Chapter Text
Rush curses and slams his hand down on the edge of the console. It's not working, he can't concentrate – and this whole thing with Young was a goddamn mistake. But he'd known that already, of course.
Everywhere he looks, everywhere he goes, he's reminded of Young. Of his arms around his back, his weight against his chest, his lips against his skin. It's exhausting, and distracting, and not bloody fucking helpful when he should be focusing on shield calculations.
Worse than the memories of the sex, though, is the memory of Young kissing him in that hallway. Young had... he had misinterpreted their night together as something other than what it was, and Rush still gets irritated when he thinks about Young's expression when he'd shoved the man away, because he'd been perfectly clear about what this was from the start. It wasn't fair of Young to expect him to go along with unannounced kisses in a corridor in broad daylight simply because he'd let Young fuck him once. That wasn't the deal.
The whole thing in the corridor had felt like some sort of dominance play on Young's part. Does he honestly expect that Rush will give in to him this easily - that Young's tamed him - now that he's yielded to him in such an intimate manner? Because fuck if that thought doesn't get all Rush's hackles up.
Still, that look on Young's face – at first he'd thought it was only shock and dismay, but his mind insists on imagining an ever increasing amount of betrayal there, too – has haunted him for the past week.
Young hasn't really changed his behavior towards him since that kiss, which is at least one thing to be grateful for. Sure, Rush hasn't gotten another radio call that was little more than a flimsy excuse to say goodnight, but it's not like that was normal for them beforehand, either. Maybe Young is a bit cooler in his demeanor when it's just the two of them, but it's nothing Rush can't deal with.
No, everything should be fine, now. They should be moving on from this, leaving the mistake of sleeping together behind them. But now it's Rush. It's his brain that keeps replaying choice moments of that night for him, leaving him aching and hard at the most inopportune times.
Just yesterday they'd been conferring in the control interface room and Young hadn't even looked at him for more than two seconds, but it had been enough to make him flash back to Young's eyes, glittering in the dark; his grin, dirty and amused and oddly warm; the slick sheen of come on his cheek – and his cock had started filling up while Camile was in the middle of a report on her last IOA visit.
It's like being a goddamn teenager again, having to scramble and hide and cover himself simply so people won't get the wrong idea, and it's ridiculous.
He hypothesizes that the reason his libido is going haywire might be that he's made Young forbidden. He can't have Young, so he wants him. Simple as that.
It's impractical, and annoying, but it's something he can accept.
What he can't accept, however, is this constant state of aroused distraction. He needs to be able to work; if he makes a mistake in these calculations the resulting weakness in the shields during their next jump into FTL could cause the entire ship to get torn apart.
Fuck. Obviously simply trying to forget the whole thing isn't working. Perhaps he needs to reexamine why he was so unwilling to extend their sexual contact beyond that one night. If it was to avoid being distracted from his work, then by now it's become quite clear that his plan was ineffective.
Because he can't stop thinking about it. He wants to do it again. He wants touching, and kissing, and fucking – and if it improves the state of his body and his mind, why should he keep denying it?
Maybe he can allow himself this. Just sex, just physical release.
With Young.
He shakes his head and makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, hating himself for being all too willing to give up his own rules and restrictions when it suits him better. He had a perfectly good reason not to allow himself more than one night of indulgence, and he shouldn't dismiss it simply because he wants to fuck Young again.
This isn't him; this isn't rational, and the whole thing will blow over on its own.
In the mean time, he'll have Chloe check his calculations before he implements them.
-
He holds out for another four days through sheer force of will.
Still, on the fifth night, he lets himself into Young's quarters without knocking.
“Rush?” Young asks, and the look on his face makes it clear he thinks something bad is going on with the ship.
“I'm willing to extend our arrangement,” Rush says, once he's standing in front of Young. He grimaces inwardly, because that didn't come out quite the way he had intended, but Young's face goes from inquisitive to closed-off, so he guesses he got his message across regardless of its delivery.
“What are you talking about?” Young says darkly.
Rush almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't want a long, drawn-out conversation about this, so he forgoes any semblance of finesse and simply dives in. “The sex. We can do it again.”
For a moment, Young looks like he's about to laugh, but his eyes are harsh and unhappy when he says, “Fuck off, Rush.”
“It was good, for both of us,” Rush argues.
Young gives him a look that clearly portrays 'What the fuck is the matter with you?', and Rush feels something clench in his chest almost painfully.
“You decided that by yourself?” Young says, completely without inflection but somehow still close enough to a sneer. Rush feels panicky rage prickle all over his skin. Young is angry – his ego probably still bruised from not getting what he wanted in that corridor – and fuck that, because that was Young being a presumptuous jerk and ignoring their agreement, and he doesn't get to be pissed off at Rush for that.
Rush feels a nervous energy vibrate under the skin of his fingertips. He's not going to convince Young by talking, that much seems clear, and at this point continuing the conversation seems much too likely to end in a fight. So he grabs Young by the front of his jacket and kisses him deeply, slamming him up against the wall and pressing a leg between his thighs before the man can do much more than let out a muffled sound.
God, yeah, Young's scent, Young's taste, it's fucking intoxicating, and when Young gives in and reciprocates, the relief that floods Rush's system is beyond reason. He can feel Young getting hard against his thigh, and oh, yes, that's better. Rush pushes his hips forward, rubs his own erection against Young, and Christ, just that blunt pressure is making his head spin already.
Suddenly Young breaks away and shoves him back roughly.
“Jesus, Rush! Get the hell away from me.” Young looks angry, and turned on, and he drags the back of his hand across his mouth like he's trying to get rid of something distasteful.
Rush feels a hot, sharp flare in his chest. “I know you want this,” he challenges Young, because to hell with this indecisive bullshit; Young's arousal is fucking obvious.
“No,” Young says, voice hard. “I don't.”
“Look at yourself, Colonel,” Rush says, making a vague gesture at Young's crotch. “You're more hard-up for this than I am.”
Young narrows his eyes at him, and for a quick second Rush is reminded of the time on that desert planet, the way Young had looked at him before throwing that first punch. That shouldn't make his prick twitch, probably, but it does.
“You're wrong, you condescending ass. I don't want this,” Young says. “Now get the fuck out.”
-
He's furious, livid, as he makes his way back to his own quarters. Young had thrown him out, unceremoniously, and Rush is left with an absurdly insistent erection and a few hundred meters of empty corridors to cross. Young is such a fucking bastard. The man has the goddamn nerve to—Rush clenches and unclenches his fists erratically as he stomps through the hallways. Shit, he's seriously pissed off.
Because it's fucking insulting. Young was obviously turned on, he'd obviously reacted to Rush's touch, and then, what? He suddenly decided he didn't want him anymore? That... fuck, that was a bloody lie. Rush remembers the sex; Young had wanted it, had wanted him. He'd said so himself. This is just Young being a petty fool, refusing them both the physical and mental comfort of sex because Rush had refused to give in to him in that corridor. Young thinks he can control him, to use his physical attraction to him to make Rush bend to his will?
Well, fuck that, and fuck him.
If Young wants kissing in corridors by day but not sex by night, Rush has no fucking use for him anyway. He slams his hand down on the door opening mechanism to his quarters, and kicks off his shoes as soon as he's inside.
Goddamn Young.
He's still hard, and that only exacerbates his anger. Fucking Young and his idiotic principles. With that closed-off fucking expression and that slight flush of aroused animosity on his face. Shit, Rush can still feel how Young's body heat seeped into his chest through all the layers of fabric between them when he'd pressed Young up against the wall. Young is... he's a bastard, but his mouth is amazing – wet and warm and perfect to lose himself in.
Jesus.
Rush lets himself plop down on the bed and works open his belt and his jeans. His prick is straining against the tight cotton of his underwear, hard and persistent, and Rush lets his fingers run over the fabric with a small release of breath. That is... yeah, that feels good, and rubbing his fingertips over the head of his prick gives him an almost vicious sense of satisfaction. So Young refuses to have sex with him? Fine. He can't stop Rush from doing this. From imagining Young on his knees in front of him, between his open legs.
Rush strips off his jeans and his underwear, and with a small mental shrug, he slips out of his shirts and socks as well. He's completely naked – a bit unnecessary, but all the more vindicating for it – as he sits on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. Young would probably kiss him, first. Yes, he would kiss him, and touch his face, whisper something sweet and ostentatious, like 'Gonna make you come so hard you'll never think of anyone else,' and then he'd place a sucking bite low on his throat.
Rush hums to himself, letting his fingers play with his foreskin, pulling it up and back down over his tip slowly.
Young would touch him, all over, sweeping glides of hands over his shoulders and chest, grabbing him rough and hard when his own desire gets the better of him. God, Young is fucking strong, and thinking about the evidence of that really does something for Rush. That probably says something deep and fucked up and revealing about him, but he honestly doesn't give a shit. Young would squeeze him until it hurt, just enough to scare him a little. Yeah.
A drop of precome wells up on the head of his cock, and he dips his finger in leisurely, imagining he is touching Young, spreading the proof of Young's arousal, clear and slippery, over himself.
He wants Young between his thighs. He wants Young to suck him off again, to fuck him, deep and slow or hard and fast, anything – and fuck Young anyway, because that's exactly what they could have been doing right now if it wasn't for his obstinate nonsense.
But yes... fuck Young. That sounds good, too.
He's stroking himself with a firm rhythm now, no more playing. He wants... He wants to come imagining this - taking Young. Claiming him this time. Making him realize what that feels like.
Young would probably hate knowing Rush is getting himself off thinking about this - about fucking him, one hand on the back of Young's head and one hand on his shoulder, holding him down and driving into him from behind. He bites his lip savagely and lets his hand speed up. Yeah, Young would hate it.
There's a charged tension coiling up in his stomach, and he knows it won't be long now. He tightens his fingers around his cock and sucks in a harsh breath.
Perhaps, though, something whispers to him, Young wouldn't hate it at all. The Young in his mind fists his hands in the sheets, turns his head to the side, and moans his name, back arching and hips bucking wildly – and Jesus Christ. He can't... he has—oh fuck.
Rush comes, sudden and hard, and he feels the pleasure travel all over his skin, buzzing electrically inside and out. God, yeah, that's good.
He lies on his back with his eyes closed, his come cooling quickly on his stomach and chest, and waits for his heartbeat to calm down.
The more the high of his orgasm fades away, though, the more his anger for Young returns.
Young should've never gone along with it, with that one night of sex, if he knew he couldn't deal with it.
Damn it, he still feels hot with fury and rejection, and it shouldn't matter that Young pushed him away, that Young doesn't want him anymore, but it does. It makes something churn in his stomach, and he isn't even sure it's anger anymore, because it feels more uncomfortable than that.
He reaches over to his nightstand and grabs a hand towel to clean himself up. His resentment still flits around in his skull like a hummingbird, but his orgasm has left him physically drained, and it isn't hard to close his eyes when he drops the towel back onto the side table.
Yes, alright, he thinks as he yawns against the back of his hand. Tomorrow all this emotional bunk will have dissipated.
Things will go back to normal.
-
Things don't go back to normal. Rush wakes up the next morning with the exact same mixture of resentful rejection coursing through his veins, and it doesn't fade.
His interactions with Young become even sparser than before, and when Eli makes a remark about the unfriendly tension between them after Young walks out of the control interface room with tight shoulders and a thunderous face, Rush has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep more than a short, cutting sneer from falling out.
It's not tenable, because much as he hates to admit it, he needs Young on the ship, and he needs Young on his side. They'd been doing well, they'd found a way to work together – despite their differences and their pasts – and Rush just had to go and ruin it by throwing sex into the mix. He should have seen this coming, because sex complicates things. He'd known that.
What he hadn't expected, however, was that it would complicate things for him.
Because it has, much more than he could have imagined. Even being pissed off at Young doesn't make the man seem less appealing. It's been over three weeks since they slept together, but the memories of it haven't lost any of their effect on his arousal. He still gets hard dizzyingly fast when he thinks back on it. The way Young had felt inside him, how he'd worked Rush open with his fingers, how he'd fucked him and swallowed him down and made him come.
More and more, though, the memories that finally push him over the edge are the memories of Young kissing him. Young kissing him wetly, with a frantic urgency, or Young placing a row of soft kisses along his jaw, or Young desperately kissing him back in his quarters, before pushing him away... It is getting to be a problem, going from bad to worse, because the feelings those memories inspire are more than simple lust. There's something gentle, and aching, and—with a shock he realizes he's yearning for Young, and fuck, that is not okay.
It's been six days since their last encounter in Young's quarters, and he still hasn't moved on. He's still angry, and upset, and angry that he's upset.
Fuck, this is such a fucking mess.