dappered | (no subject)

(no subject)

[ So.

It'd been two days since Wash left Church in that empty city. Two days of blissful quiet (except it was never completely silent, not in his head, not with the echoes that Epsilon had left and the whispers that Wash still heard sometimes when he was on the verge of sleep) and he put them to use, moving fast and efficiently and reminding himself darkly the entire time how much Church hinders him, how he was operating with much less efficiency when he had to babysit, etc.

How could he possibly expect to go after the Director with the ultimate AI as his partner if his partner was a bitching juvenile manipulative little bastard. Who thought that abusing his trust was okay. Who thought that doing things like--

( kissing him, he remembers, the pressure of his mouth, his taste, the softness of his throat under Wash's fingertips )

--like that was acceptable. No big deal. Just proving a point, bitch.

It's almost enough to make him not want to go back, when he reached the crest of a cliff and suddenly recognizes the scenery. A shallow lake, a valley surrounded by mountains, one Blue base, one Red base, and one crashed black ship.

Valhalla. Which, now that he'd been reminded about it, did have some unverified accounts of dead zones and abandoned outposts attached to the file he'd glanced through. Valhalla was situated where it was because of this and now apparently occupied by the remnants of the Blood Gulch teams, and while it was a huge relief to have concrete proof of where he was (still not how it happened, still nothing to explain his jailbreak and Church's miraculous physical form, and the only theory he has getting progressively uglier), it meant he had some decisions to make now. The Meta and the recording devices inside Freelancer Command had seen Church's A.I. form, however briefly. Church needed to be kept hidden, needed to be kept safe, and Wash had no intention of waltzing back into a jail cell. It's not ideal, but they can hide here. Or around here, in the caverns that run underneath the cliffs. And know, at least, that their closest neighbors aren't going to jump at the chance to turn them in to Command.

Church doesn't see it quite so rationally. Church points out, in the tone of voice reserved for deepest atrocity, that what is being suggested is really the same thing as going to a place that is close to Caboose.

Wash privately winces along with him at the thought, but remains adamant. Blah blah hiding place, blah blah fugitives, blah blah finding Epsilon, blah blah just get your fucking gear and stop arguing.

Wishful thinking. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Okay laughing would've been a very bad move so he uses all his training to keep any hint of a bitter smirk off his face, Church would just take it the wrong way, because.

(Because you're doing this because you do feel guilty, and you'll use this against him, and is this really the only thing you can submit and do for him while you're busy ruining the rest of his life) ]

I know.

[ matter of fact ]

Don't hit your head.

[ And before Church can say any more stupid things, he wraps his ungloved hand around the base, bracing his other against Church's hip, and swallows him in one smooth motion. ]

[ He would have winced at the crack of skull against stone but that's up a little beyond his line of sight, and the only things he's aware of are Church's fingers in his hair, the taste of him, the weight of his sex cradled on Wash's tongue.

(And don't think about who this body belongs to, don't think about it, this is Church and Church's voice and Church's impatience, there's no one else here, there's no one else watching)

He unhurriedly traces the vein on the underside with his tongue before taking him back in again, quelling the gag reflex when the blunt head nudges the back of his throat, setting up a steady rhythm. Probably not as fast as Church prefers, but he's got no patience and Wash isn't about to let him dictate terms for this. ]

[ Part of him is annoyed, just a little bit, at Church going to the effort of being quiet now when Wash really wouldn't mind hearing him moan and curse ~~and scream his name.~~ The tension in Church's thighs is obvious and Wash holds him more firmly, pinning him to the cave wall (supporting him) while he deliberately doesn't move any faster, drawing it out.

(Put your hand down, Church, and ask for it. Acknowledge it.) ]

Wash, what the fu -- Please, man, come on -- go fucking faster, please. Please.

[ Oh hello.

Too bad he can't exactly smirk with his mouth occupied because this certainly calls for it. If Wash is carefully memorizing what Church sounds like when he's pleading, saving it to play back the next time he has to listen to Church bitching about something inane, that's entirely his own quietly vindictive business.

He's not a total bastard, though, so he does as bid, increasing the pace and sucking harder, a low hum vibrating in his throat. ]

Edited 2009-10-07 04:03 (UTC)

[ Wash is ready for it. It may or may not have been obvious to Church that he's not exactly inexperienced with this, that he doesn't pull away or hesitate but braces him evenly with both hands and lets him thrust, just a little, memorizing that desperate edge in Church's voice and the wet noises and the pleading.

There's no way for him to say 'go ahead' so he just takes Church in deeper, as far as he can. ]

[ (And you have to wonder, you have to think, what is it like for an AI to be in a real body doing this, what's it like for a program to simulating the most instinctual human action.)

Apparently it's a lot like how it is for ordinary guys, because there's nothing strange in the spasm of motion or the taste of salt flooding his throat as he swallows, unhesitating and practiced. It never occurs to him that he shouldn't. It never occurs to him that he doesn't need to linger, running his tongue gently over Church's softening cock before letting it slip out of his mouth.

Church looks like he's about to pass out (how long had it been for him, anyway?), hands falling to his sides like a doll and it bothers Wash, just for a second, to see the other like this (like a puppet without strings), enough that his expression flashes to concern and he helps Church with a controlled not-really-fall so he's finally sitting against the wall instead of oozing down it bonelessly.

This won't have been such a brilliant plan if Wash has somehow managed to overload the Alpha, or done something to the body he's in, or god only knew what, and he hovers anxiously, trying not to ask a stupid obvious question like 'are you alright?' to someone who'd just been given a blowjob. ]

[ Okay alright. He gets it. Backs off a little ways to let Church have room to breathe, and waits patiently for him to recover a bit, using the opportunity to put aside his own bodily frustrations in the same little box he'd been trained to lock all inconveniences in.

(Because if he didn't, if he gave in to impulse, Church would be pleading again with his face shoved against the ground and his legs spread wide and Wash's hands gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises--)

Inconveniences, he reminds himself, and very sternly tries to get the mental image out of his head.

It's probably a good thing that they're not too far off from the underground buildings. Wash hadn't anticipated having to carry anyone's invalid self the rest of the way but it won't kill him, and might even be worth the expression on Church's face whenever Wash would have a chance in the future to remind him of it. ]

We're not far from the place we can set up as a camp. [ so bland ] If you need me to, I can carry you.

Don't be gay, dude.

Edited 2009-10-07 05:23 (UTC)

[ The smirk isn't on his face but it's in his voice. ]

I just wouldn't want to be responsible for you falling down and breaking something.

[ And that, that little moment and that little look, that's exactly why Wash hadn't taken the armor off. Church pushes him too close to certain edges as is.

So he doesn't do a damn thing except stand there calmly when Church eyerakes him, not even the slightest hint of tension or expectation on his face, and counts very slowly to ten before moving to follow him. ]

[ If Wash hadn't already known that the Blood Gulch teams were completely insane, he'd be reminded every time nightfall rolls around. ]

You're not sleeping on the floor so don't even think about it.

There's nothing wrong with the floor. You're such a woman.

[ Lecture Mode: on ]

Domestic comforts are statistically proven to increase performance in battle and improve troop morale. It's why we're issued cots and blankets in the first place.

...

...don't give me that look.

Haven't you ever been camping before? My dad used to --

Well, anyway. I'm not walking another ten minutes to get to a bed.

[ Ouch.

Wash doesn't wince only by virtue of the fact that he's holding himself so still, which is just as much of an obvious giveaway, and for a moment he can't look at Church.

It had been important. He keeps telling himself that. Church had to know what he was in order to protect himself, to have some chance against the Meta or the Project. Wash had made the decision for him and he knows how unfair it seems (it is) but there hadn't been another choice.

Right?

He's quiet for a moment, and then finally asks Church to stay there a sec as he consults the map on his HUD and disappears down a hallway.

Storage closet, check. Extra blankets, check. Pillow, singular, check. These and some other supplies are collected and dumped on the table in the main room for Church to sort through as he pleases, while Wash predictably clears a small space and starts laying out his weaponry. ]

[ And then: ]

...I haven't, actually.

You should try it sometime.

-- Yeah. Well. Night, then.

[ Yeah says the guy who thinks sleeping on the floor like a dog is just fine. ]

I think, at this point, I'd end up associating sleeping outside with field missions. Which would defeat the purpose.

[ His gaze flicks to Church as he moves. Not that he's entirely surprised that Church is just gonna go straight to sleep and not bring up ten minutes ago's weirdness at all. Ejecting uncomfortable situations from his reality was, after all, part of what made Church who he was.

Wash will just stand here and clean his guns. Methodically. And tell himself not to think about it either. ]