That cursed Kaminoan sex ed
The downtime between missions was always a drag. Delta Squad spent their time lounging in their barracks, doing whatever they could to rest, and fill in the mind-numbing hours. Scorch, naturally, was never content to let a dull moment fester.
“Oi, vode,” Scorch, sprawled across his bunk wearing his ill-fitting red cadet fatigue as his top and full armour from his waist down, piped up. “You lads remember that kriffing awkward repro health module from Kamino? What class was that? Sentient Bio 101 or some dwang?”
“Sentient Reproduction and Biological Sustainability Efforts. Worst hour of my life. Long-necks droned through it as if it was some kind of sick droid sex.” Hunching over his datapad, and slicing through some random codes he picked up from their previous op, Fixer didn’t even look up.
“Ah, yeah, that’s the one!” Scorch’s grin was delightful. He yanked his own datapad from his pack, fingers excitedly tapping across the screen. “Guess what, vode? I still have it.”
“You kriffing didn’t,” Fixer finally looked up, his face was a perfect combo of disgust and resignation. “That thing’s foul. Why would you keep that?”
“Mmm why not?” Scorch hummed, scrolling his datapad to no end. “Oh, here we go! Jackpot!” The bleached blond haired RC stood up, and walked towards the broken holotable that was coated in dust in the middle of the room. “Ahem. As his anatomical conduit—”
“His dick,” Fixer cut in, deadpan, still typing binary codes at his datapad.
“—enters the designated receptive structure,” Scorch continued, voice shaking with barely contained laughter.
“Pussy,” Fixer chimed again.
“Scorch is,” Sev coughed from the corner. He pushed himself to focus on the array of weapons in front of him - clearly trying to stay out of this but failing miserably.
“—a critical phase of sentient synchronisation is initiated,” Scorch plowed on, finger jabbing the air.
“He’s pounding,” Fixer supplied with another non-lab grown definition of the act.
“Ugh, find a better word, you di’kut,” Sev lobbed a rolled-up towel at Fixer’s head. It missed and thwacked Scorch’s shin instead, but the demo expert didn’t flinch. “—This interaction, facilitated by coordinated muscular responses, creates a platform for genetic exchange within a controlled environment,” Scorch kept going.
“That’s literally just a corpo way of saying ‘he’s mounting it in,’” Fixer groaned, finally tossing his datapad aside to entertain his brother. “Who writes this stuff? Droids?”
“Really, vod? Mounting it in?” Sev snorted. “You’ve never gotten laid, have you? Kriffing mounting. What are you - describing two banthas fucking?”
Scorch, ignoring his brothers’ continued bickering, powered through to the end of the passage. “—The interaction typically resolves in a peak state of high-intensity release of all tensions!”
“They come,” Fixer said as a matter-of-factly.
“Yep. Both finally blow the hatch, game over,” Sev groaned.
The scattered laughter that followed was broken by the thud of a datapad hitting the floor. Boss, who’d been quietly suffering in his little corner by the window, finally snapped. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT YOU LOT?!” he shouted. “I’m trying to finish our report - cause NONE of you did it, and you’re over there reading Kamino’s sex ed instead of helping me?!”
“Maybe you should get your anatomical condui—“
“SHUT UP 62!”
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There you go @orangez3st!
