Ratchet feels York's fingers against the pulse beating hard in his throat and tips his head back as he pulls air into his lungs, his throat arched and vulnerable under York's touch as he drags his eyes open, looking thoroughly overwhelmed. His cheeks are hot, his too-intense blue eyes flicking up to York's face after a moment and lighting when he sees York's smile.
"Yeah?" His hands slide down over York's shoulders then back up, looking fascinated as one hand settles against York's neck, his thumb brushing his pulse, and the other threads carefully into York's hair to stroke. He still looks pretty dazed. "You wanted to, before?"
"Yeah. For awhile, I just wasn't sure." York tilts his head into the hand in his hair, enjoying the fingers brushing against his scalp. Enjoying just being touched for something besides violence or grounding, being touched because someone wants him. His own hands return the favor, running down Ratchet's neck and chest and feeling the strength there, the play of muscle as the other man breathes. He's caught his own breath, and honestly he'd pin Ratchet to the couch and go back to kissing if he didn't look just so overwhelmed.
"When was the last time you were with someone?" he asks curiously, no judgment in his voice.
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.
He's so sensitive, York just wants to keep touching and see if he can pull another sound from Ratchet's throat, make his breath catch and his eyes flutter closed.
But then Ratchet freezes, looking away and biting his lip and York wonders what it is he said wrong. Too personal? They just had their tongues in each other's mouths, he didn't think his question was a bigger deal than that. "It's been awhile for me too," he encourages, stroking a hand back up to Ratchet's shoulder. "I was just curious."
"No--aah," Ratchet says, shivering under York's palm before he shakes his head a little and wrests control of himself.
"York. No. That's not--that's not why I hesitated. Come here." He wraps a hand around York's wrist to keep his hand from going anywhere else before he tugs a little, reaching out to drag York down against him, all of York's warm, solid weight pressing him down into the couch. He just breathes for a moment, tucking his head against York's shoulder so the lower half of his face isn't visible and murmuring low into York's ear.
"Look, the answer is never. Not like this. I'm--" He sighs, wishing he could see York's face but not wanting to risk being overheard. "I'm not... human. Or I wasn't before I got here. I think whatever brought us here changed me the same way it did some of the others, but I didn't want the Cetagandans to know." He loosens his grip a little so York can pull back if he wants, his whole body tense again now, the corners of his mouth crimped.
"I'm sorry. I wanted to say something but--" He gestures helplessly. "It's not that I didn't trust you to know, I just didn't have a good way to tell you."
York lets Ratchet still his hands and pull him down, a bit worried again at how serious Ratchet got all of a sudden. But then it makes sense. All the dodgy answers, the avoidance, the way he didn't know how to exercise or fight. He should have guessed it was something like that. When Ratchet's hold on him loosens he pulls back just enough to see the other man's expression, trying to get a read on him.
"...it's okay. I won't tell them," he promises, locking their gazes, his voice soft and low. "What were--" No, that might be asking too much. York bites back the question, shakes his head. "Nevermind. So this body is completely new, huh?"
Ratchet watches York right back for a moment before he shakes his head.
"I know you won't. That never worried me. I just--" He stops and chuffs out a soft, pained laugh, reaching up to rub a hand weakly over his face before he slumps back against the couch again. "I genuinely have no idea if you'd believe me if I told you. But... yeah. Pretty much totally unfamiliar."
Ratchet shakes his head a little, looking a generous mix of guilty and exhausted. "It's... honestly it actually is a really, really long story. I'll tell you if you want, just. Not right now. Though--"
One if his hands is still resting against York's side and he lifts it carefully, hesitating, making sure he's not holding York down at all.
"If you've, y'know, changed your mind about... this. Well. I wouldn't blame you, obviously."
"...I haven't. Why would I?" He reaches back and catches Ratchet's hand, setting it on his waist firmly. He's not going anywhere. "It explains a lot about your reactions, that's all. Doesn't make them any less hot."
And then a thought, about how overwhelmed Ratchet looked when the kiss broke. Maybe it was too much for him to adjust to? "If you didn't like it or I need to slow down, just tell me."
"Oh," Ratchet says before his cheeks flare hot and he clears his throat a little. "...oh. Well--yeah. I'll tell you. It's--it's good, though."
He firms his grip on York's waist and reaches up with his free hand to slide it along York's cheek again, sensitive fingertips curling against the short hairs at the back of his neck. "I'd like to kiss you again, in that case," he says, watching York's face intently from very close and feeling his pulse pound in his throat.
He'll see that York's smile has returned, his lips curling into a playful expression that lights his good eye. Behind that there's something Ratchet hasn't seen from him before -- heat. His voice is a low rumble when he speaks so that only Ratchet can hear. "I wouldn't stop you."
Which brings up another question. Knowing what he does now, should he stay in the lead? Ratchet obviously has some idea what he's doing, maybe it would be better to let him guide the encounter... but it's so tempting to get them to something Ratchet doesn't know about, to see how he's react to that when he's so reactive to just kissing, so sensitive to just York's hands on his torso. Yeah, he'll lead. Keep it slow and give Ratchet plenty of chances to object, that's all. He trusts the other man to speak up if it's too much.
For now he braces himself with a hand on either side of his friend and dips his head, catching Ratchet's mouth again. He dives straight into the kiss and finds Ratchet's lips part for his tongue with little more than a flick of a request, giving him the chance to properly explore. He's determined now to find every spot that gets a reaction, to learn everything Ratchet likes as he does.
Ratchet feels his breath hitch as York grins down at him, warmed straight through in a way that has nothing to do with the way York's mouth closes against his, pulling a low sound from him. He clutches briefly at York's back before flattening his palms, stroking along either side of York's spine and feeling the shift of muscle there under skin and the thin fabric of his shirt. He feels himself shivering despite the too-hot feeling brought on by his flushed cheeks and the press of York's body along his, gasping into York's mouth but unwilling to pull out of the kiss, one hand finding its way to the nape of York's neck again to pull him closer.
It's the gasping and shivering that really gets York, the little sounds pulled from Ratchet's throat as he finds sweet spots along his palate. He doesn't hold his own responses back, humming at the feel of Ratchet's hands and moaning softly when Ratchet's tongue strokes along his own just right to send a little thrill down his spine. But they do both need to breathe so eventually he nips Ratchet's lower lip and pulls his mouth away, shifting lower to trail his lips and tongue along the curve of Ratchet's neck toward his ear.
There's not that much closer to get but hell if York doesn't try, sinking more of his weight onto the other man as he moves. He supports himself on just one arm, his other hand skimming along Ratchet's side and finding the hem of his shirt and the soft skin of his waist beneath it. His touch is just firm enough that it shouldn't tickle but still light enough to be called a caress.
"Ah--hhah," Ratchet manages, feeling the wet heat of York's mouth against his throat, clutching at him as he settles closer, his weight pinning Ratchet to the sofa. That feels good, the soft heat of York's body pressed along his, and he tips his head back farther and gasps for air. He feels dazed and useless and he's waiting to get accustomed to this new, strange sensation so he can actually participate, but that goes straight out the window when he feels York's hand under his shirt.
He bites his lower lip and curls one hand in York's hair, clutching carefully as York's fingers trace up his side. No one besides the medtechs here have really touched him anywhere habitually covered by clothes and the sensation is dizzying. He presses into it, making a taut sound in his throat before he gasps York's name.
York gives a pleased rumble in response, right into Ratchet's ear. And it's moving a little fast but he slides his hand higher, the fabric of the other man's shirt bunching at his wrist. He can just reach his goal, fingertips stroking over Ratchet's ribs before finding and circling a nipple, teasing the sensitive skin. He lifts his head to watch, seeing Ratchet's bitten lip and lidded eyes. "It only gets better," he promises gently, holding back from claiming Ratchet's mouth again.
Ratchet makes a startled sound and drags York in to kiss him hard, muffling himself as his body pushes into York's fingertips. He lets York go when he pulls back, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed dark.
"What--" Ratchet says, panting weakly as he squirms under York's weight, tugging at his back. "What, ah, what about you? What should I--?"
"Don't worry. I'm having fun, just enjoy it." He leans back in, his smile warm and fond. Ratchet's squirming is getting distracting, though, the little tugs at his back giving him the idea that maybe the other man just isn't sure what to ask for. He's already let most of his weight down, pinning Ratchet's torso to the couch. But...
York goes for another kiss as he shifts, slipping one leg between Ratchet's and straddling his thigh to get them both some pressure.
"Oh, but--" Ratchet's voice dies in his throat and his eyes go briefly wide as York pushes down against him, sliding their hips together. His breath stutters and he pulls out of the kiss to arch neck over the arm of the couch, his eyes slipping shut and his lips parting as he clutches at York and rocks up against him, a gasp shuddering into his lungs.
"Fuck," he hisses, then bites down hard on his lower lip to keep from making more noise.
York inhales sharply as Ratchet rocks up, rolling his hips. And it's been so long that he's too distracted to smile, to lean in close and murmur that he did say it gets better -- he just wants to make it better, and reaches up to tug Ratchet's lip free of his teeth, sliding his hand back into the other man's hair.
"You okay?" It can be a lot, he knows. Hell, it is a lot even for him, who's done this before, and they've still got their clothes on.
Ratchet leans into that hand in his hair and exhales on a shivery sigh, his eyelids fluttering and his cheeks flushed.
"Yeah. Yeah, m'good." He looks up at York with an effort, electric-blue eyes sharp and intent before his mouth crooks up lopsidedly. "Just trying not to bring the whole barracks thundering in here."
"Then I shouldn't do what I really want to," York muses, his smirk saying that he intends to do it anyway. "But with the noises you're making, they'll know better than to come in." He leans down for another kiss, speaking right against Ratchet's mouth. "Take your shirt off and keep kissing me." He wants more freedom to touch.
I think kissing you and taking my shirt off are mutually exclusive activities, Ratchet tries to say, but he finds it impossible with someone else's tongue in his mouth so he gives up, leaning up into York and working the thin fabric of his shirt up his torso while trying not to elbow York anywhere particularly tender. He pushes him back entirely for just a moment to strip the shirt off over his head and flop back down before he reaches out to curl his hands against the hem of York's, tugging lightly.
"You too?" he asks, still out of breath and his skin criss-crossed by a varied collection of now-visible scars.
"Yeah," he says breathlessly, lifting his arms so Ratchet can get it over his head. He's also pretty heavily scarred, bullet and knife wounds littering his torso and arms and he hesitates for a moment once Ratchet can see them. He'd never judge anyone else for their scars but he's sensitive about his own, always putting lots of attention to his grooming to try and control what he can about his appearance. These, he can't do anything about.
Ratchet looks up at him for a second, his eyes wide and dazed before he reaches up and tugs York in, his breath hitching at the warm slide of skin on skin. His hands slip up York's back, sensitive fingertips finding and stroking against each uneven patch of skin as his mouth finds a cut near York's collarbone and closes against it, kissing carefully, his grip on York tightening just a bit.
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"Yeah?" His hands slide down over York's shoulders then back up, looking fascinated as one hand settles against York's neck, his thumb brushing his pulse, and the other threads carefully into York's hair to stroke. He still looks pretty dazed. "You wanted to, before?"
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"When was the last time you were with someone?" he asks curiously, no judgment in his voice.
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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.
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But then Ratchet freezes, looking away and biting his lip and York wonders what it is he said wrong. Too personal? They just had their tongues in each other's mouths, he didn't think his question was a bigger deal than that. "It's been awhile for me too," he encourages, stroking a hand back up to Ratchet's shoulder. "I was just curious."
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"York. No. That's not--that's not why I hesitated. Come here." He wraps a hand around York's wrist to keep his hand from going anywhere else before he tugs a little, reaching out to drag York down against him, all of York's warm, solid weight pressing him down into the couch. He just breathes for a moment, tucking his head against York's shoulder so the lower half of his face isn't visible and murmuring low into York's ear.
"Look, the answer is never. Not like this. I'm--" He sighs, wishing he could see York's face but not wanting to risk being overheard. "I'm not... human. Or I wasn't before I got here. I think whatever brought us here changed me the same way it did some of the others, but I didn't want the Cetagandans to know." He loosens his grip a little so York can pull back if he wants, his whole body tense again now, the corners of his mouth crimped.
"I'm sorry. I wanted to say something but--" He gestures helplessly. "It's not that I didn't trust you to know, I just didn't have a good way to tell you."
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"...it's okay. I won't tell them," he promises, locking their gazes, his voice soft and low. "What were--" No, that might be asking too much. York bites back the question, shakes his head. "Nevermind. So this body is completely new, huh?"
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"I know you won't. That never worried me. I just--" He stops and chuffs out a soft, pained laugh, reaching up to rub a hand weakly over his face before he slumps back against the couch again. "I genuinely have no idea if you'd believe me if I told you. But... yeah. Pretty much totally unfamiliar."
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One if his hands is still resting against York's side and he lifts it carefully, hesitating, making sure he's not holding York down at all.
"If you've, y'know, changed your mind about... this. Well. I wouldn't blame you, obviously."
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And then a thought, about how overwhelmed Ratchet looked when the kiss broke. Maybe it was too much for him to adjust to? "If you didn't like it or I need to slow down, just tell me."
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He firms his grip on York's waist and reaches up with his free hand to slide it along York's cheek again, sensitive fingertips curling against the short hairs at the back of his neck. "I'd like to kiss you again, in that case," he says, watching York's face intently from very close and feeling his pulse pound in his throat.
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Which brings up another question. Knowing what he does now, should he stay in the lead? Ratchet obviously has some idea what he's doing, maybe it would be better to let him guide the encounter... but it's so tempting to get them to something Ratchet doesn't know about, to see how he's react to that when he's so reactive to just kissing, so sensitive to just York's hands on his torso. Yeah, he'll lead. Keep it slow and give Ratchet plenty of chances to object, that's all. He trusts the other man to speak up if it's too much.
For now he braces himself with a hand on either side of his friend and dips his head, catching Ratchet's mouth again. He dives straight into the kiss and finds Ratchet's lips part for his tongue with little more than a flick of a request, giving him the chance to properly explore. He's determined now to find every spot that gets a reaction, to learn everything Ratchet likes as he does.
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There's not that much closer to get but hell if York doesn't try, sinking more of his weight onto the other man as he moves. He supports himself on just one arm, his other hand skimming along Ratchet's side and finding the hem of his shirt and the soft skin of his waist beneath it. His touch is just firm enough that it shouldn't tickle but still light enough to be called a caress.
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He bites his lower lip and curls one hand in York's hair, clutching carefully as York's fingers trace up his side. No one besides the medtechs here have really touched him anywhere habitually covered by clothes and the sensation is dizzying. He presses into it, making a taut sound in his throat before he gasps York's name.
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"What--" Ratchet says, panting weakly as he squirms under York's weight, tugging at his back. "What, ah, what about you? What should I--?"
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York goes for another kiss as he shifts, slipping one leg between Ratchet's and straddling his thigh to get them both some pressure.
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"Fuck," he hisses, then bites down hard on his lower lip to keep from making more noise.
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"You okay?" It can be a lot, he knows. Hell, it is a lot even for him, who's done this before, and they've still got their clothes on.
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"Yeah. Yeah, m'good." He looks up at York with an effort, electric-blue eyes sharp and intent before his mouth crooks up lopsidedly. "Just trying not to bring the whole barracks thundering in here."
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"You too?" he asks, still out of breath and his skin criss-crossed by a varied collection of now-visible scars.
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