hilarious) drunken debate about masturbation and libido inhibitors, using combat efficacy as an argument. All York learned there was that his little combat buddy had a sex drive worth suppressing, which was encouraging, he supposed. Then he heard about that fling with Tex, which made perhaps the one instance he was tempted to punch a woman (and thanks to her, he learned not to punch above his weight-class.) And it wasn't that Tex passed on York to sleep with Wash (though that stung his pride), but rather the details of that not-too-consensual encounter that raised York's hackles. He didn't realize until later how like-minded he was with CT, in that regard - wanting to protect their friend from being used. But he definitely wasn't jealous, like he accused CT of being. Probably. Oh - what if CT has a secret crush on Tex? She's slept with women before, to hear it straight (hah) from Connecticut's mouth. Maybe it's one of those hot hate hook-ups. Okay, so maybe he's been reading too many stupid romance novels. He should focus on the task at hand. ...heh. Wash moved - forward, warily, like a feral cat creeping towards a proffered treat - and rested a hand on York's shoulder. York heard him swallow before pressing his hips into York's, trapping the latter's hand between them. York could feel his partner's heart drop into his groin, and he closed his fingers around that warm, pleasant throb. Wash wilted with a little moan. "York, please." "Please what?" York coaxed his partner's arousal with a soft squeeze. Wash made a non-commital noise that only riled York's ruff harder. "Go on," he rumbled. "Tell me what you want." This wasn't supposed to be actually hot. He didn't want to take advantage of this - of his comrade and friend, that is. Honest to god, at first York was just screwing with him. That Wash apparently wanted to be screwed threw York for a loop. Did he have these feelings all along? Was it just nerves and cold? Or was he simply starved for touch - it was sad how easily York could believe that, given how little Wash took care of himself. He just needed to hear that he wasn't going crazy, after all. "I, ah..." Wash opened his eyes, looked down at... all that happening, and then met York's wondering look with... strange determination. It was new. "I want to come with you." There, he had his answer. York could hardly believe it. He had his stiff-necked prude of a partner - unbearably straight-laced, squawked like a little shrine maiden when York brought a dirty magazine into the locker room - melting in the palm of his hand and asking for sex. York's free hand felt around and cupped Wash's bottom - and okay, he never had a reason to say so before, but he'd noticed in the past that it was a fine little ass. He could imagine Wash getting high marks in Tex's black book just for the ass. Wash helped him, shuffling to pull his shorts all the way off. His tail bristled in a delightful arc behind him. The jacket had slipped down, exposing them both to the frigid air. They were fine without it. His one hand was big enough to handle them both. York was simply bigger all around, and he always drew pride from that, but it hadn't crossed his mind before how utterly sexy a shorter guy could be, fitting snugly in his lap and matching his strokes, length-to-length. York braced himself against the contoured rock and closed his eyes, letting himself feel it through - he could tell by the pitch of his moans and the shift of his weight when Wash hit a note closer. York worked a little harder, and faster, drawing it out, letting his tongue loll out as his head bumped against the cave wall, feeling something good and better and then- "Ah...!" "Ohfuck-!"
York felt his orgasm slip through, and another one parallel to it. Wash made a very funny, harsh sound that probably hurt his lungs in this climate, but damn if it wasn't worth hearing once. He was treated to it twice, in fact, the second taking a pitch near a whimper as York pumped their malehoods an extra bit, just to be thorough. The warm splashes onto his abdomen told him it was a good move. York breathed, breathed again, and looked at Wash, savoring the way he trembled more with pleasure than cold. York pulled his hand away from their tender lengths, pressed it into the small of Wash's back and pulled all the way up, dragging the smaller male into a full embrace. Wash yelped with surprise but quickly settled against his thrumming chest, surrendering into a purring mess. York dimly realized how nice it was to hear that flavor of sigh from his partner - contented and relaxed, for a change. York cracked a lazy grin, warming his cheeks with some of that brilliantly spent energy. "Heh. Hot enough for you?" Wash blinked unevenly. The line between dazed and debauched never looked finer than that half-lidded stare. "York..." he panted, and after a moment a grim look settled in. "You know the adrenaline and - whatever else, we did - is going to wear off and we'll be right back where we were, if not worse." York rolled up some exasperation. "Lord, you're a bucket of cold water already. I just bought us some time, okay?" He waggled his brow for effect. "Some damn good time, if I say so myself." "Hmph." "Heh, that's the sound you make when you know I'm right." Wash felt around for his jacket and picked it up again, making a noise of distaste as he peeled away from York's sticky chest. York sniffed at the mussed-up fur between them and then helped him straighten the jacket over their backs, a deep chuckle brewing. "God damn, Wash. You came harder than I did. How long you been saving that up? I'd think you were the one in the ruff, not me." Wash took a moment to cook his reply, yet instead of snarking he mumbled factly, "My ruff passed three weeks ago." York snorted. "Oh, I know." At Wash's alarmed look, he sniggered, "You might want to change your brand of tail gel, buddy." "What- you could see my spines??" York chortled at his burst of panic, which only threw fuel onto the fire. Wash sat up, mortification sunk into his wide eyes. "Oh geezus, everyone could see my spines, and you didn't tell me?? That season lasted for twelve days, you fucking ass-" York used a heavy hand to lay him back down, revelling just a little at the feeling of Wash's heart drumming furiously through his ribs. "Ahahahaha oh god, stop, I'm messing with you. No, your gel works fine. Nobody could see your ruff, man." Wash put up his best sulky slouch, splayed against York as he was. "That's not funny." "Heheh, your face was funny. No, I knew because that brand smells like the shit my uncle used to use. I'd know it anywhere, smells like an old tire in cereal." "Oh." Wash only pouted harder at that, and - it was such dumb little face, York thought, his mind skirting traitorously around the word 'cute.' "Lord, though. Tell me in that twelve days you took care of yourself - and don't tell me it was with a dry-ass pillow again." Wash looked at him, then at the entrance to the cave, and then at a snarl of root near his heel. "...I best not say, then." "Dude." "Hey! It works for me. I'm not over here critiquing how you... take care of your... ruff." York snorted at that bashful stumble of a sentence. "Uh yeah, because my technique is freaking perfect, honed out of years of practice." "Uh-huh, I have no doubts." "You might even say I'm a master stroker." Wash's pronounced 'ugh' was rolled over by, "As you just saw for yourself, first-hand." York lost his fight to look suave, a dopey grin taking over. "Get it??" "...Geezus Christ." That spurred York into some quaking mirth, and Wash had to ride out his giggles for half a minute. "Are you done being amused with yourself?" his short passenger asked pettishly, though York didn't need to look down to see the pursed-up smile on Wash's face. He could hear it. York shrugged, making his partner wriggle to stay balanced atop him. He felt small fingers hug his ribs and an odd flutter through his gut. "Eheheheh... Okay, okay. Still... twelve days, damn. I'd go totally banana-bread without nuttin' that long. No wonder you been so high-strung." There was a bit more edge in Wash's, "And now are you done making fun of me?" "Aww, I'm sorry, I'll stop." York tipped a look into the root-festooned ceiling of their cave with a relaxed sigh. It was still cold as balls, sure, and he didn't hear that wind dying down outside, but... his partner was no longer shivering to death, and somehow, for the first time since jumping that balcony, everything felt okay. "I'm just so damn relieved." "Jerking off does that, I hear." York's knee kicked up as he laughed. "Ahaha! Now you got jokes, ya smartass. I like it." He tousled his buddy's mane while Wash huffed and shifted to get close again. "You definitely need to unwind more often, if y'know what I mean." "Ugh, I wish I didn't." "So why aren't you on inhibs, anyway? I thought you always took them." Wash squirmed away this time, fingers trailing around the well-defined rim of York's pecs. "Um, I mean, you said they were bad." "Heh, and when do you take MY advice about that stuff?" "I listen to you. Sometimes. I just, uh... y'know." York baited out the silence, letting it break Wash's resolve - it only took thirty seconds. "You know, I went off them, just in case." York's needling suspicion stabbed through, and he couldn't swallow the bile when he said, "In case of Tex." "Erm." Wash looked like he was considering a lie, or a diversion, or just jumping up and running out into a frozen demise. He didn't. "Yeah, Tex." York cleared his throat with a rough sigh. "You know, we really gotta talk about that." "We really don't," Wash said with more ice than all of Sampi could sling at them. The heat that rose to York's cheeks wasn't as jovial as before. "Hey, CT and I are both on your side. We're not making this an us-verses-Tex situation, you are." "No, you guys absolutely are! I'm trying to be professional, and so is Tex." "Goddamnit man, what if it IS our business?" "Please, if you honestly think Tex is using me to sabotage our cell, you can just fucking stop. You're not giving me any credit, like I can't mind our business and personal life. And Tex doesn't have to prove anything to you or CT." "I don't..." York bit his tongue, before it carried off a tantrum. He shut his eyes and breathed out. The body in his arms followed suit, unwinding a notch. It was interesting to see how hard someone could clam up while laying against another person, naked and vulnerable as possible, yet Wash found a new way to impress him. "Let's leave CT out of it, then. What if I want to say it's not business, but personal?" Wash scoffed. "What do you mean, you're freaking jealous? This is really because Tex won't sleep with you?" "No!" York belted back a little too quickly. "Geezus, I don't care about that. I mean, that's her fucking loss, honestly. I just don't get that woman." York caught Wash snapping his mouth shut and glancing away, a thought discarded. The ensuing pang of guilt relaxed the muscles in their chests and jaws. "Listen, man," York tried again, voice soft. "I'm not trying to bring her up to fight with you. I'm telling you to be careful, because I care about you, okay? People like her... they leave a lot of destruction behind. You don't have to be a genius or psychic to see that. I'd just hate to see you caught up in that." If a point was being conceded, it was muffled under a sigh. "You don't have to worry about me. Thanks anyway," Wash grumbled, and lay his head down to sleep. York ran a couple of claws lightly through his partner's scruffy mane, indulging a whiff of maudlin while he felt Wash's breath tease the fur over his heart. "...a'right." York didn't consider that "talk" particularly productive, but at least the uneasy nap that followed outlasted the storm. They gave their clothes another shake, got dressed and pressed on. The truck was found a half hour later. York couldn't tell if CT was more relieved or aggravated to hear their voices again on the radio, but he supposed he could drive up to S-Base instead of the long haul back to Q-Base, and spare them both the tongue-lashing an extra day. Wash agreed, even if it meant a different, duly-awkward confrontation with Nelson. The drive up the cliffs to Sidewinder was blessedly clear. York had to scoff and grin at the way Wash hogged the radiator vents on the dash of the truck, rather than enjoy the sparkling vista the Vossler Sea was granting them. "You know, when we get back to home base, I'm going to feed you a damn sandwich. Or twelve. You are way too scrawny to stand the cold, apparently." "Shuddup," Wash grumbled. "Just sayin'," York lilted. Normal conversation was nice - their usual ribbing. He wondered if Wash was still thinking about that... unusual thing they did. He wondered whether it was wise to bring it up. Maybe it was the cold, and stress, and they could not mention it again? York frowned at the road stripes as they disappeared with the signage, signalling the off-road portion of their drive. Is that what Wash wanted? To go back to acting like nothing happened? His frown turned inward. York wasn't even sure what he wanted from this. He didn't want to treat his partner like another lay, one of many he's had both in and out of the field. They'd been through too much shit together - shoot-outs and close calls and long nights at the office - to hand-wave that flare of intimacy back in the cave as nothing. He had a bad inkling of what Wash would say, though, because he's heard it before: that their line of work is too dangerous, that he doesn't want to form attachments, that Tex gets it and that's why he doesn't mind sleeping with her - York caught himself biting his lip, and he relaxed his grip on the steering wheel with a taut breath. Getting this worked-up over a dame wasn't his style. What was he, some jealous high school jock? He wasn't jealous of Wash sleeping with Tex, honestly. He just... ...realized he was jealous of Tex. He blinked, snapping back to reality so hard it made him jerk the wheel away from a pothole. The truck squealed and threatened to tip as one wheel lost traction. York gritted his teeth and corrected course with a light foot on the gas, while his passenger swore and braced against the dash. "Geezus, York! Could you NOT cut it this close on the most dangerous, ice-covered road in the ring?" York grimaced and trained his eyes on the trail, not wanting to meet that censorious look. "Sorry, sorry. Heh, uh, that would be pretty lame, to die by driving off a cliff after all that back there, huh?" Annnnd now he's brought it up. He almost got away with letting everything slide. York didn't realize he was holding his breath until Wash spoke again. "Listen, um... about what happened back there." "About completely and utterly failing the mission?" York tested a deflection. He watched Wash lose about two whole years of his life in that wince. "I mean, yes, that. But I also meant..." He looked away, adjusting his cravat. "Erm, you and me, in that cave." York thought he'd have something more adroit to say than, "Uh-huh?" but there he was. "I don't... uh. Did you... like that? Or were you just fucking with me?" York tried to take that awkward-as-schoolgirl-question as seriously as his partner deserved, but the smile probably betrayed him. "I liked having sex with you, yes." "Ah." The muddled expression that fell over Wash looked guilty, and York steeled against it. "Hey, listen, there's nothing wrong with liking it, too. I won't hold it against you or mention it if you don't want, but you know." York hesitated. Drive carefully here, he thought, in more than one sense. "We could always, ah, make it a regular thing..." He shrugged. "...if you want." Wash slouched in his seat, fingers clutching the seatbelt in desperation to fidget. Well, that's a reaction, York mused. Kind of cute, that he was still shy about sex after all that. "That's okay," Wash said after a moment of fumbling. "I mean, ah. I'm just..." He straightened in his seat. "...new to this sort of... stuff. I need some time to think about it." York bottled up a sigh. That was likely the best answer he'd get. "Yeah, sure. You know the door to my bunk's always open." "Mmm, yeah, thanks," Wash hummed and stared out the window. He was going to let it go, but then the twinge of recall made York cock another look askew. "Related question." "Hmm?" "Way back in the lockers when I showed you that magazine, you said you weren't into that stuff." "I said I wasn't..." Wash paused, his objection never taking shape. Instead he waved his hand and said, "...Something like that. And?" "I asked you what it was that did it for ya, you know. You never answered." "Heh!" Wash barked, grinning at the memory. "I said, because you'd use it against me!" "Oh, ouch!" York took one hand off the wheel to hold it over his heart. "After all this time, and all we've been through, my little battle buddy," he drawled dramatically, "And you still won't tell me?" Wash folded his arms. "You mean to say you wouldn't immediately make fun of me? Like you always do when I answer embarrassing questions?" "Aw, well!" His hand returned to the wheel with a flippant shrug. "But that's not like, going out and blabbing to all my friends - you know I'm too much of a bro to do that to ya. Making fun of you to your face, now, that's different." "Uh huh." Wash's accusing look was accented with a repressed smile. "Seriously, though, I'm curious. Like, if it wasn't the T&Ts, then, what - you just like men?" "I..." Another hedging shrug. "Not especially." York nearly lost his place on the road to squint at him. The tires and Washington chided him both. "Watch the road, damnit." York did, but the squinting persisted. "Curiouser and curiouser." "It's not... that weird, I told you guys. I just don't want to say. What's it to you, anyway?" "Uh, after today? A whole lot!" York said. "Because apparently it's something I've got, and I would love to know what that particular quality is." Wash smirked. "Lord, what's this? Agent York, fishing for a compliment?" "Fishing for information - getting to know my partner better! I mean, what's it about me that you can't say? I'm not that intimidating, am I? I know I'm too sexy for my shirt, but..." Wash found a napkin in the side-door to throw at him. "Oh, shut up!" Still, he refused to elaborate. He sat back in his seat and looked York over with an increasingly peculiar expression - a smile that couldn't decide if it was joyful or devilish or coy. Eventually that stare made York twitch with half a blush. "Wha... what?" Wash settled against the window, turning that smile out to sea. "Maybe I'll tell you one day." "Huh." York smirked sidelong at him. "All right then, be like that, ya cryptic bastard. I'll get my answer." A beat, almost peaceful, almost friendship again. There was a flicker of yellow down at his side, near the gear shift, and he felt something twine around his tail. York's own tail gently coiled to embrace it, and he felt that same, funny smile tug at his lips - maybe it was contagious. The tunnel leading into Sidewinder Base appeared around the corner, and York beamed at the prospect of hooking up with an odd pal. "Can I add this cave incident to my scorebook with Samael, though?" "Geezus, what, no!" Red vs Blue © Rooster Teeth Productions. Halo © 343 Industries. Works on this page otherwise the property of their creators. |
