Resonant Frequency

An Acceptable Diagnosis

York sat back on his hands as he swallowed the last of the sandwich and gazed across the glassy surface of the still waters stretching out below him. The grass beneath him was lush, almost unnaturally green considering how untouched it was -- he was fairly certain even the gorgeous vistas from atop these bluffs overlooking Lake Highguard were hardly traversed by many chupas. But the quiet was welcome. It gave him the chance to...how had it been put? Let his mind wander?

A smile teased his features as his fingers grasped slowly into the thick blades of grass waving gently in the same breeze that tickled across his fur and mane. It wasn't the worst place for a bit of introspection. As much as he was coming to appreciate the privacy and secrecy afforded by Lactan's jungles...sometimes it was easy to forget how varied Sirca was. And sometimes it was even easier to forget what a beautiful world it was, a home to make any other sentient species jealous...if not for that whole...Holy War thing. And all the other bullshit presented by Things As They Were.

It was a world he had seen from many angles, high and low. His paws had touched the surface of every unique territory across the ring...sometimes alone, but often with a partner. And it was moments like these that made him particularly bittersweet. He knew he was lucky for having been given the opportunities he had, regardless of the regular threats to his life and the lives of his companions. He'd been able to see the world, and continued to do so to this day.

But he'd never been able to explore the world. Experience it without the looming objectives of a mission or job or frantic scramble to avoid capture or death. He eventually lifted a hand and brought it to his chest to brush a thumb slowly against the key nestled in his bristly fur. He would have liked to explore Sirca with her. Maybe she would have been annoyed by such a...boring proposition. But she never failed to indulge York, and she usually found a way to add her own twist to every mundane thing they did, which York never complained about. Experiencing the world with her would have been a delight unlike any other.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the key. Even in losing her, however, for all that pain and darkness that regularly tickled his soul, he knew he was still lucky. He'd come out better than he could have...hell, better than he'd deserved. Because he had friends who cared, and a partner who was still there. His original partner, his battle buddy. His best friend.

Someone else he would gladly explore Sirca with, someone else he had already seen much of Sirca with. Wash had been the gentle light that cut through the blackness in the wake of losing her. He and Wash had been granted a second chance, along with CT and the others who quit Freelancer. Their lives weren't any easier or safer...but they had a renewed purpose and now fought for what they believed, and to find justice for those they'd lost. That was a damn fine feeling, and it was that much better with Wash at his side.

They'd had some...weird moments of their own. Tumultuous ones that nearly sundered their fragile relationship all those years ago. But they'd managed to find their way through, as they did with most impossible odds they tackled together. And there was no one York would rather have by his side now. He wouldn't trade that for anything...he wasn't sure even for...

He took a slow breath and squeezed into the key before lowering his hand to his lap. He'd been content with having a best friend -- it was good, it was all he needed for his heart to feel...mostly complete. Complete enough. He could spend a couple hours with any woman that caught his eye, be she friend or stranger. Intimacy was easy, York could make intense connections where he needed and drink in all the emotion and physical affection he craved. And then he could always turn back to Wash, his best friend, to give him that additional connection, that deeper bond that provided him an extra reason to stay alive, an extra reason to fight and to be ready to throw himself into whatever deadly situation presented itself, as long as it kept his little buddy safe.

But now...now things were different. He could already see the cavalier grin, practically a reflection of his own with the addition of a few shiny bits and eyes so blue they'd make a decent substitute for the waters of Highguard, should they ever run dry. A few days had passed since he met Samael and it had been...an interesting time. York had done a lot of thinking. And a lot of staring at butts. Sometimes even Wash's, when the little guy was distracted. It was maybe kind of weird to admit it, but geezus, he really did have a nice ass.

He hadn't talked to anyone else about his deliberations, though. The tipsy rambling with CT had given him what he needed, he supposed -- a firm injection of the truth. He'd been tempted to talk to Wash, but...still hadn't found a moment that felt right. That didn't feel like it would instantly be steeped in strange drunken memories. He wanted to, though, if only so his best friend wouldn't wonder why York was suddenly sleeping with literally everyone, instead of only half of everyone.

...Not that York had tried to approach anyone who wasn't, ah. A girl. He'd done his usual brash grinning and easy flirting with anyone who seemed interested, regardless of gender, but that was almost normal for him, and no one had paid it any mind. The simple truth was that he'd done most of his exploring mentally. His imagination was a pretty goddamn creative place, after all. And memories were something he was quite good at. It didn't take much conjuring to remember those moments with Samael, or to imagine others. And the physical response he'd had to those thoughts, well. It was safe to say he was starting to come to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, CT had been right.

Ugh...she usually was.

The radio propped up against the nearby tree crackled to life and York's eyes drifted to it. Ah right. He wasn't actually out on the bluffs of Blarganthia to have his...gay wandering thoughts. He was here for a mission. "Rawhide, this is Q-Base."

York held in his snicker. He was pretty goddamn good at codenames, wasn't he? He dropped onto his back so he could stretch an arm over, just able to reach the radio to snatch it up and key it by his muzzle: "This is Rawhide. You on the way, Brisket?"

...Goddamn he could go for some barbecue. Maybe he was only half-good at codenames. But he bet Sammy would have appreciated it. Heh. He could go for some Sammy, too, now that he thought about it.

The weird half-smile stayed in place as the reply came through: "Something's come up. Brisket is now unavailable. Sorry, Rawhide, we can't send anyone right now."

...Well, that made the smile go away. York frowned. "Uh...oh. No, that's...cool. I hope everything's good."

"All fine, just had to divert resources. You're on your own, I'm afraid."

Wash wouldn't be happy to hear that. But this mission was pretty important to him. A potential defector from the House meant plenty of intelligence, if it was legit. These things rarely were, though, and Wash had made it clear he needed to work with someone from their Qoppa location. Wash insisted on him having backup because there was a good chance it was a set-up.

But what if it was a real defection? It would be a helluva boon, and they were often short on boons these days. And it was at that moment York's eyes lit up. He wasn't just craving Samael -- his goddamn subconscious was just trying to remind him the little bastard wasn't that far away! Ha, who had the big dumb soft brain now?!

It had been a random chance, actually, that he knew his intriguing new friend might be pretty damn close by. Not too long ago, he'd been strolling past the radio room at L-Base and heard that oh-so-distinctive drawl. And luckily the operator at the time was bored as hell...and didn't mind the carefree comment York tossed out about how shiny his fur was looking that day...and York was able to take over for a few minutes.

He was delighted and anxious all at once, but Samael seemed just as excited to catch up for a bit. Their conversation was cut short by Nelson, to nobody's shock, but not before Samael mentioned he was being sent on his first solo mission, a quick test for the fresh rebel to investigate an off-the-books Specials recruitment event. Something Samael was definitely energized for, and something York had been looking forward to hearing about, since it seemed like the perfect gig for the charismatic redneck to get his feet wet with.

He grinned and tossed the radio in his palm for a moment as he considered his options. He probably should have called Wash first to let him know about the change in plans but...yeaaaah, he figured he knew how that conversation would go already. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right? And since he and Samael had just so happened to trade their field frequencies...heh.

He recognized the nervous twist he felt as he set the dial to Samael's number. He felt it whenever he thought about his little friend. Things still didn't feel...solid, and he wasn't sure if they would until they could actually meet up and finish that conversation. And even if he needed some help first, maybe this was finally their opportunity. York took a quick breath and then lifted the radio to his muzzle. "Uhhh...my, uh, my inbred pal listening in out there?"

...They definitely needed to get some codenames established for themselves.

A few seconds passed before the familiar drawl sang out, making York sit up excitedly. "Ayyyy, this's yer favorite Sampi surprise, yer comin' in wall-to-wall 'n treetop-tall, big fella. You ramblin' 'round my neck'a the woods to sound so purdy, or you just wake up lookin' extra fine this mornin'?"

York snickered despite himself, shuffling backward so he could sit against the tree trunk. He hated to admit that he could listen to this goddamn unintelligible bastard talk all day. "I just might be, pal! Hey listen...you still over there in Worty?"

"Hell yeah, brother, I jus' finished wrappin' up my report to home base, was gettin' ready to start joggin' since them dirty bitches had me hitch a ride out this way. Where you at?"

York scratched at his chin for a moment. No vehicle meant Samael would take a little while to make his way over. Well...might still be worth it. He could probably fudge pushing the meeting out a day if he needed. "Heh, I'm over here outside of Kilmead, you know the place?"

"Uhhhh shit I think so? Y'all up near the Stones, yeah? Lake-side?"

"Yup, that's the place!" York cleared his throat and spoke a bit softer. "I'm um. I'm in need of a hand, if you're free. I need someone to watch my back for a meeting."

There was another pause or two -- Samael wouldn't hesitate...right? Things had still been a little awkward when they parted ways and York really didn't want that to mean-- "Heh, ol' lady told me to get my ass back as soon as I'm done, but...I tell ya what. I hear Highguard's lookin' real pretty under Nerom right 'bout now, so..." York could hear the devious grin. "I'mma see you real soon. We c'n always ask fer forgiveness later, right??"

Now York was grinning. This short asshole really was meant to be his friend, wasn't he? "Damn, buddy, you're a lifesaver. Hey, no rush, but...when do ya think you can hoof it out here? Let's say outside of town, facing the lake. There's a little burger joint there we can meet. Sometime by nightfall?"

"Aw fuck all'a that, I'll be there in a few hours!"

"...But didn't you say--"

"Don't you worry yer pretty head, pal! I'll figger summin' out -- see ya soon!"

York smiled and nodded firmly as he held up the radio. "Then it's a date! I'll see you then, buddy." He exhaled and switched his radio back to his own frequency before glancing around the small campsite he'd set up. He didn't figure there'd be much harm leaving the equipment here; it wasn't exactly a high-traffic area, considering he hadn't seen another soul since he arrived. And if Samael was really going to figure out how to be here in a few hours...well. York supposed he could use that time to prepare for the meeting, make himself presentable and...maybe set up a little picnic or something. No reason he and Samael couldn't enjoy a moment in peace to chat after the mission -- presumably -- went without a hitch.

...Even if it meant there might be a defector awkwardly hanging around, but. Whatever. They could burn that bridge when they crossed it. Besides, everyone liked sandwiches, right? Well. Almost everyone.

York leaned against the side of the restaurant, marveling. Flavored toothpicks. At this little hole in the wall. It was pretty goddamn magical, alright. He smiled slightly -- of course it was doing this terrible idea with Samael that was giving him a chance to experience something so mundane but whimsical. They were fated to be jackasses together, apparently.

He heard the rumble of an approaching engine and glanced up to see a thick cloud of dust trailing behind something...white? He blinked and squinted as he took a step away from the wall before doing a double-take. That looked an awful lot like a...

The music was audible a second later, something thick with screaming guitars and a delicious beat as York's eyebrows slowly raised in disbelief. He could barely make out the driver, but he had a feeling he didn't need to. Who the hell else would it be? Who the hell else would make an entrance that York himself would be proud to claim??

And sure enough, the tiny glint of crimson beneath a row of gleaming teeth and a pair of black sunglasses was all the confirmation he needed. One arm resting on the steering wheel, another across the door of the...goddamn convertible. York didn't want to be impressed but yeah, there it was.

He couldn't restrain his broad grin as Samael roared along the dusty road leading past the average-sized town, taking a few more steps while shifting the toothpick to the other side of his muzzle. Samael whipped the car around the turn-off with unnecessary finesse, the ivory vehicle kicking its tail out to one side before straightening as it made a beeline toward the tan chupa. York smirked and crossed his arms, standing perfectly still at the entrance to the town as the car rushed directly at him. Samael slammed on the brakes at the last minute, the convertible screeching as it slowed and bounced a few times from the momentum before sliding to a stop a foot or two away from the bemused chupa's legs.

York laughed and approached the passenger side with an entertained smile while Samael grinned and turned the radio off. "Goddamn, Sammy, what the hell are you doin' with this thing??" he exclaimed, chortling and running his hand along the trim. "What, you know how to hotwire??"

Samael snickered and jerked a thumb toward the ignition, where a set of keys were hanging down. "Shiiit naw, son -- I ain't learnt none'a that...yet." He peered up at York over the top of his sunglasses. "Why, you gonna teach me?"

"I might one day when we have more time," York replied playfully as he toyed with the side-view mirror before taking a step back to admire the car again. It wasn't exactly a luxury or high performance model...but it was still clearly someone's pride and joy. "Okay, seriously -- you hijack this thing...just for me?"

"Well, shit, ain't did it just fer you, but I s'pose if yer gonna be so tickled pink by it, I'll let ya think so," Samael shot back breezily before he killed the engine and tossed the sunglasses onto the dashboard. "But yeah, once I heard my buddy York needed my help, I knew makin' you wait on me comin' on foot just weren't gonna do!" He gripped into the top of the door and windshield to lever himself up and out of the car with a grunt as York smiled. "One'a them dickbags that was part'a the event I dropped in on had this fine set'a wheels double-parked out back...I jus' had to pick a li'l tussle with him out in the parkin' lot when he was leavin'...ain't nothin' a good ol' Sampi-style beatdown couldn't fix!" he explained cheerfully while skipping around the front of the car toward York.

The larger chupa chuckled softly, shifting his weight momentarily as he wondered if--

His eyes suddenly widened, surprised despite himself when Samael hugged him fiercely and without hesitation. York smiled and then returned it tightly as the two pressed together for a second or two. "How ya been, big man?" Samael's voice drifted up, muffled as it was with his muzzle half-buried against York's chest.

York closed his eyes, still smiling as he ran a hand down between Samael's shoulderblades. This felt...good. And it wasn't that he'd expected there to be problems between them, but. Anxiety was a helluva thing. York wasn't often anxious, either, which probably hadn't helped. It didn't matter, though. His friend was here now. "I've, uh. I've been alright, Sammy, yeah."

Samael leaned back with a small smile, reaching up with one hand to pat York's breast. "You sound...honest. So hell, I might just hafta believe ya, ya giant fuck. But I'm guessin' it ain't time to chat now, huh?"

York rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh. "Heh, yeah -- not yet, pal, sorry. Hate to have ya come out to get right to work, but..."

"Shiiit, you ain't gotta apologize fer nothin', hon," Samael interrupted, waving a hand and stepping back from his friend before jerking a thumb toward the backseat of the convertible. "I got all my shit here with me 'cause, uh. I guess someone was hoverin' on my frequency when we chatted so." He gave a crooked grin. "Got me a fuckin' holler from Nelson tellin' me I better not even think 'bout comin' out here. So I might gotta change bases, anyway -- we might as well get yer job done with, too, earn some brownie points with yer angry battle buddy."

York smiled despite himself. Samael remembered the term -- it was surprisingly touching to him. "Heh. I'm sure Nelson will forgive ya, as long as I don't let you get shot again," he teased with a light punch to Samael's shoulder. "Okay, so...here's the deal. I'm meeting with a guy who claims he's a Cleric but wants to join us."

Samael smirked and raised an eyebrow. "And the chances this is a fuckin' set-up?"

"Yeaaah, now ya know why I wanted some backup," York concluded with a chortle. "So here's what I'm thinking..."

"What do you mean, I don't look like I work for a hoop?" York protested as he threw his arms wide while the Cleric frowned up at him. "The hell, man?! I'm like...made. I'm a made man. For the Electric Company. It should be obvious because, uh." He gestured at himself with a huff. "Just look at me."

"Then why are you here alone?" the 'defector' inquired cautiously while fidgeting in the shadow of the abandoned warehouse they'd met next to. They were in an old courtyard, dotted with heaps of rusted machinery and scrap. A few additional decrepit buildings surrounded them -- it already made York wary, considering the sheer number of places an ambush party could be tucked away.

The Cleric eyed York with a suspicious scowl. "I would have thought that someone like me would be of more interest, especially to your..." He lowered his voice even further, as if the remote location wasn't safe enough. "Movement connections."

York withheld his sigh, leaning down with an exaggerated motion to use the same whisper: "You totally are, but you also said you'd be alone." He squinted at the guy, and now that their muzzles were only a few inches apart, the Cleric was starting to sweat and shrink back. Rude of him not to notice York being a giant bastard earlier. Either that or...it was a set-up.

"Of-of-of course I'm alone," the Cleric stammered before taking a slow step backward. "I was just under the impression that there would be, uh. A representative of the Movement here."

York wrinkled his muzzle. It was definitely starting to smell like a set-up. A shitty set-up, but still. He crossed his burly arms and let his eyes bore into the House official. "Yeah, well. There ain't one, pal. So what's the word? You said you had information on a shipment of tech and that you wanted out -- you in or you out? Because my people...my hoop people, that is...they're expecting us at the pick-up point in an hour. The dropship won't wait." The Cleric lit up and York masked his frown. Yeaaaah. Next he was gonna ask...

"Dropship? Where is it picking us up?"

York shrugged easily as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "A few miles north of town, by an old shack." He had absolutely no idea if there was an old shack out there, but it didn't matter.

The Cleric's eyes widened excitedly and he took another step backward while doing a very poor job of trying to look casual lifting his hand close to his muzzle. "Then it sounds like...the plan is in motion. Again, the plan is in motion."

York couldn't avoid rolling his eyes. "Really? That's your code?"

The Cleric stared for a moment, then twisted around while scrambling away and hollering aloud: "Take him alive! Send the other team to the landing site!"

York grumbled but accepted that he'd almost expected this as he glanced up at the group of five militia members who emerged from their nearby hiding spots, fanning out to start encircling him. "Fine, let's get this over with," he mumbled as one of the militia brandished a nightstick threateningly.

"We're bringing you in, asshole! Don't resist!" the officer demanded, even as he seemed to take a moment to size up York more carefully. He wielded the blunt weapon doggedly, however, and took another step closer as York sighed and squared himself before gesturing with a smirk.

"C'mon then, boys, I gotta lunch date!"

The first guy and one of his cohorts with a similar short, heavy pole rushed in to swing at York's legs. The ex-Freelancer lifted a leg deftly to avoid one blow as he twisted his other leg to the side to catch the impact of the other truncheon against his calf. It was firm enough to make him grunt and scowl, but it was also enough of a shock to the wielder that the officer nearly lost his grip on the weapon as he stumbled back. York grinned despite himself and turned toward the one whose attack he'd stepped over to greet him with a straight punch to the side of his head.

His knuckles collided with the guy's skull, the impact heavy enough to knock him instantly unconscious. York felt the adrenaline surge through him and he couldn't help laughing as he bounced from one paw to the other and turned to face the remaining four, who were staring at him with a great deal more concern now. "Well?? Don't make me late for my damn picnic!"

The second nightstick-guy yelled in frustration and leaped toward York, both hands holding his weapon in an attempt to land an overpowered swing on his chest. But York slid nimbly to one side before whipping a hand up to catch the truncheon as it arced past. He grimaced as the stinging jolt ran through his arm, but quickly replaced his expression with a winking smile when the militia guy stared up at him in disbelief. "My turn!" he announced before simply shoving the nightstick back against the officer's grip to smash it against his muzzle and forehead.

A spray of blood and a dazed grunt were the responses, followed shortly by the chupa's body collapsing in a limp heap. York grinned again and then glanced up as a third guy cursed and ripped something that looked like a pistol from his belt. York grit his teeth before blinking when he noticed the weapon was bright yellow. The officer raised it to York's chest with a snarl before yanking the trigger to send two thin wires bursting out.

The hooked tips buried into one of York's pectoral muscles and he glanced down before yelping as a surge of electricity ran through the taser and into his massive frame. "Ahhh sonuvabitch!!" he yelped through clenched teeth, his body stiffening up as his tail stood out straight behind him.

For a second, the officer looked victorious...before York grumbled and then grabbed into the wires. The militiaman had half an instant to gape before a firm yank from their enormous target forced him to stumble forward and directly into a powerful haymaker. York's arm smashed into his throat as he gargled and flopped down to the ground, the non-lethal weapon skittering from his grip. "You ass," York muttered, reaching up and tearing the wires from his chest with a wince.

"Oh, fuck this, just shoot him!"

York's eyes bulged as the remaining two officers reached back for their rifles. "Whoa, fuck, fuck, fuck!" He scrambled quickly for a pile of scrap metal and discarded crates a moment before bullets began pounding into the impromptu cover. He made a horrible face while wrenching the radio from his belt, yowling over the sound of gunfire: "What happened to taking me alive!?"

"Screw that, I'm not getting the shit kicked outta me by some jacked-up wannabe hoopster!" one of them yelled back

York huffed while his eyes searched the heap of junk that was providing his less-than-ideal cover. "Hey! I'm totally legit!" he complained before wincing again when a round tore just past his head to bury into the warehouse wall behind him. His eyes locked onto a chunk of steel plating. He grabbed it with his free hand as the other twisted the power knob for the radio. He took a quick breath in, then poked his head up while cocking the piece of metal back to hurl it at the nearest militia member.

The guy's eyes widened before he gave muffled squawk as it smashed into his chest and sent him sprawling. But York also saw three more armed chupas racing into the abandoned courtyard, their weapons already drawn. "Oh shit, come on!!" He quickly ducked behind his cover again and held the radio up to his maw. "Monster, monster monster! We got ourselves a big goddamn monster on the loose!"

"Kinda figured by the gatdamn gunfire, hon! Comin' in hot!"

Bless that goddamn drawl. Bullets from three different guns were screaming into the scrap pile, sending sparks, metal shavings and chunks of dusty wood through the air around York as he scrunched his body as much as he could. Wash really wasn't gonna like this debrief...

But he then picked out the sound of something else over the encroaching gunfire. Something considerably more welcome. The roar of an engine, the squealing of tires. That goddamn music again. York stole a glance around the side of his cover just in time to see the white convertible race into the courtyard from an adjoining alleyway, Samael grinning away behind the wheel. The militiamen shouted their shock and turned to send a spray of bullets along the paneling, but the crazy redneck simply ducked and maneuvered the vehicle toward them, two of them diving for cover while he cranked the steering wheel and whipped the back end of the car around to side-swipe a third and send him crashing bonelessly into a stack of rotting tires. "Ay, sweetie! Get in the fuckin' car, we're late fer lunch!" Samael yelled with a laugh before cursing as another spray of bullets tore through the windshield.

York smirked and sprinted for the car while its driver produced a pistol to fire several shots at the offending officer, clipping his arm and side to send him into a pained sprawl. "That's what I told 'em!" York shouted back, gripping into the windshield and vaulting himself over Samael to land in the passenger's seat.

Samael grinned over at him, handing him the pistol and then shoving the car into reverse as he peered into the rear-view over the top of his sunglasses. He slammed the accelerator down to send the convertible backward into one of the militia members who was just staggering to his feet. The guy was knocked flat again with a yelp and Samael cackled while shifting back into drive and smirking at York. "Hey, what idiot picked the fuckin' codeword??"

"Look, man, it's better than the one they used!" York protested over the rollicking, bluesy tune while he twisted around in the seat and gripped the pistol in both hands to send a few warning shots whistling past the recovering militia members. "Head for the woods at the west end of town! Got an idea for a diversion..."

Samael chuckled and nodded his understanding as he put the car back into drive and gunned the engine to tear out of the courtyard and into the back roads again. "Love the way ya think..."

York caught himself eyeing Samael more than once as they evaded their eventual pursuers easily despite the outlandish convertible. It was hard not to, though. Now that he'd had time to think about himself, what he was...what he liked...it became as easy to admire the stocky form of his companion as if it was anyone else he normally admired. It was still something his brain latched onto -- but he's not a girl! -- yet he was finding himself pushing back more and more. Who cared that he wasn't a girl. York still liked it. And...that was okay, wasn't it?

He told himself it was, anyway. And over the last couple of days...he'd started to honestly believe it, too. CT was a true friend -- not a peep of their conversation had left the bar. Not that he expected it would, but...some fears were new to him. Those were always harder to brush away. Hours were spent agonizing over it, he'd stressed about what it would be like if he did accept he wasn't just York, the ladykiller. If he accepted he was actually York...slayer of ladies and guys alike. Would he be treated differently? Would his friends still respect him, still behave the same way around him?

After all, he was in a better place, now. The Movement was nothing like where he and Wash and the others had come from, things were more open here, less prejudiced. He wasn't in the world of Freelancer or Specials anymore, where masculinity was the key to survival in the social world; he didn't have to worry about the guys in the locker room who tossed words around like 'faggot' without a care. He'd never used the term, himself, he wasn't comfortable with it because he never had a problem with people who were different from him.

...And at the same time, what had he said to Wash in that motel room in Calypso? No homo. It was teasing, a jibe to lighten the awkward mood of sharing something...intimate, something that normally two friends didn't share. Not unless they were more than friends. And he still remembered his thoughts, too. How he'd told himself this wasn't gay, it was just friends, battle buddies helping each other out. A drunken adventure, nothing serious. Nothing to be brought up again, nothing to be considered meaningful.

But when he gazed at Samael as the cheerful redneck spun the wheel and whipped them around another corner at breakneck speed...he saw Wash, too. And he remembered the eyes Wash had given him before their fight in that hotel room. He didn't think Wash was attracted to him or anything -- they really were just best friends. But...what if Wash was bisexual, too? And what if that moment had meant something to him...or at least if he'd wanted it to. How must it have felt for York to...

He sighed softly. Samael caught it, a frown threatening the broad grin he sported. But York only smiled faintly over at him and then pointed through the windshield. "Head outta town there, right into the woods. We'll set up a li'l surprise that should keep 'em distracted, and hoof it back to the jeep so we can get the hell outta this place."

He owed Samael the same guilt and he nodded to himself. They could talk soon.

Samael had been extremely impressed by York improvising a timed explosive with the convertible, loath as they'd been to lose such a sweet ride. It was for the best, however, and the massive plume of fire and black smoke on the far end of town kept the attention away from them as they jogged back to York's jeep and hightailed it out of the town and back to the bluffs above the lake.

Their conversation was light on the drive out there. Samael seemed to sense York's thoughtful apprehension without much effort -- it was kinda crazy how goddamn good the Sampi native was at reading emotions. York was starting to see why Nelson was grooming him for infiltration missions.

The 'picnic' ended up being two semi-stale sandwiches and a single bottle of beer -- York at one point had a few more that he'd fully intended to share with the Qoppa rebel he was originally going to work with, but...well. He got a little bored waiting for the meeting and, well. Was now left with just the one bottle.

It rested in the long, soft grass between the two friends as they sat side-by-side and finished off their sandwiches from their spot above Lake Highguard. Samael had been more than impressed, a soft whistle escaping his muzzle at the picturesque scene -- he'd never been out this way.

York, on the other hand, was shamelessly watching his companion. The time that had passed since Samael's arrival at Lactan really had been full of introspection, and letting his eyes travel where they pleased, whether to female or male. Never any words about it...CT was still his only confidante...but his mind had wandered plenty. He'd been forced to accept the simple truth -- he was attracted to both women and men. It wasn't just Samael.

...But god, did he like looking at Samael. Maybe because he had been his first. Maybe because he was so small...hell, maybe it really was those piercings and that funny drawl, like CT had teased him about. He didn't know why, but he wasn't going to waste any more energy worrying about it. He was just going to enjoy it, at long last.

They both reached for the bottle after swallowing the last bites of their sandwiches, their hands bumping together while their eyes met. Samael was quick to smile, slipping his hand past the bottle to squeeze gently into York's wrist. "This is a beautiful spot, man. I appreciate ya bringin' me out here, ain't the worst second date I ever been on!"

York couldn't help the laugh even as Samael's touch sent a shiver up his arm. He smiled back at his friend, then picked up the bottle to take a sip. "Oh, we're on a date now?" He paused, then winked and offered the last bit of the bottle to Samael, who cooed softly and accepted it so he could swallow the final gulp of beer. "Leave it you to get me to have a picnic date. That's about as gay as it gets!"

They snickered together and Samael let his hand drop back down to the grass before leaning balk on his palms for a moment. York found his eyes traveling across his friend's bare chest again, watching the way the gentle highland breeze drift over his grey fur, allowing his impressive musculature to be briefly more visible than usual beneath his thick hide. He knew Samael could feel his gaze on him, but he didn't care this time. And Samael was kind enough to remain quiet and simply bask in the attention.

York took a deep breath and finally tore his eyes from his friend to instead look out across the lake. "Sammy, I wanna. Uh. I'm gonna...tell you some stuff, and maybe it'll make sense and maybe it won't, but..." It was time to try and talk. For what it was worth, Samael's eyes were tender, free of any judgment. He looked ready to listen. "Back at Freelancer...my partner was everything to me."

He knew it was vague. Samael might think he was talking about Wash. And...hell. Maybe York meant them both. That was okay by him. Both had been important to him. Both had given him a reason to live. "After we left...it...it was the same," he continued softly as he played with his necklace for a moment or two. "I was used to things being...a certain way. When you have a partner that intensely close, who knows you that well, it's...like a relationship. Even if there's no...romance, no intimacy. It's still that much of a bond."

He exhaled slowly and felt Samael gazing at him. He liked it, though. He appreciated the tenderness in those big, soft eyes. "So...my partner was my relationship. And women were my pleasure. I knew it'd never be a problem to find someone to share a bed with, you know? It was just...if I wanted some intimacy, if I had an urge, I'd...go find it. It was comfortable, it was...familiar." He released the key and instead rubbed at a shoulder. "I never looked for a change because I didn't want...change. Even after leaving Freelancer, having that comfort was. It was a major thing for me."

Samael reached over to place a hand on his bicep and York closed his eyes with a smile. "There were signs. I...I'd catch myself admiring...a guy. I'd think about a male teammate. Pass it off as a fleeting thought." He couldn't talk about Wash, though. That was still...private. Still something he kept clutched close. But he knew those two times with Wash weren't the only signs he'd ignored. "I dunno, maybe I didn't know how to understand them, maybe I just didn't want to understand them," he murmured before his smile widened a bit and he glanced back down at Samael. "But then...then I met you." The stocky rebel grinned up at him, though it was gentle, and his fingers squeezed lightly into York's arm. "You...you weren't deterred for shit. You, um. You were persistent and..."

He shifted his weight and looked away, only to blink as he felt Samael shuffle closer and press right against his side. York turned his head back in surprise, and Samael only smiled up at him. "Y'feel guilty still, huh?"

"Yeah...of course I do," York murmured. "It...it shoulda been obvious, but I blamed everything else. My ruff, the booze...even that bullshit about my body 'thinking of you as a woman'." That last string of words tasted bitter and he looked shamefully back across the waters below them. "Those were really shitty excuses."

He stiffened up at the caress along his muzzle, slowly tilting his head back to the side to find Samael gazing up at him. Forgiveness was already scrawled across his features, but he spoke all the same: "York...yer okay, hon." He paused and seemed to take a moment to gather his own strength before smiling faintly. "Yeah -- it did hurt, but....I know how scary it c'n be to realize somethin' about yerself, feelin' confused why you never knew it before. It ain't easy, and...I ain't exactly prime material fer helpin' someone along to that realization..."

"Hey, hey...that's...that's not true," York interrupted quietly as he studied the crimson studs in Samael's jaw, then reached out to rub his thumb against one. "If you hadn't have been so open with me, so...determined, I don't know if I. If. If I would have realized it on my own." York cleared his throat before cupping Samael's cheek with a sheepish smile. "I haven't told anyone else. I mean, except for CT. Who. Was the one who kind of, uh. Sat me down and. Told me what I was."

Samael pushed his muzzle into his fingers, then paused and smiled toothily. "Wait...CT? Aw shit, of course she did. I pegged her as a smart chick the very first time we talked. Hell yeah, I'm glad she was able to talk some sense into ya!"

York nodded even as he flushed a bit and let his thumb stroke over Samael's lower jaw. "Um. I...well, I just kind of figured that. You should hear it first. Since...you sorta made me..."

"Gay?"

York blinked and then laughed despite himself. "Bi, geezus, Sammy, I'm. That. Bisexual. Stop making me say it, the word sounds weird."

"Naw, it sounds gay, 'cause yer totally gay," Samael replied promptly with a teasing wink while reaching up to run his fingers lightly through his companion's mane. "So...so you're sure, pal?" There was another waver, another moment of hesitation. York gazed deep into Samael's blue eyes, feeling the way the other chupa wanted so badly to call out in celebration...but was held back by something. "I been worryin' 'bout you, York. Worryin' that...I mighta made you confused, or tried to push somethin' on ya when you were vulnerable. I want you to be yerself, to be happy, an'...last thing I ever wanna do is make someone like you, someone I already wanna call a best friend, think they gotta change who they are."

York felt a surge of concern rush through him, but not for himself. Sammy wasn't supposed to feel guilty! But...York understood why he did. The responses he'd given their last time together, they hadn't exactly been soothing. York paused and gathered himself before rubbing his thumb against Samael's muzzle and neck as he looked into his eyes. "I'm sure, Sammy. I'm sorry I was dumb, and kinda panicked and stuff. But...you didn't do anything wrong." He exhaled quietly. "I'm definitely into guys, too."

Samael tilted his head and then nodded as his smile once more grew warm. He reached up and put his hand atop York's, keeping their eyes locked together. "It's all good, hon. An'...you ain't in the ruff now, right?"

York blinked and cocked his own head. "Uh...no. Why?"

Samael smirked and let his fingers lightly entwine with York's. "And you ain't drunk now, neither, yeah?"

"Naw...not at all. Sammy, what are you --"

Samael smiled as his other hand dropped onto York's thigh and slid slowly along it. "Then yer all natural. So how 'bout you show me that yer sure?"

"Oh?" York's eyes slowly widened. "Oooh." The sudden rush of excitement was difficult to describe, but he felt like nearly every limb was instantly electrified as he grinned. "Heh. Okay..." he replied. It no longer felt difficult to act as he pushed Samael gently onto his back and then moved to straddle him as Samael's stocky form sunk into the grass below. "That I can do."

"Good," Samael murmured, his eyes already dancing eagerly as he gripped into York's sides, then let his hands move appreciably over his taut hide. York closed his eyes for a moment, savoring each finger that moved along his torso before he gazed down again and steeled himself. God he could already feel how tight his pants were, making the truth behind all his revelations that much more obvious. His key hung down between them, a tender, glinting reminder that this didn't change who he was. It was simply embracing who he was, who he wanted to be. Who he'd always meant to be.

As Samael's hands reached his belt, York groaned and then pushed his muzzle down into Samael's neck. He felt Samael's soft breaths against his cheek and it sent a thrill down his spine, his tail curving slowly behind him. He placed a hand on Samael's chest to rub gently down along his body, tracing every contour, every rise and fall of muscle and sinew and unexpectedly soft fur. His other hand gripped securely into his companion's shoulder for support as he began to kiss along his collarbone.

Samael's panting increased in volume before becoming an excited giggle when the belt was undone. His nimble fingers wasted no time in sliding York's pants down -- the firm smack of erect flesh against stomach muscles was accompanied by a grunt from York. He moaned into Samael's neck and started to arch his back, only for Samael to quickly slip an arm up and around his neck to keep his head pulled down.

He was all too happy to continue his oral ministrations along Samael's shoulder, back up to his neck and along the side of his muzzle, pausing only to give a soft, delighted gasp when Samael's other hand wrapped around his exposed arousal. "Oh...oh f-fuck," he whispered, his eyes opening long enough to find Samael's gaze unleashed upon him. The two stared at each other for a few seconds before Samael winked and gave a long, steady stroke along his flesh. "Christ," York cursed as he closed his eyes tightly and shoved his head down into Samael's neck again.

His own hand dug lightly into Samael's stomach, temporarily made stupid by the immense waves of pleasure he felt from the oh-so-slow movements over his malehood. But he eventually managed to find Samael's pants and he started to fumble with his belt buckle...before the gentle bump of his companion's fist against his knot made him buck his hips heatedly. "Fuck this -- sorry, Sammy," York muttered into his neck before giving a hidden grin, simply clutching into the belt and tearing it aside.

The sound of broken leather might as well have been an aphrodisiac, considering the way both chupas groaned eagerly and pressed closer together. Samael's pants were easily whisked down, and York felt his friend's arousal immediately spring free and collide with his inner thigh. It sent a new, unexpected wave of desire through his massive form and he had to finally pull back from Samael's neck with a gasp as his pupils shrunk with his exhilaration.

Samael continued to smile up at him from his sprawled position, giving another casual stroke of York's throbbing flesh. "I'm ready when you are, big guy," he rumbled, lifting one leg and nudging it gently against York's side. York glanced down dumbly, then nodded several times as he looped his arm around his companion's limb. His eyes drifted down over Samael's frame and then took in his member for the first time -- blue. It was very blue. But he didn't have time to contemplate it as Samael murmured soft, excited words of nothingness while proceeding to tease York's already-dribbling erection.

Yeah he could ask about that later.

"Fuck...fuck, oh my god," York muttered, his tongue racing over his teeth as he hurriedly lifted Samael's other leg and let the smaller male do the more precise job of guiding his trembling flesh to the right place. Their eyes met again even while Samael's fingers tenderly maneuvered his stiff flesh down, down, down, his tip tracing over Samael's own arousal, down along his sheath and across his plump orbs before passing through the warm fur and then, suddenly, heat. York's eyes slid shut and another curse escaped his jaws as Samael twitched and then cooed a soft encouragement, his fingers still delicately holding him in place.

But he wouldn't need any additional coaxing. York took in a deep breath, bit his lip in concentration...and then plunged forward while gripping tightly into both of his friend's legs.

Samael's shout may well have disturbed the calm waters far below them, the long, loud shriek of pleasure echoing across the distant rolling hills and bluffs. York had nearly buried himself with the first thrust alone, and he forced every instinct of his body to remain still to enjoy it as long as possible. His whole body twitched in anticipation, only his knot remaining free while Samael writhed in ecstasy below him, his hands clutching into the grass to pull up clumps of it in his spasms. York was glad he found the strength to open his eyes, because the sight was truly one to behold.

Samael's maw stretched wide, a soundless gasp of delight marking the uncontrollable twitching of his bliss-riddled form. If words were coming out, they weren't intelligible. His tail was thumping wildly around to one side, making the unique piercing jingle madly...and goddamn if that wasn't music to York's senses.

He finally managed a grin past his violent shuddering, licking his lips eagerly and adjusting his grip on Samael's legs before whispering: "Here we go, buddy..." He grunted and pulled his hips back with a low hiss, then slammed forward again with enough force that Samael's body slid backward through the grass by a few inches. "Hnngh, god!" York cried out happily, his claws digging into Samael's thighs while he quickly repeated the process to break into a steady thrusting.

The pace wasn't hurried yet, York straining to maintain his composure even as the fires of pleasure roared through him. He was swinging his hips with purpose, driving his length into Samael with full, complete movements. And the effect was instantaneous, since Samael's back was already arched in delight, his bright blue arousal practically a fountain of clear fluid. York almost lost his tempo in his admiration of the sight.

He leaned over Samael and continued the powerful rhythm, and his partner began to moan more insistently. One of Samael's arms reached up to grip his shoulder, the other still clutching into their grassy bed. York felt one of Samael's legs curl around his waist and he started to reach for his companion's steely arousal, but Samael's eyes snapped open. They were wild with passion, yet oh-so-focused as the smaller chupa managed a grin past his ecstatic groaning. "No, no, no...l-let it happen," he pleaded as he instead grabbed York's wrist to move it toward his waist.

York nodded rapidly and closed his hand around Samael's hip. The contact made them both shiver with delight, and York held Samael's stocky frame tightly as he proceeded to thrust a bit harder. Samael's eyes rolled back, his spine curving even further as the impassioned whispers trickled rapidly from his maw. "Aw gawd, York, fuck...aw...aw fuck, fuck yes!"

Samael's grip around his bicep was fierce as his body erupted into a series of convulsions, his ecstasy seeming to embrace York with an aura of raw bliss. Fingers tightening around his arm, legs squeezing his waist, the almost-painful clamping on his arousal...but oh god was it wonderful. He stared down, mesmerized by Samael's hastened bleating as every ounce of the short chupa poured into this moment.

And then York gasped when Samael's climax hit. The little redneck was a beacon of unbridled ecstasy, but York might as well have shared it with him considering how it washed across him, encouraging a stronger pace with each thick burst that splattered across Samael's chest. His companion's cries rang out again and again, York's name mixed into the blissful curses and exclamations, all serving to drive his own pleasure that much higher. "God, Sammy, oh...lord..." he panted as he drove his hips harder, only to nearly freeze when Samael suddenly wrapped an arm around his neck to yank him down and stare into his eyes, his expression a beautiful swirl of delight and delirium.

"Oooh, not yet, York, you fuckin' beast, not yet!" he demanded with a coy grin, his body still writhing as he looped his other arm around York's thick torso, pulling his smaller frame up against his companion while his legs squeezed harder around his sides. "C'mon, hon, make it fuckin' last," he whispered eagerly into York's neck.

York's eyes shut tightly, the frantic, needy words pounding into him like a goddamn shot to the system. He felt a renewed surge of hunger, a sense of excitement at the urging of his friend. Determination set into place as he released a short, delighted laugh and then lifted Samael up from the grass while falling back onto his haunches. He pulled the grey male into his lap and wrapped one burly arm around his waist as the other hand slid up along his spine to the back of his skull. He could feel Samael arching and moaning in delight as his fingers traveled over his backbone, his orgasm still tapering off between them.

Everything about this felt perfect. The liberation, the joy of expressing what he wanted without fear or shame. And the goddamn unending waves of pleasure as his insane friend rode his dick like he was made for it. Sweat had begun to trickle down York's broad frame and he slowed his hips to both catch his breath but also to try and take the damn lead back. He felt Samael twitch, his claws digging into his back as the motions of his malehood decreased to an almost lazy speed. His climax wasn't far off, but he was resolute in showing Samael he was just as much of a skilled lover, goddammit.

Each measured thrust up into the grey chupa made Samael gasp against his chest, and York grinned proudly as he curled himself around his companion, his muzzle pressing down atop Samael's head while York clutched him securely. His eyes locked onto Samael's tail, noting the spiked fur at the base, stiff enough to be crystalline, while the two-part piercing near his tuft clinked rhythmically every time York's arousal pounded into him. It was kinda beautiful, in a really sexual, really gay way.

...God, he'd been missing out these last few years.

York was doing everything he could to draw out the impending flood tide, his body twitching and shivering as he tamped down on every little instinct that demanded release. But Samael's...everything was making it beyond challenging. The hot panting across his chest, the blunt claws dragging through his fur, toes digging into his lower back and every inch of York's diamond-like erection treated to a heated, rhythmic pressure with each pass in and out of his compact body.

It was quickly too much and York grit his teeth as he pushed Samael's head closer to his heaving chest while the other arm curled around his friend's ample rump. He shoved himself up to a kneel, holding Samael up while he worked himself into a harried, enervated tempo. Samael's delighted whimpers slid into outright shouts, barely muffled by York's thick fur as the wild thrusts jostled Samael violently, his thighs quaking uncontrollably against York's sides while his tail snaked around to clench painfully into York's hip.

York swore he heard Samael's bones creak with how tightly he clung to the little bastard, but the cries of ecstasy told him there was hardly a need for concern...just for more. And he gave as much as he could, nearly extracting himself to his tip each time and threatening Samael with his painfully-swollen base again and again.

Just as he was about to shove the imposing knot in, however, Samael suddenly threw his head back with a keening howl as both his hands appeared on York's shoulders. His body curled with unnatural finesse while his legs immediately untangled from around his back, and York had only a second to stare with dazed wonder into Samael's pleasure-drenched grin before the world spun violently. Vertigo overtook him, mixing with his bliss to dull reality for an instant before a heavy thud made him grunt in shock when Samael shoved him down into the grass.

Samael planted one hand on York's chest for support as he leaned over him with a toothy grin, the other hand briefly stroking across his muzzle. "Go for it, hon," he whispered as he bounced his hips up and down at a jagged pace, his body shuddering wildly while his own arousal remained impossibly stiff, already again oozing thin, clear ropes of his fluids across York's stomach.

York stared up at him numbly, his senses still trying to catch up and wade through all the cumbersome sexual ecstasy. He found his hands gripping into Samael's hips as his friend rumbled his approval. Their eyes met and Samael licked his lips eagerly before throwing himself back in time with a firm thrust upward from York. Samael's body straightened as he began to ride York with impossibly smooth motions in spite of their unrestrained passion. York murmured things that hardly counted as words as his fingers dug into Samael's waist while he threw every ounce of his willpower into his motions upward.

York's teeth clenched together again, his head rolling back for a moment as Samael's unfettered cries were once more free to echo through the highlands around them, unashamed as ever with expressing his bliss. York's hips were a blur, pistoning in and out of Samael while the smaller male moved just as intensely, the two working in tandem faster and faster until, finally, one firm drop of Samael's rump forced York's engorged base in.

York's muzzle parted with a soundless shout, his eyes whipping open again as he brought his head down just in time to see Samael's body arching backward with a shrill scream to the skies above. York's thrusts lost all semblance of rhythm, reduced to a machine-gun-like salvo while Samael's second orgasm crashed through the smaller chupa. York was beyond intelligible thoughts or exclamations, content to merely moan desperately as he teetered on the edge of his own climax. Samael's release was immense, three, four, five thick splashes marring York's chest...and the depth of his friend's pleasure was the final push he needed.

A blissful roar shook them both as York's entire lower half left the ground, his paws digging into the grass as he lifted Samael several inches into the air while an explosion of pleasure flooded deep into his squirming body. They cried out for each other through the ecstasy, Samael's own climax only seeming to be augmented by York's powerful release. York lost track of how many tiny thrusts he gave, the absurd volume of his orgasm spilling back out to splatter over his thighs even while he kept battering Samael with the tiny, intense jabs upward.

It was well over a minute before York finally gasped and let his body collapse back to the grass. "Oh...oh my fuckin' god," he panted, drenched with sweat and Sammy. Samael immediately dropped forward with a whimper, his body trembling unsteadily as the pleasure continued sending quivers through his small frame. York didn't hesitate, pulling Samael against his chest as their soaked bodies pressed securely together with York's malehood still extremely well-buried in the shorter chupa. "Christ, Sammy, what...what the hell," he mumbled into his friend's headfur.

"Jus'...jus' wanted t' be sure," Samael replied breathlessly, giving a quiet chuckle against York's damp chest as one of his hands rubbed gently along his bicep. "Think yer safe to tell everyone else yer a big ol' homo, now..."

York snorted even as he felt a quiet burst of happiness -- none of that had been an act or an accident. It had been very real. And...he had very much enjoyed it. God that felt nice to admit. "I already toldja...bisexual, you...gay jerk," York murmured back as he wrapped his arms around Samael and kept him held down to his larger form. "Shit, but you are somethin' else...I don't think 'whore' covers it properly anymore..."

"Y'know I'll take that as a compliment," Samael shot back impishly before lifting his head enough to gaze up at York and meet his eyes. The two looked at each other for a few seconds before Samael reached his other hand up to caress York's cheek. "How's the conscience, big man?"

York blushed under his fur as he smiled warmly and nodded once, straining his neck forward to bump their muzzles together. "Content. And dehydrated, now, thanks to whatever...gay-whore magic you just did."

"Good," Samael murmured while running his claws through York's damp mane and then letting his muzzle drop back to his chest. "An' hey, any time you wanna learn a couple gay magic tricks, y'know who to call up." He paused, then smiled up to York again. "Still friends, right? Y'ain't gonna pull no disappearin' acts on me now that yer ready to start bonin' every cute girl and guy you see, yeah?"

York gave a silly little grin back. "Gawd, no. There's no way I'd be unlucky enough to meet anyone else like you on this damn ring, Sammy -- pals forever, now."

"We'll jus' hafta figure out how to get yer buddy Wash 'n my ol' nag Nelson on the same page, 'cause I ain't think they gonna be a fan of us gettin' together," Samael teased while tickling his claws gently up along York's arm.

York smiled even as he realized that was probably very true. He gazed down at Samael while running a hand slowly down his companion's spine. This time his feelings were far less complicated -- this just felt...right. He could feel the key pressed between their still-heaving bodies, but it was no longer heavy with guilt. He heard her voice, telling him to be true to himself above everything else. It had been one of her mantras, something she regularly reminded him was a reason she loved him.

...She probably would have had a laugh at how long it took him to realize this part of himself. And that made him smile, and hug Samael a bit tighter. He felt more complete, now, and gaining a new close friend was just a bonus.

It was still gonna be kinda fun telling Wash, though. York smirked to himself, then quietly nudged Samael's maw with his own. "Yeah, you're probably right, buddy. I'm half-scared Nelson's gonna try to shoot my ass when I drop you off, and then Wash is gonna shoot off whatever's left when I get back to L-Base."

"Be a shame, ya gotta nice ass," Samael responded, winking and then poking York's muzzle. "But hey, if gettin' our asses hollered at's the cost of bein' yer pal, I'm all-in." He held up a fist, and York blinked before ginning and knocking his own gently against it. "Friends to the end, York."

York smiled and squeezed Samael gently. "Friends to the end, Sammy."

Samael beamed and then grunted as he dropped his head back onto York's chest. "Also ya owe me a new belt, ya crazy sex-beast."

York smirked, nudging his muzzle with his own. "Like you aren't gonna brag about it to everyone." Samael snickered and they shared another grin. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll return the favor one day. Got the feeling we'll both be responsible for a lot of ruined clothes down the road..."

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