THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

He's protecting you! It's so absolutely darling that you almost just let him get on with it. But you won't have much luck enforcing this as a neutral zone if you let the Captain cane someone to bits in the lobby, not even if she's a disgustingly gropey subjugglator.

"Thank you, that's enough," you say with stern gentleness, putting a hand on Erskin's shoulder. "I'd rather no one fight in the casino, please. No, nor you," you add to the subjug, who's so high she's only just noticed her broken arm. "We have a little first aid station, if you'll follow my security staff they'll show you where it is. Go ahead and get a cast on that."

One of the best skills you ever learned was how to phrase an order as a concession. You tell people what to do as if you're agreeing to something they demanded, and nine times out of ten they'll go along quite happily. Not Erskin, though, he's a scrappy little thing. You might have to bundle him off to somewhere quiet.

 

You growl and strain against the grip on your shoulder, eager to get back to the business of tearing apart anything that wants to hurt your— your. Your whatever. This whatever is bigger than you, though, and significantly more healthy, and you are turned around, tucked under an arm, and hauled off.

When you sit down again you are surprised to find yourself shaking all over, horns to toes. "Sorry," you say thickly. "I— sorry. Didn't. I didn't mean to, I didn't think. I'm sorry."

 

"Ssh, it's all right. I very much appreciate the thought, you know. I certainly don't enjoy the way they... grab all the time." You shudder.

You've taken him to one of your many rooms for private entertaining. Some have a table and chairs for dinners or card games. Some are piled with carpets and cushions for sybaritic lounging -- that's the kind you've stashed the clowns in. And some, like the one you've brought Erskin to, are furnished like the parlor of a comfortable hive, with couches and armchairs and potted plants, a smaller aquarium taking up the focal point where a fireplace would go if you were planetside.

As you settle with Erskin on a scarlet-and-gold striped loveseat, a server in a tidy purple-and-white uniform goes about adjusting the lights and vents for maximum comfort. She's one of your best, a bit of an empath and tremendously committed to making sure guests have a pleasant time, but utterly dignified as well. You haven't yet brought her into the drug-dealing side of things, but it was only a matter of time, and now is as good as any. "Will you please ask Cavino to provide Lord Ironfist's party with another dish of candy? They've started wandering about, and I'd like them in a good mood. One of them annoyed our good Captain and got her arm broken; make sure she made it to the first aid station and then back to her friends. Then bring us four pieces of candy, a bottle of champagne, and a sushi platter."

Her eyes don't even flick around as she memorizes your orders. "Very good, Lord Dasyat," she replies with a small bow, and flits soundlessly out.

"I'm going to give her a raise," you muse.

 

You stay close to his side, too rattled by unpleasant experiences to protest, and help yourself to the fish and grains eagerly when it's presented. You still need as many calories as you can get, especially with how strenuous things have been lately. You eye the candy a bit nervously.

"Will you be alright?" you want to know, picking up a little pink cube and looking it over. "Are the subjugglators going to be under control? I could keep watch while you have some."

 

"I brought it for you, dear friend, not me," you say gently. "Perhaps try half of one to begin with. I find two gives me a mild effect with very little impairment, but I'm older, and I think more accustomed to altered states." You rest your fingertips on his wrist, not preventing him from eating the drugged candy, just suggesting a pause. "It's up to you. I won't think less of you if you'd rather not."

 

His gentle concern decides you— if he'd pushed, you'd have dug in your heels, but now that you have the option of declining you want to be brave for him. You pop the bright little cube in your mouth and swallow, almost too fast to taste the sweetness.

"There," you say. "You won't let me make a fool of myself, will you?"

Then what you said catches up to you— the sincere, vulnerable entreaty of it— and you blush hotly.

 

"I promise," you smile. "I'll stay with you the whole time." You take one of the candies yourself, then set the little bowl aside so neither of you will absently eat the rest. Then you turn the conversation to sushi and wine, let him be focused on nice flavors while the drug comes on. You know it's hit when he munches a perfectly ordinary salmon roll and his eyes dilate like he just had a religious vision.

He's so cute. You very much hope he'll let you keep looking out for him. It makes you tremendously happy.

 

Each small piece of sushi seems to taste better than the last: the flavors stronger and brighter, the texture more pleasant, the smell and color vivid to the point of an artistic statement. You offer the final piece to Whitey out of dutiful courtesy, then eat it in tiny, happy nibbles when he declines.

You're full. You're warm. No one's hurting you. All of these things are fucking luxurious, and you tell your friend so, leaning comfortably into his space. He lets you rest your head on his shoulder, fin pressed to the smooth bare skin, so you can feel him better, the pulse and hum of his body. He's very kind.

 

It's perfectly lovely, sitting like this with him, basking in all the sensory input. He smells yours in a way that no longer upsets you. You feel an urge to confide in him -- tell him how you came to be a lusus, tell him about Heleph and his mad science. But you think that might be the drug talking.

Instead, you talk about the aquarium before you -- the challenge of creating a rich environment in such a small space, and what you've done with some of the others. You get out your tablet and show him a picture of your latest obsession:



"I want one so much! Just look at those colors, isn't it beautiful? But it's freshwater, and all my aquaria are saltwater." You keep running your fingers along the edge of the tablet as you show him; it's so smooth, you can't stop touching it.

 

"There's freshwater in the, in a, park. He's gorgeous." You leave off picking at the glittery embroidery of Whitey's shawl to swipe through a few pictures. "We got ponds... we could, we should could go. There. And put one in. Two! For friends."

You really want to go sit in a pond right now. The soft mud, and the grasses, and the heavy silty sweet-smelling water. Excellent thing, ponds. It was absolutely brilliant of who you were when you made all those ponds, to make all those ponds. You do your best to explain this to your dear companion but it's slowly dawning that your face is a trifle discombobulated, and the words aren't making the right order.

 

You can't help giggling a little at his word scramble, but patiently listen to him backing up and trying again until you get it, and then you give his shoulders an encouraging squeeze. "Past you was tremendously clever. But maybe it's best if we don't go out until the candy wears off. Afterwards, though, we could go pick a spot for crayfish friends, and I'll order a pair."

Trailing your fingers through his hair, you sigh. "Mud and grass do sound lovely just now, though, don't they? Have you got frogs? I like to touch the eggs and watch them jiggle in their jelly."

 

You're startled and then pleased at his hands in your hair, and lean your head consideringly into the touch. It's not like how Lainey or Arguus is, but still good. Excellent. Your purr starts up, a bit uneven and giggly, but thoroughly pleased.

"Mmmyes. Frogs. I don't, I don't know about the jelly— the eggs, it happens, presumably, the eggs. The frogs make them...selves. I don't do that part." You giggle at the notion. "Quest fetches, the frogs are, are for fetch— fetch quests. And for snacks. But mostly quests. Throw them in the pond, you get, you get the thing, you get the frog thing, and you give it. You throw it in the pond. We mostly game— there's games, game animals, in the parks areas, sturdy. They go fast and set, and forget it. Er." You chew your lower lip, marshaling your spiraling thoughts. "I ordered packs of game animals and seeded a few in each appropriate biome. So you can, you have a frog, you can have it. It's all yours."

 

"Thank you, I would love a frog," you reply happily. "For now, shall I scrub that silly graffitti off your leg? I'd like to. If you'd like me to."

 

"I want yes," you agree, and wriggle around on the couch so your legs are in his lap. You steal his shawl and hold it over your head like a tent, watching the light filter through the fabric and play off the embroidery as you move it around.

There's some sort of extra uninvited troll at the door, saying something to Whitey about—

"Lainey? Is Lainey here? I want Lainey! She's beautiful."

 

"Well, there you have it," you tell the server who's come to inform you. "Please show Commander Gawker in, and we'll have some more sushi and another glass. Ooh, and ice cream, we're going to need ice cream."

She bows and goes out while you're telling Erskin all about your favorite ice cream flavors, and the next thing you know Lainey is there. You welcome her with a crow of delight. "Now the party is complete! We're a little bit high, it's ever so nice."

 

Lainey comes in with a glass of something bright green and sparkly.

"Vaziok!" she says cheerfully. "Hey! Finally getting along with Erskin, huh? What's he on?"

"Lainey," you say adoringly, and nearly fall off the couch. Whitey catches you by an arm. He's a good guy.

 

"Something new and lovely, darling, but quite addictive, so we can't have it all the time, more's the pity." You're helping Erskin scoot over as you speak, so Lainey can sit on his other side. The loveseat is a bit of a squish for three, which is perfect. Then you offer her the candy dish, little pink jelly diamonds glistening with sugar. "We've both had just one, but dear Erskin's gone all heavy burtation for some reason. Body weight, I suppose. It's adorable. You're adorable," you add to Erskin, who hasn't waited for you to stop babbling to greet his matesprit.

Somewhere among the soft glow of joy and friendship and lususly pride, someone has left several insulated containers and a tray of bowls and spoons, plus a vast array of absolutely beautiful sushi, like glistening edible jewels. You are going to expire from aesthetic ecstasy just looking at it.

 

Lainey slugs back her drink and helps herself to the icecream, all one-handed, her other hand scritching a purringly worshipful captain around the horns.

"Yeah, he's a lightweight, but his language skills always crap out early. It's some kind of mental-scarring-slash-undersocialization thing. No problem learning words, just bringing them back up."

"I'm words!" Erskin protests. "I'm, I have--amphibious." He looks triumphant.

"You're plenty sharp, hon, it's cool," Lainey reassures him. To Whitey, she adds, "He's great at impressions, though, who knows why."

 

"That sounds delightful!" You offer Erskin the prettiest sushi roll on the platter (they are all the prettiest): "I'll give you a peach blossom futomaki for an impression of Ironfist." And then the candy compels you to add, "I'll give it to you anyway, though. I can deny you nothing."

 

You frown, thinking hard: Subjugglators, as much as you hate most of what they stand for, value lyricism and grace. Ironfist is a rotten old chucklefuck, but the man is beautifully cultured.

"You nasty, jumped up slimehusk, you fin-fucking affront to all good glitter, it ain't all your place to be up and giving me your choice-ass nibbles," you growl, and take the sushi. "It is MY PLACE to MOTHERFUCKING TAKE ANY FILLET O' FUCKIN FISH AS CARES TO GET IT'S TICKLE ON OF MY MOTHERFUCKING FANCY. WATCH YOUR FINGERS."

You finish up with a rough little cough. You have no idea how that asshole maintains his volume without spitting up blood at the end of the night.