THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

"I tried to hold my fire! I honestly did! But then this clown comes up to me all 'hi I creeped on one of your crew and got a drink thrown on me, the penalty for this should be death, go make Murf hand the shitblood over for slaughter' and I just..." You make a finger gun. Bang. "Found my limit."

 

You're still giggling. "Bel Kadros, you're terrible. You're a disaster. You're my favorite disaster. You've never played Don't Fetch...? No, oh my goodness, you wouldn't have, would you?"

You look to Pancho, grinning conspiratorially. Bluebloods are hit and miss when it comes to flouting authority, but you're pretty sure greenbloods are hatched knowing how to pull this shit.

"You say, yes, highblood, right away, highblood, just as you say, highblood, then you turn to the lowest chap in the block and say 'You there! Run along and go find whatsisname!'. Then you all sit tight until the highblood realizes the first isn't coming back, and you go pick out the next lowblood, give them a good scold, and send them off. Eventually the room's empty and you say, 'Oh! Sir! I'm so sorry! Shitbloods these days, eh? I'll just run along and get them myself, don't you worry, won't be a minute!' and you don't come back."

You make a little gesture like tadaa!

(erskin is very probably the first seadweller pancho's ever seen to know the trick, due to being a weird sort of raised-by-lowbloods highblood)

 

You are sparkly-eyed with admiration, and Pancho is beaming. She says, "You know that one? No, of course you do, you're the Only Good Captain In The Fleet."

"I might've managed something like that," you say regretfully, "if she weren't basically besieging Murfey's bar. She didn't want me to go fetch the guy, she wanted me to come make Murfey stand aside. Which, you know, he would never do, even if I told him to. And it just. Ugh. The lack of consequences for these assholes was driving me insane."

Pancho punches your shoulder. "But you killed a bunch and you feel better now, right?"

"I do! There's no better salve for the grief of losing crew than the sight of those responsible disappearing into the compost grinder." You give a happy sigh and wave at your imagination. "Goodbye, murderclown. Better luck in the next life. Try to come back as something with three brain cells."

 

You punch Bel's other shoulder. "I'll thank you not to slander your caste superiors, Kadros! Why, they might come back with as many as five."

 

You lean into it. "I haven't culled anyone who deserves to come back as a bee. Bees are cute. They might manage fruit flies if they repent sincerely of being festering bulgeknots in this life."

Pancho chuckles. "All right, hatebirds, I'll leave you to it. Be sure to get some rest. Have someone else run interference if you need to, at least for the next 24 hours."

"I think Ironfuck and his Derp Carnival were going to get wrecked at the casino," you offer.

"Sweet. I'll message Whitey about the new status quo."

"Oh god." Your mouth drops open. "Erskin? Is Whitey allowed to play murder tag too? Please say yes."

 

"Not so much they stop spending most of their time at his joint. I really like having a clowntrap around."

 

"He's clever and he likes money, I expect he can keep it on the down-low."

"I'll tell him," Pancho promises. She kisses your nose, pats Erskin's shoulder, and takes her leave.

You crowd back into Erskin's personal space to scrape your teeth along a fin tine. "Up for it, Trouble? I'm feeling very possessive right now."

 

"Yes please." Bel's wearing a clean, loose, casual shirt in deference to his recent mauling. You hate it and need it off him immediately. The trousers, too. Four nights of constant fighting with no release has left you wound tight as a mainspring, and you are going to put your hands all over on every inch of Kadros's ass, or else.

 

You undress each other impatiently, not even trying to make it into foreplay -- four nights of someone else's unworthy hands all over him is plenty of foreplay as far as you're concerned. You don't care how sore you are, you're going to pound him until you're sure he'll never doubt whose rival he is. No drawing it out to tease him this time. As soon as you're both naked you're wrapped around each other and kissing furiously.

 

Usually Bel likes to torment you by dragging everything out for ages— it's a tremendous relief just to go at it for once. You grab his horns and squirm till his bulge gets the right idea, then basically just hold on.

"I like you like this," you growl in his ear. "Come on, harder."

 

"You asked for it." You adjust him, getting your arms up under his knees and pretty much folding him in half, and then you give him everything you've got. It's only the painkillers in your system that keep you from going off in under a minute; he's so hot like this, hanging on for dear life and gasping for breath. "No one can hate you like I do," you snarl. "I know you, Erskin Aspera. I know what you're worth."

 

Getting the absolute daylight fucked out of you by your rival is probably not supposed to make you feel so safe and protected, but it does, and you do, and you shake apart with him wrapped all around you. It's messy and undignified and very possibly ever so slightly weepy, and mostly just very loud and hot.

After you manage to mostly come back to yourself, you go and kiss all the livid blue-green bruises you can reach, then pry him off you far enough to kiss more. You are a troll on a mission.

 

You gave him everything you had, and now you're feeling pretty floaty. You let him do whatever he likes, smiling hazily at him, laughing softly when he finds a ticklish spot. "Are you kissing them better?" you ask eventually. "Or claiming them?"

 

"You already know you're mine," you say giddily. "So the first one. Perhaps." You give the next one a nip instead. "Perhaps I'll go and make them all worse. You won't get off this couch for a week."

 

"Mmm, I could use a vacation," you lie. You stretch out so he can get at you better. "You can handle Ironpbthbtht all by yourself." The visiting captain's name has become nothing but a farting noise, and you suspect it wouldn't be nearly so funny to you if Pancho hadn't given you those pills in medbay.

 

You grin at him, a little startled by his gigglefit. This is a bit more than his usual post-insanely-good-sex cheer.

"You're cargoed," you accuse him. "Pancho gave you the good shit because she likes you better and now you're off your head. That's adorable." You wave an important finger at him. "Here, how many fingers am I flipping you off with? I'll give you a minute to count."

 

"Tasty," you reply, grab his finger, and gnaw it gently. Yeah, Pancho appears to have drugged you good, probably to make you stay down. You are in absolutely no danger of running back into the teeth of duty just now. Putting pants on might be a little beyond you, in fact.

 

You finish kissing the bruises on his stomach and hips, then go for on on his upper thigh, though stars only knew how he managed to get it. You raise an eyebrow at him, while you're down there, and give his tired bulge a provoking lick. If he's not up for it, it's not exactly going to cause the heat death of the universe, but the idea of taking advantage of him when he's like this is pretty fucking appealing. As beautiful as he is when he's brilliant and powerful, it hits you right in the hindbrain to see him all undone.

 

You shudder and sigh, half overstimulated and half appreciative. Your bulge has no idea what it wants right now. Which is fine by you, really; watching Erskin explore you for bruises is plenty of entertainment.

 

You move lower, enjoying the wet taste of him, and the lovely noises he makes, then pull back again and rest your face against his thigh. "If I told you what to do, like this, could you?" you challenge him. "Or are you fucked in too many directions to manage simple commands?"