#recom ja

You walked back toward the Samson, a coffee clutched in your hand. It was warm, and it pulled a small sigh of relief out of your lips. Lord knows you needed it.

Climbing into the troop bay, you settled onto the bench. It squeaked under your weight as you bent, elbows leaning on your knees. Your fingers pressed into the sore muscles of your shoulders as you sighed, your gaze drifting toward the darkening sky outside.

It was almost nighttime and you still weren’t done with the repairs. One of the older pilots, Rory, had borrowed your bird yesterday and left it in total disrepair.

A total fucking nightmare.

You’d barely managed to make a dent in the mud caking the landing struts before the need for rest crashed over you. Sleep was hard to keep at bay, and you’d fought it for the better part of an hour. Your muscles had all but turned to jelly, and you’d fallen asleep on the cold concrete.

You needed reinforcements.

Hence the coffee clutched in your grasp.

Your lip curled in disgust - it was bitter and tasted nothing like the real deal.

Didn’t matter as long as it kept you awake, right?

The one silver lining in this whole situation was that you hadn’t seen the Colonel all day. It seemed like Z-Dog and Lyle had cashed in their favor prematurely, and you wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. Small victories.

You smirked as you finished the last of your coffee. You’d warned them - better to learn the hard way.

The cup sailed through the air when you tossed it toward one of the small trash cans scattered around the hangar. The plastic bounced off the rim and you swore, hopping off the Samson and heading toward the offending piece of trash.

The lack of sleep had fucked with your coordination. Go figure.

The hairs at the back of your neck lifted-

A sharp, creeping awareness crawled over your skin.

You weren’t alone.

Your fingers found the wrench at your belt without thinking, curling around the handle.

Whoever was watching you didn’t feel friendly.

You didn’t hear his steps approach, and by the time you noticed him, it was too late to school your expression of surprise.

The Colonel’s gaze swept over the Samson, his expression displeased at the state it was in.

His shadow covered a massive chunk of the aircraft, and you watched it shift as he turned to look at you.

Neither friendly nor unfriendly, after all.

“Colonel. What brings you here?”

Quaritch shook his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest. The muscles flexed and you fought hard not to look at the ink swirling on his tricep.

He was too tempting to your sluggish brain.

You couldn’t stop yourself and your eyes snapped to the shift of his skin.

Heat pooled low in your belly at the way his digits tapped right at the edge of his ink.

That was a mistake.

You tore your eyes away from him and glanced casually at the fingers still gripping your wrench.

“Came to check on the bird.”

Of course he did.

You huffed and bent down, grabbing the plastic cup. It thumped into the trash can when you tossed it back in, and you walked toward the Samson.

“Yeah, it needs some work. A fuckin’ bum left it in this state.”

The Colonel raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate.

You both knew you wouldn’t.

You weren’t a snitch.

“Anyway, I’ll be staying here a while. At least until takeoff, probably.”.

It was moments like these that reminded you of how massive he was - not when he towered over you, or bent at the waist to get inside a room. 

No, it was the squeak of the Samson as he leaned his full weight on it. 

The humongous fucking aircraft groaned beneath him like a squeaky hamster.

You started doubting the realism of your writing.

He said nothing and you took his silence as agreement. The telltale sound of his fingers tapping against his bicep reached your ears, and you weren’t sure why he was still here. 

You weren’t going to press, though.

You grabbed the rag from your belt and started scrubbing at the small smudges of mud on the nose camera. The wrench slid back into your belt with some effort, and you silently cursed yourself for your shaky fingers.

“You seen Wainfleet today?”

Seems you did have to cover for the jarheads after all.

Your hand paused briefly in its movement and you continued, schooling your face into an expression of indifference.

“Not since this morning.”

You weren’t lying, really.

The Colonel hummed as you crouched to get a better angle.

“Zdinarsik?”

You shrugged, your gaze locked onto the dirty rag in your hand.

“Last I saw she was limping around the cafeteria. Come to think of it, Wainfleet did say he would take her to the med bay.”

Quaritch didn’t respond and you kept scrubbing the already clean camera.

Your fingers twitched as the silence stretched, and you felt the dread coil deeper in your belly.

You hated lying.

The Colonel broke your self-loathing train of thought when he chuckled, pushing himself off the Samson. The suspension creaked, and your shoulders tensed at the sound.

Just like a squeaky hamster.

“Funny thing about that.”

You swallowed almost imperceptibly, your throat bobbing with the motion.

“What’s that, sir?”

“Zdinarsik told me she was heading to the science pukes.”

You leaned back on your heels, half-pretending to inspect your work.

“Maybe she was.”

The Colonel strolled slowly around the aircraft, boots echoing on the concrete. His eyes took in the small scrapes in the paint and the mud splattered across the hull.

As if he had any intention of helping you.

His voice carried from the other side as he bent to inspect the propellers.

“Looks like you covered for them pretty well. Pity they didn’t check in with you first.”

You stiffened for a fraction of a second, fingers tightening around a wrench as you started securing a loose bolt.

Shit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Quaritch’s answering chuckle echoed throughout the empty hangar.

“Sure you don’t.”

You tightened the bolt harder than intended and stood, moving to the side panel.

“You’re one hell of a liar.”

Your eyes lifted to his face when he rounded the Samson, his steps stopping in front of a large splatter of mud on the hull.

Wainfleet and Zdinarsik were going to kill you.

“Sir?”

He tilted his head, his golden eyes tracing the scrapes along the paint.

“Makes me wonder what else you’ve lied about.”

Quaritch pressed a finger into the smear of dirt, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.

“You realize those little stories of yours qualify as an information leak.”

You froze, your hand tightening on the panel door.

What?

“Colonel, I-”

“Relax.”

The word came out flat from his lips and your stomach somersaulted. He sounded almost bored.

You knew he couldn’t be. Not with the way his tail coiled behind his back, as if he was preparing to pounce.

He loved the thrill of the hunt.

And you?

You had already walked into his trap.

Quaritch leaned back and wiped his fingers on a clean rag, watching the motion. You watched too, your eyebrows twitching at the damn laziness he moved with.

“If Command knew how much of our operations you’ve been writing down,” he continued dryly, “they’d lose their damn minds.”

Blood rushed in your ears as you forced your gaze back to the panel.

Breathe.

“Guess whoever wrote it should be more careful.”

Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the Colonel size you up, his lips twitching.

“Lucky for you, Chief,” he said, “Most of it’s bullshit.”

Silence stretched between you once more as he watched your face. You refused to give him a reaction.

He took two steps closer until the tips of his boots brushed yours. You subconsciously leaned away from him, and he noticed.

Of course he fucking noticed.

Quaritch towered over you, tilting his head slightly. The telltale clink of his belt echoed in the hangar as his thumb hooked on one of the loops.

“Though…”

His eyes watched your hands stumble over the actions, but your face betrayed none of the panic inside you.

“You got a surprising amount right.”

You could see his shoulders shake as he chuckled softly.

“Gotta give it to you, Chief. You got one hell of an imagination.”

Your jaw clenched and you looked up at him, a smirk tugging on your lips.

“Guess whoever wrote that did their research.”

Good save.

Not.

You dropped into a crouch, sliding underneath the Samson. Your hands trembled as you tightened another bolt, the lack of light forcing you to squint. In your panic, you’d forgotten to grab your flashlight.

Better to strain your eyes than meet the Colonel’s gaze while he grilled you, though.

The tip of his boot nudged your toolbox, and you jumped at the sound.

“Don’t play dumb, Chief.”

You exhaled softly and did just that, peeking your head out from beneath the aircraft.

“I’m not, sir.”

Quaritch crouched beside you, one elbow resting casually on his knee. He swallowed up the overhead light, and you were suddenly enveloped in darkness.

Your eyes strained to catch his expression, and you knew he could see you struggle.

Heightened senses and all that.

“You described the rotor wash flattening the grass when this bird lands.”

You started at the sound of his voice, his body unmoving as he spoke. It felt like being locked in a dark room with a predator.

Fun to write about, terrifying to experience.

Quaritch tapped the hull beside him, the ring of metal loud in the hangar.

“Most people don’t notice that.”

You wiped your sweaty hands on your thighs, grateful they were hidden from his gaze.

“People talk.”

He hummed and shrugged. A small sliver of light slipped past his shoulders - then disappeared just as quickly.

“You also mentioned the stabilizers rattling the cockpit.”

The Colonel’s voice enveloped you in its silky rumble, and you had the acute feeling that he was talking this soft for a reason. Like he was aware you were trapped, and wanted to take his time flaying your nerves.

His knuckles rapped against the metal again.

“That ain’t something you hear about in the cafeteria.”

You slowly slid out from beneath the Samson, pushing yourself into a seated position.

“You read a lot of porn for someone who supposedly doesn’t give a shit.”

That earned the faintest smile - sardonic and, to your frayed nerves, dangerous.

Shouldn’t have poked the bear.

Quaritch rose to his feet, his frame towering over your seated one.

Light assaulted your eyes and you squinted. Your hand smacked against the belly of the Samson as you tried to shield your eyes, your teeth clenching at the sharp burst of pain.

The Colonel took a few steps away from you, his eyes taking in the tools you’d left scattered on the ground.

You had to crane your neck to watch him, every slow movement kicking your heart into overdrive.

“Hard not to hear about it when half the base won’t shut the hell up.”

His gaze settled on you again and he watched a bead of sweat slide down your face.

Being a writer had its perks - your quick wit being one of them.

But your body?

It was a fucking traitor.

Another bead of sweat slid down your cheek and you cursed yourself.

“You almost had me convinced it wasn’t you.”

Shit.

He saw your composure slip and pressed the advantage.

“Almost.”

You shrugged, averting your eyes as you fought to keep your face neutral.

“Maybe you’re just obsessed with yourself.”

That earned you a short laugh, his voice coming out flat afterward.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze.

Fuck it.

He seemed pretty sure of himself, and he had more than enough evidence. Better to do damage control than argue.

The Colonel crossed his arms over his chest at the look in your eyes, one eyebrow lifting in amusement.

“Then report me.”

Earth to damage control?

Quaritch barked another laugh and tapped two fingers against his biceps.

“Report you?”

He shook his head slowly, a lopsided smirk spreading across his face. In a normal situation, it would’ve stirred butterflies in your stomach.

But now?

He looked terrifying. His voice came out amused, and he tilted his head.

“For what?”

The Colonel’s gaze dragged over your face again as he gestured toward you. You were sure you looked pitiful on the ground, your hands and neck smeared with dirt and grease.

He continued, a sharp grin tugging on his lips.

“Creative writing?”

You had half a mind to correct him, but he was right.

What you’d written was creative writing. Your lack of evidence to back it up proved that fact.

Still, you weren’t about to agree with him and give him the satisfaction.

You stared at him, waiting.

Then what the hell did he want?

“So what,” you said slowly, “you’re blackmailing me now?”

The Colonel exhaled softly and tilted his head. His eyes dropped to the wrench in your trembling hand.

You caught his line of sight and forced your muscles to still. You hoped he hadn’t seen that, too.

Quaritch caught the movement, his chest lifting with a silent chuckle. Of course your prayers wouldn’t be answered.

He ran his tongue over the tip of his fang.

“Look, kid.”

His voice carried the same dismissive tone.

“You’re a hell of a pilot.”

He leaned against the hull of the Samson, his eyes settling on yours.

“Talented.”

You twitched, dread coiling in your stomach.

Why was he telling you this?

“Smarter than half the idiots at Bridgehead.”

Was he… rejecting you?

The Colonel’s voice stayed calm and measured, matching his expression.

“And you’re a good-looking woman.”

Quaritch tapped two fingers lightly against his biceps. He shrugged, his lips curling faintly.

“I respect you.”

He pushed off the Samson, his arms dropping to his sides.

“But I’ve got a man to catch.”

His fingers gestured toward you.

“And I don’t have time for this.”

Of course it was about Sully. It was always about Sully.

His sleepless nights.

The many wounds covering his body.

And now? Sully was being a big fucking cockblocker.

The rejection hit harder than you expected, and you stiffened.

For the first time in your life, you had no idea what expression to make.

So you just looked up at him.

Speechless.

Quaritch returned your gaze with a look of his own, the finality in his eyes obvious.

Anger and shame twisted in your stomach - why was he assuming shit?

Yeah, you’d love for him to fuck you. He wasn’t wrong.

But - were you that obvious?

You scoffed and pushed yourself to your feet, forcing a look of nonchalance as you scrubbed your hands on the rag.

“Oh, please.”

You rolled the fabric between your fingers and looked up at him dismissively.

“Just because I wrote about you, doesn’t mean I want to fuck you.”

The words came out sharp - convincing, even. Which was impressive, considering the way your core clenched every time he got near.

That wiped the look off the Colonel’s face. His thumb hooked into his belt loop and he watched you, ears twitching. He looked almost amused - and warning bells rang loud in your ears.

Shit, you’d done it. You’d fucked up again.

His eyes seemed to light up as a small, amused huff left his lips.

You pressed on, ignoring the way he watched you like you’d grown a second head.

“You’re just easy to write about.”

Quaritch tilted his head, lips tipped into a sardonic smirk.

“That so?”

You nodded and threw the rag in your tool box.

“Right.”

He chuckled, taking a step toward you, but you didn’t notice that.

No, your heart thundered in your chest, your grip on the wrench shaky.

“If we’re talkin’ easy, why not Wainfleet or Zdinarsik?”

What?

Your eyebrows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest in a futile attempt to stop the trembling.

“You know more about them.”

Shit, you did.

“And it woulda been a lot less of a logistics problem if HQ found out.”

He got you there.

You bristled, your cheeks warm as you looked at the Samson. The hull of the aircraft reflected your panicked face back at you, and you scowled at the visual. Quaritch’s voice brought your attention back to him.

“So what is it then?”

You couldn’t tell him he had been the subject of your wildest dreams ever since you first met him. You were a professional first and foremost - Bridgehead’s finest pilot.

Fuck Quaritch and his ego trip.

From your peripheral vision, you could see him tilt his head, his long legs taking another step closer to you.

“You got a thing for rank, Chief?”

Your eyes snapped to his face and you swore that if you were in a cartoon steam would be coming out of your ears.

Ego. Trip.

“You’re unbelievable. This isn’t about you.”

It was.

The Colonel watched you, his eyes flicking to your finger as it pointed at him. The digit trembled with your fury - or was it your fear?

Either way, it shook like a taut string when you leveled it at him.

“Yeah, you’re attractive to others. But that ego of yours? Not exactly appealing.”

Quaritch whistled lowly and shook his head, chuckling. He was enjoying this, the bastard.

“You’re contradicting yourself, Chief.”

You opened your mouth, ready to snap back, but he continued.

“A woman who ain’t attracted doesn’t write six thousand words of porn about a man.”

He took one step closer to you, and you felt like a rabbit being cornered by a wolf.

Or rather - a hamster being cornered by a wolf.

The scent of soap mingled with something so very him assaulted your nose, and you bit back a sound.

Fucking hell, even now your body wanted him.

“Especially not about his body.”

Quaritch bent slightly at the waist, his dog tag escaping from under his vest and dangling in front of your face.

“Not unless she’s thought about it.”

Your eyes landed back on the aircraft, and you observed the way your face flushed. The grip on your wrench tightened, knuckles paling.

“You’re reading way too much into it.”

To hell with it - you weren’t going to show him how much his rejection had affected you. Even if he did look positively sure of the effects of his words.

Quaritch studied your face for a second, shifting until his arms crossed over his chest. He flicked a hand toward the troop bay, his head jerking in its direction.

“You wrote about me pinning you to the troop bay wall.”

You turned your face his way and watched the way his arm extended toward the Samson. His finger pointed at a specific spot in the troop bay, and you flushed.

He’d read your writing - enough to know minute details.

You didn’t know whether to feel flattered or mortified.

“Right there.”

You stiffened, your fingers tingling as you struggled to hold onto the wrench.

“Thing is…”

Quaritch tilted his head, his knuckles rapping against the metal hull of the Samson.

“That ain’t how it’d happen.”

You looked up at him, your voice shaky as you replied.

“Yeah?”

His hands rested on his belt, his long legs stopping a step away from you.

“If you’re gonna write about something, Chief…”

His golden eyes locked onto yours when you finally looked at him.

“You might as well get it right.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs as he studied your face like he was waiting for a reaction.

As if you hadn’t already revealed yourself.

The faintest smirk tugged at his mouth and you stared up at him.

“Well?”

He tilted his head.

“You want the corrections or not?”

The man was giving you whiplash.

You bent slowly, placing the wrench back in the toolbox.

“Depends.”

He watched you, waiting for your explanation. You’d grown accustomed to his silence, but now it felt… charged. Dangerous.

You stood, your eyes glued to the dog tag hanging around his neck.

“What type of corrections are we talking about?”

The Colonel chuckled as he straightened, his hands slipping from their perch against his belt loops. His shadow loomed over you, and your eyes raced over his features, calculating.

“The practical kind.”

Your teeth worried the flesh of your lower lip and you rounded your shoulders.

The look in his eyes terrified you, but you hadn’t clawed your way to Pandora by shying away from a challenge.

You looked him straight in the eye, your voice steady.

“I’ll never turn down some creative insight.”

He watched you, a smirk tugging on his lips. His tail lashed behind his back, tip curling in the air.

“Well?” you said, quieter now. “I’m waiting.”

One of his brows lifted. For a moment he just looked at you, as if he was calculating something in his head.

The next few seconds passed agonizingly slow, and you could see him relish the way your expression soured.

Only when he was satisfied with your reaction did he lean closer to you, his fingers hooking on the belt hanging off your hips. One small move, and his knuckles would brush against the skin of your stomach.

“You always this mouthy with your commanding officer, Chief?”

“Only when he’s being annoy-”

The Colonel dragged you toward him with a sharp tug on your belt, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his pants. A surprised squeak left your lips at the sudden movement, and you nearly smacked into his pelvis.

You blinked, pulling back to look at his face-

Oh shit.

Suddenly your feet weren’t touching the ground.

His fingers slid beneath your thighs and he lifted you effortlessly.

You were weightless for a few shocking moments.

For the first time in your life, you were taller than him, and you could clearly see the way his pupils dilated. His lips pulled into something sharp—almost predatory—and the thought of being doomed flickered through your mind.

You didn’t have time to react before he set you down hard against the curved nose of the Samson. A yelp slipped out as your ass hit the glass, the impact knocking the air from your lungs.

Quaritch didn’t give you an opportunity to object as his hips bullied their way between your legs. 

His holstered knife pressed against your inner thighs and a small, involuntary sound left your throat. It seemed the Colonel enjoyed it, his head tilting to observe the way your muscles flexed to accommodate his body.

Your legs wrapped around him almost instinctively, and a rumble of appreciation sneaked out of his lips.

“Shit-”

“That’s more like it.”

He pressed you back against the aircraft, your shoulders flush with the glass windows of the Samson.

The Colonel was so big, his body obscuring any light the overhead lamps might’ve provided. 

You swore his skin shone, bioluminescent like Pandora’s ecosystem, but the thought flew away when your eyes fell on his vest. His insignia stared back at you and a shiver of reluctant pleasure rolled down your spine.

Quaritch was right. 

You did have a thing for rank.

Your hands roamed over his vest until your fingers caught the shoulder straps, tugging at the various pockets sewn into them.

The Colonel chuckled like he was enjoying this far too much. His eyes were lidded as he looked down at you, and leaned in closer.

Your hands ended up pinned between your bodies, trapped against the hard plate of his chest.

A small sound of annoyance left your lips, but it was quickly interrupted by a breathy gasp.

Quaritch’s palms slid beneath you, warm skin separating your body from the cold glass. They swallowed the meat on your hips and he hummed in appreciation.

“So small.”

His hands slid lower until they settled on your ass. His fingers dug into the soft flesh and a breathy moan slipped past your lips as he kneaded it.

The Colonel’s head dipped, and he latched onto your neck, his canines scraping lightly against the tender skin.

“Correction one.”

His palm cracked against your ass.

A yelp left your lips and you jolted beneath him, but his bulk didn’t allow you to move much.

Had he just... spanked you? 

The Colonel lifted one hand to tug your collar to the side and bit your shoulder. A hiss of pain left your lips, but, much to your surprise, it turned into a moan.

Did you seriously just moan at him biting you?

“I’m an ass guy.”

Holy shit.

He was serious about this.

Your breaths came out in short puffs as you tried to shift beneath him, but the hand gripping your ass stopped you.

Quaritch barely had to flex his fingers, the digits enveloping the entirety of your ass cheek.

He looked amused, his eyes lidded as he watched you struggle. Only once you’d seen that look on his face.

And it was out there, in the field.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?”

You gasped as you felt his fingers tighten, squeezing the flesh. 

His fingertips dug into the fabric of your cargo pants and you felt the scrape of his blunt nails against the seams and buttons.

Quaritch angled your hips upward, and you had enough time to catch a glimpse of the obvious tent in his pants before his abdomen dipped.

His bulge met your core as he lifted your hips up in the air, and he dragged the hard length of his clothed cock against the seam in your pants.

Fucking hell.

He was massive.

You moaned out his name and you could feel his lips smirk where they were pressed against your shoulder.

“Scared, Chief?”

Quaritch was taunting you, and it worked. You leveled him with a glare that earned you a mere chuckle.

You could take initiative too.

You weren’t scared.

Your palm pressed against his chest in an attempt to move him.

He made you wait, eyes watching the way you squirmed in annoyance below him, before he finally shifted.

Quaritch pulled back long enough for you to pull your shirt over your head.

His gaze dragged over you.

“Well well, would you look at that,” he murmured, a low hum of approval rumbling in his chest.

You were already panting, your hands clutching his vest once more.

“You’re enjoying this way too-”

He tsked, his palm smacking your ass as a warning.

Then he dipped his head.

You gasped as his teeth bit into the soft swell of your breast, your words forgotten.

His canines were sharp, and you knew he was holding himself back from drawing blood. The tips dragged against your tender flesh, and you moaned at the visual in front of you.

The Colonel’s head was nearly as big as your torso, and from your position you could see the muscles in his back flex as he kneaded your ass.

Your mind went almost blank.

You were so fucking horny you didn’t know left from right, and you hoped that he could feel how wet you were beneath your cargo pants.

For him.

You arched your back, your fingers running over his shoulders and pressing against his skull to drag him closer.

More. You needed more.

He didn’t budge, however, and ground his clothed dick against your core harder.

It was pleasurable torture, your mind raging one second at the lack of contact you so desired, and spinning into a horny frenzy in the next.

Your nerves felt like they were on fire, every drag of his teeth against your flesh igniting them anew.

Small pants escaped your lips as you tried to tug him toward your mouth.

You needed his lips on yours, stat.

Quaritch pulled back and glanced pointedly to the mask strapped to your face.

You groaned in frustration.

Fucking Pandoran air.

The sound broke into a moan when his fingers slid in where his bulge had been, running slowly over the seam of your pants. His fingers were fucking thick, and his knuckles dragged against your inner thighs.

He was a tight fit, and the muscles in your legs had already started cramping. Why hadn’t military school taught you how to handle a situation like this?

The Colonel’s digits pressed against your core and he grinned down at you as your eyes snapped shut at the sensation.

“Wanna kiss me that bad, huh?”

You grunted out a yes, your hips rutting against his fingers.

He tilted his head to the side and tapped the glass of your mask.

“How long can you hold your breath?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you cracked your eyes open, his face barely distinguishable behind the misty glass.

“My- wait, what?”

He hummed and dragged your zipper down, his fingers toying with the button before he popped it open, too.

“What’s your record?”

Why the fuck was he asking you something like that while you were all wet and ready for him?

His lips tipped into an amused smirk.

Oh.

If this were a cartoon, a lightbulb would’ve popped on over your head.

“Three minutes.”

His fingers wrapped around your mask and he pressed against the metal edge.

“Make it two. Deep breath.”

He was fucking bossy, all right.

It was too hot.

You took a deep breath.

He waited a second, his fingers slowing their movements against your clothed pussy.

Then the mask hissed as he slid it off your face.

“Count for me.”

Cool air hit your skin and suddenly the clock in your head started ticking.

Your eyes were assaulted by the hangar lights, but his shadow fell over your face and he smirked, one canine digging into his lower lip.

“There you are.”

You grinned up at him dorkily, your face covered in a slight sheen of sweat.

“Hi.”

He chuckled at your stupid expression and clicked his tongue.

“Don’t waste your breath.”

His fingers slipped beneath your pants just as he dipped his head, his lips capturing yours.

You moaned against his mouth when his fingertips pressed against the damp seam of your underwear. They were rough, and they dragged over your clothed clit in a way that had your mind spinning.

A low hum rumbled in his chest, vibrating where his body pressed down against yours.

You were sure he could feel how wet you were, your panties sticking to your pussy lips. They dragged over your heated flesh, his fingers rubbing circles against the thin fabric.

He was much bigger than you, and it took you a second to adjust to the size of his tongue as it slipped past your lips.

Your nails raked over his shoulders, and with him looming over you it was finally easy to reach the clasps of his vest. Your fingers fumbled briefly before they snapped open.

Fucking finally.

The thick fabric slid down his arms, catching on his elbows. His hands moved off you for a few agonizing moments. 

The view of his naked torso kept you in check, though, your eyes greedily drinking in the sharp lines of his muscles.

Quaritch’s biceps flexed as he tossed the vest behind his back, the thump of the heavy fabric loud in the hangar.

He kissed you again, his mouth swallowing your soft groan of impatience.

His fingers dipped in your pants, his other hand digging into your ass.

Then his middle finger pressed firmly against the fabric of your underwear, the pressure insistent as if he could force his way through the thin material and into your pussy.

You had half a mind to take a deep breath, but stopped yourself.

Toxic air.

The clock in your mind hit the one minute mark.

Black spots swam at the edges of your vision, but you ignored them. 

Instead you bit down on his lower lip.

His eyes snapped open above you.

Quaritch looked feral - surprise flashing over his face. You’d never seen that expression on him before, and it had you clench hard around thin air.

For a split second he just stared at you, pupils wide, before his tail curled sharply behind him. Then he shoved your underwear aside, two fingers flicking your clit.

Hard.

You moaned at the action and dug your teeth harder into his lip until you tasted blood.

Metallic.

Your eyes slipped shut, a low hum building in your chest as you savored the taste.

A low, rough laugh left him, voice edged with something dark.

“You’re so fuckin’ kinky.”

Fuck yeah, if it involved him.

His lips claimed yours when you released his lip, and he rolled your clit beneath his thick fingers.

The sharp taste of his blood mingled with your combined spit, and you moaned at the way his tongue slid against yours.

Your sounds were swallowed by his mouth, and the black spots grew as you looked at him through lidded eyes.

Quaritch grunted against your lips, his middle finger testing your entrance. The fingertip dipped inside briefly before retracting.

It was fucking massive.

If his fingers were this thick, then how big was his dick?

“Time.”

He pulled away from your swollen lips and looked at you pointedly. You gulped, your eyes straining to read his expression.

“I said, time.”

You furrowed your brow as you mentally counted back to the last number you'd reached, and your fingers traced the wound on his lower lip. The digits shook as they experimentally pressed against the bleeding flesh, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to kiss him for much longer.

“100 seconds.”

The Colonel grunted.

Then he lowered his mouth back to yours, the hand on your ass sliding up to cradle the back of your head as he tugged you closer.

His fingers spanned the entirety of your skull, and you knew he could easily crush you if he wasn’t being careful.

Thankfully, his grip on your head was gentle enough to just keep your lips pressed against his.

Quaritch licked into your mouth, his tongue exploring slowly like he had all the time in the world.

Maybe you could convince him to make out with you in your quarters.

You’d figure out the specifics of how to make him fit on your bed later.

Just as you reached the two-minute mark, Quaritch pulled away again, your head still held in his grip.

His fingers slipped out of your pants and you whimpered at the loss of contact. The digits glistened with your slick, and you normally would’ve blushed at the view.

Now though?

You didn’t give a fuck.

Hell, it made you even hornier when he lifted them to his mouth and licked.

His eyes lidded at the taste, and the reaction sent a sharp shudder through you.

You couldn’t think of a time you’d ever been this horny before and you didn’t know how long you could hold out before you snapped.

The Colonel chuckled under his breath at your dazed expression and slid the mask over your face. His digits left a smear of your wetness on the glass, and you watched his eyes catch on it.

“Correction two.”

You took in greedy gulps of air, your fingers pressing the mask tighter against your face.

He lowered your head back against the aircraft, his hands settling on your hips.

“I like the view from behind.”

You yelped when he suddenly pulled you upright and flipped you over.

Your bare torso pressed against the cold glass of the Samson, your bra barely protecting your nipples from the cold.

“But not for the reason you wrote.”

Your cargo pants slid down your ass along with your panties, and the cold hangar air bit against your wet pussy.

You looked back over your shoulder, your arms braced against the windows of the aircraft.

Your back arched as you tried to lift yourself to your knees, but the Colonel’s hands shot out.

He pressed a hand against your upper back, keeping your ass high in the air and your pussy exposed to him. The tight fabric of your pants dug into your thighs, limiting your movement and keeping your legs clamped shut.

You felt the Colonel’s hot breath fan over your folds.

The anticipation of having his tongue on you was dizzying, and paired with your still oxygen-deprived brain, you felt as if you were on drugs.

The Colonel’s thumb ran along your slit, gathering the slick, and you moaned at the wet slide of it. It was rough and thick, and you hoped he might… slip and press it inside your pussy.

“I like the view ‘cause of this.”

His thumb rubbed a slow circle against your butthole and you yelped, the muscle clamping shut.

Holy shit, he really was an ass guy.

Quaritch chuckled behind you, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your inner thigh. He sucked on the skin, undoubtedly leaving a mark, and retracted.

His thumb slipped away from your butthole and his palm massaged your ass cheek.

“Relax, Chief. I ain’t puttin’ anythin’ in there unless you ask me to.”

You glared at him over your shoulder and he caught your gaze. His palm cracked sideways against your other ass cheek.

“Don’t give me attitude.”

You yelped as your arms slid forward on the cold glass.

Holy shit, he really was bossy. It had you clench around thin air, and you were sure he noticed—because a small huff of air left his lips.

His hands tugged you back, then spread your cheeks. You felt the vibration of his chuckle, his breath cold against your wet pussy.

“Ain’t that a pretty sight.”

You were about to retort, but his tongue slipped out between his lips, the tip dragging slowly along your slit.

Your mask thumped against the Samson and your eyes snapped shut. A broken moan left your lips, dissolving into a hiss.

Fuck, were you about to cum from just one swipe of his tongue?

The Colonel’s hand struck your ass cheek again, the impact snapping a strangled yelp from your throat. He chuckled against your wet pussy, burying his face closer against your slit.

His voice came out muffled, his tongue dipping inside your entrance.

“So sweet.”

Fuck, his tongue was big.

It spanned your entire pussy when he licked.

You could never go back to a normal man after this.

A groan left his lips and he pulled you closer by the grip he had on your spread ass cheeks. His thumb rubbed circles on your clit as he tongue-fucked you.

His face was practically shoved in your pussy, grunts and groans of appreciation rumbling out of his chest and into your core.

It felt almost dizzying, knowing he enjoyed this just as much as you did. And if his vice-like grip on your flesh didn’t prove that, his mumbled praises did.

“So fuckin’ wet. Just for me.”

Small whimpers and gasps escaped your lips as you arched further into him.

It seemed he liked that, his fingers wrapping around your hip to pull you closer. You felt his nose nudge your entrance, and you gasped at his sharp inhale.

Fuck.

He exhaled wetly, a soft grunt leaving his lips. His palm tapped your ass cheek in approval.

“That’s it, Chief. Give me more of that pussy.”

You gasped, your teeth struggling to clamp down on your swollen lower lip. 

“Fuck, Colonel- shit.”

Small sobs of pleasure left your lips and you rutted against his mouth, chasing your fast-building orgasm.

He hummed as he sucked on your clit, his middle finger dipping inside your entrance with barely any resistance. The finger curled, massaging the spongy part of your walls.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

The coil in your belly had wound too tight, too fast. You worried you were going to come on his face too quickly.

The Colonel noticed too. His lips twisted into a smirk you could feel as he nipped at your clit.

A second finger joined the first, and he hummed as he felt your walls give way.

His fingers were more than you’d ever had before, their thickness almost bordering on being too much.

It was overwhelming, but he didn’t give you the time to adjust. 

When he began pumping slowly with scissoring motions, you groaned. Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in deep breaths. 

It was fucking difficult for you to accommodate to his fingers, and you had to bite back a bratty retort.

“Relax, Chief. Can’t have you strugglin’ to take my cock, can we?”

Quaritch compensated for the pain, his tongue flicking in a way that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

He’d already learned what made your toes curl, and he smacked your ass cheek hard, the recoil pushing you forward on the Samson. His fingers chased your pussy, pumping in you at an unrelenting pace.

Shit, were you a spanking freak?

His palm struck your other ass cheek, the skin smarting from the impact. He rubbed the flesh, his thumb digging into the muscle. You let out an embarrassingly loud moan, surprising even yourself.

Fuck yes, you were a spanking freak.

You arched your back further against his mouth, your hips rocking as the uncomfortable pressure inside you slowly gave way to pleasure.

The coil in your belly tightened to an almost painful degree, and you bit hard on your lower lip, whimpering. 

The Colonel curled his fingers and massaged your insides at the same time as his tongue flicked out. 

It was like he knew exactly what to do to have you wrapped around his finger—literally—and you found yourself torn between pulling away and pressing closer. 

The pleasure was overwhelming, and you hadn’t experienced anything like this before. 

His hand clapped against your ass cheek, halting your thoughts, before wrapping around your hip. His fingers dug deep enough in your flesh to hurt, and he buried his face in your pussy.

You were sure he couldn’t breathe like that.

He obviously didn’t give a shit, though - his tongue lapped at your slick, fingers pounding in and out of you in an unrelenting rhythm that had you rocking back and forth on the Samson.

You moaned his name, black dots swimming in front of your eyes at the overwhelming rush of pleasure.

He grunted against your pussy, his raspy tongue dragging against your clit just right.

That was all you needed.

You convulsed around his fingers, thighs flexing as each wave of your orgasm washed over you. His name left your lips like a mantra, curses and incomprehensible words spilling out of your mouth. Your fingertips dug into the glass below, your hips rutting against his face.

Quaritch helped you ride out your high, his tongue lazily lapping up your juices as you slumped in his grip.

You whimpered at the overstimulation, your body twitching as you tried weakly to pull away. 

The Colonel didn’t give a shit, though.

His grip on you tightened, holding you exactly where he wanted you. His fingers slipped out of your still-twitching pussy, and a strangled groan left your lips.

You felt so… empty.

Your ass stayed in the air only because of his grip on your hips and he tapped it when he finally pulled away.

“Fuckin’ divine.”

You heard him stand, the rattle of his belt loud in the quiet hangar.

“Think you can take me?”

You dragged in a greedy breath and struggled to push yourself off the Samson’s exterior.

“Yes- fuck, yes.”

Two fingers pressed against your upper back, halting your movement. You hissed as your knees slid against the glass.

“Correction three.”

The Colonel’s fingers wrapped around your neck and he squeezed, constricting your windpipe. His chest pressed against your back, his body crowding over you. 

You wheezed as you struggled for breath, and he chuckled darkly, pressing his cheek against your skull.

Blood rushed to your brain, and your teeth clamped down on your lower lip.

Quaritch bit your ear, his voice hissing against the shell of it.

“I don’t tolerate that kind of mouth.”

His palm struck your ass cheek and you cursed.

“What did I just say?”

He smacked you again, the sting blooming across the already tender skin.

Your voice came out cracked.

“You don’t like swearin’.”

You whimpered quietly as his hand rubbed the abused flesh.

“That’s right.”

He pulled away, the warmth of his chest leaving your back.

Goosebumps rose along your skin and you looked over your shoulder at him.

He looked positively feral, pupils blown as his gaze lingered on the slick coating the insides of your thighs. His tongue flicked out, pressing against the still-bleeding wound on his lip, and he grunted.

You heard his belt land on the ground, followed by the muted thump of his harness and cargo pants.

You twisted as much as you could under the pressure on your back, his fingers still pinning you against the Samson.

Your eyes immediately found his dick, and- holy shit he was huge.

His cock was fucking thick, the purple tip coated in pre-cum. Small bumps ran along the length, pale and symmetrical like the rest of the dotted marks on his skin.

The Colonel watched you take him in, his dick twitching under the heat of your gaze.

“You sure you can take it?”

Quaritch’s palm rubbed absentmindedly over the bruised flesh off your ass. His eyes watched for any sign of uncertainty. As if he was reassuring you that if you wanted him to stop, he would.

Hell no, you weren’t going to give him any indication you didn’t want this.

Even if your core clenched in fear at the size of him.

No, he was going to stuff you full of it.

You nodded, your mask thumping against the glass windows of the Samson.

“More than sure.”

You swayed your ass from side to side, the Colonel’s eyes fixed on your glistening pussy like a predator watching his prey.

“If you’re sure you’ll last enough for me to cum again.”

The Colonel’s eyes snapped to your face and he grinned, the expression almost feral. He grabbed his cock and rubbed it on your slit, coating it in your wetness.

“Still so cocky, Chief.”

His palm rubbed the round globe of your ass as he experimentally pressed his tip against your entrance.

“Do I gotta remind you how fucked out you looked a few seconds ago?”

Your hole clenched around thin air and you glared at him from your position against the metal.

Yes.

“No.”

The Colonel chuckled and slapped his dick on your pussy. The sound echoed through the hangar, lewd and wet.

“What did I tell ya about that attitude? Seems I gotta remind you of that too.”

Yes, please.

Your lips began forming a cocky remark, but your teeth clamped shut at the pressure at your entrance.

The Colonel angled his hips, pressing against the resistance of your pussy. You felt your walls give, your muscles relenting as he notched his tip inside.

The fingers at your upper back flattened, his palm pressing you harder against the Samson until your breath left you in a wheeze.

“Shit, so fuckin’ tight.”

You couldn’t respond even if you wanted to. You could only dig your nails into the glass below you as the Colonel pressed further inside.

What felt like hours—though it could only have been minutes—stretched on, and you could only wheeze and writhe underneath him as he slid deeper and deeper inside you.

Even though you’d never been this wet before, the stretch bordered on being overwhelmingly painful, and you had to focus on relaxing your muscles.

The Colonel’s free hand found your ass cheek and he grabbed hold of it, fingers digging into the flesh. 

You were sure he’d leave marks, his grip almost painful as he sank deeper inside you.

“Breathe, Chief.”

You could hear the smile in his voice.

Sadistic bastard.

You realized you’d stopped breathing—not that you could do much of that with his hand pressed against your back—and your eyes slipped shut. You drew in a slow breath through your nose, as deep as you could manage, and let it out shakily. 

Your eyebrows twitched as you felt him slide deeper.

The Colonel’s thumb brushed over the inner side of your ass cheek. The hand on your upper back rubbed into the tense muscles, his fingers catching on your bra. He hooked his index finger around the strap and tugged on it. That removed a bit of the pressure off your lungs and you gulped in air greedily.

“Want me to remove this?”

You shook your head, your mask thumping against the glass beneath you. His palm returned back to its position on your upper back.

“Suit yourself.”

Your breath left you in a wheeze again, black spots dancing over your eyes. The pressure of his cock dulled to a muted ache, and you closed your eyes. 

You counted the seconds, the heady rush of dizziness like a drug to your mind. Your senses zeroed in on the thickness of his cock bullying its way within your walls.

It seemed that Quaritch had noticed your lack of air and he chuckled, his palm moving off your upper back. Air rushed into your lungs as you breathed in, his cock slotting itself as far as it could at the same time.

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, muscles fluttering around the massive dick inside you, and you released a shaky breath. Your core clenched around him as you tested the girth, and you clenched your teeth.

Too fucking big.

Quaritch’s thumb rubbed soothing circles into your ass cheek and he spoke, his voice rough.

“Easy, Chief.”

You felt him twitch inside you and whimpered. It was as if you’d been stuffed to the brim, his cock nestled deeper in your pussy that anyone else has ever been before. Short breaths left you as you focused on relaxing, the pain turning into a dull ache.

Your hips rocked with small movements and your breath left you in a stutter as you felt him bump against your insides.

“Move, Miles.”

You felt Quaritch hesitate, before his hand moved to wrap around your hip. He retracted slightly, the drag of his cock shooting a burst of surprising pleasure up your spine. The ridges were perfectly situated to rub against your g-spot, and you moaned quietly.

You’d have to experiment more with him. Possibly in different positions.

The Colonel took your moan as confirmation, and he slowly thrust inside you, his dick sliding in and out of your heat with barely any resistance.

“Shit, never seen anythin’ this pretty before.”

You looked over your shoulder, the lack of pressure on your back allowing you to bend as much as you wanted. 

The Colonel’s arm hung on the side of his body, the other wrapping around the entirety of your ass cheek. His chest glistened with sweat, his abdominal muscles flexing with every shallow thrust into your pussy. His eyes looked positively feral, the gold swallowed almost entirely by his black pupil. They were trained on the way his cock slid in and out of you, his lips pulled into a snarl.

“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy. All for me.”

Quaritch wrapped his hand around your chin and angled your head back forward. His chest pressed against your back as he leaned over you, his breath warm against your ear.

“Correction four.”

His cock sank deep within you, the resistance almost non-existent as you relaxed fully around him. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you dug your nails into the glass below.

“I don’t like it slow ‘n sappy.”

Quaritch snapped his hips forward, his tip hitting deeper than it had before. 

You couldn’t even take a breath before he started pounding into you, the lewd squelch of your pussy barely audible over his grunts in your ear. 

The Colonel’s teeth sank into the shell of it, and his hand slid down to your throat, wrapping around it. He squeezed, and you clenched around his cock.

“Fuck, you’ll squeeze my dick off, Chief.”

Quaritch released the pressure on your throat and you gulped in a deep breath, only to have the air knocked out of your lungs as he angled your hips up. His hand slid beneath your pelvis and his thumb rolled over your clit, slick from your wetness. 

The feeling of being stuffed to the brim paired with the insistent rub of his finger was too much for your little horny brain to comprehend. All you could do was mumble incoherently, your words slurring together.

Quaritch’s fingers squeezed your throat again and you hissed as blood rushed to your head. Your pussy clamped down on his dick at the feeling.

“Shit, you like this don’t you?”

The Colonel’s hips smacked against your ass, the sound loud and echoing in the hangar. 

“Filthy fuckin’ girl.”

He tilted your head up with a grip on your chin and licked a stripe down your throat, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. 

He’d marked you.

You yelped at the sharp sting and his hand slid under your mask, clamping over your mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh. Don’t want someone to hear us, do ya Chief?”

As if you hadn’t woken up half of Bridgehead already.

You didn’t have time to draw in a proper breath, your brain latching onto the sudden lack of air.

Warning bells rang loud in your head, your focus narrowing to the suffocating pressure in your chest.

Your mask hissed as it loosened from your face, the sound only feeding the panic curling tighter inside you.

You willed yourself to calm down, knowing that he would pull away when it was too much.

Or wouldn’t.

You whimpered against the palm of his hand, his rough tongue licking the smarting bite he’d left on your shoulder. Your hips rutted back against him, struggling to meet his pounding thrusts. 

The Colonel grunted and dragged you further back over his cock with his grip on your face. Your back arched at the motion, your hands leaving the glass windows of the Samson. You could only sway in his grip as he fucked you over his dick.

Tears of pleasure slipped from your eyes and dripped on his fingers, and you could feel your spit coat the palm of his hand.

Quaritch grunted in your ear, his thumb flicking in a merciless circle against your clit as he felt you clench around him. 

The back of your head thumped against his collarbone and he leaned over your shoulder, a feral grin splitting his face. His cock pounded into you, his balls smacking against the backs of your thighs.

“Grippin’ me so good. Perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

The Colonel’s tongue dragged out the syllables, the sounds mingling with his groan.

Your eyes strained as you tried to look down, but his grip on your mouth didn’t allow you to move. You whined against his hand and he tilted his head to the side, his skull pressing against the side of your head.

You could see the way he watched himself pound into you, his eyes gone feral. The look on his face pulled a helpless sound from your throat, your body tightening in response to the sharp hiss he let out. 

It sounded almost Na’vi, and the Colonel didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and just didn’t give a fuck—he seemed too preoccupied with the way you were gripping him.

Quaritch leaned further over you, any chance of you seeing his dick slide in and out of you flying out of the window. 

It didn’t matter, though, because his hand left your mouth to wrap around your jaw instead. 

Your fingers fumbled with your mask and you pressed it against your face, dragging in greedy gulps of air when it pressurized.

The spots dancing in your vision receded, and you could finally make out the way the muscles in his face twitched.

The Colonel dragged you back, forcing you to meet his thrusts as he pounded as deep as he could within you.

The coil in your stomach wound tight and you cursed, eyes squeezing shut as you struggled to hold it back.

“Fuck.”

The Colonel’s palm cracked hard against your ass cheek, then landed on the other, the flesh still smarting from his previous assault on it.

“What did I say about that mouth?”

You felt bratty as you licked your lips.

“Fuck, Miles.”

Quaritch chuckled behind you and his hand smacked your ass harder, his dick twitching inside your core.

“Fuckin’ brat.”

You whimpered at the sting and your pussy clamped down on him. You were so close, all he needed to do was-

His palm met your flesh again and you screamed, your orgasm crashing over you. 

The Colonel snarled at the feeling of you clamping down on him. His voice came out rough, almost choked, and his hand slid back under your mask, clamping over your mouth.

“Fuck.”

Black spots flooded your vision, and you felt his fingers press harder against your face, digging into your cheeks. Small whimpers left your mouth as you twitched around his cock, and Quaritch hissed.

“Shit, Chief. Shh. Fuck, d’ya cum?”

You struggled, the need for air overwhelming, and the Colonel’s fingers slipped back from beneath your mask once he was sure you wouldn’t make a sound. He pressed it firmly against your face as you gulped in air, his lips brushing over the bite on your shoulder.

You whimpered weakly, your eyes squeezing shut.

“Mm-hmm.”

His voice came out raspy and thick with lust as he snapped his hips against your ass.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your muscles turned to jelly and his hands held you up, practically fucking you on his cock. You could only release small whimpers as he snarled in your ear, his cock twitching inside you.

The Samson’s suspension squeaked, struggling to soak up the Colonel’s relentless thrusts. His movements had turned rough, uneven, and his canines clamped down on your shoulder as your name left his lips in a low, drawn-out grunt.

Quaritch’s grip on your hip turned bruising as he drove deep one last time, his cum filling you up. His teeth sank into your neck next and you moaned at the pain, your pussy twitching around him as his hips snapped shallowly, riding out his high.

He pulled away, his come leaking out of your pussy and mingling with the wetness streaking down your thighs. 

You collapsed against the Samson, your body smushed against the glass. Struggled gasps left and came past your lips, and you closed your eyes, struggling to catch your breath.

You heard the shuffle of the Colonel’s pants and belt, the telltale sound of his fingers working on the latch loud to your sensitive ears.

Your mouth struggled to form words but all you could do was struggle to gulp in breaths.

“Don’t talk.”

Yeah, you could do that.

You felt the suspension dip when the Colonel climbed into the Samson. His boots echoed inside the troop bay, and a minute later he returned with a bottle of water and a packet of dry rations.

“Deep breath. Two gulps.”

Your hands slid against the glass and you struggled to get up, but your muscles trembled and you slumped back against the Samson. 

The Colonel chuckled and you felt his hands slide underneath you, lifting you up. Your head rested against his chest and he looked down at you, an eyebrow raised at your fucked-out grin.

“Don’t get used to this.”

You could only smirk up at him weakly, your fingers grabbing his dog tag and twisting it in your grip.

“So you do wanna fuck me again? Didn’t you say you don’t have time for this?”

The Colonel’s jaw flexed and he leveled you with an annoyed look. 

A chuckle left your lips and you knew you’d won that little exchange. 

Chief: 1. Quaritch: 0.

His lips tipped into a smirk when he noticed your expression and he set you down on the troop bay bench, the wood cold against your bare ass.

“Why do you think I’m feedin’ you right now?”

You glanced down at the rations in his hands, and the Colonel crouched in front of you, head tilted to the side.

Your mind felt sluggish, still dizzy from the most insane orgasm you’d ever had.

“Eyes ahead.”

You snapped to attention, the command ingrained in your brain. 

“Correction five.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, alarm bells ringing as a slow, lazy smirk spread across his face. His fingers twisted the water bottle clutched in his grip as he watched you for a second.

Then, his voice came out rough, his eyes taking in the slick and cum still coating the insides of your thighs.

“I don’t stop at one.”

You had a long night ahead of you, and honestly?

Fuck. Yeah.

a/n: HOLY SHIT ITS OVER - LORD HAVE MERCY. I hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it ;)) we all freaks in this house

lyle and z-dog are bisexual menaces, they act like thirsty dogs when it comes to someone they find attractive (and trust me, they're not picky abt it)

I do believe they have a thing for mansk, idk it must be the introverted/shy cat vibes and big ass chest he has. They constantly have the "did you see how hot he looks today?" conversation abt him in private

lyle is a disaster. he's bad with feelings, bad at showing and talking about them. He just prefers to use his "older brother" humor to cope with stuff and pretend he's okay. Z doesn't like it and is trying to convince him to work on that

he probably has some internalized homophobia in him, but deep down he doesn't give a fuck. Hes the type to say "I'm not a fag 🙄" and then he's looking at a sweaty man like the finest piece of meat. Yeah, he's like that.

he doesn't show it but lyle gets easily attached and feels with his soul. When the squad died he fell very close to depression during his grief. They were everything he had and quaritch seemed too focused on the mission to look at him

zdinarsik has no idea how to make a braid, she usually asks for walker or zhang to do it for her if necessary

she enjoys any activity involving strength, especially boxing, she would hit a sack for a whole day if she could. Walker often joins her, sometimes just to watch

Z is also the one to challenge the others for arm wrestling (and usually wins)

mansk has sensitive eyes. He didn't have it back then when he was human, but smth happened between the human and na'vi DNA and now he's just sensitive to light, so he's usually with shades. The squad leaves the room dark when it's possible

he's not only an introvert, but also a shy person. Mansk shows affection/appreciation just by staying around, like a cat would. And unlike what people usually assume, all his intimidating posture is just impression, he's pretty chill and enjoys listening more than talking

mansk is demi and only has intimate contact with someone he knows, it doesn't need to be a lover, a trusted friend is enough for him

lopez is brazilian, idc what people say, AS A BRAZILIAN ☝️ HE'S FROM MY COUNTRY!!!!! But seriously, he has the whole vibe: name, tattoos, the shape of his face and eyebrows style? yeah, that guy is from São Paulo

lopez teaches a lot of brazilian slangs for the other recoms, especially for lyle. Lyle's sunglasses? Lopez gave it to him, saying he would look "chave" (translate for smth like "stylish asf")

he's very touchy over his friends and probably would walk around holding hands and sleep together if they let him (the recoms would never, I'm afraid), but he's frequently offering a massage or just hugging them without any reason. in resume: he's the type to really kiss his homies good night

Prager has sarcastic humor, sometimes even dark, but he doesn't mean it, he just likes to mess around with his buddies

Ja and Prager are really close and they tease each other like kids

quaritch is the only one to have his own quarters bc of his rank, the recom unit just shares a whole room

he has a soft spot for pregnant people and will stay around when possible like an owl watching its kids, but never makes it obvious.

quaritch always protects his men from a distance. He cares about his unit and shows it through his endless orders. As a colonel, he must keep his men in line so he doesn't lose them. That makes him hella neglectful sometimes