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It's an amalgamation of unlikely events that leads up to it. That doesn't explain it; that doesn't make it okay, but it's the sum of a number of such coincidental circumstances that he feels justified in skirting the responsibility for this particular mistake.
At least, that's how he feels about it right now, as he's on his way to Young's quarters. There's no telling what he'll feel tomorrow, but right now he knows what he wants, and he intends to get it. Consequences be damned.
He's slightly drunk, he's aware of that. The knowledge only makes this seem like a better idea.
It's past midnight, but Young will be up. If he isn't, Rush will wake him.
Because he needs this. He needs to feel... to feel something physical again. To feel someone's hands on him. To feel someone's lips against his.
It's been years – even longer if he doesn't count the sex in the simulation – and he's a rational person, he knows there are perfectly reasonable explanations for why the body craves sex sometimes, and perfectly sound reasons for why it isn't necessary. But he wants. He wants to feel skin against his skin again. To look into someone's eyes as orgasm claims him. To feel wanted again.
And Young is... Young is preposterous. He's brutish, and slow, and big. Nothing he's ever gone for before. But Rush can't deny that Young is who's been claiming more of his thoughts than anyone else on the ship. Young is who he thinks of when he imagines this, when he envisions himself strolling over to someone's quarters to propose just one night of physical release – no strings attached.
Because Young represents everything he hates, but there's something so sturdy, so resilient about him, that Rush can't help but respect him as well. Or, perhaps respect is too generous a word. But he can't deny that the thought of Young touching him, holding him, with those strong hands and those bulky arms, makes him itch with a frustrated lust that he can't seem to let go. So maybe he just needs to get it over with, prove to himself that he's making a big fuss over nothing, and move on. Tonight seems like the perfect night.
Young will go along with it, he's reasonably certain.
He can tell Young is attracted to him – despite himself, probably. He can feel Young's eyes tracking him across the room, his body heat when he leans closer than is strictly necessary. Sometimes he even gets the feeling Young kind of likes him – the amused smiles, the occasional good-natured banter, the way he never flinches away when Rush reaches out and almost touches him before he catches himself – although he isn't quite as convinced of that as he is of the physical attraction.
It doesn't make much of a difference, whether Young likes him or not, except that it might make a difference for Young. Perhaps his morals won't allow him to fuck someone he genuinely dislikes. Somehow, Rush doubts it.
Young's door is open. He taps the backs of his knuckles against the steel of the jamb twice, and walks in uninvited.
“Rush,” Young says mildly. He takes off his reading glasses and pushes the paperwork he was working on away from him a little. Rush wonders if that was subconscious.
“Colonel,” he answers, turning to press the door control.
“Is there something you want?” Young asks, when Rush lets the silence between them stretch.
Yes, he thinks. “I figured you might like a drink,” he says instead, giving the canteen in his hand a jaunty shake.
Young's face slowly settles into a look of confusion, his eyes squinting ever so slightly in that way that means he's trying to figure Rush out, and Rush feels something jittery and ticklish slither down his spine.
“That's new,” Young says eventually, but he gets up from behind his desk and walks over to one of the couches.
Rush sits down opposite him and fills up two metal mugs with Brody's latest. It's as close to vodka as the man's come, and it's almost palatable. Or perhaps they're all just getting used to the terrible taste of his concoctions. He slides one of the cups over to Young and takes his own before he leans back against the couch.
“When was the last time you had sex?” Rush asks just as Young takes a drink. He feels a vicious sense of satisfaction when Young splutters, swallows wrong, and coughs into the crook of his arm to clear his windpipe.
“Jesus, Rush, what the hell?”
Rush lets his lips quirk up. The lighting on Destiny is too low to make out much, but he can almost imagine Young blushing. It's an odd thought, but one he enjoys nonetheless.
“If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say it's been a while.”
Young leans his elbows on his knees, and gives him a slight frown. “There something you wanna say?”
Rush hums, and takes a sip of his drink. “I would like to make a proposition,” he says eventually, and looks up into Young's face to find his eyes dark and intense.
“And what's that?”
“One night, nothing more. No emotional entanglements or social obligations. Just physical release.”
Young laughs, then, laughs, and Rush feels his eyes narrow dangerously.
“You're not serious,” Young says, and Rush has half a mind to get up and leave. But he's already done the hard part, and by now he knows Young well enough to recognize the question in his words. He forces the tension out of his shoulders with a quick shrug, and takes another drink.
“You are,” Young says, and the smile falls from his face.
Rush raises his eyebrows to say 'Yes, obviously,' and Young takes a deep breath and sits back against the couch.
Young is quiet for a long time, and Rush thinks his breathing isn't quite as slow and steady as it usually is. He drains his cup while Young thinks. While he weighs the pros and cons. While he makes his decision. By now he knows to expect this from Young; the man probably needs half an hour to decide on which of his two identical black BDU shirts he wants to wear in the morning, and that's perfectly fine with Rush, even if he can't imagine working with a brain that sluggish himself.
The alcohol in his system is making everything seem less important, and the only thing he really cares about in all this is that he wants to finally feel something physical again. If Young says no, that's what will frustrate him – not the idea that Young doesn't want him, or any such nonsense.
Rush can tell the exact moment he wins. He can see the almost unnoticeable shift in Young's shoulders, the minute change behind his eyes, and feels his mouth go inexplicably dry.
“...What do you want?” Young asks intently, putting his half-full mug down on the coffee table.
Rush doesn't know how to answer that. Or, he does, but he doesn't want to say it while they're sitting on opposite sides of a table. He clinks his empty cup down and gets up from the couch. Young's eyes follow him almost warily as he steps around the coffee table and reaches for Young's hand, but Young gets up when Rush gives him a slight pull.
Fisting the fingers of one hand into Young's jacket, Rush drags him along until they're both standing near the door. He flicks closed the lock, and then dims the lights until only the blue glow from the FTL trails illuminates the room.
His heart is pounding loudly in his chest when he places his hands on top of Young's shoulders and bends closer to him.
“I want you to make me feel good,” he says directly into Young's ear, and he feels something jerk deep in his belly at the shiver that goes through Young.
Rush unzips Young's jacket without any more preamble, and pushes it off him until it drops to the floor. Young gives him a slightly shocked look, but then he hooks his fingertips into the fabric of Rush's shirts, and pulls all of them off in one quick move. His hands are on Rush's chest, roaming over the skin and skittering nervously against his nipples, and it's good, it's fucking astonishingly good. It's so distracting Rush has a hard time focusing on getting Young undressed, and at a certain point he finds himself simply groping at Young's skin without even trying to work his shirt off anymore.
Young is warm and soft and strong against his palms, and he squeezes the flesh at Young's sides roughly when Young pinches one of his nipples.
“Like that?” Young breathes against the shell of his ear, and Rush feels his eyes slip shut at the husk in his voice.
He lets his head fall into the crook of Young's neck and pushes harder into Young's fingers as he slips his own hands into the back of Young's pants. The globes of his arse are soft and meaty, but he can feel the muscle underneath, and when he pulls Young forward to press their groins together he can feel Young's erection against his own. It makes him bite savagely into the skin of Young's neck, because Young is just as up for this as he is – and he'd known, but it's still nice to feel the physical evidence of his deductions against him.
“Rush, I want—” Young pants, and Rush knows what's going to come next, so he interrupts him. He wants to say it first, because if this is going to happen, it's going to be on his terms.
“Yeah,” he says, nuzzling his face into the hair behind Young's ear. God, the man even smells good. “I'll let you fuck me.”
Young curses and lets his head fall against Rush's shoulder. “Jesus Christ. Are you trying to make me come in my pants?”
He feels the unexpected urge to laugh. It's not something he's ever considered, but he can't deny there's a certain appeal to the thought. It's not what he wants, though. Not when this is a one-time deal.
“No, Colonel,” he answers, before biting lightly into Young's earlobe. “I just told you where I want you to come.”
“Dammit, Rush,” Young grits out, and this time Rush does huff out a laugh.
He gives Young's arse a hard squeeze, relishing the involuntary jerk of Young's hips against his own, and then inches his hands up to finally remove Young's shirt.
It's different – better – when it's skin against skin, and he kind of wishes he could see more, although even in the dim blue light he can tell Young is as sturdily built as he'd suspected.
“Come,” Rush says, before turning away from Young and making his way over to the man's bed.
Young follows behind him, and that thought makes something quiver deep inside his chest, but he sits down on the edge of the mattress before he can think too deeply on it. He takes the condom and the packet of lube from his pocket and puts it down beside him.
Getting rid of his shoes is a little harder than he'd anticipated when Young is sitting right next to him, body heat radiating outwards and distracting Rush to no end, but he manages. It's easy to open his jeans and shuck them off before moving back onto the bed, but it feels strangely difficult to take off his underwear, so he leaves them on.
Young doesn't seem to share that restraint, and when he climbs over Rush he's completely naked.
It's amazing to feel someone's skin against him again, to feel Young's thighs against the insides of his own, velvety and warm. He lets his head fall back and doesn't even try to contain his groan, because this is exactly what he wanted, and he doesn't mind giving Young the satisfaction of knowing that. It's not like he didn't already basically admit it anyway.
Young's chest is pressed against his own, and when he opens his eyes Young's face is close, closer than it's ever been before, even during their worst encounters.
“Rush, let me... I want to...” Young breathes, and Rush can feel the unsteady exhale against his cheek before Young dips his head a bit lower.
“I already said you could—”
“No, I want to kiss you. Please,” Young says against the skin of his jaw, and oh. Yes. That was something that was a bit harder to ask for, and he feels a surge of fondness for the Colonel for being the one to bring it up.
It feels safe now, to wind his fingers into Young's hair and pull his face upwards until they're eye to eye.
“Alright,” he says, and then he's yanking Young down against him, taking his lips for himself. Young kisses like he's on the edge of starvation, and Rush isn't sure whether to pride himself on his estimation of Young's desperation or on his attractiveness to the man, but either way it's bloody fantastic.
Young's tongue is quick and strong and dominant, and Rush thinks this is one of their best struggles yet, because fuck if it isn't making his cock twitch to hear Young groan against him when Rush bites at his lips and sucks on his tongue.
He wraps his legs around Young's thighs and regrets leaving his underwear on; because while the kissing is good, he knows it would've been even better if he could've felt the hot flesh of Young's erection against his own skin, instead of on the threadbare cotton of his pants.
Young is nipping at his lips now, pressing small kisses against his jaw before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, and fuck, yeah, this must be what Young does with people he actually likes, because this does not feel like just fucking to relieve some frustration. Of course the man would only have one way of doing things, and while Rush wants to roll his eyes at the predictability of it, he finds himself turning into Young's ministrations with a quiet abandon that feels too much like wantonness.
He wants this, and he wants more. He wants... His fingers scramble over the bed until he finds what he's looking for, and he presses the packet of lube into Young's hand and gives him an intent nod.
Young gives him a look that seems almost fond, and says, “Okay.” He lets his free hand trail over Rush's cheek in a surprisingly gentle gesture, before rolling off him and lying back on the bed, his head on the pillow, and motions at Rush to straddle him.
Rush isn't entirely sure what Young is planning, but at this point it seems worth it to give the man some leeway, so he strips off his underwear, swings his leg over Young's abdomen and allows Young to pull him forward, until he's sitting high up on his chest.
He hears Young tear open the packet behind his back, and watches the small look of concentration on his face as he must be spreading the lube over his fingers. He half expects Young to ask him something trite like 'You ready?', but then he swears and surges forward as Young pushes two fingers into him without warning.
“Jesus!” he pants, as his arms catch against the wall in front of him. The fingers inside him are thick and heavy, and for once in his life Young doesn't waste time deliberating his next move before he presses inward and down, until he hits something that makes Rush curse again.
Young chuckles, and Rush can feel his breath against his prick. He barely even has time to contemplate the implications of that before Young licks a hot trail up the length of his cock, and Jesus fucking Christ, there's something he hadn't expected. He lets his head fall against his forearms and hears a thready moan spill from his lips. He can see it, from this angle – Young's tongue darting out to lap against his hard flesh – and he keeps his eyes open even when he wants to squeeze them shut. Because this is something... this is something he wants to remember.
Young's fingers slide in and out of him at a steady pace, and Rush can't believe he's never tried this before, because there's something thrilling about it, about being opened up by someone, for someone, and the thought that Young's cock is going to enter him there is both goddamn insane and so fucking hot he feels his prick strain in anticipation.
Young is still licking at him, long laps and short little prods against his tip that drive him up the wall but don't do much to bring him any closer to actual release, and he's not sure which sensation to focus on – the stretching fullness in his arse or the teasing flicks over his cock – but he's reasonably certain this isn't the first time Young has done this.
“You've done this before,” he says, ignoring the way his voice stutters as Young hits his prostate again.
Young lets his head fall back against the pillow and looks up at Rush's face. Rush can barely see in the dark, but he sees the gleam of Young's eyes, and the wet gloss of his bottom lip.
“It's been a while,” Young answers, scissoring his fingers wider than Rush thinks he can go. He clamps his eyes shut and fights to keep his moan inside. “Not since AFROTC.”
Something about that makes Rush's stomach clench excitedly. Because Young always carries himself like a proper soldier – even if Rush knows for a fact that he isn't – and the idea of Young going around fucking other men in Air Force bootcamp is just so delightfully disobedient that it raises the Colonel in his esteem considerably.
Young slips a third finger inside him then, and this time Rush can't hold back the groan that wants to fall out. Fuck, he's full. His lower back breaks out in an instinctive sweat. A shiver runs through him. He cants his hips so Young's fingers slide a little bit deeper, to give Young better access to his cock. Young doesn't disappoint. He takes Rush into his mouth and sucks at him gently, his tongue making flickering motions over the sensitive flesh of his head as his fingers work him open further with a deft kind of precision that Rush barely has the wit to appreciate.
It's all good, it's almost perfect, until suddenly Young's fingers are gone and his prick is cooling in the night air. He lets out an embarrassing whine before he opens his eyes and realizes what is going on.
“Come on, you're ready,” Young says, and from the way his breath hitches he thinks Young might be lubing himself up right now. It takes him a few seconds to find his bearings, and then he pushes away from the wall and scoots further down. Young's hand is on his hip, and fuck, he's really going to do this. He places his hand on the man's solar plexus and lets Young angle his cock up against him.
“Take it slow,” Young warns, as Rush lowers himself onto his erection, and Jesus, fuck, it's not like he needs Young to tell him that, because Christ, he thought the fingers made him feel full, but this feels like he's about to burst.
Slowly, carefully, he takes Young in, and he can't be certain but he thinks Young's fingertips are on his arse, feeling where his cock is entering Rush, and that thought makes his muscles give a little, and he plunges a few centimeters down. He huffs out a startled breath, and hears Young moan in surprise.
“Easy,” he says, placing both palms on Rush's hips to steady him. “You okay?”
“I'm not made of glass,” Rush bites out, but he's glad for Young's hands anyway, and lets them guide him down until he's fully seated. “Fuck.”
It feels like he's being speared, forced to keep his back ramrod straight, and God, the air in the room is cooling the sweat that has sprung up on his skin, and he wants to move already. He slips his hands a bit further down, onto Young's abdomen for better leverage, and pushes his hips upward. Young lets out a ragged little noise when he moves back down again, and yeah, he can do this.
He sets up a rhythm that is slow enough that he can feel every slide of Young's cock in and out of him, but fast enough that Young curses and clamps his hands tighter around his hips.
“Yeah,” Young groans, and Rush feels thrilled and daring as he rolls his hips experimentally, letting Young's length rub against his prostate.
Young's fingers squeeze into him hard, and he can see how this could work, how this might be enough to make him come, even without his prick being touched. It's not something he wants to try, not right now, but he files the thought away for later and increases his pace.
It's good, it's fucking amazing, but it's not... it's not what he really wants, and fuck it, if he only gets one chance at this he's going to get exactly what he desires. He drapes his body over Young's chest, and clamps his thighs against Young's hips before rolling them both over until Young is on top of him.
He cries out wordlessly at the way the movement jostles them where they're connected, just as Young grunts, “Jesus.”
Young is still inside him, and Rush doesn't waste time, he curls his legs around Young's waist and pulls him in deeper.
“Come on, Colonel,” he taunts, only a little breathless. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
A slow grin breaks out on Young's features, and Rush feels something twist deep in his stomach. Because this is a side to the Colonel he's only seen hints of, and seeing it in action makes this whole thing seem wildly dangerous. Young bites at the corner of his jaw before moving back and thrusting in hard, and Rush can't do much more than let out an incoherent moan. He winds his arms around Young's neck, twists his fingers into the hair on the back of his head, and pulls him down for another kiss.
Young jerks his hips and makes a noise against Rush's lips, and then Young's tongue is in his mouth, slick and hot and powerful, as his cock begins to slide into Rush in an incredible combination of smooth and rough that makes it impossible to think of anything but Young. This is better, it's perfect, because this makes him feel good – this makes him feel wanted – and that was the whole point, wasn't it?
“Say you want me,” he demands, when he drags himself away from the kiss long enough to whisper against Young's lips.
Young's hips stutter momentarily, and Rush doesn't pretend that that doesn't affect him. He groans against Young's mouth and clenches his inner muscles in response.
“Fuck, Rush. Yeah, I want you, obviously,” Young says, as his thrusts become more harried, less fluid.
He wants to ask for more, 'No one else' and ' Forever', but he knows that might be stretching the fantasy a bit too far, so he relishes what Young can give him, and shudders against him with a keening moan.
Young kisses him again, sloppy and wet, and then he bites down almost painfully on Rush's bottom lip as he lets out a groan so low and desperate that it nearly pushes Rush into climax. Young's pace falters as his hips buck arrhythmically into him, and Rush feels a little thrill at the thought of Young filling him up with his come, even if that's the kind of thinking he probably really shouldn't afford himself.
“Oh my God,” Young moans against his ear, as his movements still. “Rush.”
Rush is still hard, achingly so, and he feels the first stirrings of annoyance and disappointment in his gut. He should've made sure he came first. Before Young. Because where's the man's incentive, now?
He's just about to nudge Young roughly in the side when Young moves his head up and kisses him again.
And this... this feels different. Because Young has already come – he can't pretend this is just about getting off, or whatever he must've been telling himself for this to feel acceptable – and Rush isn't sure how to interpret that.
Young distracts him by pulling out of him, though, and Christ, that's a new sensation. He watches as Young sits back, ties off the condom, and drops it somewhere beside the bed. He's not sure what to make of the small smile Young sends him, either, but he feels his heart beat a frantic rhythm in the back of his throat.
Young puts his hands on Rush's chest and trails them slowly down, sweeping his thumbs against his nipples before letting his fingertips tickle against his sides with the slightest scrape of fingernail. Rush experiences an odd combination of anticipation and trepidation, and then Young moves a little further back and bends down to take Rush's cock into his mouth. Almost simultaneously, he pushes two fingers into Rush, immediately starting to stroke smooth, fluid circles against his prostate.
“Fuck,” Rush breathes out, because this is nothing like what he'd expected – it's better – because Young isn't even hard anymore but he's still doing this, and, “Oh, fuck!”
Young sucks him deeper inside – the hot cavern of his mouth is soft and slick and just goddamn perfect – and his fingers rock inside Rush in an unrelenting play of stimulation. He feels sweat bead up on the backs of his thighs as Young's mouth and fingers work him to the edge of orgasm in what feels like a matter of seconds.
His stomach flutters and clenches uncontrollably, and he should warn Young, he should tell him he's about to come, but all that leaves his mouth is a long, drawn-out moan.
Young's free hand moves up to his chest, his thumb rubbing against his nipple in a way that is almost loving, and in the end that's what sets Rush off. He arches upwards and lets the built-up pleasure spill out, every cell in his body momentarily stunned by how fucking good he feels. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, God, yes. It's exactly what he wanted, and he feels the start of a warm, achingly grateful glow deep in his chest as his body is ravished by temporal bliss.
He can't control the small jerky movements of his hips any better than he can contain his voice, and he thinks he may have just said Young's name in the most obscene way imaginable, but he can't be certain and he can't be arsed to care right now.
Young swallows around his sensitive flesh, and Jesus fucking Christ, that wrenches a heavy aftershock out of him. He shivers involuntarily when Young lets his cock slip out of his mouth. The next thing he knows Young is plastered all over him and kissing him again, and God, how does the man keep surprising him like this?
His entire body feels languid, spent, and he lets his hand scratch into the back of Young's head – his hair is just as curly and thick as it looked, but somehow slightly softer than he'd imagined – and kisses Young back, trying not to enjoy his own taste on Young's tongue too much.
“How do you feel?” Young asks eventually, lips still close enough that Rush can feel the movement against the corner of his mouth. He's not sure what Young wants, until he remembers how this started. A lazy smile creeps onto his face.
“Good,” he answers. It's the truth.
“You staying?” Young asks, ducking his head down. And if Rush didn't know better, he'd say Young actually sounds a little insecure right then.
He tightens the hand in Young's hair and pulls him close enough to kiss again.
“Night's not over yet.”