THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

You laugh breathlessly. "No one is," you point out. "I— of course not, Kadros, we're all— didn't you—" but of course he didn't know. This is the thing that trolls are taught, when they don't grow up as animals. Trolls get taught that they were all hatched out just to die for someone better than them, and even the very best still have the Empress's tines set right up against your throats. Civilization is a bone pile stacked a hundred thousand years deep.

Sometimes you're awfully glad not to be a real troll.

You realize you're stroking Kadros's wrist, pityingly, almost pale. You tweak his nose.

"You're alive," you tell him, in your best and most sure Captain's voice. "Stay that way. No one on this whole stupid ship's got to die for me."

 

"Fuck you, if I'm not expendable then I get to decide what to risk my life for. You, and this ship, and this crew, I'm going to fight for you all as needed, so deal with it." You headbutt his forehead tenderly and add in a softer voice, "But I will be careful, I promise. I want to live."

Then you squeeze his gorgeous little ass with a wicked half-grin. "Go back to that grinding thing you were doing. I liked that."

 

"Mutiny," you say, grinning. "You give a lowblood an inch and he thinks he can run things!" But you roll your hips against him, enjoying the definite signs of interest. You get a bit distracted after that, his mouth against your neck, your fins, warm fingers sneaking under your clothes to squeeze and pet and tease, and it isn't until you're rocking against his hand, moaning with equal parts pleasure and frustration, that you remember—

"There's. Toys. Nnnnh, Kadros. Bedroom. God. Now."

 

"You got me toys?" you say, half delighted and half embarrassed. "Bedroom, aye sir!" You don't feel like being out of contact, so you carry him; just a few long strides, and you tumble onto the lounging platform, pulling him down on top of you. "As soon as I'm not contagious," you promise breathlessly, "I am going to eat your nook until you scream."

 

You shiver at that, full-bodied and unashamed. "Promises," you tease him, and then twist to grope around under the platform for the box Lainey had left the last time she was over for, well, playing around.

"It's, ah, it's not so much— got— as tested," you explain, and have a rummage. You come up with a good one, a big knobbly double-pronged thing all in white, and waggle it at him. "Permission to come aboard?" you grin, then pause thoughtfully. "Hmm. Too soon?"

 

Your eyes are blue moons. "I think I'd have to train for that one. Sir, you are freaky." You say this with awe, respect, and ruined underwear.

 

You burst out laughing— can't help it— and drop the white bulge back in the box.

"Alright, alright, here—" you fish out a modestly sized pink vibration wand, twist it on so it purrs. "Square one, what? Aren't you older than me, though, I'd have thought you'd already had some experience with concupiscent devices..."

You get yourself situated back over his body— he's lovely, breathless and a touch intimidated—hand the buzzing little thing to him. "Well, get that down there," you order, going to work on his trouser fastenings.

 

"Not much older, and no, just drone season hookups," you admit as you get rid of your soggy briefs. "People don't tend to get fancy with those. And I generally just use my hands when..."

You regard the buzzing pink thing with some trepidation, but the look on his face is mouthwatering, and you certainly don't want to refuse an order, right? So even though you feel like you must look silly instead of sexy, you apply the wand uncertainly to the area of interest, testing how it feels on the underside of your bulge, the edges of your nook. It... well, those certainly are nerve impulses you're experiencing! "Instructions unclear, sir," you venture with a mischevious quirk of your lips, looking up from under your lashes in what you hope is an infuriatingly coy way.

 

Your breath hitches in your throat and you give serious contemplation to giving up and fucking him manually, spending the next week in quarantine with him tearing strips off one another. Unfair.

"Right," you say shakily. "Let's— clarify. Matters." You lean one hand against the sharp edge of his hip and with the other take hold of his bulge— and doesn't it look gorgeous against that bright pink—and stroke it a few times, base to tip, till your fingers are nearly dripping with his color and the length of him is fully out. Until it's thick and impatiently curling, doing its very best to catch and keep your touch. You palm the vibrator and stroke him again, firm, pressing the purr of the device hard against him, till his bulge has coiled with the straight shaft and the tip's set just against his dripping nook.

"There," you say roughly, petting at the whole slick mess of him. "Think you're— think you're set. How's it feel, love?"

 

"Ah," is all you can say at first, but the way your hips are jerking is an answer in itself. You reach above your head and dig your claws into the edge of the mattress so you don't claw him the way you want to, and your stomach hollows as he teases your nook again. "Good, it's good," you manage. "It's, I, like it when you do it. Better than doing it myself."

 

"Lazy," you say, though you're distracted by the way pleasure ripples through him. "Have to do— everything myself— around here."

You're making a mess of your own briefs, but you're not sure how much contact or what sort is any good, and you're certainly not going to call a halt at this point to go get a toy for yourself. You slip a few fingers into his nook, easily— so easily, he's so slick inside, and he squeezes you like he doesn't intend to ever let go. It takes some coordination to get your fingers stroking in time with the wand, smooth firm circles, almost grinding, but the effect is more than worth it. He nearly bucks you right off the platform. You laugh and brace yourself, working him over as best you can, relentlessly steady and slow, and enjoy the view. He falls apart in a way that suggests that no one's ever really taken their time with him before, which should be a crime except actually you're pleased to be the first. The only one to see him this vulnerable.

You tell him so.

 

"You think this is vulnerable," you half-laugh breathlessly, "I'm invincible, I could bite a planet in hh-half. God right there don't stop don't you dare stop --"

He doesn't stop, but he slows a little, going off rhythm so you miss the edge by a breath, and teases you there until you're writhing and helplessly cursing his name. Only then does he let you come, and you arch like a bow, producing a sound somewhere between a sob and a roar, before settling in a sweaty sprawl.

"Oh wow," you laugh softly. You grin up at him, dazed. "You know I'm gonna do that to you soon, right? I'm gonna learn your techniques and defeat you with 'em."

 

"Big words from a chap who can't even sit upright," you tease him, but you take shameless advantage to get your hands all over his absurd blueblood musculature. "Look at this," you say, patting his stomach. "Disgraceful. I might as well have tipped over a kitten."

 

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," you intone. "Except Erskin Aspera. He'll turn you into pudding." You stretch and purr under his hands, heavy-lidded, enjoying the novelty of touch. Your voice is dreamy and slow. "I'm thinking about my retaliation. Can't suck you off or eat you out, my spit's infectious. My hands are all scraped up. And obviously my bulge is radioactive, you should wash your hands before you accidentally touch your eyes or something. Hmmm. What if I play with your fins and give you a horn job while you use that monstrous white thing on yourself? Set up a mirror so I can watch it go in."

 

You make a deeply embarrassing little whimper at that.

"Well, if you insist," you say with unconvincing airiness. "Here, let's— bathroom, we can wash— it'll be cleaner—" you scoop up the monster bulge on the way, and gesture him after you with it as if it were a gruesome baton.

((the thing's supposed to have one length for internal stimulation and one length for the exterior bulge, so it's a sort of an acute-angled V. i couldn't find a dildo like what i was thinking of but wow look at this goofy disaster))

 

That gives you the giggles as if you've never seen a sex toy before. Your legs feel a little shaky, which is too bad because you want to scoop him up and run with him, blow raspberries on his stomach, roughhouse and goof around. You settle for groping his butt as you walk behind him.

You examine the device while he washes his hands, figure out how to turn it on, tickle his earfin with it and snicker at his reaction.

 

You sputter and flinch away, smacking at him. It makes an excellent noise, with your wet hands, so you keep at it, shoving him rowdily into the shower and flipping the spray on, headbutting him here and there when he makes as if to escape.

"Give me a show, Commander," you tell him, taking the device back, crowding into the shower after him. You lean back against the far shower wall after your sad sodden briefs have been stripped away and purr with relief. It's no hardship to ease the first few bits of the twisting, buzzing monster bulge up in you— you've been aching for ages now— and enjoy the view as you work on taking the next section.

 

"In the Marines they didn't teach us how to take sexy showers, sir," you snark absently, practically drooling at the sight of him. "That's another thing I'll have to learn in the navy, eh? You're clearly the expert." He succeeds in easing another bump in, and you make a slight whimpery noise. "Why, why didn't I lick you all over when I had the chance?"

 

"Not good for much--hhhnh, ah, a-are you," you ask, then have to tip your head back against the tile and pant idiotically. The device has possession of the entirety of your nook and is grinding implacably up against your seedflap, by now, and you suspect you've lost track of your itinerary. You get your bulge squeezed up against the second prong, coiling around the twisting knobs, and slide loose-kneed down the wall, purring in self-absorbed satisfaction.

 

"Hey, I wanna play too," you complain, joining him on the floor. You shove in behind him, pull him against your chest, and lick one of his horns. "This is why I wanted a mirror. I can't see what's going on down there. You'll have to tell me." You suck at a fin tine. "Is it all the way in? Can you feel it up in here?" You reach around him to spread a hand on his lower abdomen.