THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

"I'm sorry I was so much trouble," you say in a strangled voice. Your heart is lava. You're going to burst into flames. You set the pancake plate aside -- possibly in a poorly chosen spot, you're not paying attention -- so you can cup his face with your other hand, stroke his lovely angry eyebrow with your thumb. "Thank you for watching over me."

 

Galley leans into Bel's space, tilting his hammock rig dangerously to the side. His hands are tight on Bel's wrists. "Well, I'm. I'm your ship. You're my crew. And also you're a great big pain in the aft." His mouth twitches in furtive pride at the little pun. "Of course I kept watch."

 

You mirror his lean and gently bump your foreheads together. "Is that all? You're my ship, I'm your crew? It's not even a little bit personal?" you tease.

 

"No, of course not, that'd be weird," Galley smiles. "Also you smell bad, and are boring, and your butt is only just barely passable in the right lighting." He kisses Bel's mouth, quick and light, almost a nip, then freezes up and looks anxiously to see if he made a mistake.

 

From your blush and caught breath, it's probably obvious that that was the opposite of a mistake. You return the kiss, just as light, almost as quick, pulse fluttering in your throat.

 

"Oh," Galley breathes, shocked, and eagerly tries again. His eartips have gone a brilliant ochre, the biowire lines in his arms crackle and hiss with overflow psionics, and the close, still air of the block picks up the sharp tang of flushed pheromones.


(would it be cute for galley to fall out of his hammock)

 

That sound he just made is so cute, and so sexy. Between that and the pheromones, and how long it's been since you've seen him, and all the longing for him you've been doing -- just kissing him is making your head spin. Much as you've fantasized about being tangled together with his leggy litheness, at this point more than kissing would probably give you a stroke. When you cradle the back of his head, careful not to jostle his cables, his hair is soft as feathers, and you pity him, oh you pity him so much.

 

The helmsman shivers when the kiss deepens, his grip tightening on Bel's wrists, but after some time of moaning and squirming closer he gives Bel's lips a final few bites and pulls back from Bel's hands.

"That was," he rasps. "I mean. You're really. Uh. I mean." He shivers again, draws his knees in to try and hide the new addition to his flight suit's lap area. He looks deeply rattled. "That was great but can we just do that. I mean, uh. Stick... with that. Stay there. Here. This." He peers at Bel wide-eyed, his shoulders up around his ears. "Is this enough...? For you? For now?"

 

"Yeah," you say softly, smiling -- giddy with happiness, in fact. "We don't have to rush. Let's enjoy the journey. Just --" You lean in and kiss the tip of his nose. "Been wanting to do that. Your nose is the cutest."

 

Galley cups his hand over his sniffnub. "That's statistically improbable," he says, muffled.

 

"You are the cutest," you amend. "How are you so adorable, it defies explanation."

 

"Brain damage," Galley retorts, lowering his hand from his face. He butts his forehead impulsively back up against Bel's. "You have brain damage, there's your explanation. We'll have to, uh, we'll have to pioneer some kind of treatment. I bet it'll take a really long time and be awful. In the meantime, uh. I'll just.... have to keep humoring your delusions. Right?" His smile is shy.

 

"Your patience is much appreciated," you beam, and kiss his cheek. Then you locate the pancake plate and offer it to him. "I don't think it's quite cold yet, do you still want it?"

 

"I still want my strip show," Galley says, mock-sulking, but he takes the plate and tries a nibble. "Huh. Tastes breakfasty. I think. If it's for breakfast then that's how it must taste, right? And. It's different from the other ones."

He dabs a sticky finger on Bel's nose. "Boop. You are now breakfast."

 

You cross your eyes and attempt to reach your nose with your tongue, trying to make him smile.

 

It provokes a smile, a distracted, tongue-focused blush, and another round of kissing.

 

There is nothing you want more than to wallow in pancake-flavored kisses indefinitely, but it's not long before you start to get muscle tremors and the kind of headache that presses on your eyeballs from behind. Regretfully, with many little trailing-off kisses, you pull back enough to make your apology: "I'm fading, Precious. Sorry. I wanted to stay longer but I guess I'm not as recovered as I'd hoped."

 

"Wh— oh, I. Right." Galley's eyes flicker, look through Bel, and he cringes guiltily in on himself. "I'm sorry. I should have noticed. Your numbers are all fucked. I'm sorry." He offers the remainder of the pancake. "For the trip back...?"

 

"Nuh-uh, that's yours. I've got plenty of food in my quarters. Don't look so guilty, you goofball, I'm a grownup, I can detect my own fatigue." Another hug and a parting smooch, and you make yourself get up and go. You pause at the door to make a hand-heart at him, though.

 

Galley gives an embarrassed grin, going to hide his face, and the door closes with a snap the minute Bel's clear.

*

Erskin is still in Bel's hive, still on the same couch he occupied earlier. He's put on a casual, well-worn work t-shirt and shorts, and his bad leg is bandaged around the join. A flask engraved with Lainey's sign is tucked under his arm and at least a dozen of Bel's poetry books and journals have been scattered around.

He's fallen asleep while trying to compose some of his own: his personal journal is open, and lines in a painstakingly neat hand have been composed among sketches of Bel's lusus tearing at a meal. The words are badly spelled and the poetry composed is frankly terrible, veering from inane to incoherent. In sharp contrast, the drawings show a practiced, easy skill. The guardian is portrayed as graceful, huge, and deadly, with his talons and beak the focal points of each picture.