#mtoothfics

Your face hurts. Your body too—with the heavy dress weighing on your shoulders, and the scratchy faux jewels that embellish said dress—and your feet, strained in these god-awful heels that threaten you within an inch of your life every time you step forward. Fortunately for you, Silco has proven to be very effective in helping you maintain your balance by offering his arm for support, as well as being good company. Unfortunately, he seemed to have disappeared, and you're stuck talking to some topsider that doesn't care what a wink you say so long as you keep smiling and laughing with him. Yeah, your face hurts a lot.

And it doesn't help that this man has the most punchable face you've ever had the obvious displeasure of looking at.

Behave. Silco's reminder rings in your head. You're here so that he can keep good graces with the Piltovans—taking their greatness as his, and making sure that they do not intervene with his control in Zaun. So why is it that you're having the unpleasant conversations, batting your eyes at men who have far too much bravado for their brains to know what to do with. It's a surprise you haven't downed your entire glass of champagne yet.

'Say, what's a pretty girl like you hanging around sumprats for?'

You had forgotten that you also grew out your nails for this event. Your fist balls at your side, manicured fingertips digging into your skin as you refrain from yelling obscenities at this man and his audacity. You're appalled by his Piltovan-hubris and further baffled by the ignorance of this man - far too privileged to know that people cannot move to Piltover as they please, not that you would want to. But still, surely the council has more to offer than the man that doesn't seem to know the regulations he has a hand in approving.

Gritting your teeth behind a feigned smile, you respond. 'I'd hardly expect you to be a better company,' you joke, though there is no lie in your quip.

The man raises his arms in mock surrender, receiving your words the way you concealed them. He grins disgustingly, only emboldened by your attitude. 'Now there,' he laughs almost tauntingly, 'I only meant it as a compliment.'

That earns him an eye roll. 'Can't say the same,' you return, raising your glass to the jest and smiling into its narrow rim as you take a sip. But as you pull the drink away from your mouth and feel his fingers slide against yours around it, it takes everything in you to not smash the glass over his head.

Again, the audacity.

You don't protest as he takes the glass from your hands, but your mouth falls agape as he downs the rest of your drink and discards your cup. Is he expecting you to swoon at his bawdiness?

'What th—'

He offers his hand to you. You stare at it blankly. 'Let's start over. Salo, and you?'

—are about to tell him to shove his slimey fingers up his frivolous-looking a—

'Silco, charmed,' he interjects, an arm crossing the space in front of you to shake hands with your company. The other loops behind your back, squeezing your waist in a silent greeting. 'Darling,' he drawls, both eyes regarding Salo with no sign of impress or genuine intrigue towards your companion, 'You didn't tell me you've already made friends.'

'It's been a pleasure,' you retort coldly, not caring to stroke the man's ego any further than you apparently have.

Still, Salo doesn't get the hint and is rather emboldened by Silco's presence. 'Your lady has been keeping me very entertained,' he responds, a painfully obvious attempt to look you up-and-down paired with his words.

'Oh? Has she now?' Silco, smug as ever, raises his eyebrow at you, 'Have you been holding out on me, dear?'

You can feel your jaw clench under the pressure of the smile you are maintaining.

'Well, I—'

'I sure hope not,' Salo interjects, cutting you off rudely, 'Gods know how many men - or women! - I don't judge'—he winks at you and you roll your eyes when his returns to Silco—'are dying to get their hands on something like her.'

'You know, I really think we should get going,' you urge irritably, tugging at your date's sleeve. Your eyes meet his in a silent 'help me out here' and then widen to communicate a threatening urgency to him. As if to say that if you don't leave this instance, you will be dislodging your nails into Salo's eyes. Silco gets the message.

'I'm afraid she's right,' he smiles dashingly, eyes full of fondness. 'We have a little one at home,' he begins to apologise to Salo, excusing the both of you from the conversation and hopefully, the rest of the night.

'Nonsense!' he exclaims with a laugh, 'It was a pleasure mee—'

'Pleasure was all ours,' you rush, already pulling yourself and Silco away from that pretentious douche as fast as you can—not caring for your insincerity, not that Salo knew any better. Your feet scurry out of the ballroom, pulling you and Silco into an empty hallway.

'Darling,' he begins, 'Might I say—'

Silco grunts with the sudden impact of his back to the wall, the rest of his sentence morphing into a low groan with the way you push him backwards with forceful lips on his.

He entertains your eagerness for a moment, pushing back. 'C'mon darling,' he groans against you, mouth refusing to fully separate from yours. 'Let's get out of here.'

You're absolutely giddy with your ungraceful escape, hands snaking down to tug at Silco's belt with intent and refusal against his suggestion. 'Nuh-uh,' you chide, 'We can have fun right here.' Your hands fumble at his hips clumsily, as if you were teenagers both horny but unable to stop giggling.

‘Surely we can have fun in behind one of these doors,’ he suggests, knocking just to the side of the wall behind him, where there conveniently happens to be a door. ‘And look!’ he gasps dramatically, hand twisting around the handle, ‘It’s unlocked.’

You roll your eyes as he opens the door, walking past his outstretched arm in an exaggerated show of chivalry. 'We do this all the time at home,' you sigh, 'Can't we do something a bit more...indecent.' While you love the rendezvous you have with Silco at The Last Drop, this gala presents you with a fine opportunity to be naughty.

The door closes, prompting you to turn back to Silco as he makes use of its lock. When he faces you, his eyes narrow, capturing yours as he stalks over to you. He chuckles darkly.

'I'd be happy to defile you on every surface of this building—the whole fucking city—if you can prove to me you can be quiet.'

You inhale a steady breath as Silco lowers himself.

Ah. Only behind closed doors are you given the pleasure of seeing the Eye of Zaun drop to his knees so willingly. It's really a testament to your power over him.

He brushes slender fingers up your bare leg through the slit of your dress, your heart rate picking up against his unhurried movement towards your arousal.

'That pretty boy—What was his name?'

'Salo,' you grit, drawing in a shallow breath.

'Salo.' He tastes the name on his tongue, a bitterness in his tone. 'He's been gawking at you all night.'

'Hmm.' So he noticed.

His hand stops, too close to where you want him but not yet there.

'But he's not your type? Is he?' You shake your head at his question but he pushes on, not satisfied. 'Why not? He's pretty. Rich. Powerful—'

You scoff, cutting him off. 'He doesn't know power.'

He seems to be in agreement, though wants to hear more of your stance. The hand that presses against your thigh becomes a slight indication for you to continue as it remains unmoved.

'Elaborate.'

And the timbre of that voice. Yeah, that too.

'He's arrogant. Salo holds no true power—none over Zaun or even Piltover. Rich, sure, but he's never worked for anything. He might have a pretty face—'

A pinch to your thigh, your leg jerks at the pressure.

'Careful,' Silco warns.

'But you...' you can't conceal your grin as you hold Silco's upwards-turned gaze, knowing that this is how you get what you want. 'You... are devilishly handsome...'

'Wicked girl,' he comments.

'Rich. Powerful. Striking. And you know what else?' He quirks a brow and you drop your voice, a smirk tugging at your lips. 'He could never satisfy me like you do.'

A beat of silence. You swear the temperature rises. And then—

It's the sound of your yelp that cuts through the air of the closed space as determined hands separate your legs, forcing one of them over his shoulder. The skirt of your dress parts with your thighs, allowing Silco closer access to where you need him as he comfortably settles in between them. While the change in pace has you startled, you are not complaining.

'Hush, darling,' he croons, splaying a hand over the exposed thigh resting languidly over his shoulder, 'we wouldn't want to be kicked out of this fancy party too soon, do we?'

Well, not before you get off.

'—Not before I get to defile you on every surface in here. Like I promised.'

Oh right. Definitely not before that.

You shake your head at him, pointedly not responding with a sound but instead grinding your hips in a silent plea.

'Patience, girl.'

And then he inhales. You shudder as his nose presses against your panties, earning him a whiff of your cunt as he balls the fabric of your dress in his long fingers.

'Please...' you whimper, though it's barely above a whisper.

He flattens his tongue along your still-clothed cunt, then presses harder, as if your panties weren't soaked already with your arousal alone. Salivating. Tasting you.

It's not enough. For you or him.

A forgotten hand of yours snakes itself through his hair, parting the gelled strands, mirroring your dishevelment. Then, a tug.

Again, a silent plead. Please.

A hum in return. Okay. A tug of your panties, then a snap against your skin. A contained yelp from you. A 'you asked for this' as he frees you of the scrap of fabric.

There is no teasing this time when he pounces on your cunt. No warning as two fingers breach your opening and slide in with ease. None as his tongue, wet and wanting, separates your folds, lapping at the arousal already spilling out of you, and you—despite his desperation matching yours—aren't allowed to make a single noise even as he groans shamelessly against you, indulging in your sex.

You try to stay quiet, you really do. But for every dart of his tongue, every push of his fingers, every grind of your hips against him, there is a gasp, a squeak, an apology to every tug on his previously elegantly styled hair.

A beg for more, more, more.

And he is the one to indulge you. To make you cum as his tongue finally latches onto your clit; grinding, pushing, sucking on the delicate bud. A sensitivity that makes your toes curl in those absurdly uncomfortable shoes, numbing you in a state of euphoria rather than the strain of Piltover's exhibitions.

The obscene noises caused by the man between your legs are more telling than your whimpers; those high-pitched noises becoming echoes of your suppressed moans. And the noises echo, unwavering almost as his tongue laps and laps again, pushes against your clit, between your folds, even teasing your entrance despite the two fingers slick with your arousal with every push against your walls. Pushing and pushing until you're falling over the edge, only able to stifle your moans by sinking your teeth into the flesh of your own arm.

Well, nothing you can't survive.

And even if you do make a sound, Silco will just have to punish you. In which neither of you are particularly averse to. Especially not with his promise to take you on every clean Piltovan surface, leaving his mark as the king of its underworld with his queen at his side. More likely, you under him.

‘Hey! What are you—‘

The door closes behind you, trapping you and Adrian in the confined space of the storage closet. Immediately, a gloved hand goes flying to your mouth, muffling the end of your question with an apprehensive urgency.

‘Be quiet!’ Adrian rushes out, voice hushed to stay within the confines of the dimly lit closet.

You huff, still confused by his abrupt entrance and his dragging-you-with-him, but deciding to entertain the shenanigans he seems to be busying himself with for now The quicker you acquiesce the quicker you can get out of here, you hope.

‘Did you hear that?’ he asks, prompting your ears to tune into the footsteps on the other side of the door, increasing in volume and then gradually fading to silence, leaving the two of you alone once again. There is no longer a need to stay quiet.

You slap his hand away from your face, the "threat" gone. ‘What? Peacemaker?' you answer confusedly, the concern now filling you, 'What’s going on?’

'Okay so,' he begins, taking a breath, 'I took the liberty of doing Peacemaker's laundry because I knew he was having a bad day and I kinda-sorta-accidentally...shrunkhisclothesinthewash?' he rushes - voice inflecting like in a question and unsure of how you might react. 'And now his bad day is like a total clusterfuck of bad days.'

'Right...' you understand that much already, though it doesn't explain your current proximity to him in the darkened space. 'But, why'd you drag me in here with you?'

'Because you totally would have told him I was in here,' he answers without a hitch.

'I wouldn’t have,' you challenge him.

'Would too.'

'Would not.'

'Would. Too.'

Oh, seriously? You scoff, 'I'm offended.'

'C'mon,' he chides, obviously amused and smiling in the dark, 'You love messing with me.'

'I do not,' you're quick to refute - even though you know he’s right.

And it's like you can hear his eyebrow go up. 'Are we going to do this again?'

Cue your shit-eating grin. 'Do what?'

'Ha-ha.'

'Whatever,' you roll your eyes, 'Can I leave now?'

He thinks for a moment, deciding that it's probably safe for him,

'After you,' he shuffles minutely back, only able to allow you enough room to snake your hand far enough to grasp the door handle.

You twist the knob. Once. Twice. To no avail. It's locked...from the outside?

'What the f—'

'THAT's what you get Vij!' the sudden voice outside the door startles you and you find yourself jumping away from it. 'Maybe next time you'll learn to stay out of a man's dirty underwear!'

'Peacemaker?' you question, knocking against the door. 'LET ME OUT.'

'Mhmm, no can do. You can keep Vij company until I let him out. I promise—'

'Chris, I swear to fu—'

'—See you in a few hours.'

And then with purposeful footsteps, he's gone, once again leaving you and Adrian alone, but for real this time.

You inhale deeply, then sigh irritatedly at the situation 'FUCK.'

'Look I know you're mad—'

None of that. 'Move over,' you order him.

A beat of silence, then an awkward shuffle in the space. 'I can't exactly do that.'

'Fine.' You move anyways, wedging yourself between the door and Adrian's frame, facing little resistance despite the tight fit. 'I think I can pick the...Right. I can't do that from the inside. I'm just gonna—'

Adrian's hands go flying to your hips, keeping you in place before you can shift away. 'If you're gonna move back, don't.'

'What, why?' you push against him, hoping to—

He groans - and then you feel it.

The answer lies in the print of his erection against your ass, your bodies separated by the fabric of your clothes - usually comfortable but right now, suffocating.

Thimble, my ass.

You snort. What an appropriate choice of words.

'Is this funny to you?' Whoops. You freeze. Now's not the time to be frothing over your teammate's apparently not-so-small penis.

'What, no?' Still, you choke on a giggle in an attempt to stifle your bubbling laughter.

'Because I'm hard as shit right now, and your shaking isn't really helping.'

Ah.

'Right, sorry.' You cough, doing your best to still your movements, but make no attempt to keep anything to yourself. 'For the record though, it doesn't feel like a thimble.'

His head knocks back against the wall with a thunk.

'Shit,' he mutters, hands gripping your hips harder now. Then, with heavy breaths, 'Don't fucking say that.'

Your lips twitch as you fight the cheeky urge to smile at his state of...disarray. 'Why?'

'Because I really like you. But I also really wanna fuck you right now.'

And you wonder why it's taken so long for him to admit any of that; the catalyst being Peacemaker's shrunken underwear. How are you supposed to respond to that?

He saves you the trouble. Just momentarily before you manage to recover. 'Did I make this wei—'

You've decided to get the upper hand; grinding back against him, pushing yourself against his crotch, and cutting him off with a plea. 'What are you waiting for?' you tease, 'We don't have all day.'

'Well...' he corrects you, adorably ingenious to your eagerness, 'PM said we've got a few hours.'

'Adr?' you sigh, looking at him over your shoulder, catching those pretty, puppy-dog eyes of his.

He clearly has no complaints about being here with you. 'Yeah?'

'You gonna fuck me or not?'

And as quick as he had pulled you into the closet with him, his expression sobers and he nods vigorously, hands fumbling to undo his suit at the waist.

While you had hoped that he’d help you first - freed you from your pants before he’d help himself - you don’t let that faze you. Without his help, you shimmy your bottoms and panties down your thigh, making sure to wiggle your ass behind you. But the further push of his hips against yours stills you, his hands coming around on either side of your body and constricting you even more in the tight space.

‘Can I…’ he closes in on you, speaking so close and lowly that you can feel the heat of his breath on your neck —the rest of his body igniting you all the same— ‘Can I touch you? Here?’ he finishes. He cups your pussy with a still-gloved hand, and you’re unable to stop yourself from rocking into his palm in search of any gratifying friction.

You bite your lip in an affirmative nod, letting your head fall to his shoulder as he drags a finger through your folds; teasing your entrance and then your clit.

‘Oh…fuck,’ you moan as he slowly rubs between your legs. His fingers move leisurely but you find yourself getting wetter and wetter in no time, your pussy just aching to be filled by anything he’ll give you, mirroring your desire. ‘Adrian…inside, please.’

You sigh as he obeys and another finger slips in, but the soft noise doesn’t compare to the desperate moan Adrian lets out with the intrusion of his digits into your soaking vagina. ‘You’re so wet…’ he comments, retracting his hand oh-so-slowly and then thrusting his fingers back in again, ‘So fucking dirty.’

You moan. ‘Does that mean you don’t want to fuck in this dusty closet?’ you retort, turning your face into his neck the best you can and letting out a whimper. You also hope to capture some of his skin between your teeth and tongue - branding him as yours.

‘God, no,’ he grits, punctuating his response with another press of his naked length against your bare ass. You can feel all of him. ‘I’m so fucking hard for you right now. And you’re so fucking wet for me, right? Right?’

You can’t help the sharp intake of breath you have when he inserts another finger, or two — you’re not sure — stretching you out in preparation for his cock. Which is partly true. You’re sure he was opening you up so that he could quickly slide in his dick and give you the quick fuck the closet suggests, but then, with thrusting fingers, his thumb finds the hood of your clit.

Deliciously full with three - four? - fingers, you continue rocking into his hand, his digits sliding in and out of you while his thumb coaxes you into a blinding orgasm. Yeah, the room is dark, but as you crescendo into pleasure, you can only see white light behind your closed eyelids. You writhe against Adrian’s body, to which he provides a secure wall around you, but even him, with his solid frame and newly discovered power to induce the best orgasm of your life, is unable to control himself against the erratic movement of your body against his—and cums with a shout of your name.

As you attempt to regain clarity, you’re vaguely aware of the fingers in your cunt, acting as a plug to prevent your cum from dripping down your legs, but also the wetness staining your ass and lower back, signs of your’s and Vigilante’s mutual orgasm.

‘I—are you okay?’ you whisper to him, the both of you simultaneously trying to catch your breaths as you overcome your highs.

‘Better than okay,’ he breathes, to which you laugh in response.

‘I mean…was that enough for now? Because we can stop if you can’t…’

‘No.’ He hastily cuts you off, ‘I was going to fuck you, but I didn’t expect to cum so e—’

‘It’s alright,’ you reassure him honestly, ‘I didn’t mind. We still have time as well.’

Neither of you have moved from your position. His fingers are still inside you, and you’re clenching around him with an insatiable thirst. Probably soaking him down to his knuckles as well. But you can feel him behind you; he’s no longer hard and you don’t want him to feel pressured to—

‘Can I eat you out?’

Oh.

‘…You know, before I fuck you. While I get hard again.’

And the definitiveness of which he states his intentions almost makes your legs buckle underneath you. You manage to turn around on shaky legs, his hand leaving you to support you at your sides as you face him.

You swallow, somewhat flustered by his proposal. You can feel your cheeks heat up at the thought. ‘Have you ever—‘

‘No,’ he answers, though with the confidence he exudes as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you, you’d have a reason not to believe him.

He firmly grasps one of your legs, guiding it over his shoulder and balancing you against him. With his head so close to your cunt, he looks up to you again, waiting for your confirmation.

You nod, but then, ‘Wait.’

He holds your gaze, waiting for you to continue.

‘How do you know you won’t cum again?’

He wouldn’t ask—that much didn’t surprise you, not when he thought you were asleep, along with his brothers in the surrounding bunks, where they currently still are. But with every shift in the pilot's seat, every loud creak underneath the worn-down cushion, you would think you were the one with heightened senses as you struggled to fall asleep. Your concern was something else though. Something was bothering Hunter.

And there he was—sitting in that pilot’s seat with the backdrop of hyperspace halo’ing his silhouette. The strong shoulders that signal his reservations, a wall shielding the man beneath, the pillars that hold the weight of the galaxy.

And there you are—with soft footfalls following you to the cockpit, where you find Hunter, restless and tense.

It’s a conversation neither of you are fully equipped for at this time, to unload your grievances about your lives and the state of the galaxy, not while the both of you are so low on sleep. But there remains comfort in the few words you exchange that for now, are enough.

Then it’s the creak of the floor as you drop to your knees, settling between Hunter’s. The low moan he lets out as you snake your hand under his cod-piece, half suited up—always an eye out for danger. The clicks as you unfasten the plastoid and maneuver the fabric underneath to free his cock.

The way it gleams under the light afforded by the Marauder’s large windows. You can imagine arguing with Hunter at a different time about the best sights in the galaxy; you’d crudely argue in favour of his cock and he’d say it’s you in this position. Though you know it’s just to mask his honest answer—a cliché ‘you.’ The both of you can just agree on hyperspace.

Even as the Marauder almost suffocates with heat and exhaustion, Hunter shivers at your touch. The catch of your hands against every ridge and vein of his cock, thick and hard, every twitch of his hips.

A gasping ‘thank you’ when your lips wrap around his pretty, swollen tip, the swirl of your tongue catching his pre-cum as you consume him in more ways than one. A hum around his length as he moans for you. Hips bucking up, up, up, as you take him deeper.

I’ve got you. It’s okay. You’re safe.

A promise.

Hands intertwining. Hunter breaking out of his pleasure induced stupor to meet your eyes—yours that watch him carefully, wanting to push him over the edge, to let him let go.

He moans your name as he comes undone, and you take from him what you so selflessly gave him. It’s the caress of your face with his big hands that cause you to flush, watered eyes adoringly gazing up at his.

He murmurs another ‘thanks’ before helping you to your feet. A kiss to his forehead, then one to yours, and then you’re wordlessly returning to your bunk to go to sleep. You have no doubt that Hunter will join you after his watch is over, and that you will find him next to you when you awake.

Without the armor that's usually worn when you're around the Sergeant, it's much easier to reassure him that you're there, only soft, warm layers of fabric separating the two of you. Without the armour, you can smooth your fingers over the expanse of his back, and feel the tension in his muscles as he unwillingly reminds himself of the day's events, and an outcome too close for comfort.

It's dark, and Hunter is thankful that you're saved from the sight of his distress, eyes screwed shut as he wills himself to rid his mind of those thoughts—thoughts that prevent him from staying grounded with you. You find it difficult conjuring up the words to say, paralysed because speaking your mind has always been so easy with him.

Delicate hands grip the fabric of his shirt tighter, securing his body to yours. Your lips pull away from his with reluctance, but you bury your head in his shoulder to envelope him with your warmth, your presence.

He's right, and you hate that he is. It should come as no surprise, fighting a war entails grief, sacrifice, loss...and today solidified that—that there's no promising in wartime, no certainty or stability. But your embrace provides a better truth, that he didn't lose you, that he can hold you, even if only for five minutes more. Together, you have the present.

He returns his lips to yours in a searing kiss, pressing you up against the door as a hand hurriedly pushes buttons on the adjacent keypad. You stumble backwards as you're granted entry, with him pushing you further into your room and keeping you from falling over in the dark.

None of you motion to turn on the light, instead continuing your clumsy movements towards your bed. With his heightened senses, you manage to avoid every trip hazard—though you don't care enough to notice when your lips are moulding into Hunter's so perfectly, a rhythmic push and pull to a song that only you and him know.

And his hands—his hands are everywhere; firmly holding your face, pushing against your shoulders, wrapping around your waist, pulling a thigh against him...Rough hands map every curve and bend of your body, a touch that sets you aflame despite the few layers of fabric that shield your vulnerabilities from the outside world.

Even as you fall into your mattress, him on top of you, his hands are unrelenting; firm grasps with a gentleness behind him. A gentleness he communicates through soft eyes, lingering touches, and breathless whispers. A love so utterly unspoken of in war that you and he can settle on temporary intervals of quiet intimacy when time allows. Not that either of you can really hide your unwavering devotion to each other around his brothers (who are way less oblivious than they let on).

He takes his time undressing you, the movement doing little to convey how much he wants to feel you right now. There's no true eagerness in his movements, but only the touch of a man who wants to salvage everything about you, a man who wants to perpetuate your embrace, to revel in your presence.

You return the gesture, peeling off his clothes with a practised rhythm, muscle memory taking over in the darkness before you toss them to some odd corner of the room.

You and Hunter move slowly against each other. It's sensual, and he focuses on your scent, the feel of your fingertips, your heartbeat...The feeling is complete bliss to him, something he wants to drown in. Your bodies are pressed together, modesty abandoned as you clench your thighs in tune with the occasional twitch of his cock against your abdomen, only one move away from finding its place inside your cunt.

He drops his head in your shoulder, hips beginning to grind the growing erection against your stomach. You keen against him, pulling him somehow even closer by looping your arms around his broad shoulders, hands planting themselves at the base of his neck.

Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear, 'I'm not going anywhere,' you whisper. It's not a promise, you both know that, but you achieve the same understanding: that you'd stay with him as long as you could, so long the hourglass doesn't run out.

He lifts his head from you and his warm breath is replaced by the cool air of the room. You don't see his eyes darken, but there's a palpable shift in the air as he pulls away without a word. He goes to turn on the light.

The first thing you see as the light flickers on is him making his way back to you. Hunter looms over where you're positioned at the bed, your knees bent and open for him. It's an invitation, one he takes his time to accept.

But when you lift yourself so you can lean on your elbows, he's back on you in an instant, positioning himself between your legs and pushing you back down.

He kisses you again, taking the opportunity to tease your folds with the tip of his cock, simultaneous movements with the tongue that pushes itself into your mouth. He groans as his cock gathers your slickness, the hardness sliding against your soft, wet folds.

Hunter rises to loom above you, still knelt between your legs. You're utterly exposed to him, and despite the both of you being naked, the intense stare fixated on you makes you feel all the more vulnerable.

Like predator and prey.

'Hunter—'

Confused, you whine his name, pairing the sound with a desperate roll of your hips.

He stills your movement almost immediately, large hands planting themselves at your hips and holding you in place. His eyes are fixed in a glare. 'Don't. Move.' he growls, and you have to stop your legs from clenching around him.

And then his grip tightens, lifting you off the bed and onto his thighs, your arousal becoming smeared over the length of his cock in the process. It takes one move of his hand to slide himself inside you, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

You can't help the wanton moan that falls from your lips, mixing into a whine as he sheathes himself deeper. He pulses inside you, and you swear you can feel every ridge, every vein of his cock. You can feel all of him.

'Kriff - It's like you were made for me,' he praises, voice low with the involuntarily jerking of his hips into you.

Hunter's hands guide you, raising you up before forcing you back down on his length. He draws it out, slow movements that you're lowkey grateful for, having skipped proper foreplay in the heat of the moment.

But every time you're lowered onto him, you feel completely full, his cock fitting inside your sex in the best ways: prodding your cervix and stretching you around him (a feeling you're quite used to with him). It's a repetitive sensation, one that leaves your mouth agape each time he's pushing himself inside of you.

He's giving you all of him, but the way he does it is teasing, and truthfully, not enough to quell your hunger for him.

Your defiance begins showing when you move a little too eagerly against his hold on you, pushing back down on him earlier than he intends for you. It's easily rectified though, fingers grasping you tighter, his strength outmatching yours. So, he lets it slide.

But when that desperation seeps in again, from your hips to his fingertips, and your hands move to perch themselves on his shoulders, he's had enough.

Large hands shoot up to yours, pulling them away from him unceremoniously.

'I said, don't move,' he grits, before roughly pushing you backwards and flipping you onto your stomach. He pins you down on the mattress, his length pressed against the curve of your ass. Your arms are tugged out from under you, and then your wrists are held firmly in place by his hand.

'Hunter, please,' you moan, pushing your ass against his crotch in an attempt to entice him to give you what you want. He responds by pushing back.

His other hand fiddles with the knot of his headband, loosening it from around his forehead.

'You said, you're not going anywhere,' he grunts, punctuating the reminder by rutting himself against you.

You're about to ask him what that could possibly mean in a time like this, but the appearance of a red fabric being tugged around your wrists immediately shuts you up. He binds them together, and then to the bedpost, securing your hands in place and away from him.

It's only when seeing you experimentally tug against the confines is Hunter satisfied, evident as he lifts himself off of you, his hands finding their place at your hips once again.

When he pushes himself inside of you—this time with the movement of his hips—you're limited in the ways you can respond. You push your head into the mattress at the impact, your moans muffled and vibrating through your body. He can hear it, feel it. It sends another pang of arousal directly to his cock while it becomes reacquainted with your pussy.

You endure two shallow thrusts before he begins mercilessly driving himself into you. His hips slap against your ass, putting pressure onto your shoulders with a repetitive back and forth motion along the bed.

'Taking me so well - cyare,' he grunts, darkened eyes focused on where your bodies are connected. He can see the way your opening clenches around him, only intensifying the feeling of your walls squeezing him with each thrust into you.

You can only really whine, words incoherent as they're pressed into the plush underneath you. He can barely hear you with the way his skin violently slaps yours, along with the stimulation of being consumed by your sex and heat. It's only when he snakes a hand into your hair, tugging at your scalp, is he able to make out your words.

They're interrupted by a yelp, your head pulled back in tandem with a hard thrust into you. Tears brim in your eyes as you moan loudly, sound now clear in the air, shameless and yet, your position is anything but.

'Nhggg - s'good, Hunter...kriff,' you moan, making a weak attempt to push your ass against him. 'Don't stop, pleaseeee.'

The hand in your hair moves to grasp the base of your neck, keeping you in place while the other wraps around your hips. He pushes two fingers to your clit, rubbing slow circles while he continues the rapid pace of his cock in and out of you.

Your fingers claw at the end of the bed, his bandana tight and sure to leave marks on your wrists. You pull against the confines in jerky movements as his fingers move faster against you; your moans alone are not enough to warn him of your approaching orgasm.

'Yesss,' you slur, moans becoming a chant as you feel the pressure building in your core, 'M'almost there, don't stop don't stop don't stop—'

'Kriff, I know,' he huffs, force unrelenting, 'Can feel you - kriff - s'tight...can almost smell it already. Cyare. Come on my cock, please. I need you to cum on my cock. I need you.'

Hunter presses his body down onto you, caging you in with his warmth, flesh that is marred and sticky with sweat.

'You...You have me,' you croak, followed by a high pitched whine as your orgasm takes over you. You shake under him, hands scratching against your confines as you cum, desperately needing something to ground yourself to. The hand under you moves up to your fingers, letting you claw and grasp at him as your body writhes in pleasure.

And for Hunter, it becomes too much. The feeling of you around your cock, the smell of your cum wafting to his flared nostrils, the scratch of your fingertips on his hand...he's bathing in you, and your admission sends him over the edge.

He pulls himself out of you in time with the first spurts of his seed, painting the lower expanse of your back. The warmth is somewhat gentle compared to the burn left by his hands and where his body is pressed against you. Your body is limp, and you find yourself unable to form coherent thoughts as you first try to catch your breath.

When he lifts himself off of you, you will yourself to speak.

'A little help here,' you rumble, head tilting to gesture at your still confined hands.

He laughs softly, voice hoarse from your lovemaking. He plants a kiss on your collarbone, snaking his hands up to free you from the twisted fabric.

'Did I hurt you?' he frowns, his hands feeling the tender flesh of your wrists, red but in no way is the colour as severe as the bandana.

It takes a moment for you to respond, and worry crosses his mind in that agonising moment.

'I liked it,' you confess in a whisper, turning your head to him.

He smiles down at you, relief in his expression. 'I made a mess on you,' he murmurs, lips ghosting over your skin, 'want me to run you a bath?'

You tilt your head, capturing the Sergeant's lips in another kiss, soft and quick. You hum in satisfaction, 'Only if you join me.'

Hunter climbs off of you then, rising to his feet, incredibly stable for someone who was just balls deep inside of you. He helps you up, both arms stabilising your stance on shaky legs, before pulling you into his arms.

'Wouldn't have it any other way.'

1. anonymous sex w/ crosshair (fem!reader) 1.2k

2. threesome w/ fives and echo (gn!reader) 0.4k

3. exhibitionism w/ echo (fem!reader) 1.0k

4. spanking w/ wrecker (gn!reader) 0.4k

5. uniforms w/ frank castle (aka punisher) (fem!reader) 0.6k

6. food play w/ mand'alor maul (gn!reader) 0.4k

7. roleplay w/ rex (gn!reader) 0.8k

8. seduction w/ tech (gn!reader) 0.7k

9. hate/angry sex w/ wolffe (gn!reader) 0.8k

10. gagging w/ wrecker (gn!reader) 0.4k

11. being recorded w/ tech (fem!reader) 0.7k

12. body worship w/ rex (fem!reader) 0.5k

13. edging/orgasm denial w/ echo (fem!reader) 1.0k

14. bath/shower w/ tup (gn!reader) 0.8k

15. gun play w/ fox (gn!reader) 0.6k

16. massaging w/ tech and wrecker (gn!reader) 0.4k

17. breast worship w/ kix (fem!reader) 0.5k

18. cock worship w/ jesse (fem!reader) 0.9k

19. glove kink w/ din djarin (the mandalorian) (fem!reader) 0.7k

20. phone sex w/ crosshair (gn!reader) 1.2k

21. first ‘i love you’ w/ fives (fem!reader) 0.8k

22. breeding kink w/ darth maul (fem!reader) 0.5k

23. nylons/tights w/ matt murdock (aka daredevil) (gn!reader) 0.5k

24. window/balcony sex w/ fox (fem!reader) 1.7k

25. breathplay w/ commander monnk (fem!reader) 0.5k

26. latex/leather w/ din djarin (gn!reader) 1.3k

27. corruption/training w/ boba fett (fem!reader) 0.9k

28. almost getting caught w/ cody (gn!reader) 1.5k

29. period sex w/ hunter (fem!reader) 0.7k

30. temperature play w/hunter (fem!reader) 0.7k

31. secretly hooking up w/ wolffe (gn!reader) 0.5k

i really really want to thank EVERYBODY who has supported me through this month whether you just read my work, liked, reblogged, or even binged it (yes! i see y'all and i love y'all). i have so much appreciation for all of you and WISH i could show every one of you as much love as you’ve shown me this past month.

i also want to congratulate all my fellow writers whether or not you finished kinktober, or posted a few things here and there because no matter what, y'all should be prOUD OF YOURSELVES. this was hard and we all deserve a pat on the back!

‘Are you sure you want to—’

‘Silco,’ you cut him off, chuckling as you open up a drawer to his desk. Your eyes immediately find the bundle of purple tubes he keeps stashed in his office, glowing temptingly at you. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘It’s unwise to—’

‘Silco,’ you snap your head towards him, fingers picking up a tube to pointedly hold it out in front of you, ‘I need this.’

The man regards your stature—the way you appear dejected tonight, shoulders slump and exhausted, and the way your eyes scream tiredness and desperation but also brim with a wicked curiosity. Whatever happened today must have really been something if you of all people were resorting to shimmer.

‘Fine,’ he snarls after a moment of silent consideration. Silco moves closer to you, plucking the tube from your fingers before settling into his seat. ‘But we do this on my terms.’

You scoff, folding your arms as a show of your resistance to his authority and growing irritation. Like you said, it’s been a long day and you’re not looking to be humoured right now. ‘Your terms?’ you raise your brow in question.

He nods. ‘You remain with me while you’re intoxicated, and you take no more than I let you have.’

Shaking your head, you bitterly laugh. ‘If I knew you chose today to be a stick-in-the-mud, I would’ve gone straight to the taverns.’

Anger flashes in his eyes and he scowls your name in a warning. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’

Right.

Understanding silently fills you, now realising that the sternness he’s unusually directing towards you is just masking his ever-present concern. You forget that you haven’t used shimmer before, and he knows you and shimmer better than almost anyone. His terms are in your best interest, even if you’re only becoming more frustrated and weary each slow passing moment.

‘Fuck.’ You’re exasperated, seating yourself at the edge of his desk and pinching the space between your eyebrows in embarrassment. Your head hurts. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

Silco says your name again, this time simultaneously softly and more demanding of your attention. ‘You are better than all of us. Don’t forget that.’

Dropping your hands to your side, you look at him dejectedly, a weak smile struggling to form itself on your tired face. ‘I just really need a distraction right now.’

The man laughs, leaning himself back into his chair, a lit cigarette between his fingers. You hadn’t seen him reach for it, but you’ve seen him with it more than you’ve seen him without, so it comes to no surprise. ‘Don’t we all?’ he muses, bringing it up to his lips.

‘I suppose it’s part of the life,’ you lament, though still attempt to match his humoured attempt to console you. Pushing yourself off the desk, you approach him, hand gesturing to the cigarette between his fingers. ‘May I?’

He shrugs in indifference, beckoning you forward with the wave of his hand. ‘Come closer.’

You lean over him, a hand supporting yourself at the top of his seat while the other reaches for the joint.

‘Uh uh,’ he taunts, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling deeply. He brings his other hand up to cup your jaw, slender fingers rapping delicately on your skin. He presses his thumb to your bottom lip, signalling you to open your mouth for him.

Without protest, you follow his direction. Your lips separate instinctively as he gently pulls you down so that your faces are only inches apart.

Naturally - as if you’ve done this a hundred times before - your eyes close in anticipation of his increasing proximity to you. It’s a moment later when the hold on your jaw tightens minutely, trapping you in place as a trail of smoke is blown from his mouth to yours.

You inhale.

The bitterness of the smoke surprises you, the fog neither warm nor cool as it filters its way to your lungs. Silco loosens his grasp. His thumb rubs softly at the side of your face as he coaxes you through the haze. Your eyes are still closed when the man drags his hand down to the base of your neck, his fingers curling around the junction at your shoulders. You sigh at the tenderness, enraptured by how easy it is to surrender yourself to his control like this.

He breaks the natural silence.

‘You’re perfect.’

Your eyes open on their own, forcing you to meet his mismatched ones. Pure conviction lines his eyes, but the orbs are blurred and unfocused as if his words were meant as a personal observation - something he wasn’t meant to say out loud. Only now do you realise that your face is still close to his, the cloud of smoke between you has dissipated and you can see him as clear as ever.

‘Silco?’ you murmur lowly, to which he engages you with a quiet and attentive Hmm. You catch the flit of his eyes to your lips, and make sure to hold his gaze when they reconnect with yours. You purse your lips in thought, trying to place a finger on the man that has stolen your existence. ‘What are you doing to me?’

Silco opens his mouth to speak only to have no words come out. He continues looking at you, unable to find a response and mesmerised by the tilt of your head as you observe him, just as he to you. Then he’s raising himself to connect his lips to yours.

You respond quickly, looking to rectify your awkward, bent-over position as you push him back into his seat and straddle his lap. Silco holds his occupied hand to the side, keeping the cigarette safely out of the way while his other hand trails itself down your body. He pulls you closer by the small of your back before his hand ends at your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he grinds his hips against yours.

When he coaxes your mouth open again, it’s his teeth on your bottom lip and his tongue—warm and forceful—seizing your mouth instead of that soft cloud of smoke. But just like before, you obey.

You don’t get much of a chance to taste his presence before he’s releasing your lips and searching for your gaze. Without breaking eye contact, Silco takes another hit of the blunt and then seals his lips to yours with the smoke still in his mouth. It’s pnly then that you can truly enjoy the warmth of his mouth as he pushes his tongue back into you and consumes you whole, a foreign smell mixed with your sweetness as your tongues clash.

‘You’re perfect,’ he says again, murmuring against your lips when he brings himself to retract his tongue from your mouth.

'Silco—’ you whine, grinding down against his hard-on, the inhaled vapour setting you alight with the most thrilling tingle in your lungs. You pull away from him, ghosting your lips over his ear. 'I…I need…’

'Tell me darling.’

'I need you to touch me.’

The last thing you expect from your admission is for Silco to freeze underneath you, his hips stilling below your urgent, desperate ones.

'Si—’ you begin.

'Not like this,’ he frowns, pulling his head from yours so that he can look at you properly. He repeats himself when you’re both looking at each other.

'Silco,’ you protest, voice coming out in a pathetic whine. 'I want this. I want you.’

'I know. Shit - I know,’ he groans, a mix of frustration and arousal in the throaty sound. 'Just not tonight,’ he tells you, reiterating himself.

There’s a pang in your chest, reeking of rejection and embarrassment. 'Do you want me to leave?’ you ask weakly.

'No,’ he’s quick to answer, not wanting you to get the wrong impression. Silco runs a hand through his hair, slumping back into his seat as he mules over the tense relationship between you two. His priority - right now - is you, and he needs to make sure you’re okay, that he won’t let you do something you might regret. Even if it’s him.

Mirroring your concern, he gulps.

'If…when you’re sober'—his uneasy tone betrays his usual demeanour with a foreboding uncertainty—'and you still want this - us, I’ll give it to you.’ It’s a promise.

There’s a beat of silence as you consider his words. He licks his lips, your taste faint but still on the marred flesh. He speaks again.

'I’d give you my whole kingdom if you asked.’

You nod again in understanding, the reasoning echoing his earlier reluctance for you to use his shimmer. His shimmer. His promise is a testament to lots of things: his power and influence, his protectiveness, his concern, all of those things but for you. It’s thrilling - buzzing and heating up your face with fluster. A warm feeling that you could easily attribute to the common poison in your system, but also to him. Silco. He who has stolen your breath.

'Okay,’ you agree, smiling warmly as you allow your eyes to glaze over his features - the intricate lining of his scars, the way his eyes catch the light in different ways, the knitting of his eyebrows as he stares intensely at you…committing you and him to memory.

It's not until hours later that you finally hit the fresher. You pull away from Tech almost abruptly, body worn out and sticky with sweat, remnants of your cum, and his.

You're exhausted—partially from the day spent hiking, but it’s exacerbated by the prolonging of your sleep as you attempt to flush the foreign pollen out of your body. Exhaustion was only inevitable with the numerous climaxes Tech had brought you to.

You’re inclined not to complain though. It takes several orgasms at his hands for you to finally feel your libido relenting, your temperature dropping down to normal. You crash into reality, once-abandoned rational thinking returns as you're overwhelmed with guilt about what you've done, anger at yourself for dragging Tech into your mess of sexual frustration and aphrodisiacs.

You feel even guiltier when you cum around him again, screaming and biting into his shoulder as he thrusts into you, him chasing yet another high after bringing you to yours repeatedly with his fingers, his tongue, his everything. Only for you to push him off, nothing but embarrassment and shame in your movements as you scramble for the fresher.

It's not until you're underneath the cold water that you scold yourself: for not even apologising, for ruining your relationship with him, for using him. It was never your intention for it to go this way.

Your anxiety is persistent, only growing the longer you remain in the shower, avoiding the confrontation awaiting you outside the door. There was nowhere you could go where you wouldn't pass Tech and be forced to acknowledge what had escalated between the two of you. You'd have to apologise to him eventually, and knowing him, he'd be so polite about it that it makes you want to scream.

You want him to be mad at you, for him to be honest if you've ruined your friendship; everything seems like a more favourable option than the two of you moving on and trying to forget everything he had done with you. To you. For you.

He had ruined you. And while you so desperately wanted to put this whole night behind you, there was no way he'd be leaving your thoughts anytime soon—especially after you had spent hours under him, begging and crying for him to not stop.

You exit the fresher on shaky legs, body shivering and legs sore, unbalanced. Dressing yourself becomes an ordeal as you dread what's to come once you leave the closest thing you have to a sanctuary. Tech is probably waiting to use the fresher after you, and you're caught between hiding out in the room or confronting him outside.

Both seem like equally embarrassing options.

It takes a long pep talk filled with second thoughts in the mirror for you to muster the courage to step foot out of the fresher. You sigh in relief as you're greeted with an empty room, the silence affording you a few extra moments to mull over your thoughts.

And then you hear it—a low muffled sound, almost blending in with the humming of the ship. Hesitantly, you decide to abandon that small, safe space, slowly following the sound to its source. The more you move, the more repetitive and quicker in succession it becomes. As you near the bunks, the sound of ruffling fabric becomes clearer, but it's not the sound that has drawn you to Tech's location.

The mattress creaks, and when you hear the sound accompanying it, this time more distinctive and suggestive, you fail to stifle the gasp that comes out of your mouth.

The movement inside the bunk falters, but doesn't stop, and you curse yourself for your lack of subtlety, once again wanting to retreat to the fresher.

'[Name]?' Tech's voice sounds through a whine, punctuated by a jerk of his hips. You don’t hear it, but a squeak in the springs of the mattress make it clear.

You don't respond, remaining stationary in hopes that he'll conclude you're not there. You want to save both you and him that embarrassment.

Except you hear him groan again, this time unfiltered and shameless. You can hear his movements resuming their previous pace, and it's undeniable what he's doing, something you could never take your mind off of.

He moans your name, a hand furiously pumping his hardened length while the other fondles his balls. You're not entirely sure if he knows you're there...if he wants you to join him or if he's simply revelling in the apparent privacy he has.

You opt to back away, but as soon as you take a step, an uncharacteristically high pitched voice calls to your attention.

'Please,' he whimpers meekly, his hand unrelenting, 'It hurts and...I need to...'

You peek your head past the frame of his bunk, and the colour drains from your face at the sight. He's a sweaty mess, sheets and clothes tossed aside as he works his cock into his fist. You can see distinctive lines of his veins on his forehead and on his arm, pulsing with every hard thrust. Even his goggles have been abandoned, haphazardly thrown to the floor with some pieces of his armour.

It's only when you move closer, attempting to console him that you realise what's happening. Your hand retracts from his arm immediately, the heat of his flesh almost burning you. It's feverish, and you recognise the symptoms of your own brush with the natural aphrodisiac.

Not all the pollen had been flushed out.

You flinch when his hand goes to grip your arm—the other still focused on his pleasure—and your cheeks flush as he attempts to pull your hand to his cock.

'I'm sorry,' you manage, empathetic of his state of sexual desperation, a position you had been in only a few hours ago, 'If I knew this would—'

You yelp as he yanks your hand harder.

'Shut up,' he hisses. It's not stern or harsh, just incredibly eager, desperate. 'Just, help me.'

Nodding, your hand finally replaces his, and you lower yourself closer to his length. Your mouth is so close to him now, and when you make eye contact with his half-lidded eyes from where you're crouched in front of him, he groans again, bucking his hips upwards.

'Please!' he whines, 'Can you...'

'You want my mouth, dear?'

He nods eagerly, eyes screwing shut as your lips close over his tip, collecting the residue of his previous orgasms. You're not entirely sure if he's had another since you had left him on the brink of one earlier, but you're almost certain you can still taste yourself on him.

Tentatively, you swirl your tongue around him before dragging it along his length—but he grips your hair, as if to tell you, it's not enough. He’s so desperate for relief, he wants it fast. Otherwise, he’d spend every second trying to memorise how your lips feel on his cock.

Planting your hands on his thighs, you use them to ground yourself as you begin bobbing your head, taking his cock as deep as your throat allows. The hand in your hair tightens momentarily, his thighs tensing on either side of you at the new pace.

'Thank you thank you thank you...' he begins chanting, hips thrusting in tune with your movements, just enough to stimulate it more.

You moan around him, the noise sending a deep vibration directly to his length. It's a lot already: the grip he has on you and the way his cock hits the back of your throat. It's so incredibly erotic and even now that you're sober, all shame has left your body.

He grunts with each rhythmic hollowing of your cheeks; the tightening of your mouth around him amplifies his pleasure, reminding him of how you had so easily taken him in a similar manner earlier that night.

He wants to be buried in you again. He wants to be in you, on you, under you, he doesn't really care as long as you're there.

But with him nearing another orgasm—his cum threatening to spill on your tongue—Tech decides he can wait just a little longer to be inside your cunt, opting to force your head down and his hips upwards as he chases that high.

Besides, what's a few minutes compared to months spent pining for you? hiding behind a facade of research expeditions shared by just the two of you.

Your nails dig into his thigh with a particularly hard and long thrust into your mouth. But still, you maintain your movements—pace and force unrelenting. There's no real strategy or tricks, nothing special in particular that is pushing Tech closer to the edge, his cock threatening to deepen the cavern of your throat with each thrust. Just rough, fast-paced movements that show him you're just as desperate as he is, and that you're happy to return his kind-hearted gesture from earlier.

He spills into you without warning, hands grabbing the side of your face to keep your mouth on him. It almost makes you choke, the abruptness of his cock hitting the back of your throat, begging you to take his cum. You inhale through your nose, eyes wide at the jerky movements before you find it in yourself to lap at his load and swallow around him.

As Tech stills his movements, you pull away from him; quick hands move to rid yourself of your bottoms before curiously watching as he comes down from his high. His eyes are dazed, threatening to flutter shut as his hips twitch periodically.

You climb on top of him, straddling his thighs as he looks up at you, breathing heavily.

His voice is meek when he speaks your name, 'I nee—'

You shush him, lowering yourself on his cock as it begins to harden again.

'I know,' you reassure him, recalling the effects of the pollen. One of your hands goes to cradle his face, a show of your empathy and care for him before you fully sink down on the man.

'Oh!' your face falls into a grimace, his cock spearing you open in the new position. You sit still in his lap, walls convulsing around his girth as you adjust to his size without the influence of the pollen.

You gasp when Tech jerks his hips further into you.

'Kark, just fuck me already, please,' he curses, eyes screwed shut as he ruts his hips against you, 'I need it, I need it so b—'

'Shut. Up.' You grab his jaw, forcing eye contact as you begin to comfortably move on top of him.

He groans as you lift yourself up, his hips chasing yours in desperate need of feeling you around him again. He tries to be patient, but with the buzzing in his head and the burning of his flesh, he can't help it when his feet plant themselves into the mattress and he begins jutting his hips up into you.

'Kriff,' you moan, fucking yourself on him violently, skin slapping with every drop of your hips. 'How are you so...nhhhhgggg...big!' you gasp, perching your hands on his chest.

He winces, eyes blown wide as he stares up at you. 'I - kriff - you feel so good, I - shit! - [Name]'

You tweak your nipples through your shirt, beckoning him with your other hand to help you. His hands move from where they're gripping the mattress, and his thrusts falter as they grope each breast, pulling and pinching the hardened nipples that bounce as you ride him.

'I...'

'Tech, spit it out,' you seethe through clenched teeth, trying to stall the coil that threatens to unwind every time his dick reaches deep inside of you.

'Kriff...I- I want you. So much,' he moans, only a few words coherent in a flurry of pleasure, 'Fuck - please don't stop. I don't want this to be the last time.'

Your brows knit together as confusion moves to the forefront of your mind. But the thoughts are easy to push away as Tech grips your hands, forcing you to move faster. Your moans become more pronounced 'Oooh's and 'Ahh's, punctuating each push of his length in and out of you.

He moans your name, again and again, eyes falling shut as he approaches his high, and your walls getting impossibly tighter around him.

'I'm - Kark! - I'm gonna cum,' he bellows, earning a whine from you. You reach down to rub fast circles on your clit, the force of his hips slapping against yours only intensifying the sensation.

'Mmm - Tech - me too!' you wail, throwing your head back as he bucks up into you, filling you up for what feels like the millionth time today. No doubt undoing what your shower worked to get rid of.

You can fill his release inside you, spurring your orgasm. It comes to you in flashing stars, exploding behind your eyelids as you rock against him, growing tired and feeling the sweat cling to your bodies. Both of you are loud as you come down, cherishing the final sensations of you around him before he begins to soften and you grow uncomfortable.

He pulls you off him slowly, the noise is wet and absolutely sinful. You rest on his legs, the both of you trying to catch your breath and evidently, recognising the settling tension in the humidity of the bunks.

'I believe it's out now,' he makes a weak attempt to clear the air, returning to his demeanour of intellect, 'thank you.'

You laugh weakly, averting your gaze from him. 'No - It was my fault you needed the urrhh, help. It was just...a friend helping a friend.' You smile pathetically, mentally cursing yourself.

Tears brim at your eyes as you feel Tech's eyes on you. It makes you feel small, being the object of his gaze right now. He's probably studying you.

'It's not that.'

'What?' you turn your head to look at him, 'not what?' With Tech often disclosing so much, you're utterly confused by his chip response.

'Friends.'

Oh. It's exactly what you feared.

You gulp, moving awkwardly off the bed. 'I understand. I'm sorry it had to—'

'May we go on a date sometime?'

You snap your head to him, eyes widening as they connect with his hopeful ones. 'A what?'

'A date. Where people that really like eac—'

'I know what a date is,' you roll your eyes, biting your lip in shyness. 'I-' you take a moment to really process the situation, lips quirking into a small smile as you shakily nod to him, 'Okay.'

He nods in confirmation, now unsure of what to say next. 'Now if you excuse me,' he stands up to get dressed, grunting as he bends over to retrieve his fallen clothes, 'We should return to the base.'

You understand the quick succession to another topic, opting to pull your bottoms back on, and then moving over to help him with his. He watches as you fasten on the bottom components of his armour, waiting until his codpiece has been snapped on before he pulls you to your feet.

You smile gingerly at him, taking in the quiet and his closeness to you, one that isn't tainted by pleasured moans and burning touches.

He feels your breath when you speak, words so soft and hushed, unlike ones that spilt from your tongues in the midst of euphoria.

'Kiss me,' you urge him with hopeful eyes.

And he does.

'Can't sleep?'

You're startled by the sudden interruption to your self-contained thoughts—and yet, find yourself latching onto that simple question with clambering hands. The new presence in the room is a helping hand, there to keep you from drowning in your own turbulence. Accordingly, the blurred lines of hyperspace become lost to you as you attempt to calm yourself enough to quell the tremor in your voice.

'Sorry,' you reply with restraint, 'didn't mean to wake you.'

Hunter shuffles behind you, soft footsteps stepping closer in a non-threatening manner—assuring you that he wasn't intending to sneak up on you. 'Not your fault,' he dismisses your apology, 'Heightened senses, remember?'

There's a hint of a chuckle in his reminder. It's an honest attempt to lighten the tension.

'Of course,' you smile unconvincingly, 'how could I forget?'

As you look over your shoulder, you hope that Hunter doesn't see the weariness in your expression under the shadows of the cockpit. Unfortunate for you, you know that he doesn't need enhanced senses to read you better than anybody else. You just wish it wasn't him that found you tonight.

'What's wrong?' he asks - and there's something so contagious between you and him that when he frowns, your sad attempt for a smile immediately abandons its stage position so that your expression can mirror his. You internally cringe at the futility of your basic performance.

'It was nothing,' you attempt to shake it off - playing it as no big deal, 'Just a nightmare.'

'Yeah?' he steps around your chair, kneeling to your height. A hand rests on your knee, offering you the opportunity to seek the comfort you need from him but careful not to crowd into your space and back you into a corner. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

You gulp. 'Not really, no.'

'That's alright,' he assures you in a lowered voice, matching your volume, 'Do you want me to take you to bed?'

A real smile graces your face this time. Even your tired eyes shimmer as you bite back a giggle at his suggestion.

'Not like that,' Hunter chuckles at your reaction, shaking his head at your misinterpretation.

'I know,' you hum, the moment bringing you slightly more comfort. 'But stay?' you timidly request, 'Here - with me. I just want to watch the stars for a little longer.'

'Of course,' Hunter smiles, his lips turning upwards the more he sees your face morph into an expression of comforted-bliss and relief. He intertwines his fingers with yours, holding onto your hand as he takes the seat next to yours.

And as you approach a sense of contentment straying away from the troubling start to your night, Hunter finds himself with his own struggle:

To look at the stars, or you?