"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.
"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.
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."
"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?
"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."
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.
"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?"
"In the morning, they're all actually sleeping right now. Well Wash probably isn't, but you know him." He kisses Ratchet's forehead and gives him a little push. "Go answer questions. I'll wait right here."
Sure enough there's a Barrayaran soldier hovering to their left, as if uncertain how to break in.
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"It's good to see you," he says, his voice low. "I'm glad you're all right."
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He's quiet for a moment, his face unreadable in the flickering glow of the fire.
"How have you been sleeping?"
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And then he shakes his head, giving a little huff.
"I haven't been, not really. You?"
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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."
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"Much appreciated," he says, pressing his cheek to York's shoulder, his eyes sliding half-shut. "You're too kind."
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"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.
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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."
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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.
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"I'm glad I'm here," he says, his voice a little raw. "Everything else aside. I'm glad."
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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."
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"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.
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Sure enough there's a Barrayaran soldier hovering to their left, as if uncertain how to break in.