[It's perfectly reasonable to ask, and - layered, to answer. As much as he's honest and open at a certain, surface level, Dick isn't really one to unravel himself for people. Most who start to get close to him find that once they're past the softer surface there's a brick wall to chisel their way through.
And that, in fact, is part of this. Not that Dick leads with it.]
Maybe I just hate leaving things unfinished.
[He sits back, folding his arms behind his head and letting his fingers knit into his hair.]
I wasn't looking for you with expectations. For all I knew, once whatever that was wore off, you might be living as a mild mannered dog walker with a sideline in artisan cheese making and a 'Live Laugh Love' decal on your bedroom wall. But there was a grain of truth to who most of us were, that week. I thought there might be a grain of truth to you. And like I said, I thought about it, here and there. I thought we were both – getting something from it.
[He huffs out a break, embarrassed enough that it shows in the faintest flush, but still not dropping eye contact.]
I don't do a lot that's casual. This place has opened up a lot I'd never have considered before, like sleeping with more than one person on a regular basis, but I still don't end up with people easily. Especially the way we –
[A flurry of movement, as he huddles back down to lean over the table again, dropping his voice.]
I mean, I'd still find it difficult to walk up to a stranger and ask if they want to slap me when I come. But it's really not just about that. And maybe it's dumb to think a couple of hallucinatory encounters and some hazy memories of a history means anything. We weren't friends. But we weren't strangers, either.
[And no matter how much he'd denied it, it had felt like they could have been just a little more. Wash had seen that more clearly than Dick knew.]
I thought we hit a few of each other's buttons. If that's still true for you then maybe it's worth following up on. If it's not, I can compliment your artisan cheese and leave you be.
[ Wash is definitely the quiet type, generally, and a good listener. He lets him talk, nodding now and then -- amused at that picture he paints of the cheesemaking dog walker. He watches him carefully, his mannerisms when he talks, his breathing, the way he shifts in his seat, just to read how genuine he's being, less because he thinks he'd really be lying and more out of habit and instinct. It clearly all rings true, puts him in a certain place of vulnerability to talk about.
It's things that make sense, though in some ways also why Wash had kept away. The other way around, Wash would've had a distinct discomfort with someone who just knew him a lot better than they should -- he would've seen it more as an invasion than something that makes it easier. But Dick clearly was getting something out of their interactions, enough for him to keep thinking about it, to clearly want more. ]
No cheesemaking, no dogwalking. [ He's more of a cat guy, anyway. He takes pauses to take another sip from his coffee. ] ] Who I was during that week might not have been real but -- there was more truth to it than not.
[ He doesn't like thinking about it, just because of what that implies about how well the city has him pegged, just because of what it means that it was so easy for him to slip into some kind of life here. But when it came to some other things, when it came to this. ]
It'd be a little pointless to go back and forth about what a collective hallucination really meant, and things like that. [ He leans forward a little, too, his voice sliding into something just a little lower, his full weight of his gaze, intense as it always is, fixed on Dick's. ] But I can tell you this much.
I was getting something out of it. And there was a lot about you I liked.
[ A lot of his buttons being hit, so to say. He leans back in his seat, but just so he can look at him more fully, his eyes briefly flicking down over his face to what he can see of the curve of his throat, back up again. ]
You too, even if I didn't exactly like to tell you that.
[Stoic, withholding and maybe finding a dark coping strategy for something buried deep him his own past happens to be a theme Dick's used to fitting himself around, a man he's used to trying to please, albeit very differently.
He doesn't want to lean into a psych eval here, there isn't any coffee strong enough. But he does pause to take another sip before it cools.]
I'm not into 'scenes' or whatever the formal word is. I have people here who'll go hard on me if they know it's what I want. But - without expectation, here - someone in it for what they want, even if it pushes me to the very edge of what I do is... well. I guess I like rising to a challenge.
[ A quirk of an eyebrow, more teasing than actually calling them out or anything, but he is curious. He can't help but want to know what it is about what he could provide for Dick that had him still in his thoughts months after, that other people apparently can't fill. Both because he wants to be able to keep doing that -- and just because, well. It's nice to know. ]
I'd like to be doing it for you, too. [ That definitely is part of the idea, for him. Overwhelming someone only means so much if isn't... willing, or wanted. There is something he especially enjoys about the idea of not just I could break you but I could break you, and you are letting me. ] But there would be a lot that I want, make no mistake -- I seem to remember you rising to those challenges well enough.
[Maybe it wasn't the best phrasing. Being called on it makes Dick smile and duck his head in acknowledgement.]
I'm not saying it isn't mutual, just that maybe there are limits to how far they'll want to push. And I haven't hit my limits yet.
[That's one thing they might both remember. Dick's not exactly undemanding, both of himself and others. Sometimes it can seem like he can always take more, but he has a breaking point. He has several. It's just most people would take a step back from reaching it. He looks up, running a hand back through his hair.]
I guess you could say giving orders has never been a problem for me. I spend my whole life calculating what to do, and when, and how - it's hard to turn off. So sometimes I don't need to be asked what I want, I need to be told. Knowing I'll want it anyway.
[ Wash can relate to that. Or at least, some of it -- whole life calculating what to do, thinking too much, planning ahead. He can't turn it off. But it's something he really, really doesn't want to turn off, too aware of what might happen if he doesn't hold on as tight as he can. What helps him relax isn't taking that control away, but being able to exert it -- and being able to let loose some impulses and darker parts of himself that he has to keep carefully controlled otherwise.
He nods. Watching him closely, as always, watching the way his fingers run through his hair. ]
I can understand that.
[ He does take consent and control very, very seriously -- he has to. But sometimes, a lot of the time, what people want -- what he wants -- is for the lines to blur. Fade away until they aren't even there anymore. The amount of trust that's required to genuinely do that safely is difficult, how well you have to know someone, how well they have to know you. And what they have is a little bit of a shortcut to that point. ]
It's still a leap of faith. [ Mostly for Dick, but it's mutual. They really don't know that much about each other. He tips his head to the side slightly, his voice sliding just ever so slightly lower. ] But I can do that for you.
[ Whether it's starting something new or continuing something unfinished is a matter of interpretation and semantics. ]
[They have a shortcut, but that kind of trust isn't immediate. Dick would have been more reticent before if it weren't set up as the way they lived their lives in a city even more hung up on the etiquette of its social structure than the real thing. It'll take time to get there, even with their head start, but why keep cards off the table now. It's a place he'd like to get.
And something about the way Wash looks at him makes it feel like there's no point not being honest with something he'd manage to draw out of him anyway. He smiles, slow, as Wash's voice drops lower.]
And, if it's okay, I think I'd like to get to know the real you, too. [Inside or outside of the power dynamics - though there's something undeniably appealing about going out with them still in play, for the most part Dick would like to take his time learning who Wash really is, behind the codename and the veneer of command. He has a feeling that might be the real challenge.]
[ It would be a definite challenge. It's hard enough, but not impossible, to get Wash to talk about himself at all beyond generalizations and vague half-answers. Getting at anything past that is very difficult, even for people who know him from back home. He looks back at Dick, at that slow smile, and smiles a little in turn, quirking an eyebrow slightly. ]
I don't think it'd matter if I said it wasn't okay.
[ Sounds like Dick would probably try anyway. And Wash is, apparently, fine with that. His way of answering yes, more or less, just that -- he's still not exactly going to be very forthcoming. That's just who he is, by personality. ]
I wouldn't mind getting to know you past the mass hallucination, either.
I can start. I've been a police officer, but I was born an acrobat.
[Because if there's fresh information to give someone, why not start with the part where you can get your ankles behind your head? He'd ached for days after that strange simulation after spending a week moving as if he couldn't fly. He even sits more lightly now, holding himself in a way that suggests a keen natural awareness of every movement, of his place in every space.
Speaking of places, Wash had asked him a question before they met today, which Dick recognised as the test it was. Though he'd suggested a buffer - this coffee shop, a place to feel each other out before feeling anything else - it still warrants an answer.
[ Huh. There's a flicker of not surprise but recognition in Wash's eyes -- that makes sense. He knew how Dick moved in his memory, in their other-lives, but here he'd noticed a distinct difference, more fluidity to his movements, a certain sense of grace. That makes sense. ]
Interesting career trajectory. [ And he does, in fact, consider for a moment how flexible he probably is. His coffee's mostly done, and he finishes it off. ] I was military.
[ Which is the most non-informative but yet completely true thing he could say, because anyone who knew military would recognize him as one immediately. If he tried hard enough, he could hide being a soldier, but he just -- doesn't. It's a little too innate. ]
We can get out of here.
[ Talking here is fine, too, if Dick prefers, but there are certainly other places and other ways to get to know each other. ]
And here I thought you were a travel agent. [Agent Washington. He's right about being easy to peg, on that front at least. A touch of amusement still tucked into the corners of his mouth, Dick signals his agreement to moving somewhere else by reaching to untuck his scarf from a pocket and wrapping it loosely round his neck.]
I've also been a docker. Bartender. Croupier. Museum Curator. Gym teacher in a British girls' boarding school.
[Which was a front for the international espionage he - Agent 37 - was actually working for. He stands up, reaching for his coat.]
It's less a trajectory than a pin-ball machine. But I'm always an acrobat.
[ Wash has already gathered, just from knowing just how many scars are littered across his body, that Dick has to be a lot more than a police officer. Or acrobat. When he starts listing off different careers, it doesn't surprise him at first, but -- it's still a longer list than he's expecting. He takes a moment to make sure the bill is taken care of, shrugging on his coat as he stands. ]
You older than you look?
[ Mostly teasing, but also, you know. Even if those are all fronts, which he assumes they are, it's a lot to have already cycled through for someone who looks as young as he does. He'll lead the way outside, holding the door open. Thankfully, while Wash had considered it, he hadn't actually been paranoid enough to choose a cafe on the other side of town instead of one actually nearby. ]
[But he's not at the point of finding out five years of his life got stolen just yet. It all, somehow, just fits.]
Especially after working with teenage girls. I've met tigers that were easier to handle. [That much is entirely true, it's impressive he never sprouted grays. But, leaving out all his real work, he's aware it sounds like a lot. He follows Wash into the street still tugging an arm through his sleeve - hat caught between two fingers.] A few of those didn't last out a month. But there are days I need to remind myself I'm just coming up on twenty-four.
[ Wash makes some amused sound, in response -- one that distinctly sounds like he understands and relates. He's never been a gym teacher in a boarding school, but he might as well have been for a while for the recruits he was saddled with to train, and for the squad that he more or less adopted. He has a long-standing role as a long-suffering babysitter. ]
I'm thirty-seven. [ He stays close as they walk, enough that their shoulders brush. He still lives in public housing, and the apartments are recognizable, very nearby. ] No pinball machine here, been military most of my life.
[Dick knows the public housing well, although the Up not so much as the Down. He still has a place in the down apartments he uses to monitor new arrivals. It's not so easy to do with the security the higher levels have in place, but there are ways and means.]
I like thirty-seven on you.
[He offers it simply, with an upward sideways glance. Most of the people Dick gets involved with are older - call it a natural inclination for someone who never really got to be a kid. Most people his age feel impossibly young and unformed, or all too breakable. He looks for people who've withstood a few storms. In simple terms, he'd find Wash attractive across a crowded bar. Knowing something of him only helps.
He doesn't ask about the military, not just yet. It's being out of it that catches him - like Wash, he's more out of service right now than he's ever been and it makes him feel slightly crazy.]
And got pulled out to somewhere like this? I think the lack of purpose might have me crawling out of my skin.
[ Wash on the other hand tends to avoid most younger people for those exact reasons. Even people a little closer to his age sometimes feel a bit too far away from what he knows, like they're from a whole other world. In that same crowded bar, Dick would have caught his eye, but he might not have done anything about it. Now they're here, and while Wash still doesn't know him he knows enough to sense that they might have more in common than not. ]
That sounds about right, yeah.
[ And he assumes that Dick might know the feeling pretty well, himself. He gestures with a tip of his head when they get to the buildings, into the lobby, calling for an elevator. He's on the 8th floor, with a neighbor he knows well. ]
I don't know if I'll ever fully get used to it. [ At this point he's technically been out of the military for some time, but. They say it never leaves you. ] What about you? Feeling idle at all?
[Whatever that might say about him. He hasn't stopped working here - he spends nights staking out the gangs in the down or watching those in the up who have let power go a little too much to their heads. But all of it is chump change to what he's used to. Even the villains trapped here seem to have had their teeth removed.
The one thing he'd like to fight - the city itself - hasn't given him an in yet. It feels all too much like he's banging his head against a brick wall.]
But yes.
[The elevator arrives with a jingle and the doors open empty. Dick steps in first - a liberty perhaps - leaning back against one mirrored corner, so the walls reflect him in three different angles.]
[ Wash could make work for himself if he wanted to -- likely in similar things. But for as bored as he is, he's too stubborn in other regards. This city isn't his own, and he's been pulled here against his will, and while he's too practical to not put on a show of integrating for the sake of blending in, past that he's steadfastly refusing to integrate at all. He'd still found ways to keep himself busy, with enough people from back home showing up with him to keep him busy. Friends and enemies both, back from the dead and otherwise.
But recently, most of them had disappeared, the city spitting them back out with the same casual ease that it'd pulled them in with. Dick stepping back in is better timed than he might realize.
He steps inside, hits the button for his floor, and -- there's really no hesitation. He doesn't wait for the doors, just starts to close the distance between them, blocking Dick into the corner he's very conveniently (and maybe purposefully, as far as Wash's concerned) put himself into, lifting a hand to brush his fingertips against his chin, following up the line of his jaw. There's that intensity of his gaze again, fixed on him fully, a surety to his movements like he already knows the shape of him and how his cheek fits against his palm. ]
We can fix that.
[ The doors slide shut behind him, the elevator hums as it starts to move, and Wash leans down to pull him in for a kiss. ]
[It's certainly one way to start, and Dick would have been disappointed if Wash hadn't taken the initiative here. His height is good, just one more way to crowd Dick in even as he stretches up to meet him, the kiss just as demanding from Dick's side. Wash tastes familiar even under the bitter twist of the drink, setting up an easy flood of memories of every other time Dick's had his mouth on him. He tastes better non-hallucinatory.
Dropping the hat for lost on the floor of the elevator, Dick hitches his hands into Wash's belt, pulling him in enough to press up against, while his fingertips dip under to find the heat of his skin.
He tilts his head back, just a fraction, as the doors behind them seal shut.]
[ He tastes good, tastes familiar, warm and sweet under the lingering taste of coffee, and Wash kisses him like he knows him, tonguing deeply into his mouth. Dick tips his head back just enough to get a word in, and Wash's hand slides up to the back of his neck, clearly having to stop himself from just leaning down again immediately. ]
Eight.
[ Not that many, and that's fine. Wash does intend to actually leave the elevator. But all this talking they've done has brought up so many very, very vivid memories, and Dick had tucked himself into a corner that had just been difficult to resist. He doesn't wait for an answer, his other hand moving around and briefly palming over his ass before sliding up to the small of his back with that same easy confidence, hauling his body closer to his own as he kisses him again. ]
[Dick murmurs eight back against Wash's mouth before licking his way into it, too much want in him to be gentle about it - he kisses like it's a demand and a plea all at once. He's more than pliant about being pulled in flush against him, already half hard where his hips jut up against the other man's thigh.
It's a keen reminder that he's never had Wash completely. He's been splayed out, all holes used, but not in the way he craved. Perhaps because he craved it. The thought's almost painful - he makes a small, tight sound at the back of his throat as his hands finally slip up under Wash's shirt - blunt nails digging into his back. At this point he's not quite sure how he didn't just climb over the table back at the shop.]
[ It's been very intentional. Wash thrives off of control, the feeling of how Dick would just let himself be used to his liking, how willing and pliable he was under his touch. Part of that was pushing him, forcing him to face and admit and vocalize just how much he wanted it, how much he needed it. A few times Dick had begged for more, and Wash had pressed him to take it further. Outside of their little transactional arrangement. And Dick, broken up as he'd been, hadn't relented. So neither did Wash.
He makes a quiet, rumbling sound in his throat when he feels those nails dragging against his back, pulling him in closer, his hand sliding back down to palm over his ass. He presses his thigh deliberately against his half-hard cock, licking deeper into his mouth, and --
-- Eight floors really isn't much. The elevator dings, the door slides open. Wash still doesn't pull away, and somehow he thinks that if they'd stayed there for another hour (or until the elevator gets called elsewhere), Dick wouldn't have minded at all. But he ends up shoving him hard back into the corner of the mirrored walls, pulling back, nipping at his lower lip with his teeth and tugging slightly as he does. And for a second or two he just looks at him, eyes half-lidded but that intensity and focus still strong behind them, drinking in the sight of him. ]
I think you missed me.
[ A little bit of a half-smirk, and he's already turning away to step out into the corridor. His neighbor has the tendency to manage to run into him at awkward times, but thankfully, it's quiet now, and he just leaves Dick to collect himself while he goes to unlock his door. ]
[Dick stays right where he's put even after Wash turns away, blinking back a little of a pleasant kind of shell shock, hard and horny and somehow already frustrated. He stays put because his first and keenest impulse is to get on Wash's heels and press him straight up against the opposite wall.
Instead he lets out a rush of breath, one word a whisper at the end of it.]
Fuck.
[Then, finally, he rocks forward on his heels and follows at a trot, the impulse not quite gone, but on a leash for the moment. He's caught up to Wash by his apartment door, leaning in against him as he works the lock. He's lighter - a little giddier - that he was, a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.]
So why do you still live in assigned housing? Nice neighbors? Hot neighbours? Just into the whole utilitarian thing?
[ Wash leans back slightly against him in turn, just turning his head enough to glance at him. Pleased enough that Dick hadn't been able to quite follow him immediately. ]
Neighbor is someone I know from back home, yeah. [ Once someone he trusted with his life, to someone he would've shot on sight, and now -- he just might trust her with his life again. It's complicated. ] I've not felt the need to move just yet.
[ Partially, he's not used to having a "home" -- he's spent most of his life shuffling between military installations, bases, ships. But on top of that, moving out into a place of his own implies a level of permanence that he isn't really ready to accept yet. He holds the door open for Dick, gesturing him inside with a tip of his head. The place is largely what the Up apartments would be by default, utilitarian is very much his thing, and if anything the Up in general is still far too much for him. Everything is perfectly and meticulously organized, there's an absence of clutter, and the only things that make the place feel more lived in are small details. The only thing Wash has apparently really added are some mats set out near the windows overlooking the city. It is probably of little surprise that someone like Wash would care a lot about some kind of exercise and working out.
He shrugs off his coat, not doing anything, as of yet. A little just to see if Dick might do anything on his own. ]
[It's interesting to note where they're different and the same. Dick is messy - all his apartments have been a fascinating collection of boxes and trash. But they've also never been homes. Even the loft he's in now is home because of the people - not the amount of his belongings kept there. If it came down to that he'd never have had a home at all and, as a kid growing up in a travelling circus, then an orphan in a home that didn't fit who he was, that's something that feels almost natural to him by now.
The mess, though. The mess would drive Wash crazy.]
The only person here from my world is my brother. Which is about as complicated as it sounds.
[And another brother, from another world. And another him from yet another. It's enough to give a person an identity crisis.
Dick assesses the room quickly and automatically. He doesn't need to register the exits - all the apartments here are the same and he's been in enough to know. He does look for the kind of place someone might store a weapon. Anywhere set up where someone might be concealed. Automatic. The large windows make the room feel overlooked, but that's not something Dick thinks he's likely to complain about.
He sheds his coat, noting where they hang, and steps forward to offer to take Wash's from him - the surroundings losing his attention as his focus settles back where it's been pulled the whole time. There's no other priority but re-familiarizing himself with Wash - if it takes starting from his boots and working up. But, for all the back and forth over it before, he doesn't kneel.
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no subject
And that, in fact, is part of this. Not that Dick leads with it.]
Maybe I just hate leaving things unfinished.
[He sits back, folding his arms behind his head and letting his fingers knit into his hair.]
I wasn't looking for you with expectations. For all I knew, once whatever that was wore off, you might be living as a mild mannered dog walker with a sideline in artisan cheese making and a 'Live Laugh Love' decal on your bedroom wall. But there was a grain of truth to who most of us were, that week. I thought there might be a grain of truth to you. And like I said, I thought about it, here and there. I thought we were both – getting something from it.
[He huffs out a break, embarrassed enough that it shows in the faintest flush, but still not dropping eye contact.]
I don't do a lot that's casual. This place has opened up a lot I'd never have considered before, like sleeping with more than one person on a regular basis, but I still don't end up with people easily. Especially the way we –
[A flurry of movement, as he huddles back down to lean over the table again, dropping his voice.]
I mean, I'd still find it difficult to walk up to a stranger and ask if they want to slap me when I come. But it's really not just about that. And maybe it's dumb to think a couple of hallucinatory encounters and some hazy memories of a history means anything. We weren't friends. But we weren't strangers, either.
[And no matter how much he'd denied it, it had felt like they could have been just a little more. Wash had seen that more clearly than Dick knew.]
I thought we hit a few of each other's buttons. If that's still true for you then maybe it's worth following up on. If it's not, I can compliment your artisan cheese and leave you be.
no subject
It's things that make sense, though in some ways also why Wash had kept away. The other way around, Wash would've had a distinct discomfort with someone who just knew him a lot better than they should -- he would've seen it more as an invasion than something that makes it easier. But Dick clearly was getting something out of their interactions, enough for him to keep thinking about it, to clearly want more. ]
No cheesemaking, no dogwalking. [ He's more of a cat guy, anyway. He takes pauses to take another sip from his coffee. ] ] Who I was during that week might not have been real but -- there was more truth to it than not.
[ He doesn't like thinking about it, just because of what that implies about how well the city has him pegged, just because of what it means that it was so easy for him to slip into some kind of life here. But when it came to some other things, when it came to this. ]
It'd be a little pointless to go back and forth about what a collective hallucination really meant, and things like that. [ He leans forward a little, too, his voice sliding into something just a little lower, his full weight of his gaze, intense as it always is, fixed on Dick's. ] But I can tell you this much.
I was getting something out of it. And there was a lot about you I liked.
[ A lot of his buttons being hit, so to say. He leans back in his seat, but just so he can look at him more fully, his eyes briefly flicking down over his face to what he can see of the curve of his throat, back up again. ]
I don't think that much has changed.
no subject
[Stoic, withholding and maybe finding a dark coping strategy for something buried deep him his own past happens to be a theme Dick's used to fitting himself around, a man he's used to trying to please, albeit very differently.
He doesn't want to lean into a psych eval here, there isn't any coffee strong enough. But he does pause to take another sip before it cools.]
I'm not into 'scenes' or whatever the formal word is. I have people here who'll go hard on me if they know it's what I want. But - without expectation, here - someone in it for what they want, even if it pushes me to the very edge of what I do is... well. I guess I like rising to a challenge.
no subject
[ A quirk of an eyebrow, more teasing than actually calling them out or anything, but he is curious. He can't help but want to know what it is about what he could provide for Dick that had him still in his thoughts months after, that other people apparently can't fill. Both because he wants to be able to keep doing that -- and just because, well. It's nice to know. ]
I'd like to be doing it for you, too. [ That definitely is part of the idea, for him. Overwhelming someone only means so much if isn't... willing, or wanted. There is something he especially enjoys about the idea of not just I could break you but I could break you, and you are letting me. ] But there would be a lot that I want, make no mistake -- I seem to remember you rising to those challenges well enough.
no subject
I'm not saying it isn't mutual, just that maybe there are limits to how far they'll want to push. And I haven't hit my limits yet.
[That's one thing they might both remember. Dick's not exactly undemanding, both of himself and others. Sometimes it can seem like he can always take more, but he has a breaking point. He has several. It's just most people would take a step back from reaching it. He looks up, running a hand back through his hair.]
I guess you could say giving orders has never been a problem for me. I spend my whole life calculating what to do, and when, and how - it's hard to turn off. So sometimes I don't need to be asked what I want, I need to be told. Knowing I'll want it anyway.
no subject
He nods. Watching him closely, as always, watching the way his fingers run through his hair. ]
I can understand that.
[ He does take consent and control very, very seriously -- he has to. But sometimes, a lot of the time, what people want -- what he wants -- is for the lines to blur. Fade away until they aren't even there anymore. The amount of trust that's required to genuinely do that safely is difficult, how well you have to know someone, how well they have to know you. And what they have is a little bit of a shortcut to that point. ]
It's still a leap of faith. [ Mostly for Dick, but it's mutual. They really don't know that much about each other. He tips his head to the side slightly, his voice sliding just ever so slightly lower. ] But I can do that for you.
[ Whether it's starting something new or continuing something unfinished is a matter of interpretation and semantics. ]
no subject
[They have a shortcut, but that kind of trust isn't immediate. Dick would have been more reticent before if it weren't set up as the way they lived their lives in a city even more hung up on the etiquette of its social structure than the real thing. It'll take time to get there, even with their head start, but why keep cards off the table now. It's a place he'd like to get.
And something about the way Wash looks at him makes it feel like there's no point not being honest with something he'd manage to draw out of him anyway. He smiles, slow, as Wash's voice drops lower.]
And, if it's okay, I think I'd like to get to know the real you, too. [Inside or outside of the power dynamics - though there's something undeniably appealing about going out with them still in play, for the most part Dick would like to take his time learning who Wash really is, behind the codename and the veneer of command. He has a feeling that might be the real challenge.]
no subject
I don't think it'd matter if I said it wasn't okay.
[ Sounds like Dick would probably try anyway. And Wash is, apparently, fine with that. His way of answering yes, more or less, just that -- he's still not exactly going to be very forthcoming. That's just who he is, by personality. ]
I wouldn't mind getting to know you past the mass hallucination, either.
no subject
I can start. I've been a police officer, but I was born an acrobat.
[Because if there's fresh information to give someone, why not start with the part where you can get your ankles behind your head? He'd ached for days after that strange simulation after spending a week moving as if he couldn't fly. He even sits more lightly now, holding himself in a way that suggests a keen natural awareness of every movement, of his place in every space.
Speaking of places, Wash had asked him a question before they met today, which Dick recognised as the test it was. Though he'd suggested a buffer - this coffee shop, a place to feel each other out before feeling anything else - it still warrants an answer.
He finishes his coffee, first.]
And your place is fine by me.
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Interesting career trajectory. [ And he does, in fact, consider for a moment how flexible he probably is. His coffee's mostly done, and he finishes it off. ] I was military.
[ Which is the most non-informative but yet completely true thing he could say, because anyone who knew military would recognize him as one immediately. If he tried hard enough, he could hide being a soldier, but he just -- doesn't. It's a little too innate. ]
We can get out of here.
[ Talking here is fine, too, if Dick prefers, but there are certainly other places and other ways to get to know each other. ]
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I've also been a docker. Bartender. Croupier. Museum Curator. Gym teacher in a British girls' boarding school.
[Which was a front for the international espionage he - Agent 37 - was actually working for. He stands up, reaching for his coat.]
It's less a trajectory than a pin-ball machine. But I'm always an acrobat.
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You older than you look?
[ Mostly teasing, but also, you know. Even if those are all fronts, which he assumes they are, it's a lot to have already cycled through for someone who looks as young as he does. He'll lead the way outside, holding the door open. Thankfully, while Wash had considered it, he hadn't actually been paranoid enough to choose a cafe on the other side of town instead of one actually nearby. ]
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[But he's not at the point of finding out five years of his life got stolen just yet. It all, somehow, just fits.]
Especially after working with teenage girls. I've met tigers that were easier to handle. [That much is entirely true, it's impressive he never sprouted grays. But, leaving out all his real work, he's aware it sounds like a lot. He follows Wash into the street still tugging an arm through his sleeve - hat caught between two fingers.] A few of those didn't last out a month. But there are days I need to remind myself I'm just coming up on twenty-four.
[Next month, in fact.]
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I'm thirty-seven. [ He stays close as they walk, enough that their shoulders brush. He still lives in public housing, and the apartments are recognizable, very nearby. ] No pinball machine here, been military most of my life.
[ And now he isn't. ]
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I like thirty-seven on you.
[He offers it simply, with an upward sideways glance. Most of the people Dick gets involved with are older - call it a natural inclination for someone who never really got to be a kid. Most people his age feel impossibly young and unformed, or all too breakable. He looks for people who've withstood a few storms. In simple terms, he'd find Wash attractive across a crowded bar. Knowing something of him only helps.
He doesn't ask about the military, not just yet. It's being out of it that catches him - like Wash, he's more out of service right now than he's ever been and it makes him feel slightly crazy.]
And got pulled out to somewhere like this? I think the lack of purpose might have me crawling out of my skin.
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That sounds about right, yeah.
[ And he assumes that Dick might know the feeling pretty well, himself. He gestures with a tip of his head when they get to the buildings, into the lobby, calling for an elevator. He's on the 8th floor, with a neighbor he knows well. ]
I don't know if I'll ever fully get used to it. [ At this point he's technically been out of the military for some time, but. They say it never leaves you. ] What about you? Feeling idle at all?
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[Whatever that might say about him. He hasn't stopped working here - he spends nights staking out the gangs in the down or watching those in the up who have let power go a little too much to their heads. But all of it is chump change to what he's used to. Even the villains trapped here seem to have had their teeth removed.
The one thing he'd like to fight - the city itself - hasn't given him an in yet. It feels all too much like he's banging his head against a brick wall.]
But yes.
[The elevator arrives with a jingle and the doors open empty. Dick steps in first - a liberty perhaps - leaning back against one mirrored corner, so the walls reflect him in three different angles.]
Bored as hell, all the time.
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But recently, most of them had disappeared, the city spitting them back out with the same casual ease that it'd pulled them in with. Dick stepping back in is better timed than he might realize.
He steps inside, hits the button for his floor, and -- there's really no hesitation. He doesn't wait for the doors, just starts to close the distance between them, blocking Dick into the corner he's very conveniently (and maybe purposefully, as far as Wash's concerned) put himself into, lifting a hand to brush his fingertips against his chin, following up the line of his jaw. There's that intensity of his gaze again, fixed on him fully, a surety to his movements like he already knows the shape of him and how his cheek fits against his palm. ]
We can fix that.
[ The doors slide shut behind him, the elevator hums as it starts to move, and Wash leans down to pull him in for a kiss. ]
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Dropping the hat for lost on the floor of the elevator, Dick hitches his hands into Wash's belt, pulling him in enough to press up against, while his fingertips dip under to find the heat of his skin.
He tilts his head back, just a fraction, as the doors behind them seal shut.]
How many floors?
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Eight.
[ Not that many, and that's fine. Wash does intend to actually leave the elevator. But all this talking they've done has brought up so many very, very vivid memories, and Dick had tucked himself into a corner that had just been difficult to resist. He doesn't wait for an answer, his other hand moving around and briefly palming over his ass before sliding up to the small of his back with that same easy confidence, hauling his body closer to his own as he kisses him again. ]
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It's a keen reminder that he's never had Wash completely. He's been splayed out, all holes used, but not in the way he craved. Perhaps because he craved it. The thought's almost painful - he makes a small, tight sound at the back of his throat as his hands finally slip up under Wash's shirt - blunt nails digging into his back. At this point he's not quite sure how he didn't just climb over the table back at the shop.]
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He makes a quiet, rumbling sound in his throat when he feels those nails dragging against his back, pulling him in closer, his hand sliding back down to palm over his ass. He presses his thigh deliberately against his half-hard cock, licking deeper into his mouth, and --
-- Eight floors really isn't much. The elevator dings, the door slides open. Wash still doesn't pull away, and somehow he thinks that if they'd stayed there for another hour (or until the elevator gets called elsewhere), Dick wouldn't have minded at all. But he ends up shoving him hard back into the corner of the mirrored walls, pulling back, nipping at his lower lip with his teeth and tugging slightly as he does. And for a second or two he just looks at him, eyes half-lidded but that intensity and focus still strong behind them, drinking in the sight of him. ]
I think you missed me.
[ A little bit of a half-smirk, and he's already turning away to step out into the corridor. His neighbor has the tendency to manage to run into him at awkward times, but thankfully, it's quiet now, and he just leaves Dick to collect himself while he goes to unlock his door. ]
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Instead he lets out a rush of breath, one word a whisper at the end of it.]
Fuck.
[Then, finally, he rocks forward on his heels and follows at a trot, the impulse not quite gone, but on a leash for the moment. He's caught up to Wash by his apartment door, leaning in against him as he works the lock. He's lighter - a little giddier - that he was, a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.]
So why do you still live in assigned housing? Nice neighbors? Hot neighbours? Just into the whole utilitarian thing?
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Neighbor is someone I know from back home, yeah. [ Once someone he trusted with his life, to someone he would've shot on sight, and now -- he just might trust her with his life again. It's complicated. ] I've not felt the need to move just yet.
[ Partially, he's not used to having a "home" -- he's spent most of his life shuffling between military installations, bases, ships. But on top of that, moving out into a place of his own implies a level of permanence that he isn't really ready to accept yet. He holds the door open for Dick, gesturing him inside with a tip of his head. The place is largely what the Up apartments would be by default, utilitarian is very much his thing, and if anything the Up in general is still far too much for him. Everything is perfectly and meticulously organized, there's an absence of clutter, and the only things that make the place feel more lived in are small details. The only thing Wash has apparently really added are some mats set out near the windows overlooking the city. It is probably of little surprise that someone like Wash would care a lot about some kind of exercise and working out.
He shrugs off his coat, not doing anything, as of yet. A little just to see if Dick might do anything on his own. ]
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The mess, though. The mess would drive Wash crazy.]
The only person here from my world is my brother. Which is about as complicated as it sounds.
[And another brother, from another world. And another him from yet another. It's enough to give a person an identity crisis.
Dick assesses the room quickly and automatically. He doesn't need to register the exits - all the apartments here are the same and he's been in enough to know. He does look for the kind of place someone might store a weapon. Anywhere set up where someone might be concealed. Automatic. The large windows make the room feel overlooked, but that's not something Dick thinks he's likely to complain about.
He sheds his coat, noting where they hang, and steps forward to offer to take Wash's from him - the surroundings losing his attention as his focus settles back where it's been pulled the whole time. There's no other priority but re-familiarizing himself with Wash - if it takes starting from his boots and working up. But, for all the back and forth over it before, he doesn't kneel.
He doesn't do anything he hasn't been told.]
I missed you. Do I get to show you how much?
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