Chapter Text
It’s a week of leave, better for the colonists since they’re closer, the shuttle tickets are cheaper, everyone’s mood lightening at the announcement. It’s the waiting that’s the worst, the anticipation for some, scrambling to make plans and travel arrangements, getting bags packed up for the trip. I wait until I’m sure, as long as I dare to wait, before I ask him.
We’re sitting in the storage room, dressed back into our clothes but reluctant to leave, the smell of sweat and sex still in the air, still clinging to the soft dusty hue of his skin when I kiss his neck, mouth at the beat of his pulse, so that he hums and breathes softly, the air trembling so it’s almost a laugh.
I run my hand through his hair, pulling aside his bangs so that I can see the soft flush across his cheeks, the almost shyness in the way he lowers his head while tipping into my touch at the same time. Even though we just did it, I could easily strip him down again, run my hands all over his body, kiss the places where he needs kissing. It makes my mouth hot against his skin, eager, so I lick his neck and almost bite, nipping just enough to make him gasp.
He splays a hand against my chest, pushing at me just slightly. There’s almost a smile on his face, chin tight against his chest and shoulders raised, cringing in a way that’s so shy and reserved because he gets flustered sometimes, unsure of me, of us. I don’t mind, not with the taste of him still across the back of my tongue, the sound of his breathless little cries still in the air.
I pull away, let him calm down, let us both calm down since I’ve got half an erection tenting my pants. He looks up and sideways at me, still flustered, tucking his hands between his knees so he looks even smaller, even more precious.
It just blurts out of me, not exactly like I’d practiced, but I’m suddenly nervous about what he’ll say, so overwhelmed by how much I want him to say yes. “Do you want to come with me on leave?”
It startles him, makes his back stiffen so that he stops slumping, stops looking small and starts looking tough. Sometimes I’m not sure what I’ve said or done to make him go on edge like this. He starts to frown, mouth twisting, not saying anything because he rarely does.
“You don’t have to,” I say quickly. “If you already have plans. I’m sure your family will want to see you.”
It was the wrong thing entirely to say. I see it in the quick, twitching flash of bitterness and anger, the way he starts to scowl, less confused now and more frustrated, like he gets sometimes when he can’t understand something. I don’t know if this means Deimos doesn’t have a family, or if he’s sure they won’t want to see him.
“You should come with me,” I say, trying to sound light. Trying to make it sound more appealing, more fun. I don’t want to sound desperate, don’t want to let him know how much I’ll miss him otherwise, how I’ll spend the whole week thinking of him if he isn’t with me, like I always think about him when we’re apart. My life is just a strung together series of stolen moments, times when we can be together. And then I add, quietly, softly, “I’d like it if you did.”
I think maybe it won’t work, maybe it’ll backfire, but it doesn’t. Pink brushes over his cheeks, makes him almost start to smile. He hunches his shoulders, sort of shrugging, sort of agreeing, maybe confused again about why I’d want him along.
“I’m going Earthside,” I say. “Have you been?” Because he’s clearly from the colonies, with the way he and Cain look and talk, the slight, not even anything accent to his words sometimes.
It gets his attention, makes his eyes widen. He shakes his head, quick, then again, slow. “Never,” he says, speaking in his beautiful hushed voice when I don’t expect him to. “Want to.” And the smile, which wasn’t even much of a smile to begin with, slides from his face. His gaze drops, his shoulders droop, all of him wilting down so that I realize he’s going to refuse. “Can’t,” he says.
“I’ll buy your ticket,” I say quickly. I’d been wondering if it would be an issue.
Makes him scowl, glance up at me, say, “No.”
“Deimos.” I put my fingers through his hair, petting at him until he relaxes, stops glaring, starts to look sweet again. “I’d really like to spend the time with you. Let me buy your ticket. Consider it a birthday present if you have to.”
“Not my birthday,” he says. But with the corner of his mouth twitching up, grey eyes soft so I know he’s about to give in, about to let me be nice to him.
“Christmas present, then.” I kiss the side of his head, nudging him with it so he sways, nudges me back. Puts his arm around me, hugs me, so my chest gets tight.
“Not Christmas either,” he says.
“Well. Didn’t get you anything last year, so. Sorry it’s late.”
His arms tighten, the top of his head butting up against my chin as he scoots even close, almost in my lap, putting his sweet mouth into my ear so his breath tickles, so the words can be quieter than air, so they’re not even anything. “Didn’t get you anything either.”
He straddles my lap, slim thighs pressed close, hands on my shoulders so I have to tip my face up to see him. He lowers over me, kissing me, deep and slow, bold in a way he often isn’t. His fingers curl through the back of my neck, plucking and combing my hair. “Sorry it’s late,” he says, with the most delicious, teasing little smile.
I set my hands on his hips, cup the firm curve of his ass. He kisses me again, pulls my face close to his, runs his hands over my shoulders and then slides them under my jacket, exploring and teasing so that we’re both flushed, a bit breathless. He leans back, looks at me, smiling with a glint of wickedness, no longer being shy because he knows what he wants, knows what he’s doing.
He slips from my lap, kneels on the floor. I scoot toward the edge of the storage crate, fumble my hands over the clasp of my belt, the fastenings of my pants. He makes it difficult by plucking at me, rubbing my thighs, rubbing himself against me, pushing up the hem of my shirt to kiss my belly, the trailing line of dark hair that leads down into my waistband. His little hands fold over mine, smooth and steady, making quick work of the obstacles.
He pushes the fabric down, gets my cock out to stroke. He’s got small hands, slim little fingers, so precious and fragile with a sharp edge, all spun glass and beauty. He looks at me, eyes bright, the grey of them soft, gentle, something of a smile as he lowers his head, licks and nuzzles, teasing me. The stroke of his tongue is rough textured with a smooth motion, wet and heat, rubbing his lips and face against my cock, so there’s this wildness of watching him close his eyes, seeing the dribbling wet pre-cum smear over his smile.
“Deimos,” I say, unashamedly begging him with it, like I didn’t just come twice in him already. He is so hot, so much heat, tight and supple, fuck, I’m always hard for him and he knows it, knows he can play with me as long as he wants, until I’ll beg him more.
He pushes a hand against my hip, thumb working a circle into my skin, still just rubbing and nuzzling rather than kissing and sucking. He slowly moves his hand, curls it over the base, brings his lips to the tip and lets me sample the wet heat of him. Small, puckering kind of nips, until I lose control and buck forward, thrust toward him, eager for him. It makes him smile, look up at me.
“Tsk,” he says, clicking his tongue. The gesture flicks against my cock, so that I suck in a gasp and force myself still. He smiles again, wider, closes his eyes and swallows me in one long, slow, smooth dip of his head.
It’s so good, he’s so good, I nearly pop right there, balls tight and breath ragged. He’s got his tongue against me, stroking, moving along the shaft and across the head. He’s wet and heat, irresistible. I put my hand against the back of his head, not pushing, just holding him there, because he likes when I do that for him. I thrust toward him only slightly, only when he pulls away, never demanding more than he’s giving but letting him know I like it, that I’m eager for him, that he’s making me feel good.
He hums, slightly, soft little noises that aren’t words. Eyes still closed, face almost serene, so that he’s beautiful and so sexy, so fucking hot with the way he’s sucking my cock, the way he takes me all the way down without flinching. He’s so good at this, so unbelievably good.
I tell him that, tell him, “Aah, Deimos! Fuck, baby, so good.”
Makes him hum again, happily, working his hand against me now with, slicking his saliva over me. He squeezes my balls so that I jump, hiss, say, “Fuck!” And he laughs, not making any noise with it but amused all the same.
He swirls his tongue over the head, flicks the tip into the salty slit, slides his lips all the way down again. He pulls at me, coaxing, increasing the pace of his hand and mouth. He gets his whole body into it, arching toward me, one hand against my thigh, kneading deep into the muscle, the other squeezing and stroking my cock.
I roll my shoulders, groan, getting closer now that he’s going faster. It’s harder to keep still now, hips rocking forward to match his rhythm, relishing the tight heat of him, remembering the sweet feel of being inside him, joining our bodies together, moving into him and tasting his soft little cries on my lips. “Oh, fuck, baby, I’m—“
He hums, encouraging, so that I pet his hair in a way that’s almost frantic, combing the dark strands, fingers twitching so that I have to stop before I pull hard, accidentally hurt him. I put my hand on his shoulder instead, where I can dig in and not worry so much, not bother him with it, getting so tight and hard all over because of what he’s doing, how unbelievably good he is.
And I’m watching him, watching the bob of his dark head into me, the flex of his slim little hand against my cock, the way he slides out and back in again, wet heat, tight flesh, lips tucked over his teeth so he can pretend to bite. He kneads at my thigh, no doubt exactly fucking aware of how close I am, what he’s doing to me, unrelenting so I know he wants me to.
“Gonna—“ I gasp, tighten my hand on his shoulder, everything tense as the pressure builds past the point of no return. “Aah!” Like one of his noises, the things he says that aren’t anything, just wordless shouting as it’s white heat, lightning, tension unleashing and everything tumbling. I thrust into him, hips jerking in a way that’s helpless because I can’t stop them, can’t think, everything beautiful.
He swallows at first and then pulls back, holds the base of my twitching cock, lets me see the spurts go over his face. It’s all the fucking hotter and I come hard, shake with it, whisper, “Oh, fuck!” in a way that’s strangled, tight like the heat of him.
I’m breathless afterward, chest heaving, mesmerized by the look of him kneeling there between my legs, the sweetness of his closed eyes and the way he gently kisses the sated softness of my cock. He has my come on his face still, on his cheek, and I reach my hand down, cup his face, rub my thumb through the smear. He smiles, opens his eyes so it’s wicked, turns his mouth into my hand and licks my thumb. And it’s hot, unbelievably hot, because of his smile, the soft sheen of his eyes.
He gets to his feet, hand braced against my knee. He starts to just rub his face into the inside of his elbow, but I catch his hand, stop him, quickly shrug out of my jacket and then take off my shirt. I pull him by the hand, so he’s between my thighs, tucked close. I wipe the back of my shirt over his face, scrubbing his cheeks, making him scrunch up his face and smile.
“I love my present,” I tell him, when my orgasm-shocked brain can form words again. “Can’t wait for this year’s.”
“Aah,” he says. He leans close, nudges his nose behind my jaw, kisses the crest of my ear. He presses his forehead into mine, his bangs tickling, breath soft against me. Speaks sweetly, his pretty little voice hardly more than air. “Me too.”