[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.
[ Wash has a few weapons stashed around to make sure there's always something within decent reach, mostly knives. He'd come in with a few of his favoured weapons, but those are a lot harder to come by and he keeps securely in his own room. He notes with interest how much Dick seems to take in the space, locking the door behind them, and isn't expecting when Dick offers to take his own.
A pause, a slight hum, equal parts approving and amused as he hands it over. What Dick actually says, too, that's also a surprise. Won't do anything he hasn't been told to, but won't hesitate to ask, either.
He takes his time to consider -- and makes no secret of what he's thinking about, in the meanwhile. His eyes flick down over his body, tracing shapes and lines he's memorized perfectly, mapped out with his mouth and tongue. How long he's quiet for seems to be deliberate, too, just enough where Dick really has to sit weigh the weight of his gaze, his eyes dragging over the length of his body as he looks back up to meet his eyes again.
Wash takes a step forward, reaching out to curve his hand under his jaw. ]
You're going to.
[ But he'll decide how. He apparently doesn't mind dick making requests, though.
He takes another step forward -- his hand sliding down to press against his chest. Pushing him back, further inside. ]
What was it you said you were doing for a living, now?
[ Just so casually, even as he ends up backing Dick against a wall, fingers splaying across his chest over his clothing when Dick ends up braced back against it. ]
[Of course the waiting time is deliberate. Dick can feel himself wanting to interrupt the silence and has to bite words back, the corners of his jaw tight once Wash's slow once-over reaches his face. It's just long enough for his mouth to dry, so that he swallows hard once Wash's hand skims over his throat.
He tips his head up as Wash walks him backwards, steps confident enough as he'd already measured out the room. He can almost time the moment that his shoulders hit the wall and he moves without letting his focus drop for a second from Wash's face.]
I didn't.
[His tone's not quite so casual - at least, the effort to sound that way is audible.]
I teach yoga at a gym in the down. [He flashes a grin.] So any time you want to see my downward dog–
[ Dick has his full attention, now, in multiple ways. His eyes entirely fixed on him, drinking in everything about him, watching with a focused intensity that seems almost predatory, like he means to devour him whole. He's watching his every breath, feeling the way his chest rises and falls under his hand, counting what he can feel of his heartbeat -- and there's that confidence to it. Like nothing Dick does could possibly go unnoticed, like Wash already knows so much about him.
There are new things. He does notice the way Dick moves with confidence even like this -- interesting, something to file away for later. His voice, calm enough but not quite, that grin, and of course, what he's saying. ]
I do yoga. [ A slight hum, amused, his eyes dropping briefly to linger on his lips, further down to the curve of his throat. He shifts a little closer, using a foot to nudge against one of Dick's, enough to urge his legs apart -- so his other hand immediately slide down, palming up along the inside of his thigh. ] Might have to visit sometime.
Just another in a series of odd jobs?
[ His tone is perfectly even, to the extent that it's almost uncanny, even as he rolls his palm over the bulge of his cock. ]
[Stillness has always been one of Dick's personal challenges. From a child learning to center himself on a rope hooked up across the circus ring, to Bruce putting him through meditation exercises for hours at a time to try to leash his wild, unstoppable energy and teach him to find and use the quiet moments in a fight. He still rarely spends any time unoccupied, and it takes reaching down into himself to stay centered and still against the wall for Wash.
He was better trained, most likely, in those lost memories - but the potential for perfect obedience is still intact. His hands fist and flex at his sides, but he doesn't reach out.]
I don't know that you'd call it odd. It's one of the more normal on the list.
[There's no training to keep his hips from jerking forward for a little more contact when Wash finally reaches his cock, now thick and more than evident in the way it's stretching the front of his jeans obscenely. He keeps his shoulders firmly pressed to the wall, chin raised so the lift and catch of his throat as he bites back a needier sound is clearly visible. A breath, and he carries on -]
And I like to feel I'm doing a service - helping people stay flexible in their old age. You're welcome to come.
[ Dick was always surprisingly pliant and obedient, in Wash's memories, took well to just about everything he threw at him, if anything a little too eager to be used, something Wash was all too happy to take advantage of. He seems different, here, but not too different. Still eager, still willing. And still a very pretty sight, when he's on the edge of something, when he sees the way that sound catches in his throat, his hands flexing at his sides with the effort it's taking him to stay still.
Good. The only sign that Wash gives of his approval is the slight lowering of his eyelids, more and more of that hunger and want evident in his gaze. He looks a little like he wants to flip him around and fuck him to tears there and then, but his actual movements are still perfectly controlled, his fingers tracing the shape of his cock through his jeans. ]
I'm not that old just yet. [ A bit of a playful lilt to his voice, there. He does do yoga, though, has always focused on bodyweight exercises, and the mindful and meditative qualities of it he finds helpful to keep steady, firm, present, centered in himself and his reality -- things that sometimes seem all too fragile. ] Guess it is pretty normal. But the list isn't.
[ His touch is light, dipping down, dragging up along the underside of him, following the length of his shaft. He seems to remember that, too, the shape and weight of him in his palm, and his other hand eases up from where it's splayed across his chest, faintly brushing over the curve of his throat, fingers curving under his jaw. ]
What do you actually do?
[ A blunt and direct question, but Wash clearly isn't particularly concerned with subtlety and grace, right now. ]
[It would be a cat-and-mouse game, if someone like Dick could ever really be considered prey -- and if the mouse was given to goading the cat to unsheath its claws. Wash has near perfect control of himself (the way Dick would, if he decided to force it - the way he's trying to let go of, here) but Dick reads faces like other people scan supermarket labels. He can see how someone's put together with a glance.
And he doesn't think there's any less want burning under Wash's skin than his own. There's something impossibly hot in watching the way he restrains himself. Dick almost lets his eyes close as careful fingers brush up the length of his throat, but there's a sliver of blue still visible under his lashes, wanting to watch.]
I teach yoga classes, at a gym in the down. [He says it slowly and deliberately, and they both know it's both an answer and a lie.] Zumba on Wednesdays.
[His cock twitches hard as Wash's nails track up the denim covered length of his cock, friction and anticipation an electric mix.]
Is this an interview? I thought I had the position.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[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.]
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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.
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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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A pause, a slight hum, equal parts approving and amused as he hands it over. What Dick actually says, too, that's also a surprise. Won't do anything he hasn't been told to, but won't hesitate to ask, either.
He takes his time to consider -- and makes no secret of what he's thinking about, in the meanwhile. His eyes flick down over his body, tracing shapes and lines he's memorized perfectly, mapped out with his mouth and tongue. How long he's quiet for seems to be deliberate, too, just enough where Dick really has to sit weigh the weight of his gaze, his eyes dragging over the length of his body as he looks back up to meet his eyes again.
Wash takes a step forward, reaching out to curve his hand under his jaw. ]
You're going to.
[ But he'll decide how. He apparently doesn't mind dick making requests, though.
He takes another step forward -- his hand sliding down to press against his chest. Pushing him back, further inside. ]
What was it you said you were doing for a living, now?
[ Just so casually, even as he ends up backing Dick against a wall, fingers splaying across his chest over his clothing when Dick ends up braced back against it. ]
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He tips his head up as Wash walks him backwards, steps confident enough as he'd already measured out the room. He can almost time the moment that his shoulders hit the wall and he moves without letting his focus drop for a second from Wash's face.]
I didn't.
[His tone's not quite so casual - at least, the effort to sound that way is audible.]
I teach yoga at a gym in the down. [He flashes a grin.] So any time you want to see my downward dog–
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There are new things. He does notice the way Dick moves with confidence even like this -- interesting, something to file away for later. His voice, calm enough but not quite, that grin, and of course, what he's saying. ]
I do yoga. [ A slight hum, amused, his eyes dropping briefly to linger on his lips, further down to the curve of his throat. He shifts a little closer, using a foot to nudge against one of Dick's, enough to urge his legs apart -- so his other hand immediately slide down, palming up along the inside of his thigh. ] Might have to visit sometime.
Just another in a series of odd jobs?
[ His tone is perfectly even, to the extent that it's almost uncanny, even as he rolls his palm over the bulge of his cock. ]
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He was better trained, most likely, in those lost memories - but the potential for perfect obedience is still intact. His hands fist and flex at his sides, but he doesn't reach out.]
I don't know that you'd call it odd. It's one of the more normal on the list.
[There's no training to keep his hips from jerking forward for a little more contact when Wash finally reaches his cock, now thick and more than evident in the way it's stretching the front of his jeans obscenely. He keeps his shoulders firmly pressed to the wall, chin raised so the lift and catch of his throat as he bites back a needier sound is clearly visible. A breath, and he carries on -]
And I like to feel I'm doing a service - helping people stay flexible in their old age. You're welcome to come.
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Good. The only sign that Wash gives of his approval is the slight lowering of his eyelids, more and more of that hunger and want evident in his gaze. He looks a little like he wants to flip him around and fuck him to tears there and then, but his actual movements are still perfectly controlled, his fingers tracing the shape of his cock through his jeans. ]
I'm not that old just yet. [ A bit of a playful lilt to his voice, there. He does do yoga, though, has always focused on bodyweight exercises, and the mindful and meditative qualities of it he finds helpful to keep steady, firm, present, centered in himself and his reality -- things that sometimes seem all too fragile. ] Guess it is pretty normal. But the list isn't.
[ His touch is light, dipping down, dragging up along the underside of him, following the length of his shaft. He seems to remember that, too, the shape and weight of him in his palm, and his other hand eases up from where it's splayed across his chest, faintly brushing over the curve of his throat, fingers curving under his jaw. ]
What do you actually do?
[ A blunt and direct question, but Wash clearly isn't particularly concerned with subtlety and grace, right now. ]
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And he doesn't think there's any less want burning under Wash's skin than his own. There's something impossibly hot in watching the way he restrains himself. Dick almost lets his eyes close as careful fingers brush up the length of his throat, but there's a sliver of blue still visible under his lashes, wanting to watch.]
I teach yoga classes, at a gym in the down. [He says it slowly and deliberately, and they both know it's both an answer and a lie.] Zumba on Wednesdays.
[His cock twitches hard as Wash's nails track up the denim covered length of his cock, friction and anticipation an electric mix.]
Is this an interview? I thought I had the position.
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