[ It's cool, cold against his tongue, but bound not to remain so. Not with the way his mouth opens and sinks down over the tip. The metaphor is so obvious you could damn near roll your eyes, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except this itch and the need to scratch it, and sucking the tip of his sworn enemy's pistol is for some bizarre and unhealthy reason totally doing it for him right now.
It helps that it's mutual. That he can feel the grip of that gloved hand and know that Washington is mired just as deep, wants just as badly. ]
[ wash wants, badly. there's a part of him that's only moments away from stripping his own armor off, and making use of locus' mouth the way that the gun is. the very obvious metaphor is absolutely doing it for wash as well, the sight of his weapon and those lips wrapped around it.
his hand tightens, strokes up until locus' hand is nudged away, and then a kevlar-covered thumb is rubbing against the head. ]
[ A full-bodied shudder wracks through him at the pressure suddenly pressing in against the tip of his cock, already slick with precum, and a low, rasping sound is muffled against the metal. Every nerve crackles alight, attuned to that touch, needing it, and his hips instinctively rise to buck up against the hold Wash has on him now.
Hasn't touched himself in God knows how long, but he's riding the edge now, nearer and nearer. And if it tips over, what then? Will it end? Will that be enough? ]
[ locus shudders, gives a low noise and wash bites the inside of his cheek. it's harder and harder to deny himself the things that he wants and what he wants now are more of those noises. he doesn't press the gun in further, for now.
his thumb swipes over the head of locus' cock again before he starts pumping his hand, slow and firm - giving locus friction against the movement of his own hips, kevlar and armor slicked by precum. ]
[ It's good. It's better but not yet quite enough. All it really seems to do is add fuel to the fire, the way that texture grinds against his skin, his hips pushing upwards in an effort to seek more, faster.
What will it take to see Washington lose his composure as well? Nevermind that the fact that he's here, touching him, watching him tongue and mouth against his pistol with darkening eyes means that he is losing his composure at least somewhat.
One hand lifts, curls around Washington's wrist. But rather than pull the gun away he holds him steady, those pale eyes once again pinning his as he sucks against the bitter tang of the barrel. Willing him to loose that last thread of restraint. ]
[ it's the touch that finally makes his composure fully break. locus' hand curls around his wrist and wash - he could be doing more, getting more. touching more.
he lets a small noise escape from between his lips, finally pulling the gun away from locus' mouth. he knows he must be far gone because he clicks the safety on and drops it. he lets go of locus to grab him by the neck, tilting his head up so he can press their mouths together.
it's not sweet and slow, it's wash biting down on locus' bottom lip, the taste of metal and gun oil between them. but wash's other hand reaches up to press down on the emergency release latches for his chest piece, popping them open with a small snap. ]
[ Strange. There's no sense of renewed safety when the gun is drawn away, still slick in the light, and tossed aside. It feels every bit as dangerous when it's Washington's mouth crushing against his, his teeth closing against him, and Locus lets out a low snarl. He surges up, biting back, kissing back, it's hard to tell which.
But something hums inside him, satisfied. Yes, this. More of this, in particular.
The familiar pop-hiss of the suit catches releasing earns at least a fraction of his attention, and fingers scrabble to yank the armor out of the way, tossing it in the direction of the gun without a thought. ]
[ their teeth definitely collide but this kiss isn't about finesse. it's about leaving marks, more than what they've already done to each other.
wash growls a little into the kiss, a noise that normally wouldn't sound very threatening at all. his armor is yanked apart and off, and wash rests his arms over locus' shoulders so he can pull off the gloves and gauntlets, tossing them behind locus. once those are off, he should move to the armor on his hips, but instead he sinks his hands into locus' hair, tugging on it as wash pushes his tongue inside the sniper's mouth. ]
[ A noise traps itself in the back of his throat, every fiber of his being suddenly strung tight as Washington settles his way ontop of him. He's there, and Locus could overturn him now. Knock him to the ground, take his gun, fire--
The thought doesn't stop him from dragging his teeth across Washington's lower lip, nor from dragging a hand along his undersuit until he can find the fastenings and undo them in a rush. Peeling desperately for some slip of skin, something warm and firm under the curl of his blunt nails.
Wash's little tug at his hair earns another rough, threatening noise, before he starts to roll, to try and shove Wash to the ground and flip their positioning. ]
[ the catches at the back of wash's suit will open easily for locus, and wash lets one hand drag down to locus' broad shoulders, nails digging into scarred skin. he bites back at locus' lip, biting harder than he means to when locus rolls, pushing wash back.
wash squeezes his legs tightly around locus' hips, letting him try to roll them but then throwing his weight into continuing the move and trying to end up on top. it's not a sure thing, but he isn't fighting as hard as he could, either. ]
[ Admittedly, Locus is somewhat distracted as well.
Not being pinned down and vulnerable at the hands of an enemy ranks high on his scale of instinctive behaviors, but whatever this is? Makes that somehow less important. He still snarls under his breath when Wash regains the upper hand, straddling his hips securely, and it's hard to tell if the buck of his his hips is to try and dislodge him...or simply to appreciate that weight and friction moving against him.
More.
His fingers dig under the flexible weave of the suit, peeling it away from Washington's shoulders. How many scars would be there for the counting? ]
[ wash's scars may not be as numerous as locus', but they are there - most prominently the puckered bullet scars through each shoulder - one an entry hole, the other an exit. the rest are smaller and more faded - what might have been an energy sword cutting over one arm, what looks like a glancing knife wound on his wrist.
they all have stories to them. wash isn't sharing them right now, not with locus under him and snarling, rolling his hips up. wash squeezes his thighs together and rolls his hips down, not quite pressing them together but - there's at least friction, something to rub up against.
He bites again at Locus' bottom lip - all but trying to make him bleed, apparently, and reaches down with one hand to start unlatching the armor on his own legs, the other planting it on Locus' broad chest.
[ It's different, in ways he'll pick apart later. It's still a fight for control, a battle of wills as much as it is an effort to get some pleasure out of this, but the importance of pleasure is paramount somehow. Even if he's pinned, even with Wash having the upper hand, the larger part of him doesn't care.
Not so long as there's this, some itch that can be scratched. And scratching there was, following lines and raised patches of skin with the curl of his nails, eyelids lowering as he watched Washington peel himself out of the rest of his armor.
Good. Good, he understands, he isn't about to leave them both wanting. The urgency, wherever it's coming from? It's getting worse, far worse by the moment. They're unprepared, likely less a few things that would make this easier, but that's unlikely to stop them. Not at the rate they're going at this. ]
i'm so used to writing Sexy Time Dialogue that having a character who doesn't feels weird
[ the rest of the armor falls away - wash's pieces are far more scattered than locus' armor, and that might be a problem later but it isn't a problem right now. they both just have the half suits, locus' pulled further down than wash's.
he tenses his back into the touch when locus scratches him though, the blunt pain sending sensations that translate into pleasure by the time they hit his brain.
wash shoves his own kevlar down until his cock is exposed - hard and curving upwards. he wants to do so much more than what he starts with, but what he starts with is shifting his hips down until he can press their cocks together, the hand not on locus' shoulder coming down to wrap loosely around them. it makes a noise escape from the back of his throat, the sound lost against the skin of locus' jaw. ]
[ He swears there are stars in his eyes when his head slams back, jaw going slack as wash presses them together, skin to oversensitive skin, and it's the best thing in the world. It feels better than absolution, the drag of warm, velvety skin, damp where Locus has begun leaking precome since some time ago, and he digs his heels in. He pushes up into that hold, encourages it.
He needs this more than air to breathe. He needs-- ]
Don't stop.
[ It's growled out, even if he's not looking at him, even if his teeth are gritted and he's simply rutting against that delicious friction as urgently as he's able to. ]
[ the urgency has increased tenfold, it feels, when they're actually pressed together. this, this is what he wants, heat and warm skin, the scent of sweat and the muskier scent of what's under the kevlar - battle sweat.
wash laughs, almost a rasp when locus tells him not to stop, squeezes his hand a little harder and then pumps up, then down, slicking precome down both their shafts. ]
Wasn't planning on it.
[ it's rough, almost a whisper, like wash isn't used to talking during this. his teeth are sharp again on the side of locus' neck, leaving a little welt as he muffles a moan when he starts stroking them again in earnest.
he isn't going slow, is the thing. it's firm and purposeful, a hint of frantic energy in the sweaty grasp of his palm. he wants to get off, to sate this fire.
it isn't going to work, not that he knows that yet. ]
[ Locus has given up on fighting any part of it, at least. It's not that it feels too good not to, but simply that it feels too much. There's no room for rational thought when Washington's hand squeezes, and that pressure has another low, rough sound scraping free of his throat.
Yes. That. More of that, and then maybe...maybe...
One eye slits open, just enough to watch Wash as his hips rock up into the grasp of his palm, the squeeze of his fingers, again and again, rubbing slick against his cock and feeling that pressure wind tighter and tighter in his gut.
Soon. Let it be soon, it feels like his skin might actually catch fire if not. ]
[ wash grips locus' shoulder tightly as he strokes them both, feeling the way the heat curls over his skin. he doesn't expect this to last long, not with what he wants. there's a feeling that he hasn't felt in a while - an edge of violence, but he's cautious enough to not let that loose.
he raises his head after a moment, looking at locus, at the scars that cross over his face as he moves his hand. his other hand moves, fingers sliding up along the side of his neck so his thumb can touch locus' bottom lip again. ]
Was this what you kept staring at me for?
[ back when he thought locus was just a vicious mercenary and not a murderer. that intense stare he could feel through helmets in the fed base. ]
[ His fixation had been evident...but for a number of reasons. Had he considered what Washington would be like if pinned down, if backed into a corner and threatened, if he liked it and pressed forward instead of back? Maybe. That was irrelevant at the moment.
Instead, both eyes open, staring up at him as he pants quietly for breath, hips hitching up and that slick sound stirring the still, stifling air around them. ]
Would that thought please you?
[ It's almost derisive, the way he says it, but it can't quite make it all the way there. Not when he's riding that edge, a breath away from coming. Not when the answer might make Wash stop. ]
[ normally, wash would say no - the thought would not please him. he doesn't like the idea of locus lusting after him - normally. right now, the idea of locus watching, wanting, actually makes something flare up in his stomach.
he pumps a little bit harder, which makes his body shudder. ]
Not a lot surprises me anymore.
[ be derisive all you want, locus, apparently it's doing it for wash. he closes his eyes, swiping his thumb over his head, over the head of locus' cock. he rocks his hips and it doesn't take much beyond that. his breathing stutters as he twitches and comes - apparently more of the quiet type. ]
[ Locus watches as Wash comes apart at the seams, those cracks visible for a brief moment as he shudders, and though there's little noise he can see the moment he reaches completion, the way it spreads over his face, and warmth splashes against his stomach.
Such restraint. Somehow dignified in this, this carnal scrabbling for something physical on the ground, in the woods, and Locus bites into his lower lip and twitches. Hard. His fingers curl tight, nails biting into Washington's skin, and a second later? There's a second burst of heat and wet spattering across his skin, along with a relief that's akin to a much-needed stretch.
But satisfaction? No. Not quite there yet. The moment his breath slows and his thoughts recollect enough to realize this? He lets out a disgruntled sound and lets his head fall back once more.
[ the desire, the need doesn't stop. it's banked for a moment, but it doesn't go away. wash is catching his breath, fingers still curled loosely around them - and they're still hard, even with their combined release spilled over his hand.
wash gives a frustrated noise, opening his eyes and looking at locus. he can think a little clearer, but it's still muddled in the end. ]
What the hell is going on.
[ it's not a question, not really, as he unhands them both... and licks his hand without thinking about it to clean it. ]
[ He's quiet for a long while, chest rising and falling deeply as he pants for air, trying to gather himself. What was going on? What could have come over them to fall to this, to continue to need... ]
The temple.
[ It strikes him in a brief moment of clarity. One of the temples was meant to induce the need to procreate in the population, to inspire ravenous sexual need. And 'ravenous' is a pretty damn good word for it. What they've done so far feels like taking the first bite of a meal, after weeks of starvation.
He needs. Washington does as well. His eyes open just in time to watch his tongue lap across his palm, and the sight sends a shudder through him. That tongue... ]
[ locus is right. the temple that causes procreation. wash gives a gentle huff when he thinks of it. how did carolina let tucker turn that thing on? and why didn't they give him a heads up?
locus shudders under him, and wash looks to see him watching him. after a moment, it goes from simple cleaning to something he's doing on purpose, letting his tongue run up one of his dirtied fingers and keeping his gaze on locus. ]
You. Are doing that on purpose. Do not pretend otherwise.
[ There's barely any gray left to his eyes, as large as his pupils have grown. This urge, this feeling, isn't going anywhere. It's only growing in intensity, pushing everything else to the wayside. However he feels about Washington, the only thing that matters now is that they're both undressed, pressed tight and sweat-slick against one another, and perfectly able to continue.
With a snarl he reaches for Wash, drags him up until his mouth seals against his, and he can taste himself on the Freelancer's lips. There's a sensation he'd never expected to feel. ]
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It helps that it's mutual. That he can feel the grip of that gloved hand and know that Washington is mired just as deep, wants just as badly. ]
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his hand tightens, strokes up until locus' hand is nudged away, and then a kevlar-covered thumb is rubbing against the head. ]
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Hasn't touched himself in God knows how long, but he's riding the edge now, nearer and nearer. And if it tips over, what then? Will it end? Will that be enough? ]
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his thumb swipes over the head of locus' cock again before he starts pumping his hand, slow and firm - giving locus friction against the movement of his own hips, kevlar and armor slicked by precum. ]
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What will it take to see Washington lose his composure as well? Nevermind that the fact that he's here, touching him, watching him tongue and mouth against his pistol with darkening eyes means that he is losing his composure at least somewhat.
One hand lifts, curls around Washington's wrist. But rather than pull the gun away he holds him steady, those pale eyes once again pinning his as he sucks against the bitter tang of the barrel. Willing him to loose that last thread of restraint. ]
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he lets a small noise escape from between his lips, finally pulling the gun away from locus' mouth. he knows he must be far gone because he clicks the safety on and drops it. he lets go of locus to grab him by the neck, tilting his head up so he can press their mouths together.
it's not sweet and slow, it's wash biting down on locus' bottom lip, the taste of metal and gun oil between them. but wash's other hand reaches up to press down on the emergency release latches for his chest piece, popping them open with a small snap. ]
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But something hums inside him, satisfied. Yes, this. More of this, in particular.
The familiar pop-hiss of the suit catches releasing earns at least a fraction of his attention, and fingers scrabble to yank the armor out of the way, tossing it in the direction of the gun without a thought. ]
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wash growls a little into the kiss, a noise that normally wouldn't sound very threatening at all. his armor is yanked apart and off, and wash rests his arms over locus' shoulders so he can pull off the gloves and gauntlets, tossing them behind locus. once those are off, he should move to the armor on his hips, but instead he sinks his hands into locus' hair, tugging on it as wash pushes his tongue inside the sniper's mouth. ]
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The thought doesn't stop him from dragging his teeth across Washington's lower lip, nor from dragging a hand along his undersuit until he can find the fastenings and undo them in a rush. Peeling desperately for some slip of skin, something warm and firm under the curl of his blunt nails.
Wash's little tug at his hair earns another rough, threatening noise, before he starts to roll, to try and shove Wash to the ground and flip their positioning. ]
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wash squeezes his legs tightly around locus' hips, letting him try to roll them but then throwing his weight into continuing the move and trying to end up on top. it's not a sure thing, but he isn't fighting as hard as he could, either. ]
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Not being pinned down and vulnerable at the hands of an enemy ranks high on his scale of instinctive behaviors, but whatever this is? Makes that somehow less important. He still snarls under his breath when Wash regains the upper hand, straddling his hips securely, and it's hard to tell if the buck of his his hips is to try and dislodge him...or simply to appreciate that weight and friction moving against him.
More.
His fingers dig under the flexible weave of the suit, peeling it away from Washington's shoulders. How many scars would be there for the counting? ]
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they all have stories to them. wash isn't sharing them right now, not with locus under him and snarling, rolling his hips up. wash squeezes his thighs together and rolls his hips down, not quite pressing them together but - there's at least friction, something to rub up against.
He bites again at Locus' bottom lip - all but trying to make him bleed, apparently, and reaches down with one hand to start unlatching the armor on his own legs, the other planting it on Locus' broad chest.
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Not so long as there's this, some itch that can be scratched. And scratching there was, following lines and raised patches of skin with the curl of his nails, eyelids lowering as he watched Washington peel himself out of the rest of his armor.
Good. Good, he understands, he isn't about to leave them both wanting. The urgency, wherever it's coming from? It's getting worse, far worse by the moment. They're unprepared, likely less a few things that would make this easier, but that's unlikely to stop them. Not at the rate they're going at this. ]
i'm so used to writing Sexy Time Dialogue that having a character who doesn't feels weird
he tenses his back into the touch when locus scratches him though, the blunt pain sending sensations that translate into pleasure by the time they hit his brain.
wash shoves his own kevlar down until his cock is exposed - hard and curving upwards. he wants to do so much more than what he starts with, but what he starts with is shifting his hips down until he can press their cocks together, the hand not on locus' shoulder coming down to wrap loosely around them. it makes a noise escape from the back of his throat, the sound lost against the skin of locus' jaw. ]
oh, wash has got it in there somewhere i'm sure
He needs this more than air to breathe. He needs-- ]
Don't stop.
[ It's growled out, even if he's not looking at him, even if his teeth are gritted and he's simply rutting against that delicious friction as urgently as he's able to. ]
bow chicka... bow wow?
wash laughs, almost a rasp when locus tells him not to stop, squeezes his hand a little harder and then pumps up, then down, slicking precome down both their shafts. ]
Wasn't planning on it.
[ it's rough, almost a whisper, like wash isn't used to talking during this. his teeth are sharp again on the side of locus' neck, leaving a little welt as he muffles a moan when he starts stroking them again in earnest.
he isn't going slow, is the thing. it's firm and purposeful, a hint of frantic energy in the sweaty grasp of his palm. he wants to get off, to sate this fire.
it isn't going to work, not that he knows that yet. ]
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Yes. That. More of that, and then maybe...maybe...
One eye slits open, just enough to watch Wash as his hips rock up into the grasp of his palm, the squeeze of his fingers, again and again, rubbing slick against his cock and feeling that pressure wind tighter and tighter in his gut.
Soon. Let it be soon, it feels like his skin might actually catch fire if not. ]
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he raises his head after a moment, looking at locus, at the scars that cross over his face as he moves his hand. his other hand moves, fingers sliding up along the side of his neck so his thumb can touch locus' bottom lip again. ]
Was this what you kept staring at me for?
[ back when he thought locus was just a vicious mercenary and not a murderer. that intense stare he could feel through helmets in the fed base. ]
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Instead, both eyes open, staring up at him as he pants quietly for breath, hips hitching up and that slick sound stirring the still, stifling air around them. ]
Would that thought please you?
[ It's almost derisive, the way he says it, but it can't quite make it all the way there. Not when he's riding that edge, a breath away from coming. Not when the answer might make Wash stop. ]
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[ normally, wash would say no - the thought would not please him. he doesn't like the idea of locus lusting after him - normally. right now, the idea of locus watching, wanting, actually makes something flare up in his stomach.
he pumps a little bit harder, which makes his body shudder. ]
Not a lot surprises me anymore.
[ be derisive all you want, locus, apparently it's doing it for wash. he closes his eyes, swiping his thumb over his head, over the head of locus' cock. he rocks his hips and it doesn't take much beyond that. his breathing stutters as he twitches and comes - apparently more of the quiet type. ]
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Such restraint. Somehow dignified in this, this carnal scrabbling for something physical on the ground, in the woods, and Locus bites into his lower lip and twitches. Hard. His fingers curl tight, nails biting into Washington's skin, and a second later? There's a second burst of heat and wet spattering across his skin, along with a relief that's akin to a much-needed stretch.
But satisfaction? No. Not quite there yet. The moment his breath slows and his thoughts recollect enough to realize this? He lets out a disgruntled sound and lets his head fall back once more.
This is going to be a long night. ]
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wash gives a frustrated noise, opening his eyes and looking at locus. he can think a little clearer, but it's still muddled in the end. ]
What the hell is going on.
[ it's not a question, not really, as he unhands them both... and licks his hand without thinking about it to clean it. ]
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The temple.
[ It strikes him in a brief moment of clarity. One of the temples was meant to induce the need to procreate in the population, to inspire ravenous sexual need. And 'ravenous' is a pretty damn good word for it. What they've done so far feels like taking the first bite of a meal, after weeks of starvation.
He needs. Washington does as well. His eyes open just in time to watch his tongue lap across his palm, and the sight sends a shudder through him. That tongue... ]
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locus shudders under him, and wash looks to see him watching him. after a moment, it goes from simple cleaning to something he's doing on purpose, letting his tongue run up one of his dirtied fingers and keeping his gaze on locus. ]
Something got your attention?
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[ There's barely any gray left to his eyes, as large as his pupils have grown. This urge, this feeling, isn't going anywhere. It's only growing in intensity, pushing everything else to the wayside. However he feels about Washington, the only thing that matters now is that they're both undressed, pressed tight and sweat-slick against one another, and perfectly able to continue.
With a snarl he reaches for Wash, drags him up until his mouth seals against his, and he can taste himself on the Freelancer's lips. There's a sensation he'd never expected to feel. ]
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potential ideas: spit for lube, as trite as it is. thighfucking ?