“And when our eyes met after so long, he looked at me with such an intense fear - as if he was afraid that I’d just... melt away, and so I did - into his loving embrace.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
This piece is actually based off a post from @carlosinnightvale back in November requesting a mashup of Juno Steel and Firefly. Sorry it took so long, but here it finally is! <3
Juno Steel as Captain Malcolm Reynolds and Peter Nureyev as Inara Serra.
Please click the photo for better quality. ID below.
[ID: Fan art piece of Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev from The Penumbra Podcast dressed as Captain Mal and Inara from the TV show Firefly, in color.
Juno stands with his hands on his hips, facing us. He wears a long jacket, a red button-up shirt, leather boots, and sort of khaki pants. He also wears a lopsided leather belt, and on the lower-hanging end of the belt hangs a holster with a pistol in it. Juno looks to his left, at Peter Nureyev, and gives him a small smile.
Peter stands slightly behind Juno, arms at his sides, facing away from us and a little to the right. He wears a long red dress that sparkles gold, with golden chains draped across his otherwise bare back. For jewelry, he has a dangling earring, a golden band on his upper arm, several golden rings on his fingers, and two bracelets on his wrist, one a golden chain and the other silver with red gems. He wears red lipstick and his nails are also painted red. He also wears small eyeglasses. His hair is long with small curls and is done up in a sloppy bun. He turns to look at Juno over his shoulder, also smiling slightly.
The background is a purple and blue galaxy dotted with many small, white stars.
A late submission for day one of Jupeter week, “Reunion!” @jupeterweek
A security guard rounds the corner.
Juno ducks, and a laser punches a hole through the air where his head used to be. Juno curses. The guard takes another shot, and this time Juno’s a hair’s-breadth too slow. Pain blisters up his skull. God dammit—the blast grazed his ear. Juno registers his own wounded sound on a peripheral level. His hands move on their own accord; he levels his gun at the goon and pulls the trigger. Shots ring out. For a few tense, neon moments, lasers and stun blasts ping-pong back and forth across the hallway. Then the guard grunts. He crumples, and Juno turns to run.
It’s a short distance from there to the edge of the west wing. Juno crosses the boundary line and says, “That’s the west wing cleared.”
Silence. Juno frowns. “Rita?”
Not even static. Juno’s feet slip as he turns a bend. He reaches up, feeling for the wire that connects his earpiece to his comms. A singed edge tickles the pads of his fingers.
Well, double dammit. The shot from earlier severed his wire.
This is shit for several reasons. As per the plan, Rita was supposed to detonate an explosive device once Juno confirmed his location outside the blast radius. This would draw the guards’ attention and clear Juno’s escape route. Now Rita won’t be able to tell when she can safely trigger the device.
Juno can only hope she trusts him enough to set off the bomb without his go-ahead. He can take out a goon or two, sure, but a whole troop of armed officers? Uneven odds are fun in moderation, but Juno’s really not in the mood to run blind into a snake pit. He needs that distraction.
“Come on, Rita,” Juno grumbles. His ear stings like hell. He’s still got another level of passageways to clear before he reaches an exit. “Have a little faith…”
Nothing. No explosions rock the air; no alarms sound. Juno commits to another round of curses. He knows he’s not going to die here—he absolutely refuses to die before he’s given Peter a reason to forgive him; before he’s gotten the chance to be there for Rita like she’s been there for him; before he’s learned to let go of his fears and really love life—but he’s pissed off all the same. It would’ve been a nice change of pace to escape without a new collection of bruises, but hey. Juno’s used to disappointment.
There’s a guard duo around the next bend. Juno catches them by surprise; three seconds and they’re down like a sack of potatoes. The next group proves more troublesome. Juno emerges victorious, but at the cost of his pant leg (a stray shot) and a fair amount of blood (another blast grazed his shoulder).
It’s at this point that Rita decides he’ll have cleared the blast radius. An explosion sounds from the opposite wing, muffled by distance and layers of concrete and marble. Juno keeps up his trek down the low-traffic corridors. He’d memorized the building plan days ago at Nureyev’s behest. He has one hand wrapped around his gun, the other scrunched over the wound on his shoulder. It’s not too bad a cut to his knowledge, but he’s been known to underestimate these things—and he’d rather not leave a blood trail, all things considered. He’s left enough DNA evidence on this place already.
The bomb proves a potent distraction. Juno reaches the exit unhindered. It’s a side door at the back of the building, with squeaky hinges and a sticky handle. Juno pockets his gun. He pulls the door handle and encounters resistance. His mind flashes to passwords and keypads before he realizes there’s a “push” sign painted across the middle door panels.
Juno groans. He pushes the door open and strides out onto a gravel pathway. Peeps sound from between the larger rocks, vaguely cricket-like. It’s dark out—almost dark enough to disguise a familiar shape at the edge of the lot. Their ship. Juno picks up the pace.
A light pops on as Juno approaches. A tiny pair of shoes crunch against gravel.
“Mistah Steeeeeeel!”
It’s Rita—and she sounds terrified. Juno fumbles for his gun, ready to take out some unseen threat. But then a warm pair of arms wrap around his ribcage and squeeze like a Burmese python. Juno wheezes, paralyzed as Rita babbles at him like a burst dam. He catches the word “comms” and “gunfight” and “boss,” but the rest bleeds together in her panic.
“Rita, Rita, Rita,” Juno admonishes over the tirade, not sure whether to feel touched or scared. He returns the hug as best he’s able, with his ribs about to collapse like aluminum foil. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Rita wails into his lapels. “‘What’s wrong,’ he says! I hear all sorts of laser fire and you scream like you’ve been shot and then the line goes dead, and your comms won’t come back on and I don’t know whether to set off the bomb because you could be right there unconscious or—” she hiccups on a scared sound. “Or worse!”
Oh. Oh, shit. “Rita. No, no, no. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay! You’re not okay!”
“But I am. I’m fine, I promise.” He gestures to his chest with the hand that’s not pinned to his side. “See? I’m right here. I’m okay. I’m safe. I’m alive.”
“Say that again.”
That’s not Rita’s voice. Juno’s head snaps up. Buddy, Vespa and Jet are shadows at the door to the ship; Nureyev has crossed over to Juno and Rita. He looks supernatural like this, haloed by the light of the ship behind him, white dress shirt stained violet by the twilight. He steps closer, and Juno can make out the odd slant to his mouth. His eyes are pinched.
It’s the face someone makes when they’re trying very hard not to cry.
Juno’s heart clenches. His mouth is dry as the Martian desert suddenly. “What?”
“What you just said. The last part.” Nureyev’s eyes are hard and bright. “Say it again.”
Juno’s arms tighten around Rita as though for reassurance. “…I’m alive.”
“Again.”
“I’m alive!”
Nureyev’s neck muscles tighten as he swallows. Rita seems to sense the charged atmosphere, because she peels herself from Juno’s hold—only enough for Nureyev to enter their shared space. Juno gets a glimpse of wet eyes—and then Rita’s arms are replaced by Nureyev’s wiry ones. Nureyev clutches at Juno’s back like he’s his last anchor to reality; like he’s scared Juno will run away. His head brushes against Juno’s where he leans down to press his face against his unwounded shoulder.
His voice cracks around the words:
“You sound relieved.”
Juno does his best to scoff. His fingers twitch, then alight on Nureyev’s back as a bird might test a thin branch. "Am I not supposed to?”
Nureyev hunches closer under Juno’s hands. “You weren’t before.”
And the key turns. The lock swings open. That’s what this is about.
Juno doesn’t know what he sounded like back then, after that Martian egg detonated. But he remembers how he felt:
Empty. Lost. Scared.
Disappointed.
Juno’s throat constricts. They need to leave. The police will be on top of them any second. But he latches his arms around Nureyev’s back. They’re wound together now—secure.
“I’m alive.” It’s spoken at a murmur, right beside Nureyev’s ear, but conviction underlines each word: “I fought my way out of there and I came back. And I’m so happy I did.”
For a long moment Nureyev doesn’t react. Then Juno feels the tension bleed out of his coiled back. He shakes his head against the fabric of Juno’s coat. Juno squeezes him closer. His hand runs up Nureyev’s spine to settle on the back of his neck, and Nureyev huffs out a wet sigh. A wave of emotion threatens to tear Juno from his foundations. He squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught.
Because all the times they’ve touched before today—all the times they’ve grazed elbows, yanked each other out of harm’s way, brushed fingers as they swapped equipment—those moments of contact were between Juno Steel and Nureyev’s alias. It’s been almost two years since Juno last held Peter Nureyev.
Now his body sings with recognition. Like muscle memory, Juno had internalized the way their forms fit together. Holding each other like this, he understands at a base level that this warm body wrapped around his own belongs to Peter Nureyev. He knows this feeling that builds up within his chest and makes a nest around his heart.
He recognizes now with innate certainty that after all this time, they’ve finally reunited.
Peter hasn’t pulled off a job in months. He’s had multiple opportunities, of course, he’s heard tappings and gotten tips from contacts. But his heart just isn’t in it, he finds it exceedingly difficult to don the mask. His fingers slip on his lockpicks, grip clumsy in a way it hasn’t been in decades.
He can’t help but blame himself for his misfortune. If he had just turned his back on Hyperion City, the entirety of Mars, like he had sworn to himself he would, this wouldn’t be happening. But Martian elections are always frightful things and he couldn’t help but feel… concern. Juno always manages to land himself directly in the middle of frightful situations and Peter knew that if he kept his ear to the ground long enough he’d hear the detective’s name. And he had.
Following whatever it was that occurred in Old Town Hyperion following the landslide election, Mars was plastered on every news stream for a week.
Peter remembers the sound his comms had made when he threw it against the wall of his hotel room. The screen cracked, but the report continued out of the tinny speakers. “This election week was not without its casualties, however,” the news reporter said. “Former Mayor Pilot Pereyra has been reported missing and presumed dead somewhere in the Martian desert, along with Private Detective Juno Steel, local investigator in Hyperion City.” The comms shattered easily under Peter’s sharp heel, but the words still rang in his ears.
His stomach dropped straight into the floor, and kept plummeting. It’s been almost half a year, but he can still feel his heart ache with the pain of it. A keen sense of loss he hasn’t experienced in twenty years. He doesn’t remember it hurting this much, the hollowness inside. A genuine, physical pain he can’t break free from. His hands shake most of the time, these days, and his words escape him. He finds himself stumbling over the details of his aliases, even when alone, never mind what might happen if he was actually in the middle of a job and needed to remember the information.
One does not have a lucrative career as a master thief without ferreting some savings away, however, so Peter is not rendered immediately destitute. However, the well is running a little dry, so when he is put into contact with a group of thieves looking to expand their number, he’s hardly going to say no. Especially not to Buddy Aurinko, living legend that she is. She seems to know that he hasn’t taken a job in quite some time, but isn’t bothered by it, if he can assume by her voice over the comms. But he assumes very little about her, so it’s hard to be sure.
She made contact with one of his more broad aliases, Adrian King, more of a placeholder name than anything. He has to have something of a professional reputation, but cannot use his own name, so Adrian was born. He’s very similar to Peter in most aspects, mainly in that he doesn’t share much personal information, so it will be a simple enough guise. And, if Peter is being honest with himself, he could use the company. Perhaps in working with a group he’ll regain whatever it is he lost along with Juno.
He comforts himself with this thought as he follows the broad back of Jet Sikuliaq across the bustling Venusian spaceport. This, in and of itself, is a bit disconcerting. He’s never met Sikuliaq directly, but when the RUBY7 went missing right out from under his own nose a few weeks after his and Juno’s… departure from one another, he had assumed it had been the original owner come to reclaim her.
Jet is not a talkative man, which suits Peter just fine. The fifteen minute walk to the rather unassuming ship is silent, save for the moment that Jet pointed the ship out to Peter. The gate to the cargo bay is open, hanging open like the bottom jaw of a great yawning mouth, and Peter can see several figures standing around just within it.
He slaps an easy smile on his face and affects casual posture, hauling his rolling luggage behind him. His eyes take in the distinctive red hair of Buddy Aurinko and a narrower, green haired woman standing next to her, like a shadow with teeth. The RUBY7 gleams a slightly sickly shade of lime in the harsh lights of the spaceport, but this is not what makes Peter stumble over his own feet.
The lady leaning against the car is short, and stout. His hair is dark and in tightly coiled curls, a bit longer than Peter remembers. His face, too, has more scars, particularly around his right eye, which is made of glass. But his tan trench coat is the same, Peter is sure of it. He can see the tear in the left lapel that was there the last time he saw it.
Juno’s mouth quirks into a slightly surprised smile. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asks, jokingly. But his eyebrows are pulled down worriedly, and Peter distantly knows that he must look like the universe’s biggest fool. In that moment, whatever disguise he had managed to cloak himself in slips away, leaving him utterly exposed, visible to the naked eye.
“Juno,” he chokes out, mounting the ramp up to the ship and dropping his luggage, throwing his arms around Juno tightly enough that he almost topples them both over. But Juno catches them on the side of the car and then wraps his arms around Peter, who has his coat held fast in two tight fists. “I thought you were dead,” Peter hisses into the side of Juno’s head, face nestled against his temple.
The part of Peter that is a thief more than he is even human knows that they’re being watched, but he doesn’t care. If he lets go of Juno now he might die, or worse, he’ll cry. The only thing keeping him grounded, and the tears from flowing, is the feel of Juno’s hands on his back, one of them shifting a little as if to comfort.
Juno shifts his face so his mouth his hidden from view and says, “I’m fine, Nureyev.” At that, Peter pulls away far enough to look at him, really look at him. He looks healthier than Peter has ever seen him. The dark bags and deep lines under his eyes are absent, like he’s been resting, and the shoulders under Peter’s hands are stronger, a bit more packed with muscle. For once, he isn’t injured. No scrapes, no bloody bandages, no broken bones.
Peter sniffs, trying to regain a bit of dignity. “So you are.”
“I didn’t know you knew Adrian, Juno,” Buddy says, eyebrow arched. Peter feels hot embarrassment flood him, but she only looks curious, and a little sympathetic.
Juno deflects that, saying only, “I didn’t know how to get in touch with him after Hyperion,” to explain away Peter’s reaction. Buddy’s mouth quirks, and Peter knows she noticed, but she only nods.
“I take it you can handle the tour, then,” she says, already taking the hand of the green haired woman and walking away. Jet claps Peter on the shoulder hard enough that he nearly topples, and follows, leaving them alone in the cargo bay. After a moment, the great yawning door closes, the silence ringing.
Peter is at a complete loss of words, simply staring at Juno, waiting for him to disappear. Juno takes Peter’s luggage in one hand, and Peter’s hand in the other, leading him out of the cargo bay. His skin is warm and calloused, and Peter revels in the contact. Juno begins talking, rambling about the ship as he leads them on a rather stunted tour before heading to Peter’s assigned room. “It’s small, but it locks. Rita can override the lock, obviously, but you know,” Juno stops in the doorway, shrugging. “Uh, you’ll have to get creative about storage.”
Peter nods dumbly, following Juno inside, sitting on the bed when Juno indicates it to him. Juno sits beside him, the door hissing closed behind them. “I’m… I’m really sorry, Nureyev. I would have told you, if I could,” Juno finally whispers. Peter suspects this is an apology for more than one thing, but what happened between them is a conversation for later.
“I saw on the news that you died,” Peter says hoarsely.
“Yeah. A lot of stuff happened with Hyperion, more than anyone really knows. It was too much, I decided I needed to disappear. Before Mars killed me for real,” Juno says, shrugging again.
“I missed you so much,” Peter says, and it feels ridiculous and childish to say aloud, but it’s the truest thing he can think of. Every day since he saw that news stream, he had missed Juno. As if the very universe was darker and more bleak without his presence somewhere within it. “It was horrible, I. It’s been horrible, Juno.” Now, it seems, Peter’s body has finally rebelled against him completely, the first hot tears leaking from his eyes.
Juno reaches over and gathers Peter against him, holding onto him tightly. Peter mashes his face into the side of Juno’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” Juno says again and again, until they lapse into silence. Then, once Peter looks up at him, bleary eyed and face wet with tears, he smiles. “You changed your cologne.”
Peter gives a wet laugh. “And you kept this stupid coat,” he plucks at a loose thread in Juno’s sleeve.
“It’s comfortable,” Juno protests.
“It’s hideous,” Peter replies, voice rough.
“I’m so sorry. For everything,” Juno says.
Peter shakes his head, wiping his face before settling again into Juno’s side. “Can we not do that conversation now? I think I need some time.”
“Of course, Nureyev. Whatever you need,” Juno agrees quickly. Peter kicks off his shoes, leaning more firmly into Juno until he shifts and they both lay back on the rather narrow bed, folded against each other.
Juno sheds his own shoes and goes to take off his coat, but Peter grips him tighter. Juno smirks. “I thought you said you didn’t like it.”
“I said it’s hideous. There’s a difference,” Peter disagrees.
Juno laughs softly. “I really missed you, too, you know,” he says quietly, leaning his cheek against the crown of Peter’s head. Peter sighs, scooting a bit closer, clinging in a way that will no doubt be slightly mortifying in hindsight, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t want to help it, even. He wants to hold Juno so tightly, until his poor heart has a chance to put itself back together again. Until the pervasive ache in his stomach eases. Once he has that, he’ll consider letting go.
It’s about the 3rd night on the ship and Juno and Peter have been avoiding everything to do with each other except the smallest of small talk. Peter can’t sleep and often goes out to the kitchen to eat his feelings away with cereal or pretzels or just something. Juno enjoys observing the new stars and views from different windows. After star and planet gazing, Juno brings a flask to the kitchen in order to clean out and refill, however runs into instead Nureyev and decides it’s probably about time the two talk.
[ID: A traditional colored pencil piece featuring Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev sitting on what should be a countertop, however it is not drawn. Juno has dark skin, brownish purple puffy hair on the top of his head, a large pink scar running over his nose, and a black eyepatch over his right eye. His arms are resting on his thighs and meet in the gap between his legs. He is wearing a large baby blue shirt with dark royal blue boxers, of which only the ends are visible through his arms. Juno faces forward yet looks at Nureyev on his left side. Nureyev is light skinned and has a strand of his smooth, sort of messy, black, mixed with light streaks of blue and purple, hair draped over his forehead. His right calf rests atop his left thigh with a silky purple pink robe covering his arms and most of his chest, fluffy bunny slippers, and small purple shorts visible from the underside of his crossed leg. Peter faces forward, eyes focused on a cereal bowl balanced on his lap while his left hand holds a spoon. Both Juno and Peter’s lips are parted slightly, a blue text bubble coming from Juno’s left side that reads “So. . .” accompanied by a pink text bubble just below, only coming from Nureyev, that reads “So.” END ID]
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
