anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

"So the next time you assume I will be angry with you, you will talk to me first."

Since York is in the mood to take requests, might as well lay that one on the table and see what he does with it. With his thinner frame leaning in, Sam grunts and winds both arms around him to hold him steady. It had obviously been quite the ordeal, this meeting.

"Will this complicate the mission?"

"I don't wanna be a greedy asshole, though." But- if Sam's alright with it- if this is implicit permission or at least acceptance granted...is it still a greedy asshole thing to want? He'll have to gnaw on that for awhile. For now he can just lean and breathe and be.

"No, not on my end. I don't think on his either- it's more the reminder that I'm a fuckup that has him upset with me. And the whole 'leaving him to die and think I was dead' thing."

"That, I cannot help."

Though he wishes he could. In truth it's a very understandable thing for Washington to feel bitterly about. Even with this revelation of York's feelings concerning him. There are intricacies at work here that really are just beyond his scope of being able to handle.

This? Holding York and soothing him. This he can handle.

"Nah, that's for me to work through." But it was worth it. To stumble along half blind and all alone until he landed this. Till he earned this. And that'll be worth any weight of guilt his past might throw at him.

He tilts his head enough to nuzzle up under Sam's chin, breathing him in. Warm skin, aftershave, that shampoo he likes. Scents of home.

"Know that whatever you decide, I will do all I can for you."

He knew a thing or two about guilt. The past could eat you alive if you let it. And he'd almost been content to, to push forward alone on his path of revenge or justice or whatever he'd decided it was, until there was nothing left to give. Until his body gave out, or the mission was complete, and then--

But then there was York. Taylor. Delta. Lexi. There was family, and hope for something better, something he'd long since thought himself past imagining for himself. He'd do whatever he could to protect that, to prove worthy of it.

What are a few stolen moments next to that? Taylor would come back to him as he always did, and he could continue to have this. That was all that mattered. Content with that, he presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

"I know." With a kind of bone deep certainty he only ever had for Delta in the past- for Carolina and North before everything went sideways. Now? Now they've got each other, they've got this weird little family and it's...it's worth fighting for.

It's worth the disdain and disappointment and the rotted bloat of uncomfortable memories.

He can brave the ghosts as long as he can come back home to this. This warmth, this stoic certainty, this ridiculous nerd of a human being that, for some reason, loves him. "Love you."

Like it bears repeating, but since The Incident he's tried to say it more often.

"And I you. More than words."

One hand cups the side of his face warmly, tracing the scar under his eye gently with his thumb, the look in those pale eyes softening.

Taylor's eyes go half lidded, his smile wide, faintly crooked, and sappy. "How did I get so damn lucky, huh?"

One job. One job and one moment of absolutely no self control and now...now they're this. And this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

A small wrinkle appears in his brow. "Luck saw us cross paths. Everything else was your doing."

It's sappy, but it's also absolutely true. They could have parted ways at several points, things could have gone wrong, paths not taken and decisions not made. Every step towards this had been purposeful, not the whims of the universe or fate or luck.

"Were you anything but what you are, we would not have any of this. And I will be grateful for every moment of it."

"Takes two to tango, Lobo." He wouldn't have fallen so hard and fast without there being something worth falling for under the gruff uncertainty. Watching Locus become Sam, become comfortable with him, with living outside the armor-

How could he not?

Taylor reaches up to rest his hand against Sam's, turning his head enough to press his lips against his palm, murmuring into it like he's sharing a secret. "It's been worth everything- and is worth anything that gets thrown at us."

The corner of his mouth curls upwards at the familiar term of affection, and he leans closer, forehead pressing to the top of his head. Just entangled here with him, for a moment.

"And we will overcome it. Together."

This was what partnership should be. Not just shoring up one another's weaknesses, but that desire to protect. To grow together. That was what Felix had never understood, or perhaps never been capable of understanding.

"Always." Since the first job when he'd fallen back to offering support without knowing him- to offering to partner up period because of FLISS to-

Everything. They fit. They clicked. They complimented and understood, comprehended one another better than he'd ever thought. Grew and learned and adapted and became more than a lonely, overworked exhausted hacker and a ragged, driven mercenary made good.

They became people together.

"I'll do the second meet with Wash and- I dunno. Broach the subject on the sly. After apologizing."

"Probably a good start."

And he tips his head slightly, smirking.

"He'd be a fool to refuse you, you know."

"I don't know about that. When he knew me I was young and hot and now I'm all-" He grumbles, head falling back to Sam's shoulder. "I mean he's. He's got thighs. Like goddamn. He got big and broad and has this jawline and got hot- Delta was designed to be attractive. Literally, he took our mutual aesthetic interests and used them to design his face sculpt-"

Taylor sighs, deep and defeated and wallowing in the weirdest sense of insecurity he's had in awhile. "And you're a brick shithouse with pretty hair and pretty eyes and this mouth like goddamn. I'm just me. I mean- I'm hot, right? A little?"

He's aware of Taylor's wounded self-image. Every now and then it lifts his head, which is ridiculous. They both bear their share of scars, and it's never been a deterrent to either of them. But if this is a point of validation he requires--

Both hands lift to cup his cheeks, at this point, and he fixes York with the most solemn, serious stare he can manage.

"You. Are a constant test of my resolve."

He looks up to Sam, more than a little puzzled (that's this conversation in a nutshell). Brow furrowed, eyes wide he licks his bottom lip and slips his hands to squeeze Sam's wrists. Feel his pulse steady and slow, use that to make this a little less weird.

Having the rug pulled out from him more than once is surprising and he needs it.

"Uh- resolve to what?"

At which point he lowers his head, voice dropping to a softly affectionate growl against his ear.

"To not haul you over the nearest piece of sturdy furniture and have you."

The struggle is real, York. Please understand.

"...well you don't- uh-" Locus might not blush but York? York does. He's pink from the tips of his ears to the base of his throat, wide eyed and deeply pleased while more than a little giddy at the reminder that this, all of this is into him. Really, truly into him.

God and Damn.

"Need to be so. Resolved. To not. I mean- I am perfectly okay with being had over furniture all the time."

"We would get very little done if I gave in as often as the thought or desire occurred to me." There's a nip at his ear before he draws back, now smirking faintly once more. That deep pink is a good look on his sun-kissed skin.

"I find myself very okay with this." Sure they need to stay five steps ahead but- there's always time for a little being had. Having. Manly flipping of sofa's and- yeah. He's a little scrambled and dazed and giddy-pleased, rocking back on his heels. "You got a number for how often that is? I'm curious."

"I believe 'constant' was as close as I could effectively calculate." Again that thumb strokes over the scar on his cheek, and when he leans close this time it's to take him by the mouth, heated but slow, intent on showing him exactly how much he meant it.

And there's the usual shiver- the faint tilt of his head into Locus' hand, letting him take the weight. Waiting for the brush of his lips that's warm and slow and melting- every insecure thought drifting away like so much smoke. All of this. ALL OF THIS. Is into him. Deeply, sincerely into him.

He deserves to feel the weight of that. No matter what else lies in wait for him in the world, Locus is here, and wants him.

And if he needs to remind him with this, slowly pulling him apart, fingers threading into his hair...well. It's not a hardship.

Spending some time retracing the skin he's memorized is a good way to fight off the knee jerk anxiety he'd felt before- reassuring himself that this is good, right, worthwhile. Like he'd ever worried about it. He pulls back, already breathless, shivering against the nails on his scalp. "So...the desk is pretty sturdy..."

That's all he needs to hear. One arm scoops low to drag Taylor up into his arms, prepared to haul him over to the desk as indicated, and lay every single promise fresh into his skin. If there remained any doubt in his mind that Locus still considered him his, absolutely his, he'd drive them out before the night's end.

Red vs Blue pt 2

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