insurgents | Chuck || Motorcity

[Chuck was not expecting Mike to point that out. In fact, he hadn't even thought about it that way when he did it. It was just an impulse he followed through, all guts and no logic, but now that it dawns on him through Mike's words, it doesn't fall short of embarrassing the living daylights out of him. Even if Mike says it was a nice surprise. Even if Mike had said it was the single greatest thing Chuck ever did in his life.]

Oh, I... [He lets out a strangled laugh, except it comes out more like a high-pitched whine, and he decidedly looks away from Mike again.] That was... uhm. I guess that was me kind of improvising, and I just... got carried away.

Chuck. [Mike shakes his head, hand sliding back up underneath his jaw.

[Only very later he will realize that he just really couldn't stop touching him, feel the skin underneath the pads of his fingers even when his head is clear and he isn't drunk on sensation. His mind immediately compared it to the metallic surface of their car, that it wasn't cool and smooth but warm and soft, save for a few nervous patches of their own youth, and he would actually never really question why he'd been so quickly to compare two things that only seem tenuously connected.]

He should've known he'd embarrass him so deeply with this, but he had to say it. He doesn't want him to justify it, no matter the reason Chuck probably had - or lacked.] I know--You saw me: I'm definitely not complaining.

[His eyes widen at a sudden realization, but he takes it in stride, shoulders slumping. "I don't think I'd ever complain." But that's something for later.] What I mean is: you don't have to explain it to me, just this was good. This is good.

[Chuck breathes in sharply, almost forced to lock sights with Mike when he speaks. Obviously, it causes him to turn a deeper shade of pink, and obviously, it pulls that insistent knot up to rest again on his throat. He thinks he knows what it is now, the way it keeps on pulsing rapidly behind his teeth and against his brain - it can only be his own heart threatening to jump right out of his mouth.

He shakes his head awkwardly, moving his hand from Mike's hip to close around his wrist.] No! No, I wasn't trying to explain it, Mikey, I was here so I know it was good. It was... [He takes a break, bites his lip, forcing any embarrassment down with a small smile.] ...very good.

[His thumb strokes the inside of Mike's wrist absentmindedly, and he shrugs.] I was just saying.

[The stroke of Chuck's thumb on his wrist makes him stop, and suddenly Mike feels a little silly. He grins, laughs a little, at himself, at the situation and how they are handling it, and how Chuck seems alright with it, too.

He tugs Chuck close, wrapping his arms - hand that's a mess away from his body but the rest of his arm pushing him towards him - around him, and nuzzling his ear. If it tickles, it tickles. It was tickling that got them here in the first place. He sighs through a smile, content.]

[It does tickle, and Chuck giggles and squirms, but lets himself get pulled closer. He even moves to also wrap his arm around Mike's waist. He sighs against his neck, but he won't give in to the feeling of warmth and comfort. Not when he can still feel his dirty hand resting awkwardly between them, upper arm locked under his own weight.

Even if the idea of lying here, forgetting whatever's happening outside of that door, or outside of those covers for that matter, just feeling Mike's chest heave with every breath, or assimilate every single smell and noise he makes, sounds like the best plan of action right now.

He tugs at the back of Mike's shirt, whining a little and trying to pull away.] You do know we really gotta get up now, right?

[He sighs and closes his eyes for a second, knowing this well and humming in acknowledgment. He also doesn't feel like it, but they'd have to do it sooner or later, he reasons with a tilt of his head.] We gotta at least take a shower.

[He pulls back just enough to look at Chuck in the eye, but not letting go of him just yet.] You go first. [Chuck can use the rest of the warm water. Mike could use a cold shower, actually. Otherwise he'd want to spend the rest of the day in bed.]

[Chuck suspects Mike just doesn't want to be the first to leave the warmth of the bed. For all his recklessness, endless energy and almost childish impatience, no one would guess Mike can be really hard to pull out of bed most mornings. Still, he's not about to complain. If he goes first then there's a lesser chance his water will get cold halfway through his shower.

He rolls his eyes a bit and pecks Mike's nose before answering.] If you insist...

[He pulls up his underwear - it had gotten a little misplaced in the process -, and reluctantly so, pries himself away from Mike. The cold air is painfully unwelcoming when he climbs out of bed, and he would complain about it if, with a couple of steps, he wasn't stepping on a particularly sharp piece of scrap. He hisses in pain, bites back a curse (because he knows Mike doesn't appreciate those), and looks back at the guy on the bed with a frown.]

Seriously Mikey, how many times do I gotta tell you to stop leaving junk on the floor? [Spoken like the room is just as his, but whatever. With a bit of a limp, he walks out of the room and heads down to the bathroom.]

[The peck gets him. It gets him and he grins and looks down, like a kid who just got his hair mussed. He watches the way Chuck eases out of the bed, how he hesitates for a moment at the first spark of cold air, and he stifles the urge to pull him back again, where it's warm and safe and fun and comfortable. He shakes his head to ease that from his mind and fingers, knowing that there'll be a time and a place for that.

... he hopes.

He's about to stretch like a lazy dog who can't get a decent dose of a shut-eye when he hears the yelp, eyes wide and body ready to bolt at the worst. He smiles, a little relieved, nodding in that "yeah, yeah, I know" manner.] My bad. You alright, Chuckles?

I'm fine![He replies from down the corridor, then adds, more to himself than anything else.] Could'a lost a foot, though...

[He goes into his own room and grabs a change of clothes before getting into the bathroom. He's hoping the hot water will compensate for the warmth he left behind, even when all the while he can still feel Mike's hands where they were resting, like he's still there.]

[With Chuck out of the room, he suddenly feels everything is too quiet. Without his breath to fill his ears, or the little hums he lets out once in a while with a sigh, the absent tapping of his fingers on everything he could touch - even his own thigh - he thinks he hears emptiness.

Even the room smells different, he figures as he looks to the ceiling, arms spread out. He's under the blanket, still, but he feels a little cold. It irks him, makes him restless. He curls onto his side and he catches a whiff of the same shampoo they use on the pillowcase, except mingled with Chuck's own scent.

[It's sticking to him like the image in the back of his eyelids of said hair spread over it, Chuck's mouth parting as he rubs his temple on the pillow.]

He turns again, goes back to watching the ceiling, eyes wide, thoughts and heart getting into a sure third gear.

The click of Chuck's door shuts the whole engine off, though. He hears the padding towards the bathroom - the limp is slowly leaving, thankfully - and hears the customary creak from the bathroom door as it opens. He sighs, shakes his head. It's no use thinking too much about it. He was just resting idle and without Chuck around he had nothing to pay attention to but his own mind, and the burn marks resting underneath his skin.

He pries himself off the bed, rolling his shoulders at the cold and the sudden position. Takes off his boxers and wipes his hand with them, at least to get an older but clean pair to make the trip to the bathroom. After that he looks down at his shirt. It was hanging off loosely, the collar showing a bit more of his shoulder than it used to.

He shrugs and leaves it on, clears up the floor of his room a little while he waits for Chuck to shower for a bit - he can tell when he's about to finish, anyway.]

[Chuck wills himself not to think about it either. It's a good thing he's used to thinking about everything and anything, and quickly he can replace thoughts of Mike's calluses running across his skin, and memories of his name being whispered and breathed in gasps against his own cheek - he focuses on other things.

He thinks of the cars' safety systems. He plays the various noises Mutt makes when Mike switches gears, and he replays the feeling when the wheels hit a bump. In his mind he pulls up the holograms and works on the endless programming, hiding all other thoughts behind lines of numbers, letters, barely intelligible symbols. It's much easier like that, and before he knows it he's finished and climbing out of the shower, grabbing his towel to dry himself.

He stares at the rack. Mike's towel is right there. He has to fight the urge to lean closer and take a sniff, maybe even bury his face into it a little. (He manages not to do it; mostly because he knows Mike would be able to tell later.)

He swats the thoughts away and quickly moves to put on his clothes and fix his hair. Not that he needs to do much, it always falls in the same way, even when Chuck doesn't comb it.]

[And he's making his way to the bathroom, hearing the piping soothe down from the rush of the water after it's closed. He rasps his knuckles on the door, opening it without waiting for an answer - normally he would, but Mike and Chuck have shared the bathroom, the room, the food, the car [everything now], plenty of times, and he figures it's not any different.

He peeks his head in, grinning.] You decent?

[And it's not any different really - Chuck jumps a little in surprise, but it's more out of habit than anything. He's happy to notice that, even when everything changes, it all still remains the same.

He nods as he moves to grab his toothbrush.] Yeah, come in.

Thanks. [He's already inside as Chuck tells him to come in, tugging at his shirt with one arm and reaching for the water knob with the other, stopping when his stretched arm makes it only able to slip out of his back and head, and then finally taking it off fully - dropping it on the floor, uops, he'll pick it up, Chuck, don't worry - to test the water with his hand.] How's the water when you had yours?

It was-- [He looks up from the sink to answer Mike and gets treated to a reflection of Mike's back. Okay, so maybe he should have been expected that, but still it came as a surprise. He nearly chokes on the toothpaste, and leans back down to both spit it out and break eye contact.] ... hot.

... it was hot.

[Forgetting about the water for a moment, he blinks, looks at Chuck's own hunched back to make sure he's alright.] You okay, there, buddy?

[Chuck just shoots a thumbs-up, making it a point to not lift his gaze until Mike is actually inside the shower and out of view.] I'm cool, no worries!!

[He shrugs.] If you say so! [And he tests the water again, lip quirking when he finds it at least warm enough, pushes his boxers off - with an elastic old enough to not need much pushing - and dropping it into the pile with the shirt as he steps into the shower.

A sigh. He had been aiming at a cold shower but a tepid one was good enough to not feel the shiver and yet not ease the tension of his muscles too much. Just perfect.]

[Chuck makes quick work of brushing his teeth, then grabs his own dirty clothes before walking out.

Once he shuts the door behind him, he rests his back against the wall. It's puzzling. Considering what they just did, and how this was so usual for them before, he shouldn't have been this flustered. His heart shouldn't be threatening to beat right out of his chest and his world shouldn't look so small. But it does.

He sighs deeply , hand resting over his stomach. He can see things changing - the taste of the toothpaste in the morning, the white noise when he lies in bed at night, and Mike's smile - and it scares him because he knows they won't be able to just not talk about it for too long.

He makes a bundle with his clothes and moves back to Mike's room, to gather whatever things he left scattered about.]

[The shower cleans him, but aside from the sweat, the sand in his eyes, the remains of the mess they did on the bed, he didn't feel dirty at all. Which was slightly new to Mike. He usually made sure his hands were washed thoroughly, but right then, he only made a quick work of his body and hair to make sure the water doesn't turn cold at the last second, and comes out of the shower.

After drying himself off, he wraps the towel around his waist and checks himself in the mirror, just to make sure if he should shave. He was still young, after all. The hair on his face still took a while to grow back after a cut. So he pads barefoot to his room, shoulders hunching at the dry and cold air outside the bathroom.] Hey. We need to get soap. It's almost running out.

Yeah... [He looks up from where he's crouching near the bed, folding his clothes, and really, big mistake. He knew, should have noticed Mike didn't really bring any clothes with him into the bathroom - he should have seen it coming before it actually happened, Mike heading down to the room wrapped in only a towel, hair still dripping onto his shoulders and...

And he looks away, clearing his throat.] Y-yeah! [There's that nervous giggle, that turns into a hum, somewhere between awkward and pleased. Because he won't deny to himself the new, smug feeling it settled on him, knowing what happened earlier, and that he could drive Mike that far, that fast.]

I noticed too, mmhm. [He nods, attention back on his clothes. (Mostly.)]

[The repetition strikes Mike as odd. Chuck was often nervous about something - a beansprout body resonating everywhere all the time - but he was usually eloquent when he wasn't. Which meant he was incredibly distracted, even if folding clothes wasn't a millenarian tactic that needed utter concentration, or he was nervous.

The reason for such nervousness, Mike reckons as he puts on his boxers and gives a little jump to pull up his pants, he has no idea what it can be--

Hm.] Have you seen my shirt? The white one?

[Really, he has to wonder, even if only for a moment, if Mike is even doing this on purpose. One could guess he's both nervous and distracted; folding clothes can't be quite as attention-grabbing as... the current alternative, after all.

He finds himself staring, although barely glancing over his shoulder, looking scattered around the room as Mike speaks, and promptly grabbing one of Mike's shirts off the floor and tossing it haphazardly at him.] Here.

[Mike makes a quick job of putting it on, padding over to Chuck. The shirt is slightly riddled with creases from being thrown onto the floor, but he knows it'll straighten out with time.

Now to straighten something else out first.

He did not do it on purpose - he actually couldn't find his shirt - but he knew that something was up. Knew that Chuck was nervous about seeing him naked. What happened when they woke up really does change things, he found, because as he made his way towards Chuck, his hand itched to brush over the freckles peeking above the back of his collar.

He doesn't do that, though. Instead he's doing something that'll more than likely get his best friend more nervous.]

This is better, right? [He says as he crouches beside him, very quietly, putting the cards on the table gently.]

[Chuck doesn't get it, doesn't make the connection between Mike's choice of words and what he is actually asking him. So he perks his head up, finding it much easier to look back at Mike now that they're closer, eyebrows arched in a silent, questioning hum.]

Is what better?

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/slowly fishes mind out of the gutter....

which one

I don't even know anymore

lmaksdlkas oh you <3

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