THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

Your hands go over your mouth immediately, but about halfway through, the laughter starts escaping for real. When it's over, you toast him with what turns out to be an empty glass. "You, sir, are a mad genius. You have a real talent there. Lainey, my bartending friend, do you have anything with caffeine? I don't want to start falling asleep here once the sugar rush drops me."

 

"Uh, I think this stuff is entirely sugar...?" Lainey asks, thoughtfully squinting at a bottle. "What's Liqueur even made out of?"

"Eight or nine centuries of insufferable pretentious horseshittery," you say, and take the bottle from her. "Here's to Glasswind! Elevate my palette, my benighted waste chute, I am going to lick this tree." You lick the tree. "I detect hints of oak. And a woody overtone. And is that a hint of lusus piss? Smashing. Just smashing."

"He was getting really tired of drinking," Lainey tells Kadros.

"You wouldn't think you could! But you can!" you say sadly, resting your forehead against the tree. "Fucking highbloods."

"Right, caffeine. Uh... Tab? I've got most of a case in my sylladex, it probably wouldn't be too bad with the blueberry stuff. Go yell at an ensign to bring us some ice."

"Did you know she made the labels by hand?" you ask. "Did you? Did you hear? Did she mention that? I think she may have hinted something just once or twice in passing about how she made the labels by hand."

Lainey pats your back and you grumble at her. When someone's got their bulge out she's first to hop aboard, but tolerating people's fussy little hobbies? You're on your own, there.

 

"Ensign Bowyer! Front and center!" You summon the helpful ensign who betrayed you to these drunk goobers in the first place; serves him right. "Bring us some ice, and some of those sodas -- wait. Fuck this. I'm a goddamn Commander, I don't have to drink academy dorm party crap. Who's making the coffee drinks?"

"C-coffee drinks, sir?" He's not sure how to respond.

"I smelled it earlier. Someone's got an espresso machine out here. Find them and tell them their services are required. Doubletime!"

"Sir yes sir!" He's parodying movie marines with that, but it's meant in good fun, and he does go scurrying off in search of coffee.

While you wait, you get in amongst the bottles, examining them carefully. You need your reading glasses. Glasswind's handwriting is horrible -- not sloppy, but fancy in a way that sets your teeth on edge. Nevertheless, you find what you want -- you knew it would be there. "Pumpkin spice. Because elevating your palette means drinking the same shit as first-year liberal propagandarts students. If the label's hand-written, it must be cultural. Tell me more terrible Glasswind stories."

 

"Glasses!" you say delightedly. You can't remember if you've seen him wear glasses before. It's ridiculous! It's adorable. You must steal them immediately. You shuffle over on your knees on the pretext of examining the pumpkin spice, then drop yourself in his lap and grab his glasses in one smooth mo—oh, you've poked your eye trying to get them on. Fuck.

"She has so many piercings," Lainey says, and you snorfle.

"She made Lainey take hers out!" you say. You get the glasses on properly. "Haha look at me, I'm Kadros. No fun allowed! Chop chop. Doubletime no fun."

"She did not, I volunteered," Lainey huffs.

"Yes but you were still enormously sulky about it." You tell Kadros, "She had this— this— okay, right, like, a chain— a chain of pearls."

"Like clipped to her rumblespheres," Lainey adds gleefully.

"Clipped to her fucking rumblespheres!" you announce. "From one to the other. Like, like, a little.... like a tit bridge. A fucking tit bridge."

Lainey curls up laughing. You are not doing much better yourself.

"Like someone'd steal 'em if they weren't chained down," Lainey wheezes.

 

"Lainey, please remove your matesprit from my lap before I accidentally mack on him," you say in a pained voice. If he doesn't stop this, you're going to pop a wiggly against his butt and then what? The end of the world, that's what.

Fortunately, you're distracted by the arrival of the espresso machine and its faithful keeper. You get your arm under Aspera's legs, and tip him backwards off you while snatching the pumpkin spice bottle from him. He can keep the glasses a while, they're kind of cute on him. "We need lattés," you inform the coffee troll, and hold up the bottle. "Approximately all the lattés."

 

"Accidentally, I've heard that one before," you say.

Lainey pulls you by the horns until your head is pillowed on a very pillowy thigh. "Sal gets cases like that," she says. "Like, oops, I was washing my lusus and I slipped in the shower and that's why I have an entire pickle jar up my ass."

"That happened to me once," you say seriously, but can't keep a straight face. "It was peanut butter though! Who puts pickles up their ass!?"

"Me," volunteers Arguus. "Now."

You are proud of him.

"I am proud of you," you tell him. "Candle of my heart. Toaster strudel of my brain kitchen."

"Apple pie on the windowsill of my nook," Lainey says thoughtfully. "No, that one doesn't work."

"Lunch break of my workshift," you improvise.

"Moonshine."

"Daffodil."

"Sunshine? No. Kitten whispers."

"Picklebutt."

"The love pickle of my ass."

"The tender truest pickle of my soul. And also ass."

Oh, Kadros has coffee now. You commandeer one. It is delicious.

 

"The three of you are completely disgusting," you point out, and take a deep drink of your coffee. It's damn fine. "This is damn fine. Keep 'em coming, my lad, and there will be riches for you in heaven."

"I'd prefer something more in the short term, Commander," the sassy crewman smirks. "How about a kiss?"

"My heart belongs to the Condesce. Ask me again after you make me one of these but with the raspberry, and throw some chocolate sauce in it." You kick Aspera in the ankle. "This tit bridge of hers, how did you resist the temptation to give it a good sharp yank?"

 

"Kiss that kid and I'll tell you," you say easily, and kick him back in the shin.

 

"You're screwing up my timetable," you complain meaninglessly, but the moment you finish your pumpkin spice coffee the kid hands you the raspberry chocolate one, and it is so fucking divine that you say, "Okay, fair's fair," and haul him down to plant one on him.

 

You watch the canoodling unfold with sincere admiration. When the commander lets the ensign go they're both flushed, breathing a bit hard— the ensign looks delighted and Kadros brushes his hair back behind one bright ear, glances at you.

"Now shove a pickle jar up his ass," you command.

"Right, I'm out," the ensign says and heads off, but he leaves the coffee.

 

"How about you show us how it's done, Captain?" you challenge, and finish the raspberry coffee in one long blissful swallow.

Just then, a beat catches your ear. "This song," you say thoughtfully, and then, more forcefully, "this song! Okay, get up, you basking lizards, I thought this was supposed to be a party." You slam your cup down on the grass and roll to your feet.

Nobody on this floating cinderblock can dance worth a good goddamn. They need someone to show them how it's done.

 

"We have created a monster," you observe, sitting up to watch.

"He can actually dance," Lainey says, impressed. "Who'd have fuckin thought?"

Not you, that's for sure— you're so fascinated with this anomaly— and his shirt coming up from his waistband, that ridiculous blueblood anatomy, like a musclebeast sculpture— that you startle when he yells at you. The gist is clear, and made clearer with exaggerated, challenging pointing. Dancing. You.

You look at Lainey, a little panicked. She takes no pity whatsoever on you.

"Lainey," you hiss, as she shoves you upright. "Lainey, no, I can't—"

"Can and will!" she sings out, and hauls you straight into the mess. You're already dizzy and uncoordinated, your knee rolling too loosely— how does she expect— how does he— you have to grab a double handful of his shirt not to tip over.

"I can't dance," you say, fins pinned back, scrabbling for purchase with your stupid metal heel. "Kadros— fuck—"

 

"Quit your bitching and get low, wallhugger," you retort, grinning, and continue showing off like a complete asshole. "You're not allowed to have an ass like that if you won't shake it, it's against regulations."

 

"Kadros—" you growl, but he pushes you off, clearly thinking you just being, you don't know, shy, reluctant— you go down hard, your metal knee slamming into the planks of the dance area, your palms stinging with impact required not to completely faceplant. A few dancers scatter, and you look up— and up— and snarl, deeply fucking irritated. You draw canekind, hook the head behind his stupid fucking knee, and sweep him off his damn showboat feet.

"Ha," you say, and just to be really insulting— just because you're good and mad now, you get the point of your cane under his chin. If it was a sword— you grin. "Lying down on the job is also against regulations, isn't it, Commander?"

 

"Not if you're doing it too, sir," you snarl happily -- and then catch yourself, smile fading. "Goddammit, Aspera. We can't compete if we're not gonna... compete." You flick the tip of his cane aside and offer your hand to help him up. "It's a shame, but there it is."

 

Your blood's up, you want to— god, you want to bite, sink your fangs in to that hide and taste him, lick the salt from his skin, the sweat from his throat— you take his hand with yours, meekly, get yourself together.

"Go give Lainey a hard time," you tell him. "She doesn't get enough exercise."

"Fuck you too, cripple!" Lainey calls from somewhere in the mob.

You make a retreat while Kadros is distracted— you get back to the slight rise against the tree, cuddle back up to Arguus. You sigh. He sighs.

"Do troll 300 like they're all pitch for that alien warlord," you order him, and he perks right back up. You get to work on finishing off the coffee.

 

"Come on, Lainey, release the potential in that booty of yours. DJ, we're gonna need 'Pound The Alarm'. And turn it up!"

It's all a bit of a blur after that. People keep putting drinks in your hand every time you take a break from dancing, but somehow they're never disgusting and they never make you puke. At least some of the drinks are water, and eventually you start getting a bit maudlin about your subordinates making sure you stay hydrated. You declare yourself pale for the entire fucked-up party boat. You don't know where your shoes, shirt, or hoodie went. The clip is falling out of your hair.

You bring it over to Arguus, offer it to him on bended knee, ignoring the upsettingly sexy jerkbutt on his lap. "I need you to keep this safe for me," you slur. "Don't lemme lose it. I trusht you, okay? It's presh. Presh. Important to me."

 

Arguus nods several times, very seriously, and accepts the clip as if it were imperial jewels. Before Kadros can straighten up, the fellow puts his hand on one stupidly thick bicep and— blushing terribly— points at his mouth.

You giggle sleepily. "Payment," you murmur. "Go on, make his night."

 

"I oughtta warn you," you tell Arguus very seriously, "you're my red type, don' blame me if I crush, 'kay?" Then you gently curl your finger under his chin and snog him as tenderly as your drunken wobbles will allow.

 

You are not sleepy anymore. You and various parts of your anatomy are very, very awake, and extremely interested in the activity happening right there. It's so— it's— when Kadros leans back a little, his eyes dark, his mouth soft and wet and smiling triumphantly— you make an involuntary little wanting noise, and have to put your hand over your own mouth and look away. You're burning up with embarrassment and jealousy and anger, why does he have to be so— this. So lovely. Arguus's arms have gone very tight around your chest.