Resonant Frequency

An Oblivious Denial

"Uhhhhh, is this fucker gonna fit? Shit, son, this thing's bigger than it looks!"

"Aw, don't be a wimp, Sammy -- it'll be fine, just...deep breath and take it slow."

"Pfff, hey, this ain't my first time, hon. But goddamn, physics is physics, an' I ain't no miracle-worker!"

"Look, if you want me to take over, I will, but I'm not gonna let you live it down."

Samael squinted at York before he grinned broadly, running his tongue over his teeth. "Heh, you wish I'd give up that easy. Fuck it, then, we goin' in..." He inhaled slowly before staring straight ahead in focus and gingerly lifting his paw from the brake pedal to allow the truck to rumble and then inch forward into the narrow, overgrown tunnel. He winced when a corner of the hood scraped into the concrete, making a tiny correction with the wheel before cursing as the side-view mirror on the other side mashed against the wall and then snapped off entirely. "Ah, goddammit!"

York cackled and reached over to squeeze Samael's shoulder, his eyes dancing with entertainment even as he watched through the windshield -- the cocky rebel had given a few hints that he maybe wasn't quite as experienced as he'd let on, but he'd also proven himself more than once today. "You're good, you're good, steady..." he instructed with a chuckle. He could feel Samael's muscles loosening under his grip and he glanced over for a moment. He was starting to wonder just how much of the confidence was an act. He certainly had no problem with it, familiar as he was with the tactic.

Samael kept his eyes on what he was doing, though York didn't miss the way the grey chupa's tail flicked slightly at the contact. Well, he was honest in his preferences, at least. York smirked to himself, finding some fascinating detail in the way that Samael had no problem putting himself out there, yet still had these moments of almost-shyness. Like he was on the cusp of figuring out exactly who the hell he was, but still wasn't quite sure.

"This big bitch gonna be over the weight limit or anything?" Samael asked -- York could hear the worry in his voice, even if Samael was doing a damn fine job of masking it with a grumble. There was a tremor through the redneck, and York assumed he was just nervous about getting it done right. That was okay by York, though.

"Don't you worry your little tiny head, it'll be fine," York reassured mockingly. Samael scowled and slapped blindly at him, which made York laugh and flinch away. "Just get it squared on the lift, let the York handle everything else."

"'The York' is about to handle somethin', a'right, if he ain't gonna tone back that sass," Samael warned even as he grinned and kept his eyes locked onto the lift platform, easing the truck into place. York kept his hand on Samael's shoulder, giving him a light squeeze of reassurance when the enormous elevator creaked loudly and swayed beneath them. Seemed like the little guy needed it, considering the way he twitched when he glanced through the shattered window.

"Heh...nicely done," York remarked, rolling down his own window and peering down to see the way Samael had lined the tires up almost perfectly despite the fact there were only four or five inches of wiggle room to either side. "For a dirt-floor tribal guy, you actually made that look easy!"

Samael snorted but his proud expression was tinged with sheepish appreciation. "Aw, fuck off! But uh...thanks." He grinned again as York leaned through the window and then smacked the elevator control lever so send them descending slowly into the base. "So what's on the docket now that we fuckin' rocked that job? Unpack this shit, get a bite, go visit that homey li'l bar ya showed me earlier?"

"Yes to two and three, but some guys owe me a favor -- they can unpack the truck, and we're getting you patched up," York declared as he flicked the side of Samael's muzzle and earned a scowl. "You been bleeding all over my brand new truck!"

"This ain't no truck, it's jus' a glorified delivery van," Samael huffed, crossing his arms stubbornly. "If ya can't take it muddin', it ain't no dang truck!"

York blinked before grinning broadly. "Hell, I can't argue with that. But all the same! My face probably needs some bandages, and your arm needs some stitches before it ends up falling off and Nelson breaks off my legs to put me in my own chair."

Samael snorted dismissively. "Yeah, alright, alright -- I ain't got no sense that she'd do none'a that, though, cain't see her ever givin' a damn 'bout me, ain't takin' no genius to see how much she can't stand my ass..." York only smiled slightly, not sure if he could agree or disagree...the woman was a damn enigma. But he figured Samael earned a little downtime...aaaaand it would probably be best to try and catch Wash at the bar to explain their little, uh, improvisation on the original plan for the theft of the truck.

At least drunk-Wash tended to be a little more entertaining when he got pissed off.

"Fuckin'...fuckin' fuck, I think the damn burn hurt less than this, dude," Samael mumbled as he poked at his bicep...and the lightning-bolt-shaped stitching that wove through it. "I don't think yer s'posed to do fuckin' patterns when yer doin' stitches, York..."

"Awww, c'mon, I did a great job!" York chided while leaning forward to peer at Samael's arm as well before he winked and nudged another beer toward him. "Here, have another one! It'll help with the painkillers."

"You din' give me any fuckin' painkillers!" Samael wailed even as he snatched up the bottle with a pout and popped the cap off against the bar using only the one hand. York did his best not to look impressed, masking his grin behind his own bottle. "Also this beer's barely piss-water, I hope ya know that..." Samael pursed his muzzle up at York, then took a deep guzzle. "You needa get yerself some quality 'shine up in this piece."

"You are a whiny bitch," York remarked with a laugh as he gestured to the smaller chupa with the bottle. "We gotta get you shot up more often so you stop bein' so grumpy about it, my little dude."

Samael looked thoughtful while he savored another swallow of the admittedly-cheap brew. "S'pose that makes sense," he replied before they smirked at each other. "Gawd, we really are some crazy fuckers in here, huh?"

"That's one way of putting it," York chuckled while spinning around on the bar stool to glance through the room. There were a couple of other rebels relaxing with a variety of self-crafted drinks, but no sign of Wash yet. "Damn, where the hell is he? I wanted him to meet ya, see you aren't a pain-in-the-ass greenhorn like he said you'd be!" He snickered and reached back idly to scratch the base of his tail. He blinked at the stiff bristles he felt and promptly gave a stupid smile to himself. Well that explained why he was starting to feel so fidgety. His eyes slid back to Samael for a moment, but the redneck didn't seem to have noticed his wandering fingers, considering the way he was still glowering at the less-than-perfect patch-up job on his arm. "You gonna keep starin' at that thing all night?"

"I might, I can't believe I letcha talk me into lettin' you do it," Samael huffed, even though York didn't miss the slight grin tickling the edges of Samael's muzzle. His deep blue eyes eventually lifted back up to York. "Shoulda at least let me do a few on yer face as fair trade!"

"Hey now, these bandages are just fine," York retorted as he thrust a finger at his own maw where three beige adhesives were plastered over the worst of the shallow cuts from the shattered glass. He smirked when Samael jutted his chin out. "I'm not trying to have some horrific scarring ruin this mug, but you could do with a few more on that short li'l baby body of yours, pal."

"I'mma take this short li'l baby body 'n use it to make you a man if you wanna keep havin' jokes," Samael mumbled while flicking his tail toward York and peering into the empty beer bottle. "Dangit, this stuff ain't doin' shit. C'mon, y'all at least gotta have some whiskey back 'ere or summin', this shit ain't good fer nothin' but smashin' over some asshole's head," he complained while waving the bottle toward York, who just fired another grin back down at him.

"Bet I could think of at least one other way to make it useful, ya giant...tiny...man-whore," he taunted. But as he finished the last of his own bottle, he smacked his lips a few times and then nodded agreeably. "Okay. Stronger stuff. Wash usually shows up right when I start getting the fancy bottles out to ask where the hell I got them, maybe that'll work again." And maybe it would also help him stop thinking about his dick, since he figured it would be kind of rude to treat Sammy to a nice, relaxed post-mission hangout...just to leave him dangling alone while York went off in search of someone to help with his needs. That cute not-quite-a-medic they couldn't find earlier would be ideal...heh. Maybe he could find someone to hook up with Sammy, too. Get 'em both taken care of!

Yeaaaah, that was using the ol' York-Brain.

York hopped off his stool and sauntered around to the other side of the unattended bar. "Let's see what we got here," he mused aloud while perusing the loosely-organized collection tucked away under the front. He ran a finger thoughtfully over the different containers before brightening as he snatched up a dark-brown bottle and stood to find Samael leaning on the bar and flashing him a cheerful grin. York arched back in surprise, then leaned forward again with a matching expression. "So you talk a big game, but let's see whatcha think of this stuff!"

He slammed the bottle down and Samael raised an eyebrow, then squinted at it with a coo. "Ooooh, shit -- that don't look like the usual whiskey the fellas keep back at the cliffs..."

York let his grin become victorious. "Ha! That's 'cause it ain't, my little inbred friend. This is from a special distillery in Wortistan. Bet this'll knock even your Sampi-grown ass flat."

Samael smirked and bent over the bar to snag two glasses from a relatively-clean looking stack, his arm brushing past York's as he did so. York peered down at him but didn't comment on it as he only watched Samael's playful smile and purposeful motions, the smaller chupa shifting to a closer bar stool so he was perched directly in front of York. "Fer one, this ass ain't never gonna be flat," Samael announced as he ran two claws over the rim of each glass, his eyes drawing York in despite himself. "An' fer two, you ain't gonna be so high-'n-mighty once ya finally get a taste of some real home-brewed booze. I'mma hafta hook you up sometime. But fer now, le's see whatcha got." He winked and nudged one glass closer as York smiled bemusedly and cracked the seal of the bottle. "So what's the story here, you steal liquor-trucks when you ain't stealin' part-trucks?"

"Haw, nope -- I know a guy for things like this," York replied confidently. He paused, however, wondering if Samael knew about the bats. He could already see Samael's curious look, and he decided to play it safe, just in case. Andee would be pissy as hell if he babbled about him to some newbie who was in the dark. "But that's my hook-up, so let me worry about where it comes from, and you just enjoy the fruits of my labor," he added as he poured a couple measures into each glass.

Samael snorted as they both picked up a glass and then simultaneously knocked them lightly together. "A'right, then...keep yer secrets," he replied with a smile before lifting the glass to his muzzle. York watched with genuine intrigue, his gaze sharp to catch any hint of reaction from Samael as he took the first, slow sip. But Samael only looked back up at him coolly while draining the entirety of the tumbler with little more than a satisfied grunt. "I said goddamn, that's pretty fuckin' smooth," Samael rumbled, his tail swinging gently from side-to-side as he closed his eyes for a moment. "Yer guy's got good taste."

York's grin widened. Maybe this guy would make a pretty good friend, after all. He quickly downed his own shot, then poured them each another helping. "Don't ever tell him that, though, he's about as much a big-mouth as you," York jibed, winking when Samael shot him an amused look. He gripped into the glass and let his eyes wander over the bar again. Still no sign of Wash. He frowned at the doorway for a few seconds -- he wasn't sure why he was so disappointed, wasn't like this was the first time his combat buddy stood him up for a friendly meetup, his little buddy always found reasons to stay busy. Maybe part of him just wanted to introduce the new guy, show he wasn't just like Nelson and that maybe they could start to mend some of those bridges between their branches of the rebellion.

And Wash was his friend. He liked spending time with Wash and, unfortunately, his number of friends had dwindled a bit recently. A little harder to maintain as many solid friendships after you abandoned your special forces organization and became an insurgent. He glanced down at Samael as they both started on their second round and found those far-too-expressive eyes gazing back up at him. Maybe York just wanted to show Wash they could both benefit from having more friends -- being a rebel could feel pretty goddamn lonely sometimes, and he knew Wash in particular was a damn expert at that.

Or hell, maybe it was just this damn incoming ruff that was making him all sensitive and stuff. He scowled a bit and then blinked when Samael's drawl slid up to him, smoother than the illegally-acquired whiskey. "Damn, hon, fer someone sippin' this fine booze, you look 'bout as sad as a puppy who jus' got left home all alone fer the first time..."

He looked back down at Samael and couldn't help finding another smile at the sight of the grey chupa hunched over his glass while keeping his striking azure gaze locked onto him. "Sorry, buddy -- got a few things on my mind, which is totally rude since I've got a perfectly good empty head right here I could be using." He grinned and rapped his knuckles lightly on Samael's skull, who wrinkled his muzzle, but laughed all the same. "Yeah, don't think I missed that dumb headbutt of yours -- you're gonna give yourself a concussion if you don't learn how to do that properly, ya know."

"What, you offerin' to teach me how?" Samael scoffed even while he grinned back and tapped the bottle with his empty glass. "Why's everyone keep thinkin' I need teachin', eh? Jus' 'cause I'm new to this whole rebellin' thing don't mean I ain't got a few tricks up my sleeve!" He sniffed disdainfully, then nodded his thanks when York poured him another serving. "Hell, jus' last week, Nelson -- Nelson -- was all 'bout showin' me what I was doin' wrong with my workout. Which, y'know, I get it, her damn arms 'bout as big as yours..."

He peered up at York, who couldn't resist smirking and leaning forward while casually flexing a massive arm. York wasn't shocked when Samael reached up to run his fingers along the taut musculature, but it still made him twitch as a strange little tingle ran down his spine. "Hey, just because you ain't no shrimp yourself doesn't mean you shouldn't listen, though!" York insisted as he drew his arm back and helped himself to some more of the liquor. "I'll be the first to declare that lady's a scary customer. Even with her chair, I'd still think twice going up against her. Last time I saw her, she still looked like she could tear the door off a car if she wanted."

"Yeah, that hasn't really changed," Samael conceded as he propped his head up with one arm and swirled the remaining whiskey gently in his glass. "I gotta hand it to her, considerin' how she was when I first met 'er, she's...she's handlin' it purdy damn swell."

York smiled slightly as he savored a smaller taste of the liquor. "You know, for as long as I knew her before that, I never really did get to see her in action. Me 'n Wash, we had plenty of meetin's with her, but...we never really got to know her. I know she spent a long-ass time with the Red Army before she turned rebel. An' I gotta bet she was hell-on-Sirca on the battlefield. You don't get scars like that just sitting back, playing leader."

Samael grunted softly and York didn't miss the wistful look on his face. "I'm sure. I...I kinda wish I coulda seen it, too. I mean...she's a scary bitch, an' she'll dress ya down 'til yer 'bout pissin' yer pants just with her yellin' alone, but gawddamn, woulda really liked to see her in her prime." Samael snickered and tipped back his glass again. "Bet she was at least a li'l less ornery."

"Actually..." York raised a finger from his glass and tried not to make his smile too wide. "She, uh. She was kind of always an angry, scary bitch. I think all she's really due for is like. A good bang. Y'know what I mean?"

Samael almost spit out his presumably-expensive whiskey, eyes bulging as he coughed and wheezed and nearly slammed his head on the bar. York laughed cheerfully and slapped his back a few times, grinning down at his companion. "What, you think you're the only one who can say over-the-top shit?"

Samael pounded his chest as he sat back up. "Lawd, son, yer tryna fuckin' kill me over here! Nelson, gettin' lucky, yeah, that's the image I want while tryna get my drink on!" The stout redneck huffed and squinted up at York for a couple seconds. It looked like he was about to say something but he only smirked and then rapped the bottom of his glass against the bar top. "Good luck findin' the guy willin' to take that challenge on, 'cause I c'n tell ya it ain't gonna be no one I know!"

York nodded jovially as he raised his glass to concur. "Hey, I wasn't offerin' my own impressive services, don't worry about that. I might look dumb but I'm not that stupid." Samael snickered and nodded back, his smile returning while he nudged his glass forward insistently again. York gave him an entertained look but poured him another shot. "Damn, but you do handle your drink, Sammy. You Sampi fellas really don't have much else to do out that way, huh?"

Samael smiled coquettishly and ran his finger over the rim of the glass. "We gots a few real specific things we do when there ain't nothin' else to do, an' we're pretty fuckin' good at 'em all."

There was that twinge again as York gave a quiet laugh and traced his tongue along the back of his teeth. But he nudged the thoughts aside once more while leaning down against the bar so he could continue in a soft voice -- so far he was reading Samael as exactly as boisterous as he came across...but also someone who knew how to keep his hand close to his vest. He figured he'd appreciate keeping the conversation between them. "So...her non-existent sex life aside, how's she doin'? Honestly?"

"Shit...better. She really is," Samael murmured with a slow nod as he gazed into his whiskey. "She's a lot more active, is out 'n about all the time now." He gave a crooked smile and glanced up. "Think the crazy bitch is gonna try'n go on a damn mission sometime soon."

"Christ, she terrifies me," York muttered into his glass before guzzling the whiskey down and setting the tumbler down while he felt the inebriation finally settling into his system. That was better. Less ruff, more drunk. "I am glad to hear it, though. I know Wash wouldn't have said anything, but...we were all worried for a long time. I know she ain't...you know. The most friendly, talkative broad, but. Still, it was rough on all of us. That shit hit us hard."

Samael nodded again as he tilted his head back up to study York for a few seconds. Normally York would have blamed all the booze, but the damn redneck didn't just stare drunkenly...he felt him looking deeper. And he wasn't sure if Samael gave him something, or took something from him, but he did know that this guy had a lot more to him than he let on.

Samael eventually smiled again. "Yeah, she's tough as fuckin' nails, man. But lawd, do she ever hate y'all!" The smile morphed into a grin as York gave his own helpless laugh. "I mean damn, I'd think y'all run over her dog or somethin', the kinda shit she slings 'bout you ex-mercs. I half-expected y'all to have yerselves an underground slave-child-fightin'-ring out here, boy, ain't no joke!"

York snorted amusedly and gave a helpless shrug. "Hey, look, we shut down the slave-child-fighting-ring tournaments last quarter, okay? But seriously...ugh. I...I sorta get it, as much as it sucks to have that reputation. And yeah, some of the folks here, they...still work for Freelancer. But it's honestly probably more dangerous for them, and those of us who left, we left for a good reason. And none of us want to be back there." He reached up self-consciously to touch the key around his neck while he looked to the side. "Kinda hate that's all we get known for. We're trying to do the right thing out here, we really are."

"Tryna make up fer summin'?" York frowned at first, but Samael's expression was soft, far from accusatory. It was then he noticed Samael's eyes were locked onto his necklace.

York exhaled, then scratched at a shoulder for a moment. "I don't know if I'd put it that way," he mumbled. "Probably better to say we wanted to try'n set things right. Freelancer...that whole division...it wasn't so great at treating people well."

This time Samael reached for the bottle, wordlessly pouring a bit more into both their glasses. "I only heard stories 'bout it. Ain't met no agents 'fore you," Samael explained quietly. "I can tell it ain't easy to talk 'bout, but...what was it like?"

It wasn't easy...but something about Samael made it a little less painful. York rubbed at his shoulder as he paged slowly through his memories. Maybe one day he could tell Samael about her...but not yet. "It was hell," he replied with a small smile. "Alright, that's not entirely true -- I actually, uh. I did pretty well there. I had good partners and good friends. But everything was a competition...those bastards always wanted to pit us against each other, make us think even our own fellow agents could be the enemy to try and push us harder. Some of us kinda got that, though, and we were there for each other. Thick and thin, when it came down to it, all you had was yourself...your training and...whoever you trusted to have your back."

York licked his lips. "I was...I was lucky. I had a good few folks who had my back. One of 'em was..." He hesitated, fighting the urge to glance down at the key. He instead gazed at the door, his shoulders wilting a bit. "One of 'em was Wash. Y'know, he...he doesn't look like much." York paused and dug up a grin for Samael. "He isn't quite as short as you, but he's skinny as hell. You at least look like a scary little dwarf -- Wash, not so much. But when shit got real?" York grunted and nodded firmly. "Wash was always there, givin' his all. He was there for me even when I didn't ask him to be an'...that really stuck with me. So when Wash said he was leaving, and invited me along, well." He smiled a bit, and found Samael returning the same tender expression. "I followed the little dude out. And while I wish he was freakin' here so he could act all awkward 'n shit while I talk good things about him, he's not, so. Guess I just get to talk about him to a crazy redneck."

Samael chortled and waved a hand, clearly not even remotely offended. "Ay, tha's what I'm here for. But damn -- he sounds like a good friend. Gotta appreciate someone who gets ya through the shitstorm." He paused for just a beat. "You do talk 'bout him a bunch." York squinted down at him and Samael grinned, letting his eyebrows bounce a few times. "You suuuure he's jus' a frieeeend?"

York huffed and the spines at the base of his tail flexed slightly as a boozy memory or two whisked past. "Hey! C'mon now, I toldja! Only the ladies interest the York!"

"Oh, I know ya mentioned it before, hon," Samael drawled easily as he leaned forward on his bent arm, his fingers tapping playfully against his muzzle while his eyes remained on York's features, terrifyingly focused. "I'm jus' decidin' how true it is."

The curious tickle along his spine was, unfortunately, not fading. York scoffed and promptly lifted his glass to knock back the gulp of whiskey. "Uh, I'm pretty sure 's my job to decide that," he grumbled as his tail twitched to one side. "He's my...he's my battle buddy. We were partnered up back in Specials...'fore Freelancer. An' we went through some real shit together, so...it ain't like you're thinkin', you...you gay redneck."

York faltered for a moment as he wondered if his drunken rambling went too far...but no, Samael was still grinning warmly up at him, not even a sliver of insult on his affable features. "A'right, a'right, I c'n dig that, too," Samael replied with a hazy smile as he nodded a few times. "'S a special bond. Summin' ain't so easy to put into words. Y'all got that...deep shit."

"It's very deep shit," York confirmed proudly as he put a hand to his chest, positive he looked noble and not at all drunk. "He's my friend, my best friend. That's all."

Samael nodded agreeably and drained the last of his own liquor. "A'right. But hey..." He beamed and held up his muzzle with both palms. "Am I yer friend yet, too??"

York blinked and peered down at Samael contemplatively. They'd only known each other for a day. That wasn't really long enough to really determine if someone was your friend, someone you'd rely on to watch out for you as much as you'd be willing to watch out for--"Yup," York declared firmly, slamming a fist into the bar.

Apparently his emotions had a different opinion than his brain.

"I know I jus' metcha, Sammy," York continued with a huff. "But...you did good today 'n you. You seem like a good guy. It's pretty easy to talk to ya."

Samael smiled brightly, his shoulders wiggling a bit while he continued to prop up his head with his hands. "I am a pretty good guy! An' yer a pretty good guy, too!" He paused and then giggled. "Also a good...pretty guy!"

York squinted down at him but there was no stopping the grin he returned. The damn redneck was a freight train, his playful comments slinging forward with enough momentum that it was hard to not be flattered. "Y'know, you keep flirtin', Sammy, but like...you're barkin' up the wrong tree. I betcha there's at least three guys in this base who'd be happy to jump in the sack with ya..." York perked. Right, his big-York-Brain idea! "Hell, we...we could go find ya one'a those guys an'...I can go find that cute li'l thing from the medbay!"

Samael smirked as his eyes drifted across York's chest, moving far, far too slowly back up to his face as York found himself unable to move throughout the appreciative observation. "Sure...we could do that," Samael rumbled. "But I don't wanna go bump uglies with some random guy." He halted long enough to look thoughtful. "I mean. I wouldn't say no, but...ain't what I want." There was that toothy grin as Samael leaned forward across the bar another inch or two. "I wanna go spend some quality time with my new friend..."

The thin ribbon of curiosity had woven itself into a heavy rope that now yanked firmly at York's thoughts. He shook his head rapidly and gave a sheepish laugh. "'Kay, like...that's super-sweet, Sammy, but uh..."

"Yer in the ruff -- it don't gotta mean nothin', jus' a buddy helpin' out his buddy," Samael interjected smoothly as York stared down at him and automatically reached back to pat down the base of his tail. "Heh -- 'kay, that was jus' a guess, but guessin' I guessed proper," Samael added, his eyes half-lidded.

York gave an outright pout and crossed his thick arms over his chest. "Hey! 'S not very nice, Sammy. You're...like. Takin' advantage of my drunk."

"I very well might be," Samael replied blithely, placing a hand against his own chest. "An' I'm sorry. But yer super-cute an' I already feel like we're good pals an' I'm tellin' ya -- it'd be fuckin' magical." York jutted his chin out stubbornly and Samael chuckled quietly before reaching out to poke York's stomach. York wasn't entirely proud that he barely even twitched -- Samael wasn't terrible on the eyes, and he really did seem genuine. "You really telling me you ain't never done nothin' with another dude, hon?" Samael questioned as his eyes danced.

Oh boy, there were those memories again. But they'd just been drunk moments, where emotions and friendship and desire and curiosity had all collided for the perfect storm of two-friends-helping-each-other-get-off...something they'd both promised to never talk about again. Not even a fling, just a fluke, practically a mistake. Yeah. All of that. Nothing more.

"N-nope, no...definitely not," York mumbled quickly. "Negativo on that, nothing that ever counted, not the York."

Samael's smile was almost sad. York wasn't sure if he believed him or not, but that expression was...unexpected. "Well then tha's kinda a shame," Samael murmured as he moved his hand to grip into York's wrist, their eyes meeting again. "'Cause it ain't nothin' to be scared of, if yer willin' to give it a shot." He squeezed lightly and York bit his lip as a bolt of need shot through him. "It ain't gotta be nothin' big...but I c'n tell ya could use some help." The smile he gave up to him was surprisingly soft, as gentle as the light motions of the thumb he stroked gently over his wrist. "An' I'm rarin' to help, buddy..."

York licked his lips nervously. Geezus. Samael was persistent, and he looked so...honest. York's eyes flicked through the bar again -- still no Wash. And if Wash wasn't going to make it, well. He supposed he could let Samael have his silly dumb gay fantasy. He'd gone above and beyond on the mission today, after all...it would only be fair if York let his new friend enjoy a little compensation, right? "Um...well. Ugh." York rubbed the back of his head with the other hand, peering furtively down at the slightly-swaying chupa. "I, uh. I guess we could go back to my room and. You could. Gimme a handjob or something. You...you short whore," he mumbled as Samael beamed enormously. Who said no to a handjob, after all? And besides, he wasn't obligated to do anything back to Samael. This was fine.

York glanced quickly in both directions before slipping into his room after Samael and closing the door with a sheepish mutter. Samael gave him a mildly entertained look, but again seemed devoid of any real embarrassment or shame. "Heh. Don' worry, I ain't gonna say shit, neither, if yer that worried 'bout folks' opinions..."

York flushed a bit despite all his usual sexual confidence. "It's uh. It's totally not that. Totally." He wasn't nervous, he had casual intimate encounters all the time. And it was even better with a friend.

...Like it had been with Wash.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

"I'm perfectly comfortable with my preferences," York added in a grumble as he tried to ignore the way Samael grinned up at him, that damn piercing on his tail tinkling lightly with each slow, purposeful swish. He told himself it was the whole awkward situation combined with his ruff that was making his pants so tight.

"I toldja I ain't gonna say shit, not even to you," Samael murmured, his gaze once again drifting between entertained and affectionate. York felt his eyes watching him as he strode across the room, stumbling only once on the way to the bed. He was saved from further gawking, however, when the stout redneck finally glanced around his quarters. "Okay, now what I like 'bout yer room..." He paused long enough for York to squint at him expectantly. "...Is the way it's messy as fuck. Jus' like mine..."

York couldn't avoid the laugh, some of the tension leaving his body as he dropped onto the edge of his bed. "Do you even have a room? Or is it just...a literal hole in your literal cave?"

Samael snickered, his eyes rolling back toward York while he moved across the room. His motions were silky in spite of the drunken haze surrounding them both, but York still noticed a nervous flick of Samael's tail. Kinda made him feel better, though. He wasn't about to be seduced by some expert gay guy, at least. Yeah. Just friends being friendly. "Hey, we're makin' strides to clean that place up...gonna be all the envy of every other dirty rebel hideout 'fore long," Samael boasted. His eyes slid from York's features, down along his chest as he took his time approaching the bed. "Now then...guess you ain't much in the mood for no foreplay, eh?"

York smirked even as he shifted a bit. "Hey, man, you, um. You wanted to...do this, so." He took a deep breath, reminded himself this was fine, and let his weight fall back onto his palms while spreading his legs slightly with an expectant look. "Consider it yer, uh. Invitation."

Samael's grin was almost hard to read. "Invite received...an' reply incomin'," he murmured while taking another step or two so he was positioned between York's thighs. As his hands gently settled atop the larger chupa's legs, York found his breath caught in his throat. He could probably have still backed out but...did he want to?

The damn redneck seemed to catch the hesitation immediately as he tilted his head and slid his hands slowly up toward his waist. "You still with me, big guy?"

York snorted while again shuffling side to side. "Yeah, I'm um. Just wonderin' when yer gonna start," he mumbled, trying to grasp into his buzz to drive away the building anxiousness. It was weird to be this excited, especially when he'd just met this guy. New buddy or not.

Samael grinned again. "Heh...'kay." There were a few seconds of silence as Samael's claws worked at York's belt, and York was glad the shorter male's attention was locked onto the task at hand so he wouldn't see the way he was biting his lip and staring down at the top of his head so goddamn raptly that Samael might as well have been defusing a bomb attached to his crotch.

...And once the buckle was undone and Samael's fingers slipped into his waistband, he wasn't sure if a bomb would have felt any less volatile. York's eyes bulged at the first brush against his trapped erection and he had to jerk his head to the side with a stifled whimper when Samael pulled his pants down. "Oh my good lawd, that's a nice lookin' dick..." Samael rumbled.

It might have made York giggle, or at least feel a burst of pride, normally. But the hot flush in his cheeks and the shuddering breaths were making it hard to feel anything but the embarrassing rush of teenagers nervously mashing themselves together for the first time. He managed to give a dumb laugh when Samael glanced up at him and the two stared awkwardly at each other for a moment...before York jumped when Samael's fingers carefully wrapped around his flesh. "Hnngh...fuck," he whispered as his jaw clenched and his hands clutched into the covers.

"Damn, yeah, this ruff's fresh," Samael commented, although the playful lilt was missing, almost like the smooth-talking chupa was trying to play off some of his own nervousness. They shared another quick glance before Samael's fingers moved upward gently, giving York a whole new rush of enervation.

"H-hoooh, gawd..." He closed his eyes as his breath came out harshly, only to suddenly stare down again when he felt a light pressure on his chest. His body froze at both the sight and sensation of Samael's hand pushing softly against his masculine torso. For a moment, Samael looked afraid to move as well...but when York didn't protest, the smaller male smiled cautiously and let his hand drift down through the tan and cream fur appreciatively. York swallowed thickly but felt himself loosening up again beneath Samael's touch, enough that he almost didn't realize Samael had started to stroke over his arousal. "G-Geezus," he managed as he bowed his head forward and then, before comprehending it, shifted a hand from behind him to grasp into Samael's shoulder.

He winced at his own action and almost removed his hand...but he could feel Samael pushing a bit closer as the fingers on his chest squeezed lightly. York didn't want to lose that intimacy. That was what made a friendly hookup so enchanting, wasn't it? Sharing a moment with more than a stranger, but instead with a companion, someone who got you. Sex could be simply sex...or it could be something special, something more.

And being drunk...and a little bummed about not seeing Wash...and in the ruff -- yeah, all that together meant York wanted that something more. He was willing to let Samael be a little extra...touchy.

Plus it felt kinda nice.

York's tongue passed over the end of his muzzle and let his eyes slide shut again while sinking into Samael's gentle ministrations. It wasn't like anything he could immediately compare to -- the countless women he'd brought to his countless beds all had their own way of touching him, but Samael's grip was different. Even when gentle, it thrummed with a kind of strength. York wouldn't compare it to his own hand, either. It was...well. It was like having someone pleasure him who knew how to make their own dick feel good. And god, did it feel good.

York's toes were already curling as his friend's movements picked up in speed, and soft words of bliss spilled from his drunken maw. He heard tender responses, too, Samael's drawl no longer silly to him and instead thick with warmth, sweet like molasses. He leaned forward a bit more and Samael responded by sliding his arm around his side while he moved his hand faster still. "Oh god...fuckin'...hell, Sammy," he whispered over the pounding of his heart as the heat quickly began to build in his core. He didn't even flinch when Samael's fingers drifted through his erect spines, his muzzle creaking apart while his eyes rolled back with a string of unintelligible mutters.

"That's it, hon, that's it," Samael replied softly, his voice reassuring as it was enticing. "Let it loose..."

York whimpered as the bliss thrummed stronger with each firm stroke and his fingers gripped harder into Samael's shoulder. His spines stiffened further still and his tail twitched across the top of the bed eagerly in time with his heavy panting, the sensations rapidly colliding to make his pleasure skyrocket. And just as a trickle of fluid rolled down from his member and across his companion's knuckles, he cracked his eyes open when he felt Samael leaning closer.

The stocky chupa's eyes were gleaming excitedly at his malehood and it looked like his jaws were partially open. York blinked and then shivered when Samael's breath glided over his sensitive flesh. "Ohhh f-f-fuuuck," he mumbled, his instincts warring with themselves. York stared down wordlessly, taking in the sight of his companion's eager expression while his smaller but muscular form quivered with anticipation.

It was driving him wild.

He wasn't sure if it was what Samael was doing...or what he maybe wanted to do...but before he knew how to stop himself, his hand was moving to the back of his friend's skull and gripping into it lightly.

Samael's eyes flicked up to him briefly, his emotions seeming as confused as York's. There might have been hesitation, though maybe it was just nerves. He opened his muzzle all the same and let York guide his head into position while he slowed the movements of his hand long enough to tip York's arousal toward his jaws. Another quick rush of nervous breath...and then warmth. York's eyes widened and his own maw fell open as a long, guttural moan escaped his maw.

Samael's hands both repositioned themselves to grab his waist as he bobbed down, then started to pull back up...but York grunted quietly in hunger and pushed him down again insistently. "Nngh, Sammy...oh...god, yeah..." There was a brief scraping of teeth that made him wince, but the smaller male shifted closer and changed his angle a bit, which only encouraged York to groan and shove his head down harder.

The pressure around his arousal was immense and he felt his companion's tongue wrapping around his engorged flesh...York couldn't stop himself from moving his other hand to the back of Samael's head as well. His words were no longer understandable as his hips started to thrust up in short, hard jabs. Nearly his entire length was buried and Samael's claws were digging into his hips painfully now, but he was too far along to stop. He heard something, a muffled plea. 'Slow'? No, no, perhaps 'go'. Yeah, that was it. It sent a streamer of need twirling through him, lighting every nerve on fire. His whole body became an inferno as he bucked upward faster and faster, hearing Samael's gagging and choking, but feeling him work his head down all the same as they worked in jagged time together.

York's climax was upon him in a matter of seconds, and he arched his back with a sharp cry of pleasure while clutching desperately into Samael's skull. His tail stood nearly erect behind him as he pounded into his companion's muzzle mercilessly, the first blast followed quickly by a second, third and fourth before he simply bent over Samael, his hips locked forward while he held Samael tightly as the remainder of his orgasm pumped straight down his throat.

When he finally gasped and his body at last relaxed, Samael collapsed to his knees at the foot his bed with a stuttering whimper while York dropped onto his back. "Oh...oh my god...holy shit, holy fuckin' shit," he whispered to the ceiling, his eyes wide as he clutched his chest and felt his heart racing as the cool air rushed over his still-trembling flesh. "S-Sammy, wow, I...oh...wow..."

He heard a faint chuckle from the floor before he glanced down over his heaving chest to see Samael forcing himself up with his hands on the edge of the mattress. York couldn't help the wince at the sight -- tears were soaked into the grey chupa's cheeks while some of York's release decorated his features, a string or two of it dribbling from his jaws. "O-oh, geez, uhm...are...are you...okay?"

Samael cleared his throat and then flinched as he reached up to massage his neck. But he quickly gave a smile and took a moment to wipe his muzzle before brushing at his cheeks. "Uh, y-yeah, oh yeah, totally good, man, jus'...jus' a li'l surprised, you, uh...you needed that, huh?" He grimaced as he rubbed at his eyes again, his tail curling along one of his legs sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm, uh. I'm good."

York looked uncomfortable and sat up as he rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, uh. That was...that was intense, yup. Uh, if ya need a towel or...um..."

Samael took a moment to stare at him, the emotions behind his eyes a maelstrom. York wanted to look away, but felt too guilty to do so. Luckily the smaller male eventually offered a sheepish laugh and shook his head quickly while giving a thumbs up that didn't look nearly as confident as he probably intended. "Naw, naw, I'm um...m-maybe I should uh..."

"I mean, we probably both need to sleep off th' booze 'n...uh..." York shifted on the bed. "Do...do you remember where the guest bunks are?"

Samael drooped and York hated it, but dammit, this was already strange, they were just friends, right? That's all this was, friends who shared something intimate. Samael would understand -- York had been upfront with him, after all. Yeah. This was still fine.

And Samael gave him a smile after a second or two, which York pretended was genuine. He needed it to be genuine. "Aw, hell, yeah, fer sure, buddy, yup...we should, um. We should get us some rest 'n..." He backed toward the door with a lame chuckle before he nodded a few times and then hurriedly turned around to let himself out with a mumbled farewell before shutting the door behind him.

York sighed loudly and dropped back onto the bed with a groan. The bliss from the orgasm was still rolling through him, mixing with his inebriation to make him feel fuzzy in just about every way. One hand shifted up silently to grip into his necklace while he studied the ceiling again. Samael was partially right -- he had needed that. But...there was more. He hadn't just needed it, he...he enjoyed it. More than he wanted to admit, because it hadn't been like with Wash, he and Sammy weren't bonded through quarters of hardship and battle. They were just...friends.

"Christ, I wish you were here to tell me what the hell is goin' on," he mumbled to himself before closing his eyes and shaking his head a few times. Had to be the booze. And his ruff. And Samael being a...a whore. He just needed to rest a bit, let his thoughts get back in order. It would all make sense after that.

Red vs Blue © Rooster Teeth. Halo © 343 Industries. Concept by Myshu, assisted by The Department of Chupapology.