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anchorage
He was warned about childhood floods.
He was not warned about this. Everyone has had their age adjusted, seemingly completely at random, and the Admiral apparently decided that for the full three-hundred-year experience, he had to be properly a ghost again.
For a moment, the sheer confusion is crippling - having his senses reduced back to sight and sound after months of tactile existence feels like waking from a vivid and beautiful dream, all the moreso given the barge's absurdities, except that he knows perfectly well that he can't dream. Not like this. Not in his real life.
But he can still see his room, perpetually lit, with his multicolored wall and his golden one, can still hear the wind chime turning in its corner. And in the bed, he can see Fives, alone, already startling awake at the sudden lack of weight.
He was not warned about this. Everyone has had their age adjusted, seemingly completely at random, and the Admiral apparently decided that for the full three-hundred-year experience, he had to be properly a ghost again.
For a moment, the sheer confusion is crippling - having his senses reduced back to sight and sound after months of tactile existence feels like waking from a vivid and beautiful dream, all the moreso given the barge's absurdities, except that he knows perfectly well that he can't dream. Not like this. Not in his real life.
But he can still see his room, perpetually lit, with his multicolored wall and his golden one, can still hear the wind chime turning in its corner. And in the bed, he can see Fives, alone, already startling awake at the sudden lack of weight.
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Even now his natural response is to be fast, efficient, maybe even a little brutal, and he has to consciously remind himself that Jedao wants slow. Wants a show. So he slides his fingers back, almost delicate, careful, and moans deep in his chest as he circles his hole with one thick, blunt finger. Strokes over the tight pucker of it. Gasps as he presses just a little, just enough to barely dip in. It helps that he doesn't really want it fast, doesn't want it to hurt, it's just that years of hard-learned habit and instinct aren't going to be over-written in a few months, maybe not even years.
So he tries to think how he'd actually want it, what he'd want to feel if Jedao were physically there, behind him. How he'd drag his tongue over him until he was sloppy wet, how he'd push in slowly, taking his time. He's mostly non-verbal, panting for breath as he slides his finger out again, circles his hole again, then pushes it back in, still slow but deeper this time. Past the first knuckle as he wills his body to relax, to accept the intrusion.
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"I'm with you, vod'ika," he promises, "It's me touching you, and I love it, you're feeling this because of me, because I want you to feel it and that's why it's happening, keep going, just like that."
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"Cyare," he murmurs, his free hand clenching tight in the sheets as he works his finger deeper, pulls and stretches with more gentleness and care than he generally bothers to afford himself in any context. "Cyar'ika." For all that he's spoken it his entire life, he's not sure if he could find any words in Standard right now even under threat.
Mando'a is both safety and comfort; the one thing their Kaminiise masters had paid no attention to, an inferior language of an inferior species that was completely beneath them. So he babbles his own endearments and and pleas and barely half-formed desires in the language he'll always think of as his native tongue as he works himself open enough to slide a second finger in with the first, to twist and stretch and open himself further.
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"Give yourself some more slick, dearheart, until you're glistening with it, that's it, you're perfect." He doesn't - quite - now - want to give more specific instructions, not when he gets to see Fives making it good for himself, when he gets to see and remember every curl of his fingers, every careful proceeding press. But he doubts whether it would occur to Fives that he might be allowed to use more, without both reminder and permission.
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Jedao is right in thinking it would never occur to Fives to use more lube, that he could be so profligate with it, make that much of a mess, but he follows Jedao's instructions without hesitation when he recovers himself enough to move. Squeezes another glistening handful into his palm... and dares to give his cock a quick stroke as he slides his hand back again.
There's enough slick he's dripping with it now, running over the tender skin of his perineum and slipping down his balls. Pooling on the sheet beneath him, along with a steady stream of pre-come. He slides two fingers back in easily, groaning with the stretch of it, imagining Jedao behind him, watching. It's easy enough that he slips a third in as well, shuddering and arching at the burn and ache of it, wishing it was Jedao's fingers, or Jedao's cock.
"Come... please," he rasps, having to strain for the words even in Mando'a, gasping them out as he works his fingers deeper and his hips twist. "Where I can... can see you." Jedao's shadow might not be him, but it's a strong enough, solid enough association that it's a comfort.
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"I'm with you, vod'ika, I'm right here with you, watching you, fucking you, loving you, and I'm never going to stop."
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He curls his fingers, finds the right spot, and arches with a choked cry at the sudden hot twist of pleasure, the way it sparks along his nerves and tenses his muscles. Makes his balls go tight and his cock pull up almost impossibly high against his belly. "What... now, cyare?" he grinds out, still in Mando'a, because he doesn't want to get this wrong, wants Jedao to get what he's looking for out of it. Before Jedao can answer he shudders and arches again, whining low in his throat as he drags crooked fingers over his prostate once more.
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"Go for it, darling, I want that, I want to see your whole body strained to the breaking point and your face when you go off, your juicy cock pumping like a dire cannon and your needy hole clutching tight, make it happen for me, whatever you need, whatever you want, just take it -"
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He's not going to be able to finish this way, he knows that much; so kriffing close but not able to quite tip over that edge. So he drops his shoulder to the bed, taking his weight off his forearm and freeing his hand. It's awkward as hell, yes, but it lets him reach down and get his hand around himself without having to pull his fingers free. Let's him slide back his foreskin and drag a thumb across the head of his cock, smearing slick and precome around, then drag it under the flared head, shuddering at the sensation.
And then he properly applies himself, because he wants this, he wants it to be kriffing spectacular for Jedao. So he gets a good grip and starts to stroke, matches the rhythm with his other hand and every third stroke he makes sure to hit that spot, to send sparks dancing along his nerves in the best possible way. "Keep... talking... beloved," he asks, even his Mando slurring with his accent now. "Please." He's so close, all he needs now is Jedao's voice.
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Fives whines, high in his throat, and he can't manage to keep his eyes as that voice wraps around him almost like a touch, gliding over his skin and shuddering along his nerves. He can feel heat coiling tight in his belly, his balls pulling up as he rocks frantically, jerkily, between one hand and the other, between his fingers and his fist.
"Jed'ika... cyar'ika... ner kar'ta," he manages to gasp, and then the tension breaks, like a spring, drawn too tight, releasing with a snap as he shudders and arches, pulling his fingers free so he can brace himself better as he comes in hot, thick pulses over his hand and his belly and the bed, and behind his eyelids all he can see is Jedao's face, those dark eyes and that wicked smile from the mirror.
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He doesn't stop talking, but his voice shifts into a different register after Fives climaxes, slower as Fives' breathing slows, softer as the trembling in his muscles turns over from taut tension to boneless exhaustion.
"Fives, vod'ika, ner'cyare. I love the noises you make, I love your breathing - sometimes when I can't sleep I just listen to you breathe. That's my favorite part of sleeping tangled up on top of you, that I can always feel you with me, quiet and steady. I feel so safe with you, safe from things I can't even describe because they've been there as long as I can remember, like trying to explain sunlight if I'd only ever lived on stations. I'm not alone with you, Fives, even with the people I loved, before, I was so alone. There's no one I trust like you, there's no one I need like you. I didn't know I could feel like this about anyone. I didn't imagine I could be this happy, just to have you next to me."
He did love Ruo; he believes that, he knows that. But they were children, and it was a child's love, bright and pure and simple. Not easy - but simple. He loved Gized with his whole rotten heart, but he could never trust her. He isn't sane, isn't magically someone new, but sometimes it almost feels like it.
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"Mine," he almost whispers when he's finally got enough breath back for it. "My ori'vod. My cyare." He shudders once more, draws in a stuttering breath, and pushes himself over to roll onto his side and then his back. He's an absolute mess; covered in sweat and come, his usually tidy hair a mess, even his goatee looking slightly mussed. And his eyes are still closed as he reaches to wipe his come-covered hand on a patch of sheet past the true disaster where he'd knelt.
He finally opens his eyes, still dark pools surrounded by a barely there ring of gold, blinks a couple times, then focuses on those unblinking golden eyes again. He looks a little dazed, still, fucked out and blissed out, and his lips twitch into a warm, slow smile. "Mine, Jed'ika," he repeats. "Never leave you alone."
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"Yours," he echoes, and it hurts in a chest he doesn't have, hurts like sensation coming back after too long in the cold. I'm your gun, he said, over and over, hated it and wanted to mean it all at once. Didn't need it - but wanted, in some quiet desperate place.
He isn't Fives' gun. I'm your fucking general, he remembers snarling, and he feels warm all through, like an edgeless patch of air flooded with afternoon sun.
"Yours, Fives, always."
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"I think... I need to sleep soon," he murmurs. "Wish I could do it with you curled up against me." He should clean up first, himself again, the floor probably, the bed. But he feels ridiculously languid and satisfied, like moving is entirely too much to ask. "Do you want me to turn on music, or... or a video, before I do? You can't read, can you?" He frowns, slightly more alert as he thinks it through. "Couldn't advance the pages." He wonders if there's some way to fix that. "Unless we could set it to automatically advance at a pre-determined speed...."
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It does Jedao's flayed old heart good to watch him rest, to see the smoothness of brief and easy peace on his too-young too-old face.
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"Don't want you t'be bored and lonely," he adds, voice fading slightly as he relaxes further.
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"I'm watching over you. That's all I need."