#sorry for the delay I def meant to get through all the prompts last night and then got distracted lol

[agentsnickers]

Spot and race in the star wars au? (Also big congratulations on the anniversary)

Race doesn't usually get hurt on missions, but when he does it's always more complicated than just an injury. Once, he'd twisted his ankle and it led to him stranded alone on a moon with the ISB agent who'd been tracking them.

Today, he's coming home with a little head trauma, a little emotional trauma... and also he's about eighty percent orange.

He doesn't know what was in that fountain - dye, or something water-adjacent that happens to turn everything it touches orange - but he had wound up soaked to the skin and mottled orange except for his left arm and shoulder. His clothes are orange or orange-tinged now, his skin save for the aforementioned arm is orange, his hair is orange -

"Oh, aren't you a sight," Spot says before he's even walked all the way down the Ghost's ramp.

"I don't want to talk about it," says Race.

"His clothes are a lost cause, and we haven't had much luck getting it off of his skin either," Davey reports anyway.

Spot hisses through his teeth, sympathetic. "Why do things like this always happen to you, Racer?"

"I wish I knew," Race replies. He pushes past Spot. "I'm going to find something else to wear. I was afraid to change into something else of my own, in case this rubs off onto them and ruins something else."

"But Rebellion-issue you have no qualms over ruining?" Spot says, trailing behind him.

"Never."

They walk to the quartermaster in silence, after that, and back up to the room on base that the two of them technically share, for all that Race rarely sleeps off of the Ghost.

"You change," says Spot, nodding toward the door. "I'll be right back, I want to ask Niamh about something."

Race changes quickly, and it's a relief to have the orange clothes off even if the rest of him is still orange. He feels a little bit more himself. And he's happy to see that the orange doesn't rub off onto his new clothes, so even if he's orange for the foreseeable future he can wear his own clothes.

There's a tap on the door. "It's me, can I come in?"

"Yeah," Race replies.

Spot comes in, carrying a little box in one hand. He sits down next to Race on the bed-that-is-technically-his. "Give me your hand."

Race does, without question, because he trusts Spot. Spot pulls a tissue - no, a wipe, it's damp - out of the box and dabs it against Race's hand and, miraculously, the orange starts to fade.

"Where'd you get that?" says Race. "Nothing we tried on the ship worked at all."

"It's makeup remover," Spot says without looking up from Race's hand. "Niamh's. She always says this can take off anything, so I figured it was worth a shot."

"Thank her for me," Race says.

"Thank her yourself, I think you'll need to buy her some more after we're done here," Spot replies.

They work together to get the exposed parts of Race's skin clean - he'll get the rest on his own, thanks - and it's oddly intimate for how strange an activity it is. Their room doesn't have a mirror, so Spot is getting Race's face which, again - oddly intimate. They're very close together, and Spot is concentrating very hard on Race's face, and -

"All done," Spot says, leaning out of Race's personal space for the first time in almost an hour. He tugs on one of Race's curls. "Pity I can't do anything about this, though. You don't make a bad redhead, but it doesn't feel like you."

Race flushes. "Guess I'm just Al's brother 'stead of Charlie's for a while, 'till it fades on its own or I get a haircut."

"You'd be an improvement over his real ones," says Spot.

"Right," says Race. "You're sure it doesn't look bad?"

Spot tugs on Race's curl again. "No, not bad, like I said. Just - I like your hair, it suits you."

"Oh," Race says. He is definitely very, very red now.

Spot stands suddenly. "Anyway, I'll, uh - I'll leave you to get the rest of the orange off, yeah?"

Before Race can respond, he's gone.

[thestoryweneededtowrite]

spot and race defs get their shit together bc they start sexting as a joke but then realize both of them are SUPER into it

I’m not sure if this is a headcanon or a prompt so yes I support this and also I wrote a thing.

R: I wnt to touch u

The text message came through when Spot was staring angrily athis stack of reading as if that was somehow going to get the job done. Welcomingthe distraction, he scooped up his phone and read the message. The sender almostconfused him more than its content. Tony Higgins, who everyone seemed to callRace for a reason no one could explain. He was in one of Spot’s seminars andthey’d been paired together for a presentation, prompting the exchange of phonenumbers, but beyond that they’d nothing to do with each other. And now Race waspropositioning him? Spot texted back anyway – as weird as this was it was moreentertaining than Derrida.

S: How drunk are youright now?

The reply came almost instantly.

R: 4

R: On a scale 1 to 4

Race’s answer was evident in his poor logic and lack ofgrammar without the need for words. Spot was no stranger to guys who turned queerafter several drinks; it seemed university was full of people who got handsywith whoever was closest regardless of gender after a beer or two. It was finefor anyone straight. They could, and did, just laugh it off the next morning –if they even remembered what had happened at all. But Spot reckoned queer folkshad a lot more to lose by getting together with someone on a night out sincethere was every chance that person might turn around and say they weren’tinterested once they were sober. Spot was pretty such Race was one of thoseguys who just got too affectionate after some alcohol. He wasn’t going to playalong just to be mocked the next day.

S: Go to sleep Race

He hoped the text sounded as final to Race as it did to him,but a few seconds later another reply buzzed.

R: Cnt. At pary

Either Race was currently in a sword fight with someone, orhe was at a party; either was possible from his vague attempts to spell wordscorrectly. Spot decided the latter was probably most likely. He bristled at theidea of his texts being shown around a group of drunk, laughing people and wasglad he’d decided to largely ignore Race’s message. Had he been drunk himself,or had Race been queer, he might have responded in kind. When attractive peoplerandomly sexted you out of nowhere sometimes it was just good sense to go withit. Now was clearly not one of those times.

S: Oh

S: That explains alot

S: This is a dare?

Either alcohol or peer pressure had to be behind this.

R: Had t osext sum1

Clearly it was a little or both, but from the sounds of itRace was message hadn’t been solely concocted by his own brain and some beer.Spot gritted his teeth. He’d hoped uni would be the end of the pranks andteasing and joking around with him because he liked guys. Race seemed like adecent guy, in the little time they’d spent together, and Spot couldn’tunderstand why he’d willingly join in with what amounted to little more thanbullying.

S: And you pickedme…???

R: Random

R: But I’m glad u

Spot stared at the second message when it appeared on hisscreen. The tone seemed to have changed; he would have bet anything that Racehad stepped away from his friends and whatever game he was playing to continuethis conversation. It didn’t seem like something you’d want people reading overyour shoulder for.

S: Right…?

Spot typed back, his fingers shaking ever so slightly. Hewas still determined not to look like he was encouraging this, but he didn’treally want it to end either. Why was Race glad it was his name that had comeup? Because he knew Spot wouldn’t take it seriously, considering it was comingfrom a, presumably, straight guy? Or was there another reason?

R: I do wan to tocuhu

R: Yor’e hot

It took a couple of seconds for Spot to decipher Race’sdrunk texting but once he did he just blinked. And then confusion quicklyturned to bitterness and he tightened his hold on his phone. It was cruel tomock him like that just because he was out and proud. He could imagine Race onthe other side of the conversation, laughing to himself as he drunkenly decidedit was okay to say those things.

Spot typed out three last messages, sending them one afterthe other, before setting his phone aside screen-down and turning over to go tosleep.

S: And you’re drunk

S: Leave me alone

S: Go back to yourparty

  The next day Race woke up far after his lectures had begunand ended. His head was still pounding and everything was a little blurry.Reaching for the headache tablets he kept just beside his bed for time likethese, he swallowed two of them dry. They scratched at his throat as they wentdown but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand up to get water until he startedto feel a little less ill. To pass the ten minutes he had to wait for thepainkillers to take effect, he grabbed his phone and tried to assess the damageof the night before. Texts and snapchat replies and tweets were usually goodstarting evidence to work out what he’d done. The name at the top of his recentcontacts list chilled him to the bone. CuteIrish Seminar Boy. Otherwise known as Spot Conlon, the infuriating boy withdistracting cheekbones and a smirk that Race swore would have turned him gay ifhe hadn’t already played for both teams. Oh, this was not good. He prayed toany deity he could think of before he opened up the message log.

Reading it through he had to admit it could have been farworse. The truth or dare game came back to him, albeit slightly hazily, and he vaguelyrecalled being happy when it was Spot’s contact that had been chosen for him tosext. He could probably alleviate most of what he’d written by blaming alcoholbut there was still the underlying problem that he’d admitted to attraction. Andfrom Spot’s responses he was hurt by the conversation – that wasn’t how Racewanted to leave things. Swallowing his pride, he typed a quick apology.

R: I’m sry

R: Abt last night

He didn’t know how to go into detail. I’m sorry I hit on you. I’m sorry you were the person I had to text. I’msorry I hurt you?

It was only a second before a little bubble popped up totell him Spot was replying. He held his breath and waited for the dots in thebubble to change into letters, hoping the message wasn’t going to be one ofscorn.

S: Wow

S: You’re almost asbad at texting sober

It broke the tension, if that was what Spot was aiming for.Race managed a small laugh, surprised and relieved when it didn’t result in himwanting to throw up.

R: Shut up

It was a poor reply, but Race didn’t know what else to do.He was leaving the ball in Spot’s court – something that would turn out to beone of the best decisions he’d ever made.

S: So you want totouch me, huh?

S: Didn’t know youswung that way

Race liked where this was going. He wasn’t in the closet,exactly, but he was out on more of a need-to-know basis. Right now it seemedlike there was something intriguing to come of Spot knowing. Race knew he was gay,so if he was interested then… He typed a reply before he could talk himself outof it.

R: I swing evry way

R: & sure

R: U may be a dickbut u r attractive 

It was a couple of minutes before Spot replied and Racemanaged to convince himself that he’d made a huge mistake. He could see thatSpot went to type something several times, but kept deleting it and leaving nothing.When a reply eventually came it was more difficult to interpret than Race wouldhave liked.

S: Thanks I guess

Still, that wasn’t a negative response. And Race figured hehad nothing to lose.

R: I wdn’t say no

 S: Well I might

 R: Wld you?

 S: Are you stilldrunk?

Race snorted. He hadn’t had that much to drink. He was stilla little foggy but his headache was mostly gone and the room had stoppedspinning. If Spot was worried about taking advantage of a drunk guy then theydidn’t have a problem.

R: Hungover, nt drunk

 S: And will you typein English?

 R: Fine

It was an annoying condition to agree to – text speak wasn’tthat hard to understand and it was far quicker to type, Race was adamant – but itseemed like a small price to pay for whatever might be about to happen. Therewas no delay in a reply this time.

S: Then lock yourdoor and take off your clothes

There was a chance this was all a joke. Spot could beleading him on with the intention of humiliating him as retribution for themessages the night before but Race was hungover and he just couldn’t think itthrough without the world starting to tilt. 

R: You serious?

He hoped the question would be enough to give Spot an out tofind some morality if this was all a big joke, but instead he got a far betteranswer. 

S: No Skype no phonecalls no photos, just texts

S: But yeah, I’mserious

S: I need to get off 

Race groaned. Given the choice he’d rather actually get tosleep with Spot but he wasn’t going to turn down the proposition. He wasn’twearing many clothes after the night before, he’d probably find them scatteredacross his room from the door to the bed, but he slipped off his boxers. If hewas going to do this, he was going to do it right.

 R: Same

 S: Clothes off?

 R: Yeah

 S: Tell me whatyou’re doing

Sometimes Race felt like he was in a polyamorous relationshipwith two other people: Spot, and Spot’s job. He was proud and supportive butthat didn’t mean he didn’t miss his boyfriend when he was away on businesstrips that lasted too long and were too frequent. They’d been together forseven years and Race had grown to love the domesticity and comfort – even ifthey’d started as friends-with-benefits who weren’t even really friends.

Thinking back over their relationship made him miss Spoteven more and soon he was subconscious reaching for his phone and sending atext.

R: Hey

Spot knew Race well by now. ‘Hey’ didn’t mean ‘hi’. ‘Hi’would have meant ‘hi’. ‘Hey’ meant ‘I want to talk to you.’ The message he sentback was an answer to the statement Race didn’t even need to say.

S: What’s up?

 R: What are you doingright now?

Spot took a moment to appreciate the fact Race’s text speakhad gotten better over the years before looking around his rather Spartan hotelroom and sighing. He wanted to be home. Meetings were important for his job andhe knew that, but Race was important for his sanity.

S: Prepping for ameeting

It was partly true. It was what he was supposed to be doingbut he was more than grateful for the distraction Race was providing from staringat the ceiling and wishing he wasn’t in a the hotel of a conference centerseveral hours from home.

R: Want to prep forsomething else?

The insinuation seemed clear but they hadn’t done this sincethey’d officially gotten together and Spot wanted to make sure.

S: Race…?

 R: You’re in yourhotel room?

S: Yeah

 R: Lock the door andtake off your pants

The words had Spot grinning. It was what they’d alwaysmessaged each other with years ago when they’d wanted to start something. Hisdoor was already locked and he hadn’t bothered to get dressed that day yet, buthe still appreciated the old phrase. Even though he was far too far away fromRace, it meant him feel closer.

S: What are we doing?

He was being coy at this point. He knew exactly what theywere doing, but Race went along with it anyway.

R: Reminiscing. Forold time’s sake.

That was definitely something Spot could get on board with.