noscope | RP OPEN POST )

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rp: open post

RP OPEN POST )

this here is an open post for badasses.

give me everything and i'll give it all back!

And if this is how you want to deal with things, it's what he'll give you. It could never be so easy to break you, whether you like to think of it that way or not – and do you know why?

He won't allow you to be broken. And should it ever come to pass that there's even a minor crack, a spidery thing all along the surface, he'll put you back together as many times as it takes until you think you're whole enough again.

There's a soft, low rumble in the back of his throat for the attention paid to his hand, and his fingers curl absently against the line of a sharp jaw as he leans in to purr his appreciation against the side of his neck. "You and good behavior don't belong in the same sentence, and you know it," he murmurs, dropping a kiss to the beat of his pulse and up to the shell of an ear. "Buuut .. maybe we could work something out."

Legs sufficiently tangled with York's, he rolls them both over until he's settled firmly between the other man's thighs, body curled above him as he takes the hand he's holding and presses it against the mattress above York's head. He still has one free if he decides to try to do a little touching of his own, but as it stands, North is already busying himself with etching a thumbnail against the rise of a hipbone.

"The hamper is definitely a start."

Broken is broken, in cracks or cloven segments fractured off the greater whole- He's pasted together now with bravado and bullheadedness. How he's kept himself whole this long he's not sure.

Being able to let North pick up the pieces is as much a relief as it is a frustration. Admitting he's broken, letting anyone see him that useless and weak and off center invites abandonment- from anyone save North. He's the only one that hadn't left because of some stupid shit York pulled or said or didn't do. That stability's reassuring.

The closeness of their bodies and familiar rumble against his neck? Enticing.

"Hey, I can be good." He'd pout if North could see it. But he can't, so he settles for going with the roll, free hand sliding up to curl in North's hair and give it a playful tug. He's held down without much leverage, but he can roll his hips up just so to make his point. "I remember you saying on more than one occasion how very good I've been for you, Ev."

Usually mid orgasm. Or post. Or pre. Somewhere in there. After awhile it didn't matter.

Evan doesn't believe in broken. At least, not beyond the point of being unable to be fixed – and when it concerns those closes to him, there's nothing saying he can't figuratively exhaust himself with wanting to keep them whole.

For a long, long while, York has been at the top of that list. He will never see the other man as useless or weak, and even if it were more than a blip on his radar he would not think of abandoning him. He's not the type, not the kind of man to even come close to thinking of something like that, because abandonment means a lack of care. Apathy in a sense that he can never understand, and that he never will.

"You can be good when you want something, sure." He's grinning against the line of his throat as he slips upward, catching the swell of the other man's bottom lip between his teeth and tugging, almost playfully. His fingers flex where they hold that hand against the bed, and with a slight bit of reluctance, he lets go – perhaps for his own selfishness, but he can never go too long without wanting those hands on him – and both of his own come to rest against those rocking hips to still them. You'll not be getting an advantage over him just yet.

"A reminder that you can be good never hurts, either, does it? I tell you just how good you are for me with the hopes of retaining some of that good behavior when you're not writhing under me and begging for me to let you come."

"I always want something." He quips, taking that point before North can make it for him. He'd sound a little more self satisfied and smug were it not for the lips on his neck, the teeth on his lip and shit he never should've taught North that trick. Dammit, Ev, you are not allowed to be better at this than he is. Get your own shtick. He retaliates by leaning up and licking at North's mouth, tongue tip trailing along familiar and sweet lips. "Usually I want you. usually."

Almost always, if the first few stirrings of interest below the waist are anything to go by. But then he is pinned, is all but caged in and held down by the one person he trusts to have him in this position. York waits patiently. ish. Sort of. Patient for him as North makes up his mind to let go of his hand, fingers wiggling idly. Freed his hands slide from crown to spine, down North's hair and shoulders to the curve of his ass.

North's got him by the hips, he's got North by the ass. He thinks he's got the better deal, and then North just keeps talking like it's nothing and that shouldn't make him shiver a little, make his legs tip apart to cradle him properly. "Trying to use sex to condition me like a pet is cheating, Babe."

".. That you do. Greedy little thing." You'll learn yet, York .. because he would have made that point if you hadn't taken it upon yourself to make it for him. And as far as teaching tricks goes, you should have known from the very start that this man right here is one hell of a quick study – and you have some interesting ways with things that he would have liked to know. ( And, given half the chance, he'll get every single little bit of information to hold against you that he can, because he doesn't doubt for a second you'd use it against him.

Oh, wait.

You already do. )

He grins against his mouth, sucking his lower lip into his mouth with a low, pleased hum. "Only usually?"

Not expecting an answer either way he goes about it, North slides his hands up from narrow, inviting hips to smooth over his sides, giving a slow roll of his own against the body beneath him, if only to elicit a reaction. Cheating .. he would never have said it like that, but York does have a point, and he has to reward that.

His tongue slides between parted lips even as those words leave York's mouth, and his voice is almost a purr. "Is it cheating if it works better than any other method I could put to use?"

"If I say I always want you it'll give you a big head. The only one allowed to have an ego in this bed is me, remember? You need to be the sensible one." That's what they were. The locksmith and the sniper, the egoist and the anchor. The fool and the straightman. He'd fuss and fight more if the attentions he earns weren't so goddamn pleasing.

Just another layer of reality over the mess in his head. Another reminder that this is what's real. Not the void. Not the hollow space in his mind where Delta used to be that's been plugged up with doubt.

This. North's hands and mouth and voice in his ear, holding him down so he doesn't fly apart. He groans in the back of his throat at that suck, leaning up and squeezing that lovely hanndfull he's grabbed. Tries to start up a circular grind, to kick start to the fun part. He likes the fun part.

Breath hitched in a gasp he nips at North's tongue when it's given, forehead pressed to his cheek. "Yes it is still cheating."

"I'm always going to be the sensible one whether you're involved, or not." It does work, whether either of them thinks on it or not – any which way you choose to put it, they seem to be two parts of a whole that have come together and fit together so seamlessly that nothing else can touch it.

He can't be bothered to put too much thought into at the moment, though, whether it's arguing the other man's point or his own; he has him right where he wants him, and he's been sufficiently distracted from the terrors of his dreams and that's all North ever wants for him. To be that anchor, to be the one that centers him and keeps him right where he needs to be.

And of course, York is all ready and raring to get things started, ready to get to the fun part and North can only chuckle lightly in the back of his throat. Patience, of course, is a virtue that this man does not know the meaning of, but he doesn't think right this very second is going to be one of the times that he sees fit to remind him.

He pulls away, sliding down the body beneath him and pressing soft, teasing lines of kisses over his sternum, nipping at the edges of ribs as he goes. "Then I guess I'm a cheater .. and I should be sorry." Pausing at the dip of his navel, his tongue flicks over warm skin as he sucks a mark to life just to the side.

"The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Evan is a sensible bastard. Rules of the universe, Babe." At least rules of his universe. Things he can count on to always be real and true no matter if he's lost in some kind of hell of his mind's making or whatever he's left to muddle his way through. He's not alone. He's here, he's got North-

The mess in his head can wait. For, like, ever as far as he cares he's got a very warm and very interested man bearing down on him. He'll check back with his neuroses after this is over. If it's over.

Protip: It won't ever be over.

York tips his knees apart obligingly, not a lick of shame in him in the slightest. He wants, North is giving, so move. He doesn't think about anything but that mouth on his skin, those hands in his hair, returning the touches and kisses as best he can from his angle. It doesn't always work and that damn teasing bruise makes his hips twitch up hard. "So fucking sorry, Ev, better start apologizing before I think you don't like me much."

"See, now you're getting the hang of it." The general rules of the universe, of course, don't apply to this man – he makes his own, thinks about abiding by them every once in a while, doesn't make a habit out of it. If it were any other way it wouldn't be York, wouldn't be his York, and he can't very well say he'd be pleased with that.

He might be a little shit, but he's his little shit, and he'll take that over anything else anyday.

Evan rests, for a small moment, where he is. Hovering just above the band of boxers that are very much in the way, but to remove them in one fell swoop would be to deny himself the beauty of the other man squirming beneath him. Fingertips pluck lightly at fabric, he heel of his palm pressing against the hardening length of York's cock just to see what kind of reaction it gets him.

Blue eyes are bright, but in the darkness, it goes unseen. "Wouldn't want that, would I?" Another pause, and his tongue traces the line of that elastic band as his fingers curl into it with the promise of removal should he deign to think of it.

Even still, it's tugged down half an inch, maybe a bit more, and a kiss is pressed just beneath his navel. "I'm so." Tug. Kiss. "So." Tug. Lick. "So sorry."

North falls silent, drags the other man's boxers fully from his frame and drops them onto the floor, hands on either side smoothing up and down the insides of spread thighs, nails dragging as thumbs press into the creases where hip meets thigh and he peers upward expectantly. "Think you can find a way to forgive me?"

Any retort he might have had is lost in between one beat of his heart and the next. Talking through nuzzling and petting and bases one through three, that's easy enough. The one upside to his night terrors is how tense and hyper aware he is for hours afterward, the slightest sound or touch registering with ten times the intensity. Having that racketing through his veins while North has a hand on him, around him, is nothing sort of torment.

North wants squirming? Wants some kind of reaction? He gets it.

The breath punches out of York with a ow whoosh, wrapped around some vague, vulgar mumble along the likes of 'sonovabitch', low and curling and needy. He's a greedy bastard, he'll be the first to admit it, but North never tails to make him that greedy by showing just how much there is to have- on North's terms.

"Jesusfuck Evan-" His hips roll up against that tight, teasing grip, a helpless undulation, all clenching muscle and twitching skin. "Don't tease, jackass."

He hates being strung out and made to beg. Except for the part where he really doesn't hate it at all. That overwhelming wave of sensation after being stretched out in a thin thread from toe to tip and just waiting for the trigger. Like the catch of a tumbler in a lock, the slide of a bullet in the chamber.

"You. you aren't sorry at all you sick fucker oh jesuschristquitit-" And by quit he means fucking GET TO THE REAL ISSUE, his hands tangling in North's hair and tugging with great insistence lower, and thank fuck his boxers are gone and he's bare but he's still. Not. Sucking. Dammit.

"Quit dicking around and I'll think about it-"

"You do realize you're not convincing when you're a breath away from whimpering, right?"

Oh, Evan. Now who's being a little shit?

If he's perfectly honest with himself, he loves – loves – being able to have the other man like this. Spread out and wanting without much more than a few well-placed touches, kisses over warm skin that have that lean, lithe body spreading out beneath him in a way that makes him want to take his time with it. Draw everything out, get him begging, pleading downright obscenely for what he wants from him.

But he won't do it now. Later, maybe.

He laughs quietly against the cover of tanned skin, nipping at a hipbone and yet wasting no more time in getting to the point; his tongue sweeps languidly over the length of York's cock, salt and bittersweet at war with one another and yet blending beautifully in a taste that is uniquely York. He traces the ridge at the head, dips into the slit as his lips close around it, moans his appreciation as he slides down. Takes him in.

He won't respond, at least not right away. Not until he's taken his cock into his mouth as far as he can, hands steady on his hips to keep him from bucking upward. "A mouth like that is going to get you in trouble, sweetheart," he ultimately ends up breathing against the inside of a thigh, pausing just long enough to set his teeth against an unmarked patch of skin and bite down, hard.

"Maybe I should stop .." Another bite to the opposite side, and he sucks at the skin between his teeth until a bright, beautiful bruise is raised, deeply possessive.

He should have known the first goddamn night this would be a shit idea. The worst goddamn idea ever. No idea he comes up with while half outside his mind on booze, adrenaline, or terror ever comes to anything good. It'll be fun for a short while, yeah, but usually it ends in tears or blood. Both tend to be his. Every little trick and tease he might have laid out, everything he'd picked up knocking around clubs as a younger man before the project changed everything didn't do a damn thing other than encourage North- or teach him something new.

It's the teaching bit that has him regretting clinging to him after a particularly harsh night terror and kissing him at the moment. That had been a poorly planned move. Not something he would've done if he had D to tell him that it'd turn out like this. Not that it would've stopped him and not that he regrets this at all, but it's hard to remember how good everything is when Evan is being a jackass and not. Fucking. Touching him.

"I do not whimper!" He curls his fingers tight in Evan's hair, mussing up the fine blond strands as his nails catch and drag. A little retaliation for all the teasing. He's been good, come on, he hasn't pissed you off once today, play nice. He's playing nice, come on.

Tylor opens his mouth to say something else that was probably unkind when he gets that first brush of contact, all he can say then is "ohfuckme-"

Later, maybe. If he's lucky. Right now his world narrows down to Evan's lazy tongue and the obscene grip of his mouth, the too tight grip on his hips that keep him from rocking up and has him whining, hands sliding greedy for contact along Evan's hair and neck and shoulders. He'd sit up to touch further if he didn't know it'd just get him shoved back down again. Then.

Then the fucking biting.

"Dammit Ev!" He flinches, he always flinches, twitching away even as his thighs splay apart, begging for more as the pain fades into something far sweeter. "Oh fuck you if you stop I swear to god I'm gonna go out, naked, and find someone else to finish what you started-"

It's funny, the things you pick up along the way. Especially from a man that has boasted, before, on knowing every single little trick to get what he wants – and North has always fancied himself a quick study, a man with a sharp mind and, with the right intent, the open opportunity to lay waste to every single ounce of willpower, of self-control York has ever been thought to have.

The moment that had brought them together initially is emblazoned in his mind with the kind of crystal clarity that etches out every detail flawlessly. A harsh night doesn't even begin to cover the way the man had come out of a night terror that had left his entire body trembling with it, and Evan had pulled him close, wrapped his arms around him as tightly as he thought he could get away with. Coming away from that with a man that would just as readily shake himself apart for him, given the chance, as anything else is not something he'd been expecting, but you won't hear him complaining about it. Won't hear him saying a damn thing to the contrary, because he's convinced he'd gotten the better part of the deal.

"Yes, you do." It's murmured against his skin, low and warm and inviting as he licks a careful line over the length of York's cock, taking his time with it just as surely as he would anything else. ( He can't be rushed, can't be hurried. Won't be, in any case. )

Lightly, he pushes up into the pressure of the hands at the back of his neck, running over his shoulders as though it might give the other man something to hold onto – scrambling for purchase, desperate and whining, and this, he thinks, is his favorite Taylor. The one that can't bullshit his way out of or into something he wants, the one that can only beg and plead and moan as he is made to wait, voice breaking around the words slipping from the back of his throat as roughened whispers.

His thighs spread further apart, and Evan can only growl his approval. "And no, you won't. You're not getting out of his bed until I'm ready to let you, and let me assure you that I won't be for quite a while."

His mouth closes over the head of the other man's cock, and he sucks, taking him in until he nudges the back of his throat and he stops, traces the vein along the shaft with the tip of his tongue as he recedes.

"Do not, do not, do fucking not you fucking asshole-" cut off with a choke because he is not going to whimper for Evan when he's being this much of a possessive asshole. If he weren't smiling so much and clinging so hard to North's shoulders someone might think he's actually upset. Well. He is, just a little, because Evan is cheating. He's not supposed to be able to do this to him, no one is, what the hell happened to his control?

Gone forever, gone for good wherever Evan is concerned, probably because he's missed him. The transmissions he'd sent while out and about weren't the same as kicking back in the mess or sleepless nights spent sharing coffee. Sure as hell wasn't the same as clubbing and drinking and getting into trouble with him- he'd missed North like he misses his left eye.

This is probably why Evan tries do goddamn hard to drive him crazy- in the space between one breath and the next it's so easy for him to remember everything that went wrong, remember all the blood and pain and living alone. Remember dying, knowing he'd failed in his objective and that North would never get that fucking stupid joke he had thought up just for the sniper. Dying was bad enough. Leaving someone alone that seemed to need him was beyond anything he would have been able to bear.

Not whimpering, not sobbing but just. Rolling up into that mouth and back against his hands, head tipped forward and eyes squeezed shut to force those images back and away and just enjoy this as much as he can. Because he has this. That mouth on his skin, around his cock, that voice in his ear demanding his attention.

Ignore the wetness beading on his lashes as he cracks a laugh that shutters into a moan. "Will. Will so. If you don't fucking oh dear god Ev please-"

He can't answer him like this. Can't think to want to, not when he has every single bit of this man where he wants him, where he needs him. It's so easy, he thinks in some offhanded way, to bring forth every little reaction he could possibly want. York has always been liberal in that respect, yielding to every little touch, every flick of a tongue or press of fingertips against heated skin, every little taste he takes for himself to make this man just a little bit more his without even so much as leaving a bruise behind.

Though. There will always be time for those. Time and again he'll claim this body to the depths he chooses, marked and owned and just short of never being able to belong to himself again.

The thought swirling around in that fractured mind – the loss, the I missed you paired with the memories he can't just put on a shelf, can't shove away just so they'll hurt a little less even though he's gotten what he'd missed so much, they're lost on him. The nightmares, the sleepless nights spent soothing a man he can never see his life without now that he's made a place for himself in it, he's aware of those. But the thoughts behind them, the absence, none of it's been explained away, and Evan has to wait. He won't ask – he'll never pry that deeply – because Taylor has to come to him on his own time. On his own terms.

One hand slides up, over the planes of the other man's chest to curl lightly around the side of his throat. A small comfort, a silent shhh, be still passed through the motion as fingertips trace over the line of his jaw. As they catch some of the wetness that has spilled from his lashes and stains his cheeks, and he only takes him deeper. Relaxes his throat and swallows around him, slow, sweet. Yielding.

He'd never thought himself particularly easy before. Well. He wasn't exactly always playing hard to get either but he'd never been so high strung and eager for a firm, dickish hand to force him into place and let him ride out sensations at their leisure. Normally he's all about the give and take, the tricks of clever fingers and tongues and that's why he strayed on the side of women the past few years. They liked his mouth, liked his hands, didn't ask too many questions and were slightly less likely to put him in a position he didn't want to be in.

Even when he'd been with guys it'd been more about the quick rough and tumble than the manhandling and the utter possessive dominance that Evan preferred. They didn't sleep together so much as he was totally owned and frankly? It was kind of a relief. He didn't have to joke, didn't have to tease, didn't have to be quick or clever or even terribly kind.

He just had to be.

Just say or do whatever Evan wanted him to do and in return he got comfort, contact, fucking awesome orgasms and something more he really doesn't wanna put a name to. For a little while it fills up that fragmented bit of him that came with Delta being ripped away. He feels more like the man he'd been before Project Freelancer. Before North, before Carolina, before any of them. Just a little punk ass kid with too much hope and not enough ambition.

He shudders through the next pass, turning his head to kiss Evan's palm as his hips roll up, as all that teasing melts into something gentle and he can just sigh through it. With his eyes shut tight he can pretend they both work. With his heart beating so hard he can pretend he never died. With Evan so large and holding him down, holding him together, he can pretend he's not broken. Things he'll never say that he murmurs soundlessly into Evan's palm like something secret and precious because they are. All his gratitude. All his affection.

There are things he's never let himself be before; this level of possessive, this manner of I have you just as surely as you have me, and there's a reason for that. He's never trusted that side of himself, as much as he's come to realize that it's more prevalent than anything close to it. He can no more hide it than he can deny the kind of man he is, and for every sweet smile and soft touch there is an underlying firm hand, the set to his mouth that boasts I will not yield and it's only with Taylor that he can even come close to trusting himself that way.

He gives so much, so much of himself to the man before him, begging what he can in return, and Evan will always be the one to give it back to him. Every single bit of him, belonging more to him than he's ever belonged to himself. ( Though, he hasn't quite come to that realization quite yet … and if he's ever been the one to put the other man in his place, the place he wants to be in, it's a self-conscious realization. One that hasn't quite made its way to the surface. )

All Taylor has to do for him is be. Exist. And he'll give every bit of himself to him a thousand times over just to make him feel needed. Wanted. Cherished and loved where he is.

All I am belongs to you, just as you are mine in turn. How fucking true that is.

His hips roll upward, and he takes every bit of it, eyes sliding shut against the sensation of his cock thrusting deep. His throat flexes in another swallow, and he moans around the length of York's cock, slick and sweet and wanting every bit of what he's being given. ( Or, taking, as it may very well be. What he wants from this man, he will most certainly get. ) Everything that he wants to pretend he isn't – broken, weary, fractured and pulled apart, Evan gives him. He makes him whole, fixes those cracks and spiderweb fractures with the whispers of words he doesn't think he has any right to say aloud, with every pass of his lips and tongue, promises and prayers alike pressed into his skin and leaving their mark.

I love you is a thing he wants to say, I have you a thing he needs to convey – just so the other man knows just where he is, where he has to go whenever he feels the world crumbling beneath his feet.

The pad of his thumb traces over a full bottom lip, conveyance of his own that he understands. That he always has.

Evan's kind tonight despite all of his bitching and for that Taylor is grateful. Normally when he pushes or speaks out or trips over some kind of verbal insubordination he's strung out on sensation for hours before they get to this point. Maybe it was the nightmare. Maybe they're closer to actually putting words to what they are. Maybe it was how he was clinging and as desperate as he's ever been for some confirmation that this is real. It's not Detla in his ear, it's not the suit holding his skin in place while it patches him up, it's not his tools in his hand or the HUD covering his blind spot.

It's not the private war they'd been thrust into by a madman or breaking into storefronts for petty cash and food after- not screwing around on military bases beforehand. Whatever this is- it's after. It's direction. Stability. Purpose. Order.

Orders had only ever led him into pain up until they got him killed. Evan's orders always ended well. Evan never expected the impossible from him, never condemned him for not making it on the first go, never made him feel less of a man for not being good enough. He never made Taylor feel anything but worthwhile. Be it direction in bed or in the field he can and will always trust this man to guide him safely. Through the cracks of his own mind and the madness of this place, the firm hand on his hip and on his jaw helps him find his way home day after day and that's something he can't ever thank him enough for. Doesn't have the words for it, doesn't have the frame of reference for it- so he just. Acts out. Clings.

Sobs and pants into Evan's palm as he grinds up as much as he can and he knows- Evan knows and gets it he's always gotten it, they've always been on the same wavelength and he needs more than this right now. The first audible thing from him since Evan swallowed him whole and it's low and broken.

"Please." Please more. Please come up. A tense hand slides through Evan's hair and tugs him up, legs spread wide because he needs- more. Needs to be held down and claimed in the way only Evan can offer him. Needs to be told how to move and how to breathe and what to think right now just so the world will make a little more sense. "Please- sir."

Their strange little shorthand that'll tell Evan what he needs without him having to try too hard.

Evan's always doing things to make life easy on him.

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