Chapter Text
“Hey, Wash.”
He squeaked. An honest-to-God squeak of mingled surprise and alarm that could well have come from a pre-teen schoolgirl. York was leaning against the wall, barely two feet away, arms folded, smirking. Why was it he always managed to look so relaxed? Even when he was stood there wearing nothing more than his scar and that smirk.
“Hi – uh – York.” Washington was relieved he'd managed to locate his vocal cords, concerned that they might have been disconnected somehow by the sight of just how good York looked when he was wearing nothing more than his scar and that smirk. At his slightly stuttered greeting, that smirk grew.
“Enjoying the view?”
“What!? I – uh – it's not – I mean – I wasn't -” Oh God, where was that sentence going? Wash desperately tried to find a conclusion to the stumbling noises leaving his lips, but honestly had no idea where “It's not” or “I mean” or “I wasn't” were even going. York chuckled, pushing himself off the wall in a movement that would have been feline on anyone with less muscle mass. On him, it looked marginally dangerous and inherently sexy.
Oh God. Shut up brain.
“It's not what it looks like?” York suggested, as Wash shook his head slightly (partly to deny absolutely everything and partly because he was having trouble focussing on anything other than York's naked body). “You weren't...staring?” He continued, smirk widening.
Is it possible to die of embarrassment? Because I think that's on the cards right about now.
“I – no – no I wasn't – wasn't staring.” And the stutter had returned. Wash was pretty sure that he wouldn't have enough time to fill up the shower tray and drown himself before York reached him, and off the top of his head he couldn't think of another method of suicide whilst naked in the shower.
Oh fuck I’m naked.
The thought made Wash feel the blush explode across his face, leaving his head pounding very slightly. He groped for a towel, managing only to get the little hand-towel he always left on the side for the inevitability of shampoo getting in his eyes. The towel he had been meticulously placing whilst doing his best to sideways-watch two of his fellow freelancers making out. He'd had a moment of some pleasant mental imagery, eyes glazing over slightly, before he'd been brought back to earth quite thoroughly by the sudden appearance of one of said fellow freelancers.
“You weren't staring? I’m disappointed. Hey, North. Wash says he wasn't staring.”
“He wasn't?” North's mildly amused voice came from somewhere behind York, but Washington was having trouble focussing on something that wasn't York's chest. Or his crotch. “It certainly looked like staring.”
“But I-” Wash was sure he was going more red, especially as York gave him the least subtle once-over he had ever witnessed.
“The towel isn't doing much,” the other agent said mildly, and he bit his lip in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. There was no other towel in the cubical with him; he'd been so distracted by what York and North were getting up to that he'd not gotten round to getting one. And to get one now, he'd have to do some sort of walk of shame past them both. Which totally wasn't happening.
“Uh, York, is there – uh – something you wanted?”
Wow, a full sentence. Go me. I should get a cookie. Or something. Oh God why can't I stop staring at him?!
“Well, now you mention it...” York glanced over his shoulder, some sort of unspoken communication going on between him and North that made Wash both jealous and confused in one fell swoop. Whatever wasn't said happened quickly, and then York was looking at him again and Washington found it harder to concentrate on I have got to get another towel. Whatever wasn't said had changed York's expression from mildly amused to something a lot darker. “There is something I wanted.”
“Uhh...” It was more of a sound than a word, Wash's mouth dropping open a little and refusing to close as York stepped even closer, North just behind him. He was effectively trapped between three walls and two freelancers, and he licked his lower lip, trying to find a way of putting into words “This is really rather hot but also very confusing so if you could please explain what's going on in five-hundred words or less I would really be very grateful”, but all he managed was another, “Uhh...”
York chuckled, stopping roughly an inch away, so close that Wash had to tilt his head up just a little in order to look at something other than York's crotch – Because for God's sake I shouldn't be staring at his fucking crotch! – and so close he could feel York's breath on his lips. Wash felt like holding his own breath, irrationally scrabbling to remember when he last cleaned his teeth.
“Wash.” York spoke softly, his voice somehow lower than usual. Washington couldn't quite access his vocal cords this time around, and instead managed a shaky sound which might, in some universes, have been a “yeah”. He gulped, daring to meet York's eyes (well, eye), and found himself almost completely unable to move. He'd always thought York had nice eyes (as well as nice...other places...) but he'd never really been quite that close to look at them. It was just the one eye now, the other whited-out with scar tissue, but the one that still had colour was grey, a sort of cloudy, stormy grey that made Wash think back to quieter times before the Project when he had time to himself and he storm-watched.
“Wash.” York repeated his name, and Wash wondered how the hell a single-syllable word – of something that was technically just his name nowadays – could make him shiver. But it did. And he was pretty sure York had noticed. “Relax.”
Washington opened his mouth again, once more trying for a sentence. Any sentence would do, even the rambling disconnected one he'd had earlier. Instead of that, he got York's lips on his.