Resonant Frequency

A Grudging Discussion

Samael clung to the pillow against his chest as he stared at the wall. That had been...something, alright. And six hours later, he could still feel the stirring in his pants when he thought back to it...so regardless of how it sat in his thoughts, some part of him was still more than fine with it.

York was far from the first guy he'd been with since Tracer. It hadn't taken long for Samael to sniff out the other curious or willing guys in the Honkal caves. And his short little missions and day-trips weren't without their detours and personal excursions as he tested the waters of what he could pull off, how much he could get away with when giving those hungry eyes to a stranger.

Tracer had told him in very plain terms that he'd be able to use his natural sexual energy to his advantage, putting both friendlies and opponents in a more advantageous spot because of how easily he'd be able to make a passionate moment come to life. And he was far from ashamed of himself...if anything, he was proud of what he could do. There was an excitement to driving even someone he'd only known for an hour or two to such pleasurable heights.

But wasn't York something more than that? Even the guys he saw all the time at his home base...they were casual acquaintances. Perhaps even friends, sure, but the instant link he'd felt with York was different. Even before leaving his tribe, Samael had been guarded with his relationships -- he was quick to be friendly, but actually calling someone his friend wasn't as easy. Yet he'd bonded so swiftly with York, like he was meeting someone he'd known his whole life. And he honestly wasn't sure if there was something more he felt, if his emotions were asking him to take another look.

He'd once thought he'd been in love with Tracer, after all. And to be fair to his heart, he was sure that, over the duration of those weeks, it was love. Childish, immature, blind love, but something that felt real enough. And something that hurt more than enough in the weeks that followed his demise.

He didn't know if that was what he felt now, but he knew whatever it was was still intense enough to make him regret the way things ended. It didn't seem fair to blame York, either -- it was all too obvious he was embarrassed afterward, both with how into it he was, but also the implications. Guys who were so sure of their orientation never took the news lightly, learning that -- maybe -- they didn't know themselves as well as they thought they did. And now Samael found himself just hoping York would still consider him a pal...since otherwise, this was a real shitty way to end what could be a pretty awesome friendship.

"You big dumb queer," he mumbled to himself with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead and then rolling onto his back. "Like ya ain't expected to have this happen...meet yer best friend, give 'im a blowjob an' now shit's awkward as fuck. Great job."

"Uh...what?"

Samael blinked and then peered to the side as a rebel stared at him from across the room. He plastered on a goofy grin. "Heh, sorry! Jus' uh. Y'know how them thoughts go after ya wake up, amirite?"

"No...no I definitely don't know how those thoughts go," the wide-eyed chupa replied awkwardly before clearing his throat and hurrying to shuffle out of the room while mumbling under his breath. "I knew it was a bad idea to join these guys, I knew this was a bad idea..."

Samael puffed out a little sigh before he grimaced and glanced down at his arm. Right. The lightning bolt stitches. He scowled...but then found a smile creeping into place. He couldn't be mad at York. Even if he wanted to be grumpy with the big jerk, he could only think fondly of the last twenty or so hours. A mission where he'd done more than he had yet with any other job. More than a few unexpectedly good conversations with someone he clicked with faster than most. A trip to the infirmary where they'd stifled their giggles and patched each other up, like kids trying to avoid the wrath of a disappointed parent after they got the shit beaten out of themselves in the fight they'd promised not to get into. And then the bar, of course...and what had followed. It could have been worse. He nodded to himself and ignored the lingering regrets as he wandered over to the bathroom area that was attached to the shared barracks.

Samael gazed at himself in the clouded mirror, frowning slightly and tilting his head to the side with a grimace. His eyes were bloodshot -- ah well, he could play it off as the booze's fault. He rubbed at a stubborn stain on his cheek and then grabbed a tissue to quickly polish off the dried saliva and whatever else that was from the studs in his jaw.

He'd seen rougher faces staring back in the mornings.

Samael exhaled and then lifted his head proudly as he strode into the main corridor. He was fine, and no matter how things unfolded with York, he'd bounce back and he'd keep being who he was. Shame wasn't a word in his goddamn vocabulary.

So what next? He let his paws carry him where they would -- apparently toward the mess. Food did sound good. Maybe he'd run into York...or hell, maybe even the mysterious Agent Washington that Nelson had less-than-casually demanded he report on, to see 'what the fuck that shady bastard is up to'. Either way, no reason he couldn't press on and ignore the uncomfortable feelings from the encounter with York.

"Oh, uh...Sammy!"

Samael froze mid-stride, his eyes widening. Well, there went all his stoic thoughts of pushing through this without a concern for personal relationships. He took a deep breath, found his smile and then glanced back over his shoulder to see York loping awkwardly toward him. At least he didn't look upset?

Samael stood there blankly as he waited for York to trot up to him. "Uh...hey, York," he replied when the massive chupa halted in front of him. They both looked to one side for a moment and Samael tried to pluck out the right words. "Um...so, earlier--"

"I'm sorry for being so rough," York blurted out, rubbing the back of his neck lamely as he flushed and shuffled on his paws. "I got, uh. I got carried away and I shouldn't have just. Made you leave. That was kind of uncool."

Samael wasn't expecting that, his own demeanor suddenly shifting as the false smile wavered somewhat. His tail curled around a leg for a moment and he barked out a weird little laugh before he rubbed at the side of his head. "Oh, it's...it's all good, man, I, uh. I prolly shoulda not been so forward, I jus' metcha, and...yer such a nice guy, York, I shouldn'ta been so pushy an'--"

York cleared his throat before interrupting sheepishly: "Are...are we still friends, Sammy?"

He wasn't expecting that, either. But this...this he was grateful for, far more so. The smile cracked and he laughed, and it was a pitiful, tinny sound that made York look immediately concerned. Samael was quick to nod several times, waving a hand apologetically. "Sorry, sorry, hon...it's. Uh. That whiskey, it...got to me." York tilted his head a bit, and Samael knew there and then that York would forever be difficult to lie to. But he gave a different smile all the same, resisting the urge to reach out and touch some part of York. He didn't want to make it weird. "But yeah, of course...of course we are, York."

York looked genuinely relieved as he exhaled loudly. Samael blinked but smiled faintly again. It affected him more than he wanted to admit "Okay, good, 'cause. I know things were...uh. I...I just think you're someone who can actually deal with all of...this." York gestured to himself as Samael found an honest grin of amusement while one of his eyebrows arched. "Hey, not...not like that! I mean...my personality, the York, without, you know. Just. Being amazed all the time. A friend who's honest with me."

Samael tried not to laugh. "York, I...I appreciate what yer sayin' but gawddamn, yer mighty high 'n proud'a yerself at the same time, eh?"

York huffed, though he smiled at the same time. "That's...exactly what I mean, though. You've got your own cloud of bullshit around you..." He paused to snicker as Samael scowled up at him, lifting his own hands. "Deny it if you want, but you know I see through it 'cause we do the same damn thing, Sammy."

"Naw, naw, yer right, I guess," Samael grumbled as he put his hands on his hips and finally felt some of the discomfort fading away. "Look, we were drunk 'n...shit happened, it's a'right, hon. We're still pals if yer okay with that."

"I am. And...well." York motioned down the hallway. "Uh...I was actually wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat, 'cause I think I realized something and I wanted to talk to you about it. Before things get busy again or whatever."

Samael perked as a note of hope slid into his heart. Well, then. Normally that realization took a little longer to accept. "Uh...hell yeah, man, absolutely! I was jus' headin' that way myself, figured a li'l grub might be proper after all the drinkin' we did."

When York threw an arm around his shoulders, Samael's mood brightened that much more. Hell, maybe this whole thing would be salvageable after all. He smiled up at his companion but didn't push things, leaving his own hands in his pockets as the two meandered to the cafeteria.

Samael couldn't help but grin at the fact he and York picked nearly the same things for their trays -- never enough bacon for either of them, apparently. Truly the sign of a great friendship in the making.

They stood together with their trays and York nudged Samael lightly with his hip. "Hey, so where do you wanna sit? Near the cool kids? The nerds? Or the jocks?"

Samael stared up at him in confusion. "Huh?"

"Y'know, like...where you sat at school for lunch, what group of kids did you sit with?" York puffed out his chest. "I was obviously with the cool kids. The...cool jock kids, even."

Samael didn't get a chance to inform York he was clearly lying because he was too busy snickering. "Dude. Cave-raised. We din' have school, we got fuckin'...educated 'bout Sirca in a field while they taught us how to gut a rabbit 'n use its asshole to strain syrup."

York blanched as he stared back down in horror, his muzzle slowly working open and shut. "Y-you...wh-what...? R-rabbit...assholes...what??"

Samael grinned toothily, flicking his tail against the larger male's leg before moving toward an empty table in one of the corners. "Best part is ya ain't even sure if I'm truthin' ya or not."

"I hope to hell you aren't, or we're gonna have some words when you send me some fresh Sampi syrup at Omeswallen..." York mumbled, his features still mortified as he dropped down at the table across from Samael with a shake of his head. "Rednecks."

"We're a special kinda breed, a'right," Samael agreed with a wink before popping a strip of bacon into his muzzle.

"Special kinda inbreed," York grumbled even as he smiled slightly and nibbled at his own food. He glanced around, seeming satisfied with Samael's choice. "Guess a quiet corner's better, anyway. Uh...yeah."

Samael tried not to smile too happily, hunching forward and resting his cheek in a palm. "So what was yer big brain-thought in bed, ya giant bastard?"

York took a deep breath and Samael continued to smile. He was looking forward to this moment, like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon after having spent years insisting it would only ever crawl. "Alright, so. You're a guy."

Samael stifled his laugh, managing just a slow nod. "Yeah, sweetie. I sure am. An' guess what -- you are too!"

York huffed and shook a piece of bacon at Samael. "Hey, let me finish!" Samael chuckled quietly, raising his other hand in surrender and then gesturing for York to keep going. "Hmph." York squinted across at him for a moment or two, then crept warily forward with his words. "So...you're a guy who likes guys." He paused again but Samael obediently stayed silent, only smiling and tilting his head toward him. "And...I'm a guy, but. I like girls."

...Okay, a weird start, but maybe the dude didn't know 'bisexual' was a thing. Samael kept his muzzle closed, letting York edgily pick through his speech. "So I think I figured it out and...well. We were both pretty drunk. My ruff just started and I really wanted to bang a chick, but...there weren't any around. And normally I wouldn't, you know. Have sex with a guy, but...you were being so friendly and...I mean, we are friends, of course."

Samael's smile slowly faded and he slid a hand in front of his maw to try and mask the frown taking its place. Now it was all wrong. What the hell was York thinking? Did...he really think the whole thing was just...

"...And I figure, it must have just been...you know. A one-time thing, a...a fluke," York finished lamely as he touched two pieces of bacon together, his eyes searching Samael's features anxiously. He gave a sheepish smile, looking painfully hopeful and perhaps unconsciously ignoring the way Samael stared back at him, dumbfounded. "I-I mean, either that, or uh...maybe because of the ruff, my body just sorta thought of you as a girl? You're kinda small and you've got a really nice butt and--"

"York, hon, that's..." Samael tried not to be frustrated but he couldn't decide if he was insulted or simply befuddled by York's denial. He...had been into it, no matter how rough he was. He could tell York hadn't exactly been forcing himself to enjoy it. "That's not...how it works, I think you gotta--"

"York! There you are, I was -- geezus, what happened to your face?"

York and Samael stared at each other, both their faces scrawled with a multitude of confused emotions, before they both turned their heads to the side as a skinny chupa approached their table. His scowl was immense and Samael hadn't felt eyes that judgmental in a long time, considering the way they coldly swept over him with a tangible air of suspicion and derision. Was this Agent W--

"Wash!" York jumped up from the table and knocked both his and Samael's trays into the air as their food spilled haphazardly. "Heh, whoops!" he exclaimed nervously before he beamed and held his arm out to Wash. "Don't worry! It's nothing bad, just some small cuts! Ah, little buddy, I'm so happy to see you!"

Samael shrunk slightly on the bench as he looked between the two for a moment. York seemed more than just happy to see him -- it was like all the discomfort of their conversation had been dissolved, replaced with a genuine relief to see his friend. Samael understood that, it didn't bother him. But he was a little annoyed that the rather important dialogue they were trying to have had been swept away like dust in the wind.

Wash glanced at Samael again before frowning at York. "You were injured? Did you go solo, I saw Kelvin was out sick..."

"Oh, uh, no, no, I...took Sammy!" York smiled and nodded a few times as Wash looked at him blankly, then slowly turned his eyes back to Samael, who raised a hand awkwardly. York blinked before widening his eyes and barking out a laugh. "Oh, crap, right! Uh...this is...Sammy!" He held both arms out to Samael.

Wash blinked as well before his muzzle wrinkled. "Wait...you're the guy Nelson sent? Samael?" Samael barely had time to nod before Wash spun back toward York to glower up at him. "You...you took him with you? York, I...he was just here to deliver something, Nelson said he's barely had any field experience!"

Samael frowned and set his jaw stubbornly. York was quick to reply first, however. "Oh, it's okay! Seriously, Sammy did great! We didn't even lose the motorcycle!"

"What...what motorcycle, you and Kelvin were supposed to take one of the shitty cars to avoid attracting attention." Wash glared between the two in disbelief. "You two went on a motorcycle??"

"Uh...y-yeah, but...it was totally cool, little buddy, we came back with everything, barely even--"

"York, your face is covered in bandages," Wash grumbled before he squinted at Samael, his eyes suddenly bulging while he gestured to his arm as he stared up at York. "What the fuck, did he get shot?!"

"Uh...just a little! He was a champ, though, we had each other covered the whole time!" York babbled while continuing to smile brightly as he looked furtively between Samael and Wash.

"Oh my fucking god, York, what if he'd been killed? Christ, that's the last thing we need, Nelson fucking unleashing hell on us because we got one of her fucking crazy assholes shot! What were you thinking?!"

"Hey, uh...I'm right here," Samael interrupted slowly as Wash grit his teeth and turned his head back toward him with a dangerous glow in his eyes. "Look, don' get mad at York, eh? It was my idea, I figgered I could help 'im out, an' like he said -- it all turned out a'right! We kicked ass!"

"Oh fuck me, where did she dig you out from?" Wash muttered as he dragged a hand over his face. "York, I can't believe you let this insane redneck talk you into that -- he's green, he could have gotten you both killed!"

"But I didn't!" Samael retorted as he stood up and threw his arms out to either side. "Lawd, I'm sorry fer tryna help, fuckin' hell...an' I ain't a fuckin' baby, fer cryin' out loud! Me 'n York did jus' fine together!"

"Yeah, I can see by the fucking blood you didn't wash out of your fur yet," Wash replied drolly before he sighed heavily and rubbed his face with both hands for a few seconds. "Goddammit, never a fucking quiet moment...look." He glowered at Samael, who returned the look defiantly. "I just talked to Nelson a little bit ago. And christ, I am not telling her about this, but she asked me to find you something to do for a day or so." He grumbled and crossed his arms, displeasure marking his severe features. "Last thing I fucking want to do is babysit, but I don't feel like arguing with that bitch, so...Samael, you're on organization duty in the warehouse. You can help Quincy."

Samael pursed his muzzle and opened his maw to retort, but York piped up first. "I can take him down there! You should come with us, too, Wash, Sammy's great, I think you two will--"

"No, York, I need you to go pick up the rations that Kelvin was supposed to get today," Wash interrupted, already sounding exhausted. Samael dropped back to his seated position, mumbling under his breath and shoving a bit more bacon into his jaws while he glared up at Wash continuing to explain to York why he needed to make the run. He hadn't expected this for Wash, not with the way York talked about him. Sure, he had been clear that Wash was sensitive about a few things, maybe a little straight-laced...but holy shit. And yet there was no doubt in his mind that the two were friends, considering the way York only chuckled and nodded agreeably, even if he did flash a guilty look toward Samael at one point.

"Okay...good. Thank you," Wash mumbled before he turned his attention to Samael again. "And I'll take you down to the inventory room. I'm sure Nelson wanted you to look around at our stock, anyway, so...whatever, this works."

York cleared his throat and raised a hand. "Uh, hey -- maybe when I get back, the three of us can hang out, get to know each other a bit more!"

Samael gave a small smile, perking somewhat as he glanced at Wash...only to frown when Wash made a face. "That...no, York, I don't have time, and besides...I can still smell the booze on you two, you clearly did plenty of socializing already. Please just take care of the pick-up."

York rubbed the back of his neck but nodded again. "Uh...okay, little buddy."

Wash nodded back before looking pointedly at Samael. "Let's go. I'll show you to the supplies."

Every ounce of Samael wanted to be stubborn and protest and be an ass, in general...but he could see the look of hope still flickering on York's features. He sighed softly and then shuffled a loose smile into place as he grabbed his tray. "Sure thing, Wash. Y'know I signed up fer all the aspects of rebel-work, includin' all the borin' inventory shit!" Okay, so maybe he'd still be a bit of an ass.

Wash shot him an annoyed look before rolling his eyes. "Yeah, you're one of Nelson's, alright. Follow me."

Samael cleared off his tray and then glanced back at York, who smiled awkwardly after them with a little wave. Well, at least his new friend looked happy about things. But goddammit if they didn't need to finish that conversation at some point...

"Just to be clear, you aren't a part of my team."

Samael was stirred from his thoughts by Wash's sharp voice, and he lifted an eyebrow while jogging up to the slightly-taller chupa's side. "Uh...I know? Look, man, I'm sorry it wasn't no perfect mission, but --"

"'But' nothing," Wash muttered as he stormed down the corridor, glancing only briefly at the other rebel. "I really really don't need your kind of trouble around here. York's a handful already, he does not need someone reckless encouraging him to be more of an idiot. I don't know what you did to piss Nelson off, but don't do it again -- I'm happy not dealing with any of you spastic assholes."

Samael snorted dismissively. "Gee, thanks fer the warm welcome. Gawddamn, but ain't you a barrel'a wildflowers 'n sunshine." Wash glowered over at him again and Samael held his hands up with a half-smile. "But sure, sure -- I get it, you 'n Nelson ain't gonna be friends no time soon. Ain't like I asked to come out here. I'm sure she don't like me no more than you do."

Wash grumbled something unintelligible before he pushed open a door and stuck his head in. "Quincy! I've got a guy from Honkal to help you out for a little while!" He then looked pointedly at Samael. "Please don't get into trouble. I'll let Nelson know you're ready to return as soon as possible."

Samael wrinkled his muzzle. "A'right, I'll be a good boy, promise." He paused as Wash started to turn away, and Wash hesitated to glance back at him curiously. "Look. I am sorry, 'bout the mission'n all that. I jus' wanted to help out, 'n York actually made me feel like I'm ready fer this shit."

Wash shifted his weight before glancing away. "Yeah. He's good at that." Wash's eyes turned coldly back to Samael. "But it isn't his responsibility to stick his neck out for guys who have no business going on a job they aren't ready for. He's my...he's one of my best operatives, and he got hurt on a job that shouldn't have had any major risk to it."

Samael almost brought up the fact that the four goddamn soldiers in the accompanying jeep weren't exactly a part of the plan...but he instead sighed and nodded. It wasn't hard to see Wash cared about York. Maybe it was Samael's curse to be able to see that shit, because it made it really goddamn hard to be a snarky bitch to a guy that seemed like he deserved a snarky-bitch-treatment. "Yeah...a'right, I gotcha." He lifted both hands in deference. "Ain't gonna hear a peep outta me, promise not to blow up nothin' down here."

"Appreciated," Wash replied dryly before excusing himself to disappear down the hallway. Samael grimaced at his back for a few seconds, then sighed and wandered into the supply room. Well, maybe a few hours of menial tasks would make up for what was possibly the worst coming-out-conversation he'd ever been a part of.

...Seven hours later, Samael was pretty sure that he never wanted to do menial tasks again. Holy shit, the thought of being stuck with this once their base had a decent amount of supplies. Samael made a mental note to plan on recruiting their own clipboard-toting bureaucrat at some point, because geezus did his soul feel drained.

He forced a smile and thanked Quincy all the same for the 'experience' once they were finished. He'd then quickly excused himself and all but jogged away, barely even aware of the direction he was going and just wanting to be as far as possible from the supply room before he was dragged back in for a third count. Y'know, just in case the last two had a mistake.

He eventually found himself wandering toward the recreational area as he recalled the tour with York. That, of course, just made him think of the giant fucker, and the way things between them just felt...awkward. They were sorta better than the way they'd left off before pretending to sleep off the odd experience, but York's explanation still bothered him. And he wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want to be thought of as just a drunken accident, a fluke, simply a substitute for a woman...or because he cared about York figuring things out for himself. Hell, it might have been both.

As he nodded politely to a few rebels that were sparring, making his way past them to one of the workout benches, he told himself not to be an idiot. Trying to tell York how he should feel wasn't his place. In fact, it sounded like a great way to lose his tentative friend. He'd picked up enough from the guy to understand there was a deep sensitivity under all the charm and bravado. His soul was tender, perhaps still healing from some loss in his past. Wash seemed to know about it, since Samael hadn't missed the way he hadn't just been upset about the fact they'd gotten injured, or that York had taken an unnecessary risk bringing a new guy along. He was almost...defensive of his massive partner. What had York called them? Battle buddies?

Samael frowned quietly to himself as he laid back on the bench, gripping into the iron bar and pushing the weighted pole free of its cradle. A battle buddy was a strange concept to Samael. He hadn't served in either army...he hadn't gone to special forces, either. He bit his lip while he started a slow series of reps, his muscular arms trembling with the weight he'd forgotten to check, but forcing himself to continue with it.

Almost everyone else he knew in the resistance had some form of fighting or wartime experience. Only one or two rebels under Nelson's purview were civilians. He knew there were originally more, but...many had fallen at Qoppa. And had Tracer's trainees not been ambushed...

Samael closed his eyes and grit his teeth as the bar hovered a few inches away from his throat, but he snarled and forced it up one more time before easing it back onto the cradle. He exhaled and then stared up with a grimace. He tried not to think of it too often. Samael liked to savor the present, and anticipate the future. He reminded himself enough that he was alive because the rest of them were not. Because Tracer had given his life for him. And that meant he had a sacred duty, an obligation to live up to that. To be the kind of man Tracer was, to be ready to give his life for the cause without question.

That meant he needed to learn that all these personal connections would have repercussions. After all, the more he thought about his friends, the less he was thinking about whatever he could be doing for the resistance. Friends like York were precious in this line of work; he didn't need years of experience to understand that. But he was starting to see how they could be a liability, too. Ugh. How was he supposed to be true to himself if being true to himself meant going against everything his mentors pounded relentlessly into him...

Samael exercised for well over an hour, gladly losing himself in the physical exertion. It was a welcome distraction from his thoughts, and he also hadn't taken long to relieve himself of being a stranger -- a couple of cheerful greetings and inquiries later, and he had two of the other rebels working out near him offering to treat him to a drink next time he was visiting. Little moments like that gave him strength and reminded him that Tracer hadn't just been filling his head with empty lies to give him false confidence. He was good at this. The trick was learning not to limit how much he actually cared about all the bonds he forged.

That part wasn't so easy for him.

He got directions to the locker room and showers from one of the guys and made his way there, drenched in sweat as he was. He felt good, and he wanted to cling to that as long as he could. It kept the guilt at bay, which was becoming dangerously loud in the back of his mind when he contemplated his options with York.

After all, they had been drunk. York had been needy. And he seemed willing to just write it off as a silly mistake, barely an experiment between a curious, horny guy and his friend. What was wrong with that? Wasn't that basically what Tracer had taught him? It wasn't his job to convince someone of their true sexual orientation...it was merely his job to exploit it, twist it to his own means and garner something useful from it, whether it was information, access or merely the trust of someone he could call upon when he needed to.

He undressed without much thought, not interested in catching anyone's eyes in the locker room and instead shuffling to an open shower head and twisting the hot tap -- might as well take advantage of this luxury since their plumbing situation at the caves hadn't evolved much past buckets and stoves yet. As the steaming water ran over his aching frame, Samael closed his eyes and weighed the choices before him.

There was no reason he had to stop being friends with York if he let things fall silent regarding the conversation they'd started in the mess. It wasn't like he wouldn't still have half of the goddamn ring to seduce and lure into bed if he'd need to avoid becoming intimate with York again. And York seemed plenty happy with being straight. What was the worst thing that would happen if he just...kept on thinking that?

Even having those thoughts felt like a betrayal of himself...but then again, it was exactly what he'd been trained to do. Ultimately, what was he here for? He was here for the Movement, not himself. And that was something both Tracer and Nelson would agree on, for all their differences. The cause above all else.

He grumbled as he quickly worked the hot water into his hide, just looking to get the sweat out and leave himself vaguely presentable. He hadn't been in a hurry to leave, but he was now wondering if that wasn't the better option. He'd gotten to see most of the base...he had an idea of what they had in stock, he'd even befriended a couple of their guys. Honestly not terrible. Nelson would probably be glad, even if the damn stitches on his arm would be hard to hide. Eh. He could always lie, tell her it was a training accident. She might buy that -- their own training sometimes left a rebel or two in the infirmary, after all.

Yeah, maybe it'd be better to just leave things where they were, take his new friendship and get the hell out. And who knew? Maybe that big dumb York would figure things out for himself and the next time Samael visited, they could have a good laugh about it. York certainly wasn't an idiot, emotionally. There was a good chance he'd realize things on his own. Maybe.

Samael smiled faintly and turned off the taps, using his hands to wick the excess water from his arms and legs before snagging one of the communal towels hanging nearby to run it across his waist and thighs. Well, at least one thing was for sure -- all the goddamn complicated mental planning had stopped him from showing any sort of physical signs of his attraction to his giant tan buddy. It made his potential decisions feel a little less uncomfortable.

He tossed his pants on over his damp legs, grimacing a bit but shrugging. Growing up in Sampi meant he was used to being soaked through regularly. He glanced at himself in a mirror on the way out and rubbed a hand through his wet headfur, then fired himself a pair of fingerguns with a small smile and continued out into the hallway. He was Samael Wurlitz -- breaking hearts was just what he did, dammit.

Boobs, boobs, boobs.

York was trying really hard to think about boobs.

Normally it wasn't so hard to think about them, but every time he'd lean back in the seat of the truck and try to give himself a little mental visual to go with the partial arousal that had been dogging him the entire drive...goddammit, there he was again. Sammy.

York wasn't stupid. He didn't think he was suddenly in love with the guy or anything...somewhat because Samael wasn't the only thing he saw. Flashes of Wash, too. How it'd felt when -- drunk or not -- he and his battle buddy had shared those moments in those motel rooms. Even if he'd completely ruined their second time...christ, hadn't he felt amazing when the little guy was sitting astride his thighs, calling his name out as York pleasured them both? Or how about the time he and North had been chatting casually in the shower and then, out of nowhere, York's eyes had started drifting and the next thing he knew, bam, full erection. They'd laughed about it -- they'd just gotten out of training, everyone's blood was still pumping, they had been talking about girls...it was nothing weird. Other than the fact that York hadn't been thinking of 'girls'. He hadn't even been thinking of her, he'd been studying his old ex-Freelancer pal without even realizing it.

...What the hell was Samael doing to him? Sure, the ruff wasn't helping, but as he idly adjusted himself and bit his lip, it was Samael and that hasty blowjob he kept revisiting, none of his usual fantasies. And he didn't have the emotional luxury of blaming alcohol this time, because he was all too aware just how damn sober he was. This was all painfully crystal-clear in his consciousness.

York glanced down at his wrist. He was suddenly thinking of the way Samael had gripped him there at the bar, his memory inexplicably sharp in recalling the way Samael's thumb gently stroked through his fur as his eyes had gazed up into him. He said he was there to help...if York was willing to give it a shot.

His teeth ground gently together and he reached up to scrub a hand through his mane while exhaling in frustration. Sex wasn't supposed to be so damn complicated -- it was just sex.

...But sex was never 'just sex' to him, was it? He'd be lying his (incredibly fine) ass off if he tried to make himself believe that for even an instant. He had no problem having casual sex with strangers and friends alike, but it still had the potential to be such a goddamn powerful act, an extension of your relationship with someone...so the more he thought about it, the less fair it was to Samael, to himself, to pass it off as a drunken mistake. As something to pretend didn't happen, didn't matter.

And on top of it all, York Jr. still hadn't gone back into hiding, so yeah. Kinda freakin' sucked. He didn't often have to balance physical need with these kind of alien thoughts. It was exactly the sort of thing he might have discussed with her. In all honesty, he wouldn't have minded trying to talk about it to Wash, too, but...something about that still made him a little nervous. He was his best friend, but those two brief moments of intimacy had never come up again. It didn't feel...safe. And it certainly wasn't worth losing his friendship over trying to bring it up, even as an adjacent subject.

So what the hell did that leave? Chat up some other random rebel, hope they didn't mind the York showing up to suddenly ramble about his confusing thoughts on his sexual fantasies? Yeah, that sounded like it would go well. Maybe another ex-Freelancer, they at least knew him pretty well. Not as well as Wash, but...better than most.

The easier answer was just to make a beeline for his room and take care of his ruff like he normally did. That would at least put an end to the physical part of his problem. After all, Sirca had gifted him with two hands and a dick. That was just science.

...No, wait, that was just math.

York smiled slightly at the memory...only to scowl horribly a few seconds later when it resulted in another wave of desire roiling through him. For a fleeting second, he realized why someone might consider taking inhibs. Sometimes the goddamn ruff just wasn't worth it.

He drove faster than he needed to for the last few miles and he knew he left more than just a broken side-view mirror behind in the entrance tunnel. The more he thought about things, the worse his body rebelled against him, and the more he tried to deny the thoughts...the louder they became. He was starting to wonder if the friendship he'd been so keen on maintaining with that goddamn redneck was worth all the trouble.

York's mind was hardly present as he unpacked the foodstuffs and medical supplies. He worked on autopilot to yank the crates out and stack them into mostly-organized piles as a few other rebels joined him to help. There were enough guys hanging around the area that the truck was emptied fairly quickly, and York didn't even have to deliver anything, himself. Fine by him -- all the faster he could get back to his bunk, put an end to the humming that had started to build in the back of his mind.

He exhaled after grunting his thanks to the other rebels, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed down the hallway. Two flights up -- why was his room so goddamn far? This was somehow Samael's fault too, wasn't it? That damn midget, might as well blame one more thing on him. York wrinkled his muzzle before grasping into his wrist, trying to pretend he didn't feel the light caress of his thumb again, ignoring the thoughts of the way Samael had sauntered across his bedroom, the memory of his small but masculine body sliding against his own enormous frame...geezus why had he befriended someone so...so...

"...Hot."

York froze as the word slipped out of his muzzle, his eyes bulging as the tiny cave-raised bastard himself studied a faded sign halfway down the hall. Water was dripping off his stocky frame as his tail flicked idly from side to side, the gentle jingling echoing into York's frenetic thoughts with the presence of a dozen cathedral bells.

"Oh goddammit," York whispered, taking a hesitant step forward as his arms twitched at his sides. He felt the swelling in his pants, as clearly as the stiff spines at the base of his tail, threatening to saw through his belt with how firmly they stood. But he wasn't gay, goddammit, he couldn't be, he loved women far too much. He loved her so much that it hurt, it still hurt every day. It hurt now, even, despite the way his vision felt almost blurred from his raw sexual hunger.

And yet here he was, gawking stupidly at this...short, dripping-wet, possibly-insane guy wearing no shirt, wanting nothing more than to have another taste of whatever he'd done to him earlier. What the hell was wrong with him?

When his body took another step of its own volition, Samael blinked and slowly turned his head toward him. The grey chupa had a rather determined expression scrawled across his features, even if his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of York. Samael's arms lowered slowly and he took a deep breath while York continued to approach him numbly. He looked like he wanted to say something...something important.

But when York remained silent, his eyes drinking in Samael without a word as his towering body all but trembled with desire, Samael's features slowly shifted. His serious demeanor morphed into a faint but...honest smile and York swallowed. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say. He knew his body was doing plenty of talking, but how the hell did he put that into real words? How did he tell his new friend "hey, I'm seriously not gay but I kind of want to bone you until you can't walk straight?" And what would that mean to Samael, after how uncomfortably things had ended earlier? Oh god, what if he was still--

"Hey, York..."

York inhaled sharply and shifted his weight, trying far too late to casually move a hand over his impossible-to-miss-bulge. "S-Sammy, uh. Hey, I was, uh, I was--"

Samael hesitated, then reached out to grip into his arm. York was again left speechless, unable to do much more than stare down at his friend while his eyes traced from Samael's tender gaze to his broad shoulders, along his thick arms and then over his bare chest, all while York practically squirmed at the gentle contact along his wrist. "York, do you..." He paused to glance past the tan chupa before his smile grew a bit wider. "You wanna hop into that supply closet over there?"

"...Yes."

There was no hesitation this time, not a goddamn hint of indecision. York quickly reversed the hold as he grasped Samael's wrist and pulled him toward the small side room, his heart thudding anxiously while his mind tried to ask him to wait a second and assess this. But there was no thinking now. He was just acting on what he wanted.

Samael shoved the door shut behind them as York fumbled for the pull-string on the bare light bulb. Samael found him in the darkness first, the smaller male's fingers already working at his belt. "Oh, fuck," York muttered, nearly tripping over his own paws at the sheer rush of adrenaline and desire that overtook him. He managed to grasp into the string and yanked it down to cast a dim light over them both, their eyes immediately meeting as they panted hard together. "Sammy...I...I don't..."

The bulb swung back and forth, throwing erratic shadows over the two that only served to emphasize the spontaneity of their act. "Worry 'bout the details later, hon," Samael rasped thickly, his own need all too obvious. York's belt was undone and his pants were shoved down in a blur as the massive chupa clenched his teeth together at the blast of cool air over his arousal. York almost didn't realize Samael had already dropped his own trousers, his brain still trying to catch up to the present. "Fer now, I jus' need you to shut up 'n fuck me..."

Samael turned around while gazing back over a shoulder, his eyes gleaming hungrily, and York cursed quietly as his malehood twitched at the sight alone. "Hngh, christ," he panted, grasping into the base of his member and already knowing he wouldn't need assistance, considering the wetness he could feel dribbling over the engorged flesh. Samael pushed his hands against the wall to steady himself and York hurriedly spread his own legs to compensate for their difference in height while guiding himself beneath Samael's tail. He could hardly hear anything over his pounding pulse, yet everything around him all but screamed at him to hurry the hell up, which wasn't exactly making it easy to focus.

The first jab forward was almost panicked and both he and Samael hissed softly as his stiff malehood jammed against his firm rump. "Fuck, fuck...c'mon, hon, c'mon," Samael whispered, his voice almost a plea as his claws dug into the bare studs of the wall.

"I'm tryin', goddammit!" he grunted, bucking his hips and missing again as they both grit their teeth. "I'm--oooh...god!" York found his target on his third try and his eyes shut tightly as he rammed nearly his whole length upward and into his companion. The sudden warmth and tightness dulled his senses briefly, making him almost miss the delighted shriek from Samael as the stocky chupa arched his spine and threw his head back against York's chest. "Oh my god," York mumbled, his entire form shuddering uncontrollably as he wrapped one arm tightly around Samael's chest, time crawling to a halt for him.

Every nerve in his body felt electrified and for a moment, he couldn't even move as his other arm gripped hard enough into Samael's waist that he could feel his pelvis creak. They breathed harshly together for a few seconds before Samael's desperate whisper tickled against his neck: "C'mon, York...don't fuckin' stop now..."

York groaned and tightened the arm around his friend's torso while pulling himself back slowly. Every inch was excruciating torture and when he finally opened his eyes, he found himself staring down at Samael's ecstatic features, his eyes clenched shut, his jaws gaped in delight while his stout frame writhed blissfully against him. "Fff-fuck, holy shit," York gasped as he found his body taking over for him.

Without another word, his hips slammed forward and up to sink his length into Samael again and elicit another sharp cry from the smaller male. He immediately pulled back and then grunted with the effort of a second, even-harder thrust that slammed Samael against the unfinished wall. But when his companion only moaned loudly for more, York lost all pretense of control and gave into his desire. He clutched Samael tightly with the one arm as the other gripped into one of his wrists to pin it against a exposed stud while his hips started a rapid pace.

Each firm, swift thrust made the grey chupa spasm, his tail piercing tinkling in time while his paws were lifted from the ground with every hard push upward. York leaned over him with a hungry growl as he put every ounce of strength into his movements, eventually simply holding Samael up with his bulging arm as he worked himself in and out at a blinding pace. Samael's muzzle was pressed back against his neck still, his cries shifting into outright screams of pleasure that were invariably tinged with pain. But he begged for more and York was in no position to argue as his own bliss grew steadily, responding by holding Samael tighter as he forced his smaller body against the wall and pounded relentlessly into his squirming form.

Samael yelped when York forced his knot in, and York was granted a moment of clarity even as he started into a blurring series of tiny thrusts. His partner had his own needs to be met, didn't he? This wasn't going to be like last time. As the sweat ran down his body and mixed with Samael's, York removed his quivering hand from Samael's wrist to reach down and blindly grasp for the smaller chupa's crotch. He winced automatically when his fingers hesitantly found the stiff flesh, but the rattling moan from Samael gave York a tremendous boost of confidence.

He barely had to wrap his hand around the aroused malehood before Samael's suspended legs quivered violently while his tail wrapped haphazardly around his hips, his orgasm announced with a blistering cry of delight. York grinned enormously and then found himself closing his jaws around Samael's shoulder as he stroked his friend rapidly and made his own quick, hammering thrusts as powerful as he could. He felt Samael's fluids splattering across the wall and back over his fingers and it filled him with a strange but welcome joy, only adding to the pleasurable sensations of Samael's body clamping even tighter around his buried malehood...

...and an instant later, York's own climax rushed through him, exploding far too quickly and intensely to try and restrain. Not that he wanted to. He snarled blissfully around his grip into his partner's shoulder while his hips pumped upward with jagged, wild motions to send god knew how many thick bursts of his release deep into the wailing chupa. He felt one of Samael's arms reaching back and around to cling to his neck and it only added to his orgasm as he gave a muffled groan and bucked his hips a few additional times even as his movements finally began to slow.

He could feel a hot, sticky dampness between them and wasn't sure what it was, or who it was from, but he didn't care. As his last few thrusts tapered into an unsteady halt, he took a shaky step backward while wrapping both arms tightly around Samael. He lifted his head from his shoulder and they both gave a long groan as their chests heaved together, the shared bliss settling over them like a thick fog.

York couldn't feel his legs and he mumbled a brief apology before dropping back onto a crate that miraculously did not shatter under their combined weight. Samael winced with a soft cry, buried as York still was inside him. But he didn't complain, only breathing hard and resting a hand atop York's huge arms while letting his body relax back against York's gargantuan frame.

York dropped his muzzle onto Samael's head, his own breaths rushing in and out as his mind remained in the blinding haze of the world-shattering climax. That had been...that had been something else. He didn't know where to begin, all he knew is that he had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed it a lot. "Are...are you...okay, Sammy?"

Samael grunted and shifted on his lap, making them both groan softly when York's member twitched inside of him. "Y-yeah, buddy...I'm jus' fine. You, uh. You were a li'l crazy back there...you all good, too?"

York flushed and was glad Samael couldn't see his face even as he squeezed his companion's damp chest sheepishly. 'Uh...uh, yeah, I'm...I'm okay, and I'm sorry if it was. Rough. I sort of...got into it and..."

"Gawd, no, yer fine," Samael murmured despite the way he winced and reached up to touch his shoulder. "You...you feel better, big man?"

There was an unavoidable bolt of guilt, but goddamn if he didn't feel better, all the same. York still wasn't sure where his thoughts landed...sharing this with Samael still didn't make him suddenly aware of some change in his personality because he felt close to the guy. Was it still...gay if you had sex with a friend? Ugh. He didn't want to think about it, not right then and there. "I...I do," he mumbled as he leaned back against the wall at his back. "I just...I dunno what...this means, Sammy."

Samael was quiet for a moment, the only sounds between them their enervated breaths. York felt Samael's fingers drift over his forearm and it was soothing, a reminder that their friendship could perhaps remain intact even if York wasn't ready to make some dramatic concession about himself. Or at least that's what he hoped that meant. He was saved from further worried speculation, however, when Samael spoke up again. That damn drawl was more of a relief than York liked to admit and he closed his eyes to listen as his companion murmured softly.

"That's...that's a'right, York. Ain't somethin' you gotta figure out now, jus'. I jus' want you t'know I don't think this is some kinda one-time thing. An' not only 'cause that's twice now I got ya off..." York could feel Samael's tired grin and he gave his own small smile. "As...a friend, I jus' want you to be comfortable with who ya are. An' if ya ever wanna talk about it...you know where to call."

York nodded a few times. "I...thanks, Sammy. For a weird little gay redneck that's making me question everything about myself, I'm glad we're friends."

"Same here, buddy...same here. Damn you, though, I'm gonna need another gat-damn shower..."

"Heh. Sorry, pal. Kinda your fault for being such a whore, though."

"Ain't arguin' as long as you ain't complainin'..."

"Haw -- not yet, anyway. But I'll let you know in a day if I get any burning sensations on my dick. Might change then."

"Yer lucky you're so charmin', ya giant confused bastard," Samael snorted softly before patting one of York's thighs. "A'right, then. Soon's that big-ass knot goes 'way, I gotta hobble my ass back to the locker room an' you got some soul-searchin' to do."

York snickered amusedly, though knew Samael wasn't wrong. As much as he really wanted to just mark this off as another fun little sexual experiment to never be spoken of again...that would be asking a little too much, wouldn't it?

They'd done the best the could with cleaning themselves up using a dirty rag they'd found in the closet before Samael had poked his head out to check the hallway. The coast was clear, and they both emerged to head their separate ways -- York didn't miss the way Samael really was limping, and he couldn't help feeling just a bit sheepish again. But the smile on Samael's face looked genuine, and York found himself hoping that not only was it real, but that maybe he'd be able to see it again. Samael made for an interesting friend, one unlike any he'd had before. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, especially considering Wash's apparent distaste for the guy. But at this point, it was hard to deny that the two had forged a quick but solid bond.

York did his best to find Samael after an hour or so, wondering if he could run into the strange redneck before anything else interrupted. He still had no idea what he would say, every thought he had was confusing, frustrating...maybe a little frightening, too. He wasn't sure who he could talk to -- the one person he would have run to was...only a memory, now. It wasn't that memories couldn't still talk, because lord, did he still listen. But unfortunately their advice wasn't always the easiest to understand.

If anything, he wanted to talk to his new friend again. Ask him...maybe how he had figured it out. Did he start the same way as York? Had he...had he always known? Was there some way of fixing it? And was it offensive to ask about fixing it? But the questions would remain unanswered, since Samael's path didn't cross his before the inevitable march of time did so instead.

Wash quickly tracked down York to put him back to work on their training schedule. And of course that was when Samael finally showed up again, just to find out apparently someone at the cliffs had called, and Nelson wanted him on the way back faster than intended. Something about a sudden job.

York and Samael glanced at each other and York could see his strange pal had his own thoughts...but Wash was there to grumble and push York toward the training room, while Samael was left to awkwardly hover around and make small talk with CT since Wash had not-so-casually insisted that she 'keep him company' until he left. York hoped the two got along a bit better than Samael had with Wash, at least.

Word traveled swiftly in the rebel base, which ended up being a good thing for once as York heard that the 'loud redneck' was getting ready to head out. Wash had already moved on to the next thing on his checklist, and so York felt a little guilty ducking out of the training...but he gave his pupils a few exercises to practice so he could race up to the front entrance. Everything with Samael had danced between uncomfortable and incredible, and even if there was a risk of screwing up a friendship, it didn't feel right to just let the little guy leave without a word or two.

A different rebel was monitoring the front entrance, and judging by his face...well. York started by offering a lame smile, half-curious, half-apologetic. "Sammy still here?"

"The crazy guy with the piercings? Yeah, he just rolled his motorcycle outside. If you wait here for a sec, he should be gone in a minute or two. Coast'll be clear, then."

York snorted amusedly -- Samael did know how to leave an impression. He chuckled and patted the impromptu guard's shoulder. "Thanks." He jogged through the doors and then brightened at the sight of Samael standing next to the large motorcycle, carefully wrapping a clean cloth around the stitching on his arm. "Sammy!"

Samael glanced up, a smile immediately stretching across his features. "Hey, York! I...uh..." Both their expressions drooped a bit even as they took a matching step closer. "I didn't think I'd see ya 'fore I rolled out."

York couldn't quite tell if Samael meant that as a good or bad thing. He rubbed the back of his neck and then nodded. "I...yeah, same. Hey, I...I'm sorry we didn't get to talk more, and..."

"Aw, shucks, 's not yer fault, hon, I know Wash got you runnin' 'round, ain't nothin' to--"

"No, no, I...mean. Just in general," York interrupted quietly. "There's a lot I want to talk about, but I...I don't. Know where to start. Or how to or..."

Samael fidgeted for a moment and their eyes met. York felt his heart thumping in his chest, though the affection he felt -- and it was affection, wasn't it? -- wasn't...love. He liked Sammy, in some way or another, but he knew that sensation wasn't love. He knew all too well what love felt like. He also knew what nervousness was like, though, and he felt plenty of that. "York, hon...we're still friends." Samael hesitated and they both smiled lamely. "Right?"

York couldn't nod fast enough. "Yeah...yeah, Sammy, of course."

"Then...when we get time again, we c'n talk." Samael reached up and gripped into York's shoulder, who immediately returned the gesture. Their fingers squeezed tightly into one another as they looked at each other for a few seconds that finally felt less uncomfortable. "I might know what to say, I...I might not. Yer gonna hafta think 'bout things, 'cause...hell, I''m yer friend but, son, we still jus' met. We still got lots to learn 'bout each other 'n...it'd be unfair to you if I tried'n...made any assumptions or nothin'."

York shifted his weight but nodded again after a pause. "I. Okay, Sammy. I'm sorry for--"

Samael reached up with his other hand to push a finger against York's muzzle, his smile dipping into such a tender place that York found his cheeks flushing. "We're pals, York. We might bullshit plenty, but I woulda toldja if I hated anythin' that went down 'tween us. An' I think you woulda said so to me, too." He took a soft breath and then stroked his fingers along York's broad muzzle, making the tan chupa freeze in place while staring down at him. "Now you gotta get back in 'ere 'fore yer scary Wash-buddy kicks both our asses, an' I gotta get rollin' so Nelson don't chuck mine off the damn cliffs." He lowered the hand from York's maw, then poked his chest. "You let me know when you wanna hang out again, 'kay? An' I'll be there. Got my word."

York shuffled his paws, then gave Samael's shoulder a firm squeeze before they each took a step back. "You got it, Sammy. Thanks." He found a sheepish smile that was returned and they gave a weird little nod to each other. "Safe travels and uh. Tell Nelson that we were happy to have you and that you make a pretty damn good rebel. For a backwoods redneck." He laughed and then shrugged helplessly. "Since...I know Wash won't."

Samael's awkward smile notched up to a bemused grin as he winked. "Fair 'nuff. A'right, York, will do. An' good luck to you. Take care of yerself 'n don't be afraid to let yer mind do a li'l wanderin'." He straddled the motorcycle and settled a paw on the kick-start as he gazed back at York. "It'll be worth it. Promise." He tipped a salute off his brow before slamming his paw down to bring the powerful engine to life with a roar.

York laughed quietly and took an automatic step backward, tossing a wave back before blinking and snorting when the goddamn redneck coaxed the front wheel of the motorcycle off the ground and twisted the bike around in a loose arc. "Crazy little bastard," he murmured in appreciation as the front end dropped back down, Samael and the motorcycle tearing away to quickly disappear into the surrounding jungle.

Let his mind wander, huh? Well...that didn't sound so bad...

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