This one ego blow comes easy: cringe though Keeler might, few things can outdo the sweet, fine mercy of a back rub. Encke thinks to object on that count, to defend the inanimate dignity of his shoulders and spine - but then his navi's already manoeuvring him with typical finesse, the kind of poking and prodding and gentle coaxing that too often mask a tactician's blunt steel. He lets himself led, takes to the bed with relish, indulges, briefly, with the prospect of a timely nap exclusively designed to be God damned contrary. He should tease Keeler like that one day: get him all worked up, hot, bothered and begging, then collapse on his pillow and declare 'celibacy' (and lights out).
He should tease Keeler like Keeler's teasing him, riding his shielded groin with the experience of a veteran stripper. Cursing under his breath, Encke raises himself to sit, responding as much to his navigator's verbal prompts as he's learned to follow the physical ones. You don't get the luxury of delayed response time, of questions and answers mid-sortie - you learn to read your navi like the back of your hand, keep him just as safe.
"Sir, yessir," he agrees, then spends the better part of a minute removing dress jacket, shirt and belt without completely unstraddling Keeler. You don't do that to your well-primed lover, you don't just push him off you and on the floor, even when he's responsible for the most vicious hard-on you've had since the hormonally prodigious times of early adolescence.
A silence intimacy's spread between them, weighty and confining, a benign claustrophobia. The world's suddenly reduced to Keeler and his warm skin and his little laughs and his inefficient tugs at straps and fasteners. And Encke finds he likes it - likes catching Keeler's chin and tipping it aside, so he can lean in and leave a dry trail of short kisses worshipping his earlier mark. Nice, healthy flush on the teeth-crowned skin, rosy and staying behind a pale ear. Good.
"...got a secret, lieutenant," he confides, all maudlin murmurs and hot breath and soft sighs against Keeler's neck. "Wanna hear it?" A kiss on his boy's jaw, a ghost of it in parting. "You're pretty. Real pretty." And another. "First time I saw you, I thought, damn, look at'im." And a third, strayed towards Keeler's chin, a moment or two's investment before he looks up, eyes bright. "And now I get to hold you, and you're even prettier. Funny thing, that."
So funny, it doesn't even need the laugh, and he can just kiss his man instead - all sorted.
no subject
He should tease Keeler like Keeler's teasing him, riding his shielded groin with the experience of a veteran stripper. Cursing under his breath, Encke raises himself to sit, responding as much to his navigator's verbal prompts as he's learned to follow the physical ones. You don't get the luxury of delayed response time, of questions and answers mid-sortie - you learn to read your navi like the back of your hand, keep him just as safe.
"Sir, yessir," he agrees, then spends the better part of a minute removing dress jacket, shirt and belt without completely unstraddling Keeler. You don't do that to your well-primed lover, you don't just push him off you and on the floor, even when he's responsible for the most vicious hard-on you've had since the hormonally prodigious times of early adolescence.
A silence intimacy's spread between them, weighty and confining, a benign claustrophobia. The world's suddenly reduced to Keeler and his warm skin and his little laughs and his inefficient tugs at straps and fasteners. And Encke finds he likes it - likes catching Keeler's chin and tipping it aside, so he can lean in and leave a dry trail of short kisses worshipping his earlier mark. Nice, healthy flush on the teeth-crowned skin, rosy and staying behind a pale ear. Good.
"...got a secret, lieutenant," he confides, all maudlin murmurs and hot breath and soft sighs against Keeler's neck. "Wanna hear it?" A kiss on his boy's jaw, a ghost of it in parting. "You're pretty. Real pretty." And another. "First time I saw you, I thought, damn, look at'im." And a third, strayed towards Keeler's chin, a moment or two's investment before he looks up, eyes bright. "And now I get to hold you, and you're even prettier. Funny thing, that."
So funny, it doesn't even need the laugh, and he can just kiss his man instead - all sorted.