#toxic fluff

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“‘Up toward storage, turn right at intersection, on your left,’” Tucker repeated quietly to himself, scanning the blank wall on that side for any sign of an entrance. The scrap metal flooring vibrated with each step, echoing down every corridor he passed through. He preferred the natural stone, dicey as it was to navigate with all the pits and cracks and slippery slopes into radioactive springs. It would be quieter at least.

At last, he spotted the door, the control pad next to it blinking welcomingly at him as he stepped up to punch in his number. It opened with a loud hiss, admitting him into a large room complete with mats, punching bags, exercise equipment and a firing range all the way at the back. 

Muffled thuds met his ears as the sound of the door died away, drawing his attention to an area in the corner. A physical target had been set up and was already bristling with small knives, each somewhere within one of the several vital point rings drawn in concentric circles over a rough, humanoid diagram. As he watched, another whipped through the air, sticking point-first in the narrowest lower torso ring. 

Tucker traced its trajectory back to the painted line and table, where an assortment of short bladed weapons were neatly laid out in rows. A familiar, orange-striped figure was reaching for the remaining collection of throwing knives, flicking them lazily at the diagram. His helmet had been removed again and what Tucker could see of his expression was almost jaded, looking but seemingly not all that bothered to take any time properly checking the line-up to his target between each throw. His next struck near the middle of a ring anyway, quivering in the ‘throat.’ Tucker swallowed, watching the rest land easily and with equally frightening accuracy in quick succession.

“Keep watching if you like, but I start charging after a minute. You want a circus performance, you can pay for it like everyone else.”

Tucker winced guiltily. 

“...sorry, man. I just got here. Waiting on my team so we can do… stuff.”

“Oh it's you. Hey.” Felix turned, face more open than expected based on his tone a second ago, words light and teasing now. “Sounds exciting. Mind if I join?”

“Only if you promise to help me hide Paolomo's body after,” Tucker shot back before he registered he was even thinking it. Shit. Was it ok to make those kinds of jokes about people this guy probably knew?

Felix actually cracked a smile, head tipping downward for a moment as a soft laugh expelled itself through his teeth.

“That bad, huh?”

Never mind. Good icebreaker, Tucker. Keep it up.

He unclipped his helmet and lifted it off as he approached, some section of his social brain reminding him it was kind of rude to be chatting with a visor between them, especially if he wanted to make a better impression.

“Let's just say I thought we were the biggest dumbfucks in existence, then he took it as a challenge.”

“Ah, don't be too hard on yourself. You had to have done something right to manage all the crazy shit you guys pulled off, I mean, come on! The Meta? How'd you manage that?”

Felix leaned on the table, half-turned toward Tucker and head inclined curiously like he was waiting for some big secret reveal. His hands toyed with the vicious combat knife he carried everywhere, its well-maintained edge flashing occasionally under the ceiling lights. Its design hinted at a more up close and personal function, backwards-facing sawteeth stretching from the hilt to a third of the way along the blade bringing to mind how easily it would rip through arteries and organs alike on its way out. The thought made him queasy and he shrugged, hoping it would help him look nonchalant.

“Luck mostly. And a convenient sheer drop into the ocean right next to us. Though I guess that kind of counts as luck too.”

“You have to tell me the full story of that someday. I want details, dammit.” 

“Let's swap sometime then.”

The pleasant listening expression grew fixed and Felix sheathed the savage weapon, pushing away from his perch to head toward the target.

“Shit was pretty fucked where we were deployed. Wouldn't want to ruin your beauty sleep with nightmares.”

Tucker trailed behind him, his own interest rising. 

“I'm no pussy. I can handle it.”

“Sure you can, buddy.”

Aggravation flared at the unexpected dismissal, a snippy reply escaping him before he could stop it.

“Fuck you.” 

“Later. This space is for training.” 

That sent Tucker’s brain scrambling for a recovery again, though thankfully Felix didn't seem interested in making him suffer today, tugging the throwing knives free of the wood and changing the subject. 

“Speaking of, do you really have enough solo training planned for like…” His eyes darted toward the ceiling “Five hours?” followed by an amused look as he yanked the final few blades out, slipping them all into near-invisible slots in his armour. ”You’re kind of taking the whole ‘early-is-on-time’ thing to an extreme here, don't you think?” 

Tucker frowned and glanced at his holo-calendar. Then again, a little more carefully.

What?

“I… I swear this said fourteen hundred.”

Felix pulled up his own schedule on his way back to the table, swiping through a staggering number of pages and notifications to reach the training centre roster.

“Nope. Eighteen thirty. I've got the same thing.”

Tucker dumbly flipped back and forth, refreshing it a few times, only for it to stay stubbornly four and a half hours ahead of him. 

“Don't sweat it. Twenty-four hour time can be a bitch to get right,” Felix reassured him, closing his holo-calendar with a careless flick, “Everyone messes it up at some point, even in the army. At least you weren’t late, huh?” 

Twenty-four hour clock had always been one of the few things he could do well. Caboose and even some of the people here asked him for help with it on a pretty regular basis. And it wasn't like fourteen and eighteen thirty were that similar either. How could he have screwed up so badly?

“...I guess…”

“Hey,” Felix called firmly, jarring him into making eye contact, “Shit happens. You're here now and I finally got a bit of down time between jobs. Why not do some one-on-one while we have the chance? I can probably show you a thing or two. If you want,” he added, folding his arms as he returned to his earlier relaxed position.

“Uh… sure. Ok. Thanks.”

His acceptance was almost automatic, a sudden apprehension tightening his gut for no immediately obvious reason.

“Come here then.”

Lavernius Tucker was not a short man, the couple of inches he had on Wash a constant source of entertainment for him whenever he felt like teasing the Freelancer for it. But the closer he got to Felix — also granted a significant bulking effect by the various armour pieces glowing and thrumming quietly over his frame — the clearer it became just how much more his new sparring partner had to work with. He'd rarely stood this close, never in the current context anyway, and having to look up to make eye contact was a daunting experience.

Felix smiled down at him, the easy warmth in it instantly lifting some of the tension building in Tucker's stomach. A rubber training knife appeared on the bottom edge of his vision, politely extended hilt first.

“After you.”

A moment's hesitation, then he took it, reminding himself firmly that this was practice and Felix wouldn't hurt him.

They spent the best part of an hour running defensive drills, his teacher patiently showing him the basics before taking the knife from him and attacking at a nice, slow pace, allowing him to get used to the techniques for a bit. After a while, he noticed he was actually having fun, laughing along with Felix whenever Tucker tangled them both up trying to take control of the fake weapon and manoeuvre it into his own grasp. That brilliant smile was captivating, the easy-going manner remarkably relaxing, and by the end of it he'd caught himself several times lingering far closer than would ever be considered normal for two guys just training.

Not the fucking time, Lavernius! Hell, with your luck he's probably straight anyway. I don’t care what Kimball says, he’s totally got something going on with her. First name basis and everything… 

“Great job. You're really starting to get this.”

And he’s got jobs coming out his ears! Too busy, definitely not available. Cool your jets. We gotta save the others, remember? 

“Tucker? I said ‘well done.’”

“Oh, right. Thanks!”

Tucker flashed him a forced grin. 

Felix blinked, an analytical twist to his mouth. Then the practice weapon disappeared behind his back along with his hands, head performing that inquisitive tilt again. Another thing Tucker had begun to notice about him lately; he was scarily good at picking up on every single odd behaviour or change of mood in other people. 

“Something on your mind?”

He’s right here and open. Now’s my chance. If he can talk to Kimball…

“I'm worried about the others. The longer we leave them there-”

“We’re going to find them, Tucker. I promised and I meant it. We’re just short on options right now.”

Felix turned as he spoke, arms spreading slightly in the universal gesture of inevitability. Of someone who considered the conversation ended. Tucker's muscles tensed as the feeling of being treated like a demanding child stoked the frustration burning inside him to a roaring flame.

“Then let me do it! That's what the smaller teams are for, right? So we don't have to handle a large group or waste resources. Small-scale operation. Communicate fast. Get in, get out. Minimal casualties. Just-”

An abrupt laugh interrupted his rant, the sound coarse and humourless.

“You're throwing a lot of words around there and I'm not sure you actually know what they mean.” Felix faced him, a sharp look in his eyes not remotely softened by the crooked grin at his lips. “Which is a teeny bit concerning when you start expecting us to add real weapons, vehicles, equipment and people to the mix in the hopes you'll… what?” He was walking toward Tucker now, and something about his movement had the shorter man taking a step backward for every other step Felix took forward, mind whispering ‘run’ as the former relaxing vibe completely faded like it had never been there at all. “Infiltrate a highly organised, experienced, fully trained military organisation,” Felix marked things off on his fingers, the rubber knife hanging loosely from his pointing hand, “gather heavily guarded intelligence in the slightest hope the location of their extremely valuable prisoners will be included in there, break out, formulate a plan to break into an even more dangerous compound capable of holding said prisoners — one of whom is a notorious ex-Freelancer — successfully break them out and bring them back here, all without killing anyone stupid enough to go with you? And hope Locus isn't in the vicinity at any point to use you or your men for a light spot of target practice after lunch?” 

“I figured if you helped us you could-”

“Play decoy? Live bait? Ooh, I know!” Felix halted, one finger raised as his expression lit up in sarcastic epiphany, “Dramatically tackle him off a cliff and be the tragic hero who sacrificed himself so you could escape with your friends and save the day! Do you have a nice speech planned to read at my memorial? Better make it good. If Vanessa doesn't weep like a fucking baby by the end I'm gonna be so pissed at you.”

“Weren't you dead in this scenario? How would you be feeling anything?” Tucker joked, desperate to lighten the mood. 

Unsurprisingly, this was met with an impressive deadpan expression, which somehow also managed to contain the most withering stare he'd seen anyone pull off since Church’s nutcase killer girlfriend.

“Funny. You know, with how seriously you're taking everything, I'm really convinced you're ready to be trusted with that kind of incredible responsibility. I'll go tell our commander she can sign off on this and send you straight into the belly of the beast tomorrow. I'm sure you'll be fine.” He waved a hand dismissively and headed back toward his collection, tossing the rubber knife onto the pile with enough force to bump a few of the real ones and make Tucker flinch.

“I'm trying my best here, I'm just sick of sitting on my hands,” he said quietly, watching Felix roll out a leather carrying case and begin sliding the weaponry into each of their slots. This man was skilled. Experienced. An actual soldier who clearly knew all the ins and outs for the kind of thing needed to save Wash. Maybe taking that angle would work better. “Why not teach us how to run an operation like that then? Take some stuff off your plate and get us to improve enough so we can bring the people back who do know how to handle all this real war shit? Wash can train the troops, you kill Locus in the least heroically dangerous way possible, we all beat the Feds, and go home? Big payout for you at the end and Chorus gets peace and prosperity. Everyone's happy and I don't have to write you a eulogy. I suck at those anyway, you’d definitely hate it.”

That earned him a flicker of a smile.

“I can't teach you all of that properly in a year, let alone whatever ridiculous time period you're expecting.”

“I'm a pretty fast learner. Look at how much more I know about not getting stabbed now.”

“It's a good start. But if someone comes at you with intent to kill, they're not gonna fuck around letting you grab them, especially if you don't stop them first try.” Felix shot him a thoughtful look and retrieved the rubber knife, flipping it a few times as his next words took on a challenging tone. “Up for something a little more nervewracking?”

Tucker had never been one to retreat from a challenge, and he also sensed a prime opportunity to scrub this recent blunder from his record. So he made sure to put a swagger in his step to show the confidence he absolutely did not feel, expectantly returning to the spot where they'd been practicing in answer. 

Felix moved as he had earlier, putting Tucker on edge again as he shifted smoothly into the genuinely competent posture of a seasoned and deadly fighter, far more capable than someone like him could ever possibly match. The sim trooper’s self-preservation instincts poked and tugged and whispered insistantly that this was one of the stupidest things he could be doing, right up there with bum-rushing a crazed Freelancer Agent who'd had every advantage imaginable at the time, while wearing outdated knock-off armour himself and wielding short range alien weaponry he had no real clue how to use. Where his brain was getting that level of threat from in regards to Felix of all people was anyone’s guess though, and with his ‘attacker’ now coming toward him, he didn't have the time to figure out what the fuck he was freaking about when he really needed his eyes on the pretend knife and the distracting man holding it.

Felix leapt forward, stabbing at Tucker with the speed of a striking cobra. He couldn’t perform anything he'd learned at this pace, barely deflecting two of the opening hits before the flexible knife-tip began buckling as it collided over and over with the less protected parts of his body. His arms flailed, trying to catch it, but only managed to watch himself fail repeatedly, his brain kindly supplying him with the mental image of him bleeding out on the floor from the insane number of stab wounds he would be receiving had this been an actual attack. His instructor relented after a minute to allow him a breather, which he gratefully accepted.

“How do I stop you when you're doing…” Tucker mimed the vicious method he'd ‘died’ to. 

“Simple. Disarm me first try. You didn't, so I became a much bigger problem, ‘cause you showed me you can put up a fight without taking me down. And in this scenario I wanted to kill you, so the easiest way from there was to just… sewingmachineyoutodeath!” he grinned while demonstrating said action without warning, causing Tucker to bring his hands up and flinch backward in a useless attempt to protect his torso a second after every strike had already connected. That boisterous, playful energy in both body language and tone was weirdly off-putting, especially given the context. Felix smirked and granted him some room, though the way he seemed to prowl around Tucker as he continued speaking did nothing to ease the threatening atmosphere. “There's not really anything you can do against that, unless you've got something to make it difficult for a shorter weapon to even reach you.”

“Like what?”

“Longer weapon, duh. Or do the smart thing and go grab a rifle,” he suggested, nodding at the range behind them, still in that disjointedly excited manner which made Tucker worry he might be serious.

“I'm not gonna shoot you.”

“Your mistake.” 

The knife was coming toward him again and he reacted without thinking, initially not even registering it flying from Felix’s hand and landing with a soft thud on the foam surface at their feet. When it clicked, he turned to stare at it in surprise.

“I did it… Felix, look! I d-”

It was his turn to fall, legs swept from under him by an unseen force, back meeting the padded ground with a much louder thump and half of the air in his lungs leaving him in a whoosh. A heavy weight followed him down, alongside the unmistakable sound of steel ringing free of its sheath.

Tucker froze, awareness narrowing rapidly to a single point: the line of bare neck where the business side of a cold, sharp, and very real blade now rested snugly against his throat in a reverse grip, armoured knuckles brushing his jaw. The serration was right above his jugular, head forced into the floor while his chin craned upward in a futile attempt to create space. His breaths came light and quick, heart hammering as his situation fully dawned on him. Felix straddled his hips, the wrist he'd caught held tightly in the other hand with enough force to leave an impression in the mats, and despite the relatively light authority placed behind the weapon, anything nearing much motion at all risked slicing Tucker wide open.

“I'm going to let you figure out what you did wrong there,” Felix said, matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t just put them both in the most dangerous — not to mention compromising — position possible.

He couldn't think. Couldn't remember what had happened moments before this. His current problem filled every thought, every scrap of awareness, his whole body buzzing from adrenaline without an outlet, completely and utterly trapped with no escape in sight.

“Tucker? What did we learn?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Any fragments of intelligence he possessed had fled, the usual clever wisecracks gone a.w.o.l, brain a field of static like it had been replaced by an ancient television and Felix had slapped those stupid wavy antennae clear out the window. Heat pooled in his groin, and with a wave of horror, he realised he was growing hard.

Their armoured codpieces only covered so much, the designers having reasonably expected everything would be staying put. His opponent's asscheeks were pressing heavily enough into the area directly above it that there was no way he couldn't feel Tucker’s unintended arousal straining to escape its confines, even through the undersuit. He fervently wished he was wearing his helmet, so he could at least have hidden the shame spreading over his face. 

Felix paused, merely giving him a contemplative look and inexplicably choosing to roll his hips backward, watching intently for the reaction. Unable to put up any significant level of resistance with his life literally balanced on a knife's edge, Tucker squirmed, cheeks burning as a tiny, pathetic noise broke through his nose.

“I'd ask if that's a gun in your pocket or whatever, but I'm pretty sure you're just really happy to see me,” Felix commented airily. 

Then, probably because he could, the prick actually settled down, stretching his length across the prone form and crushing him further into the floor. Tucker groaned under the added weight, cursing both Felix and himself as it solidified his predicament and increased the flow of blood to his lower region. The mercenary's head dipped to bathe Tucker's ear in warm breath, the words murmured into it sending a shiver up his spine and raising the hair on his nape. 

“Is this what's doing it for you? Pinned to the ground, your life in my hands? I could kill you easy as breathing right now, and no one could stop me. One little flick. That's all it'd take.” 

Tucker flinched when Felix's muscles tensed on ‘flick,’ exhaling once he registered it had been intended solely to scare him. To his dismay, he only twitched harder, pelvis rising and falling uselessly beneath his captor’s mass as it attempted to gain what it wanted without his permission. He felt Felix smirk against his skin, menacing tone rippling into a silky purr. 

“Oh… you do like that, don't you? Does anyone else know what a freaky little degenerate you are, Captain Tucker?”

“Shut up and get- o-off me…”

Affronted, he had temporarily found his voice, pawing at the knife arm until it flexed in warning and he subsided, trailing to a quiet whine. Even to his ears it sounded weak, carrying such a complete lack of conviction Felix ignored it entirely. Instead, he pulled back so his mouth hovered over Tucker’s, simultaneously teasing relief with every infrequent, tantalising thrust of his own hips. 

Ok. Definitely not straight then. Cool. Should he count his lucky stars, or his embarrassing, awful, impeccable timing ones? Tucker's lips parted, half his higher functions already lost to all the mounting stimuli blurring together, the rest fighting valiantly to maintain his composure and rapidly failing. Cold grey eyes examined his expression, that curious glint appearing in them again. 

A second later, Felix closed the distance.

Tucker let out a smothered ‘hmph!’, a spark of electricity jolting through him at the feeling of the other man's lips meeting his. He hadn’t kissed anyone since Grif’s sister. Wash and Simmons were too preoccupied with each other in the canyon and-

Wait. Since when have I wanted to kiss Wash?

A nip startled him, the brief swipe of Felix’s tongue soothing his bottom lip and catching his attention, especially when it probed gently, seeking entrance. He stiffened, instinct tugging at the corners of his consciousness and pleading for him to reconsider; that Felix was literally holding a fucking combat knife one wrong move away from ending him in an instant, and there was something extremely off about this whole situation. But his thoroughly addled brain couldn't quite place the issue. Then Felix casually leaned forward, putting just enough pressure on the blade for its serrated edge to dig wicked tips into the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath. The spike of pain and answering rush of fear made up Tucker’s mind for him. He yielded with a gasp, opening his mouth.

The questing tongue slipped eagerly inside, methodically exploring anything within reach, its tiny ball piercing leaving a faint taste of metal behind wherever it went. He couldn't decide if he liked that or not, though he quickly melted into the sensations themselves, vaguely noticing he had at some point begun kissing back in earnest, hips arching for every bit of friction he could get. His compliance was rewarded with the threat easing, alongside an extra firm thrust, then another, Felix grinding repeatedly against his straining erection exactly where he needed it. A series of desperate little moans reached his ears; utterly mortifying the moment he realised they were coming from him, yet all the while his hips bucked feverishly and his tongue danced to the rhythm its new partner set. The mercenary laughed — the amusement vibrating his chest muffled, but no less distinct — and Tucker silently begged the floor to claim his miserable existence.

When Felix broke the kiss and sat up, Tucker automatically chased him, collapsing onto the mats again as the bite of the knife halted him in his tracks, panting and lightheaded. The grinding stopped as well and he throbbed in painful disappointment.

“Fuck, you're easy,” Felix said in a breathy chuckle, “Ever consider making yourself an actual challenge, or are you seriously so pathetic you'll crumble under any kind of attention?”

“Hey, I didn't ask you to fucking molest me during tr- training, asshole!” he snapped, cheeks on fire and breathing erratic no matter how hard he tried to control it.

“Such enthusiastic responses to being ‘molested’, Captain. And here I thought you were loving every minute of it. You sure fooled me.”

Tucker wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face, but he was still held prisoner by the inescapable lock his opponent kept him in. Besides, a noise outside had alerted him to the fact they weren't doing this in a private area. The telltale sound of people echoed in the hall, feminine voices chatting and giggling reminding Tucker it had been Simmons’ group next on the training centre's schedule.

“Let me up!” 

“Aw, what? You don't want to add voyeurism to your new list of weird kinks? Lame.”

“It takes- two to tango, Felix,” he retorted, fighting his lungs to complete his counterstrike, “You decided to take things this f- far, so apparently it was all already on- your list. Ever think about that?”

“Oh no. You wound me. However will I recover?” He rolled his eyes, then sneered down at Tucker, “I don't care. I've done shit to get off in situations that’d shrivel your adorable sensibilities like a flower in the desert. There's nothing you could throw at me I can't either tune out or incorporate if I have to, no regrets. Can you say the same?”

The voices were nearly at the door.

“Ok, ok! I'm sorry. Please…” 

He pushed uselessly at the unmoving body above him, his efforts feeling as though they were instantly shattering against the limehardened surface of a cave wall. Damn, this guy was strong; significantly stronger than him, anyway, wrist unable to shift even an inch within the unrelenting iron grip holding it captive. He couldn't let them see him like this, but unless Felix showed mercy…

“Begging now, Tucker? See? Too easy.”

“Fine, yes! I'm easy! I'm fucking pathetic! Just let me up, dude, come on!”

Felix grinned triumphantly, sheathed the knife and rose, finally allowing Tucker to scramble to his feet and put some space between them right as a hydraulic hiss at the entrance announced their new arrivals. The New Republic women were too busy with each other and a very awkward-looking Simmons to notice them and Tucker took advantage of that to grab his helmet, slamming it on to hide his burning face. Felix had no such qualms, sidling up to the group with his usual charming air, whatever he said blending into the background as his humiliated student made a bee-line for the exit.

Simmons called out to him, but he ignored it, escape flashing at the top of his priority list in big bold letters. He’d talk to him later. Right then, he just wanted to get far away from the scene and the one who’d instigated it. 

He hadn’t been walking long when a low, attention-seeking whistle travelled the short length of hall he’d managed to achieve and had him instinctively pausing to check its source, before he continued on with a roll of his eyes.

“Tucker.”

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off!

“Wait. Are you actually pissed? I was messing with you, man. Laugh it off and move on.”

“Hahaha. You're a real comedian.”

“That's the spirit.”

Tucker refrained from cussing him out this time, considering how often that had been turned against him lately.

“Eyes on your opponent.”

“What?”

Felix was wearing his helmet now too, but the disbelieving expression he levelled at him was somehow still clear as day.

“The lesson? I know you got a little… distracted… but I hope the actual point sank in at least. We need you alive and not every enemy's gonna be as accommodating as me. You can’t always use being pretty to get out of dangerous situations.”

Tucker faltered for a second, then ground his teeth together and sped up a bit to gain some distance as anger churned in his stomach.

Fuck you, dude, I'm getting whiplash here! Who cares about your stupid ‘lesson’?

“Hey. I mean it.” A hand latched onto his and dragged him to a halt, startling him into facing the other man, who continued in a graver tone. “Pay attention in future. We can't save your friends with just your corpse.” Tucker was barely listening, focus locked on the place they touched while his mind struggled to figure out what exactly this dickhead was playing at. Felix followed the direction of his gaze, quickly letting go with a cough and a step backward. “Well, I can think of about six different ways we could do that, but I don't think most people here could stomach it.”

And up went the walls again. 

Asshole.

“Nice.”

Tucker scowled, moving at a power walk while hoping it didn’t make him look as irrationally pissed as he felt. He shouldn’t care and he didn’t. Not really. It was a stupid, meaningless kiss in a spur of the moment decision Felix was obviously regretting now.

So much for all that bragging. If you’re not interested you can just tell me. You don’t have to be a fucking weirdo jerk about it. 

“I'm creative like that. You eaten yet?” 

Felix wasn't matching his strides anymore, pulling ahead and half-talking over his shoulder as he turned into the hallway toward the Mess. Tucker paused, shooting him a long glance through his visor before replying.

“...I lost my appetite.”

“That's too bad. I'll let Griff know he can have your share. Just remember: never take your attention off the enemy. See you around, Captain.”

Tucker stared after him, the mercenary whistling a jaunty tune as he sauntered away down the corridor.

What. The actual. Fuck.

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I hope you enjoyed. If you did, please do let me know in the comments, and help it reach a wider audience by reblogging if that works with your blog theme. Feed me so I can finish the whole thing. :D This is the biggest thing I've ever written. I need to finish it so my brain will let me work on something else. XD

For those wondering about Tucker tasting Felix's piercing when many people say you can't, I did in fact look this up and some people talked about tasting their own piercings which you're not supposed to be able to do either. Combine that with people frequently telling neurodivergent people we can't do things like hear the electrical surge of an older TV turning on for example when we definitely can, and this author decided 'fuck it. There probably is someone out there who can because sometimes humans like to collectively think if they don't experience it then it's not something anything feels and this probably falls into this category as well.' Also it's fanfiction about two sci fi men in a fake war on another planet 300+ years into the future in an alternative universe where ultra hot therapod-like aliens with space laser guns exist so Imma do what I want in some areas.