THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

"I don't think being bleached weighs anything and it's not like the bleach is still --" You break off as Murfey approaches with yet another weird cocktail for Erskin to try. "Murf, my old friend, my childhood first aid kit, witness to my adolescent absurdity!"

"Oh shit," Murfey says.

"Would you like to accompany us back to Erskin's quarters for a fish sandwich?"

His mouth opens and shuts. He looks to Erskin as if expecting him to make sense of everything. Ha, good luck with that!

 

You laugh and flick a fried crumb at Bel. "Fuck off, that was terrible, I am embarrassed. Fish sandwich." You refocus (with a little difficulty) on Murfey.

"Oh, right, no, we're not laughing at you, he was serious. You're very pretty and I liked having sex with you that one time," you explain. "If you wanted to do it again for fun, that'd be—fun." You frown in concentration. "I mean, if it isn't mean, to ask, you don't have to if you don't want, we're still all friends, unless you want to dump Bel for being a disaster. I might." You flick another crumb at Bel. "Or! You could just fight him, for free, I mean. For... ff, no. For non-sexually, I mean, you could just beat on him, I'd watch that, it'd be great."

More drinks! Hooray.

 

"Nooo," you muse, "not while I'm drunk, it'd be a rout."

"Target shooting, maybe," Murf proposes.

"Yes, that'd be a fair match right now." You hold up a hand to see if it shakes; it doesn't, but it swoops gently back and forth.

He laughs. "You jerk." He leans on the table to get closer to you both. "You know what? Guys? I love the idea. You are both hella hot and you're super cute together, I think it'd be fun. But not while you're off your asses. So I'm gonna give you a rain check. Talk it over when you're sober and call me if you still wanna."

You pout. "But I'll be all uptight again."

"Oh, I bet Erskin can loosen you up."

"That's filthy," you gasp appreciatively.

 

"See? See. I like him!" You get hold of a handful of his shirt and pull him in— he looks like he's afraid you might chomp him one right now, even though you are a gentleman, and his face is all squared up to push you away or be polite or something. You just kiss his cheek, loudly, and let him back upright. You do pap his butt though. You're a gentleman, but you're not dead.

 

Murf laughs, flattered. He looks challengingly at you, as if daring you to do the same. You offer him a fistbump instead. The look with which he returns it tells you it was the right choice. He struts off as if being propositioned by the two of you has left him feeling like a Galactic-class hottie.

"We're gonna ask him when we're sober," you predict. "Murf and I are going to turn you into happy pudding. It's such a good idea. Whose idea was it? Was it your idea? You're brilliant."

 

"I keep telling you! I have good ideas and am the best at things, that's why I'm Captain. Anyway, maybe it will be me and Murfey ganging up on you. We could twist your head clean off."

 

"But you wouldn't," you explain patiently, "because I am no fun when decapitated." And then the conversation catches up with you and you flush hard. "But you could probably... restrain me... somewhat..." You think some more. You make a tea kettle noise and hide your bright blue face behind an empty steamer tray.

 

A squeak toy! You are delighted. "Well, I already know what I like to do when I've got you where I want you, but it'll be exciting as, as, a very exciting thing, to see what Murfey'd try out while I have you pinned. Because, I can, I'm very tough and good at fights, in, in addintion to being smart at everything." You give him a kick under the table. "I'm excited."

You're also full of the swooping, giddy lightness that says another drink will probably be a bad idea. But the cocktail presented is dark and sparkly, and Murfey brought it for you, so, who cares.

 

You kick him back, but he doesn't even spill his drink. You discard your bamboo dignity shield and steal a kiss instead. "Let's go home and have another sex," you propose. Your enunciation has taken on the crispness of someone trying not to slur.

 

You grin at him, and also his addressing-the-troops volume level. "I don't know, Commander, what are ther— the merits, of, the merits and demerits of this plan? of action?"

 

"That's not what demerits means!" You are slightly offended, but also easily distracted. "The, the advantages of this plan are: my bulge is enormous. I can suppress my gag reflex. I'm very pretty. The disadvantages are: there aren't any." You try to think of one. "The disadvantage is you can't bring your drink. That's Murf's glass."

 

"That's pretty terrible," you say, looking at your drink. "I don't know about this. I like my drink."

 

"Fuck your drink," you say distinctly, and lean in and slurp most of it up in one gulp.

 

"Well, alright, that takes care of, of some... things. Objections. I'll settle up." You finish the dregs and then put the glass over one of his horns. While he's attempting to deal with that, you wave Murfey over.

"We need to pay and a leave," you explain. "Er, a pay. To pay you. For the items, so we can go away. I'm going to do that."

 

"No! No, you can't, Murf he can't, I said I was taking him out, it's my pay."

Murfey leans back and crosses his arms, amused. "You gonna fight over the bill? That's so romantic."

"I called it," you insist.

 

"We'll go half, so there." You point a finger in Bel's face. "I'm your commander— commandering fuckin' officer, y'know!"

 

"Pulling rank doesn't work on me during sexytimes, and I have a kink for it. Why would it work now? Rock paper scissors." You hold out your fist expectantly.

 

You groan and comply, throwing out rock-- when he wins, you bop him one right in the snoot. Not hard enough to break anything, but the startled offense all over his blue-flushed face is fantastic. You collapse into wheezy giggles.

 

You snort and shove his shoulder. Maybe a little too hard, as his chair nearly tips over; Murfey darts a hand to steady it. You press your thumb to the biometric pad Murf holds out, and sign with the little stylus, writing in a generous tip. A moment later your phone goes bip as the electronic receipt is sent to your account. Victory!

Kind of an expensive victory; those goofy fruity drinks Erskin was sucking down are pricy. But he's worth it.

"How are you getting back to quarters?" Murf asks. "Those personnel carts don't go fast enough to be really dangerous, but if you drive through someone's hive wall you're gonna have paperwork instead of sex."

 

"You don't-- you underestuate my concupiscent allure," you tell Murfey with grand dignity. It's perhaps slightly undercut by your tipsy, giggly sprawl.