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Millburn’s intentions when he sat down in front of the quiet man in the corner of the cafeteria started friendly, hopeful. He tried, really, because it’s always nice to have someone during what is sure to be a long mission.
The man is attractive, in this unique sort of way that is totally Millburn’s sort of thing, all lean and sharp featured with an even sharper tongue, piercing blue eyes that stare him down over the rim of a bowl.
Millburn wasn’t going to give up.
-
Millburn sits in the row in front of Fifield during the presentation, arm along the back of the chair next to him, half turned so that he can see the man when Fifield leans forward in his own seat.
When Fifield makes an announcement of doubt at the scientists’ theories, Millburn tries to show support. For, you know, the posterity of science. It does sound a bit crazy.
Afterwards, he suits up to accompany the survey team and joins Shaw and Holloway at the rover. Millburn purposely follows Fifield, sitting across from him so their legs meet in a long solid line, knees pressing. Fifield startles, bumping their helmets together when he changes seats quickly.
Millburn just smiles and reclines, putting a foot up on the seat Fifield vacated. The stubborn stare feels like more of a reward this time.
Fifield’s warming up to him, Millburn’s sure of it.
-
Fifield calls his spectographs pups, and Millburn watches them into the darkness. When Fifield howls, head thrown back with his arms outstretched, Millburn lets himself indulge in a fantasy of Fifield howling for just the two of them.
But, right, back to the mission.
When the body is discovered, Millburn is interested. He stoops to check it out from a distance, sure, but he’s interested none the less.
Fifield though, he freaks the fuck out. There's fear in his voice when he gets in Shaw’s face, before declaring he’s going back to the ship and turning away to get into Millburn’s. “You staying?”
Millburn stutters, says, “Uh… no, ship’s good.”
Dammit.
It takes a good while and lots of wandering, but eventually Fifield calms down enough to stop swearing and near hyperventilating. He keeps frowning down at the map on the screen though, throwing looks over his shoulder in paranoia.
“Hey,” Millburn says gently. “Hey, it’s alright.”
Fifield ignores him, continuing to poke at the screen.
“Wait, would you?” Millburn asks as he slides up to Fifield’s side. “Stop for a minute, let me take a look.”
Fifield seems to give up and allow it. Millburn steadies his arm with one hand while he scrolls through the virtual rendering of the structure’s corridors. Fifield huffs, shuffling his feet while he waits, but doesn’t otherwise complain. Finally, Millburn is confident enough to decide on a path, and releases Fifield’s arm.
“Let’s go,” Millburn urges, keeping the smile on his face. “See it? I think this is it.”
“Okay. Yeah, okay.”
Fifield leads them on hesitantly and Millburn makes sure to keep close. They walk and walk, until they're turning at a random corner to find the rest of the team rushing towards them.
“Come on, guys!” Holloway screams, coming in clear and brutal over the comm.
-
They barely make it to the ship before the storm hits.
Millburn’s got a grip on Fifield he doesn’t remember seizing, dragging him towards the hatch where the others are running for when Shaw, who has gone back for her specimen, is tossed by the impact – she lands somewhere beyond where Millburn can see, with Holloway going after her.
David makes it up into the hatch, calm and cool and robotic, collecting supplies before taking off into the fray again. Millburn watches as wind overturns vehicles and equipment with its force, debris tearing through the air around David’s form. Everyone else huddles in the hatch, waiting and waiting for the ship’s doors to finish closing, the violence feeling like it could go on forever.
Suddenly, there’s David with Holloway and Shaw, stumbling into the hatch and it closes around them as the ship’s doors finish shutting. Fifield shoves Millburn away, whose now only just realizing they were still clinging to each other, as the scientists unbuckle themselves from David.
“Yay,” Millburn says weakly.
-
Millburn pokes through the papers he’s spread across the table, hiding in his room instead of his lab. He sighs and takes off his glasses to rub at tired eyes. After the adrenaline rush of almost dying, he had sat in on Shaw’s dissection, and Millburn isn’t even sure if he’s fully dealing with everything yet.
A knock outside startles him, and the door slides open, revealing a neutral Fifield.
“Uh, hi,” Millburn says, shoving his glasses back on his face.
Fifield comes to sit down on the opposite end of the couch, kicking his feet up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Millburn says, shuffling the research notes together, and then settles on shoving them to the side. "How're you doing?"
Fifield shoots him a chilly look and says, “Fine.” Okay, that’s was a stupid question.
Millburn watches Fifield pluck a rolled cigarette from behind his ear. “Is that tobacco?”
Fifield’s eyebrow raises as he fishes out a lighter from a pocket of his sweater. “Sure,” he says, striking a flame and touching it to the end of the cigarette. He takes one deep breath and exhales in Millburn’s direction with a smile, saying, “Tobacco.”
Millburn laughs, Fifield smiles, and even though it’s more of a smirk, it’s still nice.
Fifield takes another drag before offering him the – joint. Millburn is clumsy, but manages to successfully take his turn. It’s been something like forever since he’s smoked, but now seems as great of a time as any.
Millburn passes it back and Fifield takes a heavy drag, but instead of keeping to rotation he hesitates, casting Millburn a long look. Millburn sees it coming but it still surprises him, Fifield leaning in press their mouths together, hooded blue eyes watching him right back.
A tongue sweeps across the seam of his lips and Millburn opens up to him, getting a mouthful of smoke before he remembers to breathe and he accepts Fifield’s air into his own lungs. It’s silly and erotic all at once, leaving Millburn in a giddy daze when Fifield pulls back to say, “Nice, Mr. Biology.”
Millburn coughs into his hand, eyes watering. “Well thank you.”
When it’s finished, Fifield leaves the joint stubbed out in a cup. He then proceeds to climb on top of Millburn, sliding right into his lap and giving another kiss. Fifield swallows all of Millburn’s noises that can’t be helped, pressing their mouths harder together until Millburn thinks he’s lost all his breath and needs to pull away.
“Whoa,” Millburn says with what he knows is a dopey smile on his face.
He doesn’t know how much time they pass just making out, but eventually hands wander. Fifield gets his under Millburn's hoodie and shirt to touch bare skin, palms rubbing over his flanks, brushing over his nipples.
“Bed,” Millburn says, “Bed is good,” because he’s liking where this is going and wants more, pretty please?
Fifield reaches down to palm Millburn’s erection, gently squeezing him through his pants. “I think we’re fine right here.”
“Okay,” Millburn says, because whatever, he has Fifield.
Clothing is discarded, miles of pale exposed. Millburn moves his hands along strong thighs, sharp hips, a solid chest; traces the patterns of ink that follow from shoulder to neck to skull; fusses with the mohawk that yields easily to his fingers as they sink in the ginger locks.
“Can we stop petting now?” Fifield asks, but leaning into Millburn’s touch anyway.
Millburn laughs, says, “But I like it.”
Fifield rolls his eyes and slips off of Millburn to kneel in front of him, wrapping a hand around Millburn’s cock. He leans forward, giving the head a hearty lick, tongue curling at the slit before engulfing him, taking inch by inch until Millburn reaches his throat and, oh my god.
Millburn gasps, arching into the wet heat, but it’s almost too much too soon and he doesn’t want it to be over yet. “Dude, hold on,” he groans, trying to shy away.
Fifield swallows around Millburn once, twice, before letting him go, smirking up at Millburn with that smug mouth. “Yeah? What do you want?”
“For you to get up here,” Millburn says, yanking Fifield to the couch. He pushes him backgrounds, settling in between Fifield’s legs. “And for me to taste you too,” Millburn adds with a laugh, slipping his hands around to cup Fifield’s ass.
He leans down while he lifts up Fifield’s hips, just breathing over Fifield’s cock, enjoying the dirty jump it does against his face. Millburn mouths up the length of it before pulling him in, using his hands to maneuver Fifield and aid the pace.
“Fuck,” Fifield swears, hands finding Millburn’s hair and giving it a few good tugs. “Fuck, and you called me crazy?”
Millburn pulls off to say, “It’s not like I mind.”
Fifield looks at him, eyes dark and dilated with arousal, before he breaks the moment. “In my pants by your head, right pocket, get it out.”
Millburn blinks, setting Fifield back on the couch. He goes fishing around in Fifield’s discarded pants and comes back with a small tube of lube. “Oh,” he says, because, oh, okay, awesome.
“You know what to do with that or should I show you?”
“I think I got it.” Millburn says, returning to his position and licking a stripe up Fifield’s unflagging cock. He uncaps the lube and slicks his fingers, moving to suck Fifield into his mouth again.
He presses a finger into Fifield, who opens perfectly to the intrusion, breath stuttering out as Millburn slips inside past the second knuckle. He takes more and more of Fifield’s cock, thrusting shallowly in turn, until Fifield is tugging at Millburn’s hair hard enough that Millburn has to back off.
After a few shallow thrusts, Fifield’s tugging at Millburn’s hair, hard enough that Millburn has to back off.
“Jeez, are you always this impatient?” Millburn asks, and gets a gruff laugh in response.
“What, you didn’t notice that already?”
Yeah, Millburn noticed, but truthfully he can’t help but be endeared by it. And aroused.
Millburn rests his head on Fifield’s hip and kisses the damp flesh there, drawing his finger out of Fifield before pressing in a second. Fifield clamps down around him, squeezing impossibly tight around his fingers and groaning, “Fuck!”
Millburn doesn’t relent; thrusts his fingers in and out, spreads them out and then collapses back in a scissor. He works a third finger in slow and sure, filling and stretching Fifield, who rolls his hips back to try and speed things along.
Crooking his fingers, Millburn brushes over the gland that has Fifield arching his back and going still, holding it for a second before shuddering and rubbing himself down on Millburn’s fingers. He looks closer and closer to shooting at any moment, and Millburn finally pulls away, leaving Fifield to snap, “Oh, hurry up!”
“I am,” Millburn laughs, slicking his cock up and shuffling forward to press at the pink hole just waiting to let him in.
Fifield sighs, “Fuck, yes,” and pulls Millburn towards him. They wrap their arms around each other and Millburn turns his head to the side, catching Fifield’s mouth in a kiss.
He pulls back and then thrusts forward, keeps it slow and easy until he’s bottoming out, completely inside of Fifield. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”
Fifield says, “Fuck me and it’ll feel better.”
Sitting up, Millburn hooks his hands around Fifield’s legs. He barely pulls out before snapping his hips forward, grinding in harshly on every other thrust. Fifield reaches down to jerk himself off, laughing and grinning and asking hoarsely, “Is this what you wanted, to come inside of me?”
“Oh god,” Millburn moans, shakes his head, and then nods. “You gonna come too?”
“Do it, fucking do it,” he says, and Millburn does, slamming in hard and holding them together, pulsing hot and thick while Fifield writhes on him. A few strokes later, Fifield is coming over his fingers with a shout, making a mess on his stomach.
Millburn lies down on Fifield, ignoring the stickiness between them, and says intelligently, “Guh.”
“Yeah,” Fifield says, and then, “Bed?”