Show him. Small blessings, the weight in his mouth keeps it from souring in a snarl. Show him what? Other men's erudition in fellatio love and lore? Because you don't end up learned without a couple of well-meaning gents sharing tips, tricks and ample demonstrations, and if Keeler thinks he's being cute, parading the implicit legion of his past lovers, when Encke's keener on knocking their teeth out for touching his navi than on thanking them the trade —
Sense hits him hard and early: hey, asshole, that's unfair. The jealousy act's really, stupefyingly unfair. Life doesn't (re)start with your most recent lover, no one's coming a virgin to this marriage bed, and their only official prohibition lies honourably steadfast on chewing gum and STDs. God knows Encke's bringing his own baggage, some of it ambulant and leer-prone and still sporting a fine, fine ass in standard whites (and just how awkward it'll get when Keeler learns his fifth in-command and his fighter tumbled a few hours three months ago, Encke doesn't want to know). Right now, he can't - won't begrudge Keeler six year-old liaisons; hadn't known he'd gotten so disturbingly possessive already.
He makes a point of leaning his head against Keeler's hand, welcoming the touch in guilty overcompensation. Then he winks, letting his navi go free (mouth wide, teeth tucked). "Sure. There gonna be a test on it later?"
But he relinquishes his hold on Keeler's legs all the same, setting them down one at a time, until he (tentatively) trusts the man with holding his own weight and balance for the exact two seconds it takes Encke to nod towards the bed, eyebrows raising inquisitively. Nothing wrong with their friend, the wall here, but when you've joined the fleet, sex in a decently sized, comfortable bed is closer to 'rare' and 'exotic' than hardcore kink.
A feigned-innocent smile. "You know what I bet's real hot in one of those? Back rubs."
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Sense hits him hard and early: hey, asshole, that's unfair. The jealousy act's really, stupefyingly unfair. Life doesn't (re)start with your most recent lover, no one's coming a virgin to this marriage bed, and their only official prohibition lies honourably steadfast on chewing gum and STDs. God knows Encke's bringing his own baggage, some of it ambulant and leer-prone and still sporting a fine, fine ass in standard whites (and just how awkward it'll get when Keeler learns his fifth in-command and his fighter tumbled a few hours three months ago, Encke doesn't want to know). Right now, he can't - won't begrudge Keeler six year-old liaisons; hadn't known he'd gotten so disturbingly possessive already.
He makes a point of leaning his head against Keeler's hand, welcoming the touch in guilty overcompensation. Then he winks, letting his navi go free (mouth wide, teeth tucked). "Sure. There gonna be a test on it later?"
But he relinquishes his hold on Keeler's legs all the same, setting them down one at a time, until he (tentatively) trusts the man with holding his own weight and balance for the exact two seconds it takes Encke to nod towards the bed, eyebrows raising inquisitively. Nothing wrong with their friend, the wall here, but when you've joined the fleet, sex in a decently sized, comfortable bed is closer to 'rare' and 'exotic' than hardcore kink.
A feigned-innocent smile. "You know what I bet's real hot in one of those? Back rubs."