TALK TO YOUR MOIRAIL, GALLEY.
Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

When it’s all over, you sprawl there with Galley flopped on top of you, feeling all the bites and scratches and scorch marks start to ache, and you find yourself tracing satisfied designs on his sticky-out shoulderblade with your claws.

Welp. That sure was some hatesex you just had.

With your ashen bro.

Who may or may not now be your spadebro instead.

That would be kind of great.

But it would leave Pancho in the lurch.

But she was never in it for the long haul anyway, she just wanted to sort her shit and be done.

But you really like troubleshooting Galley’s problems.

But goddamn does he piss you off.

If you go with this, does that mean you can no longer help him sort his shit?

God damn but the guy fucks like a champion, though. You feel like you got run over by the sexy bus.

BC: my shame xs now complete.

BC: uh.

BC: x’m not blamxng you for thxs, just so you know, but.

BC: oh god.

BC: we serxously just dxd that out loud.

BC: hurry up and answer your phone asshole

BC: argh come on

BC: x cannot make any noxse wxth my throat anymore. x dunno xf you notcxed but x sort of have a paralyzed squawkbox at the best of txmes and xt would just be super cool xf x could keep the few vowels x remaxn capable of pronouncxng, xf that xs okay wxth you.

BC: pxng, asshole.

BC: pxng.

BC: fuck. »8[

You blow a sad little raspberry against his sternum.

You grope around vaguely for your phone, but can’t reach it. It keeps beeping. You give a long-suffering groan, heave him off you, and roll on top of him so you can get it.

You read.

"Huh," you muse at last. You prop your head on your hand and grin saucily down at him. "You gotta admit it was pretty good, though."

BC: well yes, stupxd, xt was excellent. xt’s also not the poxnt.

You smack him high on the shoulder, trying not to sting him too badly.

BC: x don’t know why x dxd xt, though.

It takes you a while to answer. “I dunno, only you can answer that, man. And I reckon you kinda need to. Cuz if you was just mad at the whole world like you always are, an’ you took it out on me ‘cuz i was handy — well, I don’t grudge it, it was great, but it oughtta not happen again. Iffen that was personal, though —”

For the first time you can remember, you find yourself afraid to admit to having feelings. It’s just so goddamn weird, you don’t know how to deal with it. You’ve never choked on feelings talk before.

To cover it, you sit up and get your smokes out of your shirt pocket. “I already done scorched hell outta Bel’s pillows,” you shrug. “Lil’ ash won’t hurt none.”

As you inhale the first lungful of smoke, you realize that if you blew it in Galley’s face, he’d get mad at you again, maybe jump you again, maybe that would make the decision for you — but you can’t bring yourself to do it, not without hearing his answer, so you just sit there with smoke trickling out your sniffports like a dragon.

BC: well no xt’s not that

BC: x don’t thxnk x feel that way about you, xs all.

BC: x don’t thxnk x hate you at all.

BC: x hate me.

BC: and my moxraxl too a lxttle bxt sometxmes.

BC: whatever. x don’t feel bad about xt.

Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

"You th-think you invented psionics? Fffor all your self-loathing, you’re aah arrogant as fuck, Zaps Galgal.” You match his motion, clinging like he might try to escape, claws digging in, and though there’s so much you want to berate him for, your eyes are rolling back in your head and you need to kiss him more than you need air.

Pinpoints of green light singe black freckles all over the cushions as climax overtakes you.

He singed you. He singed you with his brain and he called you arrogant. That dirty battery-grade little fucking… You try to scream at him and all that comes out is a wild animal noise, like a growl or maybe a dying cholerbear. You suck his earlobe as you come, angry that the thought that sticks with you even after the vapor lock sets in is that, for just a split second, you feel grateful, because last somebody on this goddamn back-assward chunk of rock and atmosphere gets you.

When it’s all over, you sprawl there with Galley flopped on top of you, feeling all the bites and scratches and scorch marks start to ache, and you find yourself tracing satisfied designs on his sticky-out shoulderblade with your claws.

Welp. That sure was some hatesex you just had.

With your ashen bro.

Who may or may not now be your spadebro instead.

That would be kind of great.

But it would leave Pancho in the lurch.

But she was never in it for the long haul anyway, she just wanted to sort her shit and be done.

But you really like troubleshooting Galley’s problems.

But goddamn does he piss you off.

If you go with this, does that mean you can no longer help him sort his shit?

God damn but the guy fucks like a champion, though. You feel like you got run over by the sexy bus.

BC: my shame xs now complete.

BC: uh.

BC: x’m not blamxng you for thxs, just so you know, but.

BC: oh god.

BC: we serxously just dxd that out loud.

BC: hurry up and answer your phone asshole

BC: argh come on

BC: x cannot make any noxse wxth my throat anymore. x dunno xf you notcxed but x sort of have a paralyzed squawkbox at the best of txmes and xt would just be super cool xf x could keep the few vowels x remaxn capable of pronouncxng, xf that xs okay wxth you.

BC: pxng, asshole.

BC: pxng.

BC: fuck. »8[

You blow a sad little raspberry against his sternum.

You grope around vaguely for your phone, but can’t reach it. It keeps beeping. You give a long-suffering groan, heave him off you, and roll on top of him so you can get it.

You read.

"Huh," you muse at last. You prop your head on your hand and grin saucily down at him. "You gotta admit it was pretty good, though."

BC: well yes, stupxd, xt was excellent. xt’s also not the poxnt.

You smack him high on the shoulder, trying not to sting him too badly.

BC: x don’t know why x dxd xt, though.

Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

"You th-think you invented psionics? Fffor all your self-loathing, you’re aah arrogant as fuck, Zaps Galgal.” You match his motion, clinging like he might try to escape, claws digging in, and though there’s so much you want to berate him for, your eyes are rolling back in your head and you need to kiss him more than you need air.

Pinpoints of green light singe black freckles all over the cushions as climax overtakes you.

He singed you. He singed you with his brain and he called you arrogant. That dirty battery-grade little fucking… You try to scream at him and all that comes out is a wild animal noise, like a growl or maybe a dying cholerbear. You suck his earlobe as you come, angry that the thought that sticks with you even after the vapor lock sets in is that, for just a split second, you feel grateful, because last somebody on this goddamn back-assward chunk of rock and atmosphere gets you.

When it’s all over, you sprawl there with Galley flopped on top of you, feeling all the bites and scratches and scorch marks start to ache, and you find yourself tracing satisfied designs on his sticky-out shoulderblade with your claws.

Welp. That sure was some hatesex you just had.

With your ashen bro.

Who may or may not now be your spadebro instead.

That would be kind of great.

But it would leave Pancho in the lurch.

But she was never in it for the long haul anyway, she just wanted to sort her shit and be done.

But you really like troubleshooting Galley’s problems.

But goddamn does he piss you off.

If you go with this, does that mean you can no longer help him sort his shit?

God damn but the guy fucks like a champion, though. You feel like you got run over by the sexy bus.

BC: my shame xs now complete.

BC: uh.

BC: x’m not blamxng you for thxs, just so you know, but.

BC: oh god.

BC: we serxously just dxd that out loud.

BC: hurry up and answer your phone asshole

BC: argh come on

BC: x cannot make any noxse wxth my throat anymore. x dunno xf you notcxed but x sort of have a paralyzed squawkbox at the best of txmes and xt would just be super cool xf x could keep the few vowels x remaxn capable of pronouncxng, xf that xs okay wxth you.

BC: pxng, asshole.

BC: pxng.

BC: fuck. »8[

You blow a sad little raspberry against his sternum.

Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

"I don’t see your name on it," you taunt, and do it some more. It makes him writhe in the most awesome way, makes you feel like you’re winning, even though he’s still doing it to you as well and you are, to be honest, wriggling just as much.

Your phone chimes, somewhere among your discarded clothes. You snort-laugh. “Use your words, dude, you think I’m — hng — gonna stop to read shit right n-now?”

Oh fuck, this is getting way too good. You’re both sweaty and out of breath and wreathed in sparks. His lips are swollen from your teeth, and it makes him gorgeous in a way you never thought he was before; the vertigo of Where Did These Feelings Come From mixes with the ache of pleasure low in your belly, and you fall on him with fresh vigor, desperate to make him come first.

He ignores your ping and you want to smack him for ignoring it but oh fuck what is he touching in there with that psionic prod, how is he… Oh man. Oh man.

You are incensed. There’s nothing else you’re good at and he knows how to do it better. You’re so pissed off at him for knowing more about how to do this than you do.

"Who taught you that?" you grunt, pounding down. "Fuckxn’ cxvxlxan.”

"You th-think you invented psionics? Fffor all your self-loathing, you’re aah arrogant as fuck, Zaps Galgal.” You match his motion, clinging like he might try to escape, claws digging in, and though there’s so much you want to berate him for, your eyes are rolling back in your head and you need to kiss him more than you need air.

Pinpoints of green light singe black freckles all over the cushions as climax overtakes you.

He singed you. He singed you with his brain and he called you arrogant. That dirty battery-grade little fucking… You try to scream at him and all that comes out is a wild animal noise, like a growl or maybe a dying cholerbear. You suck his earlobe as you come, angry that the thought that sticks with you even after the vapor lock sets in is that, for just a split second, you feel grateful, because last somebody on this goddamn back-assward chunk of rock and atmosphere gets you.

Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

"Holy shit,” you yelp. He’s bigger than Sigs, and that’s saying something. But like hell you’re going to flinch from his challenge. You shove back to meet him, while you both bite and scratch and suck up bruises on each other’s skin, until you’re aligned again and your own bulge can initiate some payback.

Some part of you is still vaguely aware that you may have ruined your relationship with him. The rest of you is not listening. Zaps thinks he can push you around with his tantrums and his drama, he’s got another think coming.

Also, where the fuck does he get off being sexy when he’s being such a little shit?

Oops, you said that out loud.

You want to say so many things right now, to chew him out for not getting why you’re so upset, for handling you, for being decent like it’s just another day when your world is destroyed, but your throat is on fire and you taste blood at the back of your tongue. Instead you answer his sass with a low pulse of psionics right where Bel likes it, adjusted for a greenblod’s slightly less truckish constitution. Or, at least, you hope it is. You’ve never done this with anyone who didn’t at least have the hemoclearance to own you before.

The thought makes you so mad you kiss him again.

Your whole body jerks, and you roar into his mouth, shock and pleasure and gleeful indignation. Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it? Well, you might not be able to throw a ship, but when it comes to psionic precision, you wrote the fuckin’ book. Let’s see how you like it, smartass.

"What, no," you whimper. "That’s my thxng, that’s… Oh.”

You have only ever used psionics on yourself before. Having someone else do it is just… well, it feels like cheating.

BC: douche

"I don’t see your name on it," you taunt, and do it some more. It makes him writhe in the most awesome way, makes you feel like you’re winning, even though he’s still doing it to you as well and you are, to be honest, wriggling just as much.

Your phone chimes, somewhere among your discarded clothes. You snort-laugh. “Use your words, dude, you think I’m — hng — gonna stop to read shit right n-now?”

Oh fuck, this is getting way too good. You’re both sweaty and out of breath and wreathed in sparks. His lips are swollen from your teeth, and it makes him gorgeous in a way you never thought he was before; the vertigo of Where Did These Feelings Come From mixes with the ache of pleasure low in your belly, and you fall on him with fresh vigor, desperate to make him come first.

He ignores your ping and you want to smack him for ignoring it but oh fuck what is he touching in there with that psionic prod, how is he… Oh man. Oh man.

You are incensed. There’s nothing else you’re good at and he knows how to do it better. You’re so pissed off at him for knowing more about how to do this than you do.

"Who taught you that?" you grunt, pounding down. "Fuckxn’ cxvxlxan.”

Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

"Holy shit,” you yelp. He’s bigger than Sigs, and that’s saying something. But like hell you’re going to flinch from his challenge. You shove back to meet him, while you both bite and scratch and suck up bruises on each other’s skin, until you’re aligned again and your own bulge can initiate some payback.

Some part of you is still vaguely aware that you may have ruined your relationship with him. The rest of you is not listening. Zaps thinks he can push you around with his tantrums and his drama, he’s got another think coming.

Also, where the fuck does he get off being sexy when he’s being such a little shit?

Oops, you said that out loud.

You want to say so many things right now, to chew him out for not getting why you’re so upset, for handling you, for being decent like it’s just another day when your world is destroyed, but your throat is on fire and you taste blood at the back of your tongue. Instead you answer his sass with a low pulse of psionics right where Bel likes it, adjusted for a greenblod’s slightly less truckish constitution. Or, at least, you hope it is. You’ve never done this with anyone who didn’t at least have the hemoclearance to own you before.

The thought makes you so mad you kiss him again.

Your whole body jerks, and you roar into his mouth, shock and pleasure and gleeful indignation. Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it? Well, you might not be able to throw a ship, but when it comes to psionic precision, you wrote the fuckin’ book. Let’s see how you like it, smartass.

"What, no," you whimper. "That’s my thxng, that’s… Oh.”

You have only ever used psionics on yourself before. Having someone else do it is just… well, it feels like cheating.

BC: douche

Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

"Are you kidding me, I just fuckin’ put those on you,” you yelp indignantly — and then your mating apparatus goes Dude, bro wants to hatefuck and he is HOT when he’s mad, you gonna do something about that? and you toss your glasses aside preparatory to scrambling out of your own clothes as fast as you can go.

"Bxte you agaxn xf you don’t shut up," you cough. "Goddamn."

Goodbye, unknown squirrel shirt.

Hello, hormones and overflowing rage. Also bulges. Hello to those, especially.

This is such a bad idea, but in a way, you sort of feel entitled to making a few mistakes of your own volition right about now. Who’s the mindless lowblood slave? Not you.

You bite his ear just to punctuate your interior fury, but this time it’s just a nasty little nip that you follow up with a lick that’s even meaner.

That gets a breathless grunt out of you. You dig your claws into his hip and grind down hard. He’s so bony, goddamn, and it makes you mad — why does it make you mad? Why the hell would it make you mad like this? Not like it’s his fault he made suicide step one after you risked your life by telling him your affiliations.

And he whined and dug in his heels about PT every fucking night.

And bitched about every little goddamn thing even when there was no point.

And made it as hard as he could for anyone to help him, while refusing to become more self-sufficient so he wouldn’t need that help.

And turned up his nose at the meals you and Pancho busted ass to make, and made you fight him for every fucking calorie that went down his neck, no, why would you be mad about that?

"You wanna throw a tantrum, boy, you throw it right at my fuckin’ face, it ain’t gonna leave a scratch. You think you’re trouble? You ain’t seen trouble." You grab a handful of his hair, do your damnedest to swallow his tongue, throw a leg over him, and rub your nook down on his bulge, daring him in.

"Don’t call me boy, you prxck." you rasp, and roll your hops forward extra hard to hide your embarrassment at how much your voice sounds like a duck’s quack right now.

There. Now you’re fucking each other. Hope he’s satisfied with himself.

"Holy shit,” you yelp. He’s bigger than Sigs, and that’s saying something. But like hell you’re going to flinch from his challenge. You shove back to meet him, while you both bite and scratch and suck up bruises on each other’s skin, until you’re aligned again and your own bulge can initiate some payback.

Some part of you is still vaguely aware that you may have ruined your relationship with him. The rest of you is not listening. Zaps thinks he can push you around with his tantrums and his drama, he’s got another think coming.

Also, where the fuck does he get off being sexy when he’s being such a little shit?

Oops, you said that out loud.

You want to say so many things right now, to chew him out for not getting why you’re so upset, for handling you, for being decent like it’s just another day when your world is destroyed, but your throat is on fire and you taste blood at the back of your tongue. Instead you answer his sass with a low pulse of psionics right where Bel likes it, adjusted for a greenblod’s slightly less truckish constitution. Or, at least, you hope it is. You’ve never done this with anyone who didn’t at least have the hemoclearance to own you before.

The thought makes you so mad you kiss him again.

Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

"Are you kidding me, I just fuckin’ put those on you,” you yelp indignantly — and then your mating apparatus goes Dude, bro wants to hatefuck and he is HOT when he’s mad, you gonna do something about that? and you toss your glasses aside preparatory to scrambling out of your own clothes as fast as you can go.

"Bxte you agaxn xf you don’t shut up," you cough. "Goddamn."

Goodbye, unknown squirrel shirt.

Hello, hormones and overflowing rage. Also bulges. Hello to those, especially.

This is such a bad idea, but in a way, you sort of feel entitled to making a few mistakes of your own volition right about now. Who’s the mindless lowblood slave? Not you.

You bite his ear just to punctuate your interior fury, but this time it’s just a nasty little nip that you follow up with a lick that’s even meaner.

That gets a breathless grunt out of you. You dig your claws into his hip and grind down hard. He’s so bony, goddamn, and it makes you mad — why does it make you mad? Why the hell would it make you mad like this? Not like it’s his fault he made suicide step one after you risked your life by telling him your affiliations.

And he whined and dug in his heels about PT every fucking night.

And bitched about every little goddamn thing even when there was no point.

And made it as hard as he could for anyone to help him, while refusing to become more self-sufficient so he wouldn’t need that help.

And turned up his nose at the meals you and Pancho busted ass to make, and made you fight him for every fucking calorie that went down his neck, no, why would you be mad about that?

"You wanna throw a tantrum, boy, you throw it right at my fuckin’ face, it ain’t gonna leave a scratch. You think you’re trouble? You ain’t seen trouble." You grab a handful of his hair, do your damnedest to swallow his tongue, throw a leg over him, and rub your nook down on his bulge, daring him in.

"Don’t call me boy, you prxck." you rasp, and roll your hops forward extra hard to hide your embarrassment at how much your voice sounds like a duck’s quack right now.

There. Now you’re fucking each other. Hope he’s satisfied with himself.

Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

"Yeah, I wonder fuckin WHY?" you yell back as you try to keep his snapping teeth away from your face. You don’t want to throw him off the platform, he could really get hurt, but goddammit this is not cool, this is not how ashen works —

— actually, nobody knows how ashen works —

— and when you manage to put him on his back and are looming over him with your hands on his skinny shoulders, you catch yourself licking his blood off your teeth and realizing that you really like that fire in his eyes.

Ummm.

Oh, it’s on. “Fucker,” you hiss, “Don’t you, don’t you just thxnk you can look at me lxke you know me, fucker, you don’t know shxt!”

You punch at his face and he catches it easily. “Fucker!” you snarl again, getting super creative. “X’m gonna…” You move to yank your fist out of his grip, and end up gnashing teeth with him instead. It’s clumsy and messy and entirely accidental, you are absolutely certain.

Welp.

Aw shit, this is such a bad idea.

This is the best bad idea you ever had, in fact.

When you pull slowly back from the first hatesnog of your life, connected by strings of blood and yellow-and-green sparks that sting your lips in the most exciting way, you look into his furious eyes and drawl slowly, “Brother, what you don’t know about me could bury Bel’s library like a fuckin’ landslide. You think I’m harmless just cuz your shit rolls off me?”

"Shaddup," you snarl into his cheek. "Stupxd.”

Well how about that, you’re so angry your pants are removing themselves of their own volition.

"Are you kidding me, I just fuckin’ put those on you,” you yelp indignantly — and then your mating apparatus goes Dude, bro wants to hatefuck and he is HOT when he’s mad, you gonna do something about that? and you toss your glasses aside preparatory to scrambling out of your own clothes as fast as you can go.

"Bxte you agaxn xf you don’t shut up," you cough. "Goddamn."

Goodbye, unknown squirrel shirt.

Hello, hormones and overflowing rage. Also bulges. Hello to those, especially.

This is such a bad idea, but in a way, you sort of feel entitled to making a few mistakes of your own volition right about now. Who’s the mindless lowblood slave? Not you.

You bite his ear just to punctuate your interior fury, but this time it’s just a nasty little nip that you follow up with a lick that’s even meaner.

Galley: Dream

armchairdesperado:

bustedcrankshaft:

armchairdesperado:

"Yeah, I wonder fuckin WHY?" you yell back as you try to keep his snapping teeth away from your face. You don’t want to throw him off the platform, he could really get hurt, but goddammit this is not cool, this is not how ashen works —

— actually, nobody knows how ashen works —

— and when you manage to put him on his back and are looming over him with your hands on his skinny shoulders, you catch yourself licking his blood off your teeth and realizing that you really like that fire in his eyes.

Ummm.

Oh, it’s on. “Fucker,” you hiss, “Don’t you, don’t you just thxnk you can look at me lxke you know me, fucker, you don’t know shxt!”

You punch at his face and he catches it easily. “Fucker!” you snarl again, getting super creative. “X’m gonna…” You move to yank your fist out of his grip, and end up gnashing teeth with him instead. It’s clumsy and messy and entirely accidental, you are absolutely certain.

Welp.

Aw shit, this is such a bad idea.

This is the best bad idea you ever had, in fact.

When you pull slowly back from the first hatesnog of your life, connected by strings of blood and yellow-and-green sparks that sting your lips in the most exciting way, you look into his furious eyes and drawl slowly, “Brother, what you don’t know about me could bury Bel’s library like a fuckin’ landslide. You think I’m harmless just cuz your shit rolls off me?”

"Shaddup," you snarl into his cheek. "Stupxd.”

Well how about that, you’re so angry your pants are removing themselves of their own volition.