THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

"Aaaah, god, fuck, FUCK, hhhn," is your thoughtful response, as is the frantic arching-up of your hips against the pressure. You squirm against him, instinctively trying to get more contact, more of the slide of his wet skin against yours, and kiss whatever you can reach until he pulls you away— you whine in frustration— he licks your horn, his mouth so much warmer than the water, alive, electric, and you nearly cry. Your nook's overfull with the unceasing motion of the toy, your bulge thoroughly tangled with the outer part, trapped. It shoves you through a keening, shuddering climax and out the other side, back to aching frustration—harder, don't stop yet, not yet, more— all in that same steady grind. What varies is Kadros's hold on you, where he puts his mouth, what he murmurs into your ear, and it drives you mad. God, you needed this.

 

It's a good thing you got off first, because otherwise right around now you'd probably forget you're not supposed to kiss him deep and urgent, or get down there and lick his bulge where it's wound around the toy. Instead, you describe for him what you want to do, when your mouth isn't busy with something like humming against his horn or sucking up hickeys on his neck. Hickeys are dangerous, you have to be sure you don't nick him with your teeth, so you hold him good and tight even though he's trying to squirm. The strength of him as he writhes against your iron embrace makes you feel like you're wrestling a force of nature instead of a man.

When he gets close to a second orgasm, you decide you need to see this time. You scoop him up and set his ass on the counter, facing the mirror -- he has to bend his legs rather sharply, there isn't that much room -- with your chest as a backrest. Now you can see how dripping wet he is, how stretched his nook is around the base of the toy, see the root of the little shivers you can feel passing through him at its electric throbbing.

"Fuck, yes," you breathe against his fluttering fins. "Look at you, god."

 

You laugh hazily and ride out another long convulsion, the overwhelming pleasure shading into merely overwhelming. You're not sure if you've climaxed a second time or hit a sensation limit but you make a weak protesting sort of noise and struggle to orient yourself, grope at your tangled bulge. The pressure of your hand around the oversensitive flesh has you shivering and distracted all over again, the stimulation resolving once more into pleasure, desperation, frantic hunger. Toys tend to get you right in the hindbrain, make you want to fuck yourself dead, you don't use them alone. But here and now Kadros has his big warm arms around you as you keen low in your throat as you pump your bulge around the toy and brace a foot against the mirror, angling the device deeper against you all at once, the whole heavy weight shoved into your seedflap— that does it, that's a climax, it wipes you out.

When you come back to yourself the device is still moving, Kadros is stroking your hair, murmuring praise, and you sob. Dizzy and lost, you twist and throw your arms around his neck, cling to him for dear life. You're keening, please, please, oh, please— but you're not sure if you mean stop or help or more. Lainey would know. You don't.

 

Maybe it's irresponsible, maybe you're reading him wrong, but just in case you never get to do this with him again, you want to go out with a bang. "One more," you goad softly. "Shh, uncurl, darling, relax. Let it happen. I've got you. You're amazing, you're so intense, I know you can do it again." You stroke his limbs, his stomach, smooth him out, support him so he can flop back against you. He's quivering all over, sweat-soaked, eyes glazed. "Oh, you're gorgeous, I'm so crazy for you," you admit.

 

You're not sure if it takes ages or if your brain's just slagged down, been worn to a crawl— you squirm and cry and press up into his hands whenever you're not struggling to get free, you change your mind a hundred times on if you need to pull the device out or shove it in further or just tear yourself apart. Finally something in you breaks for good and you scream, arching a final time into the pressure and heat, clawing at whatever flesh you find beneath your claws, and, and— there's murmuring in your ear and a sweet easing-off between your legs as the toy slows, stops, is pulled out. You convulse with an immediate release, blindly uncaring, too exhausted to imagine holding anything in for another moment.

Kadros is still holding you. You shove your face against his throat and hide there.

 

You've never seen anything so amazing. You could almost flip red for him, he's so precious right now. Of course, you know you'd be black again the moment he recovers, the little bossy-boots, but for the moment you let yourself be overwhelmed by his sweetness.

Praising and purring, you carry him to the shower and wash him gently, making sure to get your blood out from under his claws. You love the way he clings to you, and the way he squirms when the cool washcloth touches his swollen junk. You turn off the water, and don't bother with a towel, just carry him directly to his 'cupe. You're about to climb in with him, but stop yourself. Just in case... you troll Lainey.

CH: * Can the spores be transmitted through sopor? Or is it safe for Erskin and me to sleep in the same recuperacoon?

 

DD: AWWWWWWWWW
DD: AWWWWWWWWW!
DD: no its OK cueps r anitba
DD: anytc
DD: an ti bc te ri al ther we go
DD: y kno like
DD: the cupe noms ur dirtsy aass oak
DD: "Filter Feeders."
DD: txt douhma 4 morc eool syfy faxt

((when lainey and arguus are out of range lainey is complete shit at texting. otherwise he edits for her on the fly.))

 

CH: * Looks like you've been keeping Murfey and my booze company. :)
CH: * Tell him I decided to get laid instead of drunk (don't worry, we were careful) and I'll see you guys tomorrow.

You slip into the sopor beside Erskin and gather him against you. He's still all floppy. "We wore you right out, didn't we?" you smile.

 

"Mmngff," you tell him, very seriously. You attempt to bite his shoulder, get your face turned aside, and fall the rest of the way asleep.

((maybe bel could take care of business with pancho while lounging? this could be a good spot to sum that up.))

 

You take this bit of semi-privacy to troll your moirail. What with everything happening so fast, you only got to send her the tersest updates, letting her know the situation, that Erskin would be accelerating her transfer, and that you were sending Whitey (whom she only knows by reputation) to pick her up. Now you have time to tell her how you really feel, you guess, except that you're not very good at that without her in your lap making faces at you and messing with your hair, so mostly you just send her pictures of Erskin and gush over how cool it is to have a Real Concupiscent Quadrant.

She reluctantly agrees that he's pretty cute, aside from looking like he used to date a wood chipper. She fills you in on base gossip. She asks after your crush on Galley, and you admit you held hands with him a little, but maybe it doesn't count because he was scared and seeking comfort at the time. She informs you that's why it does count.

Just before signing off, she promises you, unprompted, that she'll get there in time, and that everything will be okay.

CH: * You can't know that. I believe you want to, but there are factors outside your control.
SL: nope. didn't anyone ever inform your spit-polished ass that sergeants are god?
SL: you are gonna be FINE. now get some sleep. <>
CH: * Yes, Sarge. <>

You sign off and get comfy in the sopor. "Damn, I love that girl," you tell Erskin's sleeping head, and you close your eyes.

 

Bel is interrupted in his work early the next night by a gentle tug on his elbow. Twitch is peering timidly into the office, just barely past the doorway, her irises lit a bright bioware pink. She waves shyly at him, and tugs his elbow again from across the room.

"Oh, Sal's sending out the big guns for you, Commander," Erskin grins, looking around Bel's side. "Go on, I think I've the hang of this business now, promise I won't set the whole lot on fire while you're letting the vampire machines at your zombie bites."

 

You roll your eyes at him, but kiss the top of his head as you get up. "Don't touch the refueling record. That's my battle, it's personal now."

Then you give Twitch a smile and join her in the hallway. "Lead on, Princess." You've given up trying not to call her that.

 

She smiles back and tucks her elbow around his, though it means holding her arm nearly horizontally to reach.

"Medical Bay," she says. "Block. Ummm." She looks up at him, then down the hallway, her smile fading out as her eyebrows draw together. Her episodic memory is improving— the list of people she recognizes and medical equipment she can work gets longer every week— but her semantic memory's still in bad shape and she hasn't been through Residential very often. She clearly doesn't want to admit that she doesn't know anymore why she's here or how to get back to where she came from.

((quick ref link i figure the hack job tried to wipe out her sense of self via frying most of her recall function, forcing her to rely on her minder's scripts and prompts. but she's young and trolls are tough, so she'll get better!))

 

You feel as if maybe you ought to start singing Follow The Yellow Brick Road, but instead you set off for medbay, shortening your stride a bit so she doesn't have to scurry. "I didn't expect Sal to send for me so soon. I'm not even feeling feverish yet. But I suppose the earlier we start blood filtration, the less I'll experience the symptoms, right? Anyway, I was only having another try at untangling the refueling records, I don't mind taking a break. Half the refuels from Aspera's tenure are written on things other than refuel forms. Receipts. Napkins. Post-its. Whoever uses the royal pink post-its is getting a clip round the ear, their handwriting makes my soul hurt. And whoever was in charge before that used one of those desk spikes, so half the time there's a hole punched through the important numbers."

Once you sense your light chatter has put her at ease, you tilt a smile at her and ask casually, "How have you been doing lately? I'm sorry I haven't come to visit these past few nights."

 

"You haven't?" she asks, then looks embarrassed. "Uh. No, I've been fine, Commander. I'm...." a long pause, and she looks at her spare hand, where 'knit'— among other words—has been printed in small neat letters across the back of the palm.

"I can knit!" she announces. "I can knit. I've been working on knitting. I knit a whole scarf. It's yellow." Another pause. "Green. Green on the end. I used needlekind. I used to use. When they came for me I put out three whole eyeballs."

She grins proudly up at Bel. "I could put out your eyeballs."

Another pause, and the proud grin fades into a frustrated concentration. She looks at the writing on her hand again.

"...PT, carrots, knit. I can knit, I could make you a scarf. Yellow— I mean. No. You're blue. The scarf is blue."

 

"Good girl," you say proudly when she offers to put out your eyes. To the scarf offer, "I'd like it no matter what color it is. But if you haven't started yet, you know what I'd like best? Moss green to match my moirail. This color." You bend down to show her your hairclip. "She's the one who's coming with the antiparasitics, and she'll be working under Sal, so you'll get to know her."

 

She looks at the hairclip, then at Bel as if she thinks she's being tested, and the test is for pupas.

"That's jade," she says authoritatively. "Jade green."

 

"She can't possibly be jade," you say pointedly, "because she hates caverns and eggs."

 

"But." She looks at the clip, frowning, and even walks an entire circle around Bel to study it from different angles. "It's green, it's jade green. The clip is jade green!" She's starting to get upset, her curly hair fluffing with static. "That's the name of the color. That's the color. It's named that, I know. It's jade green. That's the color."

 

"I know," you say gently, "shh, listen." You go to one knee so you're not towering over her so much, and pull her a bit closer so you can drop your voice. "The color is jade. But they make jades stay behind in the caverns, and she'd rather die. So she's been claiming to be olive caste all her life, and when the time came, we pulled some shenanigans to get her ascended as olive. We have to pretend she's not jade so she can keep being a doctor. Can you go along with that for me? As a friend?"