"I'm not--" He breathes out as Ratchet settles back against him, not sure if he's relieved or just more awkward. "I don't want this to get weird," he admits, gripping Ratchet's arm again. He needs it too much right now to freak the other man out.
Ratchet doesn't know exactly what York means by 'weird', but he feels that hitch in York's voice, the harder grip on his arm, and decides it honestly doesn't really matter.
"I'm not going anywhere, York," he says quietly, then huffs a soft laugh. "I'm too stubborn for you to scare off. Relax."
Some of the nervous tension in York's shoulders eases again, and there's relief in his voice when he answers. "Too stubborn, huh? Here I thought you were just really secure."
"Mostly just stubborn," Ratchet says agreeably. "I'm aware that there isn't anyone around that I know to corroborate properly, but trust me, they would if they could."
He relaxes a little as York does, though the relief he can hear in York's voice pains him. "What about this exactly did you think is going to send me haring off?"
York raises an eyebrow, not that Ratchet can see him so do. Is he serious? Apparently. Maybe his culture is just different enough from York's that this kind of thing would be considered normal.
"Well you know. Most guys wouldn't be cool with this much contact."
"...which part of that did you know?" York laughs softly, loosening his hold on Ratchet as he relaxes further. Seems like he has nothing to worry about.
"That you only have so much control," Ratchet says frankly, though his voice is warm. "Just like anybody would in your position. And that you wouldn't argue with me if I told you I couldn't do this anymore for whatever reason."
"No, I wouldn't argue. It'd be rough, though." He's come to rely on Ratchet's presence, more than he wants to admit to himself. "I'd still want you to tell me if something changed."
"I would," Ratchet says, turning over his next words in his head, trying to work out the best way to say them.
"That means something to me. That you'd want that. Not that I think you wouldn't care, but... I know it's hard to consider that kind of thing when you're injured or frightened or in pain. The fact that you do means something."
"Of course I'd consider it -- I'm already asking a lot." Technically Ratchet's offering, and he's the one who established the initial level of contact, but. York's the one who needs it to continue. He turns his head, then, sighing against Ratchet's neck. "It's winding down."
"You say that, but not everyone does, or can, and I wouldn't begrudge you either way." The heat of York's breath on his neck pulls an odd prickling feeling down his spine that he realizes is a shiver but he doesn't react otherwise, just settling a brief hand at York's nape.
"Good," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "We don't have to head back right away, though. Up to you, but I'm not in a rush."
York feels Ratchet shiver just as he did, and as the other man touches his neck he wonders. "Nah, I don't want to go back yet," he says softly, thinking that he'd rather be alone a little longer, and maybe... it's a long shot, and he's not even sure it could be a good idea.
Ratchet makes a low sound in his throat and settles York against him a little more comfortably, relaxed and warm. "Sounds good to me," he sighs, apparently content to just curl up here, half-under York's weight.
It's comfortable enough that York doesn't really want to move again, but it's nothing to skim a touch down Ratchet's arm to cover his friend's hand where it still rests on his chest, spreading his fingers to slip between Ratchet's. He's not holding on now, he's just... holding.
Ratchet's still relaxed, but there's something in York's voice that makes him focus his attention, watching York's fingers slide against his before he turns to look at York's face.
There's a moment of hesitation before York decides to just go for it, turning in Ratchet's arms and tilting his head, catching his friend's mouth in what he'd consider an extremely chaste kiss.
Ratchet's whole body goes tense in surprise when York twists against him and leans in, inhaling sharply as his eyes widen, but after he gets over his initial shock he realizes it's... nice. York's mouth is soft and warm against his, and after a few seconds he relaxes into it, his grip on York tightening just a little bit as he hesitantly kisses back.
That's basically the best outcome he could have asked for. York smiles into the kiss for a moment before going in for another that's slightly less chaste, brushing his tongue against Ratchet's bottom lip. The hand on Ratchet's thigh tightens a bit as he uses it for balance.
Ratchet shivers all over again as he feels the slick heat of York's tongue against his lower lip, his grip on Ratchet's thigh. Ratchet feels a low sound wring from his throat as he kisses York back for a few more moments before he pulls away, just a little, breathing hard.
There's no reason for him to be short of breath, he hasn't even gone anywhere, but he can feel his heart thudding against his ribcage, weirdly hypersensitive all over. He reaches up with both hands to slide them against York's cheeks, one thumb dragging gently over York's lower lip before he pulls York in to kiss him again, still surprised by the heat and softness of it.
The sound is telling enough but any lingering worries York may have had vanish when Ratchet reaches up and touches his face, pulling him back in for more kissing. York shifts again, turning further on the couch so that he's facing Ratchet properly and can press closer. One hand winds up flat on Ratchet's chest and the other molded to his jaw, feeling his heart beat and the roughness of his facial hair. That's something different -- York keeps his shaved, so did North. He finds he doesn't mind it.
There's something just a little awkward about the kiss, even as eager as they both seem to be, but York can't put his finger on it. It's good -- fuck is it good -- just a little strange, like they're not quite in sync. Maybe it's just been a long time for both of them. He hasn't been with anyone since Freelancer, and learning what someone new likes is always a process. When they pull apart again to breathe he's flushed and smiling, and his voice is rough when he speaks. "I should have done that sooner."
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.
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"I'm not going anywhere, York," he says quietly, then huffs a soft laugh. "I'm too stubborn for you to scare off. Relax."
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He relaxes a little as York does, though the relief he can hear in York's voice pains him. "What about this exactly did you think is going to send me haring off?"
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"Well you know. Most guys wouldn't be cool with this much contact."
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"Well, if it bothered me, you'd know it. But that doesn't mean I'm going anywhere. All right?"
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"That means something to me. That you'd want that. Not that I think you wouldn't care, but... I know it's hard to consider that kind of thing when you're injured or frightened or in pain. The fact that you do means something."
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"Good," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "We don't have to head back right away, though. Up to you, but I'm not in a rush."
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"...Ratchet."
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"Yeah?"
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There's no reason for him to be short of breath, he hasn't even gone anywhere, but he can feel his heart thudding against his ribcage, weirdly hypersensitive all over. He reaches up with both hands to slide them against York's cheeks, one thumb dragging gently over York's lower lip before he pulls York in to kiss him again, still surprised by the heat and softness of it.
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There's something just a little awkward about the kiss, even as eager as they both seem to be, but York can't put his finger on it. It's good -- fuck is it good -- just a little strange, like they're not quite in sync. Maybe it's just been a long time for both of them. He hasn't been with anyone since Freelancer, and learning what someone new likes is always a process. When they pull apart again to breathe he's flushed and smiling, and his voice is rough when he speaks. "I should have done that sooner."
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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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