Work Text:
Okay, it’s official. Agent Washington can withstand explosions and pelican crashes, bear wounds from bullets and knives, and even piece his mind back together after an unfortunate experience with a certain AI; he can do all of that without earning a second glance for his troubles but he cannot handle a crick in his shoulder from a bad night’s sleep. It rarely ever happens as Wash typically sleeps on his back but after a night of reliving the worst of his memories, Wash wakes up on his side with a knot of muscle between the base of his neck and his shoulder.
Wash doesn’t get a chance to try and relieve his pain as he is expected to be in the training room at o-five-hundred and he refuses to set a bad example by being late. It’s only after he makes it to the training room and hands out orders for laps does he let himself wallow in just how much pain he is in. Wash does his best to stretch the tense muscles as discreetly as possible by shrugging his shoulders or rolling his neck.
He quickly finds two downsides to this plan of action, the first being that his armor doesn’t allow him to move enough to properly alleviate the coiled muscles. Secondly, Wash realizes that him and discreet don’t really work well together and he has a hard time keeping the embarrassment out of his voice when Private Palomo asks him if he is feeling okay for the third time. For the rest of the training session, Wash stands extra still on principle and barks out orders for double time and extra squats for each questioning look he gets from the young soldiers.
Wash’s training sessions continue after lunch and he knows better than to be as obvious with this group, rolling his neck only when the pain is at its worse and flexing his fingers constantly to keep the dull pain from being unbearable. The pain gets to the point that the throbbing has made Wash’s entire arm feel numb and he calls for an early day with thirty minutes left to their session. No one sticks around to give any surprised or questioning looks because if the Agent Washington is going easy on them, they aren’t going to look a gifthorse in the mouth. Wash is relieved by this as well as the fact that no one gives him a second glance as he makes it back to his quarters. The rest of the Reds and Blues have their own duties at this time, so Wash has the place to himself for at least an hour before dinner.
His armor is off is record time and his kevlar suit is pushed down his torso just as quickly, giving Wash the range of arm movement he’d been craving earlier. His hands fly to his shoulder, growling in frustration as his self administered massage can’t seem to hit the right spot. Wash’s entire neck and shoulder have become one huge mess of knots at this point but he can’t reach the damn epicenter to fix the growing problem. Sighing, Wash decides to try to stretch out the muscles at least, growing irritable at the lingering pain. His whole arm feels heavier than usual now and Wash almost wishes it was a bullet wound instead of a crick in his neck- it would be more dramatic, sure, but it’d at least be a pain he’d learned how to manage over time and it wouldn’t be fatal so why-
Wash’s internal whining is cut short but a familiar laugh. Wash turns, arm still held in a stretch with his elbow almost vertical and hand behind his head. His face is red before he can even drop his arm, letting it swing on it was down due to his surprise. The momentum results in agitating the sore muscles further, causing Wash to let out an undignified sound that most definitely wasn’t a yelp and making the intruder laugh harder. Glaring, Wash straightens his posture, drawing himself to his full height so he can look down on the aqua soldier.
“Tucker, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on guard duty?” Wash snaps, a bit harsher than he intends. Still laughing, a blue armored hand waves away what the older man says.
“Relax, I didn’t cut out of my job to interrupt your you-time. Donahue was supposed to be my replacement today but he showed up early, said you let your training class out before time was up. He seemed really confused on the concept of free time, so I did him a favor and let him clock in early so I could get in an early shower before dinner. Although I think I’d prefer dinner and a show instead,” Tucker added the last part in with a sly tone, stepping back as if to take in Wash’s appearance. Wash has to fight every urge to cross his arms over his chest, knowing that it would both egg on Tucker as well as anger his shoulder even further.
“Yeah, well, showers are open,” Wash says blandly, turning away from Tucker. “Now if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of something.”
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt a good time,” Tucker’s voice is practically giddy as he throws himself on the nearest bed, sprawling out as he pointedly continues to watch Wash. Wash can feels his gaze and he curses himself for how red he must be right now. Without turning around, Wash snaps.
“Do you mind?”
“Nope.”
“Tucker,” Wash practically yells. “I’m not in the mood for your shit right now. I have a crick in my neck and it’s been killing me all day. All I want is to try and stretch it so can you please just go shower!” The silence drags after Wash’s outburst and he begins to feel a bit guilty for his unusual behavior. As Wash prepares to turn and apologize, Tucker finally breaks the silence.
“I can help, if you want.”
“What?”
“I mean, I give pretty good massages. Or at least that’s what the ladies say, bow chicka bow wow.” Wash sighs and Tucker quickly adds on, “Sorry, but seriously man, I could help you if it’s hurting that much.”
Wash considers the offer for a moment; on one hand, he’d probably feel better but on the other, he’d have to allow Tucker to break the carefully crafted wall between subordinate and friend. They had both been toeing that line for a while now and Wash is afraid of what the other side might bring. Unconsciously, he tenses and the actions shoots pain down his left side. Internally swearing, Wash sighs in defeat.
“Yeah, okay.”
“What?”
“I'd like it,” Wash grimaces as the words leave his mouth, forcing the rest of the sentence to follow, “if you would help me with my back. Please.” There is silence again and Wash is almost tempted to turn once more despite his deep blush but is quelled at the feeling of hands on his back. Actually, more like metal on his back as Tucker begins to work into his neck and shoulder. The pressure is painful at first but after a minute or so, the muscles are less of a solid wall and more like individual knots.
The first time Tucker works a knot out of his back, Wash lets out a small sigh of pleasure. He had been in so much pain all day even the slightest relief was a blessing. Wash begins to relax under the touch, relishing in how it feels each time another knot is undone by Tucker’s hands. Wash didn’t realize his sighs had turned into grateful groans and smalls mewls until a particularly loud one escaped his throat, prompting more laughter from Tucker. Tensing again, although the action was now less painful, Wash stepped out of reach from the other man and turned to glare at him.
“I think that’s enough of that,” Wash announced, acting as if he hadn’t been the one to ruin the situation.
“Oh, c’mon Wash, don’t be like that. Being vocal is a good thing.”
“Right,” Wash snaps, trying to pull up his kevlar suit. “Well, it’s almost dinner time and it’s pasta day so we definitely want to get there before Grif so-” Wash tries to muscle past Tucker, but the shorter man positions himself in front of the door.
“Okay, okay, calm down, Wash. It’s no big deal, just let me finish.”
“Tucker, move.”
“You know, your I-am-your-commanding-officer-obey-me voice isn’t as effective when you’re as red as Sarge,” Tucker teases, causing Wash to bolt for the door again. Tucker moves to block Wash again. “Okay, I’m done now, seriously.” Wash takes a step back, glaring at Tucker through his visor. Tucker holds up his hands as if in defeat, waiting until Wash uncrosses his arms before he speaks again. “Your back was pretty fucked up and I was obviously helping, so just let me finish.” Wash waits but when there is no tacked on innuendo, he considers the other man more seriously.
“It was helping,” Wash admits after a while. Tucker seems emboldened by this, stepping closer to Wash and holding his hands out expectantly.
“Of course it was. Now turn around.” Wash doesn’t hesitate this time, turning around and waiting expectantly. He doesn’t hear any movement behind him but he also doesn’t feel Tucker’s hands working out the kinks in his neck either. Wash rolls his shoulders, hoping to prompt the other man but he is still rewarded with nothing.
“Tucker,” Wash hisses out impatiently as if he hadn’t been bolting for the door just minutes earlier.
“Yeah?” Wash is almost startled at how close the voice to his ear but he tries not to let it show.
“Are you going to do it?”
“Do what?” Wash could scream in frustration and he doesn’t take the time to realize that Tucker is probably laughing behind him.
“Give me a massage!” A soft chuckle comes by his right ear and Wash does his best not to shiver at the feel of warm breath on his skin. When did Tucker take his helmet off?
“All you had to do was ask,” Tucker mutters before fingers assault Wash’s back once more. Wash groans loudly at the sensation of skin on skin, pushing down his embarrassment in favor of sinking into the pleasure. Tucker’s fingers dance over his back, and Wash finds his eyes closing with pleasure. His skin is flushed again but this time from the effects of Tucker’s fingers. Wash’s mind screams at him about the line of propriety but he is too gone to care.
The pain abates after some time and while a few knots remain, Wash has a feeling that both of them are just drawing it out because of how good it feels to be so physically close with another person. Tucker’s breath is tickling Wash’s ear again and Wash finds himself rolling his head back indulgently. He hides it as stretching his once sore muscles. To his pleasure, one of Tucker’s hands slide through his shaggy blonde locks and begin to work circles into his scalp. Wash sighs contentedly and relaxes into the touches, ignoring anything outside of the points where his skin meets Tucker’s.
Wash is brought back to reality when the hand still massaging his back slides away and something heavy comes to rest on his left shoulder. Wash glances down to see deep brown eyes gazing up at him. The little voice he has been ignoring is back with a vengeance screaming about lines and telling him to run. Wash tenses up but if Tucker notices, he doesn’t let on, remaining with his chin hooked on Wash’s collarbone.
“So,” Tucker rasps out and Wash’s mind can’t process what that tone means in its current state of alarm. “Dinner’s been served for five minutes.”
“Yeah,” Wash chokes out, his own voice more timber than usual. His mind his on overdrive now and he isn’t sure when a crick in his neck turned into Tucker practically draping himself over his shoulders. And he definitely isn’t sure what he did to get that look in Tucker’s eye.
“Bet you Grif’s already cleared out the garlic bread by now,” Tucker muses, eyes not leaving Wash’s face.
“Yeah,” Wash feels dumb for not being able to manage any word other than ‘yeah’ but he’s running on autopilot now with all higher functioning seemingly glazed over in a pleasant fog.
“I think Palomo is on kitchen duty tonight, so he could probably get us some food later if we got hungry.”
“Yeah,” Wash seriously wished he wasn’t such as complete idiot. Tucker just ginned up at him, left hand making itself known again as it lightly trailed down Wash’s back.
“I bet I could have you making even more noises than before,” Tucker purrs into Wash’s neck as his left hand begins massaging at Wash’s hip, fingers dipping under the black kevlar suit. Wash almost groans in pleasure at the new location. Almost. Then his grey eyes snap open and he is an arms length away from Tucker before the latter can process what happens. Tucker’s arms are still hanging in the air, face drawn in confusion while Wash quickly shrugs the suit back on zipping it up. The unspoken bow chicka bow wow is playing through Wash’s head as he begins to put his armor back on.
When Tucker’s bare hand comes to rest on his shoulder piece, Wash turns to him with a blank expression. “Yes, Captain Tucker?”
“Uh,” the other man’s face is scrunched to the point of being comical and Wash uses all of his willpower to remain stoic. “What the fuck just happened?”
“You helped me with my back, and I thank you for that,” Wash explains, but lets out a calculated sigh. “But it seems that we’re late for dinner and how can we expect our teams to be punctual if we can’t abide by the same standards?”
“Dude, going to dinner isn’t required.”
“No, it’s not,” Wash admits, “but if you’re going to go at all, you should be on time. Set an example.”
“But I just said, we don’t have to go to dinner. Palomo would-”
“So you’re going to ask one of your subordinates to break the rules so you don’t have to follow protocol?” Wash asks coolly. Tucker growls, obviously frustrated as he runs a hand through his hair. He gives Wash a once over, before throwing his hands up in defeat as Wash sets his helmet on his head.
“Are you seriously going to pretend like this didn’t happen? Look, I’m sorry if I go the wrong message. I’m reading you loud and clear now-”
“What message?” Wash tries to play coy but Tucker’s dark look shows that he obviously made the wrong move.
“The message that you’re not interested. I get it, okay? Don’t make it weird.” The silence is heavy and neither make a move for the door. Instead, Wash removes his helmet again, tucking it under his arm, and closes the distance between him and Tucker.
“I’m not sending any message,” Wash says honestly. “Well, other than the fact you really should try to be more punctual.” Tucker makes an exasperated noise and Wash grins sheepishly. “Sorry. I just thought… I mean… that line was a perfect setup for you… for your catchphrase.” Wash cringes at his awkward sentence, hoping Tucker can understand what he is trying to say. Frowning, Tucker seems to process this for a minute before his face smooths its distress and he laughs.
“Oh,” Tucker manages between peals of laughter. “Yeah, I guess it was.” Wash just grins hesitantly at Tucker, trying to gauge what comes next. “So since that wasn’t a joke?” Tucker asks, eyes dancing hopefully.
“We’re still going to dinner,” Wash says dryly, turning to put his helmet back on. Tucker just grins, jogging to catch up to the older soldier as he leaves their living quarters.
“But that doesn't mean we can’t later?”
“Tucker,” Wash warns. Tucker just waves him off again, laughing and pulling ahead of him in the path towards the dining hall. As Tucker saunters away from him, he turns around and offers an overdramatic wink that has Wash both shaking his head and smiling. His subconscious is still yelling about overstepping boundaries but he ignores it in favor of rising to Tucker’s bait about being later than him to dinner.
As the two race each other through the halls of Armonia’s base, Wash finds that neck pains aren’t the worst thing in the world after all. Maybe he'd have to have Tucker massage his neck just a little more after dinner- just to make sure it was all okay. Or something.