THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

At least you've BEEN on planets, you think, briefly furious, and settle yourself down with an effort, pushing your face into your free hand.

"You're fine, Serg'nt," you say, your cheek still resting on your palm. "And I can't say 's not flattering. I've, hm, a, a red sort of understanding with my friends, the, Lainey, and all, er, Lieutenant Gawker and Ensign Doumah, but we're hardly ex— mm. Exclusive. An' I suppose Sal over in Medical likes t'slap me around when I'm liable to make bad decisions right'n front of him, but then again he'll slap anyone who comes in, in near— in range." You grin, struck by a thought. "I say, are you worried I might tryan call your bluff, old thing? What a dis, a disaster— on board for half a night and you manage to, to, what, to fall ass-backwards into some lonely young thing's ironclad prison of a quar- quarrent."

You snicker into your fingers.

 

"Oh, right." That had been a thing. An unpleasantly wonderful thing you would very much like to repeat at a later date but can't because everything is stupid. "Yes, he, er, we both, it was— er—wait, wait, what? Hol' th'bloody phone, you've been flirting pitch? Good god, man, you're terrible at it!"

 

You make a show of looking the Sergeant up and down, slowly and skeptically, then sigh, "Wellllll, you'll do," grab his shirtfront, and haul him into the water.

While he's splashing and scrabbling against the rocks, you kick off the edge of the pool and skim away, giggling madly.

 

The tidepool looks like a simple saltwater pocket in the midst of a rocky ground from the point of view of a troll standing on the rim, but the room is by design a rough, twisted maze of water, air, stone, and viciously sharp corals. You ping back and forth close to the surface of the main pool a few times, splashing and dunking the clumsy blueblood to make him laugh, then dive to the bottom, eel through a few turns, and surface in one of the deceptively overshadowed satellite pools in another other bit of the room entirely. You swing up on to one of the taller rocks in the enclosure to sit and wring your shirt off and wait for Murfey to miss you. When he does you're going to throw a crab at his head.

 

You drop your shirt and dart off— or try to. The moonshine's snuck up on you and you're clumsy, almost reeling as you get your feet under you, and when you hit a patch of smooth, wet stone you slip and land flat on your front, air puffing out of you in a startled huff. Then Murfey closes in and you barely manage to roll over in time, grab his arms when he reaches for you, and lock horns: he's got a good set, branched enough for a good grip, and his hair's just long enough to get a fistful of and pull. You growl, loud and showy, and kick at his legs with your feet.

 

You hit the sand with another breathless huff, and go just a little discombobulated— by the time you've got yourself sorted you're firmly pinned. You struggle and push, but on sand there's only so much superior strength can accomplish if you don't want to break limbs, and he's got size and weight on you: all your efforts get you approximately nowhere, and with an extremely distracting thigh between your legs, too. It is time for a gentleman's last resort.

You kiss him soundly.

 

"Mmm? What?" You ask, too busy with trying to get a hand past his belt. "Oh— oh, right, yes. Rinse, er, rinse— off, and, and there's— we could go—hhn—" you do not want to rinse off and go anywhere. You want him to keep mauling your fins like that.

 

You laugh and stumble after him with significantly less grace, maneuvering from one rock to hold on to to the next: your head's swimming. Ha! Swimming. You flop into the water like a barge, or a scow, or whatever it is that doesn't enter their ancestral medium with any amount of grace. But you're in! Water, hurrah. You grab Murfey by the ankle and yank him under the surface, then kiss him while he bubbles.

((erskin's in no shape right now to judge how much air a landdweller needs, or how often. murfey might be in trouble. then again, the genuine danger could be what turns his crank, idk!))

 

"Oh!" you say, and burst out laughing. "Right, right, yes, I c'n, can see how that'd put a— a, a, a KINK in the proceedings!"

You sink back down to your horntips, too overcome with mirth to paddle.

 

You whine hungrily and get your legs up around his hips, pressing closer— ridiculous bluebloods, he can hold you right out of the water. You lick and bite at the line of his throat, his shoulder, and draw a prickle of blood when he manages to get some of his bulge up in you. Squirming against him like this you can rub off your bulge against his stomach but the way he's got hold of your hindquarters keeps you from grinding enough, moving against him the way you want to. You curse breathlessly against his shoulder as he stretches you open— "More, damn you, you, you abominable lizard, harder, more, come on, won't break, faster, fuck you, give it to me—"