Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tucker's no stranger to alien stuff. You pick up an alien sword, you get an epic quest and become a single dad and alien ambassador. But after a lot of experience he knows what and what not to mess around with. Fucking awesome sword, cool. Giant column of light in an alien temple, probably a bad idea unless you want to turn to ash or see a gang of Felixes in a nightmare vision.

But Caboose always gets into everything. Especially the alien stuff.

Why do they still bring him anywhere? Fuck if Tucker knows about the other times, but this time it’s because Tucker and Wash are both on this mission and neither Carolina or any of the Reds will babysit. Leaving him back at base unsupervised would probably cause just as much damage as bringing him on a scouting mission. It’s not really supposed to be that dangerous anyway.

According to the maps provided by Santa, this is the Temple of Bountiful Harvest, and Chorus is in serious need of some harvest right now. Supplies had been low before the civil war had turned into an all-out fight for survival from planetary destruction. It’s not like people had time to farm. So hopefully there are some super-fast growing plants in here that taste like chicken. It’s been forever since they had real meat. Fuck the Temple of Harvest. Where was the Temple of Bacon?

‘I’ll scout ahead, watch Caboose.’ Wash wasn’t fooling anyone pretending that picking off pirate stragglers was the harder division of labor. This is probably the fiftieth time Tucker wishes Dr. Grey had built something into Freckles the gun to keep Caboose out of shit. Freckles is the worst kind of enabler of Caboose’s bullshit.

There’s a clatter behind Tucker and he hasn’t been watching closely enough, but damn Caboose could move fast. Tucker is bitching at him before he even turns around. “Caboose, what the fuck? You’re not supposed to touch anything!”

“Tucker did it,” Caboose says, and that line is so old it has more mold on it than the last of Chorus’ rations.

Tucker has some shit to say about it, but then he sees that the switch or whatever Caboose managed to knock into has activated some kind of slow moving laser and Caboose is just standing there like a moron as it moves to train on him.

“Caboose!” Tucker throws himself forward without thinking about it, managing to put enough force behind himself to get the friggin’ mammoth to move a couple of feet, just enough to get him clear of the alien laser that was about to cut him in half. But the dude is so fucking dense, like physically as well as mentally, that while Caboose is clear, Tucker lands right in the direct path of the thing.

Direct hit. KO. Except he isn’t knocked out. Or cut in half. Or a big pile of ashes.

Nothing at all happens for three seconds. Just the laser direct-hitting him in the abdomen, except it must have been just some weird alien strobe light, because it doesn’t melt him or anything, it’s just kind of warm and tingling even through his armor. “Uh, this is weird.”

Caboose’s head tilts, watching. “You’re not burning up.”

“Did the Sangheili throw raves here before Chorus was settled or something? Because if so, we should totally call Grif’s sister and throw a fucking party.”

“Yes. A party! I found the light, it was my idea. We will find all the lights and Freckles will wear a party hat!”

“Freckles is a gun now. He doesn’t need a party hat—” In hindsight, Tucker probably should’ve moved away before this, because the light suddenly hums in a really ominous way like it’s charging up and the warmth turns into this intense pins and needles feeling and then Tucker’s flying across the floor, skidding and rolling until he hits a pair of metal boots.

Wash is back from scouting apparently, and his helmet looks less impressed than usual at the temple going all Indiana Jones on them. “What—the hell—are you doing?”

Tucker points where the light came from, but it’s gone. He gives up with a shrug. “Planning a rave, Wash, what does it look like?” Tucker knows just which disapproving frown Wash is wearing. The tingling feeling’s rapidly wearing off and he doesn’t really feel worse for wear, so he rolls to his knees to get up. His vision swims a little, so maybe they’re gonna need to examine the artifact that zapped him in case… something.

His disorientation must show in his body language because Wash drops a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

Except that makes it worse. It feels like that hand is scalding him, and every other part of him lights up with sensation, hot needles and icy pins, and there’s a buzzing in his head like that laser’s charging up again and his vision goes white. “Wash…?”

Wash’s annoyance has switched to concern, and his grip tightens, he’s asking if Tucker’s okay, but Tucker can’t really answer because he’s passing the fuck out.

Chapter Text

“-boose, what happened?”

“Well, you know, Tucker was playing when he wasn’t supposed to—"

Tucker’s in and out of consciousness, only catching snippets of conversation as his helmeted head bumps rhythmically against someone’s armored shoulder—Ow. Ow. Ow.—what the fuck, is he being carried?

Someone’s running with him.

…Is he being carried bridal style?

“—Alien party favors?—No. Caboose, he fainted after being thrown across the room. Try to remember. What happened just before I came back?”

Fainted? No way. Well, kind of. But couldn’t they make it sound heroic?

–If Wash is getting his info from Caboose, probably not. He tries to come out of it to correct them with something cooler sounding, but instead of speaking he makes kind of a pained noise, causing whoever’s holding him to tighten their grip.

Wash then. Which doesn’t make a ton of sense since weight is less of a burden to Caboose, but Caboose would probably be just as humiliating, plus Tucker would be dragged or dropped instead of, weirdly cradled? Eh, what was some cradling between teammates, right?

There must have been another bout of losing consciousness because the next sensation Tucker’s aware of is their Warthog bouncing over gravel as Wash drives like a maniac.

Tucker doesn’t fully come to until he’s in Grey’s infirmary and a helmetless Wash is half stripping him out of his armor. He catches Wash’s wrist just before he goes for Tucker's cod-piece. “Hey! Watch the goods!”

“Dr. Grey has to examine you. In order to do that, you need to not be in high-tech battle armor.” Wash is looking stressed and visibly shakes himself. “You’re conscious now. That's good. Do you remember what happened?”

“Caboose was knocking shit over as usual and almost got himself blasted with an alien laser, so I had to get him out of the way.”

“And you got hit yourself in the process.” Wash sighs, deep and long suffering. “Have you ever seen anything like that at the temples you’ve visited before? Or on the Sangheili home world? It made you pass out. We have to make sure you’re alright.”

Tucker shrugs. “I feel fine now.” And he does. He feels like he just came out of a really epic dreamless sleep and already had two cups of coffee. “It was just the Temple of Harvest, right? Did we get anything good?”

“Um,” Wash looks faintly embarrassed. “There wasn’t much. We might want to send another team to do a more thorough sweep. We didn’t really finish.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll help you finish,” Tucker says.

They both blink at each other. Tucker hadn’t really thought about it. It just slipped out. Probably should have made an erectile dysfunction joke instead.

Wash coughs. “I didn’t see you hit your head.” He raises an eyebrow at where Tucker’s rubbing circles against Wash’s wrist bone.

Huh. That’s weird.

Tucker lets him go, wondering if he did hit his head, just as Doctor Grey busts into the room.

“Oh, he’s awake. From the 20 messages you sent me I thought he would have been hemorrhaging from his eyeballs.” She sounds weirdly disappointed.

“I’m fine!”

Wash isn’t listening to him anymore, full attention on Doctor Grey. “He was unconscious the entire drive back. Two hours. Vitals kept spiking at odd intervals.”

Grey pulls out a scanner and starts from his feet and back up to his head.

“Wait,” Tucker says. “How did you make the drive back in two hours? It took us five hours to get there.”

"I didn't let Caboose take any bathroom breaks."

Caboose takes a crazy amount of bathroom breaks but that still doesn’t—

“Your readings are normal now, Tucker," Grey says. "But I’d like to do a more thorough exam. Strip.”

Wash doesn’t move.

Tucker normally has no problem stripping no matter who’s present, but maybe it was the falling unconscious incident. Or realizing Wash had broken every safety limit on the way back to get him to Grey, but he’s feeling really weird about Wash right now. It’s hard to think with him standing there looking so worried. “Uh, dude? You wanna leave?”

“Oh, uh. Right. I’ll just—Go.” Wash turns to Grey. “Let me know the moment you know anything.”

“There’s still patient confidentiality, Agent Washington! But I’ll let you know if anything dire happens. Otherwise, it’s up to him to disclose.”

Wash doesn’t look happy about it, but he goes.

Doctor Grey directs Tucker to change into some scrubs. She’s a really comforting presence. Tucker only hits on her a couple times, which she takes good-naturedly as she scans for closer readings and draws some blood.

While they wait for the results to populate, Grey pulls up the map Santa had shown them on her datapad. “Hm…” She hums. “It sounds like one of you activated something in that temple. Which location did you go to?”

“That one with the big thing.”

“You went to this temple?” She points, and Tucker nods. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, the Temple of Bountiful Harvest. Like we planned. You were in that meeting.”

“Oh sweetie, I was in that meeting. That’s not the Temple of Bountiful Harvest! Santa said the Temple of Bountiful Harvest was over here," she points at a completely different location and then swings her finger back to the exact opposite direction, "andthis is the Temple of Procreation!”

“What?!”

Grey laughs in that way that means she thinks they’re all irresponsible morons. “You’d think at least one of you would have triple-checked the map since activating the wrong temple could be disastrous for the entire planet!"

“You’re sure it’s west,” Wash asked for probably the sixth time.

“YES. I triple-checked the map,” Tucker lied as he played Minecraft on a side screen in his helmet. “Trust me, dude. They call me The Navigator. I always know where I’m going.”

"We must have gotten turned around somehow."

The blood tests all ping back a happy green, which means he’s good to go now. Unfortunately, Grey disagrees.

“Something in that temple rendered you unconscious, Tucker, and while your readings are within acceptable parameters now, I’d recommend observation for a few days before we send anyone else out to that particular temple.”

“But we still need food. We’ve already rationed our rations three times. Locus fucked off with the Great Key of Chorus, so I’m the only one who can activate the temple that will get us some food!”

Grey's stern look melts into one of contemplation. Its times like this Tucker thinks she’s kind of a shadow leader. Kimball’s the uncontested General of the united armies of Chorus, but no one living knows more about Chorus’ history and technology than Grey. They’d been on opposite sides of this war for years, and Grey earned Kimball’s counsel immediately. Her recommendations have a lot of weight when it came to planning missions.

“Snap peas,” she says.

“What?”

“If the temple takes requests. It’s probably too much to hope for some meat, so see if you can get leafy greens with lots of iron. We’ve been getting a lot of people in with iron deficiencies lately.”

Tucker grins and goes to leap off the cot. Grey’s arm hits him like an iron bar, knocking him back flat.

“You’re still staying the night here, silly. You can leave tomorrow, if Kimball approves, and your face hasn't melted off of your flesh because of unfathomable alien technology by then. Though I suppose you can take a break to go to the mess hall, as long as someone’s with you in case you faint again.”

“I didn’t faint,” he complains, but when he gets up Grey doesn’t stop him this time, typing something into her datapad. “I want to sleep. In my bed. Someone will find me if I start bleeding from the eyes eventually.”

“You’ll come right back here after dinner,” she says firmly and cheerfully and like she’ll stab his eyes out if he doesn’t. The door slides open behind them. “Oh look, your escort’s here!”

There he is, Agent Washington. Considering how fast he showed up, he’s been pacing out there waiting for an update with that expression that can’t decide between worry and annoyance. He also hasn’t bothered to fix his hair which is sticking up in crazy directions from his helmet.

Tucker’s breath catches, face heating. It looks like sex hair, like he’s just come back from a quickie in a supply closet, which is ridiculous because Wash doesn’t do quickies. Or do anyone. Tucker would know, right? It’s just helmet hair. And Wash likes to tug at it when he’s stressed too, so it has to be something like that. But what would Wash's real sex hair look like?

Caboose breaks Tucker’s line of vision as he steps into the room. “Is Tucker still being lazy?”

Holy shit. Tucker closes his mouth.

He was not just picturing Wash’s post-sex look. And he hadn’t been flirting with him earlier. And he thought he hadn’t hit his head, but obviously he’s got some kind of brain damage.

“Let’s just go.” Tucker pushes past both of them to get to the mess hall without changing back into his armor.

Chapter Text

Tucker stays conscious all through dinner, eating shitty rations with his team, and watching Grif and Simmons across the table argue about the best condiments to make MREs taste like real food again. If he’d known that in the future he’d have no choice but to watch their crappy attempts at flirting while he was trying to eat he would have wanted the sniper rifle a lot less.

A pair of eyes never leaves him all through dinner, watching him silently, like a shitty predator bird or something.

Tucker flicks a pea at him.

The pea would have gotten Wash dead in the face, but he catches it midair without even looking. "Don't waste food, Tucker," he says disapprovingly, popping it into his own mouth.

"Wash, what's your deal? I'm not about to keel over and die if you look away for a second."

Wash gives him a doubtful look, but actually starts eating. Finally. Good. He’s being ridiculous!

...And then Tucker's point is undermined because he’s only 0.2 seconds without Wash's focused attention before he breathes some food up the wrong pipe and starts hacking.

Wash tenses like he’s about to leap over the table and shove everyone out of the way so he can Heimlich him before Tucker gives him a thumbs up.

After dinner, it’s back to the infirmary. Grey cheerfully told Caboose they weren't allowed to have a Blue Team slumber party in the infirmary after what happened last time one of them was injured (there were only two small fires), so Wash and Caboose leave for their own quarters. Kimball’s waiting until morning to confirm whether she’s comfortable letting them go out again, but as long as Tucker doesn't start bleeding from the eyeballs, they’re probably fine to leave. He's heard her stomach growling too.

Tucker has slept all different places, but hospital beds are never that comfortable, so he doesn’t think he'll fall asleep very fast. He must’ve been dozing though, because he’s suddenly awake and wondering what woke him when he spots Wash hovering in the shadows like a creep.

“Wash, what’re you doing here?” Tucker sits up, blinking in the dim light from the medical equipment. He isn’t hooked up to anything, but Grey said she had a scanner going to monitor his vitals in case they spike again overnight.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Wash admits. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“So you came here to watch me sleep in the dark? Little stalkerish.”

Tucker gets a little quirk of amusement from Wash on that one. “I wasn’t supposed to get caught.”

“Not helping your case, dude.”

“Alright, well, since I’m here and you’re awake, how are you feeling?”

It feels oddly like when Tucker was recovering from that fucker Felix trying to use him as a pin cushion. Both generals had kept the freelancers busy since they had a lot of experience with tactics and mission planning. But Wash still sometimes came by when Tucker was drugged up so much he thought Junior was on Chorus. Looking at Wash’s tired face now, he realizes he'd probably come when he was unconscious too.

With Church as Carolina’s buddy for a while and then with Church gone, the remaining three members of Blue team are pretty close. He just—He hadn’t realized they might mean as much to Wash as Wash and Caboose meant to him.

Aaand he hasn’t answered Wash’s question. “I’m fine. Still a little hungry, but who isn’t? Sooner we can leave again, sooner everyone can eat. What do you want to ask the alien temple for? You seem like a ribs man.”

“Hungry, huh?” Wash’s eyes are intense, and all of that determination he usually reserves for missions or training goals or fucking pep talks is all on Tucker.

Its… a little weird.

His heart picks up.

Wash leans in close, until their faces are inches apart. Tucker wants to ask him what the fuck he’s doing, but then Wash is speaking and his voice is a growl. “What are you hungry for, Tucker?”

“Wash—What the f—”

Their lips touch and Tucker feels electrified, sparks zipping from his chest to his toes to his dick and he’s kissing Wash back and Wash is using his teeth. Wash is rough, biting like he’s the one who’s hungry.

“Wash…” Tucker moans in arousal and confusion as Wash crawls on top of him and—

—all the lights come on.

“Captain Tucker, your heart rate had quite a sudden—Oh.”

There’s no Wash. Tucker’s alone in the infirmary bed and his hand is in his scrub pants two inches from his very-hard-for-Wash-dick.

And Doctor Grey’s here with a lab coat hastily thrown over—red lingerie? “Well, I wish you had let me know to account for this, but I’ll count the next ten minutes or so as an anomaly in your wellness scans.”

“I wasn’t—”

“It’s totally normal, Tucker. I should have remembered you’re still at that age.”

Being caught jerking off by Grey was like being caught by his mom. Huge boner killer.

“Have fun, sweetie!”

“Oh my god.”

The lights go out again as she leaves the room.

Holy fuck.

He just had a dream about Wash making out with him.

And it was good.

Tucker’s left in the dark wondering why the fuck Lavernius Tucker, Ladies’ Man™, is suddenly hot for Agent fucking Washington.

Chapter Text

Agent Washington formerly of Project Freelancer, currently of the armies of Chorus, is definitely not pacing outside of the infirmary the next morning in civvies, wondering if he should go inside.

Normally he doesn’t like being out without armor on. It had been so long, it just felt unnatural not to be able to have that cover, both for your body and your expression. And he’s been told mockingly by several different people that he has a very expressive face.

He didn’t sleep well though, and once it’s dawn his feet just take him back to the infirmary. If anyone spotted him going back to his room to change into armor and then coming back here… It’s not worth the effort just yet. Maybe Tucker will appreciate the solidarity. Tucker never seemed bothered by that sort of thing, but he’d been acting a little oddly at dinner.

Wash stops that train of thought right there. He’s already gone over what happened yesterday over and over and analyzed Tucker’s behavior since. And he might have been a little off, but he’s going to be fine.

When Tucker went down so suddenly, Wash had been surprised at how quickly his blood froze. He hadn’t had time to examine the feeling, he just had to act.

He’d thought the feeling had been burned out of him after Epsilon… after the Project. After destroying the bodies of his friends for the same people that had torn his mind apart. By the time Tucker and Caboose had taken him in as Church’s replacement, he’d been so tired he couldn’t even feel the vengeance that kept his body moving long after his soul had been scorched out.

But for someone with no feelings left, Wash had grown attached to the Blues so fast. These idiots who had no real agenda no matter how hard he looked. Playing capture the flag with them was the most fun he’s had since… probably since he was a young kid. He didn’t want to think about the few happy memories he had on the MOI too much. There was always something under and over them now. Layers of scrutiny and ambition. Layers of betrayals he couldn’t look past when he looked back, especially his own.

The point is, he’s formed bonds with Tucker and Caboose that are probably unhealthy if a professional has any say in it. But he doesn’t really trust any professionals anymore. He trusts his team.

Which isn’t great with both his track records and theirs for getting involved in other people’s conflicts. Is there any other place he can take his team where they wouldn’t be in danger? The thought of losing either of them…

They’re on Chorus for the time being and Wash has been thinking it might be worth it to continue sticking with the clean-up effort. Despite their promotions, Caboose and Tucker still defer to him on Blue Team decisions, and they like their friends here, so it’s agreed. Besides, the war’s over now and there’s less chance of them getting into trouble here now.

He’d thought so anyway. Well, anything can be jinxed. At least he knows this team didn’t have better luck before he joined it.

After pacing outside Tucker’s room for the fiftieth time, he finally decides to just go in there. It’s 0600. It’s been daylight for almost an hour.

Tucker’s sprawled over the infirmary bed like a drugged octopus, the white sheet barely covering his… anything. His scrubs have been discarded in a lumpy pile on the floor. It looks like he can’t sleep in pants unless he’s sedated. Luckily, the rest of the beds are empty today.

The amount of relief he feels just seeing Tucker sleeping normally is overwhelming after the stress of yesterday. Now that Wash is here though, he feels a little reluctant to wake him. But he can’t just stand here either. Should he leave? Now that he’s checked on him he’s at a loss. Dr. Grey isn’t even here to update him on Tucker’s condition if it changed at all. But he looks fine— Uh, he looks well.

Wash zones back in to see a pair of dark brown eyes looking back at him.

“Mmm… Hey Wash.” Tucker stretches and Wash finds himself tracking the sheet as it loses its grip on Tucker’s decency by a few more millimeters. He shakes his head a little.

“Hi… Tucker. You really should stop sleeping naked. Especially when you’re in a public place. Like the hospital.”

“Why? No one’s here to enjoy it anyway. Except you, baby.” Tucker raises an eyebrow at him, mouth crooked in the corner.

Wash rolls his eyes back, which has the added benefit of him not eyeing Tucker. “I was just about to stop by the mess hall, so I thought I’d see if you were up. Are you hungry?”

Tucker stiffens a little, eyes going wide. “I’m—No, not really. Did you talk to Kimball? We’ve got a mission to go on.”

His sudden change in demeanor is strange, but he made the other point Wash came to talk about. “She got Grey’s recommendation. They’d both be more comfortable if you stayed here another day before we head out.”

“But we need to—”

“We won’t run out of food in the next day, Tucker. What are you hungry for? I can bring it back here.”

Tucker coughs and looks away. “No way, dude. I’ll stay at HQ but I’m not staying in bed all day. Especially if it’s not in the fun way.”

“We have some other meetings scheduled if you really want to work.”

Wash had been expecting Tucker to scoff and decide rest was preferable, but he perks up. “Are you going?” Tucker asks.

“It’s mostly going to be working out the new chain of command, but Carolina and I were asked in to consult on patrol movements.”

The few meetings they have with both Reds and Blues present usually end in all-out chaos and declarations of war. Caboose is always invited, but its understood he’ll be automatically excused when he inevitably wanders off. Tucker hates meetings. He’s better than Caboose, but he gets twitchy and taps his fingers on the table and his feet against the floor until Wash wants to knock him out most days.

“Awesome,” Tucker grins. “I’ll be there.”

“Alright, I’ll… leave you to get dressed.”

Tucker waves him off, and Wash starts for the door, but he gets the sudden intense feeling of eyes on him, and can’t resist the urge to turn back to look.

Tucker’s still stretched out with one arm behind his head, lounging, with a... heated look. His eyes are half lidded, and zeroed in on Wash's ass.

Wash must have made a choking noise, because Tucker’s eyes snap up to his. He manages to look both surprised and a little confused.

Wash… really doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to this. So he puts his shoulders back and marches out of the room like nothing happened at all.

This is normal for Tucker, right? He flirts all the time, although he doesn’t flirt with men much. And none of that attention has ever been directed at Wash before that he’s noticed. But Tucker has been making a lot of comments that could arguably have been directed at him lately.

He doesn’t even think Tucker likes guys, although that isn’t really for him to judge. They've never discussed that particular topic.

Sometimes you just stare at people you find attractive. Or just people. He’d caught himself checking Tucker out a few times before he got to know him.

Wash shakes his head to get the image of that look Tucker gave him out of his mind. He needs coffee himself. He didn’t sleep well last night.

Chapter Text

Tucker doesn’t get the best night's sleep in the infirmary. Doctor Grey’s visit doesn’t keep him down for long if you know what he means.

Tucker’s not used to not taking care of that situation right away, but he hesitates. His usual spank bank fodder is swimsuit models, chicks that live in the playboy mansion, or girls that can kick his ass. And while the occasional dude can sneak into his fantasies, it was never one of the assholes he knew.

This is Wash. It’s just weird to think about Wash that way.

But it was just a dream. His subconscious or whatever. Dream analysis would tell him it meant he was worried about money or something. Dreams never meant anything literal, everyone knew that.

Okay, he’s freaking out a little. But every time he closes his eyes he pictures Wash hovering over him, all warm and solid, biting at Tucker’s lips. Voice low and growling like when he first joined Blue team, half-feral and detoxing from being the total asshole who worked with the Meta and tried to kill all of them.

Back then Tucker half expected to be slammed into the wall every time he got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water. Wash had insomnia and the totally fucking creepy habit of brooding in the dark.

Getting slammed into a wall though… The thought has a wave of warmth flowing over him again. The scrubs he’s sleeping in suddenly feel a little constrictive. Maybe he’d be able to sleep better if he took everything off.

Wash got a little less ready to snap as time went on. They all got used to each other. After the ship crashed, Wash was more paranoid about attack than before, but he at least spent some time out of armor at night after Tucker’s pestering him every night for weeks. He looked no less uncomfortable in people clothes though, and it didn’t seem to help his insomnia. He still had the visible outline of a pistol in his pants.

Tucker had come up with a ton of boner jokes for that. Partially because the material was gold, but also because they could all stand it if Wash lightened up a little.

At the crash site, they both had their guards down in some ways. One night, Tucker caught Wash in a half doze at their makeshift kitchen table. He stupidly tapped him on the shoulder to tell him to go to sleep in his actual bedroll and got slammed into a wall before he could finish the sentence. It had hurt. Wash was baring his teeth, eyes blazing and it was so intense and Tucker hadn’t been expecting it and he was instantly awkwardly turned on. Also a lot freaked out.

But Tucker, laying in his dark hospital room remembers it differently. The details of the dream slot in perfectly and instead of Wash blinking a few times and letting him go, apologizing and running back to his corner. Instead of that, they’re kissing and Tucker’s heart is racing and Wash is sucking at his neck right where he likes it.

Tucker tests how hard Wash has him pinned and runs his hands up the back of Wash’s shirt.

“I’m going to break you, Private Tucker,” Wash growls in his ear as he reaches into his pants.

“Fuck!” Tucker comes hard, gasping and shuddering and sweating.

He stares at the blue glow on the ceiling as he comes down. Tissues, he needs tissues— He has to grope around in the dark for them, knocking over some shit he hoped wasn’t that expensive because he really doesn’t want to hear a lecture from Doctor Grey about how he should be more careful when he’s jerking off. He usually does have tissues nearby when he’s jerking off, but he hadn’t planned to… Fuck.

When Wash comes in in the morning in sleep pants, Tucker almost whistles before he catches himself.

Be cool, dude. Wash can never know you jerked off to his lame speech about being a good soldier.

But then Wash asks if he’s hungry and its so close to the dream, and that makes him think of the fantasy and what he had been doing thinking of Wash last night and he’s instantly ready to go again like a teenager. And to top it off Wash manages to catch him checking out his ass on his way out the door.

Motherfuck.

Tucker’s a bit stunned too. Even though he’d never noticed Wash’s ass before, it was a nice ass. It wasn’t great that Wash had caught him admiring said fine ass, since it’s attached to Wash, his friend and ex-drill-sergeant, but whatever. Maybe he didn’t really notice.

Tucker manages to jerk off again quick in the shower, which takes the edge off, but breakfast is still awkward. Tucker’s still trying to write off jerking off over Wash off as a fluke, but every time he thinks about eating he gets distracted watching Wash eat. How the fuck is he making oatmeal look sexy? What the fuck?

As they get up to leave, Wash frowns at Tucker’s bowl since he’s only picked at it, but Grif gratefully snags it before Wash says anything.

Meetings in New Armonia are long. So long he wishes he was still in the habit of wearing armor so he could play Tetris while he listens to Kimball and the Fed-Interest appointed leader hammering out a new system of government. Tucker’s been forbidden from wearing his full armor today, so someone can see if he goes into distress.

A lot of people aren’t wearing armor these days, or are wearing a random mish-mash of pieces post-war. It’s hard to let go. Kimball is one of the exceptions, still in full armor every day, as is the Fed spokesperson, in case of assassination attempts.

Wash is usually a hold-out when it comes to armor, but this morning he’s wearing civilian clothing. The shirt’s definitely a hand-me-down, the buttons straining against his broad chest and shoulders, and the jeans are really tight. (Where did they get fucking denim out here?) But damn, it looks good on him.

Not that he has a good view when they’re all sitting at the war room table. But Tucker can’t concentrate on anything except Wash.

Wash keeps trying to sneak looks at him, but Tucker catches him every time since he was already staring. It only makes Tucker notice the way his freckles are spread so perfectly over his nose and cheekbones. Like constellations. Does he have freckles all over? Can he find out?

Tucker’s never been that into stars before, but he wonders if he could trace the dots into the big dipper or something. That’s one of the constellations he knows. And there’s the bear one. And Orion the Hunter, which is kinda like Wash.

He sighs loudly, chin cupped in his hands.

“You have something to add, Captain Tucker?” Kimball asks.

“Uh… More social programs?”

Kimball does that disapproving head tilt thing that means she knows he wasn’t paying any fucking attention, but moves on to her next slide.

What’s Wash's horoscope? He hopes it’s something compatible with a Scorpio.

Wash is sitting close enough to keep his voice low when he asks, “Hey. Are you alright?”

When his voice is that low, it sort of rumbles out of him. He could make some good money as a phone sex operator. A little gruff, but if he could relax a little, it’d be a great voice to take orders from.

“I’m fucking awesome, dude. Pay attention to Kimball,” Tucker hisses back.

The meeting goes by a lot faster watching Wash. The tense way he works his jaw when he wants to say something, but decides to stay quiet. The nod he can’t help making when he agrees with either of the parties. The way he unconsciously tugs the back of his hair when he’s bored. It’s like a whole show and Tucker has no idea why he hasn't taken advantage of this entertainment before.

Tucker watches his fingers as they tap out numbers and figures with a sigh. Apparently they're making another decision he doesn't like.

Wash sighs like he’s letting his whole life out in a breath and Tucker can’t help wondering what his breath feels like on skin. Those fingers—

Tucker’s tracing Wash’s name into his datapad and doesn’t realize everyone’s been dismissed until half the people have already left the room. But fuck… Who could blame him? Wash looks hot when he’s paying attention. And when he’s bored. And when he’s working out.

“Hey Wash, wanna make out?”

“What?”

“Hey Wash, wanna work out?” Saved it.

Wash’s eyebrows drop suspiciously. “What.”

“I want you to show me your moves. Badass freelancer moves.”

Wash still seems baffled, but he slowly nods agreement, and Tucker grins triumphantly.

“Alright,” Wash says. “But remember, you opened this door. I don’t want to hear you complaining about your sore nipples later.”

“h—” Tucker shudders as all the ways Wash could make them sore flash through his head at once. “Deal,” he manages to choke out. “Lead the way.” And bonus, he gets to watch Wash’s ass walk them all the way to the training room.

Chapter Text

Tucker only checks Wash out a few times in the locker room, cuz it’s not cool to ogle other guys when they’re getting changed in the locker room. He’s trying not to be a creep, but it’s like every part of him is mega focused on what Wash is doing and where he is in the room. He might have snuck a look when Wash was struggling out of those tight jeans too.

The first thing he does once they’re in the training room is mess with the settings on the coms on the wall. “You gotta have music while you’re working out, Wash. It’s… motivating.”

“Club music.”

“Yeah, dance music puts you in the mood. To spar. I figured you could show me how to disarm… pin…” Wash pinning him to the mat would be so hot.

Wash turns off the music. “We’re going to lift. Build strength. I know you haven’t been keeping up with your regimen.” He raises an eyebrow at Tucker’s midsection like Tucker isn’t a perfect specimen.

Tucker is so offended he strips off the tank top he just put on. “Are you questioning how fine I am?”

“It’s not about how attractive you are.” But his eyes linger on Tucker’s six pack. Oh-hoh. “Should we start with 150?”

“I can handle you— it. 150. Easy,” Tucker says.

“If you’re still up for it, we’ll do cardio later.” Wash has a teasing lilt to his voice, like he’s expecting Tucker to say no to getting sweaty with him now.

Tucker grins. “Yeah we will.”

Tucker throws himself on the bench enthusiastically and Wash puts the weight on for him. He goes through the reps pretty quickly at first, showing off his best angles as Wash spots him. Not missing how Wash’s gaze will sometimes drift to Tucker’s body, before darting back up to his arms and the weight. Tucker is straining by the end of the third set. He really wanted to get to 69, but that can wait.

He leaps up from the bench and grabs his abandoned tank to mop his forehead and his chest. Wash follows the motion with his eyes. “You were so sure I was slacking," Tucker crows. "How much are you benching these days, Wash?”

“I’m just doing 200 today,” Wash says, setting up the extra weight.

“Show off,” Tucker says. “Okay. Just gonna watch, dude.”

Tucker doesn’t even pretend he’s not checking Wash out. It’s so hot to watch him. Going fairly easy through the first set, a grim expression crossing his face through the second as it gets more difficult. Watching his muscles ripple under his skin is hypnotic. Tucker followed the motion and the shape of his muscles as he goes through the moves. Wash says something about technique and Tucker nods along like he’s paying attention.

His face is hot and it feels like the room is vibrating.

A little bead of sweat drips from under where Wash’s t-shirt is riding up and Tucker follows the trail with his eyes. He doesn’t realize he’s reaching out to touch until he has his fingers on hot flesh and Wash nearly drops the bar on his own neck. “Tucker!”

Once they both get the bar back up, Wash wheels on him. “Alright,” Wash says. “Are you ready to talk about this now?”

“Talk about what?” Tucker asks, startled himself that his hands had moved independent of his brain. That's kind of fucking dangerous. Tucker backs off, shaking his head to try to clear it, swaying.

Wash gets up and comes to him, steadying him by his shoulders. His hands burn. Pins and needles flow over him, making him shudder, then changing back to a wave of warmth. So close.

“This is ridiculous, Tucker, I’m done acting like this,” he gestures vaguely at Tucker’s body, “is all normal for you! You’re acting like—”

“What am I acting like?” His voice comes out husky-super-smooth. Nice.

“Like this!” Wash’s voice cracks and Tucker decides, yeah, he likes that, and he likes that flush in Wash's cheeks, and the way his throat moves when he swallows.

“Can you be more specific, Agent Washington?” he asks, leaning in closer.

“We’re not going on any missions until more tests are run. You’ve been spacing out, you haven’t eaten all day, and it doesn’t look like you slept much either. There could be something neurological going on and I don’t think we should risk—”

Wash says something else. Probably about getting a doctor. But that means leaving, and that can’t happen. Tucker locks eyes with Wash, and Wash is seriously the hottest thing Tucker has ever seen.

“I just want to. Fuck…” he moans. Tucker put his arms up around Wash’s shoulders and pulls himself up so he can lock his legs around his waist. He climbs Wash like a tree. A glistening, ripped tree.

If Tucker was in his right mind he might admire that he's able to surprise attack Wash and not be smashed to the ground instantly. Wash stiffens, and not in the good way, but he doesn’t throw Tucker off immediately, staggering backwards into a convenient wall.

“Tucker?” Wash’s eyes are wide, but his arms go around Tucker’s back automatically when he starts to slip, and everywhere they touch is like x10 sensation.

Instead of answering, Tucker brushes his lips against Wash’s. And finally. This is what he wants. What he needs. It’s an immediate fix when he didn’t even know he was jonesing.

His lips are a little chapped, but Tucker’s are moist enough for both of them. Wash’s mouth opens on a sharp breath, and Tucker presses his advantage, gripping his shoulders. Giving him an edge of teeth against his bottom lip before he licks inside.

There’s still hesitation and confusion in every line of Wash’s body, but Tucker keeps at it, sinking his hands into Wash’s fucking sex-hair and god he feels so good.

Wash's hair being touched definitely does it for him. With a strained noise, he starts kissing back and turns them, holding Tucker against the wall, which Tucker enthusiastically approves of.

Wash is an intense dude, and he kisses like he fights and trains. Intent, focused, determined to be the best. Their tongues tangle. Tucker prefers Wash’s mouth, but Wash is stubborn. Tucker breaks away finally to kiss at his jawline, sucking marks into the sensitive skin of his neck. He uses Wash's twitches and the clench of his hands at Tucker's back to guide him to the best places.

“Fuck... fuck…” Tucker moans between sucks. It’s not normal for him to get this worked up this fast, but the thought fades as soon as it comes. No thoughts can compete with Wash's sharp breaths and roaming hands. Tucker never wants to stop kissing him, but he also wants Wash to lick every inch of his skin. He wants to suck his dick and make him moan and gasp and come.

He grinds into Wash, tightening his legs. Fuck he can feel it. Wash is hard. Shit.

He wants Wash to fuck him. Right here, right now. Maybe on that fucking weight bench. Holy fuck.

No doubts. Simple fact.

He wants Wash’s dick.

Tucker adjusts his grip in Wash's hair, scratching his scalp and grinding down again. Wash matches his move, but Tucker can sense when he comes out of it.

“Ha—Tucker. We should— Slow down.”

Tucker growls and tries to go back to sucking on that stern bottom lip again, but Wash is trying to extricate himself.

“Tucker, wait a minute. Stop.”

Tucker stops. Blinks. They let go of each other at the same time and it hurts. A chill runs through him where there had been that addictive thrum before. But Wash saying stop totally broke the spell. “Oh fuck.”

He just made out with Wash.

He still wants Wash to fuck him.

This is not normal.

Wash’s normally gray eyes are blown black, lips a darker shade, face flushed, and the marks Tucker made on his neck are already standing out. He’s breathing through his mouth shallowly, taking in Tucker’s appearance too.

The pins and needles are still running through Tucker and he wants to touch Wash again. Convince him he’s fine. Get him out of his clothes. Take him to bed and never leave it again. That raw warm swoop of energy pings around his body like those old games at the arcade.

And suddenly he recognizes the feeling. It was similar to what he felt at the Temple of Bountiful Harvest—No, that wasn’t the Temple of Bountiful Harvest.

It was the Temple of Procreation.

“Holy shit, I got sex-whammied.”

“What? Sex-whammied?” Wash is even more attractive when he’s confused. He does this disbelieving squinty thing. Also, what the fuck? Has Wash never watched any sci-fi on TV as a kid? It’s so obvious now.

Or maybe Wash's brain’s just broken from the make-out session. Tucker is really good at that. But one of those marks is already fading. Maybe Tucker can take just a little time out from this epiphany to—

No. Concentrate. Alien sex ray. None of this is real.

That need is still there, a low hum in his veins. Insistent and unnatural. He already wants to get back to Wash. Touch him, claw at him. Wants to make Wash gasp and moan and call Tucker’s name. If Tucker doesn’t leave right now he’s going to try to kiss Wash again. He wants to throw himself back at Wash and beg and its so fucked up.

Wash had seemed into it but if he was sex-whammied, Tucker couldn’t even trust his own thoughts right now. Wash could fight him off if he needed to and he hadn't, but now he was standing there waiting for an explanation.

What would he do if he knew how much Tucker feels like he needs this? If Wash knows how much moving every inch back makes Tucker’s chest tighten like his heart is being crushed in a vise he might do it. It would be like, an obligation to fuck him. Who knew if that would even fix the problem? Tucker needs to find out the rules to this shit.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m gonna go.”

“Wait. Did you just say something about—?”

“I’m gonna see Dr. Grey.” Tucker cuts him off, digging his blunt nails into his palms hard enough that the throb distracts him from the sudden throbbing in his head. He doesn’t think he can deal with Wash saying the sex word right now. "Sorry."

Wash’s mouth opens and shut, face red. “Tucker—I—”

Fuck. The way he says his name goes straight through him. Tucker shakes his head hard, hands clenching harder.

“Shut up! Just stay away from me, dude.”

More confusion and a little hurt crosses Wash’s face as Tucker books it.

Tucker doesn’t go to see Grey. He doesn’t pass go and collect 200 dollars.

This is alien stuff. He knows how to deal with alien shit. Go to the source.

He showers quickly, assembles his armor and his sword, then snags a warthog from the motor pool without too much trouble and takes off.

Chapter Text

Tucker’s plan’s pretty simple. Go back to the Temple of Bountiful Harvest—okay, Procreation whatever, and ask Santa how to de-laser himself to get the sex whammy off.

Then he can just go back to New Armonia and act like nothing ever happened. For being a paranoid ex special ops guy, Wash tends to be extremely non-confrontational with shit that makes him uncomfortable. It would totally work. They’d just be normal again.

Tucker could forget how awesome Wash’s upper-body strength is, no problem. Wash wasn’t kidding about lifting. Forget the way his skin tasted? Easy. Although, he’d left marks. The hickies will probably take a couple of days to fade, so after that.

The fever starts about an hour into the five hour drive—which really only takes a little over three without Caboose asking for bathroom breaks every two minutes. The further he rides away from New Armonia, the more like himself he feels, but the sicker he gets.

Still, it’s pretty miserable. He’s sweating under his suit, but once the sun sets he’s freezing. He fucks with the temperature controls in his suit three times before he realizes this probably has to do with what’s already wrong with him. He doesn’t feel turned on now. He feels shaky and weak and hot and cold.

And he still wants Wash.

But it’s less wanting to get his pants off and fuck, and more just wanting to be around him because he doesn’t feel good. Wants Wash to scrape him off the floor and put his roadkill-feeling self to bed and just lay together quietly until he stops feeling like garbage.

This fucking sucks. Sex pollen looks way more fun and sexy in the movies.

When he gets to the temple, it’s just as they left it. Well, except someone shut the door. Probably Santa, because Tucker didn’t remember locking up on the way out when he was unconscious.

He almost falls out of the Warthog, miscalculating how much weaker he is after the long drive. He at least thought to bring some water and rations, but he’s just as hungry as before: Not hungry at all. Not for food, anyway. He forces some swallows of water and a bite of rations before putting the rest away in disgust.

This. Fucking. Sucked.

Drawing his sword always feels good, a little frission of energy up his arm as it lights up. Now it just reminds him of how fucking weird his life had gotten since he joined the army. He’s gotten used to the name, so he only feels a little stupid calling, “Santa! Hey Santa, you home?”

“Lavernius Tucker.” The hologram appears in front of the entrance to the temple, expression as grim and serious as every other Sangheili he’s ever met. He’s not sure if it’s because Junior’s more human, or he just has an awesome dad, but his kid has always been way more expressive. But Tucker can give this guy a break since he’s some ancient Artificial Intelligence—

No, he can’t. He knew Church.

Santa is watching him expectantly from where he hovers in the air, rocking slightly like all live Sangheili do while standing at rest. “I would not say that this is my ‘home,’ but you were correct in the assumption that you might be able to summon me at one of the temples left by my people.”

“Uh, yeah.” The fever’s getting worse. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to clear the disorientation.

“I hope you will be more careful in keeping our gifts secure in the future.” Tucker can tell enough about Sangheili expressions that see that Santa looks miffed.

“We left in kind of a hurry.”

“Yes. I see. The mating frenzy is still upon you.” Santa tilts his head. “Did you find your chosen mate unwilling?”

Considering how he’d been rubbing up against Wash’s junk earlier and Wash had been reciprocating ‘unwilling’ didn’t seem like the right shade of word. –Wait.

“You knew about this?”

“I’m aware of all that happens at my temples. You asked for the gift.”

“Whoa, I definitely didn’t ask for this ‘gift,’ dude. We went to the wrong temple. We were looking for food and Caboose knocked a bunch of shit over. “

Santa tilts his head the other way. “Oh. This is… somewhat unprecedented.”

Fuck, that doesn’t sound like good news.

Santa looks distinctly guilty. “I am afraid my creators did not program in the nuance to distinguish between other species’ mating practices. I was merely programmed to answer when a gift was asked for by a worthy true warrior.”

“I was worthy of the sex gift. I mean, yeah. Obviously. But I don’t need alien Viagra to get laid, thanks, but no thanks. And uh, he,” Tucker can’t say ‘chosen mate’ with a straight face. “He doesn’t want me, so.”

He doesn’t feel a twinge at that. Sure, they’re teammates, but Wash has never looked at him that way. Tucker usually has great sex radar and Wash had never shown any interest before. He hadn’t thought that way about Wash at all before this either. Why would he be disappointed Wash didn’t want to bone him? This was all new stuff, wasn’t it?

It’s no use trying to examine his feelings right now. Not when the longing is in the roots of his teeth and the marrow of his bones. When he wants to call Wash to him by force of will alone so he can make hot sweaty love to him and also cuddle afterwards. Maybe even go on a date or something.

“My creators imbued all the temples and their gifts with the ability to see inside your intent. It would not connect unwilling parties,” Santa insists.

A flare of irritation pushes its way through his sick body. Yeah, the aliens definitely had creative ideas about ‘consent,’ and he had Junior to prove it. “It got something wrong. And it almost got Caboose. That would not have been okay.”

“The beam would have been harmless to Michael J. Caboose. He has no such intent toward either of you.”

Tucker shudders, and not just because of the fever. “Wait, are you saying Wash does have the hots for me?”

“Was it not obvious?”

“No!” And also he doesn’t really believe it. “Anyway, we’re not doing it, so we’re still gonna need to deactivate the temple and fix me. Where’s the off-switch?”

Santa is silent for a minute, which either means he’s defragmenting, or imminent bad news. “I am sorry Lavernius Tucker, but what’s been done cannot be undone. If you deactivate the temple forever it will never affect any of the residents of Chorus again, but you will stay as you are. The artifact you called upon was not the full function of this temple. It only affected your body. The call must be satisfied to restore you.”

“So I’ll have to wait for this to wear off? How long is that going to take?” If the intensity kept ramping up like it had been, he was going to have to stay out of the city until this blew over. Maybe even leave the planet.

“You have six hours…”

That’s not bad—

“…before the hormones in your body reach critical levels and you expire.”

“Motherfucker.” Mate-or-die alien rays were not in the Sangheili cultural guidebook they gave Tucker as an ambassador. “You’re saying this shit will kill me?”

Santa nods solemnly. “If you were to fully activate the temple, the planet of Chorus would be thrown into a mating frenzy and your chosen would come to you. You would be saved.”

A planetary orgy was a sexy idea for porn, but that wasn’t an option. There’s no fucking way he would alien roofie anyone, what the fuck? “This is some fucking bullshit.”

Bad enough he was accidentally infected. He wouldn’t wish this shit on anyone else. Tucker shivers, suddenly cold again. “Show me how to shut it down.”

“If you’re sure Chorus will never have a population problem.”

“Yeah, we’re sure,” Tucker snaps. “A bunch of the population are horny teenagers. I bet half of them are already knocked up now that the war’s over.”

“Very well.” The Sangheili AI is somber as he instructs Tucker on what to do.

Humiliating, but in three hours with no stops he can make it back to New Armonia. Two hours to get Wash to “mate” with him for a good cause is tight, but doable. Friends with life-saving sex benefits?

Tucker twists his sword in the lock and the Temple hums furiously before making a power down noise like an old tank. He wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Request initiated. All Temples will be inactive in the next six hours.” Santa bows his head. “Factory reset will occur in 100 years.”

“Wait, all the temples? Fuck, we still need the food one!”

“You can keep that one active, but I am afraid I cannot keep it open without the key. You must go there and unlock it.”

“Shit.” They really can’t count on the UNSC supplies to come before they run out of food. They’re already strained to the breaking point. People could die. Like Grey said, more and more of them were already suffering from malnutrition. And they were in the army. The families on the outskirts were probably doing worse.

Tucker pulls up the map on his HUD screen. Five hours to get to the Temple of Bountiful Harvest from here. Barely enough time. Definitely no time to go back to New Armonia for a quickie. And it’s six hours from New Armonia directly to the Temple of Bountiful Harvest. It’s not like Wash would be able to meet him there.

Tucker grips his sword tighter and straightens up. “Okay, Santa? I’m going to need you to give me very good directions. I can’t go to the wrong temple this time.”

Chapter Text

Wash spends the good part of an hour on the training room floor with his hand over his face thinking about his life and his choices and his throbbing… neck. He has to remember to check a mirror before going out in public.

Those lips on his. Sucking at his throat. He hadn’t realized how much he just missed being touched.

It felt so good to have someone in his arms, wanting him...

And his teammate obviously had something seriously wrong with him, he scolds himself. Instead of stopping him and reacting like a concerned friend, Wash just kissed him back.

But he was so…

The way he moved.

And then Tucker screamed at him and told him to leave him alone. Wash still had whiplash. He’d never seen anyone have behavioral changes like that due to alien technology. But then again, his experiences were more with human technology.

Wash had been hovering before. And it was good Tucker was seeking help on his own. He’s an adult and he knows what’s best for himself and Wash needs a few minutes to sit on the training room floor and not think. Or a half hour.

Once he gets up and leaves the room, he goes to Grey’s, but Tucker isn’t there. Grey hasn’t seen him all day. She has an idea of what sex-whammy might mean though.

“It was the Temple of Procreation,” he says slowly as the fact starts to sink in. “And no one thought to mention that fact to me.”

“Well, it was in the mission report everyone signed off on, but maybe you were too busy harassing my patient to actually read it.” Grey smiles pleasantly. “Also, just so you’re aware, Tucker is not my only patient, nor my only priority.” She’s holding her datapad like she’s about to bludgeon him over the head with it.

A protest is on the tip of his tongue. Tucker is the priority. For Chorus. For Blue Team. For him—

But he reigns himself in. Barely. She has a point. There are other medical staff, but she’s the one with the most experience here and she obviously has a lot of work.

“Really Agent Washington, just because you’re in love with someone doesn’t mean they’re suddenly top of the list!!”

“I know that, I—"

Love?

The world tilts and reorders itself and Wash feels like he’s been bludgeoned.

Love? Is he in love?

Wash doesn’t believe in love. Not anymore. Not after everything. Survival is more than enough for him to handle.

But when Tucker had passed out in his arms... When Tucker looked at him. When Tucker kissed him…

“Agent Washington?”

“I— Right,” he says, trying to keep himself on task. “So you definitely think the Temple of Procreation had something to do with how Tucker is acting?”

“Definitely. It can’t have been a change in his diet! Tucker’s hormone levels were a high normal last night. When I took readings again this morning they were much higher. I was going to see if someone would track Tucker down for me this afternoon, but Lt. Palomo seemed to think you were busy and would come straight to me once you were finished.”

Oh god.

So Palomo had gotten an eye full. That meant the rumor was already all over the base and Tucker was still missing.

It takes him longer than he would normally like to connect the dots. He raises the motor pool on his radio. “Jensen, come in.”

“Agent Washington, sir?”

“Did Captain Tucker sign any vehicles out of the motor pool?”

“Oh, yes sir. Captain Tucker left almost an hour ago.”

He swears.

“Uh?” Jensen asks.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m going to need a vehicle. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Dr. Grey catches his arm as he turns to go. “You should bring him back here quick, Wash.” Aside from her sudden seriousness, the use of the nickname would have gotten his attention. Then she perked up again. “That chemical soup can’t be good for his brain.”

“I’ll get him.” And then I’ll kill him for leaving without telling anyone. He tries desperately to cling to the anger, but it keeps passing into worry. Tucker running off alone back to the temple. He’s willful and impulsive, but he doesn’t usually work alone. There’s a reason he left by himself. Maybe he thought any company would make his condition worse.

Stay away from me, he’d said. It’s obvious if Tucker was in his right mind what happened in the gym never would have happened.

Wash takes a bike with some extra fuel so he can pack it in the warthog Tucker took when he catches up. It’s understandable why he wouldn’t want anyone to come now. If he was going to try to... kiss anyone that came. But Wash can handle it. He brought some tools in case he needed to incapacitate him to get him back to Grey.

What was Tucker's plan? To go back to the temple and just hope he figured out how to fix himself? What if he made it worse? He can’t dismiss the image of Tucker passed out on the ground with no help, nothing but the alien AI.

He pushes the bike harder, as fast as it will go.

Before he’s even at the front of the temple, he knows something’s wrong. There are tracks, but no other vehicles to be seen.

Where is he? Did Tucker go back to Armonia on his own? Without the sword Wash can’t open the temple to check if he’s in there. And the AI—

“Agent Washington…”

Santa intones, appearing in front of him.

“Did you see him? Is he here?”

The AI knew who he meant. “I am afraid you don’t have much time…”

The Temple of Bountiful Harvest is sunken in the middle of another lush jungle, but most of the plants that still grow there aren’t harvestable, or are poisonous to humans. Chorus was only settled a generation ago and the relationships between sects of colonists were unstable from the beginning. They’d devolved into civil war about fifteen years ago, when most of his LTs were still potty training. War doesn’t leave a lot of time for farming and shit, so the supplies the original colonists brought with them slowly stopped renewing. The decay sped up a lot when the UNSC abandoned them.

Tucker doesn’t make the best time getting to the temple even with Santa’s very precise directions. The AI couldn’t get the whammy off him, but he did program the GPS. It’s just that the garbage feeling is getting worse and it’s harder to drive when his vision is blurring and the world is vibrating like he’s on a bad trip. But he still makes it in a little over five hours. Dehydration won’t be his problem for much longer, but he forces himself to drink more water before he stands up again.

He opts not to update his ‘upon my death’ message for Junior. Tucker’s sure he looks like shit right now and it’s always awkward talking about sex your parent is or isn’t having. Plus the old message wasn’t inaccurate. He’s still dying heroically. Kind of.

They’d gotten into so many life or death situations, Tucker stopped calling Junior every time he thought he was going to die.

Junior could always tell when it was one of those calls and it made the poor kid sick to his stomach. They all survived most of the time anyway, so Tucker’s just gotten into the habit of making a video message late at night before a big fight’s coming and uploading it somewhere to be sent out in the event of his death.

Oh, but Church was in the last one.

With no communications, there was nowhere to store it other than his armor, and he couldn’t be sure Junior would get it if they didn’t get the Communication Temple up and running. But he had to have it. Just in case.

“And remember to always wear a condom—” Tucker paused when Church appeared in his little sprite form.

He’d been running the camera for Tucker as a background process while he was going through battle odds calculations. He wasn’t sure if Church and Carolina had been fighting or something, but he’d been hanging out with Tucker for a couple of days.

“What are you doing?” Church asked.

“Now you’re interested? What did you think I was doing when I asked you to run the camera?”

“Uh… You really want me to answer that question?”

Tucker snorted. “I’m saying goodbye to Junior, dipshit. Say hi, Church.”

Church ignored the camera. “Goodbye? Why would you say goodbye? After this is over you’ll probably be able to Skype call or something.”

“It’s a video message for Junior. Just in case I die during the last stand like a total fucking hero.”

Church put his hands on his hips. “You’re not going to die, Tucker.”

“You don’t know that. Not all of us can just make back-ups of ourselves. Some of us have breakable human bodies, asshole.”

“I didn’t inherit that trait…” Church muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. I guess that is a good idea.” Church paced a little in the air, then stopped, and Tucker could hear the smirk in his voice. “You are the one that dies first in all my simulations.”

“Thanks a lot, Church.”

Church had left them messages for after— Well, at least the asshole hadn’t died without saying goodbye this time. He was still a dick about it.

But Tucker doesn’t really want to say goodbye to anyone this time either. What a stupid way to die.

They’ll all be fine anyway. Well, not fine. But they’ll be okay. Caboose has Freckles babysitting him, and the Reds have always taken him in when Tucker isn’t around. Yeah, Caboose knows the drill on Blue team. You just keep walking.

And Wash… Wash will be okay. He knows the drill too, he’s lost friends before. Definitely not like this, but…

Wash is going to be a mess. When Tucker got stabbed he’d flipped out worse than Palomo. He’s really protective of their team.

Should he call Wash…? Say goodbye?

No. If he calls Wash he’ll be begging him to have sex with him or something. Not a great last image, and they’re too far away from each other for that to happen. And even if he doesn’t get that weird pull through the call what would he even say to Wash?

Sorry I yelled at you after attacking your neck.

You’re a good kisser. I’m gonna go die now. I just wanted to tell you that was really fucking hot. 10/10, would do it again.

You’re important to me… I should’ve said that before, but you were being annoying.

Tucker doesn’t make the call. He doesn’t even check to see if anyone’s been trying to raise him on his radio. He has like an hour to make sure this temple doesn’t shut down on them. He can let someone know where to find the food once they have it.

He inserts his sword in the mossy key hole, exhausted, but still sort of into seeing the Sangheili version of a bountiful harvest. The diet on Sangheilios was pretty… interesting.

The temple comes to life with a hum and the stone door slides open. The stairs are slightly damp and there are a lot of them. The damp narrow stairway opens into an area the size of a Grifball stadium. It’s huge.

It’s also completely empty.

The walls are ancient stone, with columns decorated with stone vines every few feet. At the end of the vast room is a larger than life stone Sangheili with its head lifted in prayer, mandibles open like its singing.

Tucker’s footsteps echo against the cracked stones as he walks farther in. There’s nothing growing, not even weeds. No space bacon or snap peas or spinach. Grey will be disappointed. The sex temple had more growth than this.

Hopelessness doesn’t set in immediately.

“Santa, what do I do?” He waits for the AI to appear, but he doesn’t. Come on, he’s on a time crunch here!

At least the temple won’t shut down now after Tucker dies, but it’s still useless. There’s nothing here.

Is there another artifact? Some trial he has to do?

It’s dark now, but there’s an opening at the top of the temple and when the sun is out the light probably floods in. Close to midnight now. Less than an hour left. He uses the glow from his sword to scour every inch of the temple. He examines the walls, checks behind the columns, makes faces at the statue. There’s nothing fucking here.

And now he’s going to die, and for what? People are going to starve anyway. Great job, hero. What a noble sacrifice.

At least after he’s dead someone else can take up the sword. It’ll still be useful for stabbing people.

Fuck.

Burning up again, he suddenly feels suffocated in his armor. He rips his helmet off to breathe, and the air isn’t cold here. The temple is insulated despite the giant hole in the ceiling.

So long he thought he would die in this suit. He isn’t dying in battle. Why not die with it off? Gauntlets, shoulders, chest plate. He sways a little at the last of it, but he manages to get down to his undersuit and feels a bit better. Well, until the chills come back. He rests his fever-hot head against the cool stone of the statue. “Ugh, fine just let me die.”

The temple rumbles. “Oh fuck! I didn’t mean it!” He’s ready to suddenly get smashed by an Indiana Jones style boulder, but it doesn’t happen. The rumble gentles and a beam of light shoots from the Sangheili’s mouth to the ceiling.

Tucker rolls away from the statue pretending it looks like a cool action movie move and not a half-dead fish flopping. The ground’s a lot softer than he remembered, covered in a thick soft blue moss that he swore wasn’t been there when he was walking in.

Is he hallucinating now? But no. Sprouts start appearing. Little green shoots until it’s green and blue peppered everywhere. He’s on his hands and knees, afraid to breathe wrong and stop what’s happening.

Vines slither up columns and unfurl large leaves. The ground swells under him and saplings shoot out of the floor. Tucker has to flop out of the way again when a sprout he’s been right next to twists and grows into a fucking tree.

The saplings grow rapidly and twist again as leaves and flowers grow out of their branches. He’s worried when the flowers die off, but it makes way for the trees to bear large red juicy fruits. On the grounds there dark green leafy plants and he poked into the moss soil and the shoots that didn’t become trees look similar to onion plants, and carrots, and potatoes.

Tucker is able to drag himself and his sword and most of his armor back to the area just underneath the statue. It’s mossy and soft and perfect viewing for this crazy alien magic.

The air is sweet with the taste of the new plant life and he can suddenly hear fucking birds and he has no idea if they’ve been attracted to whatever the fuck is going on or they’d been stored here somewhere with ancient alien technology. Either way, hopefully they taste good when you cook them.

It takes less than a half hour before he’s surrounded by an indoor jungle. Fresh and untouched and purple and red and blue and green.This was a real gift for Chorus.

He made it. The fever’s still cooking his brain, but when they send a search party they’ll find the food. At least it looks edible.

Whatever. They can test it on Palomo or something

There are some small mammals that look like rabbits hopping oddly between the leaves. A tree that’s grown intertwined with the statue behind him has branches that reach low and some blue fruit he’s almost tempted to try.

“Tucker!”

Tucker blinks. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, but he thought he’d been dreaming about Wash again. It was a good dream.

“Tucker! Where are you?”

Wash. He’s here.

Chapter Text

As soon as the temple is in sight, Wash throws himself off the bike and starts running.

Tucker had gotten his vehicle right in front of the temple, which seems like it must have taken supernatural maneuvering with all this dense forestation. The sight of it and no Tucker has his heart beating faster.

Tucker’s here somewhere. It’s not too late.

It can’t be.

Wash will find him and bring him to Doctor Grey and she’ll fix him. Then Wash can kill him.

The temple’s open, which is good because he has no idea what he would have done if it wasn’t. Tried to find a weak point to drive Tucker’s vehicle through to get to him, most likely.

“Tucker, come in.” There’s no answer on their channel, but it’s worth a try now that Wash is in range. Is he unable to answer? Can he hear him? How is he going to find Tucker in all of this if he can’t respond? What if he’s unconscious?

Only two steps into the entrance, Wash freezes. There’s a forest inside the Temple of Bountiful Harvest. He doesn’t recognize many of the plants, but they’re fruit bearing and there are root vegetables everywhere in the ground and he can hear small animals. It’s enough to feed an army and the army of Chorus needs it.

Wash turns on his amplifier. “Tucker!”

The tops of the trees growing by each stair obscure the light of the entrance as he steps down into the temple. The jungle envelops him. He calls out for Tucker every few feet, making sure to leave clear tracks for himself so they can leave as quickly as possible once Wash collects him.

It’s a miracle he hears it. A breathy little “Wash” that he could have missed between the rustling and birdsong of this indoor jungle.

Wash moves faster, shrugging foliage out of the way. “Tucker! Where are you?”

“I’m here,” Tucker answers, a little stronger than before.

Wash finally sees him beyond another large thicket. Tucker’s stretched out in only his black undersuit, aqua armor haphazardly piled nearby. The place he’s in is the only clear spot in the area, a thick covering of glowing moss cushioning his body, tangles of deep blue flowers creeping around the edges of the clear circle Tucker is in.

“Hey Wash…” Tucker’s deep brown eyes are fever-bright and there’s a slight sheen to his skin, but his grin is brighter than the sun. “I thought you were at home.”

“I thought you were going to see Doctor Grey,” Wash growls, his boots making deep impressions in the soft ground.

“Oh right, I did say that—I mean, I was going to hit her up again eventually, I just had to make a quick stop.” Tucker seems coherent at least. Semi-coherent. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I left an hour after you left without telling anyone,” Wash says disapprovingly.

Tucker shrugs one shoulder. “But you know why now.”

“The…’sex-whammy’?” That sounds so stupid he’s never repeating it again. “I’m bringing you back to Dr. Grey. She has to bring your hormone levels back to normal or—”

“Yeaaaah… according to Santa that’s not going to work. This is alien bullshit. I’m dead in less than an hour if I don’t ‘mate’ or something.” Tucker is eyeing him with interest, but seems to catch himself and taps his foot.

“…What? No—”

Tucker looks him in the eye, “I didn’t tell you where I was going so you wouldn’t have to.” His face is completely serious. “Wait, no. I’m not that stupidly noble. I would’ve tried to ‘mate,’ but there was this whole timing issue and I had to book it over here to activate the temple before it shut down. Some ‘save before shut down’ stuff, you know how they only give you like 30 seconds?”

“I am going to kill you.”

“If you don’t mind waiting, you won’t even have to do the work,” Tucker shrugs. He’s joking again. Wash could easily have been too late, easily found a corpse instead of Tucker quipping about dying.

“No, we’re getting out of here now.” Wash drops to his knees to examine him, maybe help him back into his armor, but at the first brush of Wash’s fingers, Tucker shudders hard. “Wash—” he gasps like Wash electrocuted him through layers of Kevlar.

Wash jerks his hand back and Tucker’s eyes widen in panic, reaching for him. Then he shakes his head hard, like he’s trying to stay where he is, but his fingers are twitching.

Wash hesitates. Is touching him making it worse? But Tucker needs help now. Screw the armor, they can get it later. Wash tries to be as gentle as possible, since he’s in armor and Tucker isn’t, sliding his arms around his shoulders and under his knees to pick him up. At first Tucker curls into him like a plant leaning into the sun, but as soon as Wash stands and tries to bring him back through the jungle, his body stiffens in Wash’s arms.

“Holy FUCK!” Tucker cries out, and then he’s jerking hard in Wash’s arms, obviously in pain.

There’s only a split second to choose whether he continues to hurt Tucker and tries to get him to the Warthog. When Tucker starts convulsing, the decision is made. Wash puts him back down carefully, hands raised, as Tucker curls up on the jungle floor.

“Tucker. Tucker, can you hear me?”

“Nn…” Tucker whimpers, his head lolling back on the moss and he’s not convulsing anymore, but he’s shivering, and Wash’s heart starts beating hard. If he can’t touch him, how is he going to get him to help? Tucker looks sick again, his eyes clenched shut as he shudders.

Wash can’t help reaching out when Tucker’s in pain. His touch didn’t seem to hurt him the first time. He watches carefully as he lightly strokes his thumb against Tucker’s forehead.

The shaking stops and Tucker lets out a quiet sigh, body relaxing slightly, and eyes heated when he opens them, tilting his head up to brush his lips against the fingers of Wash’s glove.

It’s too late to move him, Wash realizes. It’s too late to get help.

Wash takes off his helmet and sets it aside. They might be here a while. “Did Santa tell you what you have to do?”

Tucker keeps his hands busy by picking at the thick blue moss under him. Wash wishes he had a blanket. There might be something in the vehicle outside, they're usually stocked with survival supplies, but he can’t leave Tucker here alone.

“He just said the mating frenzy was upon me, that it was this gift, and I have to mate before the time limit’s up,” Tucker says. “Your basic mate-or-die scenario. He didn’t give me an instruction manual. I have a kid, he probably thought I knew where alien babies come from.”

“So—”

“So I’m going to follow my instincts, and my instincts say I want you inside my mouth.” Wash’s face must have done something interesting, because Tucker brightens even as his voice gets lower, “and my ass, and I want you to fuck me so good—”

“—Okay.” Wash holds up a hand to stop him, his face flushed, and takes a breath. Tucker doesn’t know what he’s saying. He would never say things like that to him if he was in his right mind. “Okay, we can do that.”

“Holy shit, really?”

It doesn’t matter how Tucker looks at him after, when he’s in his right mind again. Even if he hates Wash, he’ll have his life, and Wash will do anything to make that happen. He’ll leave if Tucker asks him to, or spend the rest of his life trying to make this right.

Right now there is no other option. Tucker can’t die. Not if there’s something—anything—Wash can do to save him.

“Tucker, I’m not going to let you die.”

Tucker blinks at him for a minute after he says that. Really? Unbelievable. No- Typical. “Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

Wash looks slightly offended, but he still has that nice blush in his cheeks. “You’re the one who’s managed to become some kind of science fiction trope.”

Got a point there. “Church always said I might die this way.”

“He did not.” Wash is slowly disassembling his armor, lips pursed thoughtfully, and Tucker should probably be wondering what he’s thinking right now, but instead he’s wishing those lips were wrapped around his cock.

Kiss him kiss him kiss him.

Tucker sits up, rolling onto his hands and knees, trying to figure out the best way to go about tackling him. “So Wash, you mind helping a guy out? I’m a little hard up.”

“Aren’t you always?” Wash says dryly, finishing with his upper half and starting on the lower, but Tucker can see his face now and his eyebrows are battling for dominance on his face like they do when he’s worrying, seemingly unaware that he’s prey now.

Tucker rises slowly, Wash’s attention zeroing in on him as Tucker moves closer. Wash is barely out of his armor, and he’s going to need to take the undersuit off too if they’re going to get into the action, but Tucker can’t wait anymore.

Sliding his hand up Wash’s chest on top of his suit, Tucker hooks his arms around his shoulders. As distracting as every point of contact is, Tucker’s able to keep the kiss seductive rather than frantic for all of a minute, but it totally works. Yeah, he’d been fantasizing about those chapped lips.

Wash responds, his hands hesitant, but everything about it is perfect except that it isn’t more. Arching his hips up into him, Tucker scrapes his teeth against his jaw and this time it’s Wash gasping.

Tucker nips at his ear. “You sound good. I want to hear more.” It morphs into a lick and then a suck and Wash’s grip on him slackens and tightens. “Please…” Tucker groans in frustration, rolling his hips up again. “Wash… Wash I need you so much. I can’t—” His breaths come out in clouds around them like a winter’s day and Wash is the only thing that’s warm.

“It’s okay,” Wash says, voice low and gravelly and sending tingles up and down Tucker’s spine as he arches and retracts. The want surges through him like waves breaking until he’s digging his fingers into Wash’s shoulders hard. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t have time. You gotta fuck me, please.” He sucks and kisses at Wash’s neck, grinding up and murmuring, “Please, let’s go, I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Okay,” Wash said. “Okay, I have to—you need—“

“I’m all set on the foreplay, dude,” Tucker pants, wriggling his hips. “It’s been like constant foreplay since this shit started. Just give it to me.”

Wash pulls away so he can scowl right in his face, and Tucker is unimpressed until Wash’s strong hands hold him in place. Oh god, Tucker wants Wash to fuck him so bad. Why aren’t they already doing it? This is a fucking emergency!

“Prep is not optional,” he growls, and shit, it’s the return of CO voice and it is so good in this context.

Okay, prep, prep… Tucker remembers suddenly and vividly the best idea he ever had in his life. “Thigh compartment. Go go go,” he gasps.

But then Wash lets him go and Wash can’t leave. Not when Tucker needs him so much, all around him and against him and inside of him. His fingers grip Wash’s arms. “Tucker, I need to—”

Right. Supplies. “Okay,” He lets go reluctantly, biting his lip. “Okay, okay.”

Wash goes into his armor and can’t be more than three feet away, but it feels so far with every physical need he has hyper-focused on him.

But oh, he still looks good in that black suit, bent over so Tucker can stare at his ass.

When Wash turns back, he has the lube and condoms in his hands but he doesn’t come back right away, gaze freezing on Tucker, then heating and darkening and Tucker can feel it like a fucking laser. Tucker follows his eye line and realizes he’s been touching himself, while looking at Wash. And Wash is watching him touch himself.

The realization has him rolling back on his elbows, adjusting to his best angle. Pressing his palm harder over his suit, rubbing his erection more slowly, showing off, watching Wash lose control of his jaw.

Wash’s voice is strained when he asks, “Why were you carrying lube and condoms in your military grade battle armor?”

“I was a boy scout, Wash. Always be prepared.”

“You were not a boy scout,” Wash says in a way that Tucker knows means that he was a boy scout, and if Tucker wasn’t sex-crazed half out of his mind right now he’d try to remember that for teasing later, but Wash is teasing enough for both of them.

“Come on, Wash. Get the fuck back over here.” Wash obediently comes to him and Tucker tangles fingers in that messy sex hair. It’s gonna be the sexiest hair ever after Tucker sexes him. Fuck, Tucker’s going to get to see his face when he comes.

“Wash,” he moans and Wash hasn’t even touched him yet, it’s not fair. “Wash, Wash, Wash…”

Wash undoes his own suit and that is a good idea. Tucker has to sit up a little to get his own off, and it unknits around him as he stares openly at Wash’s abs. Abs for fucking weeks. “I wish I could print out a poster of all of that for my wall so I could look at it when I jerk off.”

Wash drops the lube.

“We need that.” Tucker whines and Wash recovers, coating his fingers. Tucker starts rubbing himself dry which doesn’t feel that great, but he can’t not. Wash is going to touch him with those fingers. He’s going to be inside him with those fingers.

Tucker’s eyes go lower. Wash is hard.

Tucker’s never spent much time thinking about Wash’s dick before, and it’s so much wasted time. It’s long and hard and curved up against his stomach and Wash got hard for Tucker and Tucker wants to touch it, kiss it, lick it, worship it, but first he’s going to get Wash to fuck him with it.

Fuck. Wash is going to fuck him, fuck.

Tucker feels another surge of energy he didn’t have before and tackles Wash into the moss, straddling him and stroking every curve and divot of Wash’s abs.

“Tucker—” Wash gulps, holding onto Tucker where he’s straddling him, the lube sticky and slick against his side and not inside him, but Tucker has to kiss Wash, put his tongue in Wash’s mouth and lick inside, fuck inside, grind in his lap. Fuck, his fucking dick is so hard.

“Ahhh,” Tucker moans, grinding his cock against Wash’s abs as Wash recovers enough to stroke his ass. “Fuck, Wash.”

“You’re moving too much,” Wash pants. “You have to let me touch you.”

Need claws through him like it’s a separate creature and Tucker lets out a whine that doesn’t even sound human. Wash stops what he’s doing which is not the fucking goal here, but his eyes are all pupil and half lidded and smoking enough to set the surrounding foliage on fire. “Tucker…” he murmurs and leans in to brush his lips against Tucker’s.

It’s enough for his heart to do a cartwheel in his chest because Wash isn’t under the sex whammy and he doesn’t look like he’s just doing a guy a favor. He looks like he wants Tucker.

Tucker rolls his thumb around the wet head of his cock, swirling the moisture there. He can’t stop touching himself, which should be embarrassing when Wash is trying to have an emotional moment or something, but he can use his other hand to run his hand through Wash’s hair, stroke his shoulders, and thoroughly distract him from what he’s doing.

“You have to stop moving. I don’t want to hurt you.” Wash withdraws from Tucker and pushes him down into the moss. “Don’t move unless I tell you,” he says in that Blue Team Leader voice and Tucker shudders hard.

Taking Tucker’s silence as agreement he strokes up his hip and Tucker’s mouth clicks shit, focused on the sensation of those strong calloused hands on him. Wash strokes his fingers against Tucker’s hole and they’re still so slick. He’s never had anything up there before, but fuck, he wants it more now than he’s ever wanted anything.

When the first finger is inside him, Tucker pushes himself down on it and it’s a stretch but it lights up all the places in his brain saying more more more. “Fuck, Wash. Wash—”

Wash kisses his hip gently as his finger stretches and explores, and it feels like forever before Wash adds the second one. He’s gentle and slow, but there’s an uncomfortable burn to it, and for the first time Tucker wonders if it actually feels good or if it’s the alien sex ray making him think that.

It doesn’t stop him from pushing down harder and rougher because it’s not enough. The corners of his eyes are a little wet from the desperation and the surge of hormones and everything, and he shuts them hard so Wash doesn’t see.

Tucker feels vulnerable and strange underneath this consuming need, but he can’t stop, they can’t stop now. Tucker thrusts back down again, finds himself saying, “More. More. I can take it, give me more.”

When he opens his eyes, Wash is watching him carefully. He strokes up Tucker’s abs, so close to where Tucker needs him, and spreads his hand, holding him down by his abdomen. With another kiss against his hip, so soft and sweet Tucker feels like he’s liquefying and breaking at the same time, Wash trails his lips to Tucker’s cock, pulling the head into his mouth as he stretches Tucker, and with Tucker less able to move it only feels— it only feels.

Fingers curl and stretch and it’s Wash doing this to him. “Wash, you feel so good, god.”

Wash’s cheeks and ears are pink again, but he doesn’t change from his single-minded preparation and Tucker moves into it as much as he can, into Wash’s hands and into Wash’s mouth, a harsh breath for every thrust in.

Then the suction and the fingers and all the points they’re connected are suddenly gone and Tucker whines, writhing in the soft moss, but then Wash is back and stroking up his side comfortingly. Tucker clamps his legs around him and his arms up around his shoulders in case he’s thinking of escaping again, leaning up to kiss Wash. Wash hesitates this time, but returns the kiss, and Tucker can taste himself on his lips and in his mouth. When he grinds up into him, he can feel Wash’s hard cock against his ass, and the condom’s already in place.

“Yeah, good idea. No knocking me up,” Tucker pants.

Wash freezes. “What?”

“You can never tell with this alien shit.” Tucker pulls Wash in by his hips, moaning as he feels the head of his dick rub against him. Wash reaches between them to guide himself in, breathing raggedly. He’s going so slow Tucker can count every inch and he’s losing his mind, he’s burning up, Wash is the only thing he can think and feel and breathe.

“Fuck…” He breathes, Wash is holding himself above him, fists clenches in the moss, and he looks flushed and shocked and as wrecked as Tucker feels. Their eyes lock as Wash starts to move.

Tucker tries to move into it, but Wash has him pinned with his body. Tucker can’t settle on where to rest his hands either: Wash’s muscled back, his shoulders, feeling up his pecs, fisting in his hair when he pulls out and pushes in again.

Feeling Wash move inside him, Tucker groans long and low, his dick leaking against his stomach. “Wash…” he moans hoarsely, everything in his body tightening. “Wash, you’re fucking me so good, I want this forever, I want…”

He’s burning up so much. Wash’s thrusts are even and determined and he moves when Tucker wants him to move, although he won’t go as rough as Tucker wants, and Tucker wants this to consume him. Wants to live in this garden where it’s just him and Wash fucking forever and he’d never have to fight or see anyone else again and they’d do everything in the karma sutra and—

Wash doesn’t resist when Tucker pushes him off of him and onto his back so Tucker can climb on top of him, although he controls the movement when Tucker tries to seat himself too fast.

This. This feels so good. This is perfect.

Using his knees, he fucks himself down on Wash and Wash is gasping and holding his hips like he’s overwhelmed and just along for the ride now, and it feels good to be getting Wash back a little when Tucker’s so wrecked. He gets just the right angle to see fireworks and shit, and he’s going to be sore in the morning, but he’s gotta make sure Wash fucks him thoroughly to satisfy the temple, right? Can’t half-ass this.

Tucker is frantically fucking himself with ragged groans he didn’t realize were calls for help until Wash takes control again, wrapping his calloused hand around Tucker’s dick and jerking him off to their movements. Everything starts to melt together as they find a rhythm.

Tucker bites his lips hard, hips twitching desperately. “Ah- ah- Wash—”

Wash moans shakily in answer. Everything is brightening all around them and Wash’s eyes won’t leave his as he fucks up into Tucker, and the expression on his face... Did Tucker somehow infect him with alien sex magic too?

They’re slick with sweat, sliding together, and it feels like something inside him is coiling tighter and tighter and he’s so overstimulated he can’t keep up anymore, keening at the sparks inside of him with every thrust. Wash knows what he needs, rolling Tucker onto his back again gently and then reentering him with harder thrusts right where Tucker needs it.

His blood is roaring in his ears, heart skipping, and his nails dig into Wash’s arms as everything pulls tight and he’s coming, shooting onto Wash’s chest and his own stomach. Wash starts pounding him harder, stroking Tucker through it, and he’s coming too, Tucker can feel the pulses even through the condom and would regret there’s anything separating them if his whole body wasn’t convulsing from the idea that Wash is coming.

Tucker shakes and shakes long after Wash is done and Wash is kissing his lips and his cheeks and his neck, stroking his sides and his face and his hair as the ceiling pulls, contracts, and pulses like a beating heart.

There’s a vague sensation of Wash cleaning him up with something and Tucker dazedly watches him. Eventually his breathing and heart slow and he’s left feeling sore and exhausted and so, so satisfied.

Wash asks if he’s okay, but Tucker’s feeling a little non-verbal and languidly pats the ground next to him until Wash gets down with him. Tucker curls into his side, wishing they had a bed and blankets, but the ground is soft and Wash is warm. He tucks his undersuit around Tucker, and Tucker tries to find a comfortable spot to lay his head on Wash’s chest.

“Tucker, if you can get up, we need to try to get home—to get back. You need to be checked out.”

Tucker’s already half dozing, and burrows against Wash’s neck. “Shhhh…you saved me with sex. The afterglow’s important.”

Chapter Text

Alien sex whammy afterglow packs a punch.

Tucker feels more like a liquid than a solid, drifting in and out of sleep plastered against Wash’s side. The thought that Wash smells really fucking good doesn’t fade. But it’s not like he’s suddenly thinking that because of alien lust, Wash just does. If Tucker could bottle that shit…

Shifting to press his face further into Wash’s neck, make his muscles ache dully. Another reason not to move. Next time there should be a bed. And no moving, because he’s feeling muscle groups he forgot existed.

But he doesn’t just ache. Tucker feels so good he just wants to lay here for hours, maybe the rest of his life. He hooks his leg around Wash more firmly, settling his arm across his chest.

Wash exhales contentedly and, since he’s lying on top of him, Tucker can feel how relaxed he is. Wash is a tense guy. Like, that’s how he functions. Varying levels of tense. But while Wash is still solid, very solid, he’s relaxed and at least half sleeping.

The dude’s normally like a cat. Very light sleeper if anyone so much as moves in the building he’s in, so Tucker has never even caught him truly sleeping before. Maybe he just needed to get laid.

Whoa, flashback. Tucker was already in another fucking plane of existence when Wash came, but the awestruck expression on Wash’s face is practically imprinted in his mind. Tucker has a lot of experience with what Wash’s face looks like when he’s in pain, but he’d never seen him when he was feeling good before. Feeling really good.

Tucker tries not to move after that, but he’s suddenly very awake. Wash’s breath catches less than a minute later, and soon after his whole body locks, and Tucker knows he’s awake too.

Wash must know he’s awake but lets him keep pretending to sleep. The tension doesn’t leave him. Tucker can feel him holding himself back from questions, which is good because Tucker’s not sure he can answer any. Even one as simple as how he’s feeling.

Tucker doesn’t want to let go of sleep, of this quiet place, but they have to face the world someday. They have to face each other. Shit.

He just sighs and lays on Wash and wishes somehow he could hide from him. Not that the sex bothers him. The sex was awesome! It’s just… it was with Wash. Wash is important.

Maybe Wash didn’t know he was awake after all; he feels the brush of lips against his temple and then Wash gets up and Tucker feels a lot colder.

Tucker feels one of the suits they were using as blankets being carefully pulled off of him so Wash can get dressed, tucking in the other again. He breathes evenly and listens to Wash put his armor on.

There’s quiet for a moment, and then a gloved hand on his bare shoulder. No shock of tingling follows the contact, no thrum inside him, no need to pull Wash closer, but his skin jumps anyway. “Tucker,” Wash says softly after another quick moment.

Tucker yawns and stretches theatrically. Wash turns away slightly to give him some privacy, alternating between hovering suffocatingly and his body language indicating he’d rather be on another planet.

When Tucker stands and tries to bend, the ache is a lot worse, and he can’t help hissing just putting on a boot. And his back hurts too. Has it been that long since he fucked—well, he got fucked this time, but still. Is he getting old now?

Tucker can’t really get a read on Wash as he puts his own armor on. He looks grim when he sneaks looks at Tucker, but he’s not saying anything and then he puts his helmet on and all potential hints to what the hell he’s thinking are gone.

Wishing he could ride back to New Armonia naked, he finishes armoring up anyway. Probably not the greatest impression for a super fucking awesome war hero to make, even if he’s coming back with good news about their food supply. Plus the sand and dirt the warthogs kick up… best suit up.

The insta-garden in the temple is as beautiful and colorful as it was in his delirium yesterday. Tucker reaches out and plucks a fat juicy purple berry off a bush and pops it in his mouth, looking around for his helmet.

Wash is holding it, and offers it to him. “Did you just stick a strange plant in your mouth?” Not hard to guess what expression he’s probably making.

“No.” A little juice dripples out the side of his mouth. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Wash sighs. “Stop it. I have some rations in the jeep.”

“You brought me breakfast? Pretty smooth,” Tucker nudges him with an elbow. The response is a silence that’s probably no more than two seconds but feels like an eternity.

“Try not to activate anything else before we get you to Grey for evaluation. And don’t eat anything either. It should be tested first. We don’t know if any of this was meant for humans.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “But you better have some good rations. I need carbs. I just did a lot of cardio.” It’s satisfying to see how Wash twitches at that. At least some reaction.

Tucker shoves his helmet on and tries to walk straight back to the jeep. He’s sore and tired and pretty worn out, and they couldn’t have slept more than a few hours on the moss. He ends up leaning on Wash before they even get to the exit, and Wash doesn’t comment, just takes his weight, steady as always.

When they get to the vehicle Wash makes him drink from a canteen and take a ration bar. They start driving. It’s too quiet.

“So… you were a boy scout?”

Wash startles so much they actually drift to the side of the dirt path. “What? Yes, but—”

“Hah. Knew it.” It goes quiet again, but it’s less oppressive. Still gonna be a long drive back. He has some music files stored somewhere, right?

Church had downloaded a Queen’s Greatest Hits album into Tucker’s armor as a joke. Joke’s on that asshole though because Queen is awesome. It’s not exactly like it was on earth, riding in the car with the windows down and the radio blasting, but he gets it to play through the radio and their helmet sound systems.

Wash actually sounds a little amused talking over the opening of Bohemian Rhapsody. “Someone might need to get in touch with us.”

“You’ve got call waiting, don’t you?”

“Tucker.”

“If they call, I’ll turn it down,” Tucker says, and then continues belting out his favorite lyrics.

Somewhere around the beginning of “Fat Bottomed Girls” he can hear Wash start singing quietly. By the end of the song, they’re both yelling out the lyrics and Tucker’s grinning. Tucker goes right into “Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” but Wash’s voice fades out as they take a turn.

The rest of the ride’s more comfortable, but he’s pretty eager to get home and shower and eat and tell everyone that he’s awesome and got the bountiful harvest while leaving out the part where he almost shut the temple down and died. Pretty run of the mill for a Blue Team mission. Less casualties than usual.

Somewhere around the second or third play through of the album, Tucker starts nodding off and he doesn’t come to again until they’re pulling into the motorpool, Caboose running up to their jeep hugging Freckles like a teddy bear.

Chapter Text

“Scans show you to be within healthy parameters now,” Doctor Grey chirps after the latest round of tests. “But the temple has fooled my little lovelies before! We’re going to want to take more blood.”

“Aw man, haven’t you got enough?” Tucker asks. “And do you have to sound so happy when you say stuff like that?” But he doesn’t bug about it too much, because after all that he definitely doesn’t want to die for a stupid reason, and she’s doing dumb routine stuff any one of her students could do when she could be sewing arms back on or something.

She shows him all the needles before she picks the second to biggest one. “You’re going to have to finish that IV of fluids before you go skipping off anywhere anyway, mister. You were severely dehydrated.”

He whines a little at that. The bag’s only half empty, and he wants to shower and eat real food and he’s already feeling way better. At least the hospital johnny’s comfortable. There’s a nice breeze from the vents and he doesn’t feel like he’s burning up.

It’s probably not hard to figure out why Tucker’s not feeling the need to ‘mate’ anymore. He’s dehydrated, and he came back with Wash and all his needs taken care of, and Grey’s sharp eyes definitely saw some signs during her initial exam. She's a professional, but it was really thorough.

Then there's Wash, hovering and fussing so much Doctor Grey offered him a benzodiazepine to calm him down. “Just listen to her, Tucker,” Wash sighs, calling Tucker’s attention back to him as he’s taking off his helmet.

Holy shit.

Wash didn’t mark him up much when they were handling Tucker’s situation, but the same can’t be said for what Tucker did to Wash. Tucker marked him up.

Little red marks at his jaw, purple bruises flowering up his neck, a particular one that brings Tucker right back to putting it there, sucking and biting as Wash gasped and shuddered and tried to hold his needy body still with those nice strong fucking fingers…

Everyone in the room looks up when the heart monitor beeps a shrill warning that Tucker just had an arrhythmia.

“Are you feeling okay?” Wash asks, concerned, looking like he’s about to tackle Tucker to the ground to get him to confess any health issues.

“Yeah, I’m fine, dude,” he says too quickly.

Wash looks at Grey for confirmation, who raises an eyebrow. “Tucker, are you still feeling arousal when you look at Agent Washington?” she asks.

“What? No.” It’s a lot more defensive than his usual style, but he just got caught ogling Wash’s fucking hickies. The hickies Tucker gave Wash. Cuz they had sex. They did the do. They fucked. They fucked good.

Grey shines a pen-light in his eyes with no warning, temporarily blinding him. “I’m going to need you to give me a scale of arousal. Sort of like the pain scale, right? So a one would be no sexual feelings, and a ten would be unnatural inappropriate arousal that doesn’t make sense for the stimulus.”

“Uh… well going by that, I guess I’m always normally at a five.”

Wash makes a choking noise. “I—I should go.”

Grey's arm shoots out, locking Wash in a steel grip and blocking his attempt to flee. “I’m afraid I’m going to need you to stay until the IV is done, Agent Washington,” she says pleasantly but firmly. “I need to observe if Tucker has any more strange reactions.”

So Tucker is kept laying down and Wash is stuck there watching him while the IV slowly drips and Grey periodically checks on his arousal scale. “Wash, why don’t you change out of your armor? We want to be absolutely sure.”

Wash looks pained, but he goes behind a partition, his armor piling to the side as he changes. Tucker tries not to look like he's interested in Wash getting naked over there. The last time Wash was stripping his armor Tucker could barely keep his head together and every line of his abs is tattooed in Tucker’s mind’s eye. He’s definitely at a seven on the sex scale by the time Wash comes out.

“Still a five,” he lies. But yeah, it’s not like it was at the temple. He thinks Wash has a good body, but it’s not taking over his every thought. Wash was always hot. He just didn’t think of Wash as hot when he was ordering him to run sprints and stuff.

“Wait, what the hell? Why does he get to wear scrubs when I have to wear the thing with my ass hanging out? I have a fine ass, but that’s a double standard.”

“You’re the patient, Tucker!” Dr. Grey says cheerfully. “And we needed access during your exam!”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” All three of them are now sitting there and it’s super awkward, so Tucker fills the space with words. “It was really only Wash I was all hot and bothered over anyway, so if it’s normal range with him, I should be in the clear, right?”

“Only Agent Washington?” Grey asks, making a note. “That’s very interesting. So you didn’t feel a pull towards anyone else when you were under the influence?”

He’s carefully not looking at Wash, who’s suddenly gone very still again. “Yeah, Santa said it was because uh… we were together at the Temple of Procreation.”

“But you didn’t have this reaction with Caboose. He was with you.”

“Hell no. Santa said it only worked because Wash was my ‘chosen mate’ or something. They have a funny definition of choosing though, cuz I like fell on him. I wouldn’t really say I chose anything.”

Wash nods tightly, his face grim again. It makes Tucker’s stomach roil uncomfortably, and his arousal scale is suddenly back down at a 4. Not sure what he said wrong. “I don’t blame you, dude," Tucker tries. "I dunno why the ancient aliens built the shit that way.”

“It looks like Tucker is almost done here," Wash says to the room. "I do have some meetings I should go to.”

“Hm…" Grey's eyes slide from one of them to the other. "Alright, I’m satisfied for now. You can run along, Agent Washington.”

Wash definitely runs along, suiting up faster than ever and obscuring his face and the evidence of Tucker’s teeth on him with his helmet.

He looks… devastated. Tucker tries not to feel anything about that.

***

What’s the big fucking problem, anyway? Tucker wonders as he stands under the hot stream of his well-earned shower, letting the water burn his skin.

Like Wash has never fucked a friend before? Was it that horrible? Can’t they just call it a good time and forget about it? Why does he have to be weird about it? It was to save Tucker’s life, why did it have to be so awkward after?

Seeing someone’s O-face shouldn’t change anything. Even if it’s Wash. Who came to rescue him and Tucker just straddled him and demanded to get fucked…

Tucker's the one who should feel weird about it, and he's handling it fine. Shouldn't he be the one freaking out? He was the one being all needy and moaning and shit.

Was it going to be fucked up like this forever? Was Wash just going to cut him off like he did with Carolina? Nod across the room and never talk to him because the things between them are too hard? That would be awful. And stupid. It wasn’t even—Tucker asked him to.

Before going to bed, Tucker checks in with Kimball, but Wash had already been there to give her debriefing. The scouting party was deployed to Temple of Bountiful Harvest, some sciency doctory people with them to test the food and see if it’s safe for people and if they can bring samples to start cultivating closer to home. They’re all crossing their fingers that it works out.

There’s nothing else for him to do. At least the mission was a success, right?

He swallows the hollowness in his throat as he heads back to his room. He spends the rest of the day resting, so he has kind of a fitful night’s sleep, tossing around and wishing there was a warm body next to his.

He can't stop thinking about it. Like he can still feel Wash's hands on him, the way they moved together and how his skin felt on him. His heart thrums remembering the sensation of Wash’s lips on his.

Wash kissed him a lot for just a rescue-fuck.

***

Tucker finally gives up on sleep around five in the morning. The mess hall is usually serving breakfast this early and he’s ravenous for whatever rations they’ll dole out for him. He needs some carbs after that workout yesterday. Maybe someone will have heard from the scouting group by now. Those berries would taste really fucking good on their usual oatmeal-gruel stuff.

He almost trips over Wash, sprawled out leaning back against the wall in front of his room, his head in his hands. “Wash? What’re you—”

“Tucker.” Wash looks up, surprised, like Tucker wouldn't catch him outside his room.

Wash definitely hasn’t slept. Maybe showered. Hopefully showered. But he looks like shit. Well, not complete shit. The rumpled hair? Wearing unironed clothes? Those fucking jeans that Tucker now knows make his ass look really good? He still looks more attractive than Tucker used to notice.

“Why aren’t you sleeping or something?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Wash says. Then seems to realize he’s been sitting outside Tucker’s room for an indeterminate amount of time like a weird creep. “Uh—”

“Sure,” Tucker cuts him off. “What did you wanna talk about?” Like he doesn’t get it. But Wash can spell it out, dude. It’s too early to be cryptic.

“I…I wanted to know what you wanted,” he says, using the wall to push himself up to a stand, tugging some wrinkles out of his shirt because Wash can’t not fuss and fix himself even when he’s a goddamn mess of a human being.

“What I want? I was just gonna go get some breakfast. Or whatever they’re feeding us today.”

“No, I meant. What you wanted.” He blows air out of his mouth. “I can… we can limit contact. I can give you space. I can even leave—”

“Leave? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I took advantage of you.” Wash’s gray eyes are clear and serious and connect with Tucker’s in a way that would have buzzed through Tucker yesterday.

Today, it’s just making him angry. Is he really trying to apologize? Again? How many times did they have to go over this shit?

“So you could save my life. I asked you to.”

“I—”

“Dude, no. We’re cool. There was no other way. I should be apologizing to you for trying to jump on your dick the last few days,” Tucker says. The guy has the worst guilt complex. Maybe Tucker’ll have to lay off the jokes for a while.

“It wasn’t your fault either,” Wash replies.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t your fault either, so don’t worry about it. All part of being The Chosen One; alien shit just loves to fuck with me.”

“You do seem to have a knack for getting into trouble with alien tech.” Wash still looks haunted, but Tucker’s assurance seems to have helped a little. Even if he can’t help adding. “If you change your mind, just tell me what you need, okay?”

Tucker huffed. “I just need you to be normal. Seriously. We came home big heroes. The food is on the way. Everything’s awesome.”

Wash lingers, nods and then reaches out, his hand resting on Tucker’s shoulder briefly. Their eyes meet.

Wash is searching his face. Looking to see if he’ll flinch? If he's lying? Or for something else?

Wash searched his face a lot at the temple too. And there were moments he was so unguarded. 'I'll take care of you.’

The memory doesn’t turn him on or anything, but it makes him feel a little weird and a little warm and like… like he wants to lean in and figure out how different kissing Wash might feel now.

Would his lips feel the same? Would he be as warm as he was before? Would Tucker feel the same way he usually did when he was ready to go? Or would his heart still be trying it’s hardest to beat out of his chest?

If he went there, would Wash kiss him back?

But before anything happens, Wash lets him go. Tucker just stands there, but Wash seems to have seen what he was looking for. With a last nod, he just walks away.

Tucker doesn't feel any compulsion to follow him. But he wants to follow him. He wants to find out if what he’s feeling right now is the real thing.

He goes back into his room instead of the mess hall, listening to the steady beating of his heart and wondering what he really wants and if he’ll ever know now.

...Maybe.