Lay back and relax. As if Keeler is capable of that. As if Keeler isn't comprised entirely of neuroticism and eagerness in the guise of strategy. Contingencies for contingencies, backups for fallbacks, a mind running five times faster than his heart can process. He's lead navigator of the largest warship in the galaxy, and there's a reason for that distinction. It sure as hell doesn't have to do with relaxing.
Your boy. Keeler has to catch his breath every time those words trip Encke's lips. It hadn't born consideration before, when everything about this tentative romance felt so hopelessly tenuous. It wasn't worth teasing himself, giving himself a chance, when there was no possibility of--
Of this. Of his arms and legs wrapped tight around Encke, cradling the fighter in his embrace as he brings their lips together. Hungry, slow, biting and intense, and Keeler cursed Encke -- cursed himself -- for the day this started. Because it's never felt like this. He's never wanted it so keenly, never felt such need for any of the myriad lovers he'd taken on the colony. It's dangerous on more levels than the risk to their professionalism. It's fatal.
Encke has developed a sense for Keeler's tells; he'll anticipate the movement before it even happens, shift with the lean of Keeler's body as he brings them down to the bed. He's given his rightful place over Keeler, who spreads himself back across the crushed velvet and memory foam and--
And melts.
"Oh hell, Encke," Keeler breathes through a sigh. "It's like-- Like a goddamn cloud. Changed my mind. No fucking. We're going to sleep. Is that depraved enough for you?"
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Your boy. Keeler has to catch his breath every time those words trip Encke's lips. It hadn't born consideration before, when everything about this tentative romance felt so hopelessly tenuous. It wasn't worth teasing himself, giving himself a chance, when there was no possibility of--
Of this. Of his arms and legs wrapped tight around Encke, cradling the fighter in his embrace as he brings their lips together. Hungry, slow, biting and intense, and Keeler cursed Encke -- cursed himself -- for the day this started. Because it's never felt like this. He's never wanted it so keenly, never felt such need for any of the myriad lovers he'd taken on the colony. It's dangerous on more levels than the risk to their professionalism. It's fatal.
Encke has developed a sense for Keeler's tells; he'll anticipate the movement before it even happens, shift with the lean of Keeler's body as he brings them down to the bed. He's given his rightful place over Keeler, who spreads himself back across the crushed velvet and memory foam and--
And melts.
"Oh hell, Encke," Keeler breathes through a sigh. "It's like-- Like a goddamn cloud. Changed my mind. No fucking. We're going to sleep. Is that depraved enough for you?"