THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

You fold your hands in your lap and sit in your chair politely, as if you had taken a seat in a waiting room. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep a straight face, you just sit there and peacefully regard the bookshelf over Kadros's shoulder. His 'I Am A Prize Stallion; Behold My Beautiful Mane' look goes from faux-casual to indignant, and is hilarious.

 

You put on a solicitous face. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you feeling too low for makeouts? Do you want to go home? Do you want to go to medbay?"

 

"Maybe I do," you say solemnly. "I am very delicate, you know. All this carrying on has been too much for my fine-spun meat husk. My vision grows faint. My hearing grows dull. I behold the void. It's prettier than you and a better conversationalist."

 

"Also much larger," you point out in tones of agreement as you take your boots off. "Seriously, sir, what are you waiting for, a lap dance?"

You wonder if you could actually do a lap dance. Probably not without a lot of alcohol.

 

"Oh, I'm just being obnoxious," you admit cheerfully. "Don't give me a lapdance in this wheeled death-trap, we'll go skidding across the floor and have a really awkward story to tell Pancho."

You get out of the chair, hop the step or so you need to get over to the couch, and drop on to him as heavily and as elbowsy as you can manage.

 

"You are such a bag of hammers," you scold happily as you catch him around the waist. You bite his chin lightly. "I really will ride a laser cannon for a photo op, you know, I'll make the recruitment poster face." You make the recruitment poster face. "Planetary Marines," you intone. "Hard. Dead hard."

 

You snicker, biting him back. "Those dirty Marines have a special gun / And they love to whip it out for fun, / It's big and proud and hot and loud / And they wonder why all the boys run," you tease. You don't know from poetry but you do know any amount of silly doggerel.

 

"Oh, I know why the boys run," you snicker darkly, and wriggle a little underneath him. And that's enough time not kissing him, you're done with not kissing him.

 

You make an approving sort of mumble and kiss him back with equal or greater enthusiasm. All this talk of death and secret illicit crimes and whatever else has gotten you more than a little primed for romantic-type activities. Activities like moaning appreciatively when Bel gets his hands on your gills, and grabbing for his horns to stay upright.

 

You lose yourself in kissing him for a good long while. Touching him is something you don't think you'll ever get enough of, especially the way he reacts to having his gills teased, and how much he likes it when you grope his ass. Only once he's squirming impatiently -- and your own pants are thoroughly prehensile -- do you lay him down and start kissing your way promisingly down his chest while undoing his shorts.

 

You object to the sudden inversion— you like being on top— but getting your pants unbuttoned is enough of a consolation that you're not exactly devastated. You pull his hair and purr urgently when he gets his mouth on you, trying to roll your hips up for more. He presses you back down and you moan again, nearly a whine, scrabbling at his shoulders, pulling at his hair. You're not in the fucking mood to be teased, you need him. You want to get fucked, but no, of course not, he's going to be an absolute bastard about it. He keeps going at the same deliberate pace, too soft, all airy lips and tongue, and you're reduced in short order to angry, desperate, stupid begging noises and futile straining against his grip.

 

God, you love it when he begs. You love his squirming, and you love the taste of him, he tastes like sea salt and desperation. Little by little, you ramp up the intensity; get your hand around his bulge, get your tongue up his nook. Slide your remaining hand up his side to play with his gills.

 

You shift from pleading to threatening, at some point, fists tight around his horn-bases, but it doesn't get what you want, he won't fuck you, or even scratch or bite, just pushes at you sweet and hard and it's too good, you can't stand it. Your climax is like getting shoved off a cliff, and you cry brokenly and at length as you go.

Some time later, teary-eyed and shivering convulsively, you realize he's still teasing you, his face the very picture of smugness. You put a hand against his forehead and shove: some nights you like going a couple rounds. Tonight you think you're entirely done. Possibly for the whole week.

"You are the worst," is your hoarse pronouncement.

 

You wipe your mouth and grin. "I hate you too, Trouble" you say adoringly. You get up and finish undressing. He's so hot all fucked-out and sprawling. If he's too tired to do anything for you, you don't mind just using him as jerkoff material. Paint Troll Hawaii on his lovely abs, call it victory.

 

You look disappointedly at his bulge— now he fucking parades it around, the insufferable shithead— and pull him back over, to kneel over you on the couch so you can grab it and lick it determinedly. No one's getting fucked tonight, and it's all his fault, so there.

"D'you want to try toys again?" you ask, when the thought pops up. You are very bad at sticking to your resolutions.

 

"You brought some?" you huff, breathless from his hand and tongue. "Hell yes, show me what you've got."

 

It takes you a moment to parse that. "No, I— don't flatter yourself, this isn't premediated," you protest. "But yes, let's see what I've left around." You untangle enough appendages to sort through your sylladex— you always mean to put things away neatly, but never quite get around to it.

Ooh. You pull out a bulgy, twisty, arm's-length squash you'd been meaning to show Eli, and brandish it at your kismesis with a bright, bland, tadaa! sort of smile.

 

"Pffff!" You push his face like a wiggler.

 

"No, I'm serious, bend over and cough— apfgh!" Half mashed into the cushions, you put the vegetable away. You pull out a somewhat more modestly sized, shaped, and textured concupiscent enhancer, then hit him over the head with it.

 

A wrestling match ensues, during which you bite his elbow and he sticks the vibrator in your ear, among other devastating martial arts stunts. Only when you're both laughing too hard to breathe do you settle down, wrap yourself around him, and challenge, "Bet you can't make me scream like you did."