Bow Chicka Bow Wow
Title: Breathe, Soldier
Part 2: Assistance
Pairing: Locington (Locus/Agent Washington)
Warning(s): M/M Slash, Intense Sexual Intercourse, Desperation, Referenced Knife Play, Sexual Tension, Referenced Breath Play, Dom/Sub Undertones, Power Kink, Abuse of Power, Mentioned Abuse, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Mentioned Character Death, Etc.
Description: There are things Washington has failed to tell Tucker and Caboose about, or even Sarge and Donut for that matter. Alot happened before they left the Feds... things Washington will never forget. In which nightmares are a constant for Wash, and Locus is terrifying, more terrifying than the nightmares. He swears it's nothing at first... but it keeps the monsters away. At least, the ones in his dreams...
A/N: I got nothing but the story ahead! Please R&R!
The sounds of the chilling rain flooded the Federal campsite, thick, icky swamp raindrops falling like angels with broken wings to the ground, loud symphonies of thunderclaps signaling their downfall and deaths. A young man with blonde, dirty hair squinted his grey/blue eyes, the color matching closer to an American Earth storm rather than a Chorus one. The being watched as the dirt beneath his boots gave way to the mud, the dark sludge sticky and clumpy as it gathered grass blades of a bluer color than should be natural. Thunderclaps echoed through the night time air, making a long, painful shiver run up the young man's spine, his teeth tightening in fear of chattering, not wanting to look weak.
The being this man feared to look weak before stood tall and well-armored by his side, the dark grey and green making his camouflage virtually unneeded as he watched the downpour beside his unlucky companion. The younger man, Agent Washington, wanted to glare at the mercenary standing a head taller than him, but held back, enjoying the chilling silence as long as he possibly could. The Feds had kept him on the move for the last week or so, though he hardly noticed, too busy at his attempts to train the troops assigned to him. They were all fairly bright, but they lacked skill. They reminded Wash of himself during Project Freelancer, of even before then, back when he was a kid.
He'd been a good kid, honest to God he had, but dammit, there were decisions Washington wished he could erase even now. He remembered alot of things, some useless, some very much important. He remembered finding a stray tabby cat and bringing her home at seven years old, he remembered that same cat dying three years later. He remembered starting an argument with a mob boss at twelve, he also remembered regretting it seven seconds afterwards. There were, indeed, many things Washington remembered and had forgotten in turn, but the list of forgotten things was much shorter than the things he recalled. Wash sighed, a puff of greyish air escaping his mouth like cigarette smoke leaves a Poker player's lungs.
"Reminiscing, Agent Washington?" Locus asked all too suddenly, making Washington jump, if only slightly, enough for the huge mercenary to spot. "Something tells me I am correct."
"It's none of your business..." Washington insisted, coughing weakly into the humid air, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them. He hated humidity with a burning passion... a wonder how he survived fifteen years living in Seattle. "Why don't you go patrol? Pretty sure we'll be settling down for the night soon."
"I would only hope so... these battles have been lasting longer." Locus commented, looking upon the camp steadily, SAW loaded in his strong, armored arms, fingers twitching occasionally. Not that anyone noticed.
"I wouldn't know," Wash replied, somewhat bitterly, somewhat thankfully. Depended on what mood he was in when you asked. "I'm wondering when I'll be sent off to the field..."
"Not for a long time." Locus promised, helmet tilted towards Washington, studying his extremely freckled face with a glint of curiosity on his domed helmet. "You remind me of someone, Agent."
"Really now," It was painfully clear that Washington wasn't interested in what Locus was now talking about, his eyes trained on where a rookie was showing a few senior officers a knife trick. "That dumbass rookie, he's gonna chop his fucking fingers off doing that."
"You seem to be quite interested in knives, Washington," Locus decided aloud, and Wash could almost feel that mercenary's fucking smirk. He wondered why Locus would be happy about that. "Have you trained with them before?"
Instead of answering, Washington took off across the campsite, realizing that, yeah, the rookie was totally gonna chop his fingers off in a few seconds if he didn't intervene. Faster than the Flash, Wash was there, snatching the knife expertly from the rookie's fingers, twisting it and making a tiny show of tossing it and all together showing off the weapon. Finally, Washington grabbed it midair after tossing it, slamming it millimeters from the rookie's other hand on the wooden crate he'd been using as a table. The soldiers around them all stared, eyes wide as Wash gave the poor rookie a stern glare. The rookie was Private Eastwood, a poor kid around nineteen who'd been trying to impress the older recruits seconds ago.
Wash snatched up the knife again, holding it gently by the blade, the handle poised dangerously at Eastwood, condensation leaving big, fat, wet drops of swampy rain on the dark mahogany. "You be damn careful with this thing, kid," Washington ordered, grabbing Eastwood's hand and enclosing the handle in his open palm. "You're gonna cut your fingers off if you use it like that."
Locus watched as Wash walked away, the other soldiers surrounding Eastwood as soon as he was out of earshot, probably to either tease him or gossip about the crazy ex-Freelancer. The same one who'd been performing kick-flips on an old skateboard the day before. "You handled that well." Locus commented, following Wash as the Freelancer continued off from the scene he'd unintentionally made. "Maybe one of these days you'll show me how it's done, David."
Washington flinched so violently, if anyone but Locus had been watching, they would've called a medic to check him out for injuries. It took a few minutes for Wash to recover, but when he did, he looked more pale, irises big and worry filled. "How do you know my name?" His voice was dangerously steady, too steady to not be insane. "How do you know my name, Locus?" He repeated, more harsh, eyes squinting with the building of hot, magma-like anger. The volcano would erupt if Locus wasn't careful.
"I've known for some time, David," Locus explained, not afraid to trigger Wash by the looks of it. "Or was it Davy that your grandmother called you? I remember you... I remember you very well..." He walked away, removing his helmet enough to show his midnight dark skin, a sly smirk only for Wash. "I have a feeling I'll see you again tonight. Until then, good luck, David."
"Wait!" But Locus didn't look back, clicking back on his helmet, leaving Washington in the soggy rain, the droplets dribbling like spoonfuls of applesauce down the back of his armor.
The grey and yellow soldier stared, his hair now a soaping wet mess, clinging to his head as the downpour beat upon the ground with a new intensity, signaling for soldiers to get inside. And so they did. Washington stayed. He stayed there for a long time, allowing condensation to form and dribble away like youth over his armor, replanting into the ground to maybe bring new life, only for it to be later destroyed by a new battle or war. The Freelancer soon fisted his piano-finger built hands, storming off like the possible hurricane above his head, stomping back to where he'd stood with Locus minutes ago, before that rookie had caused him to step forward. He clicked his helmet back on.
Locus knew his name...
Washington walked away, his feet taking him away from the camp, towards where a waterfall was said to be. He could use a shower, he mused, something to cleanse the sick and anger away from his pale skin. Anything to make him stop thinking, stop worrying, stop fucking remembering.
Locus knew his name...
The Freelancer started stripping, removing his armor at record speeds, mind fishing for a connection, anyone Locus reminded him of from his past. He knew he had the answer. His pointless musing was now becoming an excuse to spite it, and maybe find another answer to replace the truth. Washington drowned his thoughts then in swamp water, ignoring the terrible feeling of slime and barely any water slipping over his now naked body. He drowned himself in the darkness as he closed his eyes, fingers scrubbing through the suicide blonde on his head, trying to scrub away too many lies and truths at once. It continued to rain even after Wash scrambled to shore, ducking under a tree to maybe dry off.
Locus knew his name...
Not even three hours later, Locus woke up to the sound of teeth chattering. Smirking a bit, Locus flicked on his old fashioned oil lantern, spying the soaping wet bundle huddled at the corner of his tent. Poor Wash, he looked like a stray kitten who'd just crawled out of a river, his siblings not surviving the swim, or the other Freelancers in Washington's case. The mercenary sat up, beckoning Washington over, who, against his better judgement, immediately crawled under the blanket to press up against Locus's warm and pleasing form. Closing his eyes for just a moment, Wash buried his face in Locus's grey T-shirt. Suddenly realizing what was going on, Wash jumped back, but Locus's steady arms were already around him, keeping him nice and close to his chest.
"Let me go!" Washington demanded, but he still seemed hesitant to leave the warmth of Locus's cot.
"I don't think I will," Locus mused, petting Wash's ruffled up blonde hair tenderly, the strings all damp and unbrushed. "Though, I do think you know exactly who I am... or who you at the very least think I am."
"Rufus," Wash mumbled, his voice muffled as he went back to resting heavily against Locus. "You left me that night, ya know."
"Your grandmother would have caught us, David," Locus explained, though he didn't sound very sorry. "Besides, I hardly even knew you back then... you hired me to take your virginity, and I did. It was supposed to end there."
"Then why didn't it?" Washington finally asked, the question being one he'd been fearing and contemplating over the last few hours. "Why didn't you just move on or forget about me, why didn't you just fuck some other guy?"
Locus suddenly had Wash pinned, making the blonde gulp, so many flashes of memories. Skin on skin, alot of sweating, alot of hushing on Rufus's end, alot of whining and bucking too. In response, Locus had their mouths meet, tongue pressing into the much younger man's mouth greedily as he took what he'd always seen as his. "My name was never Rufus," Locus mumbled out between a kiss, stealing another before returning to his chattering. "It was Luke... and then it was Locus."
"Which one are you right now?" Wash asked, also in-between a kiss, breathing becoming ragged as that boner from about a week ago decided to say, hey, the guy kissing you should know I fucking exist.
"I don't have a personality disorder, David," Locus announced, biting Wash's lip as punishment for the insult on his name. "I couldn't just run around as a prostitute with my real name, now could I? No, I only used Rufus for you... other lovers knew me by different names. Yet, somehow... I always went back to think of you, the shuddering virgin who didn't even know he needed lube."
"I was sixteen," Wash reminded the darker man, attempting to snap a nip at Locus's lips, only for Locus to pull back, making his not even half-hard cock weep. "I wasn't exactly an expert on sex ed."
"You will be when I'm finished with you." Locus assured him, sitting up as he started yanking Wash's clothes off, glad the younger had only come in an old T-shirt and some boxers that had to have been owned by one of the recruits.
Washington complied without complaint, making quick work of getting Locus's boxers and shirt off, until the two were completely naked before each other. Nothing had changed since he was sixteen, besides maybe a surplus of scars, alot more history, a neural network of a suicidal AI's remains in the back of his skull, too many scars to pinpoint and mention, a large vocabulary, and a bigger difference in height than before. The natural blonde felt a familiar smile creep onto his face, one he hadn't felt in a very long time, not since he'd last seen Tucker and the others. All of that washed away, however, as Locus suddenly handcuffed Wash's wrists to a part of the lousy bed-frame keeping the cot off the wet, dirty, mud-ridden ground.
"The fuck are you doing?" Wash rasped out, wheezing slightly in the darkness as the light started to fade, eyes glazed over with pleasure and lust fueling his veins and brain.
"Only what you want me to do," Locus told the younger man, his face unable to be seen from the angle the lantern was at, making Wash squint, yet secretly thank whatever God was out there from sparing him from direct eye-contact with the mercenary. He'd never liked eye-contact, nor bondage.
"I don't want this," Wash assured Locus, struggling until Locus finally undid the handcuffs, allowing the well-muscled blonde to sit up, pressing light butterfly kisses to his chest as he worked his way up, a devilish light in his stormy eyes. "I just... I want it simple, alright?"
"If that works." It was very clear that Locus had preferred the bondage route, but dammit all, if Washington wasn't going to accept that... well, fuck, he'd find a way sooner or later.
The next morning, Washington woke up in a haze, squinting before he sat up, feeling sticky and gross before it all came back in a heated flash. Locus's hands on his hips, the loud smacking sound of Locus's member going in and out of his ass, the stings of hickeys on his neck, and the shivers of an unexpected and almost terrifying orgasm... he got up at once. Breathing hard, Washington began to get dressed, jerking as Locus suddenly clapped a hand onto his thigh, making him swallow hard and slow, feeling both comforted and intimidated by the mercenary's presence and touch. The blonde shivered, feeling Locus starting to sit up beside him, his tongue poking a prodding at his freckled skin, up his back and tracing over his exposed neck.
"Leaving so soon?" Locus inquired, that smirk still in his voice, low and quiet and threatening, yet so overly soft that Wash wanted to melt. "I believe last night was a mere warmup."
"We have training," Wash reminded the mercenary, feeling his arousal starting to come to life, but knew damn well that he needed to smother it before he got caught with Locus or got up late. "And we could get caught..."
"We could have very well gotten caught last night, yet we were not. Besides... we have time." Locus promised, looking ready for Wash's okay, ready to pin the suicide blonde in a heartbeat. "Interested, David?"
"Later." Washington promised, standing up and forcing his boxers on, but not without a tiny hiss to add to it. "Fuck..."
"In need of my assistance again, Agent Washington?" Locus inquired, looking all too smug as Wash glared at him, a childish pout on his lover's surprisingly young face. He silently wondered how a man Washington's age looked so young, despite all he'd seen and been through.
"I'll be fine," Wash promised, coughing into a closed fist as he adjusted his boxers a bit better, knowing damn well that his boner still showed. He'd be the talk of the morning it looked like. "Can I... borrow some pants though?"
Locus nodded, going to a duffel-bag by his cot, tossing a pair of pants and a belt at the young man. "Hey, Locus?" Wash spoke up, after getting the very large sized pants on, rolling up the legs a bit and tugging the belt on real tight. "Can I ask you something?"
The mercenary peered up at Wash, brushing his own dreadlocks out of his eyes as he started clasping on his armor, not bothering to dress in anything else for training/patrol. "What do you need, David?"
"Can you... not tell anyone about... whatever we're doing?" Wash asked, well, more begged really, but the insistence was there either way. "I'd much rather keep whatever funny business we get into between each other, if you don't mind."
"But of course," Locus agreed, his helmet clicking right back on, that damned voice filter making him sound more alien and less human. "I also would prefer to keep this s well guarded secret."
"Perfect," Wash announced, nodding as he started to go for the tent-flap, now fully dressed, but squeaked as Locus suddenly squeezed his ass. "Hey!" He protested, jumping before rubbing at his violated area.
Locus only chuckled, leaving the ten before Washington, who gave the area one final look, smiling fondly as the memories from last night. Feeling something wet press against his belly, Wash sighed, limping unceremoniously away from the tent. He could only hope his subordinates wouldn't notice...
FIN
A/N: Sorry that I'm so vanilla with my slash writing, I'm still trying to get the hang of it! In the meantime, I'll work on getting more work done. Please R&R, I'd really appreciate it!
~CabooseHeart.