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“Dad?”
“Wazzat?” Tucker flailed a bit, startling upright before rubbing his face and facing the door. He quickly clocked the familiar shape of his son nervously shifting at the door to his room. “What’s going on, kiddo?”
“I can’t sleep,” Junior wrung his hands in his sleep shirt, one of Tucker’s old sleep shirts that he used to wear before Junior came along that was deemed his favorite. If anyone else had asked if they could have it, he would’ve told them to go fuck themselves, but there was no way in hell Tucker was going to say that to his barely year-old kid. Tucker may not have ever expected to be a dad, but he wasn’t about to half-ass it like his did.
That being said, Tucker wasn’t quite sure what the protocol for a sleepless child was. Tucker himself had been a rather easy kid when it came to sleeping. When he was asleep, he was conked the fuck out.
“Well, shit. That’s nothing to fuck around with,” Junior giggled at that, well, as close to a giggle as a Sangheili child could make. “What seems to be the problem?”
Junior sniffs, shuffling around a little more and Tucker can feel the distress building back up in his kid. Tucker pulls his sheet off, forever grateful that he’s gotten back in the habit of wearing shorts to bed, and barely has time to open his arms before his son is racing under the covers and burying his face in his chest.
“Woah! Hey, it’s okay,” That’s something dads say, right? “You’re okay. I got you, bud.”
Junior wails into his chest, a muffled little thing that has Tucker’s heart shattering into a million pieces. “Oh, buddy.”
“I— I—” Junior hiccupped hard, unable to continue his thought before sobs started robbing his voice.
“Hey, hey. Breathe, bud. Deep breaths. C’mon, this is easy shit. In–” Tucker inhales and waits for Junior to copy him, “and out.” Tucker lets his breath out nice and slow while Junior’s shakes and comes out in a weak puff. “No, no. Like this.”
This time, Tucker makes a show of taking a big, gasping inhale and the slowest, loudest exhale he’s taken in his life. Tucker feels a little lightheaded after, but Junior is laughing again so Tucker thinks he did okay. They try breathing for a little longer, Junior slowly sinking into the sheets as Tucker rubs his back and the top of his head.
“There you go. See? Easiest shit in the world.” Junior huffs out his exhale, fully relaxing next to Tucker. His eyes droop and his hands clutch at Tucker until his dad pulls him fully into his lap and tucks them both under the covers. “You’re okay bud. Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, yeah?”
Junior nods once before the warmth of his dad and the bone-heavy exhaustion sweeps him into sleep again. Tucker smiles as his kid starts snoring a little, soft snorts of breath that he feels against his chest.
“I’ll be right here.” He whispers to himself, carefully brushing over his son’s face before letting himself be pulled into sleep with him.
“Tucker?”
“Psst. Tucker.”
“Hey. Hey Tucker. Hey.”
“Tucker. Tucker. Hey Tucker.”
“Tuckertuckertuckertuckertuckertucker—”
Tucker groaned into his pillows, covering his ears and wished whatever bitch of a god that was looking down at Tucker right now to either do something or die.
“Tucker? Are you awake?”
“No.” Please, for all that is good let that be enough.
“Oh.”
Silence finally came and Tucker could almost cry at how lovely it was. He pushed himself further into the cushions, letting himself relax and try to get some sleep. He waited for the click of his door closing again when Caboose left before finally–
“Tucker?”
“God-fucking-damnit.”
“Are you awake now?” Tucker begrudgingly looked to the side to see where Caboose was crouched by his face. It was always weird to see him without his armor, even after all these years. His short cut curls and big brown eyes made him look so much younger than his giant physique portrayed.
“What do you want, Caboose?”
“I can’t sleep.”
Me neither.
“How the fuck is that my problem?” Tucker scrubs his eyes and flips around to face him. Motherfucking Caboose and his stupid motherfucking face waking him up in the middle of the stupid motherfucking night.
Caboose pouts as his shoulders raise. “Don’t be mean, Tucker.”
“I’ll be as mean as I fucking want. You woke me up at-” He turns to face his alarm, blinking the rest of his sleep away to read that it was— “-fucking 3 am. Fuck. Why are you awake at 3 am? More importantly, why are you waking me up at 3 am?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Tucker flops back down on his bed, wishing to the stars that this would fix itself in the next 2 minutes. ”Why can’t you sleep?”
Caboose’s voice shakes as he mumbles, “I had a bad dream.”
Oh. Well.
“Caboose—”
“And Tucker is very good at getting the bad things to stop, so I came in here so you could make them stop because it is very loud in my head and my hands won’t stop shaking.”
Tucker sits back up so fast he barely catches himself. He looks at where Caboose is showcasing his hands and— “Jesus fuck, are you okay? What the hell happened?”
He takes Caboose’s hands in his, gently rubbing over his knuckles with his thumbs. He notices that the rest of Caboose is shaking now that his hands are still. His bottom lip quivers as he clutches onto Tucker’s hands.
“Bad things, Tucker. So many bad things. I can’t– I can’t stop shaking.” His voice cracks and goddamnit, Tucker hates when Caboose sounds like that.
“Buddy–”
“It’s so loud.” He sobs out, pulling his hands away to cover his ears. If Tucker thought it were truly possible, he’d think Caboose would pop his head off with the amount of pressure he’s putting on his head.
Tucker carefully pries his hands away, bitter, tired annoyance vanishing into nothing as his deep-rooted instincts take over, voice going soft and soothing as he tugs Caboose onto his bed. “I know, bud. C’mere.”
“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”
It doesn’t take much to get Caboose under his blanket, having done this a handful of times over the years for most of team blue and his own kid. Caboose knows where to rest his head and Tucker only wheezes when the full weight of his 6’4 teammate comes crushing over him.
Caboose has big, fat tears rolling down his face by the time he curls around Tucker, still shaking like a leaf in a storm. Tucker rubs his back with one hand as the other goes to brush through Caboose's hair. “It’s okay. I got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Don’t go. Please.” Tucker pulls Caboose closer, firm and unyielding in his grip.
“I won’t.”
He doesn’t.
Tucker startled awake to the sound of fists pounding on his door. He grumbled as he untangled himself from his blanket and debated on whether he should put on a pair of pants or not.
On the one hand, Tucker wants to be petty and flash whoever the fuck was waking him up at fuck o’ clock in the night to scare anyone from waking him up this early again.
On the other hand, if it was Wash or heaven forbid Carolina, Tucker would get an earful about sleeping naked in a warzone. Again. And Tucker was much too tired to deal with any scolding from Wash or Carolina.
Knock Knock Knock Knock
“I’m coming! Holy fucking christ.” He quickly slides on a pair of sleeping pants he wears when his room gets too cold for his birthday suit. Another round of knocking hits his door before he get to it and Tucker quickly opens the door to get them to stop, wincing at the sudden light of the hallway beaming at him before narrowing his eyes at the midnight disturbance. “Palomo? What the fuck are you doing?”
The lieutenant shifts from foot to foot as he waves nervously. “Uh hey.”
Tucker glares at him some more, waiting for an explanation as to why his young lieutenant is here. His glare lightens a bit when he gets none and is left to take in the sight of his disheveled, mildly distressed looking lieutenant who can’t stop wringing his hands.
“What the fuck is up with you?”
Palomo smiles so big that Tucker thinks he hears a joint pop. He winces internally at the feral way Palomo showcases all his teeth. “Nothing! Why would anything be wrong? Can’t a guy just check up on his commanding officer in the middle of the night?”
“Palomo.” Tucker furrows his eyebrows, voice dipping into what Caboose has dubbed his 'dad voice'.
The young soldier wrings his hands again, unable to keep himself still as his eyes glance sporadically around the hallway. “…I can’t sleep.” The confession is so quiet that Tucker isn’t sure it was said at all. Tucker tilts his head and squints. This all feels oddly familiar to him, and he’ll be damned if he can’t figure out why.
Palomo shifts some more all while trying to seem less nervous than he is. Tucker sighs when he sees him grab the hem of his shirt and wring it out.
That’s why.
“C’mon.” Tucker leaves the door open as he walks back to his bed, stretching his arms high above his head and yawning wide.
“What?” Palomo looks lost when Tucker turns to face him, but he just rolls his eyes and nods his head towards the bed, “I won’t say it twice, get your ass in here.”
He stays still for another moment, shock evident on his face before almost-kinda-definitely rushing into the room and crowding underneath the covers with Tucker. Tucker grunts as he takes an elbow to the side and gets kicked in the leg. He grabs Palomo’s foot so he stops moving and yanks him around so he’s half on top of Tucker, ear pressed to his chest.
“If you snore, I’m kicking you the fuck out.”
Palomo shuffles, adjusting a little before settling against Tucker’s chest. “Yessir.”
“Good. Go to sleep.”
Tucker gets two seconds of quiet. “...Tucker?”
“I said go to sleep, not start up a conversation.”
“Right, right. Sorry.” Tucker huffs in annoyance when the kid tries to pull away, quickly grabbing his back and tucking him firmly under his chin. Palomo stills and for the longest moment Tucker thinks he broke the poor kid, but then he hears a sniffle and feels a pair of arms circling his back and yeah he definitely broke him.
He rests his cheek over Palomo’s hair, rubbing his back like he does for Caboose or Junior, and takes nice deep breaths for Palomo to copy. They don’t say anything, only quiet hiccups filling the room as Tucker eases his ki— his lieutenant back to sleep.
By the time his breathing evens out, Tucker is already halfway to SnoozeVille, so he almost misses the quiet, “Thank you.” Palomo mumbles into his chest.
Tucker squeezes the little fucker with all his tired ass might, hoping the affection in his chest isn’t oozing out when he says, “Don’t sweat it, kid.”
Tucker had almost finished getting ready for bed. His hair was finally clean and rebraided, his face was gleaming from his face care, and his body was more than ready for some well-deserved rest. He had just kneeled on his bed when someone knocked politely on his door.
Tucker hangs his head with a sigh. Of fucking course. He mildly debates just ignoring it and getting into bed anyway, but knowing how that usually turns out, Tucker decides to just suck it up and answer the first time. He's a bit surprised at who he finds behind his door standing at attention.
“Wash? What are you– oh no. If you’re here to make me do work, you’re tough out of luck, buster. It’s my day off and I just finished getting ready for bed. You are not dragging me out to–”
“I’m not here to make you do work, Tucker.”
Tucker blinks, letting himself relax as he leans more comfortably against the door. “Oh. Well then, what brings you to my humble abode?”
Wash sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I heard you’re pretty good at helping people get to sleep.”
Tucker shrugs and smirks. Wash makes it too easy sometimes. “Well, I mean, I’m pretty good at tuckering people out.”
Though giving him a once over, he does look significantly more tired than he usually is, eye bags a bit deeper than they normally are and exhaustion clear in the sag of his shoulders.
Wash stares at Tucker before giving an exasperated look, though from the gleam in his eyes, Tucker knows he's more amused than he lets on. “Was that a dad joke or an innuendo?”
“Why not both?”
“You’re insufferable.” Wash says with a small smile.
Tucker smiles right back. “You love it.”
Wash rolls his eyes and sighs something fond and airy, but he doesn’t deny it. Interesting. “As I was saying, since you’re apparently so good at getting people to sleep, I was wondering— well, it was actually Epsilon’s idea but— “
“Wait, wait, wait. Fucking Church sent you here?! How'd he manage that?”
Wash’s face fell a little, his arms crossing over his chest as he looked anywhere but Tucker. His shoulders scrunched up and Tucker knew the beginnings of Wash’s fight or flight was kicking into gear. “Well, he insisted that I needed sleep and when I refused, he suggested I come sleep with you. Something about how you’re great at dealing with nightmares or something.”
“And you listened to him?” Wash was just as stubborn as Tucker was at times, sometimes even more so, especially when it comes to Epsilon.
Wash shrugged again, going for nonchalant but looking very uncertain. “It was either this or Carolina.”
Tucker winced. “Yeesh. Church is not messing around. Just how long have you been awake?“
Wash got that guilty look in his eye and Tucker stood a little straighter in the doorway.
“Wash?”
“Not that long.”
This fucker.
Tucker moved his head down so Wash would look him in the eye, stare stern and critical. “How long.”
Wash turned his head to the side when he caught a glimpse of Tucker’s eyes, mumbling to the floor as he tightened his stance. “Like, not even forty hours.”
Knowing Wash, he was likely low-balling it. Which meant he’s probably been awake for well over fifty, the fucker.
“Wash.”
“I know! I know, alright? I just—“ Wash stops when he catches the way his voice raises, scrubs at his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell, just– nevermind. This was never going to work anyway–”
“You’re such a drama queen.” Tucker takes Wash’s hand and pulls him into his room, not giving him the chance to dart off to wallow in self pity. “You-” He emphasizes by jabbing his finger into Wash’s chest. “-need to sleep and if fucking Church is sending you to me then you obviously need someone with you to make sure you actually conk out.”
Wash sighs, heavy and tired. He takes a step back, trying to flee back out the door, but even he doesn’t sound like he believes it when he says, “I’m fine.”
Tucker bristles. “Oh, fuck no. You can play that card on literally anyone else, but not with me. I know you too well. I know you’ve been on your feet for fuck knows how long, worrying about every little thing and making sure everyone but you is okay. You need to lay down and actually fucking sleep before you pass out in a fucking hallway. I will fucking sit on you of I have to Wash, do not test me.”
Wash pouts, pulling on Tucker’s hand. He shakes his head, making another attempt for the door, “You don’t have to do that—”
“Too fucking bad. I’m going to. Take your armor off.”
“Tucker–”
“Armor. Off. Now.” Tucker pretends that he doesn’t see Wash’s cheeks flush as he steps into his space to help get his armor off. He hits the latches for each piece, haphazardly tossing them into a pile on the floor. Wash tries to help, but the exhaustion of being awake for over two days makes him clumsy. Tucker chuckles after the fifth time he bumps into his hands and looks up to find Wash’s tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration.
I wanna kiss him.
Nope. Okay, not helpful. Back on task. Ignoring how cute Wash looks when he’s sleepily focused.
“I got it, man. Relax.”
Wash’s hands obediently fall down to his side, leaving Tucker to continue peeling him out of his armor. He shivers whenever Tucker brushes against him, trying his best to not lean into him as he circles around picking pieces of his suit off. Eventually, he’s left in his underlayer with Tucker standing at his back. Tucker reaches up and squeezes the back of his neck and Wash just nearly buckles at how nice the contact feels. Tucker chuckles, giving another squeeze before dragging his hands down his back and pressing gently into his skin. When Tucker starts massaging his shoulders, Wash lets out an embarrassingly loud moan that has him tensing all over again.
“Uh– I– I didn’t mean to–”
“Relax, Wash. You’re not the first to like my hands.” Wash groans and hangs his head, then quickly holds in the next one as Tucker digs into his shoulder blades and finds a spot that makes him see stars. He has to shuffle to stay on his feet when he starts to sway.
Tucker’s hands land on his hips, fingers brushes at the hem of his shirt and gently slips it up. “You want this off?”
Tucker is way too happy to see that the blush on Wash’s face goes down his back. A soft shake is all Wash gives and Tucker simply shrugs before pulling away and circling around Wash to face him. “Bed?”
He gets a nod this time, Wash very carefully avoiding eye contact as Tucker pulls him towards his bed. It isn’t until after Tucker has settled in bed that he realizes that Wash is frozen at the edge of his bed, staring at the space Tucker has left him like it’s the world’s greatest puzzle.
“You can get in, y’know.” Tucker teases. Wash snaps out of the trance he’s in and nods to himself, “Er, right.”
Tucker rolls his eyes as Wash continues to hesitate; hands uncertain as they grab the edge of his bed. He grabs Wash’s wrist again and tugs him down until he has a knee on his bed. “C’mon, you big baby. It’s not gonna hurt you.”
Wash looks unconvinced but slips under the covers with Tucker. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“ Yes . Holy fuck. You’re acting like I’m asking if I can suck your dick.” He would if Wash asked, but he wasn’t going to be the one to say it.
Wash chokes at that, stammering for something to say before deciding that the best move for him to make was to not say anything at all. He buries his face in Tucker’s pillow, keeping himself a respectable distance away from Tucker. The one guy I actually want on top of me.
Tucker flops back onto the bed, letting himself spread out and sink into the cushions. Wash has a harder time getting comfortable, carefully shifting around and stiff as a board as he does. It’s not until he just barely grazes Tucker’s hand and jolts away like he’d been burned that Tucker decides to intervene. “Ah, sorry.”
“Oh my fucking–! You’re allowed to touch me, Wash. Just– c’mere.” Tucker grabs his wrist for the umpteenth time and yanks him close to him.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to show you how to relax even if it kills me.” He turns so Wash spoons him from behind, wrapping his arms around his middle and tucking himself under his chin. He curls back so Wash’s legs hug under him and lets himself melt into the firm warmth of his body. “Look, see? Not so bad, right?”
Wash shifts again, adjusting to pull Tucker where he wants him. He goes willingly, letting Wash bury his face just above his neck and gently caress his torso. Something seems to click in Wash’s head and suddenly he’s draping over Tucker like he’s the world’s comfiest pillow.
“No. No, not bad at all.”
Tucker smiles, proud that he finally got Wash to relax with minimal effort. Plus, now he gets to cuddle with a Grade A Beefcake. Absolute score. “Good. Now get some sleep. You need it.”
Wash hums and Tucker feels it through every point of connection between their bodies. He suppresses a shiver. “Goodnight, Tucker.” And Wash must already be half asleep, because Tucker feels a firm kiss against his neck before burying his face into it. Tucker takes a minute to fully process it before twisting rather violently towards Wash.
He startles, obviously, and blinks tired and all fucking cute-like up at Tucker. “What?”
“You... Nevermind.” Tucker grins to himself, looking down at Wash’s sleepy, confused eyes. He can’t help himself when he leans down and kisses them. And then his cheek. And maybe the corner of his mouth.
Look. Tucker’s tired too, okay? And he may not admit it out loud, but he lives for this sappy shit. “Goodnight, Wash.”
This time, Wash is the one who takes a minute to process what Tucker had done, blearily looking at him as Tucker lays back down in his arms. He does the near damn thing Tucker did, shooting up and leaning over Tucker to get his attention. “Wait, hold on. You can’t just do that and go to sleep! Tucker!”
He laughs when Wash shakes him and bellows a little louder when he sees the confused puppy dog eyes Wash is sporting. God, he’s so cute when he’s tired. “Easy, babe. Let’s figure this out when we’re not dead tired, yeah?”
“But– but you– I want–” Wash bites his lips again and stares at Tucker’s face. Tucker tracks where his eyes keep glancing and smiles at the revelation he gets.
“You want another kiss?”
Wash, likely thinking he’s being made fun of, pouts, but doesn’t pull away, instead plopping himself onto Tucker’s shoulder as he grumbles.
“C’mon, Wash. Use your words.” Tucker turns to swing his arms around Wash’s shoulders, pulling him chest to chest, noses brushing gently against each other.
Tucker can see Wash’s pupils blow wide from this close up, half-lidded and definitely a little droopy. His state of tiredness doesn’t stop him from speaking loud and clear. “Please.”
Their lips crash together, both of them too tired to really do much more than mash their faces against one another. It still feels electrifying.
Tucker tilts his head a bit more, easing the weight off their noses and slotting a bit more nicely against Wash. Wash moves his mouth nice and hot and slow against Tucker and it has him writhing.
After a couple minutes of kisses, Tucker dazy from Wash’s lazy tongue licking across his lips, Wash slips to Tucker’s side. He tries to keep kissing from the new angle, but he misses Tucker’s mouth by a couple inches and just plants a couple wet ones on his cheek.
Tucker giggles, brushing a hand through his hair as his cheek gets marked up. “Fallin’ asleep on me, big guy?”
“No.” Wash bumps his nose a little harshly on Tucker’s cheek while trying to kiss him again, making him scrunch his face up in discomfort.
Not falling asleep his ass.
“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. Promise.” Tucker pushes Wash’s hair out of his cute fucking face, reveling in the feeling of Wash pushing into it.
Wash pulls Tucker against him, burying his face in his hair. He breathes him in, finally easing into the bed. “Figure it out in the morning?”
Tucker kisses Wash under his chin, earning himself a soft hum of approval. “Figure it out in the morning.”
“Fine…” Wash takes a moment to peek down at Tucker and leans forward, “One more?”
“Greedy.” Tucker mumbles against his lips even though he’s just as eager to kiss Wash as he is. He presses their lips together one last time, slow and soft and perfect, before resting his head back under Wash’s chin. “Goodnight, Wash.”
Wash places a kiss on Tucker’s forehead and yeah. Tucker could get used to this. “Hm. Night.”
Tucker could get very used to this.
Wash slinked through the halls of the apartment building, easily maneuvering around each corner. His meeting with Kimball and Doyle had gone on much longer than anticipated, though much more smoothly than normal. Maybe the promise of a sustainable food source that could feed Chorus was enough to ease the tempers of its leaders. Nonetheless, Wash was tired and was looking forward to curling up next to Tucker for a good night's rest.
After spending that night in Tucker's room that first time, Wash has gotten more than just a couple kisses over the last few weeks. To his surprise, Tucker was a rather doting and affectionate partner, always giving him little gifts (usually things he mentions wanting in passing, completely unaware that Tucker takes the request seriously until a small package is left in his hands containing the item in question), or showering him in compliments (it's a rather distracting thing to have when in a meeting or training cadets, especially when Tucker's compliments can range from raunchy to heart-meltingly sweet). And the kissing.
God, the kissing is going to be the end of Wash.
That was probably the most startling thing about their relationship. Not the Tucker kissing him part, Wash kind of expected to get pulled into storage closets for impromptu makeout sessions or to have the life sucked out of him when they were in bed together. But what he didn't expect was all the little kisses he'd get throughout the day. Kisses to the cheek in quick, passing hellos. Kisses to the back of the neck when he was sitting in a pile of paperwork. Kisses to the hand or even to the edges of his helmet when the thing was on. Wash had damn nearly swooned like a damsel when Tucker had gently pressed their foreheads together when both their helmets were on in lieu of a kiss.
Tucker's shame knew no bounds, it seemed.
And that's not even mentioning all the times Tucker had sat Wash down, sat in his lap, and just kissed him. No why, no how, no double meanings or push for more, just sweet kisses as he curled his long, smart fingers into Wash's hair. It all had Wash gushing with affection and doing his darndest to return the devotion. Not that it was hard, Tucker, as he bragged long before Wash truly understood what he meant, was easy to please and even easier to love.
He took every sign of affection like a sponge and horded it like a dragon. He seemed just as surprised as Wash was when he was given tokens of his affection, from hands on the back guiding him down the hallway when they walked, or double-checking Tucker's guns before handing them off, or pulling Tucker to rest against him when he was tired. Wash wasn't much for giving gifts or speaking sweet nothings like Tucker, but he knew how to sit with someone, how to show with his actions that he cared.
And Tucker seemed more than happy to receive it.
Wash snapped out of his head, stretching his arms out and grunting as his joints popped at the effort. He kept on his trek through the halls until arriving at Tucker's door. It was easy enough to open the door and carefully peek in—
“What the-?”
Wash froze in the doorway, blinking blankly at the scene in front of him.
Tucker was lying on his back in his bed, with a couple someones cuddled up next to him, not an unusual thing to see. People were always crashing in Tucker's room, especially the younger cadets. What was a little unusual was just how many someones were in here.
Piles of armored and unarmored bodies scattered around his room. Oddly shaped lumps and piles of people in addition to the dimly lit room made it hard to tell just how many people were crammed into the small space, but Washington counted at least twelve— no, actually make that fifteen additional people sleeping in Tucker’s room.
Wash quickly identified Caboose and Donut as the companions in Tucker’s bed, the two of them almost completely covering the man along with a thick blanket that Donut must’ve brought from his room. Grif was sprawled out on his stomach on the foot of the bed, limbs hanging in every which way (the fact the Caboose and Grif were both able to lay on Tucker’s bed without it breaking is a damn miracle. Caboose alone weighs almost three-hundred pounds). One of his hands was being held by Simmons, who used his arm as a head rest with a tablet slowly slipping off his lap.
Wash thinks he spots the four lieutenants assigned to each of his captains. Jensen and Palomo lean against Simmons on the floor, and while he can’t see their faces, he’d bet good money that the two other bodies lying on top of each other across Jensen’s lap are Bitters and Andersmith. Many more unidentifiable soldiers lay about, helmets still firmly on heads or faces tilted away.
It all looked… peaceful, quiet even, which is suspicious because Wash clocked both New Republic and Federal army uniforms among the piles of people and discarded armor pieces and last he’d checked, the two groups of Chorus were still working on their comradery.
Wash flicks his eyes back to where Tucker is buried under his team and finds a pair of eyes sleepily watching back. He smiles, gently nodding to him. “Hey.”
Tucker wiggles around for a minute, freeing his arm, and then motions for Wash to join. Wash hesitates before slowly making his way over, carefully stepping over the slumbering bodies beneath him before hovering over the side of Tucker’s bed.
“So, what’s all this then?” Wash whispers, careful to how he leans over Caboose so Tucker can hear him.
Tucker reaches up for him, attempting to pull him down as Wash dodges his sleepy attacks. “Nap time. Get in.”
“There is no way I can fit in your bed without breaking it.”
“It’s reinforced. C’mon.”
“What do you mean it’s reinforced ?” Tucker sighs, sleepy and frustrated, but the pout on his lips only serves to make Wash’s lips quirk. “Tucker, there’s no room for me. You can barely fit the people already on your bed. Hell, there’s barely enough room for me to stand.”
“ Wash. ” Tucker whines as he swipes for Wash’s arm again. He succeeds this time, gripping the cuff of his vambrace and tugging him. “Please.”
Wash chuckles, easing himself on the edge of the bed as Tucker tugs, carefully avoiding Caboose as he tries to twist out again. “Alright, alright. I’m coming—”
“ Bowchickabowwow .”
“You can do better.” Tucker mumbles a retort and pulls on Wash’s arm again. Wash chuckles at him. “Just let me take off my armor and I’ll be right in, okay?”
“Hurry up.”
Wash presses a quick kiss to his hand, mumbling against surprisingly soft skin before pulling away. “Be patient.”
“Been being patient. You took forever. I missed you.” Wash's heart soared. Even when half-asleep, Tucker still knew exactly what to say to get Wash feeling like a lovesick teen all over again.
“I missed you too, love.” He brushed the hair off his boyfriend's face before turning away to find a place to put his armor. He nearly tripped over several people in his attempt to get to the empty space in the corner of the room. He does double take when he sees a pile of three covering over a body he'd missed in his count earlier. He laughs a little hysterically to himself as he stares at the mess that has become Tucker's room. “What happened in here?”
Once his armor is off and stacked neatly off to the side, Wash once again makes the walk through the body-covered floor and back to Tucker's bed. He finds that Tucker has pushed Donut off the damn bed where the smallest of the simulation soldiers, who somehow didn't wake up, has somehow shoved himself across the laps of Simmons and Palomo. Caboose has also been shifted slightly so he hugs Tucker from behind instead of lying flat on top of him.
Tucker reaches for him when he gets close, dragging Wash with all the might of a sleep Tucker. Wash smiles and lets himself be pulled onto the bed. “How do you want me?”
He can feel the sex joke bouncing in Tucker's brain, but he rubs a hand up his side to keep it from leaving his lips. Tucker hums and arches towards Wash as he lays down wrapping himself in his arms so he can bury his face in Wash's hair. Wash slots himself as best he can against Tucker while also accounting for Caboose's large limbs. It takes some maneuvering on Wash's part before he gets comfortable, but eventually, he settles in bed and revels in being wrapped up in Tucker's arms.
He places another kiss on Tucker's collarbone and just... keeps his face there. “Goodnight, Tucker.”
Wash gets a hum and the pressure of a kiss on his head in response. He smiles, letting himself relax before falling fast asleep with Tucker.
Not a bad way to end the day.
Not at all.