Oh, for the love of god and all that's holy, yes. The teeth sink through his flesh, worry a deep red welt into skin like alabaster, and Keeler nearly succumbs to the sudden weakness in his knees. A hard lean against the wall to keep himself upright, shivering though he is against the onslaught of an ivory-silken mouth. Mark your territory, stake your claim; that was the order, and Encke is rising beautifully to the occasion.

And then the fighter is on his knees, working through Keeler's belt and buttons, and for all Keeler's candor, it manages to steal the breath from his throat. Any objections...? No. Not a one. Not a single goddamn thought in his pleasantly-buzzing head, save an incredulous and slightly crazed YES. Lord, yes. Fuck yes. And if this earns him the ire and scorn of an entire ship of jealous eyes and needy leers, let it. At this moment, Keeler swears he could fight tooth and nail through the very mouth of hell with a smile on his face. So long as Encke is waiting on his knees at the end of it.

"Just one," Keeler breathes, and he briefly fumbles through the pull and clasp of a vinyl waistcoat belt. "Get us both out of these damned blues first."

Because if they're doing this, they're doing it right, and Keeler decided a few weeks previous that nothing is quite as right as Encke's nudity against his own bare skin.