THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

"Okay. Great. Perfect. We're agreed." Galley seems to realize what he's doing with his hand and his bulge all at once, and lets out a long, shuddery sigh through his fangs. "If you came. If I let you. Can I still stick this in you afterwards? I think I want to." He gives his bulge a thoughtful pump, then another few significantly less thoughtful strokes that have him dripping onto the bench again. "Hhhah, yeah. Yes. I really fucking want to."

 

You whimper, knocked for a loop by the sledgehammer of sexy. "Please, yes, absolutely yes -- ohgod can that be now because I -- don't know if I can keep from. From." You're going to come if you move your hands any more, so you're trying to hold them still, but they're shaking, and he's looking at you like you're a holiday roast with extra gravy and he hasn't eaten in a week. "Galley, sir, please let me come," you gasp.

 

"Yes. Go for it." Galley leans forward, watching intently, and when Bel's head tips back as he falls apart the helmsman gives up all pretense of detachment. He pulls Bel up by a horn and a clumsy sweep of psionics to kiss him through it, then bite livid marks into his bared throat while he listens to the sweet, dazed little whimpers. He's shoving himself impatiently into his fist now, and any hint of apprehension or nerves is subsumed by desire.

"Can I go now, I wanna, are you okay, I want to fuck you really bad right now," he lets Bel know, and starts in on marking up the other side of his neck.

 

"Yes, oh fuck, please," you beg, clinging to him as well as you can with your body still trembly and weak from aftershocks. Does he want you to get up on the bench, or is the floor fine, you don't know, you can't think, your skin is exquisitely oversensitive and your neck is your weak spot. You pliantly let him put you where he wants you, babbling desperation.

 

Galley lets him settle back down to the floor and then climbs clumsily after him. It takes some fumbling to get lined up, and he's repeatedly distracted licking sweat and blue genetic fluid off Bel's chest and stomach and hands. But he gets Bel to arch up and his bulge to press in, then drops his head to Bel's chest with a growl.

"Fuck, you're tighter than I— than I thought you'd— shit, like that, good, thanks, holy fuck you're so good." He gets hold of Bel's hips and works himself further in slowly, steadily, gasping curses whenever Bel's overwhelmed nook spasms around his length.

 

You're clawing at the floor to keep from clawing up his back, your body arching, welcoming him in, shivering and twitching. You come again before he's even all the way in, just a disorienting little bottle rocket of an orgasm, and still you feel like you're on the verge for another as his length begins to move inside you. You're babbling his name and please and ohmygod and yes, all varieties of yes, an entire world of yes.

Your bulge is lashing against his stomach, wanting to be in him as well, but you think if you did the Full Mating Sex right now you would probably explode and die from too much Yes.

 

Galley gives up on making intelligible noises, devoting himself entirely to the new pleasure of using Bel's body as thoroughly and intensively as he wants, the dawning realization he's not going to be punished for anything. He bites Bel's ears, sucks marks all over his shoulders and chest, rakes his claws over Bel's sides. Pounds his bulge into him until it aches, until he's dripping sweat and sparks and his knees are threatening mutiny. He comes with a breathless, quavering laugh, shoving himself in as far as he can go, until their hips grind together and he can feel the taut skin of Bel's abdomen pressed against his own, the weak slide of Bel's bulge trapped between them.

"Fuck," he moans, clinging. "Bel. Fuck."

 

"Ohgod please just --" You catch one of his hands and press it clumsily between you where your bulge writhes, and that's all it takes. Your eyes roll back and you arch like a bow.

Slowly, the world reassembles. You ache in the best way -- several best ways. You are a limp noodle of afterglow. You are wrapped around Galley, who is also a floppy glow noodle. You nuzzle his hair and kiss the nearest horn, which is still sparking slightly.

There's melted plastic dripping off the table. You decide not to bring it to his attention. You'll get him a squillion more building bricks on the next supply ship.

"That was amazing," you pronounce hoarsely, "and you're amazing, and I'm so crazy for you."

 

Galley is purring dopily, still half stuck inside Bel.

"You're definitely crazy," he agrees. "That was. Yeah. Wow. Good sex. Two approval appendages up. We deserve awards for that, probably." He nuzzles Bel's sweaty face. "We're disgusting. Where's my cleaning pads."

A packet of disposable pre-moistened cleansing sheets is pulled out from under the table on a burst of wobbly, pale yellow sparks. Galley disengages from Bel with a wince and a gross, sucking pop that makes him snicker, then hands a fistful of wipes to Bel and starts matter-of-factly cleaning himself up. There's an unobtrusive trash chute in the corner of the room between the work table and the door that he opens with a gesture and tosses the fouled sheets at, and his psionics carry them the rest of the way in.

"The Captain charged me with the hygienic maintenance of my own quarters," Galley explains, waving a tissue vaguely. "Quarters. Like this is my room." He tries to sound scandalized, even indignant, but his mouth is busy with a goofy smile. "It cuts down on the amount of dumb assholes breaking in to grope me, though," he allows, and then pinches Bel's butt.

 

You yelp softly, and give a halfhearted squirm, not really trying to avoid getting goosed at all. "I would like to be the only dumb asshole who gropes you," you offer humbly. "At least until such time as you fill other quadrants if you want any. There... there isn't anyone who pesters you that way anymore, right? I know you could make them stop if there were, but I still have protective feelings, because of pity."

 

"No, don't freak out, there's no one like that anymore," Galley says. "You are my one and only dumb asshole."

He finishes cleaning up, then zips his flight suit back together, shakes his cables back in order, and wobbles to his feet. He looks at his hammock measuringly.

"I we'd both fit in my corpse sling," he concludes, pulling Bel to his feet. "Come here, try it. You can stay here with me a while more, right?"

 

"Yeah, Lainey kicked me off the bridge because I was too anxious to focus, I should probably not go back to work until I know Erskin came through surgery okay."

Since he put his uniform back on, you suppose you ought to at least wear pants. De-captchaloguing them back onto yourself always gives you wedgies. Galley laughs at you as you un-wedgie yourself, or at least laughs at the faces you make. Then, with the help of his psionics and a big of delicate maneuvering, you climb into his hammock with him and snuggle up close.

"Hey, Galley?" you say after a bit. "Please forgive me if this is offensive or weird -- I know you really are the ship in a sense, so maybe it's a bad idea, but -- would you ever want to let Twitch handle the driving for a few hours and go on a date with me?"

 

"What?" Galley laughs. He tries to stop laughing when he sees Bel's face but only manages to sputter, "Sorry! I'm sorry!" for awhile. Finally he takes a deep, shaky breath and butts Bel's chin apologetically.

"No, it's not— I'm not offended, we just, can't, no, there's like fifty fucking million reasons why what you said is ridic— uh. Not technically feasible, let alone advisable. Starting with how this isn't a part-time rig, continuing on to how Twitch has a working memory of three minutes and we don't have a dictation-style minder here like how her last posting handled her, and she isn't rated to fly anything bigger than maybe a yacht without turning her insides into electro-fried grub fritters, continuing on to how wildly dangerous it is for me to interact with non-approved personnel who could physically, psychically, or infectiously compromise me. With a brief vacation to, uh, the exciting fun zone of I haven't personally managed my power output since I was five, you could cut me out of this rig— hsst, ow— IN THIS HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION— and, hff, and I'd tear this ship and most of the local solar system apart the first time I farted. Uh. And continuing on our journey of nope from there."

Galley twists around to see Bel's face again and his brows furrow. "But, um. It's a nice thought. It's nice of you to think that. You're a nice guy. I'm sorry."

 

"Aw, that sucks. I guess it's obvious how ignorant I am, I keep making these dumb suggestions. And I know the Fleet shits on helmsmen, I know it's standard for you to be treated like a thing, not a person. I guess I just kind of felt like... on this posting, maybe somehow we could walk in the park together once in a while." You sigh and hug him tighter. "Maybe I could get a VR rig and we could walk in virtual parks."

 

Galley gives a little shudder of horror. "Neither of us is getting put in one of those, no," he says, grabbing on to Bel protectively. "You go walk in a real park and I'll watch you, okay? We can still talk. You can bring me, uh. A park object. A leaf. Whatever people go to parks to get."

 

"What's wrong with VR? We used it for training in the Academy. It was pretty much like lucid dreaming."

 

Galley looks at Bel with horrified sympathy. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know highbloods got— went through—" he shudders again. "Uh. Conditioning. Training. And you liked it? How long were you put in for?"

 

"Officers' Academy is two sweeps, I'm sure you know that." Your brow furrows. "I think we are probably talking about a very different experience. I'm talking about a nerve induction headset, it's not invasive, it just has some little gel doodads that have to touch here?" You point to your temples. "And they give you a mild paralytic so you won't thrash around, and then you pretty much go on a dream mission. They used it to prepare us for various terrains and climates, since those would be expensive to simulate physically. Anyway, it wasn't painful or distressing. I mean, the simulated missions frequently were, but the headset wasn't."

 

Galley's face has gone blank and still. "Right. That makes sense," he says stiffly. "I'm. Glad for you."

 

Cautiously remorseful for bringing up a painful topic, you venture, "I know it's... not like that for you guys. I don't know what it is like. Sigs won't talk about it. I assumed that was because it's classified but I think maybe I always suspected it was also just plain upsetting." You pet his hair soothingly. "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. Um... change subject... oh, Sigs! My friend we secretly brought aboard to tend to Erskin. I assume you know about that. He was a helmstech, but he got demoted because he was too nice to the helmsmen. So if there's any maintenance you've been needing, we now have a trained helmstech who won't have any problems following our rules about, you know, respecting you and not mistreating you and stuff."