thatsagainstprotocol | (no subject)

The first time they finally manage to make it all the way to sex-- real, penetrative, full on sex, Wash can't get it up.

It's to be expected with the way things have been going today (burned breakfast, dropped a bowl, somehow managed to break the sink) so of course, it goddamn figures that when it comes down to it he's palming himself and wishing orders just worked on him so they could get this going. To their credit, neither Connie nor York look (well, surprised is what he wants to think) upset-- Connie's sprawled out underneath him, flushed and squirming under his fingers as he fucks her open with three fingers and makes her hips buck while he tries to get himself back to where he was when they first started this.

York's in the corner-- her idea, really, in an attempt to make things less overwhelming, to get them going slow and easy, because she'd pointed out that, we've got all day, sugar, and I don't mind watching this time around. Which, he doesn't mind either, except she's had this smirk on her face as she watches and whistles and every so often gives little tips and tricks and after she leans in, grinning like a wolf and says, “Crook your fingers a little more when you do that,” he has to stop. Connie makes a noise in protest, but he's busy frowning at York, half-hard and with his fingers buried in Connie and well, at least he doesn't get distracted by how weird all of this is now.

“It's easier if you're not rating me like an Olympic judge,” he says wryly, and shudders when Connie dips both hands down and slides them around his cock, like she's trying to find out if he can speak coherently when she's fondling him. He can't, unsurprisingly. “J-just, ah, gimme a second, okay?”

Both of York's hands go up after she steals an apologetic kiss from both of them, and she settles with a more subdued smile on her face, watching the two of them. It feels like they're animals in a zoo, somewhat, but all that goes out of his head when Connie's hands do something that makes heat slide liquid down his spine, and, well, too soon it's over and he and Connie are on either side of York with one focusing on each side.

Connie's got her fingers pressed deep inside her and York's making those throaty, low noises of pleasure that Wash is finding he loves more and more so it's only fitting he dips his fingers down to join her; it's entirely worth it for the way she jerks and arches and comes apart between them. Her hands drag desperate and shaky over their shoulders and backs, nails raking lines over their skin and when it's all over she kisses them open-mouthed and sloppy, hips riding their hands for just a moment longer as she rides it all out, shaking faintly.

“The judge gives that a ten out of ten,” York murmurs somewhere into his collarbone, her nose pushed into his throat as she situates herself as closely between the two as she can, with Connie curling at her back and Wash at her front.