infailtration | open post

Ratchet hears the guards' shouts and raises his gloved hands lacing them behind his head as he approaches, his coat open and his expression mild. The amount of effort involved in busting out of the Cetagandan base after everyone else had already done so would be wasted shamefully were he to be shot on sight trying to haul the pack of medical supplies he managed to run out with into camp. He sees one unarmed figure scrambling up, moving faster, and he squints through the snow, feeling something lurch in the vicinity of his belly as he draws close enough for his vision to start to clear.

"York?" he calls, but he doesn't move his hands from his head yet, hesitating. "York, is that you?"

Luckily for Ratchet the Barrayaran guards aren't armed with anything long range, just their swords. York hears his name and his heart leaps into his throat -- he catches up to the guards and holds up a hand. "It's okay," he tells them, "he's safe." In so many ways. The guards don't lower their weapons but they let York run out in front of them as they call for backup. Just in case -- he's not offended they don't trust his word, and he's more focused on the snow covered figure in front of him.

And when he reaches the other man Ratchet is getting a hug, jostling the pack over his shoulder. "How did you get out?"

Ratchet barks a laugh as York collides with him, bringing his arms down to wrap them hard around York's shoulders and squeeze.

"With great difficulty," he says, grinning with relief as he buries his freezing cold nose against York's neck. "Brought presents, though. As many medkits as I could shove into a bag, mostly. You guys have an overabundance of surgeons here? I'd hate to have to wait in line."

He laughs, holding on tighter and letting Ratchet warm his face even if the wet cold on his neck makes York shiver. The scruff of a beard rubs Ratchet's cheek -- it's not easy to keep up his usual routine with the Barrayarans. "You make two, I think he'll be happy to see you."

The guards are circling around but their swords are lowered, and York pulls out of the hug with a huge smile. "He brought gifts," he tells them, and steps back so they can search Ratchet and raid the bag.

"That should go to medical, once you're done looking through it, except for the food," Ratchet says, watching them haul his pack off with a regretful little sigh and submitting to a patdown.

"I hope they don't toss it too thoroughly, there's sterilized supplies in there. Something I gather you may not have an overabundance of here. And I guess they'll want to debrief me," he says once he's turned back over to York, for the most part, some of the heady elation at having actually found the camp and not starving to death in the cold subsiding as he reaches out and rests a hand briefly at the back of York's neck, a familiar gesture.

"How're you holding up?"

"Better now," York tells him, reaching up and gripping Ratchet's arm through his coat. "Not bad, though, considering. Come on, let's get you warmed up." It's a long trek from base to camp, he remembers it well and it hadn't been storming then. Ratchet must be freezing.

York leads him to the fire the guards switch off huddling around on the night shifts -- there's no one there at the moment, though, giving them some privacy to catch up. He steps close to the warmth of the fire and to Ratchet, lowering his voice.

"Did they punish you because of us?"

"Oh, yeah," Ratchet says, his eyes lighting. "The food was bland for days, it was excruciating." He looks a little giddy, almost, glad to be away from the Cetagandan base, glad he didn't freeze to death out in the snow searching for the Barrayarrans, glad to see York. He nudges York with one shoulder, gently. "It was fine. They were pissed, but not really at us. I think everybody left behind'll be okay too. How was your welcome when you got here?"

"A sword at my throat, just like you almost got, but I had enough friends here that they didn't do much more than that. They don't trust me yet, though." He nudges back and stays close. "You brought supplies, that'll go a long way for you. They're short on everything." Food, medicine, clothes -- York still wears Cetagandan gear, that probably says a lot.

"I've been working on swordfighting, I'll have to catch you up."

"Oh, great, another physical activity I can be extremely publicly bad at," Ratchet says, but he doesn't sound too put out, all told. He exhales on a warm sigh as York leans in close, just leaning back and feeling some of the tension uncoil from his shoulders.

"It's good to see you," he says, his voice low. "I'm glad you're all right."

"Good's an understatement," York murmurs, his gloves hand reaching to take Ratchet's and hold on. "I missed you. You were better off at the base, though, this is... rough."

"If I thought I was better off at the base, I wouldn't be here." Ratchet grips York's hand back. "I figured it'd be difficult out here, but there are a lot of reasons it was worth it."

He's quiet for a moment, his face unreadable in the flickering glow of the fire.

"How have you been sleeping?"

"Heh. I hope you're ready to be cold, dirty, tired, hungry, and forced to fight." He isn't kidding -- Ratchet should know now what he's gotten himself into. "I've lived through worse, but never for this long before."

And then he shakes his head, giving a little huff.

"I haven't been, not really. You?"

"I have. We'll be all right."

Ratchet turns to lean his forehead briefly against York's shoulder.

"Me either," he says quietly, because he doesn't quite know how to say I missed you. "I think it might get better now, though."

At that York laughs softly, dipping his head to speak against Ratchet's temple. "Say that after you've seen the outsider's tent. You can use me as a pillow if you want, though."

Ratchet shivers and sighs, feeling some of the tension bleeding from his neck and back.

"Much appreciated," he says, pressing his cheek to York's shoulder, his eyes sliding half-shut. "You're too kind."

"Or maybe I just want to use you as a blanket." He can sense Ratchet slowly uncoiling so he raises his free hand and slips it under the other man's hood, kneading at his neck. A simple touch, and fairly innocent, but it's a struggle not to use that grip to pull Ratchet's head up to kiss him. A hug wasn't quite enough. He doesn't know what the Barrayaran sensibilities on that are, though, and soldiers could come back to the fire anytime. There's no real privacy in this camp... How much does he care?

"Oh," Ratchet says, leaning a little into that touch and exhaling, his eyelids flickering before he draws in a slow breath.

"Just the one tent, huh?" he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough as he resists the temptation to lean harder into York, to tilt his face up.

"Just the one," York confirms, and his mouth twitches into a lopsided smile as he echoes a sentiment he's made once before, albeit about the Cetagandan showers. "But it's not like anyone takes baths in the middle of the night."

"Hmm. Sneaky."

Ratchet ducks his head a little and forcibly suppresses an extremely stupid grin, a disorientingly light feeling rushing through him that takes a long moment for him to recognize as relief. Ratchet abruptly decides he isn't particularly interested in protecting any delicate Barrayarran sensibilities and tips his head up, his mouth grazing the underside of York's jaw.

"Guess I should have expected that, though."

"I haven't tested the theory." Maybe there is somebody who takes baths in the middle of the night after their patrol, he hasn't scouted the tent out. It's just a safe bet.

He sighs at the feeling of Ratchet's mouth, even though he's got a few days growth of beard it's soft and inviting. Warmth blossoms in his chest and he turns his head to kiss Ratchet properly. He missed this, too, the excited rush of sensation that being close to someone else brings, especially someone new. And this is still new. He feels like he learns something new each time, like they're still exploring one another.

Ratchet makes a low sound in his throat and melts a little in against York, shivering and sensitive and grateful for the simple contact, sliding his hands up to cup York's face. He lingers there for a moment before he draws back, his eyes sharp and bright as he watches York.

"I'm glad I'm here," he says, his voice a little raw. "Everything else aside. I'm glad."

York smiles warmly, nodding against Ratchet's hands. "I'm glad too. Took you long enough."

He's teasing, of course, but there's a hint of truth in just how much he missed the other man. And there are other things he wants to say but doesn't think they're ready for so he leans down and kisses Ratchet again, this time soft and sweet and slow. Not stopping until he hears the crunch of snow and a Barrayaran soldier clearing his throat as he steps in to warm himself on the other side of the fire. He laughs softly against Ratchet's mouth before lifting his head.

"Get used to it," he warns the soldier, then turns back to Ratchet. "Like I said, welcome to the land of no privacy."

Ratchet nudges at him, his cheeks flushed from more than just the cold.

"Don't harass the locals, York, come on," he says, though he doesn't sound particularly upset and he's still huddled close, his breath warm against the hollow of York's throat.

"I'm not harassing, I'm warning." Since he has no intention of curbing certain impulses, even if he'll stop kissing for now. "Are you tired? You should go get interrogated so you can crash sooner."

"I just escaped a hostile military base and slogged however far distance through the snow with a pack full of food and medical supplies, hell yes I'm tired," Ratchet says, but there's no impatience or irritation in his voice, just a sort of lazy warmth. "But yeah, they'll want to know what happened. When do I get to meet the rest of your friends?"

(no subject)

infailtration - 2017-02-28 01:51 (UTC) - Expand