So, seriously, on Tucker’s list of life accomplishments, “saving a planet from annihilating itself through civil war without also getting killed” is absolutely going at the top. Maybe he’ll fucking add some glittery stars or something, because that shit is impressive. He’s pretty sure even Felix and Locus were impressed, in a homicidal kind of way, but apparently Agent Washington is too fucking good to get excited about little things like practically-suicide missions for the greater good, because the day Tucker’s let out of the infirmary Wash comes by his room to scream at him.
Actually, Tucker doesn’t know why the fuck Wash shows up - he looks smaller and uncomfortable in his civvies and at first he at least tries to make awkward small talk about how Tucker is doing. But apparently that’s as much chill as Wash is capable of, because Tucker says something to set him off and after that there’s a lot of yelling, at least until Tucker shouts, “What the fuck, dude?! I saved a planet and you’re still fucking screaming at me?!”
“I’m not screaming!” Wash shouts back.
“Look, I know Project Freelancer probably gave you a pretty fucked up idea of what constitutes positive reinforcement, but out here in the normal world, this!? What’s happening here!?” Tucker motions between them. “Is considered screaming!”
“I’M NOT -” Wash shouts, and then seems to realize what he’s doing, because he snaps his mouth shut and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t come here to shout at you,” he says, finally, in a quieter voice.
“Wow. You really fucked that up, then,” Tucker says, and for a moment Wash looks like he wants to start yelling again.
“I’m sorry,” he says, instead. “I’m just. You said I was used to being betrayed on a weekly basis and - yeah. I am. But when people I cared about didn’t betray me or abandon me, I lost them, Tucker, and you - I -” He rubs a hand through his hair, dropping his eyes. “I just got you back and then I almost lost you again and that fucking terrifies me, and I’m didn’t - I’m not handling it well. I shouldn’t have screamed at you. I’m sorry.”
Tucker stares. “Go fuck yourself,” he says, which is fucking stupid, because that’s not what he wanted to say at all. He’s trying to figure out what the fuck he actually wanted to say when Wash’s face does this thing, this awful hurt thing, and Tucker immediately decides that look needs to go away and never come back. So he gives up on talking altogether and takes two big steps forward and yanks Wash down for a kiss, because that’s way easier than fucking talking. And Wash kisses back like he was waiting for it, like he was fucking dying for it, his hands coming up to bracket Tucker’s face, so yeah: fuck talking. Talking is not in their immediate future. Beds definitely should be, though, so Tucker kind of stumbles them in that direction and Wash seems totally down with it, so: awesome.
Pretty soon he’s got his hands in Wash’s hair and Wash has rucked his shirt up to run his hand down Tucker’s stomach, lingering on his new scar until Tucker tightens his fingers in his hair and he moves on, sliding his hand down and Tucker is going to give him such gleeful shit about being this easy until Wash’s hand stops and Tucker realizes there’s something he might have mentioned.
“Um,” Wash says, breaking the kiss. His fingers brush lower and Tucker makes a noise he’s not entirely proud of, and Wash quickly moves them higher again.
“Uh, yeah, that’s a thing,” Tucker says, wiggling his hips a little. “Might’ve slipped my mind.”
“It slipped your mind?” Wash repeats, incredulously. “How? You talk about your dick literally all of the time.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s just - it’s my junk, it’s awesome!” Tucker says. “Sometimes I just forget it’s not shaped the way some people might expect. And I mean, I thought you knew. You’ve seen me naked.”
“I was trying not to look,” Wash says, turning a shade of red that’s really pretty hilarious considering they’re already in bed and he’s still got his hand down Tucker’s pants.
“Sad for you,” Tucker says, grinning at him. “You know I had a kid!”
“I thought -” Wash goes a little redder. “I mean there seemed to be an implication that it was kind of - an alien thing?”
“Dude, that’s just what I told Doc to let Church think,” Tucker says. “Because that was so far from a conversation I wanted to have when I was going through labor. I’m a little surprised O’Malley went along with it, though. Maybe he thought it was funny. Which, I mean, yeah. It was fucking hilarious.”
“Oh,” Wash says, like he feels silly about it, but the blush is fading and he looks more considering instead, and when he doesn’t say anything else Tucker starts to feel the uncomfortable prickling of that feeling he fucking hates: self-consciousness. Because yeah, he might be kind of a fuck-up in general, and maybe should have mentioned the whole situation before they were actually in bed together, but first of all: it’s not like he even planned to be in bed with Wash today, that was a spontaneous development, and second of all: he's done the whole self-loathing thing, back when he was young and dumb and thought he had to have a penis to be a “real man”. Been there, done that, got the shitty t-shirt and fucking burned it, because he fucking loves his body, thank you, so this self-consciousness bullshit can go suck a dick.
“Is this a deal breaker?” he finally bursts out. “Because you should probably take your hand out of my pants, if it is.”
“What?” Wash says, looking up at him again and blinking rapidly. “No! Of course not! I was just - reassessing the situation.”
“Reassessing the situation? Holy shit, you’re even a nerd in bed,” Tucker says, but ‘bed’ ends up being something more like ‘bedoh fuck” because Wash fucking smirks at him and his hand slips back down and does something legitimately amazing.
“Reassessing the situation,” Wash confirms, sounding smug, but Tucker’s willing to give him a pass, especially because after that his mouth is occupied by way more interesting things.
Fuck yeah for reassessing the situation.