Ratchet arches a little into York's hands, his back bowing helplessly before he freezes, looking caught.
He opens his mouth to lie and stops, watching York's face and thinking about how he'd looked leaning into Ratchet's hand in his hair, how he'd looked with his hand on Ratchet's shoulder, shaking him a wake with sharp, too-tightly controlled movements. York trusts him and has never asked him a single personal question for which he insisted an answer and now Ratchet's lips are tingling and his face is flushed and his heart is pounding and he owes York better than a lie. He looks away, embarrassed and unsure where to begin, his teeth digging briefly into his lower lip as he struggles to collect his thoughts with York still so close.
no subject
He opens his mouth to lie and stops, watching York's face and thinking about how he'd looked leaning into Ratchet's hand in his hair, how he'd looked with his hand on Ratchet's shoulder, shaking him a wake with sharp, too-tightly controlled movements. York trusts him and has never asked him a single personal question for which he insisted an answer and now Ratchet's lips are tingling and his face is flushed and his heart is pounding and he owes York better than a lie. He looks away, embarrassed and unsure where to begin, his teeth digging briefly into his lower lip as he struggles to collect his thoughts with York still so close.