#kai writes

“Good job out there today, Doc.” he said. “Not bad for a civ.” 

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Thanks, commander.” you said. “Go get some rest.” He nodded, scrubbing a hand down his face, and headed for one of the bunk rooms hidden away in the back. He’d picked up his kit and sighed wearily, liking the sound of a decent nap. 

Jorir sat down hard on the crate, already scowling at you before Odd Ball had even made it halfway down the hall. “I told you it was fine,” he grumbled, beginning to mutter in Mando’a as you reached for his arm.

“Uh-huh,” you replied dryly. “And if you’d listened to me ten minutes ago, your shoulder wouldn’t be halfway out of its socket.”

He hissed when you reset it, teeth clenched, then let out a sharp breath. “Kriff,” he muttered. “You enjoy this too much, Doc.”

You snorted. “Trust me, I don’t.” Your hand reached into your medkit and you found the stims and painkillers effortlessly, your eyes scanning Jorir for any other injuries as you grabbed your other supplies. You held the stims between your teeth, also grabbing a sling and a few bacta patches for the cuts on his forehead and cheeks. 

“17 is gonna need to get me some new coils and a thermal distributor before we can go anywhere. Those karking droids put us on the ground for a while.” 

“Uh huh,” you muttered around the vial in your mouth. You slammed one of the stims into his good shoulder, quickly followed by the other. “You aren’t going to be working on any engines for a while, trooper.” 

That was when the door creaked open.

You didn’t look up, but you felt it. The shift in the air. The weight of another presence, familiar enough to make your shoulders loosen and tighten all at once. Your hands stilled for half a second before muscle memory kicked back in and you continued working, finishing applying the bacta patches and giving Jorir the sling with quiet instructions to kriffing use it.

Jorir glanced past you, then back again. His scowl slowly morphed into something far more amused, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Well,” he said, wiggling his brows exaggeratedly as he stood, rolling his shoulders once. “Looks like you’ve got priority care coming in.”

Heat crept up your neck as you stood with him. “Jorir—”

“I’ll go check the ship,” he added quickly, already backing toward the door. “Make sure nothing’s…uh…on fire.” His gaze flicked pointedly between you and Alpha-17. “Try not to wreck the rest of the equipment, yeah?”

And then he was gone, laughing to himself as the door shut behind him, leaving the safehouse suddenly far too quiet.

The silence stretched after the door shut, thick and heavy in a way that had nothing to do with the smoke. You were suddenly acutely aware of how close he was…close enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back, steady and grounding.

“Doc.”

You swallowed. Damn. 

His voice was lower than before, stripped of battlefield sharpness. It wasn’t loud; it didn't need to be. It landed anyway.

You finally looked up, feeling like your heart was in your throat. 

Alpha stood just inside the doorway, helmet tucked under his arm, armor scorched and scratched in a way that made your stomach tighten. His gaze swept over you in one slow, deliberate pass, your face, your hands, the faint tension still wound through your posture, before settling, intent and unreadable.

“You okay?” he asked.

It was such a simple question. It shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, then huffed a quiet breath. “Everyone else is stable. No critical injuries.” Your brows furrowed as your eyes were drawn back to the scorch marks on his armor. “I should take a look at you, though. Make sure your injuries aren’t bad.”

His jaw tightened, just a fraction. “That’s not what I asked,” he said lowly.

You hesitated, fingers brushing through the hair that you’d taken out of the regulation bun. “I…” you sighed before nodding. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Alpha stepped closer, setting his bucket down and crossing his arms. His movements weren’t rushed or aggressive. Just…inevitable. The space between you narrowed until his presence filled your peripheral vision, his attention so focused it felt like a physical thing.

“You did good out there,” he said, voice steady and certain. “You kept your head when things went to hell. You kept my men alive.” His eyes lifted to meet yours fully now, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You kept me alive.”

Heat crept up your neck at the weight of his gaze. Praise from the others was one thing. It was casual, easy. 

This was different. This felt earned in a way that made your chest tighten and your pulse speed up.

“I was just doing my job,” you murmured, looking away. 

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “You keep saying that.” He paused, eyes flicking briefly to the medkit, then back to you. “Doesn’t make it any less impressive.”

He reached out, not touching you yet, but close enough that you felt the intent in the motion. “You’ve been running on fumes since we hit the ground,” he added quietly. “Now everyone else is taken care of.” His gaze softened, just a bit. “You don’t have to keep holding on anymore.”

The words settled over you like a release valve you hadn’t realized you were holding shut.

For a moment, it was just the two of you. No mission. No squad. Just the low hum of the generator and Alpha-17 standing far too close, looking at you like nothing else in the galaxy mattered quite as much.

He didn’t move away.

You waited for it, for the subtle retreat, the professional distance to snap back into place now that the squad was gone. 

It never came.

Instead, Alpha stayed right where he was, close enough that you could see the scars and burns along his armor, close enough that his attention felt almost tangible. His gaze lingered, steady and assessing, as if he were committing every detail of you to memory.

You shifted, suddenly aware of how small the space felt. “Alpha…” you started, not entirely sure what you were about to say. 

He raised a brow, saying your name in response, his voice rumbling from his chest.

He was your commanding officer. You were his medic. Your mind was conjuring all sorts of things that would probably get you both court martialled, but hearing your name fall from his lips in that tone of voice sent heat rushing through you. 

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You notice things, Doc,” he said quietly. “Details. Patterns.” His eyes flicked briefly to your hands, still hovering near the medkit, then back to your face. “So tell me. What are you noticing right now?”

Your breath caught. You could feel the answer in your body before you found the word. The heat, the tension, the way your pulse had kicked up the moment you realized he wasn’t backing off. You could see the intensity in his gaze, the predatory stance, the possessive angling of his body.

“That you’re…still standing there,” you said softly.

A corner of his mouth curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Good.” He stepped just a fraction closer, enough that his overwhelming presence became impossible to ignore. “Because I’m not done yet.”

His voice dropped, stripped of command and edged with something far more personal. “You’ve been holding it together all night. For them.” A pause. “For me.” His gaze softened, intent narrowing until it felt like the rest of the room had disappeared. “I’m not going anywhere until you stop.”

The words settled low in your chest, loosening something you hadn’t realized was wound so tight. Alpha-17 remained exactly where he was; close, attentive, and unmistakably focused on you.

His hand lifted, slow enough that you saw the decision in it. Slow enough to give you the chance to tell him to stop. 

He didn’t rush. Didn’t grab. His fingers brushed the edge of your sleeve first, a light, grounding touch. He was giving you every chance to pull away, every chance to end whatever this was before it got started. 

But you didn’t.

Your breath caught instead.

His thumb pressed gently into the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse jumped under his skin. He felt it, of course he did, and his gaze sharpened, locking onto yours with quiet intensity.

“Easy,” he murmured, not a command, but reassurance. “I’ve got you.”

Something in your chest loosened at that. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding yourself together until his touch made it unnecessary.

Alpha stepped closer, the space between your bodies minimal. His hand slid from your wrist to your forearm, steady and warm, anchoring. “You don’t have to be ‘Doc’ for me right now,” he said quietly. “You can just…be.”

You leaned into him before you fully realized you were doing it, your shoulder brushing his chest. The contact was soft, tentative, and it sent a spark straight through you.

His breath stuttered, just barely.

That was all the permission either of you needed.

Alpha’s hand shifted, settling at the curve of your waist, firm but reverent, thumb pressing lightly as if to ask the question his voice didn’t. You answered by relaxing into the touch, letting your weight rest there.

“Good,” he hummed softly, approval threading through the word. “That’s it.”

The safehouse felt smaller now, the hum of the generator fading into the background as his attention narrowed fully on you. 

No squad. No mission. 

Just the quiet heat of his hand at your waist and the unspoken promise in the way he didn’t let go.

His thumb shifted at your waist, pressing just enough to make you aware of it. Alpha’s gaze flicked briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, a faint, knowing curve at the corner of his mouth.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That look.”

You swallowed. “What look?” You silently hated how breathless you already sounded.

“The one you get when you’re pretending you don’t know exactly what’s happening.” His voice dropped, warm with amusement. “You’ve had it all night. Every time I got too close. Every time I didn’t listen and stayed in the line of fire.”

You huffed softly, trying to sound unaffected as you rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

A quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest, close enough that you felt it. “Funny,” he said. “I was thinking the same thing about you. All business. All focus.” His thumb traced a slow, deliberate arc where his hand rested. “And still reacting to me like this.”

Heat bloomed low and undeniable. You shifted without meaning to, and his eyes darkened immediately.

“Careful, Doc,” he teased gently. “If you keep leaning in like that, someone might think you want this.”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze heatedly despite the way your pulse raced. “And what if I do?” you challenged.

That finally earned you a real smile, one that was slow, dangerous, and unmistakably pleased. “Then,” Alpha said quietly, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your cheek, “I’d say you’ve earned a little more attention than I’ve been giving you.”

His hand didn’t move away.

If anything, it settled more firmly against your plush skin, claiming the space, the moment, the tension. It left the promise of what came next hanging deliciously between you.

Alpha’s thumb stilled at your waist, then resumed its slow, deliberate press, as if he were testing how aware you were of it. “You know,” he murmured, voice low and almost thoughtful, “For someone who insists she’s all business…you’re not very good at hiding when you want something.”

You scoffed softly, though your breath came out a little uneven. “Pretty bold claim.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth again, lingering this time. “Is it?” he asked quietly. “Because every time I get this close…” He leaned in just enough that his presence filled your senses. “…you stop pretending.”

Your pulse jumped. He felt it again and this time he smiled like he’d won something.

“Relax,” Alpha added, with warmth in his voice. “If I were going to push you, Doc, you’d know.” A pause. “This?” His thumb pressed just slightly more firmly. “This is me being patient.”

The implication settled heavy and electric between you.

“And if I stop being patient,” he continued softly, eyes never leaving yours, “I have a feeling you won’t complain.”

You hummed, eyes trailing over his features. “And if I did?” 

He chuckled. “Every time you think you’re in control, Doc…you’re not.”

Your eyes lit up, something dark and dangerous. “So…show me who is.” 

The challenge hung in the air between you, a gauntlet thrown down in the quiet room. The smile that had been playing on Alpha-17’s lips didn’t just widen, it sharpened. It was the look of a predator who had been invited to the hunt.

“Careful what you wish for, Doc,” he murmured, the words a low rumble that vibrated through your very bones. “You asked for this.”

His patience evaporated. The hand at your waist stopped its gentle teasing and tightened, fingers digging into your flesh with a possessive grip that stole the air from your lungs. He used that hold to pull you flush against him, the hard planes of his armor pressing into you, unyielding and absolute. The other hand shot up, tangling in your hair, his grip firm as he angled your head exactly where he wanted it.

There was no hesitation. No tentative first kiss. His mouth crashed down on yours, a claiming, a branding. It was hungry and demanding, his tongue sweeping past your lips to stake its claim. He tasted of ozone and smoke, something uniquely him, a flavor that was all Alpha-17. He kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been waiting for this moment for months and was finally taking what was his. A low groan rumbled in his chest when you kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands coming up to grip the pauldrons of his armor, holding on for dear life.

When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to speak, his lips brushing yours with every word. “That’s better,” he breathed, his voice thick with satisfaction. “No more pretending.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. He maneuvered you backward, his body a solid wall of muscle and plastoid guiding you until your back hit the cold metal of a supply crate. The impact was jarring, but his body was there immediately, caging you in, one hand slamming beside your head on the crate, the other still fisted in your hair. He loomed over you, a shadow of pure dominance, and the sheer scale of him in the small space was intoxicating.

“Look at you,” he growled, his gaze raking over your heaving chest and flushed face. “All that control, just…gone.” He leaned in, his nose tracing the line of your jaw. “You wanted to know who’s in charge? It’s me, mesh’la.”

His free hand left the crate, his movements sure and practiced as he found the hem of your shirt. He didn’t ask. He didn’t have to. With a single, decisive tug, he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. The cool air hit your skin, pebbling your nipples into tight points, and you heard his breath hitch.

“Kriffing perfect,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His eyes, dark and intense, devoured the sight of you. His hand returned, not to your waist this time, but to the large swell of your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. The touch was electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that shot straight to your core.

You arched into his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The sound seemed to break something in him. His mouth was on you again, hot and demanding as he kissed a trail down your neck. He bit down gently where your neck met your shoulder, a sharp, possessive sting that made you cry out with want. He soothed the mark with his tongue, a wet, warm glide that only made the throb between your legs intensify.

“Alpha,” you gasped, his name a broken plea. “Please!”

“Say my name again,” he commanded against your skin, his voice a low growl. “I want to hear it when I make you fall apart.”

His hand left your breast, sliding down your stomach to the waistband of your pants. He paused, his fingers hooking into the fabric, his eyes locking onto yours. The question was clear, the final point of surrender.

You answered by lifting your hips, a silent, desperate permission.

He made a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph. In one fluid motion, he tugged your pants and underwear down your legs, letting them pool at your ankles. He didn’t bother removing them completely. He just spread your thick thighs with his knee, his gaze dropping to the slick, wet heat he’d just exposed.

“So responsive,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. “All this for me.” He ran a single finger through your folds, gathering your wetness on his fingertip. You whimpered, your hips bucking, seeking more. He brought his finger to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he tasted you. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Delicious.”

Then he was on his knees before you.

The sight was enough to make your head spin, Alpha-17, the unshakeable ARC commander, kneeling at your feet, his face level with your most intimate place. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you completely to his gaze. You didn’t even have time to feel self conscious about the width of your hips or the rolls on your stomach before his voice cut through the stillness again. 

“Remember this feeling, Doc,” he said, his voice a dark promise. “Remember who’s making you feel it.”

And then his mouth was on you. He didn’t start slow. He licked a long, broad stripe up your slit, his tongue flat and firm, before circling your clit with devastating precision. He ate you out like a man possessed, all consuming hunger and absolute focus. He alternated between sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it relentlessly with the tip of his tongue, his beard stubble a delicious friction against your sensitive skin.

Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the curly strands as you ground your hips against his face. The pressure coiled in your belly, tight and hot, and you could feel yourself hurtling toward the edge with a speed that was almost frightening.

“Alpha… please,” you begged, not even sure what you were begging for.

He responded by doubling his efforts, one of his hands coming up to slide two fingers inside you. He curled them immediately, finding that spot inside you that made you see stars. He pumped them in and out, his mouth never ceasing its assault on your clit.

The orgasm that ripped through you was violent and all-consuming. It was a blinding wave of pleasure that crashed over you, stealing your breath and making your entire body shake. You cried out his name, a ragged, broken sound that echoed in the small room as you came against his mouth and his hand.

He didn’t stop. He worked you through it, his tongue and fingers drawing out every last spasm of pleasure until you were a boneless, panting mess against the crate. Only then did he pull back, his face glistening with your release, his expression one of smug satisfaction.

He rose to his feet, his movements fluid and powerful. He looked down at you, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes burning with a possessive fire that made your breath catch.

“We’re not done,” he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He reached for the fastenings of his codpiece, the sound of the armor plates clicking open loud in the sudden silence. “Not by a long shot.”

The heavy plates of his codpiece hit the floor with a clang that was deafening in the quiet room, but your attention was nowhere near the sound. Your eyes were locked on him, on the hard, thick length of his cock that sprang free from the confines of his blacks. He was already impossibly hard, flushed a dark, angry color and leaking at the tip. He was big, bigger than you’d let yourself imagine, and the sight sent a fresh jolt of pure, unadulterated lust through you.

He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a slow, deliberate stroke, his eyes never leaving yours. “See something you like, Doc?” he taunted, his voice a low, gravelly purr.

You could only nod, your mouth suddenly dry. You were honestly surprised he wanted more. 

“Good,” he grunted. He stepped forward, crowding you against the crate again. His hands went to your hips, gripping you tight as he lifted you. It was effortless. Your legs locked around his hips and you gasped at the sensation of being in his arms, being wholly encompassed by his heat and strength. 

He placed you on top of the cold metal crate, the sudden height putting you perfectly at eye level with him. He spread your legs with his hands, his fingertips digging into your thighs with enough pressure to leave bruises before positioning himself between them.

He leaned in, his mouth next to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he stated, it wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. It made you whimper against him, wishing his shoulders were bare so you could feel his skin beneath your fingers.  “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name. All you’re going to remember is mine.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He lined himself up with your entrance, the thick head of his cock teasing your slick, sensitive folds. He pushed in, just the tip, and the stretch was immediate, a delicious, burning pressure that made you gasp. Your hands flew to his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his blacks beneath his pauldrons.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your head falling back against the wall. Your knees tightened around him, pressing into his ribs as you took in short, ragged breaths.

He chuckled, a dark, triumphant sound. “That’s the idea.” He pushed in further, inch by agonizing inch, his gaze locked on your face as he watched you take him. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but the way he was looking at you, like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen, made you want more.

You wanted all of him.

Finally, he was seated to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. He stilled for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the sheer, overwhelming fullness of him. He was so deep, a solid, unyielding presence inside you.

“You feel that?” he growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. “That’s where you belong. Stretched around my cock.”

You couldn’t speak. You could only moan in response, your walls clenching around him involuntarily. You locked your ankles together behind his ass, urging him ever so slightly deeper, the head of his cock nudging your cervix and making you shudder bonelessly. 

The movement seemed to be his breaking point. “That’s it,” he snarled. “Hold on.”

He pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back into you. The force of it stole your breath, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. He set a brutal, punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against yours with enough force to rock the crate beneath you. He was fucking you exactly as he’d promised; hard, deep, without mercy.

His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back so he could bite at your throat. He was marking you, claiming every inch of you. The sounds were obscene, the slap of skin on skin, his guttural grunts of exertion, your own desperate, breathless moans.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough. “I want you to watch me while I fuck you.”

You forced your eyes open, meeting his burning gaze. The intensity in his eyes was staggering, a raw, primal possessiveness that was both terrifying and incredibly arousing. He watched you as he drove into you, his expression a mask of concentration and pure lust.

“You’re mine,” he growled, punctuating the words with a particularly hard thrust that made you cry out. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, the word ripped from you. “I’m yours, Alpha.”

A triumphant snarl ripped from his chest. He shifted his angle slightly, and on the next thrust, the head of his cock slammed directly against your g-spot. Your vision went white, a blinding flash of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. A choked sob escaped your lips.

“There it is,” he grunted, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He’d found it. And now he was going to destroy you with it.

He aimed for that spot again and again, his hips a relentless, pistoning machine. The pressure inside you built at an alarming rate, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to drown you completely. You were so close, teetering on the edge of a precipice.

“Alpha… I can’t…” you whimpered, your body trembling uncontrollably.

“Yes, you can,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. One of his hands snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, merciless circles. “Come for me. Now.”

The command was all it took. The orgasm that ripped through you was cataclysmic, a supernova of pleasure that obliterated everything else. You screamed his name, your body convulsing, your inner walls clamping down on him like a vise as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

The feel of you pulsing around him was his undoing. With a guttural roar, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, his body going rigid as he poured himself into you. You could feel the hot, thick spurts of his release as he came, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his harsh, ragged breaths the only sound in the world.

For a long moment, you both just stayed like that, slumped against each other, your bodies slick with sweat and trembling in the aftermath. He was still inside you, a heavy, comforting weight. The low hum of the generator was the only sound that broke the silence, a steady reminder of the world outside this small, shattered bubble.

Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes soft as they met yours. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, his touch impossibly gentle after the ferocity of what had just happened.

“Told you I’d make you fall apart,” he murmured, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He leaned in and kissed you, a soft, lingering kiss that was a stark contrast to the brutal claiming from before. This one was slow, deep, and full of a quiet satisfaction that was somehow more overwhelming than the raw lust from moments earlier.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Stay with me tonight, Doc,” he said, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “Just…stay.”

The quiet vulnerability in his voice was more disarming than any command he’d ever given. It was a crack in the formidable armor of Alpha, a glimpse of the man beneath the commander. You felt your chest tighten with an emotion that was far too complicated to name, something that went far beyond the raw lust of moments before.

You lifted a hand, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble there. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, and the simple truth of the words settled between you, solid and real.

A soft sigh escaped him, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away. He leaned into your touch, just for a second, before his usual decisive nature took over. With a gentleness that was startling, he eased out of you, the loss of his presence leaving you feeling strangely empty. He reached down, grabbing your discarded trousers and helping you slide them back on, his hands lingering on your hips. He then pulled your shirt over your head, his knuckles brushing against your cheek as he did.

He didn’t bother with his own armor. He simply scooped you up into his arms, one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, as if you weighed nothing. You looped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing in the scent of smoke, sweat, and him.

He carried you past the main room and down the short hallway to the bunk rooms, kicking open the door to the one he always claimed. It was sparse, just a narrow bunk and a footlocker, but it was private. He laid you down on the thin mattress with a reverence that made your heart ache, then stretched out beside you, pulling the scratchy military blanket over both of you.

He didn’t say anything. He just pulled you into his arms, your back flush against his chest, his body a solid, warm presence behind you. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close, and you could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against your back. It was grounding, a silent promise that you were safe, that you were his.

You lay there in the semi darkness, the low hum of the generator a familiar lullaby. The adrenaline was gone, replaced by a bone deep exhaustion and a profound sense of peace. You could feel the faint, tender ache between your thighs, a physical reminder of his possession, but it was a comforting ache, a mark of his claim.

His lips brushed the crown of your head. “Sleep,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time since you’d landed on this karking rock, you believed it. You let your eyes drift shut, your body relaxing completely into his embrace, and drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, held securely in the arms of the man who had both broken you and put you back together again.

The sun peaked over the horizon of Earth, its rays flickering and clawing into the darkness of space. It hit Ursa as it continued on its voyage. Ursa was the sister ship for Orion 4, although this one was specified for close Earth orbit although and also been fitted for travel around the solar system but only for special missions. It was part of the Anderson Company, a firm specialising in the building of rockets and deep space explorations. Its rockets roared smoothly.

Mark "Zayne" Anderson was its pilot.

He hadn't slept for the last twenty four hours. The mission won't complete itself you know. 

Zayne ruffled his hair and grabbed a drink - downed in one. He stanced up aiming for the bin. The bottle flew through the air and perfectly landed in the bin. The "bin" being the open bag pinned to the wall in an attempt of organisation so that all the rubbish wouldn't float around in zero gravity. 

He eyed the system logs; the ship had been on automatic for the last hour as Zayne had left his post to shower and do laundry. He thanked his stars that the builders of Ursa had the foresight to add each little necessity possibly needed. Ursa had not been intended for long travels, but that didn't mean it couldn't. 

The logs showed passing crafts, mostly cargo or "street cleaners" collecting space rubbish. Not much was cause for concern or excitement. Space was mostly peaceful and had been that way for several years. The most Zayne and his company had to look out for was the Hood or the Chaos Crew. But he got updates about them...

Thunderbird 5 came onto the radar before he caught sight of the station itself, quite the feat considering its size. But Zayne saw it soon enough. The glint of sun from its solar panels.

An incoming call.

"Morning Zayne, how's the mission?" John hovered above his console, his hologram that electric blue. 

He yawned. "Exhausting. In the sense of its taking a while but," he flashed his famous smile, "It's always nice to have company." 

Zayne finally sat and swiped at his screen. "Speaking of, how do you not get lonely over there by yourself?"

"As you well know I love the solitude of space as it's away from people."

"Can't hear you scream in space."

"Very funny," John deadpanned.

"I'm gonna pass by you again. This load and me is heading for a refuelling station before we hurtle ourselves towards Jupiter."

His eyebrow rose. "Jupiter?"

Zayne rested his arms behind his head. "Yeah. The boffins at Boffin HQ think that there's a storm brewing and the want me to be their eyes."

An immediate response. "Its been more than brewing. Me and EOS have been watching it develop. We have estimated that this will be the biggest change to it's spot since 2027!" 

"You've been watching." He felt incredulous.

"I do have a hobby Zayne. And that hobby happens to be observing phenomena in space."

He let out a hearty laugh, rocking back in his chair. "You're a curious one John."

"I could say the same for you. I have limited information on you - all I know comes from yourself."

That made Zayne pause. "You're John Tracy, how are you unable to obtain info on me?"

"EOS wouldn't let me..." he trailed off.

"Beaten by your own robot, now that is something dear old dad would have paid to see."

That childish voice appeared. "I advised John that it would be better for him to converse with fellow people instead of being beaten at chess again."

"You didn't need to tell him that!"

Zayne and EOS laughed together. 

"I should start making a list of what you do for a living John. You like bagels, space volleyball and chess even though you're not very good at it." 

"Hey!"

"But seriously EOS, you won't let him?"

"To reiterate, no. Socialisation is important for humans."

"How come you've never said that to me before." John crossed his arms.

"Previous company has been unentertaining," She said flatly.

"Sounds like I'm special." He had a big smug smile plastered over his face.

John huffed quietly. EOS found it amusing and was to inject with a quip but was stopped. 

"A call from your brothers has come through."

"Join them but tell them that I'm talking to a friend. I'll join soon."

EOS quietened, connecting to the call. Zayne saw no movement in the hologram. Apparently, she had though it wise to stay near John whilst on call to the Tracys. Zayne knew it was more than likely that she'd drop comments about himself. She had gotten into that habit recently, finding amusement in him being John's seemingly only friend. 

"Sorry about her."

"Quite rambunctious she is."

Awkward silence hung. Neither speaking. Zayne couldn't tell if John was about to speak or was simply shifting uncomfortably. He couldn't quite read the other man's actions, not like this at least. He had seen John in the flesh only a handful of times before hand. For someone who spent his time in what was basically a glorified call centre John was quite nimble. That had surprised Zayne. But there was something else in the way John moved when they had been together. Something he couldn't quite pin. Their first meeting in person wasn't what could be considered perfect but he supposed most people being rescued by International Rescue thought that. But unlike most other people, Zayne had known John quite a while from his flybys. The two would talk and John would give updates. And so formed a friendship. 

John's voice cut through his thoughts. "I've been meaning to ask you something. For a while now."

He raised an eyebrow. "This is either going to be something mundane or the craziest thing ever. Always one or the other with you."

The other man chuckled. "Its not either... I don't think."

"Now that makes me worried."

"I was wondering if you, would maybe... like to hang out?" He rushed the end of the sentence. "You don't have to if you don't want to be considering we're friends-"

"Are you nervous?" He was incredulous. "The infallible John Tracy nervous over asking a friend to hang out!"

Joh crossed his arms.

"Oh come on, don't be such a party pooper." He smiled. "The answer is yes by the way."

"I've tracked your flight path and calculated an estimated time for you to get there and back alongside how long the entire mission would take and calculated that the best time for you to visit would be in your next flyby - ETA fifty-six minutes from now."

Zayne laughed with his whole chest. He couldn't believe this man. "You have one hell of a way to ask people to hang out. I'll start preparing to dock then." 

"You don't mind if I stay on call with you? Today has been quiet."

"Sure." He smiled.

----

The Tracy boys had called for a check up on John, what they weren't expecting was EOS to be in his place instead. She told them John was "unavailable" because he was talking to a friend.

"Is this that Zayne guy he and Alan always talk about?" Gordon queried. 

Alan shot up from where he had been sitting. "You mean John always talks about. But yeah, it'll be Zayne. He's one of the regulars we both see."

Scott had his arms crossed. "Did he say when he'd join?"

"I think he has forgotten about this call - he is very engrossed in his conversation with Zayne."

"With Zayne, huh." Virgil turned to look at Gordon who had a big smug grin on his face.

"As long as he's okay," Scott began, "You can leave the call EOS. Whether you tell him about this call is up to you."

“M-mmmph!” Your voice comes out muffled against Miguel’s cock, your eyes teary as you hold him in your throat. You try to relax your body, knowing it’ll conserve oxygen and you just want to please your lover for as long as possible. The tip of your nose brushed against his pelvis, and your eyes squeeze shut as you listen to the behemoth of a man slowly come undone.

He’s panting slowly, red eyes watching you, large hand on the back of your head, tangled in your hair. “F-fuck!” He grunts out, hips jerking forward slightly in pleasure.

You reach your limit and quickly pull away, gasping for air as strings of thick saliva connect from the rosy tip of his cock to your delicate lips.

You glance up at him, and nearly cum on the spot when you see the way he’s looking at you. His lips are curled into a soft smile, red eyes hooded and glossy with lust. He looks so proud of you, so in love.

“Gooooood girl,” he whispers, his voice deep, drawling out the words. You bite your lip, catching your breath and feeling the burning in your lungs begin to subside. Your face is warm, and as you shift forward, reaching towards your partner’s cock, you let out a gasp as your hand is swatted away gently.

You look up at him curiously. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” You ask, and you can hear the worry in your voice.

Miguel shakes his head slightly, smiling down at you, all pretty for him on your knees. “Not at all, amor. I’d just rather see my cum dripping from your pretty little pussy than your lips. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Your breath catches in your throat at his dirty words. He grins at you, and you can see his fangs as they catch the light. “Y-yes,” you whisper without hesitation, not registering the slight stutter in your words. Arousal and adrenaline are coursing through you, and you press your thighs together, feeling your clit finally get just a little bit of the relief that it’s been pulsing and calling out for. Miguel reaches a hand down, and you take it, feeling yourself swiftly and easily pulled to your feet. Your lover’s strength will never cease to amaze you. But why should it? He is built like a god, is he not?

Miguel pulls you into his chest, and you moan lightly as you feel his member press against your inner thigh, catching on some of t your liquid arousal that has been dripping slowly for the past twenty or so minutes.

“Oh my, you’re quite wet, aren’t you?” Miguel remarks, and you can hear the teasing grin in his voice as you press your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, and you squeeze. Miguel gets the message, and his grip on your waist tightens as he holds you closer. “You haven’t even been fucked yet and your legs are already as weak as a calf’s.” Deep chuckles reverberate from his broad chest. “You’re adorable.”

The compliment makes you flustered, and you just hum in response, unable to actually speak, your mind too clouded with desire for you to form a proper response. Miguel leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear, and you arch into him as his fingers trace your bare spine.

His deep voice echoes on your head, his words seductive and raspy, making you practically melt at the sound.