It's not what he asked for, not what he wanted, and not what he'd expected. But it is what makes him laugh, a discreet and well-thanked distraction from the breathtaking scenery of Keeler deciding it's time to go to town. "Med school, huh?"
His boy would've worn his whites anyway. Maybe they'd have met anyway, a hot, heavy one night affair during one of Encke's shore leaves. Except doctor Keeler'd have never spared five for an officer who has the run, but not command of his own bloody ship, and Encke would have been too earnest in his contempt of laid back upper class civs to learn the inside of Keeler's dainty scrubs.
...like he's now learning the inside of Keeler's dainty mouth. Survival's all a realist can aim for, when his navi's such a worldly boy, because Keeler must've walked half a dozen towns, and his tongue's learned the tricks in all of them. Trust this infuriating, oblivious man to make Encke feel more painfully inadequate about his performance than every school, task and military master he's taken in his life.
He has to laugh again, hoarse and a little strained; it's what keeps him from whimpering like a third rate alley whore.
"Back rub's still better than... fuck." And then it's just that, shallow thuds, Encke's head sliding blissfully back and past his shoulders, heavy blinks and weighty moans. He can feel himself, heavy and so fucking constricted, the beat of his pulse echoing in the muscles of Keeler's welcoming throat. It can't be easy, lithe little man growing a snake's maw, but evolution and his navigator's sheer, inexhaustible will both see Encke swallowed up whole.
The difference in their proportion's too damned unreasonable for this kind of ego play, and he finds himself with his hands in Keeler's hair and undoing his braid, sobbing and pleading like a weak and will-wanting thing, because that's just the kind of puddle his lover's reduced him to. There his neural synapses go. Splat, when he opens his eyes to the sight in front of him.
"Baby, come on, don't. You don't have to - got no need to - " Have to what? Have to - he can't fucking think past laboured breaths and finally getting to tread his fingers through Keeler's irresistibly long hair. "Don't you do that."
no subject
His boy would've worn his whites anyway. Maybe they'd have met anyway, a hot, heavy one night affair during one of Encke's shore leaves. Except doctor Keeler'd have never spared five for an officer who has the run, but not command of his own bloody ship, and Encke would have been too earnest in his contempt of laid back upper class civs to learn the inside of Keeler's dainty scrubs.
...like he's now learning the inside of Keeler's dainty mouth. Survival's all a realist can aim for, when his navi's such a worldly boy, because Keeler must've walked half a dozen towns, and his tongue's learned the tricks in all of them. Trust this infuriating, oblivious man to make Encke feel more painfully inadequate about his performance than every school, task and military master he's taken in his life.
He has to laugh again, hoarse and a little strained; it's what keeps him from whimpering like a third rate alley whore.
"Back rub's still better than... fuck." And then it's just that, shallow thuds, Encke's head sliding blissfully back and past his shoulders, heavy blinks and weighty moans. He can feel himself, heavy and so fucking constricted, the beat of his pulse echoing in the muscles of Keeler's welcoming throat. It can't be easy, lithe little man growing a snake's maw, but evolution and his navigator's sheer, inexhaustible will both see Encke swallowed up whole.
The difference in their proportion's too damned unreasonable for this kind of ego play, and he finds himself with his hands in Keeler's hair and undoing his braid, sobbing and pleading like a weak and will-wanting thing, because that's just the kind of puddle his lover's reduced him to. There his neural synapses go. Splat, when he opens his eyes to the sight in front of him.
"Baby, come on, don't. You don't have to - got no need to - " Have to what? Have to - he can't fucking think past laboured breaths and finally getting to tread his fingers through Keeler's irresistibly long hair. "Don't you do that."