THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

Wow. Oh wow. Between the sweet warmth of Arguus's lips and the sound Aspera just made, you feel like the sexiest troll alive. You're blushing as you beam at Arguus. "If you get tired of cuddling your barnacle, come put those legs to good use, eh?"

Tossing your now-loose hair in what you know is an impressively long and graceful arc, you strut back to the dance floor and proceed to raise the roof.

 

You breathe out, very slowly. You can feel Arguus's fluttering heartbeat pressed against your shoulder, and his bulge against your butt. You yourself are very glad for your borrowed sweater.

"D'you—"

He nods sharply, helps you to your feet. You take his arm, go, "Hold up, hold up—" and text Lainey.

IM BORROENG UR BULG EBUDDY OK THX

"Right, come on," you say, and the two of you stumble off— it's too far to get out of here but there's so many nice bits along the way, rope-and-board stairs that make you trip and laugh and spill on to a platform hidden in the branches.

You're mostly pale with one another, when you're anything, but— but there are times— it doesn't hurt to help out a friend, and it certainly doesn't hurt for him to roll you on to your back and tangle your legs, to grind your bulges together while you nuzzle one another's faces, an absurd breathless mix of soothing fondness and sharp frantic frustrated desire. He shudders when you get a hand between his legs, bites his lip and fucks himself on your fingers and he really is a lovely thing, all angles and quietness, and hot as an engine inside. He's Lainey's, certainly, horns to toes, but you feel so tender for him at times like these. And anyway, you're Lainey's too. It works out nicely.

"Come on, lovely," you murmur, rubbing your cheek against his throat, rubbing your bulge against his thigh. "Come on, let go, it's alright now— I have you. It's all alright."

The artificial brightening of ship's morning finds the two of you curled together, entirely wrung-out, purring yourselves to sleep.

 

Sometime later, you notice they've disappeared. Well, their loss, the place is still jumping and you're not even tired.

Eventually, as things start to wind down, it occurs to you that poor Helmsman Galgal didn't get to come to the party. That seems distinctly unfair to you. You're going to have to remedy this. You go around collecting items for him -- finding your shoes and glasses in the process, but not your shirt -- and then head off toward the helmsblock. Since you don't trust yourself with a car right now, you jog the whole way. It sobers you up a tiny bit. That's okay, several of the things you brought are nearly-full bottles. You take a swig to fortify yourself every so often. The ship is spooky, all empty like this, and you're aware you're going to see the Captain Killer all alone, but somehow you're more eager than scared.

You knock on the helmsblock door and lean your face against it to announce, in a slightly squashed way, "Since you couldn come to the party, I brought the party to you! See, I gotta flower ger. Gar. Necklace. Issa rainbow."

 

The door slides open, and the helmsman sits up in his hammock, staring at Kadros with wide eyes and sparking horns. His plush brick is squeezed tightly in one fist.

"Commander," he says blankly. "How may I assist you this morning, sir?"

 

"Brought you the party," you reiterate. You sit down on the padded medical bench and start de-captchaloguing things for him. "There were picnics, so here's some cake. An' octopus balls, anna sammich. Napkins. Ver' important. Keep your lil' paws clean. Got some wine here, anna beers, anna nother beer, anna nother beer, thas too much beer what was I thinking, oh you gotta try this rablery chockit coffee it's divine, it made me go dancing. Oh yeah and this int from the party but here's the next darp -- darp -- Darkseason Soldier complication. Compilation. Since you hated thother one so much I thought you might wanna hate this one too. Anna flower thing -- nope, thas my laundry, sorry! Flower thing... flower thing! Make you even prettier." You produce the garland of plastic flowers with a flourish and hold it out.

Even as drunk as you are, you know not to go reeling over there and try to put it on him. You'd scare the hell out of him, and besides, you'd probably try to kiss him.

 

The helmsman goes more and more still the more expansive Kadros gets, subtly folding in on himself. It isn't until Kadros holds the garland out that he moves, and then only to tilt his chin— his eyes flash and the garland tugs out of Kadros's fingers, floating like a seaslug over to him. It drapes over the helmsman's lap and after after another long hesitation, he moves cautiously to examine it, his long fingers pulling at the petals and leaves.

"These are artificial," he notes.

 

"Yeah. Not nice picking alla real flowers. Inna park. Those are... for erryone to enjoy." You gesture vaguely. This bench is surprisingly comfy; you lie over sideways, just so you don't fall on your face while you're talking to him. That would be rude. "Shit, I forgot to bring you a... music."

 

"A music?" the helmsman asks. He smiles just enough to show a few fangs. "Fuck you, Commander, I want two music."

 

"I will bring you," you enunciate solemnly, "all the music. At least seventy music."

 

"That's too many music, put one back immediately, you entitled highblood piece of shit," the helmsman says, genuinely smiling now, and he puts the garland of flowers on around his horns, like a tiara.

"What kind of cake? I'm not allowed to have cake."

 

"Says who? That's dumb. Cake is... is universal. Nilla. With um." You peer critically at the cake. "Lil... pinkles. Pink. Sprinkles." You hold it out to him on its confetti-printed paper plate, complete with a plastic fork. The frosting sports a partial loop of the blue gel 'GOODBYE AND GOOD RIDDANCE' that had adorned the huge sheet cake.

 

He examined the offering for a long moment, moving his head back and forth as if to take in different angles. Then he holds out one arm— the bioware cables sizzle as they knock into one another— and accepts the plate.

"It's not good for my digestion," he says, still studying it. "Doctyrant's orders, no complex carbohydrates and refined sugars. But obviously the presence of pink sprinkles and a wasted highblood changes everything." He picks up the fork very carefully, as if he's only seen such items used before in movies, inserts the business end into the cake, and maneuvers a bit into his mouth.

His eyes go round as coins. He finishes the rest of the cake very quickly, then carefully scrapes up each bit of icing and licks it off the fork.

"Sal can go fuck himself," he pronounces. "I'm going to lock him on the wrong side of the airlock. I'm going to drop something really heavy on his foot. Bring me more cake, Commander. Bring me seventy cake."

 

"Yes, Helmsman, immediately," you say, and don't move. "Immediately tomorrow," you amend. "Inna meantime, octopus balls. Fried! Onna stick! Prolly also forbidden but fuckit, party."

 

"I'll pass," the helmsman says, dropping the plate and fork to the floor. "I've had just about enough tentacles for one lifetime."

 

"Kay." You eat the octopus balls yourself, chewing thoughtfully. "That is a lot of tempercles. Tentaples. Can you... alcohol?"

 

"Find someone else to be the designated driver and I'm all yours," the helmsman grins, mirthlessly, and summons himself up a bottle of water from the pillow-mess of the floor. He unscrews the cap psionically, takes a sip, turns the cap over in his fingers.

"So," he says. "So, crushing on Ensign Doumah, huh. You've got a hell of an equipment kink, there."

 

"Eh? Equip... pipment?" You wave a vague negation. "Nah. Long legs. And, you know. Slim. Sly sense of humor. Oh shit!" You sit up suddenly. "I wasn gonna visit you cuz you're pretty. But then you wouldn get any cake, an that int right."

 

"It is frankly embarrassing that you thought any of those noises you just made were intelligible," the helmsman says. "Back up and start over on how pretty I am. And how much cake you intend to bring me."

 

"You are," you explain, "so pretty. You're all..." Looping hand. "All that's best of dark and bright meet in your aspect and your eyes. And all that. But I'm not. Sposed to hit on you, okay? B'cuz of rank and things." Your eyelids are very heavy, and you wish the room would hold still so you could look at him more. "Imma learn to bake a cake. From my Pancho. Ask 'er about recipes for alla. Alla. Prettycake."

 

The helmsman's tattered ears have gone yellow, and he's chewing on his lip, trying to stifle a smile.

"Go to sleep, highblood," he says, and several squashy, grimy pillows pelt Kadros's head and shoulders when he waves his hand. After a moment, the small brown brick plushie floats across the space and paps gently into his palm.