Archive of Our Own ^beta

They've been in the Philippines for most of a week—he turned 21 here, on a disaster relief effort—using Gipsy to either brace or clear destroyed bridges and buildings, and after that working from dawn to dark beside the locals, clearing roads by hand while their Jumphawks do civilian rescues from cut-off regions of Luzon. Raleigh's starting to pick up a little Tagalog, but his Samoan keeps getting in the way, it's like his problems with Spanish. At least Yance's in the same boat, and the majority of people are English-bilingual anyway. It hasn't been a problem, and the long days either in Gipsy or running chainsaws and axes are the good kind of exhausting. They're sleeping on the Bellatrix, the Los Angeles Shatterdome's jaeger-carrier, and he's just about too tired to climb the ladders to the deck every night when they go back by boat. Going back by Jumphawk's a little better. It's the middle of yet another drippy tropical winter afternoon when a very particular high-pitched alarm shrills out of the wrist-comm of every member of the PPDC he can lay eyes on, audible even over the chainsaws they're opening this street with, and Raleigh curses as he cuts the motor.

"What is that?" their liaison with local emergency management—Danilo Garcia—asks, and he wipes his brow with the back of one forearm and sighs.

"That's the Breach alarm. I'm damn sorry to have to leave you, but we've got to get back to our ship." There are no exemptions when a kaiju's coming calling somewhere.

"Kaiju?" Garcia asks, and the word spreads like wildfire among the rest of the relief crew, worry painting itself over faces in moments.

"Somewhere, yeah," Raleigh agrees, as he's getting moving to where he can leave the chainsaw in a truck—it belongs to the local government, not the PPDC. His protective gear, on the other hand, is PPDC issue. "No idea where, it's a new transit. We'll get the warnings out once tracking has some idea where it's going."

He's got three kills to his name; he wants his fourth but he doesn't want this region to suffer another attack. A quarter of Manila is still a kaiju-and-nuclear fallout wasteland, and the people that live in the other quarter that was damaged are a lot more desperate or a lot braver than he thinks he could be. Yance joins him and slings the gear he was working with in beside his chainsaw, and the rest of the volunteers from their crew are doing just the same. They've got a pair of military jeeps out of Bellatrix parked half a mile back—everyone knew it wasn't going to be long before the Breach spat out another bastard—so they brought their own transport.

Yance runs the roll-call while they jog, making sure they've got everyone, and then they're in the jeeps and hauling ass back to the working helipad and the Jumphawks waiting to get them back to Bellatrix.

They haul ass through Bellatrix to the conference room and slide into seats, nodding at Commodore McKenna and his two ships’ captains and flashing matching grins at Rhea as they do. Tendo wasn't with them, and they're not the last ones in, because he and Krista get in a bare minute later, out of breath and wearing even more mud than he and Yancy are. Everyone that needs to be here present, finally, McKenna flicks the screens and video-links on. Marshal Jackson pops up on screen from LOCCENT back in LA, and Raleigh nods to him, knowing Yance is too.

"Rangers," the Marshal says, "initial tracking has the kaiju moving southwest out of the Breach. It's not a particularly fast one, but you’re in the primary cone. If it stays on course, you're going to deploy."

They predict kaiju like meteorologists predict typhoons, with straight-line tracks from every time the satellites ping the fucker—or however they do it—and then weighted cones of probable divergences by what cities are in a 180-degree arc off the damn thing. They very rarely reverse course completely, there's only ever been one that did, and that was because it turned and chased—and ate—an entire fucking shipping convoy then kept going towards the port they were headed for.

"Understood, Marshal," McKenna says. "We'll move offshore to the south immediately."

Raleigh nods, because they can't have Bellatrix and Salm tied up in a harbor with a kaiju inbound. Bellatrix is almost more irreplaceable than Gipsy Danger is, terrible as that feels. The giant, super-fast Jaeger-carriers are precious. They're only about half as fast as a kaiju, but it tends to be enough to let them evade, as long as they're in deep enough water. The Jumphawk-carriers are even more precious with only nine Pegasus-class ever built, one for each Shatterdome, where they’ve at least gotten five new PPDC-fitted Algol-class rolled out in addition to the original eight that were retro-fitted and are working on more, but even if they weren’t: where their half-sister carrier Bellatrix goes, Salm goes.

"Any decisions on who we're getting as backup yet?" Raleigh asks, because that's been protocol for a year and a half or so, since even before Diablo Intercept went down. These Cat-3s are just too big to handle solo unless there's no choice.

"Not yet," the Marshal replies, "but Lucky Seven and Horizon Brave are both already in the Philippines doing relief work as well, so they're most likely."

Raleigh does not make a noise. He does not squeak. Yancy's laughing at him across the ghost-Drift anyway.

He firmly flips his brother off across the ghost-Drift and just nods. "Understood, sir."

But. Lucky Seven and Horizon Brave. A pair of Mark-Is. Legends with probably a score of deployments by now. Lo Hin Shen and Xichi Po were the first Chinese pilots, the sixth Jaeger ever to come online, and Herc and Scott Hansen (one of the teams of brothers who made them think they could do this, right along with the Gages) have the last Mark-I but a ton of deployments. Something about being from the Shatterdome closest to the Breach, probably. They've never gotten to meet either team, it's not like active-duty pilots get a lot of chances to just… mingle.

"Good. Go crash out, Rangers."

"Yes, sir," Yance says, because Yance can fucking always sleep. Unlike him, and he's not looking forward to the sleeping pills he's going to have to take, but at least their usual primary doc is with them and knows his sedative reactions are so damn fucked up he needs a custom cocktail.

The meeting ends, he jogs down to the tiny medical bay, and gets the meds he needs—he hears the echoes of Bellatrix's engines start to roar through the metal while he's still there—and Yance has already climbed into the top bunk when he gets to their quarters shipboard. He's laying on his side, propped up on an elbow to look towards the door, his other hand invisible under the sheet—and everything he was wearing is tossed on Raleigh's bed, right down to his briefs.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Hey, old man. Surprised you're not already out." No he's not, especially not with Yance's clothes in his space, but if he's not teasing his brother there's something incredibly wrong with him.

"Bullshit you are. You won't sleep even with the sedatives at this hour without getting off,” Yance says. Guilty as charged, yeah, and… well, Yance knows exactly how to have him hard as hell in less than two minutes. Like, oh, by saying, "C'mon, kiddo. Shirt off, let me see you."

It's not goddamn fair that ever since Yamarashi, Yance telling him to strip goes utterly straight to his cock, but it does, and Raleigh peels it off and hangs it on the doorknob. "What, gonna tell me to stay against the door?"

"You see anywhere else I can watch you from in this postage-stamp? Boots, gorgeous. Out of 'em."

Raleigh leans back on the door to bring his foot up and unlace his boot and haul it off, taking his sock along with the boot, then the other. The decking is fucking cold under his feet, and he tosses his shirt to the decking and stands on it to get a little warmth.

"Mmm, yeah, good thought. Belt, Rals, just open it, god, I can already see your cock hardening up for me, you're so fucking perfect." He can feel the edges of Yance's want, the flickers of hunger that aren't exactly his and aren't exactly not, anymore, and he unbuckles his belt with one hand, the other dragging fingers over his nipples for the flash of heat his own nerves and Yance's want through the ghost-Drift give him.

"You're biased," he tells his brother lazily, looking up at Yance's face, the blue eyes gone dark and fixed on him and his pulse hammers in his veins, in his throat, in his wrists.

"Maybe," Yancy shrugs slightly, and cocks his head. "You willing to drop those and your shorts about halfway down your thighs and buckle 'em back up, Rals? It's such a fucking gorgeous look on you."

His breath catches, because Yance may love the look but Raleigh loves the bare hint of restraint that is, and he says, "You know I am," even as he's moving to do it, unzipping and dragging down the waist of the pants and his underwear along with them to just where Yance wants him to buckle them back up.

"Beautiful, kiddo," Yance murmurs as he fastens the belt, feeling it bite just enough into his thighs, and Yance's want curls all through him again, making him harder—and he was already getting there fast. "Shit, I love how you look, I love how much my voice gets to you, run your thumb over your tip for me, gorgeous."

He does, and it gets them the first drip of fluid to use to make this easy, and he leans back against the door a little more, looking at Yance, "You look like you're starving, Yance, like I'm all you can think about, and you sound like it, how could that not get to me?"

Because it's suddenly sort of relevant, he asks, "What are you up to under that sheet, Yance?"

"Mostly, making you wonder," Yance replies, laughing, grinning down at him—in the top bunk is the only way Yance can grin down at him, these days, and Raleigh whines before Yance's hand comes out from under the sheet to toss a bottle of lube at him. He catches it with the hand not on his dick, and gets some on his hand. The chill of it makes him hiss a little as he strokes it over his tip and shaft. He tosses the bottle back up to Yance.

Yance grins at him again, vanishes the lube under the sheet, and keeps talking to him, praise and hunger and directions. He gets flashes of sensation from Yance, mostly nails on his thighs or sharp tugs at his nipples—almost too sharp for fingers but he can't place why—a few strokes on his brother's cock but not a lot, as Yance's low voice sends shocks up and down his spine. He listens, Yance's words setting his pace, his strokes, letting the hunger in Yance's voice drive him crazier and crazier until he can't do anything but beg for Yance to let him come.

"Yeah, Raleigh, come on, come for me," Yance says, eventually, and his palm over his tip keeps some of the mess corralled while the world whites out around him.

He gets back to reality a little later, breath shaking, and looks up to see that Yance's tossed the sheet back, that he's got the hand of the arm he's been leaning on tangled in the chain of a set of nipple clamps (not the ones Yance likes best; they're a day from deployment, he can't go for that much) and his other thumb working his taint and two fingers in himself, head tipped back and hard enough he's leaking, and fuck it's a good thing he's dead-middle of the bunk because Raleigh wants desperately, like he always does, to add his mouth on Yance's cock to drag his brother's pleasure out of him, get Yance to fuck his mouth and take his pleasure with him.

He whines, soft, and Yance's hand leaves the chain for his cock, working it hard and sudden to get himself off.

The sudden rush of Yance's orgasm through the ghost-Drift nearly knocks Raleigh to his knees—it doesn't, but it's close—and he can't do anything but just watch Yance ride the last of his own pleasure, watch until Yance's eyes open and he takes a breath that isn't a gasp, is something at least mostly steady. They both joke that he's the pretty one, and he is, but Yancy is absolutely fucking gorgeous, too, and Raleigh wants to lick his fingers, his chest, every inch of him just as much now as he did after the first time they Drifted and came out of it wanting to go back to being one body.

He takes a breath, shoves out of his pants, uses his shorts to clean up—mostly—and ducks into the even-tinier-than-their-'Dome-quarters head to wet a couple washcloths, toss one out at Yance, and finish cleaning up.

That done, he gets the meds out of his pocket, downs 'em dry, and crawls into his bunk. He shoves Yance's clothes down onto the floor because they're mud-streaked and heavy with old sweat, ew, and stretches out, getting comfortable.

Sleep. He needs it. They both do.

It was mid-afternoon when they went to go sack out, so of course, Raleigh's awake again by 0100 local and he's not gonna get any more sleep for a while. He quietly slides out of bed, fishes clean clothes out of his duffel and his jacket out of the closet, and gets dressed. Once he's managed that, he goes to hit the ship's mess and get the meal he missed. Yance is still asleep, and sleeps through him getting out the door, so that's good. One of them fucking ought to.

Even in the middle of the night, there are plenty of people awake in a warship, and he knows most of them he passes. So he says hey and checks on how they're doing all the way through the ship, and he fills a tray and finds a spot in front of one of the TVs—wait, that's Sunday morning US sports pregame programming, it's Mond—fuck the fucking date line, God, time zones are the worst.

He sighs, rubs his forehead, and idly listens to the chattering talking heads while he eats.

"Hey, Rals," Jordan, one of Gipsy's plasma cannon techs, says as he flops down onto the bench across the table, "what the hell are you doing awake?"

"I went to sleep at like 5pm? I'm starving, every muscle I've got is sore because I was out for a stupid number of hours, if I don't eat and move nobody's gonna be happy when I climb into Gipsy. What's the news?"

"Damned thing is still headed straight for us, it's gonna be here probably about noon unless it turns towards Kaohsiung or mainland China. Altair and Horizon Brave got here four hours ago, Regulus and Lucky Seven got here two hours ago, they're anchored a mile north and south, respectively."

Too damn bad it's the middle of the night at sea; even if he went topside he wouldn't be able to see them, even if they were lit. Which they won't be.

He settles to getting around his food, so he can go harass Tendo in LOCCENT to find out if their Marshals are planning to have the six of them meet up on one of the ships to spar in the Kwoon, or if they're not going to get that this time. Normally, if teams are gonna deploy together, they run mixed and paired spars to get a feel for how the other team—or teams, in this case, he guesses—think, how they move. It works remarkably damn well, actually, despite the fact that most people who aren't pilots, who can't Drift, do not get it.

He drops his tray off and jogs for the on-ship LOCCENT, slips inside gesturing 'quiet damnit' at the night shift so nobody hollers out 'Ranger on deck'. He gets an exasperated eyeroll from Trisha, an amused grin from Nakayan, and Tendo doesn't notice the shift in the room because he's cursing at his plots… which means Raleigh gets to see how close he can get to Tendo before he notices he's there.

The answer is 'close enough to touch', and Raleigh takes a step back before he says, "Hey, my man," because he has caught an elbow to his ribs from startling Tendo and that's just never fun.

Tendo jumps, curses at him, and spins his chair around to glare up at him. "Jesus, can you make goddamn noise when you move, Rals?"

"Where's the fun in that? Evening, Tendo. Anything new from the Marshals?"

"I was gonna wake you guys at 0530, we're gonna have the Hansens and Shen and Po over here by 0700. Why are—"

"I got nine-plus hours sleep, don't start, I was hungry. I'll go try and read myself back to sleep here shortly." It probably won't work, but he'll try. "They're coming over here? Cool." He wouldn't have minded getting to see one of the other carriers, but he doesn't mind getting to stay closest to Gipsy.

"Yeah," Tendo says, and also immediately drops his fussing, which is one of Raleigh's favorite things about him. "The way they came in put us in the middle, so…"

Raleigh nods, because that makes good sense, no need to over-fly them to get to either of the other ships. "Right, Jordan said they were on either side of us. What do we know about this kaiju?"

"Slow," Tendo says, "and it's already surfaced to breathe a dozen times, so we've got fair imaging. Name's Gyakushu." He turns back around, flicks his fingers over the keyboard and images pop up, getting progressively darker. It's ugly, like they all are, grey with streaks of purplish bioluminescence, swimming like a crocodile, propelled mostly by its long tail beating through the waves. Raleigh leans in a bit to stare at it, judging proportions.

"Counterattack?" Raleigh asks, drily. "Let's hope not. And damnit, that thing’s gonna scuttle, not walk, look at how short the limbs are. I hate the ones that scuttle…"

"I know, I know," Tendo agrees, patting his thigh sympathetically, "they suck, they're the worst sims, and now you get one live. Sorry, baby Becket."

"What's it looking like, trajectory wise? We expecting another fucking overland run?"

"God, I don't know, Rals," Tendo groans, rubbing his hand over his face, "don't ask me for miracles. We're not going to know for sure if it's gonna come up between the islands in the water, or go outside and overland until it makes a decision at Samar and then Sorogon. Beyond which minor problems, I'm still worried it's gonna fuckin' swing south at Davao when it gets closer. We've never had a kaiju go for a population density that low when there's a higher one nearby, but Davao's got almost two million people and it'll take four hours to get the three of you down there."

Raleigh rests his hand on Tendo's shoulder and squeezes, because yeah, he gets it. He's real, real goddamn glad that kaiju tracking and prediction isn't his job, it's part of Tendo's and the Marshals', because when they get it wrong… way too many goddamn people die before the jaegers can get there.

Tendo leans back into his hand and pulls up the map for him with his other hand, gesturing. Gyakushu basically hasn't deviated from a single degree of west-northwest course the whole time its been swimming and, yeah, that should keep it north of Davao, but it doesn't fucking tell them much about where in the Philippines it’s gonna stomp or swim inland.

"Fucking hell," Raleigh mutters, raking his hand through his hair, "any good news?"

Tendo laughs, tipping his head sideways to look up at him. "Okada Manila and Solaire Resort are vying with each other for the right to house all of us for the party once the kaiju's dead? Both of 'em are offering 'til Friday night."

"It's Monday. We're expensive. They just had a typhoon," Raleigh points out.

"They can eat the costs for the press coup, baby Becket," Tendo says, with a chuckle.

Raleigh shakes his head a little—he still has a hard time, now and then, dealing with just how damn famous they are and what people will do to have them around, especially after an attack. It's also a little terrifying that they started to negotiate with the PPDC before they even kill the thing, because it could go bad, they could fail. He doesn't think it's likely, and he won't think it's likely, but it could happen. Still. But then again, with three jaeger crews—and every city knows the Rangers won't come out and be the guests of honor without their crews—and most of six ships' crews to put up in a city without a Shatterdome, it'd take the big resort hotels. That doesn't happen in an instant.

At least none of those details are even vaguely his responsibility, either.

"Any guesses on who's gonna win?" Raleigh asks, idly.

"Ehn,” Tendo says, flipping his left hand palm-up in a non-commital gesture that sets his rosary-bracelet rattling against his watch. “Probably both, with how many bodies we've got. All of us one place, the ship crews the other. They're pretty close together, that should be fine."

Raleigh nods, since that does make sense, and glances at Tendo's display again. Still on that same course towards Luzon, no divergence. "Anything else I ought to know right now?"

"Nah," Tendo shakes his head. "Go on, try and get some more rest. If things change, I'll page your room."

"Alright," he agrees, looking down at Tendo with a grin. "Night, night owl."

"Oh, I'll be in the Kwoon," Tendo says with a smile of his own, "if you think I'm missing getting to watch you two square off with Mark-I pilots, you're out of your mind."

Raleigh laughs, shakes his head, and heads back for their quarters.

He sets an alarm for 0525 just in case Tendo decided he'd passed on when they needed to be up and it was his problem now, strips down to his shorts, hauls out his Kindle, and settles back in with Sand and Steel: The D-Day Invasion and the Liberation of France, which he'd missed being released and only found when he was hunting for new books to haul with him this trip. How he missed it, don't ask him, Snow and Steel is great and so is Monte Cassino: ten armies in hell, but… shit happens and it's not like he's not a little busy.

He apparently lost his place, so he taps back a few pages to refresh his memory, brightness down as far as it'll go, and lets his head fill with the man's vivid prose—

—the alarm from the wall wakes him up and he silences it, rolling up onto his feet. Goddamn cold decking, fuckssake, ow. "Yance, Yance, five minutes before Tendo's hollering at us, Yancy, wake. UP!"

"Nngh, wha—Rals? Time's'it?"

"Five twenty-five, wake up, you slept like twelve hours, how can you still be asleep!"

Yancy growls at him and shoves one hand groggily in his direction—Raleigh ducks, laughing, because that is not even vaguely anything like a smack and it's hilarious Yance thinks it is—as he rubs at his eyes with the other. Raleigh leans and brings the lights up, and Yance curses.

"Why've I not jus' drowned you?" Yance mutters, as he does so often, and Raleigh just laughs again as he catches hold of Yance's still-extended arm and tugs.

"C'mon. Surprise Tendo. Be out of bed when he pings us," he encourages.

"Why is he?" Yance blinks at him but hey, no slurring, it's an improvement.

"We're sparring with the other teams at seven and you take an hour to be coherent enough to spar, c'mon, old man. Up. We didn't get dinner, so you haven't eaten in 12 hours."

That actually sharpens Yance's focus a little, as he tries checking in with himself and does discover that yeah, he's hungry. Raleigh tugs on his arm again, and Yance actually gets his hand free and starts to get out of his bunk.

Which is just about as amusing as it ever is, because Yance is the opposite of coordinated in the morning. Also he's naked, which is as distracting as ever and Raleigh just closes his eyes for a second, not watching, as Yance half-stumbles towards the head.

He decides to be nice and haul Yance's clothes out before he gets his own—for the mess and the Kwoon, undershirt, short-sleeve blues, shorts, BDU pants, belt. Socks and boots will come off at the edge of the mats (and thank fuck they have spare boots, the ones they've been wearing desperately need cleaning), but they need 'em for the moment.

He gets dressed quick—well, all but the shirt—and smacks the door twice to get Yance to keep moving and let him in to use it, shave, and brush his teeth.

Which means Yance is the one out by the wall when the tablet goes off and he half-hears Yance muttering imprecations at it and Tendo's amazed voice in reply. He finishes up and ducks out to wave at their comm tech, before Yance shuts off the tablet and finishes getting dressed himself.

Raleigh slides into his own shirt, then checks Yance over because Yance pre-coffee will mis-button things and neither of them need Rhea reading them the riot act, but he passes muster well enough for once.

"Okay, c'mon. Breakfast. Coffee. Stretches. Spar."

The promise of coffee and food successfully gets Yance moving, and Raleigh heads them for breakfast.

By quarter to seven, Yance has actually hauled himself into consciousness and coherence via liberal application of coffee and food and they're in the Kwoon, on the mats, finished stretching out and they're playing, sparring bare-handed rather than with hanbo—and definitely, totally not in the Jaeger Bushido style they'll have to stick with when the other Rangers make it in.

It's easier to spar each other in the precise forms of Jaeger Bushido, sure, but it's not how they learned to fight. They're better at pulling their blows than they were when they were kids, they don't leave marks on each other, and that just makes the free-for-all a lot more fun.

They've already got five or six of their crew, and a couple of off-duty sailors, lounging against the walls (or in the folding chairs that always show up in a Kwoon somehow) and watching. Raleigh dodges Yance with dance footwork from Brasil and comes back with an elbow-strike he learned in Kansai that Yance blocks with a trick he remembers from a fight in Budapest. Raleigh laughs and makes another move—and Carrie whistles 'stop' at them as the door starts to swing open.

He drops back, turns towards the door sure Yance'll be right with him, and… it's the Hansens, with their Jumphawk crew and a sailor as guide—well, makes sense, none of the carriers are set up exactly the same. Fuck they're both more gorgeous in person, and Raleigh feels Yance recognize it, too. Though—oh, hell.

Yance's completely distracted from the Ranger pair in khakis by the gorgeous Maori dude standing half a head taller than his pilots with shoulders that'd make any NFL offensive lineman envious, but there's sure as hell not more than a couple pounds of extra fat on the guy's frame. Not exactly his type, very Yance's type if the guy's into dudes, and he jabs his big brother lightly in the hip before he abandons the mats to trot over and say hi.

Hopefully without making an idiot of himself.

"Welcome to Bellatrix," he says, "though you've probably heard that at least four times. I'm Raleigh, the slowpoke behind me is my big brother Yancy." He runs through his crew from his left around the room to the door, and glances at the Hansens for matching introductions.

"Don't mind the energy," Yance says, coming up on his right, "Rals is a goddamn morning person."

"I am not," Raleigh protests, because that's slander, "I can just wake up without an hour and half a gallon of coffee."

Hercules Hansen laughs and holds out a hand, friendly and easy, and Raleigh relaxes a little. "Herc, and the galah trying not to crack up is my little brother Scott."

Raleigh shakes, and swaps to shake with Scott Hansen, too. 'Galah', that's a new one, he'll have to ask Josh what it means, exactly. Yance laughs and says, "Oh, was yours as annoying as mine when he got taller than you?"

"Bloody hell, yes," Herc says, and Raleigh grins at Scott as Herc runs down his Jumphawk crew. The big guy is apparently Tamati Rangi, and he's got an absolutely gorgeous smile as he nods.

Yance shakes, looks out into the hall, and says, "Right, everybody get on in, Horizon Brave's right behind you."

"No surprise," Scott says, but he's grinning and everyone moves out of the way, Jumphawk crew in flight gear scattering out among Gipsy's crew in working garb around the wall, "saw them coming in."

Herc and Scott get well clear of the door and start getting out of their boots, Scott loses the top of his khakis, leaving him in the same pale tank he and Yance are wearing. Herc leaves his on, Raleigh notes.

Horizon Brave's Rangers and their Jumphawk crew come on in, and Herc calls a friendly greeting to Lo Hin Shen and Xichi Po. Lo Hin Shen is middling height even for a Chinese guy, but Xichi Po stands just a little taller than he does, which makes her damn tall for a Chinese woman. Half a head shorter than he is, easy, but still.

They've got the alert look of any pair of pilots, but their smiles are friendly enough and Raleigh nudges at Yance across the ghost-Drift to go say hey, because he's the one that's got Cantonese down. He follows on Yance's left.

Horizon Brave's pilots seem to appreciate being greeted properly in Cantonese, but their English is a hell of a lot better than even Yance's Cantonese, so they stick with that after the first couple minutes. They've deployed with Lucky Seven before, so Gipsy's—once again—the new kid.

Well, not like they're not used to that. At least other pilots are friendly!

The Hansens start stretching out, and once Lo Hin and Xichi are out of their boots and dress shirts, they join them. "It's your boat," Herc says from on the floor, "who're you sparring first?"

"Oh heck no, sir, we're not picking, you four settle that," Yance says, and Xichi bursts out laughing.

"Smart boy. Herc, Scott, you mind if we go first?" Xichi asks.

"Nah, fine by us," Herc says with a nod.

Tendo jogs down Bellatrix's corridors, hoping he's not too late to watch the start of the series of spars this is gonna be—because God, he loves watching the reactions of other pilot teams to his pilots. They're the baby-faced baby darlings of the PPDC, and that means they get underestimated all the damn time. He isn't actually sure how his Becket boys got quite so good at real brawling but it's always impressive, even when they're restraining it mostly into Jaeger Bushido.

He hears feminine laughter, wonders, and steps through the door. It's a little crowded around the edge of the room, but Miguel and Maria—two of the techs for Gipsy's left knee—slide closer together and make room for him beside them.

Looks like it's going to be Horizon Brave's pair and his boys first, which should be interesting. Pilots in the Kwoon don't move like their jaeger does, and yet, the spars do work to help the teams fight together.

He settles in more comfortably as Raleigh trots to the rack and tosses a hanbo behind him without looking, and Yancy catches it without taking his eyes off Shen as they're talking. Typical pilot bullshit, he thinks affectionately. Raleigh gets Brave's pilots' attention and tosses them each one, before coming back with his own lazily over a shoulder. The Hansens vacate the mats, backing off well out of the way and into a spot made by their Jumphawk crew.

Shen and Po take up places near the center of the ring, and Tendo watches Raleigh square up with Shen while Yancy faces Po. They exchange bows properly, and then Po moves—she's left hemisphere, or he'll eat his tie—to open things. Yancy blocks, Raleigh jabs at Shen, and the dance is on.

Horizon Brave's Rangers are just as good as he'd expect, but they're having to work to keep his boys off them. Raleigh draws in attacks, but they don't land, because either Yance's hanbo is there or he's slipped out of the way like his joints are made of rubber or something. Yance is their center, mostly, except when Rals takes it on and Yancy goes out to take point. They slide to back-to-back when Po and Shen split out away from them, until Raleigh dives out, dragging the end of Po's hanbo tangled with his to keep it off Yance and make Brave's pair go back-to-back instead.

The crowd, of course, is whooping or hissing in breaths with every good strike, every great block, the sheer way his pilots move.

"All right, enough," Shen says, a good ten minutes in, "enough. Good. Good talk."

Raleigh laughs, bright and delighted, and backs up with a bow, Yance with him. "Great talk, you're awesome, that was a blast!"

"You are very good, yourselves," Po says, smiling. "Water, anyone?"

"Got it," one of the sailors says—Tendo missed him leaving, but he's got a bag full of bottled water and tosses one to each of them.

"I have to ask," Lo Hen says, as they're opening water bottles and starting to drink, "what in the hell was that footwork about two minutes in? That's not standard."

"…aw, shit, did I—" Raleigh moves, suddenly, replicating it and Lo Hen nods once, sharply. "That's a capoeira move, it's close to the formal footwork but springier—"

"We noticed," Po laughs, smiling,

"Sorry, I do try to stick to the forms when we're sparring properly," Rals apologizes, and Lo Hen waves it off.

"No, no worries. Drink. Rest a minute. Herc, Scott, these two are going to be a handful…"

"Aw, y'reckon, mate?" Hercules Hansen drawls, low and amused. "I think we ought to be grateful to you for taking some of their edge off!"

The look that flicks between his Becket boys is so fast and minute Tendo doesn't think even the other Rangers see it, but he knows his boys just took that as a challenge. Which they probably shouldn't, with Lucky Seven's pilots, but… too late now.

Shen and Po go to sit down, a couple of their Jumphawk crew vacating chairs, and his boys finish off their water, toss the bottles back to the sailor, and move back onto the mats.

Yancy spins his hanbo in a lazily challenging figure-eight; Raleigh—surprisingly—just keeps his in a low guard, and it's Yancy that says, "Gonna come join us, sirs?"

"On our way," Hercules says, as he and Scott grab hanbo out of the rack and come to meet his boys.

From the first move, the two spars are precious little alike. Maybe it's that his boys felt challenged, maybe it's something about the Hansens—who are another pair of brawlers more than trained martial artists, Tendo sees that two seconds in—but things look a lot more… wild… out there right from the beginning. They're not trying to hurt each other, they've got a kaiju to fight and they're not stupid enough to fuck up—or at least his boys aren't—but there're a lot more close calls and a lot more close-in work. All four of them hit the mats at least once in the first minute, before they settle out a little.

Hercules is the steady one, of the Hansens, with Scott the reckless, and more flamboyant, but there's an easy trading back and forth between them, too. Normally Raleigh'd be the one reacting to Scott's challenges, but… Yancy's the one that's spending more time matched up against Scott, while Raleigh's keeping Hercules busy.

Interesting, interesting…

It's Po that whistles sharply at them, twelve minutes in, when every movement all four of them make is in a near-perfect synch or counterpoint—and Tendo really wishes he had a PONS rig on his boys right now, to know what's going on there—and says "Enough! Break!"

Scott Hansen's face twists in a momentary scowl, but he breaks off and Hercules laughs, "Yeah, yeah, all right, Xichi, you've got a point. Damn, you two, that was fun."

"Definitely was," Yancy replies, giving Hercules an easy, relaxed smile. "We good?"

"Yeah, I think so," Hercules answers, nodding, before he glances across at Horizon Brave's pilots. "Xichi, you and me, Scott and Lo Hin?"

"Since we've got a kaiju to deal with in a few hours, yeah," Po agrees, and pops back to her feet.

If there isn't a story there, he'll eat his shoes along with his tie. Tendo doubts he'll find it out, but now he's curious, damn it.

Rals and Yance come over and drop near him and the rest of the crew, watching the spars avidly, and Tendo grins at Raleigh as he looks up at him. "Have fun?"

"Hell yeah," Raleigh says, intense but low-voiced, "they're awesome. I mean, Scott's a jerk that thinks he's better than everyone else, but he's good."

Yancy snorts, nods, and wraps an arm around Raleigh's shoulders for a moment before letting go again, returning his eyes to the sparring.

It's weird to have it be Krista, not Tendo, in their ears as they're initializing Gipsy's handshake—and can he just mention how fucking much it sucks to have to climb down the ladder into the connpod in full armor?—but he worked the night, tracking, and needs to be asleep. They get along just fine with Krista, it's all good.

They flip the last connection and the Drift hauls them in, spins them through their memories, blends them together into one greater whole with Gipsy. They come out of it and into the full steady quiet between them, and while they're talking to Krista about getting Gipsy up out of the Bellatrix via the Jumphawks—it's always tricky, but there's nothing they can do except make sure she's standing perfectly plumb—Yance tells him through the Drift, You had an admirer, kiddo.

Hm? I always do, so do you. Who're you thinking of?

Yance flashes him—of all the goddamn things—the sight of Hercules goddamn Hansen ogling (discreetly, but ogling) his back and ass as he was putting their hanbo back in the rack, and Raleigh does not choke. He does take a deep breath, and contemplates. Yeah, he'd gotten some of that while they were sparring, a bit of slow admiration in Herc's smile, a longer meeting of their eyes than maybe they should've had, but that's some really validating confirmation.

Huh. Well. I mean, I'm sure as hell not objecting. You cool with it? He's a lot more than 'not objecting', he's flattered as hell, delighted, and giving it some serious consideration.

Of course, brat. He'll treat you right, if you can talk him into it. Just. Hard no on his brother, though I don't think that's a question I'm still saying it.

Raleigh laughs, aloud and across the Drift, Yeah, hell no, absolutely not. That jackass is not worth my time, even if he went for guys. Which he doesn't. He'd have come at us different if he did.

Yeah, Yancy agrees, because they both know it's true. The way Scott came at them, it was all straight-guy status-posturing, not someone that thought the way into either of their pants was to knock them on their backs, truth. Alright.

…are we actually thinking about splitting up, this time? Raleigh asks, because they've never not just stayed with each other, after a kill. But they've also normally been able to go home. A hotel, or the Bellatrix, probably isn't safe, not for a post-combat fuck. He can keep his voice down, but…

Agreement washes through him from Yance, wry and dark.

It'll be your best chance of convincing him, I think, Yance replies, even beyond that. As long as we're not totally in 'get your hands the fuck off him' when we disengage. If we are, well, there's tomorrow, yeah?

If the Marshals let us have the couple days, yeah, Raleigh agrees, before asking, what about you?

Yancy shrugs at him, which is always a fun sensation across the Drift. I figure I'll see if Rangi's up for it, and if not, there's gonna be plenty of people in the streets. It's fine Rals, don't worry about it.

It really does feel fine, Yance is relaxed and amused about the idea, and Raleigh relaxes about the whole idea and watches the ocean under them turn to city under them as they head east to fight the kaiju in the shallows and maybe the forest preserve it's headed for to come overland at Manila. At least there won't be people underfoot, thank fuck.

The fight was an absolute mess, Gyakushu was just as obnoxious a scuttling bitch as Raleigh'd been worried about, and the end of its tail was like a damn xenomorph's, all arrowhead-bladed and barbed. Like they needed the damn kaiju getting tricky and having six weapons instead of five. It'd pierced right through Horizon Brave's left leg and then right hip (well, more or less) before Lucky Seven had managed to immobilize the tail long enough for them to put two plasma bolts into its head, then one into its gut for good measure.

Xichi Po and Lo Hin Shen are okay, at least, shaken up and with circuit burns from the serious damage, but Gyakushu didn't get to them, and there wasn't a single fucking civilian casualty, which is an absolute triumph for the Corps and keeps all of them in high good humor as they're flying back to the carriers. Krista and Lucy and Makoto chatting with them and each other, filling them in on the logistics of how fitting three jaeger crews, three Jaeger-carrier crews (everyone that can be spared) and three Jumphawk-carriers (same) worth of people onto the Manila waterfront is gonna work. It turned out to take three hotels, not just the two, because they already had tourists there, of course. The ships are headed back to the port already, and the jaeger crews as well as most of the carrier crews are gonna come in by small craft—they apparently have about a thousand small boats volunteering to help speed that up—but they get to Jumphawk over once they're cleaned up and decent, with as many of the crew as they can stuff in a Jumphawk with them. Hotel staff'll meet them at their helipad—because of course this kind of hotel has its own helipad, or at least a tennis court they can repurpose—with keycards and maps, and okay now he's a little worried about what the hell these hotels are like that they'll need maps to get around.

Yancy laughs at him across the Drift, but Yance isn't exactly not feeling the same way, either.

But—they did it. They did it without a single fucking civilian casualty directly caused by the fucking kaiju. If there're casualties from human stupidity, that's not on them.

Lucky Seven's Jumphawk lifts back off, empty, and Traveller One swings in and down, setting down light as a feather a couple minutes later under Nicole—Commander Jackson's—steady hands. Purvi pops the door and it drops, and Raleigh slips sideways and down the stairs (flight jacket over jeans and T-shirt and boots, duffel slung crossbody over his back) to a roar from the wall of people on the nearest street—amazingly enough, they're not all over the lawn, which is way better behaved than Americans would be—and out on some of the hotel's balconies alike. He gets out of the way and flings both clenched fists into the air. The crowd roars again, and again when Yance steps up beside him, his hand opening to clasp Yance's in the air as soon as it's close enough.

They bow, then gesture at their crew coming off the Jumphawk to get them some of the cheering as well.

Yance lets go of his hand, and they look for the hotel staff, who aren't hard to find. The gorgeous young woman is doing her damnedest not to be overwhelmed and Raleigh really wants to tell her it's okay, they're just a couple of guys from Anchorage, but he knows it won't help. So he just lets her get her spiel out and direct them to a lounge just off the pool that's apparently all theirs for the night, tucks the keycard into his front pocket, and heads that way—following obviously quickly-produced signs—hoping one particular Hansen will be there.

He is in luck; he spots Herc leaning against a hip-height table near a TV screen, a bottle of something Raleigh doesn't recognize in one hand, a couple of his crew around him and his brother… not in sight. Good first step, he thinks. Yance's attention sharpens and focuses and Raleigh swings his gaze around, finding Rangi near the bar, head tipped back and laughing, and he wishes his big brother the best of luck, before he goes on his own hunt. There's nobody but a mix of PPDC crew in here, other than the hotel staff. He hooks his thumbs behind his belt and heads Herc's way, dodging a couple of Horizon Brave's people and a couple of Lucky Seven's, too, before he makes it to a couple of feet from Herc and clears his throat to get his attention.

"Hey, sir," he says, and once he's got Herc's attention, points a glance at the bottle, "that what you'd recommend?"

"It's my poison of choice," Herc agrees, before studying him for a long moment, "but are you even old enough for it?"

"Even in the US, yep!" Raleigh answers, grinning, leaning back a little on his heels, "promise." He doesn't think he really has to mention that's only been true for less than a week; he's been drinking since he was a teenager.

"Alright, then," Herc says, and turns the bottle so he can see the label clearly. Toohey's Old Black Ale, oh, this should be an experience.

Raleigh lifts one hand to tap the strap of his duffel, "Can I drop this with you to go hit the bar?"

"Sure, mate," Herc agrees, and Raleigh ducks out of it, slinging the strap over one of the tall chairs—and there's Herc's in the one next to him—before he also strips his jacket, hangs it, and goes weaving through the crowd to get to the bar.

There's a sudden burst of delighted triumph from Yancy and Raleigh looks that way, grinning as he watches Rangi wrap an arm around Yancy's shoulders and start steering them out the door.

Have fun! he thinks at his brother, and gets a purring rumble of planning on it back. That's Yance taken care of, at least.

He orders his drink—and just in case he hates the beer, a whiskey sour (jesus, the whiskeys they have, holy shit, and he goes for the Loch Lomond without turning a hair because it's not on his tab)—and weaves back through the increasing crowd, putting both down on the table before he picks up the beer and takes a drink, watching Herc as he tips it up. He rolls the mouthful across his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Coffee, plum, caramel, hops of course… almost too thin for his tastes, but the flavor makes up for it.

"Not going to need the whiskey to take the taste out of my mouth," he says with a grin. "Actually, that's damn nice."

Herc nods, taking another drink himself. "So it is," he agrees, and his gaze flicks around the crowd for a moment before coming back to him. Raleigh smiles, lifts the bottle to his lips, tips his head back, and downs about half of it in a couple long swallows.

Grey-blue eyes spark and Raleigh somehow manages to hide his playful smile for a moment (but he is totally grinning, god, guys are easy sometimes) as he slides a little closer around the table and leans hipshot on it. "So," he asks, tilting his head to the side just a little, leaning back on his heels again, fingers tapping against his thigh for a moment, "you going to keep just looking, or do you want to go up and do something about it?"

'Come on, please say yes,' he thinks, watching one absolutely gorgeous and gloriously competent ginger officer think his question over. There's a moment when he thinks it might be 'no', but then Herc's face clears and he smiles, slow and rich and hot.

"Not gonna say no to doing something about it, if you're interested," Herc says, warmly.

"Wouldn't have asked if I wasn't," Raleigh points out, smiling.

"Right, then. Come on, grab your kit, mate."

He pulls his jacket back on, slings his duffel back over his neck and shoulder, downs the rest of his beer in one long pull—it's actually a nice enough beer it's a bit of a shame, but he doesn't want both his hands full and he's not leaving the whiskey—and leaves the bottle on the table as he watches Herc sling his own duffel and start to move. Crew members get out of the way of a pair of pilots on the move (or on the make) with grins and cheerful back-slaps or shoulder clasps, so it doesn't take long to make it out of the lounge and towards the main building, which has so much goddamn glass it's a little terrifying, given everything Manila's been through.

"So," Herc asks as he pulls a small cardstock folder out of a pocket and gets whatever information he's looking for out of it as Raleigh falls into step with him down the sidewalk—amazingly, there's nobody else in close earshot—towards the doors, "any triggers or anything I need to avoid?"

Oh, hell to the fuck yes, he absolutely picked right; that calm, steady, concerned question is just a perfect indication of how right Yance and he were about Herc Hansen's possibilities as a hookup. He shrugs one shoulder just a little and spreads the fingers of his free hand. "Not much? One serious one: anything near humiliation or mockery will make me try and break your neck. Also I really don't like not being able to see, and come, spit, and lube are the only fluids I want anywhere near me."

He gets a flicker of curiousity and interest from Yance, he must have been loud, and he sinks into the ghost-Drift and thinks He said yes and then like immediately asked if I had any triggers or anything else to avoid, this is gonna be great, have fun summiting Mount Fiji, Yance.

Brat, his name's Tamati, and I will, Yance thinks back at him, before he lets go.

Herc is just nodding, steady and relaxed, "Not a worry, not my thing, either." Raleigh cocks his head at him because this's a two-way street, or at least it'd damned well better be. "What about you?"

"If you're looking for a Daddy, I'm not y—"

"Oh, jesusfuck, no," Raleigh says, interrupting the 'your bloke' with his fervent denial.

A faint edge of tension in Herc's posture Raleigh hadn't even known was there relaxes and his smile widens out a little more. "Thank fuck. Pretty much on the same page with yours. Also, don't call me Hansen—we're gonna shag, it's Herc."

"Got it," Raleigh replies, wondering what the story is with that and not about to ask, "Herc."

They both fall quiet as they step into the hotel's mild air conditioning, and Herc navigates them through the absolutely ridiculous, opulent, stunning maze to a giant bank of elevators and up. Raleigh looks at the luxurious, silent, glass-walled elevator that looks out on the even more luxurious main lobby of the hotel—can you even actually call something that big a lobby?—and shakes his head. "You ever wonder what the fuck we're even doing in places like this?"

"Every bloody time we wind up staying in one," Herc says, shaking his head in obviously wry amusement. "This's… it's just all bloody mad. Not that I don't get their wanting to say thanks, somehow, but. It's a whole world I never figured on seeing."

Raleigh nods agreement. "Yeah," he says, because it really is insane that a couple of guys that just happen to have one neat mental trick wind up treated like Bruce fucking Wayne might live when they're away from their Shatterdomes, "that pretty well covers it."

He doesn't ask if you get used to it because if after two years he hasn't, he's pretty sure Herc hasn't in three. It's kind of comforting to know Herc hasn't either, though.

The elevator's some ridiculous number of floors in the air, two floors from the top, when it stops and opens onto a corridor with blessedly normal carpet and wallpaper but art that looks like originals only a museum ought to have. Herc glances once at the signage and starts moving again, and Raleigh keeps in easy step with him.

Yancy's a couple of floors down and back the other direction, he knows, the way he always knows where his brother is, and a kiss that isn't his seals hot and strong over his lips for a moment. He brushes the sensation of fingers up Yance's spine, gets an annoyed curse, and grins to himself before Herc opens the door at the end of the hall, steps through, and holds it open with a heel.

Raleigh ducks on through, finds the first light-switch, flicks it on, and as lights come up all through he just fucking stares, because there are floor to ceiling curtains sliding open over glass on two sides, showing the view of a spectacular sunset straight out over Manila Bay.

"Jesus," he breathes, and makes himself keep moving. There's seating for a dozen people, at least, between a table for six, a desk for two, two armchairs, a sofa with a chaise on one end, and a bench between the armchairs. He prowls on through past the bathroom, because there is exactly zero point in acting like they're not winding up in whatever bed is around here somewhere.

He can hear—just barely—Herc behind him, by his breathing more than his steps as he slides a pocket-door aside and finds the bedroom, then the lightswitch. Here, again, two walls are curtained floor-to-ceiling glass, and the curtains are sliding open with the light being turned on. Interesting setting, he guesses he can see the reason, and after a long look, he realizes there's nothing with a view in, as tight to the waterfront as they are. There's a dresser the same length as the king-size bed almost against the floor to ceiling wall, with a four-plus foot TV blocking some of the view out. Not a choice he'd have made.

The whole headboard is buff-colored padded leather framed in what's either ebony or dark-stained teak, longer than the mattress on either side, extending behind the night tables on either side of the bed. He tosses his duffel to the far side of the bed, strips out of his jacket and tosses it after the duffel, and turns to find Herc just shy of in his space.

"Hey," he says, light quiet welcome, and takes a step to him, left hand lifting to Herc's broad right shoulder, rough khaki under his hand as Herc's arms wrap around his mid-ribs and his waist, tugging him on in against a wall of muscle and into a long, slow, thorough kiss that has him willing to melt not least because Herc's hands are stroking his back and side with steady intent but no force behind it. He hums low and pleased, pressing back into Herc's hands while wrapping himself closer and tighter, his own hands trying to get under the khaki vest and maybe get it off, if Herc'll cooperate.

Herc laughs against his mouth and breaks the kiss to ask against his lips, "Impatient?"

"Most of the time, but are you objecting?"

"Nah," Herc grins, and it's a gorgeous expression that makes him look years younger, "not at all. Other than that I'm going to have to let go of you to get out of my boots and strip."

That startles a laugh out of Raleigh, before he contemplates for half a second, rolls his shoulders back a little, and starts to drop to a knee. "Or you can keep your hands on me and let me fight your boots."

"Yeah, alright," Herc answers, his eyes dilating a little, tongue flicking over his lips, and his hands slide up towards Raleigh's shoulders as Raleigh lets himself drop the rest of the way to his knee. His own hands slide down Herc's sides inside the vest, then down his jeans. He keeps his eyes on Herc's face until he's down, then slowly runs his gaze down Herc's body—and god is he gorgeous—until he sets to work on one boot's laces, Herc's hands curved around his shoulders. He loosens the untied laces, works the tongue to loosen the whole thing, then catches hold of the back of the heel and Herc puts part of his weight on his shoulders to get the boot off. Raleigh tugs that sock off, too, because having your dick out still wearing socks just looks silly, no matter who you are. Then he goes after the other boot, glancing up through his lashes.

"You okay, there, Herc?"

"Fishing for compliments, Raleigh?" Herc asks, his voice a little rougher than it was—and oh, that's a flush of heat all its own, Herc's voice was steady as hell throughout the fight, but he can make it go ragged just with this—and Raleigh shakes his head as he works on the laces and tongue without looking away.

"Nah, though I don't object to 'em," he answers, "just want to hear your voice. Your hands went still."

"That's because you're fuckin' gorgeous on your knees and I probably ought to keep my hands out of your hair at least 'til you're done with both sets of boots, pretty boy."

"Mmm, you might have a point there," Raleigh has to admit, grinning up into darkened blue eyes, as he gets Herc's other boot and sock off. Then he lays his right cheek on Herc's left thigh and goes after his own boots a hell of a lot less nicely than he dealt with Herc's, breathing in his scent. Musky, rich, trace of sweat, PPDC soap and a deodorant he doesn't know, but likes. "Though it's not like I can wear it long enough to really get a grip in anymore."

"God," Herc rumbles, hands stroking along his shoulders, over his neck—oh good, he can take a hint, "you used to?"

"Yeah," Raleigh replies, managing to yank the boot he's not still braced on off, "up 'til we went into the Corps." He hauls the sock off in the next second, shifts his weight, changes how he's braced, and goes after the other one.

"You enjoy being a bloody temptation, huh?" Herc asks, right hand stroking up the back of his neck and up into his hair light and gentle—and Raleigh laughs, shifting to look up again.

"Temptation, challenge, tomayto, tomahto," he replies, shrugging a little as he shoves his other boot off and follows it with the sock. That's not exactly it, but it's more than close enough to go with. He likes looking like sex walking, likes the attention it gets, and he enjoys the trouble it can cause as much as the fun it can get him. Work down here done for the moment, he slides his hands back up Herc's calves, thighs, sides as he starts to roll back up to his feet. Herc doesn't put a bit of pressure on his head or shoulder to try and keep him down, and Raleigh's absolutely sure his triumphant delight surges down to Yance through the ghost-Drift. He presses his head back into Herc's hand to keep it there as gets back up, then leans in to kiss Herc's clean-shaven jaw and throat, nuzzling almost as much as he's kissing.

Herc shifts him gently by the fingers through his hair and claims another searing and thoroughly toe-curling kiss—at least the carpet's plush enough to curl his toes into—and Raleigh delightedly opens up for it and tries to give back as good as he's getting, hands going back after Herc's vest to get it off him, please. This time Herc cooperates, though Raleigh's the one that whines when Herc has to let go of him to drop it off his arm. Pilot-quick hands catch his t-shirt and slide it up, hands pressed tight to drag up his sides and make him gasp. Raleigh unwillingly stops kissing Herc and lets go of him to help shuck his shirt once it's at his shoulders, and in sudden mutual accord they haul Herc's shirt off too.

The stylized sun on his right forearm Raleigh'd already seen, hard to miss, but the blackwork that covers his upper right bicep is only familiar because he's seen it in books on the RAAF—and even then, he's never seen it quite like it looks on Herc's arm. It's a stylized RAAF cap badge, the golden wattle picked out carefully, the calligraphy turned into art. On his left bicep, the PPDC's eagle-and-star gleams darker and fresher, and Raleigh smiles at what the two in balance tell him. The man puts his choices, not his memories, on his skin. He wonders what the sun means, then, but not enough to ask right now. Herc's tags rest against his sternum, just like Raleigh's own, and like every pilot Raleigh's ever talked to, either his chest's shaved down because the relay gel in hair fucking sucks, or he just doesn't tend to body hair. The only reason they don't shave their balls, too, is the plumbing rig keeps the gel off those bits. Mostly.

There are old scars scattered over Herc's incredibly fit body, a couple of healed drivesuit burns, an irregular scatter down his side Raleigh can't place, what can't be anything but an old, old knife-wound along his ribs, and god his mouth is watering because he wants, so badly, to get his mouth on this man. Yance's on his back with teeth worrying his throat, big hands tight around his wrists, and that paints up and down Raleigh's spine, but he's pretty well focused on Herc in front of him.

"Fuck, gorgeous, what are you thinking?" Herc asks, rough-voiced, eyes a little blown, and Raleigh wonders why even as he answers.

"How incredibly much I want to get my mouth and hands all over you, mostly. Sides of 'Christ, you're gorgeous' and admiring your tats."

Herc gives a soft, low laugh, stops himself from doing something—Raleigh's pretty sure it was spreading out his arms in 'well, come here then'—and looks at the bed. King size, if not Cali king, and stark white, but yeah that top layer is not gonna be fun to lay on. He nods, Herc nods, and they turn and grab hold, hauling and tossing the weight of the layers of bedding down and half-off of it. Enough out of the way they can get in, at least, and shove the rest of them away then. His hands drop for his belt, so do Herc's, and it's actually kind of amazing how fast they both strip the rest of the way down.

Herc's blue eyes are blowtorch-hot, he looks like a starving wolf, tensed and predatory, and Raleigh absolutely loves it—and the rest of the view is as absolutely gorgeous as his face and the goddamn Roman statuary lines of his upper body, and self-restraint is for people who aren't him. He moves, closing the distance between them and plastering himself to Herc again, hands around his back and stroking over muscle-groups, feet to thighs on either side of Herc's right leg, mouth closing high on the long line of muscle from neck to collarbone.

Herc almost groans—a shuddering, hungry sound, whatever he wants to call it, and then both of those broad, strong hands are cupped around his ass and pulling him tighter, grinding his dick against Herc's thigh and Herc's against his, fuck, yes. He gasps, clings, and licks Herc's throat, then his collarbone, getting the taste of Herc's skin, pressing himself closer, somehow, because he needs the touch, the contact, he wants so much…

"Fuck, Raleigh," Herc growls against his ear, hands kneading his ass and lifting him up onto the balls of his feet, and Raleigh hums a question as he strokes his hands on Herc's back, mouth sucking on his shoulder, reveling in the feeling of Herc's cock hard, thick, and hot against his thigh. He loves the proof of being wanted, the sheer physical signals, the pressure of hands and arms close around him.

"You feel fucking amazing," Herc tells him and he grins against Herc's skin, making a cheerfully satisfied noise, because he'd better; he works on it enough. He moves, just a little, trying to get his mouth to the hollow between deltoid and pec, but moving like that drags his nipples on Herc's skin and he shivers, fingers flexing and clinging, giving a soft gasp against Herc's skin.

"Oh, you're a sweetheart, when you want to be, aren't you?" Herc asks, tone nothing but low rough approval, and Raleigh lifts his mouth off Herc's skin and looks at him, grinning.

"When I want to be, yeah," he answers, grinning, and Herc kisses him again. God, the man kisses like he's going for a medal in it and yes, please god, more of that.

When Herc pulls out of the kiss Raleigh doesn't whine only because Herc says "Bed," against his lips and yeah, definitely. While he'd happily go back to his knees for Herc, he wants his mouth everywhere first and that's a lot easier lying down. Herc lets go of his ass—which does make him whine—only to push him back by his hips and Raleigh goes with it, drops onto the bed and wriggles back into the broad expanse of the king-sized bed. He sits up long enough to grab and shove the bedding the rest of the way off most of the bed. Looking that way makes his eyes fall on his duffel, and he realizes he'd probably better grab condoms and lube out of it while his skin's already whining loudly about not being touched.

He rolls on up onto a knee, moves, and braces to lean off the far side of the bed and unzip a top pocket—

Herc curses and Raleigh is damn sure he knows why, and grins to himself. His ass is, in fact, incredible and it's so nice to be appreciated. He hauls out a strip of condoms—thank fuck the PPDC long ago decided that keeping their pilots well-supplied was smarter than trying to pretend they weren't fucking whoever wanted to get with them that they liked—and tosses them back towards the head of the bed, shoves his hand back in and comes up with the bottle of lube.

He looks back over his shoulder, twisting into the stretch, and oh sweet gods he wants the man still standing by the bed, all confidence and hunger and leashed power. "Knew I wasn't gonna want to pull away from you again, might as well be efficient, yeah?"

"And showing off just how you look with your arse in the air and your knees open had nothing at all to do with it?" Herc asks, playful laughter under the roughened tone.

"I didn't say that," Raleigh laughs, shaking his head as he drops back to sprawl out on the bed. He puts the lube by the condoms and looks up at Herc, arching a brow. "You gonna get down here, or what?"

Herc moves, pilot-fast and gorgeous, and there's warm skin and solid muscle pinning him down under a hard, broad body almost as much as Yance is pinned right now, the sensation of a belt biting into his wrists because big hands and teeth are working Yancy over, drawing bruises and noises out of him under Yance's hungry demands. He shudders and arches up under Herc's weight, getting his hands back onto him, clinging to Herc's shoulders as Herc's left knee settles between his spread thighs and Herc's mouth goes after his throat.

Herc isn't using quite enough force to bruise on his throat, but god it feels good. He arches under his weight and lets his hands slide all over, kisses Herc's temple, gasps as Herc's left hand strokes broad and powerful up his side and in to drag a rough, callused thumb over his nipple and a whine out of his mouth. He gets a moment's satisfied laugh from Herc and a stroke of his thumb that turns into a thumb and two-fingers squeeze that slides fire down his spine and arches his back again. His hands cling to Herc's back, he hooks his left ankle around Herc's right calf, and he ruts up against the broad body over him.

"Herc, god," he murmurs as Herc twists his nipple again and worries his shoulder with lips and teeth, no doubt leaving a mark and fuck, yeah, he wants to wear that. He wants everything; he wants to get Herc to lie down and let him lick, suck, kiss, and stroke all over him until he wraps his mouth around the cock pressed against his hip, wants Herc to keep him pinned down and drag every noise and writhe he can give him out of him, absolutely wants Herc to fuck him through the ridiculously expensive mattress, he just wants.

"Yeah, luv?" Herc asks, lifting his mouth from reddened skin, and Raleigh finds a smile.

"Like you marking me, want you to, want you."

"Christ alive," Herc says, rough, all that long, strong body rippling for a moment with a shiver or a shudder, "you oughta come with warning labels, pretty boy. "

"Not the first time I've heard that," Raleigh answers, grinning up before he slowly licks his lips and rubs up under him from thighs to shoulders, and Herc's eyes spark.

"No, I bet not," Herc says, low and rough. "You want me to mark you up, mm? Want me to put my teeth all over you? Thought you wanted to be all over me?"

Raleigh swallows at the hunger in Herc's voice, the edge of teasing and the interest, and shrugs his shoulder. "What, I can't want both? I do want to get my mouth all over you, but your teeth feel fuckin' amazing and I wanted you to know it."

Herc curses under his breath, kisses him for a long moment, then nips his throat again, fingers toying with his nipple again. Raleigh whines, moves into it, and Herc says, "My turn first, darl. Keep your hands on me, yeah?"

"Yeah," he answers, his voice a little ragged, and then he can't really think straight because Hercules fucking Hansen is all the fuck over him, braced on one elbow or the other most of the time as his callused hands and sharp nails, soft lips and wicked teeth drag whimpers, gasps, and pleas out of him. Yance's getting a lot more pain, but his brother's way more kinked for that than he is; he just wants the sensation and he's getting it in spades. Herc's hand leaves his skin for a moment, Herc's weight mostly lifts off him. That lets his head clear enough to whine at Herc, before he hears the 'pop' of the lube's top and he shivers even before Herc's slick hand wraps around his cock and yanks a gasping curse—he thinks that was French, could’ve been Russian—out of him.

"Herc?" he asks, breath shaking, and Herc smiles down at him as he strokes him, thumb running over his tip.

"Grab a latex," Herc tells him, "and wrap up."

Yeah, okay, he can manage that—and lube-slick hands and condom foil aren't a great combination, Herc's right—even though it means letting go of Herc's bicep and side, and he grabs the first of the condoms on the strip, pulls it off and tears it open with actually remarkably steady hands for how fucking turned on he is. Herc's hand joins his to slide the condom on, though, which is damned nice, and he lets a soft little moan slip from his lips as Herc strokes him again. He's curious what Herc has in mind, and cocks his head—and even more of his blood leaves his brain at the wry, slow smile Herc aims down at him.

"I want you to fuck me," Herc says, and way more of his blood vacates his ability to think, "which is not something I've done in a while. So you're gonna have to lend me a hand opening up, yeah?"

"Oh fuck, yeah, sure, absolutely," Raleigh agrees, and beckons, because Jesus Christ what the fuck else could he possibly say? The sheer fucking amount of trust Herc's offering him, given the givens…

"You wanna come lay down? Probably easier that way," Raleigh suggests, lifting his hand to pet Herc's cheek, his jaw, and if he's thinking that'll let him get his mouth on Herc at least some while he works, who the fuck could blame him?

"Yeah, strewth," Herc agrees, and lays down beside him, Raleigh rolling up and draping over his body as he finds the lube in Herc's hand. He gets hold of it, puts it where he can use it in a minute, and kisses Herc hungrily, hand petting down his side. He avoids the old knife-scar, and pulls out of the kiss to mouth Herc's throat, over his pecs. His hand strokes Herc's abs, his thigh, the outer curve of his ass, as he mouths Herc's other deltoid, then rubs his cheek along Herc's pec. He takes his hand away, manages to pop the cap of the lube one-handed, and then Herc's helping him wrangle the bottle and spread it on his fingers.

He lifts his head so he can watch Herc's face, and drags the back of his hand down Herc's cock before stroking his taint with his fingertips, leaving slick there and then gently strokes his fingers over tight, dry muscle. Herc's hips shift in a cooperative, even eager gesture, but yeah, Raleigh can tell it's been a while. "Easy," he murmurs, "just trust me, I've got you."

"Yeah, wildcat," Herc tells him, and… okay, yeah, Raleigh'll take that as a nickname, he likes it, it's damn accurate, "you do. I won't break, though, you're alright."

"That you won't break's no reason not to make this good, too," Raleigh replies mildly, smiling slowly down at him as his fingers stroke and work and slowly he can get his index finger in, some. This's so much more like watching Yance than his responses, but Yance's way more typical, from all the sex he's had. "Alright?"

"Fuck, yes," Herc murmurs, his voice ragged, his head tipped back and face relaxed, "just don't fuckin' stop."

"Not unless you tell me to," Raleigh replies, honest, and keeps working. When he needs more lube, he doesn't even have to do more than look at the bottle before Herc's got it in hand, open, and poured over his fingers. Yance's gasping, twisting against the belt around his wrists and trying to get himself wrapped around Tamati's cock—which, from how Yance feels, is emphatically to scale—while he's working his ring finger alongside the other two into Herc Hansen's absolutely gorgeous, willing, tight body, and god they're both having one hell of a good night.

"Raleigh," Herc says, and his eyes snap to his, "enough, god, fuck, either fuck me or lay the fuck down so I can ride you."

"God, don't make me pick, which do you want?" Raleigh asks, and Herc rears up and drags him down and onto his back, then shifts up over him, takes hold of his cock, and slides down so fucking slow. His thighs shake and his breath gasps and he holds himself still by some fucking miracle while Herc eases down onto him. There's something a little, or maybe a lot, like peace on Herc's face, his head tipped back, mouth open, and he's gorgeously hard. Raleigh braces up a little on his elbows to have a better view, hands spreading on Herc's thighs, as he starts to move.

Even through the condom, Herc's scorching hot, so tight even beyond stretched-open muscle, and Raleigh bites at his lip to keep from moving too much as Herc finds his way to a rhythm, blue eyes finally opening and looking down at him. Herc's right hand, ring on it, reaches for him, for his cheek, thumb brushing over his lip, and Raleigh presses into the touch, then turns his head a little and kisses Herc's palm.

"S’alright, sweetheart, move," Herc encourages and oh fuck, yes. Raleigh braces his heels and rolls his hips up, joining the rhythm Herc's got going, slow at first, nothing like the way Yance's being fucked brainless, but god it's so good. He keeps moving, his hands still stroking Herc's thighs and calves against his sides and ribs. Herc's left hand winds up on his shoulder to brace himself, and god that's fantastic, held down and fucked is one of his favorite places to be—

—and then he's freezing and breathing slow and deep as he can, managing to say, "Wait, wait a sec, sorry," as he sinks his teeth into his lip because it's taking everything he's got not to come with Yance, who just lost it with a cry that's burning in the back of his own throat.

Herc does stop, his eyes worried, frozen halfway off his dick, "Raleigh? Luv?"

"Sorry," he says again, throwing calisse, ты сукин сын. Yance… across the ghost-Drift before he looks back up at Herc and manages, "Okay, sorry, Yance is really enjoying your guy and didn't fuckin' warn me. I'm okay, you can move, we're good."

Herc stares at him, clearly disconcerted. “You—you’re still that deep in the ghost drift, wildcat?” he asks, his tone bewildered. “Scott and I had it shut down hours ago, and thank christ for that.”

Raleigh blinks up, cocking his head, trying to fathom not being. Not easy to think, with Yance blissed the fuck out and still being fucked, but he makes himself find words. "We… we're almost never not? If we're out of Gipsy more than three weeks, yeah, we lose it, but… you shut yours down? Deliberately? …no, never mind." He doesn't want to say he wouldn't want Scott fucking Hansen lingering in his head either, but he's not sure Herc doesn't see it anyway.

Herc laughs a little, his expression wry. “Well, I’m glad Tamati’s treating your brother right, anyway,” he says, and starts moving again.

"Yeah," Raleigh agrees, then Herc moves just right, and Raleigh's entirely distracted from Yance's bliss by the man with him, which's only right and proper. He picks Herc's rhythm back up, easy enough, and gives making the interruption up to Herc all of his attention. He slides his left hand in from Herc's thigh to his cock and rubs his palm over the tip, then his fingers down his length.

Herc curses at him again, but he's smiling, and Raleigh turns his head a little more to take two of the fingers that haven't left his cheek into his mouth and suck.

"Fuck, darlin', your goddamn mouth," Herc swears at him, and Raleigh grins, nips, and runs his tongue between the fingers in his mouth with a low, content noise. He rocks up a little off-pace and at a slightly different angle, trying to get to Herc's prostate, and from the savage, slurred curse that leaves Herc's lips, he's pretty sure he managed. Right, just like that again, then, and another long slide of his hand down Herc's cock.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Herc gasps at him though there are some really interesting vowels in there, Herc's accent coming through stronger, as Raleigh picks up their pace just a little more, fucking him with all his hunger, wanting to drive Herc straight up the wall. He spreads the pre-come that Herc's leaking over and down his cock, making stroking him easier, glorying in how much Herc's breathing goes ragged and shaking. Herc's hand tightens on his shoulder, hard, but it's sure as hell not 'stop' and it feels goddamn amazing, so fuck, yes.

It's not long before Herc's moving as ragged as his breath, growling—that's really the only fucking word for that tone—his name, a warning Raleigh totally understands, and he cups his palm around Herc's tip to keep from getting come all over his face. He's not, quite, there himself, but he really doesn't give a damn about that, not with Herc nearly shaking over him. "Yeah, god, come on, take what you want Herc, please…"

Herc drops all the way down on him again and hot semen spurts against his palm again and again as Herc shudders and only doesn't fall forward because of the way he's braced on his shoulder.

He goes still, because while Yance fucking loves being fucked through his orgasms and so does he, there are plenty of people who don't. So he waits for Herc to check back in with reality, both of his hands just resting where they are, come dripping from his hand onto his belly, and his cock aching more than a little with want.

Herc's eyes open, and focus, and he tugs his fingers out of Raleigh’s mouth—Raleigh whines at him and he laughs, low and rough. "Sorry, wildcat, gonna need that hand," Herc says as he lifts up and entirely off his cock. Fuck, the air's cold after being balls-deep in him but Raleigh keeps himself still, waiting to see what Herc's thinking now.

Which is, apparently, replacing his condom with a fresh one—which, yeah, absolutely—first, as Raleigh cleans his hand off mostly against his thigh. He wants to lick his hand clean, attempts to be well-behaved for about five seconds, then decides he can trust PPDC medical and lifts his hand to his mouth to taste, licking the last traces of Herc's come from his hand.

"Fucking hell, Raleigh," Herc curses at him, sliding the new condom down, and Raleigh grins up at him, shrugging his shoulders a little. Herc's broad hand jacks him once and Raleigh whines, bucking up even as Herc asks, "Couldn't resist some cream, pretty wildcat?"

"Nope," Raleigh agrees, after a second of weighing Herc's tone and deciding it's just play and admiration and they're fine, he's fine, "calisse, Herc, fuck that feels good, please…"

"Hm?" Herc asks, hand jacking him again, long slow pump that's nothing but sheer pleasure, even as Herc's rearranging himself, sliding back further on the bed, left arm settling from fingers on his right hip to elbow on his left hipbone. Then Hercules fucking Hansen leans down, pulls Raleigh’s cock back towards himself, and wraps his mouth around his tip.

"Tabarnak," falls out of his mouth as his hands stroke over Herc's cheeks, his jaw, the back of his neck, just to be in contact, to touch him, as Herc's tongue strokes under the head of his cock and makes him whimper. Herc hums, low satisfied noise, and starts to suck his cock in earnest, the look on his face almost meditative as his head, neck, and hand all move. Raleigh sympathizes, he loves having a cock in his mouth, the feel and the stretch and the knowledge of how good you can make someone feel. He twists a little against the sheets, trying not to move too much but fuck, *fuck*, god; Herc's holding him down and treating his cock like it's the best thing he's had in his mouth in a while.

Raleigh whimpers, whines, hands stroking over Herc's cheeks and shoulders again and again, and only realizes he's begging softly when Herc drags his mouth off and asks, "How long can you hold off, wildcat? How much can you take?"

Need slams through him and across the ghost-Drift Yancy whines at him, but he shudders and tries to find words to answer Herc. His first try isn't English, it's Portuguese and he curses and tries again. "A, a while, if that's what you want, Herc, god, just please don't stop."

"Then do," Herc tells him, "wait as long as you can, luv, and let me hear how much you want me, aye? Come when you can't take it anymore, but only then, yeah?"

"Y-yeah, fuck, Herc, please," Raleigh says, and Herc's smile is a goddamn glory, a beautiful and blowtorch-hot gleam in his eyes, and a flash of white teeth before he kisses Raleigh’s head and slides his mouth back down. God, it's so good, Herc's fucking good at this, he wouldn't have guessed that but Christ…

He winds up having to take one of his hands off Herc and grab the sheet, digging his hand in hard—well aware he's begging in at least half the languages he knows and his skin's slicked with sweat—and making himself take what Herc's dishing out until a flare of Yance's pleasure matches just right with Herc's mouth and he just can't keep his hips from bucking up hard against Herc's arm or the orgasm from ripping through him and leaving him shuddering and sprawled boneless on the bed, utterly dazed.

When he's really aware of the world again, he's mostly turned on his right side, Herc's curled against and under him to his left, right arm under Raleigh’s neck and left solidly draped over him, hand spread over his sternum, his back against Herc's chest, just the sheet from all the bedding hauled up over them. Mmm, nice, he likes this, he likes this a lot, and he wriggles back to press closer as he turns his head to kiss Herc's tricep lightly. Herc didn't move away from him, he can tell by the fact his abs are sticky, but it's not enough to bother him yet.

"Hey there, beauty," Herc murmurs, low, and Raleigh hums wordlessly in a return greeting, pretty sure words weren't going to be his strong suit just yet. "Mmm, not quite back with me yet, I take it."

"…mostly? Jesus christ, you're fucking amazing."

Herc laughs, low, which does nice things to the solid muscle against his back. "Back atcha, wildcat; right back atcha."

Raleigh nuzzles the skin under his cheek, lazy and content, humming a low rough noise back at Herc. He is, and he knows it, but it's so nice to be appreciated. "Ought to, like, clean up. Don't wanna move. Pretty sure my legs won't, anyway. Nap first?" He'll regret it later, but fuckit. Dried come isn't half as bad as missed relay gel. Herc's not going to push him away, or he wouldn't currently be tucked all up against the other Ranger's chest and thighs, so.

"You stay put, I'll go grab a flannel so you don't wake up that itchy," Herc says, but he sounds equally reluctant to move. He does anyway, and Raleigh mutters grumpily, but wordlessly, as he loses the warmth all along his back.

Herc comes back with not only a wet washcloth but a bottle of water already beading up with condensation, and Raleigh manages to find the coordination somewhere to brace up on his left arm and clean up with his right hand, then drink the half of the bottle of bitingly cold water Herc hasn't downed. Raleigh tosses the washcloth at the dresser to deal with later, as Herc gets back in the bed, hand lightly tugging at his hip. Raleigh contentedly tucks himself back against Herc's chest, groin, and thighs, nestling down on his arm again.

"Such a beauty, you are, wildcat," Herc tells him softly, and Raleigh hums. He's normally a little better about not just passing out, but not after being edged like that; he's out in another minute.

Raleigh wakes up half to the sound and light of fireworks—over the bay—and half to the strangled gasp of Herc jerking upright in the bed behind him.

"Easy, easy," he says as soon as he's twisted around—they didn't turn the minor room lights off so he can see Herc just fine and, shit, that's not a good look—enough that Herc can see him. He sits up, hands open and not yet reaching for Herc, "just fireworks. The city's partying. Everything's okay. Herc… Herc, you hearing me, handsome?"

"I—yeah. Yeah… I hear you," Herc says, his eyes focusing, body starting to relax out of the coiled-wire tension. "Fucking dogcunt shithead city brass, fuckssake. God."

His hand shoves through his hair, and Raleigh waits. He knows Herc's RAAF detached to the PPDC, and it only takes half a second to realize Herc must have been in Afghanistan or Iraq, or maybe any of the old UN operations in Africa.

"Whiskey's there by you," he points out and Herc looks, picks up his whiskey sour, and drinks part of it before he hands it to Raleigh.

The Loch Lomond's room-temp, now, and thinned with the melted ice, but it's still damn good and the lemon's got that amazing difference the tropics always give. He finishes it off and hands the glass to Herc to put back on the table. "Well," he says, deliberately dry, "we're awake. Want me to distract you from the goddamn noise out there?"

Herc blinks at him, as if he can't entirely believe what he just heard, then he smiles, slow and wry. "I'm not gonna get the fuck back to sleep 'til they stop tearing holes in the sky, fuck going out in that, so… sure, wildcat. C'mere, see what you can do."

"What," Raleigh asks, as he looks at Herc, starting to grin as the edge of challenge in the words slides along his veins, "you think I can't?"

"Didn't say that, gorgeous," Herc replies, grinning a little more. "Pretty sure you can, even."

Herc drops back, laying down in the bed again, and Raleigh moves to him, sprawling out along Herc's right side, braced up on his left elbow as he leans in to kiss him. The kiss tastes, of course, like whiskey and lemon but he can taste Herc's mouth under it, and he traces his right fingertips over Herc's left pec, trap, deltoid, lazy gentle strokes as he settles to coaxing Herc away from adrenaline and memory and into paying attention to him. He gets Herc's right hand wrapped gently around the back of his neck and Herc kissing him back in pretty short order, and he hums happily, pressing back into that touch. Herc's arm's pressed all along his back, which's nothing but good. He pulls out of the kiss to lick the five-o-clock shadow along Herc's jaw, tongue the pulse-point behind his jaw. Herc murmurs something he doesn't quite catch, and Raleigh nuzzles his throat.

Herc's left hand comes up and settles on his hip and that's all good, too, as he turns himself loose to hunt pulse-points and nerve clusters, to distract and arouse and adore the man under him. He's doing pretty good at it, if he does say so, from the way Herc shifts under him. Not really interested in his nipples being played with, okay, that's fine, but oh, the line right under either pec gets him clinging and pushing up into his mouth, fuck, yeah. He slides down a little more, nuzzles Herc's ribs, strokes his hand on his lats, and twists himself up over Herc's leg to stretch out between his legs, rearranging how he's braced—and oh, yeah. Herc's hips buck up against his abs and he's hard, maybe not all the way yet but he's definitely getting what he wants.

Herc's thumb strokes on his cheek, his jaw, fingers pet behind his ear, Herc's not trying to move him he's just holding on and that's fucking heaven and he wants. He wants so much and he can have it, and that's a flickering surge of euphoria all up and down his own veins. Herc's left hand's on his side, now, grounding and keeping in contact and Raleigh nuzzles and licks all over incredible washboard abs and lats. He has to pause and flick his dog-tags back behind his shoulder before he winds up pressing metal into Herc's cock, but that only takes a second. He slides down lower, eventually getting to where he's mouthing the upper point of Herc's right hip, stiff cock pressed from mid-pec to his throat, and he aches with want but fucking hell, he needs to goddamn behave himself.

"Condom," he asks, and then immediately whines unhappily because Herc lets go of his nape to reach for them.

"Easy, wildcat," Herc murmurs, petting his side with his left hand, "just a second, here, beauty."

Herc tears the condom wrapper open and Raleigh reaches up and takes it, rests it on Herc's abs for right now, gets his knees and an elbow under him. Herc's hand settles back around his nape and Raleigh shudders with pleasure and want, then hums and kisses all the way down the join of Herc's thigh and groin, breathing the deep musk-scent in with a moan as he licks over Herc's balls because he can, because he wants to, then kisses up Herc's other thigh. Then he picks the condom up, tucks it into his mouth, wraps his hand around Herc's cock to manage the angle and slides down, getting his hand out of the way by degrees until Herc's buried all the way down his throat and he checks that the condom's all the way down with his fingertips.

"Oh what the fuck?!" Raleigh hears, and he really regrets that his mouth's way too full to grin. He swallows once around the cock all the way down his throat, very appreciative that Herc didn't move while he showed off, "you… fucking ridiculous, wildcat!"

He hums in satisfaction, gets another strangled curse he can't quite place, and slowly rolls his head back until he can suck just Herc's tip. Then he settles in to put his tongue to use, and really, seriously enjoy himself. He leaves his hand on Herc's pubic bone and along his thigh, so he's got a little bit of a brace if Herc starts moving—and he's fine if Herc does, matter of fact he'd like that just fine—and draws arcs with his tongue as he slides back down. He finds a rhythm that gets Herc's hips and thighs flexing a little, and sticks with it until Herc's breathing a litany of half-filthy, half-incomprehensible praise at him and he's at least mentally grinning to himself.

Herc sucks a sudden, deeper breath and says—well, growls, really, left hand on his shoulder a sudden firm 'wait', "Raleigh, beauty, if you want me to fuck you, you're gonna need to stop that and come up here."

That… is a reason to stop, little as he wants to, because absolutely he wants Herc to fuck him. He drags his mouth up off Herc's cock slow and regretful, letting the tip go only with the wet 'pop' of suction released, and—oh god, yeah—Herc hauls him up his body by his nape and his shoulder, pulling him in close.

Raleigh gives a soft gasp, because he so fuckin' rarely lets anybody manhandle him like this, but Herc—who's been so fucking good to him, steady and confident and powerful but gentle—Herc absolutely gets to and it's gone straight to his cock. He rolls down onto his back at the start of pressure from Herc's hands, splaying his thighs wide open as Herc rears up over him.

"God, but you're a sight," Herc says, and it's the same easy hunger, all admiration and praise, and Raleigh smiles up, enjoying it.

"Glad you like," Raleigh answers because yeah, he goddamn well is and he knows it.

Herc's hand leaves his nape again, and Raleigh doesn't whine because Herc's reaching for the lube and that is, actually, a good reason to lose that steady hold. He reaches to help Herc wrangle the bottle, because he does need slick, if not prep, and his head falls back as broad, strong fingers stroke slick from behind his balls to his hole. HIs hips shift, lifting into the touch, and Herc murmurs, "Easy, wildcat, easy…"

Raleigh laughs, bright and easy, grinning up at him, and shifts again, trying to catch the right angle and… not quite succeeding. "Herc, c'mon, please…"

"Wildcat, d'ya think I'm gonna be any less careful with you than you were with me?"

"Well, no," Raleigh answers, because everything he's done with Herc Hansen including the spar in the Kwoon told him that. "Course not. But I do get fucked regularly, please, Herc."

Herc's head tilts, thoughtful, and he shifts his touch to press his index finger in and oh, oh that's good, yeah. He rocks onto that touch, pressing down, getting him deeper. Herc breathes a curse and draws back a little, rocking his hand and yeah, okay, Herc's getting the idea.

He moans softly, shifting on Herc's single finger in him, letting himself just ride for a minute, because god, it's good. He wants more, a lot more, like, now, but he can pretend to be patient for the sake of Herc's care. He shifts his left hand to rest on Herc's skin, wherever it falls, and brings his right up to Herc's shoulder over him.

"So goddamn pretty, wildcat," Herc murmurs, pulls his hand back and Raleigh whines, but it's only to press two in and okay yes sweet fuck Christ he's forgiven for pulling back because fuck that's good, a nice strong deep push that's so much closer to what he really wants. Herc rocks his hand and gets a moan out of him, because it feels so goddamn good.

It's not enough though, all too soon, and he looks up at Herc and spreads his thighs a little more, heels braced. "Herc, please."

"This fast, Raleigh?" Herc asks, hand still rocking deep into him nice and sure, fantastic but not enough…

"God yes, Herc, c'mere for the love of fuck,” Raleigh begs. ”I promise you're not gonna hurt me."

Herc takes him at his word, draws his hand back and out—but it's to take his cock in hand and start pushing into him, so he can't exactly complain about getting precisely what he wants.

"Sweet fucking Christ," Herc curses at him as he pushes in, and Raleigh'd love to answer him but he's gasping for breath as slick latex over hot, perfectly hard flesh slides deep into him in a slow, long push. Herc pauses, balls deep in him, and Raleigh stretches from hips to jaw in absolute bliss.

"Ah, god," he hears himself murmur, as Herc shifts to brace over him on both forearms, hands sliding under his shoulders, "fuck yes."

The change means Herc's abs are on his neglected cock and that's fucking amazing, too, but he's got Herc all the way in him and just, yes. He pants as Herc rolls his hips, testing, and shifts to match him because it's so easy, and so good. He wraps his arms up around Herc's broad shoulders and hooks knees and calves around Herc's legs—you could probably call it clinging, sure, but he just wants Herc close as the powerful body over him moves again, taking him with utter, perfect confidence. Yes, yes, fuck yes, more of that please.

Herc looks down at him for a moment with a hungry, wolfish smile that goes straight to his id and his balls. Raleigh'd kiss him if he could pick his shoulders up that much but he can't quite, so he just braces to ride the absolute pleasure as Herc starts to move… and fucking hell, yes.

Herc's driving into him steady and strong, not super fast but sure as the fucking tide coming in, and right now it's everything he could want.

"Pretty wildcat," Herc murmurs against his temple, and oh hey, he's brought his head down enough Raleigh can twist and kiss him as Herc keeps fucking him, big hands tight around his shoulders, muscled forearms under his shoulderblades, hips and thighs keeping him spread open… he's exactly where he wants to be.

There's not much in the world but the lips on his, the tongue in his mouth fucking him almost as much as the steady rocking of Herc's hips, the sweat-damp skin over solid muscle all against him, and he entirely loses track of time because it doesn't matter. This is just so, so fucking good—

—he shifts either a bit wrong, or a bit right, and Herc's tip drags against his prostate making his hips jerk and him sob into Herc's mouth from the bolt of pleasure up his spine. His cock jumps against Herc's abs and that's close to too much, except the ways it's not enough and he knows the noise he makes is a whimper and doesn't give a damn.

Herc breaks the kiss they've been trading on and off for the last—who the fuck even knows how long—and asks, "So how d'you take bein' fucked through coming, sweetheart? Good, bad?"

"Amazing," Raleigh answers as the question, the mix of hunger and concern behind it, strokes fire up and down his spine and arches his back into a bow against Herc's body, "please, god, yes."

"Christ you're fuckin' perfect," Herc growls, lips brushing over his mouth, hips shifting to drag his cock over his prostate again and Raleigh whimpers as stars go off behind his eyes. "Need a hand on you, or can you come just from my cock, pretty boy?"

"Between your cock, your abs, and your voice, fuck, Herc, your hands are fine right where they are, god, do that again please…"

"Fuck, darlin'," Herc breathes and rocks into him again, right over his prostate and Raleigh cries out, head tossing back, baring his throat and bucking up, letting himself just fall into his own need, pleasure starting to claw through him, building in his balls until he's begging on every breath. Herc says, rough, against his ear, "Come on, wildcat, come for me," and he's fucking gone.

He doesn't really lose contact with reality, not entirely, probably mostly because Herc's still driving into him like he could do this all night, and Raleigh gives a low, soft moan of pure pleasure. It takes him a minute or so to get his dexterity back enough to stroke his hands down Herc's back, over one broad plane of muscle after the other.

Herc rolls a shoulder back into his touch, encouraging, and Raleigh hums softly, just luxuriating in contact with all the power over him and every slide of Herc's cock in him.

"God," he murmurs, managing to keep to English—he's pretty sure, anyway—"you feel so fucking fantastic."

His hands eventually slide down to Herc's waist, sides of the heels of his palms settling into the jut of his hips, flexing—he realizes after a moment—in time with Herc's thrusts, and that gets him a wordless growl of hunger and a slight stutter in Herc's moves, which… mmm, yeah, he wants Herc's pleasure, wants to pull him over the edge too. He'd love for Herc to fuck him until he's hard and begging again, but that's a goddamn lot to ask, and he wants Herc to come for him, from him, too.

"Yeah?" he breathes, just to answer another more ragged thrust, fingers digging in a little, like he can pull Herc deeper yet into him. "C'mon, yeah, that's it, fuck me 'til you can't, want you, want your pleasure, god this is so fucking good…"

Herc's laugh is rough, but honest and open, and blue eyes gleam down at him, "Not… much longer, pretty boy, Christ!"

Raleigh hums delight at him and tightens well-stretched muscles just a little as Herc sinks all the way in and grins at the curse that gets him. Herc bucks a little more raggedly yet, so he relaxes and tenses again, one more time as Herc's hands clutch around his shoulders and his head drops onto Raleigh’s shoulder, slamming deep as he comes hard and sudden. The fucking condom keeps him from really feeling it, but he can feel enough, and it's so good.

One of Herc's arms goes out from under him and a good bit of his weight lands on Raleigh, drawing both an unintentional 'oof' and a very deliberate press up into the greater pressure on him, hand stroking up from Herc's waist to hold him there—for a minute, anyway.

Herc lays there for a little bit, ragged breathing only slowly easing out. Eventually, though, he lifts his head to brush his cheek against Raleigh's own, and Raleigh hums soft wordless pleasure at him. Herc then starts to let go of his shoulders, and ooooh that's gonna bruise, he can tell just from the blood flowing back in—

—and Herc's head jerks up and back, dismayed worry writing over his face. "Fuck, Raleigh, your shoulders, I—"

"Easy, easy," Raleigh tells him, latching on to keep Herc from pulling back, "I'd have told you to ease up when you dug in if I wasn't fine with you leaving bruises, you didn't do a single goddamn thing I didn't want. We're good. You're fine."

Herc gives him the weirdest fucking look as he's finishing unfastening his hands—mmm those are gonna be a great set of bruises, Yance might even be a little envious—and Raleigh cocks his head in return, lifting a brow. "What?"

"You're gonna have my hands imprinted in your shoulders and you're the one reassuring me? That’s a little backwards, eh, wildcat?"

Raleigh shrugs a little. "Nah? I enjoyed every second of getting those bruises. If you think being able to drive you that crazy isn't a thrill all its fuckin' own, you're headed up the wrong tree, Herc."

Herc just stares at him for a moment more before he shakes his head and obviously drops it with a quiet huff of a sigh. "Guess I don't have to ask how you are, then."

"Only if you're fishing for compliments—and if so, I am absolutely goddamn fantastic. I'm also going to get my bitching that you have to move out of my way now, goddamnit. Worst part of having sex is the separating after."

The exasperated complaint gets him a slow, wry smile and a chuckle, which he'll definitely take.

"You're not wrong about that," Herc agrees, "but… yeah. Means you need to let go of my legs though, wildcat."

Raleigh sighs and uncurls from around him with a moment's grumpy mutter. Herc shifts, puts a hand down to keep the condom in place and pulls out—Raleigh doesn't bitch aloud any more but, god, he hates the emptiness after. He does appreciate the gorgeous view, though, he can't object to that part.

Herc strips the condom and tosses it to land on the washrag on the dresser, a good enough place since Raleigh didn't notice anything as practical as a trashcan anywhere in the bedroom, and blatantly contemplates if he's getting out of bed again.

"…think it's my turn to go manage cleanup," Raleigh says, even though standing up right after getting fucked that well is going to be a little interesting.

"The fucking hell it is," Herc tells him, instantly, resting a hand over his left pec with just enough pressure to be firm about it. "The only way you're getting out of this bed right now is if you want a shower or the head, in which case I'm bloody carrying you there."

Now Raleigh's the one laughing, and shaking his head helplessly. He checks in with his body, shakes his head, and says, "Nah. Shower'd need me to stand up, and not yet on the head."

"Good. Stay put, then," Herc tells him, and does haul himself out of the bed. Raleigh watches him go, enjoying the hell out of the view, and sinks into the ghost-Drift for a moment… but Yance's sound asleep, so he surfaces again.

He listens to the sound of Herc washing up, and shifts only enough to get a pillow actually under his head instead of against the headboard, enjoying being so utterly, thoroughly well-fucked, with someone he can trust about as completely as he trusts Yance willing to deal with the details and just let him luxuriate in the aftermath.

Herc comes back, sits down beside him, and lightly flicks his hand with the washcloth when he reaches to take it. Then he pauses, "Unless you don't want to let me?"

Raleigh considers that for half a second, then shakes his head and lets his hand drop. "No," he says, "you can."

Herc's hand is gentle, firm, and as thorough cleaning him up as he was fucking him. Raleigh shifts only just enough to help, when he needs to, because watching Herc's face as he works is… yeah, he doesn't have words. It's just… nice, but far more than that. Tender, thoughtful, gentle. All of that.

"So," he says affectionately, "how long did you keep noticing the fireworks?"

"Other than the ones behind my eyes, wildcat? About ten seconds," Herc laughs, "you—brat."

"Actually not 'born, raised, and transferred'," Raleigh laughs back, "which was actually a pain in the ass in Japan. Went over better in Ukraine, though."

"Yeah?" Herc asks as he tosses the washcloth to join the other one and settles back down, leaning over him to pull the sheet back across them—at least mostly, it's kind of mid-chest, which is fine. The room's not that cold.

"Mmm, yeah, y'know. White kid in Japan, you're probably from one of the bases, right? They expected us to fit into that whole… subculture? group? And wow we didn't."

"No, they're definitely their own thing," Herc agrees, so wry and dry that Raleigh's sure he's had a few run-ins with military brats. "Never really travelled much before I went into the RAAF. You did?"

"Yeah, Dad dragged us everywhere his company was putting up a dam. Alaska to Japan, Ukraine, Switzerland and Hungary, Brasil, back to Anchorage… then San Diego as soon as the PPDC'd let me in. I graduated at seventeen, why in god's name I had to wait seven fucking months to go in without his fuckin' signature…"

Herc snorts, shaking his head at him in obvious exasperation. "Because the goddamn Brits and my fuckin' superiors didn't win with the UN on bein' able to send children to a goddamn war, wildcat. And thank fuck, or my brat would already be at the Academy and I'd really rather he not. …your Dad didn't want you to go in?"

Raleigh blinks, files not to do that complaining around Herc, and sighs. "It was just… a lousy seven months. Well, no, trawler season was alright, though I didn't want to even see a fish for like a year after… But yeah, fair reason." He knew Herc had a kid, Josh and Tyler'd mentioned when they got to the Sydney 'Dome, but that was years ago and he'd forgotten. Definitely hadn't known the kid was gunning to join the Corps. The other question just makes him snort. "No, he wouldn't have given a damn, he just wasn't in contact to sign the forms. Yance and I figured starting out forging his signature on that was a bad idea, someone might actually check."

Herc's expression is a very, very blatant 'not touching that with a ten-foot pole', or whatever the Aussie idiom is, anyway, and he shakes his head a little. "Well. Families are a pain in the arse. Anyway… before I slip and suddenly have you in my face and not in any of the good ways, you ever had much to do with us Aussies?"

"Not other than Josh and Tyler, no," Raleigh replies, raising a brow curiously. What the hell Herc thinks will have him jump him in actual temper, he can't imagine. "Why?"

"One thing, as a general rule, the more we like someone, the more likely we are to play-insult 'em. Not good at formality, or not taking the piss out of each other. Second thing, I've watched a lot of mates wind up in real throw-downs with Yanks over one particular bit of slang," Herc says, suddenly completely serious, and Raleigh focuses. "We use 'cunt' a whole goddamn lot, all over the place. I cannot even guess at how often I have called my brother 'you damn cunt', and I love him dearly."

Raleigh feels himself go hot, cold, hot, and he takes a slow, careful breath. "I—yeah. I… would not take that well, without a warning. I'm… probably not gonna take it real well anyway, but I'll… try and remember it's a dialect thing, and I don't need to react the way I would any other time.

"I, ah. May have some issues with the entire… feminization kink complex a whole lot of gay and bi guys seem to have. Especially because, well, 'pretty boy'. I am one, I'm fine with that. But I'm not femme, in case somehow you missed that."

Herc's brow furrows for a second, and then he nods. "I… think I know what you mean, and… makes sense. Had to break a couple of faces, have you?"

Raleigh lets himself laugh, dark and amused all at once, as a few encounters flicker across his memories. "Wasn't kidding when I said I'd go for your throat, no. I absolutely have. Normally I can spot the 'oh, you're gonna be a misogynist dick about my preferences', but I've missed it a couple times.

"Besides which, I like women, I like sex with women, there's nothing goddamn inferior about women—but I'm not one, I'm not femme, I don't do drag. And so fucking much of that shit is just… toxic, y'know? I know it trips some people's buttons… and I guess it trips mine, too, it's just the one it trips for me is 'nope now I try and put you in the fucking hospital for being a sack of shit'."

Herc's quiet for just a second, then says mildly, "Can't blame you at all for that, wildcat. Not exactly a problem I've had, but… people get downright fucking weird about my tastes, too, and I've had to stop and kick a couple people's arses that decided to be stupid sacks of shit. As my wife used to say 'why the fuck are men?'."

That's so goddamn forthright and equally open that Raleigh feels himself relax all over and he starts laughing, a little helplessly. "Yeeeah. Yeah. That about covers it, doesn't it."

"Yep,” Herc says, wryly. “C'mere, you're too fuckin' far away."

Raleigh twists, tucks himself along Herc's side, head against his shoulder, leg thrown over his thigh, and asks lightly. "Better?"

"Yeah." Herc's hand strokes over his shoulder, careful of the bruise coming up, and Raleigh hums softly, nestling more into place. The skin-contact helps disperse his misplaced adrenaline and so does Herc petting him, and in an actually remarkably short amount of time, he's out cold again.

For one of only a few times in their lives, Raleigh wakes up to the sensation of Yance knocking on his skull in laughing exasperation and diffuse morning sunshine coming in. He thinks he can forgive himself, though, because Herc woke him up around 3am with a word in his ear and one hand around his cock that turned into a long, lazy, thorough fuck with his wrists in Herc's other hand and Herc draped over his back.

I'd tell you tmi, Yance thinks at him, laughing, but mmm, nice. Morning, kiddo. Breakfast at the Fresh Buffet in 20?

As ever, he wakes up fast and complete—and, as usual, hungry—and lifts his head to look around. He discovers Herc's sitting up beside him, paging through a binder of… something. Which… why is he awake?

"Morning," Herc says, and Raleigh grins.

"Morning," he answers, "whatcha got, and why are you awake?"

"Never can sleep past sunup, Raleigh, but you were out like a light," Herc answers with a shrug, and Raleigh sighs, knowing a few people like that. "And 'a guide to the hotel amenities and offerings'."

"Yance wants to grab breakfast in about 20, somewhere called Fresh Buffet—which has to mean your Tamati is a morning person too, because there is no other way Yance'd be awake."

"Easy, can-do," Herc answers, and Raleigh reaches for the ghost-Drift. Yeah, he tells Yancy, we can make that.

See you then, Yance replies, and the ghost-Drift connection eases up again. Raleigh contemplates for a second and crawls out from under the sheet, then over the pile of the rest of the bedding, to crouch next to his duffel and haul out his toiletry kit and clean clothes so he can grab a fast shower, shave, and meet Yance in time.

"I'd say 'join me in the shower?' But I have met me and we have a deadline; you want it first or second?" he asks.

"You go ahead," Herc replies, laughing and shaking his head as he waves a hand.

Raleigh takes him up on it and goes. He looks in the bathroom mirror and a delighted grin writes itself across his face, because the bruises are coming up very, very nicely, and he's got a hickey across his collarbone he doesn't quite remember getting, but it looks just as good. He figures out the showerhead after half a minute, and ducks into the driving spray.

Clean, head used, shaved, and dressed, Raleigh peruses the maps and such out in the front room. This hotel is entirely goddamn ridiculous, but it's not hard to figure out where they are and where they need to head. Waiting, he studies some of the other stuff in the binder of stuff the hotel and region has to offer, and good gods. Most of it's not that interesting to him, but there's a helicopter tour out to Corregidor to see the whole island and land to see the fortress and the memorials—there is literally no fucking way he is missing that. He fishes his phone out of his jacket—is it a little fucking warm to wear in the Philippines even in winter? Yeah. Is he not gonna wear it? Hell no—to scan the QR code for times, and books himself for the second morning tour.

Rals?

Found a thing! Tell you at breakfast! Yance probably won't want to come with him—Yance does not have his fascination with WWII and all of its history and legacy—but there's a city center air tour and one out to the volcano, either of which might be up Yance's alley.

Herc comes out to join him, making even jeans and a grey t-shirt under his Lucky Seven vest look sharp, clean, and put together—and also absolutely gorgeous—with time enough to spare. Raleigh bounces up off the couch, makes sure he has the keycard to his own room, worries not at all about leaving his stuff with Herc, and joins him to head out.

They make their way to this restaurant and Raleigh knows Yance is nearby long before they get immediately passed inside and Yance lifts a hand out of a booth despite that he's sitting with his back to the entrance. He laughs and heads that way, sliding onto the bench next to his brother and flashing a bright smile across the table at Tamati Rangi. "Hey. Can't believe you got this guy up and moving before noon on a leave day, nice work!"

"Like you ever let me sleep 'til noon, kiddo?"

"Well, no, I actually do enjoy your company now and then?"

Herc settles down across from him, greets Tamati with casual good humor that's easily returned, as Yance snorts and ruffles his hair.

"So what did you find?" Yance asks.

Raleigh hauls the brochure he pocketed out of the inside of his jacket and spreads it out in front of Yance who looks at it for a moment, sighs affectionately, then asks, "So when are you going?"

"Nine-thirty."

"What's up?" Herc asks, and Raleigh hands the brochure over. "The Corregidor tour has my name all over it, Yance—"

"Nope, you have fun, but the city center one, now…"

"Predictable, old man, predictable," Raleigh teases, because he'd been pretty sure that was gonna be the answer. "Where's your camera, anyway?"

Yance puts his hand down on his other side and lifts his camera case from by the wall, rolling his eyes. The Nikon D850 is probably the most expensive thing either of them personally owns, and Yance takes it everywhere he might want to catch a shot of something.

Raleigh mock-faints for a second, "My god, you're coherent—wait. There's a coffeepot in every room, isn't there."

"That's slander against the in-room coffee service," Yance says with a sigh and a glance at Herc and Tamati, "He thinks he's a comedian sometimes, forgive him, but yes."

Raleigh snorts—he is funny when he feels like it—and retorts, "Easy to be when I've got such an easy target. Herc, Tamati, either of you gonna join me? Or Yance?"

Herc shakes his head, "Nah, not that fond of letting someone else fly."

"Yeah," Tamati says with a laugh, "Tommy knows, boss. I'll tag along, Raleigh."

"Cool," Raleigh grins, and watches Tamati add himself to the roster while Herc protests.

"I never say a goddamn thing to Tom!"

"You don't have to, boss, for us to know you'd rather have the stick. He forgives you, anyhow,” Tamati says with a grin.

Herc shakes his head and says, "I think we were promised food, shall we?"

"Yeah," Raleigh agrees, and hops up again to go investigate the offerings.

Not too long after they land, he and Tamati somehow actually wind up with several yards of space between them and any of the rest of the throng of people touring Corregidor. Seemingly taking advantage of the space, the big Maori lays a very light hand on his shoulder. Raleigh looks up, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Thanks," Tamati says, quietly. "Herc looked… better… this morning, than I've seen him in a while. He's too goddamn hard on himself most of the time. So. Thanks."

"God," Raleigh says, flashing a smile and shaking his head all at once, "you don't need to thank me for that, but… I'm damn glad to hear it. He's pretty awesome."

"Yeah," Tamati agrees, "he is. We couldn't have a better senior Ranger."

Raleigh lifts the water bottle the chopper passed out to them in a silent toast of agreement, just before he hears, "Oi! Wildcat! Tamati!" and turns to look.

Herc's trotting up towards them from one of the docks, and Raleigh breaks out in a bright grin, turning to go meet him halfway.

He doesn't—much as he'd kind of like to—spend their entire leave in Herc Hansen's bed. They all need to be seen out and about in the city, there're the usual interviews and political nonsense with the mayor and governor and city council. He spends half of Wednesday night out with Yance and half of Gipsy's crew in a dozen clubs and bars. But he also never actually even opens the door of the room the hotel set aside for him, because he's welcome with Herc—obvious by the key Herc handed him on Corregidor—and he doesn't want to pick up anyone else. (He always wants Yance most, but that's just life, and they want Gipsy more.)

He wasn't expecting a text to hit his phone midday Friday of 'We're loading up to go back to the ship in 15' while he's flopped on Yance's bed looking at some of the photos he took, but he headbutts his brother gently, tells him, and they both head down to the helipad.

Their Jumphawk pilot and co-pilot must have taken a launch out to get their bird, because Fortuna One's a couple hundred yards out when they get there. The rest of the crew's around the pad, waiting, including Tamati, who Yance heads for.

Both Hansens are there—which is amazing because, as far as Raleigh knows, the other Hansen’s barely been seen in the hotel—and he mostly ignores Scott in return as he moves to Herc and wraps an arm around him. "You take care of yourself, yeah?" he says, before he leans in just enough to see if Herc's willing to kiss him goodbye in public, not so much he can't just turn it into something friendly if he's not.

"Yeah," Herc says, and ducks in to kiss him, hand coming up around the back of his neck. There are a couple of wolf-whistles, but Herc doesn't feel like he reacts to it, so Raleigh doesn't give a damn. Eventually, Herc lets him out of the kiss, and says, "Same to you, wildcat."

"Of course," Raleigh shrugs. "See you next time."

"See you," Herc agrees, and lets go as the chopper sets down.

Raleigh backs off to Yance and watches Herc climb aboard, then heads back in to go wrangle his kit—if they're starting picking up crews and pilots, it won't be long for them, either. Back to work, probably back to LA.