Work Text:
Vulnera
(Latin) Wounds, Injuries
A certain passivity came easily to Agent Washington.
He could take command if he wanted, and he did when nobody else stepped up to the plate, but they were rare circumstances. He wasn't very active as a child, and was bullied for it, but Wash coped, all things considered.
On some levels, he considered himself very lucky. Things really could have been worse. There were so many times when he could have been expelled from school or thrown into juvenile, but things never came down to that.
Even though he grew up with sisters, he was the youngest, and the youngest was never expected to lead. Therefore, he didn't.
Children, for the most part, were supposed to be seen and not heard, anyway. His sisters grew up faster than he did.
Agent Washington was neither seen nor heard, so he sailed by in childhood quite easily. Quietly. Like a shadow in the darkness.
Because, when he was active, he got punished for it.
Wash knew that it wasn't his sisters' fault. It was, in hindsight, really petty scuffle and sibling jealousy. It seemed like a huge rift at the time, but that was because they were children. He had since forgiven them. His mother accused him of having a “long memory” - but to this day, he remembers that phrase.
He remembers his mother, and even though he wants to forgive, he cannot quite forget.
*
It wasn't quite revenge for saying unspeakable things about his sisters. Siblings like Carolina could easily take care of themselves. Heck, if he told them about it, they probably would have avenged themselves.
He did not tell anybody what Cecil Kyle actually did, because the shame was his to bear. Telling anybody would meant that he would be punished for it, even though it wasn't his fault. Besides, he was sure that if he brought it up, it would be dismissed as being incredibly trivial.
Boys were expected to get rough, and they were expected to fight back for themselves. Wash didn't fight back. He knew people would punish him for that, as much as they would punish him for fighting back.
Besides, Agent Washington had never been terribly vocal.
What Wash could bring himself to say about the bully, however, was only that he called him names, said bad things about his sisters, and pulled his ears as he stood behind him on the bus. Remembering that alone was enough to make his blood boil.
The rest of it was better left forgotten.
*
All in all, Agent Washington was not somebody who liked to be touched. If he had enough reason for bodily contact, though, it would have to be with somebody he trusted. He derived nothing from being touched by strangers. He hated giving head, and couldn't get it up when somebody else wanted him on top. Yet, being penetrated felt like a certain exposure of his wounds.
Still, he had desires.
Being stuck on a ship with incredibly hot friends wasn't really helping matters. If he wanted to experiment, he could at least do so off the ship.
Agent Washington had thought quite a bit about it. He was not quite sure if the bully had been right.
Wash didn't quite know if he really was gay. A part of him felt that he turned out this way because of how he grew up, or how he was bullied. He knew that this feeling was illogical, so he pushed it away, into the deepest parts of his psyche.
It was untrue, anyway. Science said so.
Then why did he keep feeling like a defect?
It would be better, he reasoned, if things remained the same. He wouldn't mind that at all.
Wash had an inkling that sex, for most other people, worked differently. They usually were really enthusiastic about it, not based on half-hearted conditions about whether or not they were good friends. They were usually between men and women, and also came with romance. Handholding. Flowers. Kisses on the cheeks.
Not joking in the canteen, or giving him directions to the sauna so that he could get laid, probably.
Wash wasn't sure what it consisted of, or if what he wanted was appropriate. He had found a couple of strangers to experiment with when he was younger, since he still had urges, and they were particularly strong as a young man. It was tough, for the most part, because he wanted to do those things, but never really felt like he wanted to do them with any of those people, at all. When things did eventually happen, he felt like there were better things that he could be doing with his time. Like jerking off alone.
With his friends, he felt comfortable. One of the factors was that Wash really did enjoy not leading. In a team, he was always happy to be the last on the chart. It meant a certain diffusion of responsibilities and expectations. Nobody was going to look at him and tell him to lead. He was comfortable with that. Less spotlight on him meant less punching commanding officers for sending them to their deaths. He could leave others to make the judgment on what was a good idea and what wasn't since he had no responsibilities over subordinates, and that was actually quite relaxing.
Either way, Wash's friendship with North and York were too precious for him to lose. He loved them as friends, with the painful intimacy of wanting to get closer than anybody else, yet knowing that there would always be somebody else more important to them than he was.
He knew that he would die for his friends, and he hoped that they would do the same. That was what they were trained to do as a team, after all.
Yes, he thought. His friends were the most important things ever.
Of all time.
*
Agent Maine, it turned out, was into him. It was quite felicitous, that the two of them could just find a quiet spot in the ship, have a couple of drinks, and Wash could understand Maine with little difficulty. Before Wash could figure out what he wanted, he found himself making out with him. The larger man then held Wash with the tenderness of a cat owner holding a cat.
Wash didn't know if it was because he actually trusted Maine, because he liked him, or it was something else. It shouldn't matter, after all. He liked his friends a lot. And Maine wasn't bad looking at all.
Something about Maine's jovial and brave attitude brought out the best in Agent Washington.
He found himself smiling a lot more.
Wash really didn't mind bottoming for Maine. He could achieve the same results by himself, and whether or not somebody else was involved made no difference to him sexually whatsoever.
However, what sex with others usually did was bring up feelings of vulnerability that he didn't like to have.
It really was like having an open wound, except... It didn't hurt where he expected it to. He was vulnerable, it was true. But that vulnerability was always handled carefully by Maine.
When Maine first entered Wash, Wash held very still. Maine pulled out, and tried to get him to relax. When he couldn't relax, Maine simply lay there beside him and didn't move. He didn't rut, or anything; he simply waited till it went back down, and they talked about other things.
Wash liked that. So they tried again, and then it became a regular thing.
Wash liked the idea that he could relax into Maine's touch, and that somehow the larger man would bring them both to orgasm. He still didn't understand why the world revolved around sex for so many people, but it was like he was getting closer to Maine, so he did it.
Maine even asked him if he'd like to try topping. He wasn't into it, but perhaps Wash might. Wash said that he'd like to, sure. It was incredibly awkward and ended up with the two of them laughing their asses off, before Maine teased him for having a codpiece kink, but Wash realised then that he simply wasn't made to top. He had absolutely no such desires inside him.
When they lay together afterwards and Maine held him from behind, he felt like all of his wounds were being healed.
That was enough for him.
*
After the implantation “incident” involving the AI named Epsilon, Agent Washington was declared unfit for duty for months, until one day, they decided that he was the perfect candidate to recover the AIs, since he had no reason to run off with them. When he saw Agent York again, York was already dead. And so was North.
Wash did not exactly feel like he'd really known them. Rather, it was as if he'd known them from behind the screen of a movie.
Sifting through those memories were like looking through a eyes that wasn't his, although he tried to piece together what exactly happened.
All that felt real to him were the cries of an anguished AI, and a lot of repressed memories – even memories that weren't even his. He stopped trying to figure out what those two meant to him. All he knew was that they were perhaps once, undeniably, close. The feelings, of course, were gone, and he didn't really have anything to grieve over.
He didn't try very hard to feel anything, either. Sure, his job had good health insurance. He could speak to a counsellor if he wanted. Still, he didn't need it. They knew all about him, anyway. Now that he had memories that could pose a threat to the establishment, he didn't want to risk letting them know that he knew what he did.
It was better to let things be.
Besides, Agent Washington had a feeling that if his memories ever came back, it would destroy him.
*
The problem about memory is that it is often the key to something.
“Hey, now.” Said the shorter man, in UNSC armour that didn't match regulations. “You're David, aren't you? We really could use your help, David.”
Wash replied in a flat tone, “Don't call me that. Who sent you?”
“Tell us where the AI is.” The man with a green painted X on his helmet growled through his mic.
Wash simply looked at him. He didn't exactly feel anything. As far as he was concerned, they could shoot him, and it would be fine. Perhaps that was why Recovery sent him to handle this sensitive data.
“Whoa there. No need to get too threatening, Locs. Let me talk to him, okay?” The orange one said. “Look, David. Who sent us doesn't matter, alright?”
“I said, don't call me that.” Wash was starting to feel something. It was the seething anger of somebody who was never listened to. He was, however, tied up and without armour, so that he could not move.
The green one stood behind the orange one, with his hands by the side of his body. He twitched upon hearing that, but made no move otherwise.
“So... First name Agent, last name Washington?” The orange one laughed. “Whatever floats your boat, pal. I'd even call you 'Daddy' if that's what you want. I'm Felix, by the way. We're here on a mission to find whatever it is that our client is looking for.”
Wash kept quiet. He knew better than to believe this 'Felix'.
“You see, it's an AI. We're uh, really in need of money right now, and our dear client is a wonderful businessman who knew what Project Freelancer did to all of you. He wants to bring the men behind it to justice.” 'Felix' said. “So, all things considered, it's not for a bad cause, wouldn't you say?”
Wash's interest was piqued. Whether he liked it or not, there was Epsilon's anguished screams inside his head. He knew who did this to Epsilon, and he had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to rest until he had his revenge. “How do I know if what you're saying is true?”
“Here's the thing. You can either tell us, or we can shoot it out of you. Maybe we'll start with the foot. What about it, Locs?”
“No.” 'Locs' had this really deep and commanding voice that sounded very tired. “He's a soldier, too. Tell me, Wash. Will you choose to be our ally, or our enemy?”
“Hey, there's no need to recruit him, alright?”
“No. He has what we need. Do not forget the mission, Felix.”
“Really, Locus? Tell me, what's the mission? Gather as many fools as we can until our ship becomes a clown car?”
“Our mission is to gather 'evidence' of Project Freelancer.” Locus replied, inhaling sharply. “Agent Washington. You can either choose to be our partner. In which case, we will bring you to meet Control. Or...”
Felix threw his hands up in the air and made this gesture which implied that he was rolling his eyes behind his helmet. “First Fishsticks, and now this? We don't need any more 'partners'!”
Wash looked at Locus. He seemed intimidating, but there was a lot less bullshit to deal with. Wash was tired of dealing with bullshit. “...Or what?”
“We have a partner named Sharkface. He was a victim of Project Freelancer's exploits. A building crashed on top of him. Everybody he knows is dead, and he vows to have his revenge on every single Freelancer. You happen to be one.” Locus nodded at him. “You have ten minutes to make your decision. Do not let me down, Agent Washington.”
Wash's gaze hardened. “I don't need ten minutes.”
*
In the first place, Agent Washington had no reason to care about Project Freelancer, because of what they did to him. Next, to the best of his knowledge, a large part of Recovery was staffed by the very same people who oversaw Project Freelancer.
He was only subject to UNSC laws because he was a soldier. The same laws that ensured that he got a dishonourable discharge as a corporal because he punched a commanding officer for sending them on a suicide mission. Wash had no more desire to be kept under their leash again. He stayed because he had nowhere else to go. Now that he had a choice...
If Control – and Locus – was lying to him, it didn't matter so long as he could destroy that corrupt establishment. That the Director was his father no longer mattered to him, since he now knew what the purpose of Project Freelancer had become. A means to further his father's aims.
Wash thought that perhaps he took after his father in some way. He no longer cared about what he had to do to get what he wanted.
*
The meeting with Control went smoothly. Agent Washington learnt some of the protocols, and was sent on a minor task. He was even given a relative amount of freedom when it came to how he wanted to achieve the mission objectives.
Locus seemed to be relatively pleased with Wash's results. He was, as he said, a professional. To that end, he was decent to his subordinates – or partners, as he called them.
Felix, on the other hand, vaguely reminded Wash of a certain bully on the bus. But that seemed so far away, like it was a past life, that Agent Washington didn't really care. There was nothing to be upset about if it happened so long ago to somebody he no longer was.
“You are going to have to deal with the Meta. He is a malicious amalgamation of AI that has corrupted a previous Freelancer. We are sending you because we think you are the best candidate for the job.” Locus explained their next mission to him. “He has already killed Sharkface when he was attempting to get an AI – and as far as we know, he has all the armour improvements of Project Freelancer. We know of a certain hotspot that he's going to appear at. Our goal is to beat Recovery to it, and also, the Meta. Try to capture the Meta alive, since we need the AIs and his armour.”
“Didn't he used to be your colleague? Think you're going to be able to handle the big bad guy on your own, little Washy?” Felix teased.
Wash remembered the Meta. He had come across him before, on one of his missions. That was right before he realised that he had a very good reason to shoot South.
...Bits of memories and feelings sometimes came back to him. Like moments when he thought that Agent North was like the sun. Since they weren't very consistent, he didn't know what to make of them.
“Are you going to be able to handle him, Agent Washington?” Locus asked.
Wash thought it was strange that Locus would ask him that. He figured that perhaps, it was because Locus thought that the Meta would be his friend or something.
“Both of you can come with me.” Wash said flatly. “I don't mind.”
*
The Meta's capture was surprisingly easy. Agent Washington had been the lure. Felix was the distraction. Locus was the cover. Together, they worked seamlessly. It wasn't long before they stripped the Meta out of his armour, and lugged him back into the ship.
They meant to leave no trace for Recovery, and it worked out relatively well.
Wash knew that Recovery had the signature trackers. Wash set up false signatures in the environment while Felix and Locus kept watch. They managed to leave just before Recovery arrived.
“Hey, Washy.” Felix said, putting a hand on Wash's shoulder. He had taken off his helmet off and was looking at Wash. “Not bad. You'd actually make a great partner. How about some celebration later?”
Wash looked at Felix with a blank expression. He saw Locus walk by, and said, “If all of us are going, sure.”
He meant Locus, of course.
“Pfft, of course. The partnership was his idea, after all.” Felix had a grin on his face, like he knew something that Wash didn't. But then again, lots of people always knew things Wash didn't.
*
The Meta's armour, AI and armour enhancements were delivered promptly to Command. Now that there was no use for the Meta, the three of them were left to decide what to do with the ex-Freelancer.
“Kill him.” Locus said simply. “And make it quick.”
“What, I don't get to have some fun with him, after all of that trouble?” Felix complained. “I'm still injured from the fight!”
Locus looked at Wash.
Wash blinked. He had no idea why Locus was looking at him as if he ought to have any say about it. He didn't know the Meta. They were colleagues at one point, but that was the past. It had been so long ago that whatever happened, might as well have happened to somebody else. He didn't want to make Felix angry – it was better for them to get along – but he also didn't like the idea of torture.“One minute should be enough.”
“You have one minute. Starting from now.” Locus told Felix, who rolled his eyes and muttered something about them being spoilsports.
Wash looked at Locus. He wondered why the other man seemed to be staring at him so much recently. He didn't know what to say when the usually armoured man took his helmet off.
“You abandoned your name, as I have.” Locus stated. “You still kept your face. I think I will do the same.”
“I didn't.” Wash replied. “It just doesn't matter to me that much anymore.”
He swore that he could see the tiniest hint of a smile on Locus' face, and he returned that smile. He didn't know how Felix did it, but the smaller man managed to slash The Meta open in such a way that all of them were splattered with blood.
“I swear, they should hire me to make movies.” Felix beamed.
“One minute, Felix.” Locus reinstated. “You're over the time limit.”
Wash noted, “We should get a larger room next time.”
Felix smirked. He let go of the dismembered body, which was now leaking blood everywhere. “Hey, he should be grateful I put him out of his misery – it's just sad when the poor sod doesn't even have the mind to know what he's lost.”
Wash sighed. He was the resident body disposal expert, so of course he had to get rid of the body. He hadn't taken a proper look at the ex-Freelancer before, but Felix left the face untouched, for some inexplicable reason. Wash was curious, so he looked. He got a feeling of deja vu, as if he had seen it somewhere before.
Of course, logically speaking, he knew that he must have seen that face. They were colleagues. It was impossible for them not to have done so.
Just then, Felix pulled him into a kiss. It was demanding and needy, at the same time. Wash never felt like somebody wanted him so badly before, so he kissed back. He didn't know why he was doing it, or if he even wanted it. He didn't mind it, that was for certain.
“Come here, Locs.” Felix purred, rubbing his blood-stained hands all over Wash. “Look at how pretty Washy and I are. Surely you'd want to do more than just look.”
Locus inhaled sharply, and stepped closer. He kissed Felix roughly, then looked at Agent Washington again, as if he wasn't sure if Wash wanted it.
“I don't mind.” Wash smiled. From what he knew of Locus, he wasn't so bad. The guy claimed to be a machine, but he wasn't. Felix, on the other hand, was dangerous.
Locus' kiss was surprisingly gentle at first. Wash closed his eyes, and kept still. He felt two pair of hands on him then, and he thought that he would encourage them. He didn't want to piss Felix off, and he also didn't care what they did to him so long as he had people whom he could return to. Locus and Felix had become like that for him.
“Hey, Wash.” Felix nibbled on his ear while Locus was rubbing his nipples. “How do you want to do this? I don't bottom, and neither does Locs. We could always... polish our knives against each other, but it's not that fun, right?”
Wash moaned softly, trying to relax as he did so. It really did feel kind of good, with so many hands touching him, from the people whom he trusted with his life.
“Think you can take the two of us at the same time, or should we just take turns?” Felix suggested. He looked at Locus as he said that.
“You don't have to do it if you don't want to.” Locus said, but at that moment Felix's hands were all over Wash's cock.
“I want it.” Wash was breathless. He was still staying very still, but he was definitely feeling quite good. He meant it, too. “...Take turns though, it's been a very long time. I don't think I've done it since Basic.”
Locus and Felix looked at each other, but said nothing. Locus kissed him while Felix found some lube and prepped him with his fingers, making sure to wiggle around so that it felt good for Wash.
Soon, Wash was shuddering and moaning – though part of it was for show, he did kind of enjoy it.
“So. Ready?” Felix asked. He pressed against Wash's body while Locus kept Wash's legs up from behind. “I'm going in.”
Wash bit his lips and nodded. He had a docile smile on his face as he did so. Felix licked away the blood on his cheek and started to push in.
Then it hit the spot.
Wash groaned uncontrollably now – Felix knew what he was doing. He bit his lips so that it would be softer, but Felix kept pounding that sensitive area so mercilessly that Wash thought he was going to cum far too quickly. His entire face was red, and tears came to his eyes.
Being fucked so hard made Wash feel like a wound was opening from the inside.
He closed his eyes, trying to keep himself from coming. But as the other man began to kiss his parted lips and his cock twitched against Felix's belly – Wash felt as if he was coming apart.
It wasn't his body that was in pain. He had never cummed so hard before.
The pounding, the embrace from behind...
As Agent Maine's face, alive and smiling, reappeared in his mind's eye again, Wash felt a sharp stab in his chest.
Wash looked down at Maine's face.
“More, Felix.” He murmured, hoping that the pleasure would exorcise the ghosts from the past. “More, please.”
“Fuck... You're so good. So slutty.” Felix's breaths quickened as he continued pounding, then he held very still. It wasn't long before Wash felt something warm inside him, and then Locus – the man was large – took his place.
It was even worse, because... That felt so familiar.
Despite the familiarity, the sense of loss was starting to grow bigger and bigger.
“Agent Washington?” Locus murmured, quietly. “Want me to stop?”
“Pfft, he's not very active anyway. It's fine, Locs.” Felix grinned, while Wash bucked against his hands.
As he was embraced with such loving gentility, Wash understood something.
The most pitiful thing about himself was: He had lost so much, and he hadn't even known what he'd lost.