#Sharp Dressed Man is my first story BUILT on making sure all events followed each other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ziracona · 3 years

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[The Kid (Fgo AU fic) pt. 1, ... 7, 8, 9, ?]

He was completely alone.

That was the first thing I thought when I saw his face for an instant through an open doorway: that I had never ever seen anyone who looked so completely alone.

I’ve been alone; I’ve been lonely. Not too bad, not most of my life anyway. My brother and I are close, and we’ve spent a lot of time together. For most of my life, it’s been like having a built-in best friend. But. We’re different from each other too.

Sometimes he’s interested in something I’m not, or doing stuff for school or a sport, or I am, and we don’t see each other so much. There have been times when we fought, or he didn’t want to hang around so much with his sister, or I didn’t, and we were further apart. Then there have been times where we were in different places—different schools, different programs. That’s most recently, and it’s been really hard. We still see each other a lot, because we try to, but having a twin was like having a part of me almost—a best friend I saw every single day. High school, I was lonely a lot. I had a hard time making friends, and got teased a lot—I mean, I wasn’t like, really unfortunate—I-I had friends. Sort of, anyway—I wasn’t an outcast. But I was lonely.

I’ve been lonely a lot, and for a whole lot of reasons, no matter how hard I try to find people, or be able to see the ones I have.

But never anything like that.

Being lonely, it’s one of the worst feelings in the world, I think. One of the worst ones I’ve ever felt. But I knew, looking at him, that he was experiencing it in a way I couldn’t even imagine feeling alone.

I wasn’t sure how old he was. Maybe 19, or 20, 21, 22. Older than me, but not old. Short, small. On his knees, hanging limply from his arms, head bowed, and eyes only half open. He was sweating, and there was blood running down his shirt and vest. He looked like he was dying, and everyone was just walking past and looking at him like he was an art piece.

I’d never seen people look at another person like that before.

He knew it, though. I saw him move his eyes to follow them when they moved through the room, even turn his head up once or twice to see them a little, then give up again. He looked so weak, and beaten, and hurt. Nobody cared, though. I knew they were talking about him, but it was like watching people look at a new car they might buy at a street event. I couldn’t understand it.

The boy wasn’t Japanese. I thought he was maybe American, o-or maybe European—I wasn’t sure. He was dressed a little bit like a cowboy, though, and he was blonde with blue eyes that looked cloudy, like a haze had lowered over what used to be a big open sky. It made me think American. I hadn’t ever seen an American in person before—only in movies. It made him look even more alone. Surrounded by a room full of people who were speaking my language and looked like me, and not him. It made me feel worse somehow, even than I would have felt anyway, seeing anyone like that.

I don’t think I’d ever seen somebody look hopeless before. But. He looked like he knew he was going to suffer, and suffer, and slowly die. And nobody was coming to save him, and he wasn’t going to be able to save himself this time. He looked like he hated it, but he knew it. He looked afraid. And sad.

And alone.

Alone in ways I couldn’t describe then and still couldn’t now, even after being able to think of almost nothing else for a whole week and a half.

He looked up at me, for just a moment, while I was watching him through that doorway. I had seen the way he looked at the other people in the room—like he despised them, and I knew I would have felt the same if I was hanging there on my knees, bleeding and being talked about like a car. I had no idea who he was, or what he was, or why he was there, not at all, but I was scared, when he looked at me, that he had seen me. I was scared he would look at me like he’d looked at everyone else, because somehow that would have made me responsible, like they were, for what was being done to him.

He didn’t, though.

He looked at me, and he was a little bit surprised, like I was a strange thing to see, and then he’d almost looked happy for a moment. Maybe not happy. … Appreciative. Instead of hating me, for some reason he had looked at me like he was a little bit glad he’d seen me. I had no idea why. But I couldn’t forget it. I watched him lower his head again, slowly, and pass out. I watched him to see if he would wake up. And I asked about him, as soon as I got a chance.

I think I knew as soon as I saw him that I was going to do something. But I knew when he looked at me how much I wanted to.

And I did.

I…I still can’t really get over that part. It’s been so much, just the last few hours. Honestly I was terrified planning all this, and now that it’s happened, I’m just kind of in shock. I’m excited too, but I have no idea what I’m doing.

It’ll be okay, I promise myself, coming back out of my head a little and trying hard to feel more confident, I mean, it’s gone really well so far!

That’s true, and I do feel a little better.

Man, I’ve been super lucky. That’s really good, because now that I think about it all the way, I was kind of counting on luck a lot.

I mean, my plan was good—I think anyway. I worked really hard on it. But still. Billy contracted with me, and I did okay getting him here and patching him up, and I was actually able to summon a heroic spirit with his help, and he’s been a really nice one too! I was a little bit afraid I might get hurt. I mean, Billy’s been stuck in that building for months, with so many people hurting him, it really wouldn’t be surprising if he’d woken up and just assumed I was one of them, and shot me before realizing I wasn’t. I tried to dress in definitely civilian clothes in case that would help, but I was still nervous about it. I’m really glad things went so okay…

Mind still on Billy, I glance over at him. I’m sitting on the bed, getting ready to try some magic work to open up circuits with Emiya’s help, but he’s vanished to go make sure no one seems to have followed us from Ur-shanabi first. Billy’s sitting back in one of the big comfortable soft chairs, resting. He’s not asleep, though. Just kind of staring off at nothing, thinking about something.

His wound must be hurting a little less, for him to sit up like that, and I smile at the sight. I’m so glad he looks better. I felt really awful I couldn’t heal him right, but at least I was able to do something. And he really does look a lot better now. He’s got more color in his skin, and his hair is starting to dry and look fluffy now. His eyes look clear too, but they’ve looked like that for a while now. Bright and sharp, but kind too. Open like a clear sky. He’s really pretty. I guess he picked a good nickname for himself.

He senses me looking at him and glances over and offers me a smile, and I return it.

“You feelin’ ready?” he asks.

I nod. “I think so. I’m really glad Emiya seems to know his stuff so well.”

“Me too!” agrees Billy, “He seems awful capable, and that’s gonna help us a lot.” He pauses then and looks thoughtful. “Got absolutely no clue who he is though. You know any historical Emiyas? Famous figures?”

Oh yeah. I guess that is weird. I mean, there’s a lot of heroic spirits on the throne, and of course I wouldn’t know all of them, but it is a little weird neither of us has ever heard of him. I shake my head. “Maybe he’s a really old heroic spirit,” I suggest, because that makes sense, “One from so long ago, we lost a lot of records.”

Billy gives a nod of agreement, “Probably that, or one you haven’t got to in time yet.”

“Wait, you guys can come from the future??” I ask, totally thrown out of my headspace by that.

“Sure,” says Billy with a grin, “Throne is outside of time, so we get summoned to all kinds of times and places. Mages tend to shoot for spirits they know of, when they summon us, and of course you can’t have a catalyst for someone from the future—won’t exist yet—and I think Alaya doesn’t like sendin’ ones from the future as much because of timestream things I don’t really understand, so, summoning one you haven’t got to in time is a lot rarer, but I know it can happen.”

“Huh.” I think about that. “W-would it be rude, like—among heroic spirits, is it considered rude if I ask him something about that—if he’s from the future?”

Billy shrugs. “Not really. Lots of us won’t answer if we don’t want to and don’t have to, but I don’t think he’d take any offense. Don’t see why he would.”

Huh.

“…’Alaya’?” I ask, remembering what he said before.

“That’s just another name for the whole Counter-Force, World, God—whatever you want to call it,” says Billy, gesturing vaguely with his right hand and then wincing and sucking in a pained breath on the last word.

“Sorry,” I say, reaching out impulsively like I might be able to help, “Does it hurt?”

“Not a lot,” he promises, “It’s a lot better than it was, and it keeps gettin’ better. I just need to learn to be careful until it’s done healin’, like I should.”

I relax a little. “Okay. Good—I mean, that it’s healing.”

He gives me another smile.

I sense energy in the room then, and realize it’s my connection to Emiya, and then he materializes back from his spirit form and into his physical one by the bed.

“Anything?” asks Billy, sitting up a little.

Emiya gives his head a single shake. “She did well covering her tracks,” he says, glancing at me approvingly, “And more importantly, I think bombing their second story took them completely by surprise. There’s a whole lot going on at the building I was able to see even at a distance, but they haven’t sent people out very far to investigate. They’re still mostly trying to make sure they’re not under attack.”

That’s such a huge relief—I’ve been so worried about my mom and dad. I feel like a car has been lifted off my shoulders.

I did it. I…I actually did a good job.

“So,” says Emiya then, turning to look at me, “That being the case, and this spot being safe for at least a little while longer and time being of the essence, I suggest you and I go ahead and get started.”

“Alright, just take a deep breath. Keep your eyes shut, and try to relax. Then I want you to concentrate hard on what you’re feeling.”

“Okay.”

I try my best to. Take a big breath and loosen my shoulders, working very hard to keep calm and open. Try to focus on the sound of my own heart beating like he told me. Emiya said to do this I have to ‘feel how my body connects to my soul’, and I don’t know at all how that works, but I try hard to imagine it.

Soul. That’s me, that’s the me inside my body. If I think of myself like a heroic spirit, then bodies are a vessel, and the soul is the thing inside them that has a personality. My soul could be put into a doll, or another body, or a really sick mecha using magecraft, and it would still be me. Because I’m the soul. It exists here, just like they do, but it also exists somewhere else at the same time—like they do on the throne—somewhere I’m always connected to. By energy, the way they’re connected to me right now.

That all makes a lot of sense when I think of it that way, and it helps. I picture that. picture threads connecting the me inside my body to the rest of me somewhere else.

“Good,” says Emiya. His voice is reassuring and strong, and I feel my adrenaline pick up with excitement. I hope that means I’m doing it right! If I’m honest I’m super scared that I’m gonna mess up and I have been since the second I realized I was going to have to do any magic. I-I just. I’ve never been good at being a mage. Maybe it’s just because I never got real training, like they seem to think, but… I’ve known a lot of mages, or, I’ve run into them, and they have all pretty much told me I’m a loser, and a bad mage, and un-gifted, and just don’t have any talent. I don’t want to believe that—I don’t, but,…it’s not like I haven’t spent a lot of time trying to teach myself on my own! I have, over and over and over—reading books, doing research, watching other mages when I got the chance, and I just…it’s like—like I’m trying to ride a bike. And supposedly I could learn, if I just try long and hard enough, but every time I try, I keep falling off the bike the moment I get on, and then climbing back up with bruised knees, only to fall off before I can even turn the pedal again. And again and again and again. I’ve tried so hard for so long, the best I know how, and I’ve barely been able to learn anything.

And now? Now that I’ve got so much these two spirits who trusted me need me for? And they’re watching me? TWO Heroic Spirits, famous heroes with all kinds of power and skill who were so important they got inscribed on the throne of heroes, are watching me?

I am…beyond terrified I’m gonna fail absolutely and make an idiot of myself under the pressure. And worse that I just…won’t be able to help them. That I’ll be too weak, and too bad at things, and I’ll disappoint them. Fail them…

It isn’t fair—I’m trying so hard! And I want to do something really good, and it barely takes any skill to do this! If I was anybody else, I would be able to do it! But I’m not; I’m me, and I’m bad at magic, and—and. No, I can’t give up—I have to do this, I have to. I’ve only just met these two and both of them trusted me enough to form a contract, and there’s so much at stake--I can’t afford to mess up this time. I can’t! So I have to do better, I have to be better, because if I can’t figure this out, if I fail them then-

“I said relax,” chides Emiya.

Crap.

“S-sorry,” I say nervously, cracking an eye open for a second to see him, and then shutting it again. I clear my throat and try to re-center. Just breathe. It’s okay. You can do this. Stop freaking out. You know that doesn’t help. You’re not bad at everything. I mean, you made a really good bomb! You did. And you stitched up a wound pretty good, and you did a summon! So maybe you can do this. Emiya’s going to help you, so it’ll be okay. It’ll work.

I hope.

“Better,” comes Emiya’s voice approvingly, “Now, I’m going to run some of my energy along the magic circuits that you have physically—try to focus on that—the layout, how they feel in your body. They aren’t your true circuits, just a manifestation of them, but they’ll help you find the ones in your soul’s energy. Try and visualize it if you can, and follow the connection back to your soul.”

That’s so much I don’t know how to do, or even really understand. I’m being asked to something that’s really overwhelming, but I buckle down and focus hard as I feel his palm set down on my shoulder and try my hardest, and I feel a little ripple of energy. It’s like a gentle wave lapping over your foot at a lakeside, the way it feels to me, only it runs along my body from my shoulder out to my fingertips. And—and I feel it. A little geometric pattern in my arms and legs and back and stomach, my shoulders, my chest, my head. Like I can feel my nervous system, but a little different. I think it’s working! I’m so excited I totally forget to even think about following it back until I realize he’s about to stop, and I hurry, find the circuits in my chest, because to me it seems like that should be my core, by my heart, right? And I follow them in my head, visualizing what I’m trying to do. I think about the invisible connection I have to myself, just like the ones I have to Billy and Emiya now.

It’s…hard to imagine, but. There’s something. I don’t even really know how to describe it, but I hang onto it, and I feel suddenly like I’m somewhere else: a sky. But I’m not. I am, and I’m not. I’m looking down at myself and everything around and below me, and it’s so big and blue, and calm—wonderous. I feel like I’m looking down at earth from above, but space isn’t big and empty and black—it’s cool and alive and welcoming. And then suddenly that mental image is gone and it’s over and I’m back in my body, and I suck in a breath and open my eyes.

Emiya is watching me from where he’s seated opposite me on the bed, and he looks pleased. “Not bad at all. You felt it?”

“I…I think so,” I say, not totally sure what I saw. I think about it again though, and feel more sure. I think it was. Whatever it was, it was beautiful, and it was something. “Is that…my…is that place my soul?”

He gives me ‘kind of’ sort of gesture and says, “Yes and no. But it is where your magic circuits are, and for practical purposes, yes is a close enough answer. Seeing it should have helped you have a little bit better idea of how your magic is laid out.”

I consider that the best I can, working to remember everything I saw. Yeah. I think so. Okay. Sitting up, I place my hand on my shoulder and try to do what he did, just run a little magic through my body. I try really hard—even move my hand to the exact same spot, but. I can’t.

My heart sinks. I feel my face heat up with shame and disappointment. Why am I so bad at this! It shouldn’t be so hard!

Emiya still has his eyes fixed on me, studying, head a little tilted. I glance over at the chair beside us, at Billy, because I’m very aware he’s seeing me fail this again too. He’s watching, like I expected, but when I look over he gives me a ‘you can do it!’ kind of smile, and I feel a little better because it’s so genuine. I have no idea why he’s got so much faith in my ability to do magic when all I’ve done with him around is fail to heal him 18 times, but I really, really don’t want to disappoint him—either of them. I’ll just have to try again, I decide firmly, Nothing else for it. As many times as it takes, and I’ll get it eventually. I have to, right?

“What am I doing wrong?” I ask, turning back to Emiya. “I saw—or—I felt, what you did, but I can’t do it. Do we just try again?”

“Magic is a very mental and internal process,” says Emiya, surprisingly nonplussed by me making absolutely no progress, which also makes me feel quite a bit better. If he’s not worried, it’s probably okay, right? “Have you used a spell before?”

“Not really,” I say, thinking back. I’ve tried, and I’ve done some little stuff, but like—a real spell? Any magic I’d have to do much to…work for it? I’ve never been able to. “No,” I finish, “I don’t think so.”

Billy coughs.

Huh? OH CRAP.

My entire face feels like it’s on fire as I remember what I did last night and am engulfed in another big wave of regret. I’m sorry I’m sorry I never meant to.

“Oh—I-I used a command spell, last night,” I choke out, “—does that count?”

Our new Archer ally tilts his head and glances down at the faded mark on my hand beside the two unused ones, then meets my gaze. “It might very well.” He glances over at Billy. “Was it a powerful one?”

“Oh—yeah, it uh, it packed a pretty solid punch,” says Billy.

I hunch over a little and try not to look at him, still overwhelmed I did that. I didn’t mean to! I never would have done anything like that to you on purpose.

I can feel him looking at me, so I give up and glance over after a few seconds, and see he’s still smiling like it doesn’t bother him at all anymore, and I feel better and smile hesitantly back. I relax my shoulders and turn back to Emiya.

“Well,” he says, crossing his arms, “Talk me through it, then Ritsuka. –Mages use mental triggers to activate magic circuits once they’ve already used them, and to open even more, once they have an established trigger,” he adds before I can ask what he means, “So if you used some of your own already for a spell, you might have created a mental trigger without realizing it. When you used the command spell, did you visualize anything happening within or to yourself, along with whatever you were trying to do?”

Uhm. I think hard. It was so dark, and I was so scared last night.

Honestly, I’m still pretty overwhelmed. Excited too, I think, but, I also feel like I might throw up. Better than I felt last night though—that’s for sure.

“I’m not sure. I’m trying to remember,” I say once it’s been a few seconds, and I’m starting to feel awkward.

“Take your time,” says Emiya patiently, “Try to walk through what lead up to it in your head, and focus hard on what you were thinking about at the time.”

Okay. Walk through it.

We’d made it out of Ur-shanabi, and Billy the Kid had agreed to form a contract, so he wasn’t vanishing anymore, but I was really scared. There had been alarms blaring the whole time we were inside the building, and I could still hear them and people shouting when I’d made it back outside to the car. Lights were flashing. I was afraid someone would see us any second and shoot us both, but they didn’t. I used the delivery entrance because I knew it was full of boxes from a shipment that morning, and I made it out.

It had been hard to get him to the hotel without being seen—I’d had to drive, and this was only the third time I’d ever driven a car, and technically I do not have a license even a little bit, or a good fake one, so I’d gone pretty slow, and I was afraid the whole time I’d take too long getting there and people from Ur-shanabi would figure out what I did and catch up, or a policeman would notice I was driving really slow and stop me, and we’d go to jail, or be turned over to Ur-shanabi and die again, or I’d just arrive so late at the hotel he’d bleed to death in the car.

I was connected, so I could feel him, even when I wasn’t looking over—I could feel him fading, and fading, and I kept trying and trying to give him more magical energy, and failing. He looked dead already when I looked over at him, so much blood gone his skin had gone from ghostly white to grey and his lips had turned blue. He was breathing so shallow sometimes I thought he’d stopped completely, and he was hurt so bad and so helpless and in so much pain and I just couldn’t help him like I wanted, like I was trying. I couldn’t. I should have been able, but I couldn’t. And I cried, and it made it hard to see out the windshield, and I got scared I would wreck, so I made myself stop. I bit my tongue the whole next twenty minutes, to not cry and to focus. And I made it, and I got the car parked, and got him in the hotel without being noticed—which was really, really hard, even using the back entrance and late at night, and knowing where I was going.

I remember he was unconscious, and shorter than me and not that heavy, which was good, but he was so pale and sick looking and his breathing was raggedly fast and sounded painful by then; it was awful. His skin had seemed almost translucent to me, like he had no blood left. So much of it was soaking into my shirt by then I could have believed it, and I remember his hair was matted to his head with sweat, and his face was all scrunched up in pain, and sometimes when I would move him he’d moan or cry out a little, and his voice was so weak—I wanted to help him so bad and I was so scared he was going to die before I could even get him into the room and try to save him. He’d already bled completely through the bandages I put on him before getting him into the car—like—soaked through. They were sopping wet, and it was horrible to feel under my fingertips. I could smell it. I hadn’t really thought much about how blood smelled before that, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget. It smells like rust, but worse. Like rust and death.

I had tried so hard, and risked so much, and I was afraid people would find me any minute, even though I had worked so hard to be careful. I had practiced and planned and worked and worked and worked, and I just, I wanted so badly to do it—to keep him alive, and help him—I had since that first moment I’d seen him. But I was terrified he would just vanish and they’d summon him back, and I wouldn’t be able to try again. He felt so faint—the connection I had to him…it felt like it was coming apart and vanishing into the air like smoke. I remember so intensely how I stumbled walking down the last hall, and I was just sure he was going to vanish in my arms and it would all be for nothing, and I wouldn’t know what to do ever again after it happened. But it didn’t.

I made it. I made it to the room, and got him on the bed, and I started to dig the bullet out, because I’m a rotten mage with no skill and no practice, and I couldn’t do what I was meant to, so I had to try and do it like a doctor instead. But it was okay, because I’d prepped for that, and I’d gotten so far, father than I thought I would in the car, and I had been thinking, hoping, because he’d held on so long, maybe I wouldn’t be too late, maybe I’d got it in time. He looked so sick and weak and hurt, but he’d looked just a little bit better once I’d gotten him on the bed and gotten the bloody shirt off. It had felt so good, seeing his lips a little less blue. Seeing him a little more alive, and I’d been full of energy and hopeful and fear all at once, focus more razor-sharp than I think it had ever been my whole life.

And then he’d woken up and started to move. While I was trying to dig a bullet out from just above his heard.

I was scared he’d hurt himself, or move and I would miss my aim and stab him on accident, and kill him, so the second I’d realized he was moving, I’d told him to stop. And the spell had gone off.

What was I thinking, when I said that? Was I thinking anything other than that he needed not to move?

I try to remember, dragging in everything else still fresh in my head from that night, and it works. I remember.

I remember seeing his face, all pale and ashy, and him groaning and moving a little. I had been looking at his face every so often, to check on how he was, while I got the bullet out. And this time he had opened his eyes. They had been unfocused, like he wasn’t really awake and was looking at the ceiling without seeing it, but then he’d looked at me, and I had known he was seeing me. I could tell he was about to move, then, and I had medical pliers in his chest, so I’d thought “Oh no this is bad—I need to keep him down so I can help him and he won’t get hurt”. I’d thought…I’d thought…. in my head, I had thought about…reaching out. Because I’d wanted to do that too—that’s right! That’s right! I remember! Because he’d looked scared too. I’d thought, “I’ll tell him to hold still, and I’ll pat his shoulder so he knows it’s okay,” because my mom always used to do that when I was sick and feverish, and it always made me calm down again. I’d forgotten, because I didn’t do it, but I had been planning to. If I hadn’t hurt him like that on accident, I would have.

“I thought about reaching out,” I say out loud, finally looking back up at Emiya.

“Reaching out?” asks Billy curiously from over in the chair.

“I-I guess that doesn’t make sense,” I say, glancing at him and flushing. I know it doesn’t—it-it sounds dumb, now that I’m thinking about it. Who pats someone who’s getting surgery on the shoulder? If you’re a good doctor, you used anesthetic to knock them out, and they don’t have to wake up at all. I did like, a whole whole lot of things pretty wrong. And it was probably a stupid idea anyway, because he didn’t really know me, and my hand was sopping with blood, and that would have felt pretty gross I think. I look nervously from one to the other of the spirits, hoping they don’t think about it as much as I just did. “Because I told you to hold still, so why would I also be thinking about that? But, I was thinking that it’d pat your shoulder, so you knew it was me, and you were okay, since you’d been through a really bad night.” Mmmmmnggg why did I say that stupid too. Oh well I guess at least it’s true…

Billy blinks at me and kind of stares at nothing for a second, and then slowly smiles to himself and meets my eyes again and gives a little nod. “Well thank you. That was thoughtful.”

Really? “I-It wasn’t though,” I protest, “—I accidentally used a command spell on you.” I glance down miserably at the faded spell seal on my hand.

“Yeah, but it was okay,” promises Billy like he means it. I glance over at him and he looks almost worried about me, which kind of makes me feel worse for worrying him, but also better at the same time. “You didn’t mean to. And all you were tryin’ to do was help.”

“If it’s any consolation to you, it’s a lot easier to accidentally use one of those than it should be, if you haven’t been properly trained,” says Emiya very matter-of-factly, and when I look over, he truly doesn’t look like he judges me at all for this. Really??

“Really?” I ask out loud.

He gives a nod. “So. Reaching out?”

I think again, making sure I’m right, and I am, so I nod.

“Then if you activated your own circuits doing this, that might be your mental trigger now. Think hard on that mental image—do it even, if you want, while visualizing it, and think about opening your circuits and letting mana into them with the gesture,” says Emiya, “Try to picture reaching out, and passing magic through your body, and on to Billy. Like you’re going to tap his shoulder.”

That sounds so simple. I hope it is.

Only one way to find out, I guess.

I glance at Billy, then give Emiya a nod and shut my eyes.

Come on, you can do this. I know you can.

I scrunch up my face and think really, really hard, imagining that. I hold out my left hand and imagine the circuits I’ve seen now filling with magic and letting it out through my fingertips, so I can reach out and touch something with it—so I can heal him, like I’ve been trying so hard to do. I focus on that, and then I simplify—I focus just on the image of holding out my hand, of reaching out, of trying to connect. To myself, to other people, to everything. To that big blue sky I saw for an instant, to Billy. To—

There’s a feeling somewhere between electricity and the tug of a strained muscle, and it starts in my chest where I imagined following my circuits back to the pool of mana I’m connected to, and up to my shoulder, then down along my left arm and to my fingers. It almost hurts; it kind of scares me, but I’m way too thrilled to really care about that. It feels like it leaves me, which is so thrilling I feel my stomach drop, and I open my eyes immediately and look at Billy.

—Okay, I’m a goof—I don’t know what I expected to see, since he’s got a bandage on, but. He’s looking down at his chest, and he holds a hand up in front of the wound, and gently places his palm on it, then slowly looks over at me and grins.

“Nice work, partner,” he says, almost as excited as I am.

“I did it?” I ask ecstatically. I look from him, to Emiya. “I did it?”

Billy gives a nod.

“You did it,” confirms Emiya.

“Yes! Yes! HAH!” I shout to the ceiling, snagging a pillow and throwing it in the air in excitement before even thinking about what I’m doing, HELL YEAH! I’m the BEST! He’s the best! We’re gonna save everybody! We DID it! YEAH! “Thank you!” I say, turning my attention to Emiya. I throw myself forward and hug him, and he jolts back a little, then I hear him sigh and he moves an arm to pat my back stiffly twice.

“Sure thing. It’s what you summoned me for, isn’t it?”

“Well yeah, but,” I say, moving back so I can look up at him, “Still! Thank you! Thank you so much! This is amazing!”

It is! AH! He’s so nice and so good at teaching magic! Oh! And—now? There’s so much stuff for me to try now! I want to do more—I want to learn so many spells, and—

“Careful,” says Emiya, smiling a little and holding up a cautioning hand, “Don’t go overboard here—I taught you how to activate your circuits, but you’re still untrained, and your precision and stamina will be weak. For now, try not to tire yourself out—you’re going to need whatever magic you can manage to do once we go into Ur-shanabi, so don’t waste it or overtax yourself now.”

“Oh, right,” I say, giving him a serious nod. Makes sense. We’ve got to go back, and I’m probably going to have to heal more heroic spirits. Honestly, healing Billy just now—I didn’t feel it through the adrenaline at all, but now that I’m calming down a little to be serious again, I’m realizing it really took something out of me—I’m tired. Not super tired, and to be fair, I’ve lifted a lot of weight and kinda run myself pretty ragged today, so maybe I’m just…normal tired. But my arm sort of aches now too, so I think some of it has got to be the magic. Curious, I hold my arm up and make a fist, then open and close it, seeing how that feels.

“Does it hurt?” asks Emiya.

“Not really,” I answer, glancing back up at him, “Just a little, but not like real pain—like the kind you get being sore after running.”

He gives a nod. “Good, then you didn’t over-exert yourself or open them wrong.” He gets up from the bed then, and I turn on it to follow him with my gaze. “You should be proud.”

“Do I need to do anything else?” I ask, “To practice? Or get ready?”

“Eat something, and then rest,” he answers, picking up one of the teacups I set out, and pouring himself some, then one for me, which he holds out. I take it. “You can focus on the mission details of what we’re doing in the meantime. Magically speaking, try to do as little as possible now—that is assuming you’ve now healed your Gunner all the way.”

We both look over at Billy, and I realize he’s stood up and taken the bandage off. He’s looking down and studying his chest where he was shot. It’s a little hard for me to tell if he’s hurt anymore myself, because there’s a lot of blood from when he was bleeding still all over there, but he touches the wound and pushes down a little, which makes me a little sick to see, but he seems okay.

I did it. I smile. He looks happy, and he looks so much better. I’m realizing suddenly this is the best I’ve ever seen him. Even before I moved him, he has only ever been half-dead in Ur-shanabi. He looks different like this. Alive, vibrant almost, and really happy. Good. I’m so glad. It’s so different from how he looked the first time I saw him, it makes me really happy too.

Billy takes two steps and stretches his arms out then and rolls his left shoulder and winces, and I feel my smile fade.

Crap—I still did it wrong, then? I…

“That’s amazing,” says Billy, whipping around to beam at me. Oh wow he’s really pretty and he’s covered in blood and doesn’t have his shirt on and his hair is dry now and fluffy and I’m overwhelmed by how happy and friendly he is and feel my face heat up again and have to turn my head away for a second because I feel overwhelmed.

“A-are you sure?” I ask, making myself glance back up at him, “It looked like moving your shoulder hurt.”

“Yeah, of course!” he says, turning to show me where the wound was, “I’m a little sore still, and kind of beat to hell energy-wise, but I’m pretty much good as new.” He lowers his arm then and flashes me another smile, blue eyes bright and welcoming and open like the sky. He’s so nice, and he’s got so much energy. I wonder if this is kind of an American thing in general, or if it’s just him who’s really cool and bubbly. I’m way too nervous to ask him anything like that though—p-probably it would be a really stupid thing to say too. And…

I stop thinking about that because he comes over then, and takes a knee by the bed. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, giving a little bow of his head for a moment before looking up at me again, “For this, and for everything. I’m real lucky you found me.”

I don’t know what to say, because I’m not remotely used to being complimented, and I totally freeze up, but it’s turns out okay because he keeps going.

“Not bad at all for your first proper spell, huh?” Billy gives a little wink, then gets to his feet again.

“Y-yeah.” I answer, and I realize I mean it and smile back. I am proud. “Thank you. I guess it was pretty good.”

“It was exactly what we needed,” says Billy.

“Alright then. Now that we’ve got that sorted, shall we move on to the planning stage?” says Emiya. He’s taken a seat in one of the hotel chairs and has a leg propped over the other and his cup in in one hand, my building schematic in the other.

“Absolutely!” I agree readily, hopping off the bed and snagging another chair, pulling it close to finish a sort of chair-circle for us three, “What do we need first?”

“First,” says Emiya as Billy takes a seat in the third chair, glancing up from the schematics for a moment to meet my gaze, “We need to know if they’ve summoned any other servants, who if possible, and most importantly, where to find them.”

#finally exposition is done and I can get back to the fun stuff to write next time. ACTION. HELLS YEAH #fate go #fate grand order #fate go AU #the kid (fic)#the kid #fgo fic #fate go fic #fate grand order fic #fgo AU #fate grand order AU #Billy the Kid #Ritsuka Fujimaru #Archer Emiya #heroic spirit Emiya #writing #also wrote my daughter's pov finally! yeee

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soap-brain · 7 years

Text

You Always Meet Twice In Life

hey guys, it is i, bringing you no prompt fill but instead a story that suddenly demanded to be finished today!

under the cut: Pairing: Chril - Christopher Pike x Philip Boyce Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 10.150

if y’all like it (or also if not :p), there might be some additional chapters in work...

everything tag list: @bottomkirk @gumballgladiator @logicheartsoul @kagenightray @jimothyandspocko @logicallythyla @needles-and-ink @headcanonsilove @i-am-a-real-human-being @fallenpiestiel @skyeries @alanna342 @shamanship @startrektrash @lesbiantasha

chril tag list: @gracieminabox @loststarlight

The only reasons Phil'd attended the party were the free drinks and a hope to get lucky tonight. He figured he'd earned it, considering he was only a month shy of his thirtieth birthday and just got his second PhD in advanced intracellular medicine. The party is for some admiral's kid graduating, or getting a promotion, or whatever - another stuck up brat believing they deserve the world because they were born into money and status. But the event itself was alright, enough pretty young officers milling around between Starfleet's nobility, and the drinks were damn good. Whoever was paying for this must've shelled out half a starship in credits.

For Phil it's a bit weird to be among people again in a normal setting. The past months - years? eternity? - he'd divided his time between the hospital and the labs and the library, been in his apartment only for sleeping. He figures he lost some weight and quite some normal socialization skill, but see if he cares.

He flags the bartender down for another cocktail. Apple martini, god's gift to mankind. Fruity enough to be very tasty, but not masking the sting of the alcohol.

He peruses the room, trying to find a person who's just his type to take home tonight. The gently thumping base is sending shivers up his spine, and the dance floor is slowly dissolving into displays of youthful wantonness that surely scandalize the brass. Phil observes a couple for a while, both drinks in hand and hair flowing freely, and laughing, obviously having the time of their lives. They might not be his preferred gender (god what wouldn't he give for a hard, hairy chest pressing him into the mattress, deep voice panting into his ear and a cock up his ass), but damn if they don't get his blood flowing. It's definitely been too long. His heart is beating in time with the music and he's starting to tingle all over, eyes following the sway of the bodies. His pants are getting more uncomfortable by the second.

"This seat taken?" a voice straight out of a dirty fantasy asks. Phil turns around to lay eyes on the most sinfully beautiful man he's ever seen in his life, uniform sharp and utterly perfect, unruly, dark blond hair on his head long enough to pull on, and a set of lips and eyes that make his knees go weak and Phil decides that yes, that's the guy he's going to take home with him. He rakes his eyes over him slowly, noticing how the other man is built, long strong legs (perfect for wrapping around Phil's waist), narrow hips and broad shoulders with strong arms (perfect for shoving Phil face first into the mattress), and a smile that's liquid heat in Phil's groin.

"All yours." He motions to the stool.

"Oh, I bet," gorgeous says, eyes wandering over Phil's body as well, stopping at the very prominent bulge between his legs for a few long moments. Phil doesn't even bother putting himself less on display. He wants and so does the stranger.

"You come here often?" tall-and-beautiful asks with a smirk. He's a teaser. Fuck, how'd Phil get so lucky?

He's also somewhere high-ranking - Phil can't exactly make out his number of stars or the stripes on his sleeves, but he's not anybody.

"Yeah, love these parties, they let me pick up anyone with a nice set of promotions and a pretty face."

Pretty face laughs and signals the bartender for a whiskey. "So I'm here to fulfil your dirty fantasy of getting fucked by an officer, that right?"

Phil notices his hands, beautiful long fingers, perfect for several tasks, no doubt, and he leans a bit closer. "Who says I'm the one getting fucked?". It’s a tease, too - Phil is far too desperate to be the one doing the fucking.

Probably-has-a-trust-fund (come on, he has the bearing of someone who does, and he's far too young for all those pretty pins on his chest) laughs (beautifully, of course) and steals a swipe of the frosted sugar on the rim of Phil's glass, sucking on his finger far longer than necessary.

"I do." and takes a sip of his whiskey without his eyes ever leaving Phil.

There's a drop of whiskey left on his lips and Phil leans forward to swipe his tongue over it.

It's damn fine whiskey, and a damn fine guy Phil chose. A hand wanders up his thigh, stopping short of the junction between leg and torso, and Phil twitches in his pants.

"I'm Phil," he says an inch away from beautiful's lips, and the other guy grins, running his thumb over Phil's lips. Phil bites, gently. He gets a harsh inhale and an even hungrier stare in response.

"Aren't you gonna tell me what name to scream later?" he asks, letting go of the thumb.

"I'm ... Chris."

Phil snorts. "Wow, that's certainly not a fake name at all."

'Chris' rolls his eyes. "Does it really matter? I plan on fucking you until you don't even remember your name." His hand nudges a bit closer to Phil's groin and he shifts his hips forward, knees brushing his.

"Fair," he admits. "Your place or mine? I live a couple minutes down the street, so unless you've got somewhere closer ..."

"Nope. Been living shipside for quite a while now, don't even got a place down here."

"My place it is then."

They both stand up almost at the same time, and all of a sudden they're really close, close enough to smell, and part of Phil wants to press him against the bar and rub himself all over.

"Hope you've got a sturdy bed," is whispered into his ear, and Phil's dick twitches. He steps even further until they're pretty much pressed up against each other.

"Got a new one recently. You might have to help me break it in. Properly." It's a lie, but the grin on 'Chris' face is more than worth it.

"What are we waiting for, then?"

They make their way towards the entrance. 'Chris' stays a few steps behind Phil, who's ass is practically burning with the intensity it's being stared at.

The cold night air is a bit sobering, but 'Chris' immediately catches up to Phil and walks so close that their shoulders brush.

"So, Phil. What's a pretty young doctor doing on a promo party for someone he probably doesn't know?"

"How'd you know I was a doctor?"

"Oh, please. I can read insignia."

"Fair enough."

"So?"

Phil turns towards 'Chris' and winks. "I was hoping to find exactly you."

"What makes me so special?"

"You're hot."

'Chris' grins lazily. "So you're saying you were taking advantage of the party to get laid? I'm scandalized."

"Oh, I figure I earned it. Had a minor breakthrough a couple weeks ago that led to the invention of a new vaccine, and I got my second PhD today. You know, regular stuff, so I figured I more than had reason to celebrate. What about you?" Bragging is generally not nice and not Phil’s thing at all. This is an exception, because he’s sure ‘Chris’ (or whatever his name is) is into it.

"That's an impressive vita you got there," 'Chris' says and looks Phil over again. "So you're not just pretty but also intelligent?"

"That something you into? Want me to whisper microscopic intracellular biology into your ear while I fuck you?"

"You could make it work, darlin’. Thought we had agreed I was going to be the one doing the fucking though?"

Phil laughs. "Aw, I thought you were young enough to get it up more than once."

'Chris' laughs as well. "Touché."

"You speak French?"

"Nah. German. You?"

"Surprise, yes I do." Phil nudges him sideways a little to get into the entrance to his apartment building.

'Chris' whistles lowly. "Nice place. So how do I get you to talk French to me?"

Phil makes for the lifts. "J'espère vraiment que vous êtes prêt à vous embrasser dans l'ascenseur."

'Chris' catches up with him. "Fuck that's hot. What'd you say?"

"Non, rien. À peu près combien je veux que vous me baisez," he says, punching in his floor number. 'Chris' is incredibly close and, judging by the bulge in his pants, incredibly aroused. God, Phil can't wait.

"Again, no fucking clue what you said, but it's hot. Then again, you could talk about world’s most boring topic and make it the hottest thing I ever heard, no matter the language." He moves in even closer. The railing of the elevator presses against Phil's back. 'Chris' smells fantastic. There's a hand on Phil's jaw and his self control breaks, grabbing 'Chris' by the lapels of his jacket, turning him around and shoving him ungently against the wall, kissing him. 'Chris' moans into the kiss, hands immediately sliding into Phil's hair and pawing at his dress jacket. There's a thigh pushing its way between Phil's legs and he grinds against it, gasping into the kiss. 'Chris' is burning hot, tongue sliding against Phil's, deliciously filthy.

They pull away to gasp for air.

"Fuck, if you fuck the way you kiss, I definitely only ever want to be on the receiving end," Phil pants out and 'Chris' laughs.

The elevator chimes, announcing their stop. Phil pulls 'Chris' out by his jacket, immediately shoving him against the next wall to kiss him again. 'Chris' rocks his hips forward, and they both moan.

"Please tell me your apartment isn't, dunno, at the end of the hall," 'Chris' pants. Phil laughs and disentangles himself.

"Sorry."

There's a possessive hand on his ass the second he turns around. He grabs 'Chris' other hand and pulls him with him. 'Chris' manages to press fleeting bites and kisses into Phil's neck as they walk, and hell, usually Phil would rather murder people than let them mark him in such a public place. But ... damn, he wants this gorgeous stranger to mark him everywhere, wants him to do everything he ever wanted.

He fumbles the door code because 'Chris' is pressing up so hot and hard against his side, breath fanning over Phil's face whenever he stops kissing at the junction of his ear and jaw (and how does he know it's one of Phil's most sensitive places, that you can drive him wild by just stimulating him there?), and then the door opens and they fall inside, lights flickering on but all Phil can focus on is tearing 'Chris' uniform off of him.

There’s a sudden rip and the strain on Phil’s hands lessens considerably as he’s now holding a rather large piece of fabric that isn’t attached to ‘Chris‘ jacket anymore. It’s the front part, the one with all the little medals and whatnot. Holy shit. Phil is so screwed.

“Fuck, that was hot,” ‘Chris’ gasps and he’s incredibly aroused, draped against the wall like Lust herself

Phil’s still frozen in shock, so ‘Chris’ shoves him back, tearing at Phil’s dress jacket too, a bit more artfully. They stumble against the couch just as his jacket hits the floor, and Phil’s brain is back online enough that he can wrap his arms around ‘Chris’’ neck to tug him in for another heated kiss, both of them struggling with ‘Chris’’ jacket now. Then it’s gone and ‘Chris’ breaks the kiss to shove his hands under Phil’s undershirt, biting at his neck again. Phil arches his back and tugs at the dirty blonde curls until ‘Chris’ actually bites down.

His undershirt bunches up around his armpits uncomfortably, but the way ‘Chris’ all but attacks his nipples more than makes up for it, biting, kissing, sucking, licking and doing everything to make Phil gasp and press up against him. He presses a knee up and ‘Chris’ groans appreciatively, rolling his hips against it while he’s panting hot wet breath over Phil’s stomach.

“Bed. Now,” Phil orders, surging up to kiss ‘Chris’ again and push him backwards. His erection lines up perfectly with ‘Chris’’ and he rolls his hips, making his partner moan and pull him closer. There’s a hand in Phil’s hair and another one on his ass and a tongue in his mouth and the heat of another person so, so close. ‘Chris’ smells like pure male sex, tasting of whiskey. The angle changes suddenly, ‘Chris’ grunting as the couch leaves them. 'Fuck, he’s strong enough to lift me up’, Phil thinks. It’s exhilarating.

‘Chris’ carries them to the wall they started at, pinning Phil with his hips. Their trapped erections press exactly against each other. ‘Chris’ thrusts a little in time with the movements of his tongue, sending bolts of arousal through Phil. God, he could come like this.

‘Chris’ works a hand between their bodies, pushing against Phil’s dick, and he moans, because fuck, fuck, if ‘Chris’ keeps that up Phil will come in his pants and that’d be embarrassing.

‘Chris’ pulls away from the kiss, dropping his forehead against Phil’s shoulder for a moment. He’s panting, shoulders heaving, and neither of them can seem to stop rolling their hips.

“Fuck,” ‘Chris’ swears and Phil laughs, a bit out of breath.

“Yes please.”

He gets a growl and a bite to the nape of his neck, and then ‘Chris’’ hand is tugging at his pants, fumbling with the fastening, each movement another shower of sparks through Phil’s groin.

“Fuck, thought you were gonna take me to bed,” Phil pants, head falling against the wall and eyes sliding shut. ‘Chris’’ knows what he’s doing, hot damn.

“I’m gonna let you down,” ‘Chris’ pants. “And then I’m going to suck your dick until you cry.”

Phil’s legs wobble as they hit the floor again and are forced to hold up his own weight. ‘Chris’ drops onto his knees, eyes glittering and a dirty smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He nuzzles the bulge in Phil’s pants and Phil threads a hand into his hair, trying to tug him forward.

“You better behave yourself,” the sex god at his feet growls. He tugs Phil’s pants down roughly and immediately rubs his cheek against Phil’s groin. There’s a hint of stubble that adds a wonderful rasping sensation. He raises up a bit to mouth at the clothed head of Phil’s dick, dampening his underwear.

He takes his goddamn time too, tugging Phil’s boxers off with his teeth, and when they’re finally sitting snugly under his balls Phil is teetering at the edge.

‘Chris’ sits back with the smug satisfaction of someone who knows exactly that. His hair feels good in Phil’s hand, and he keeps licking his lips, not taking his eyes off of Phil’s cock.

“Fuck, this is probably a really fucking bad idea, but I’m assuming since you’re a doc, your physicals are all good?”

He wants to blow Phil without barrier film. Fuck.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Phil rasps out against the blood rushing in his ears, and then there’s a set of hands on his hips and a hot tongue running up the length of his cock and the world fades out around him.

‘Chris’ swallows him down easily, bobbing his head around Phil for a while, hitting an almost-gag reflex every single time. Phil wants to buck into ‘Chris’’ mouth but he can't move with ‘Chris’’ hands fixing him to the wall like steel bolts, so he settles for holding on to his wrist and another hand in ‘Chris’’ hair.

He pulls off with a dirty slurping sound, grinning up to Phil, wiping his saliva-slick chin with the back of his hand before going right back in, kissing his balls almost gently (and that’s a sensation Phil would definitely like a repeat performance of), licking and sucking his way up to the tip again, tongue flicking out to nudge under the head of Phil’s dick.

Phil shouts with the sudden pleasure, doubling over, both hands shooting into ‘Chris’’ hair, trying to coax him to take his dick in his mouth again, but ‘Chris’ remains stubborn.

“I take it that this was a good spot?” he asks when Phil has recovered a little, and Phil laughs.

“Fuck, yes that was a good spot. Don’t fucking do that again or I’ll come.”

‘Chris’ takes a moment, and then he grins. “Hope your refractory period is good.”

He licks his lips again and then presses against that exact spot again before quickly taking only the head in his mouth, suckling and curling his tongue under the mushroom head of Phil’s cock, pressing and probing. Phil wants to hold off, wants to last so badly.

He comes with a shout, grip on ‘Chris’’ hair tightening and his head slamming against the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, almost delirious with how lightheaded he’s getting. ‘Chris’ laughs around his dick and pulls off, pressing a parting kiss to the head. There’s a drop of come in the corner of ‘Chris’’ mouth and he licks it off, eyes never leaving Phil’s.

‘Chris’ gets up and stretches, shirt riding up to reveal a taut stomach. Phil stumbles a bit over the pants around his ankles, but he manages to grab ‘Chris’ and kiss him thoroughly. The other man groans into the kiss.

“Bed,” Phil repeats, pulling away a little, and ‘Chris’ grins.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Phil lets go of him to toe off his shoes and shove his pants down and his shirt off. ‘Chris’ watches him, eyes glittering.

“Damn, you’re tasty,” he mutters.

Phil kicks his pants away and steps up to ‘Chris’, running his hands over his chest.

“Speak for yourself. Didn’t know a blowjob this good was even possible.” He leans in to mouth at ‘Chris’’ neck, and the other man lets his head fall sideways, breath shivering in his throat.

He goes willingly when Phil nudges him in the direction of the bedroom, hands pliant at Phil’s sides. His eyes scrunch close against the sensation of Phil nuzzling his throat, occasionally making tiny sounds. It’s a bit odd how quickly they went from tearing each other’s clothes off to almost-reverence, odd how they seem to fall in orbit around each other that quickly. For a moment it scares Phil, the implication that there’s maybe something more between them, that maybe he’ll still be thinking about this stranger in twenty years, missing him. Then he nudges ‘Chris’’ erection and 'Chris' moans, high and needy, and all rational thought is gone from Phil’s mind. He shoves the other man down on his bed.

‘Chris’ sprawls beautifully atop of it, a picture of sheer wantonness and arrogance, gold blond hair like straight out of a stupid shampoo commercial, smirk on his face. He's without doubt thoroughly and utterly aroused.

Phil runs a hand over ‘Chris’’ knee and thigh, the thick fabric of his pants not allowing him to fully feel the hot skin underneath. The shirt is a little more forthcoming, bleeding heat and ‘Chris’’ heartbeat through. Phil meets his eyes. They’re dark, fixed on Phil like ‘Chris’ wants to eat him. A bit of tongue is peeking out from ‘Chris’’ lips; they’re glistening with spit and are a beautiful, swollen red.

“I think you’re overdressed,” Phil says, heart beating fast in excitement.

“Help me undress?” ‘Chris’ has the audacity to wink.

Phil straddles him slowly, grinding his naked ass down against ‘Chris’’ crotch, and the beautiful stranger goes cross-eyed for a moment.

“Fucking stop teasing already, Phil. Please.”

Phil laughs. He’s pretty sure he could come a second time, probably a third if they take it slow, and he loves the feeling of ‘Chris’ squirming under him.

“What if I wanted to tease you until you can’t take it anymore and have your wicked way with me?” he suggests, smiling innocently.

‘Chris’ swallows and runs his hands over Phil’s thighs, up to his hips, guiding the rocking movement.

“Hell, I mean,” he clears his throat, “I wouldn’t complain, but please. Please.” He rocks his hips up into Phil, who feels weirdly powerful. There’s nothing really keeping ‘Chris’ from doing what he wants, and yet he’s still under Phil, shuddering with every roll of Phil’s hips.

Phil trails his fingers over ‘Chris’’ chest and begins playing with the buttons, opening them one after another, until he can properly admire the expanse of skin before him. He runs his hand through the dark curls and plays with ‘Chris’’ nipples. ‘Chris’ goes entirely breathy.

Phil leans down some more and mouths at the base of ‘Chris’’ neck, flicking his tongue out to taste the skin, breath fanning over ‘Chris’, who moans, high and entirely lost to the sensation.

“If you finger me,” he whispers into ‘Chris’’ neck. “If you finger me really good, almost make me come from it, make me beg for it, and if you don’t come at all nor touch yourself during it, my ass is all yours.”

‘Chris’ shudders in response, still gasping for breath. “Fuck. Fuck, yeah, fuck, I can do that, oh God, I can do that, please, please let me.”

Phil grins and slides off of ‘Chris’, watching as the other man collects himself, wetting his lips and trying to control his breathing. He sits up eventually, cheeks flushed and hair messy, absolutely fucking beautiful, and practically tears his shirt off, eyes never leaving Phil. There’s some complicated wrangling with his pants and shoes, but eventually he manages to tear off his pants. His boxers are next to go, and then his dick is slapping up against his stomach, thick, slightly curved, absolutely reddened and slick with precome. ‘Chris’ pushes his hips against nothing for a few moments, eyes shut so tightly he looks like he’s almost in pain before he opens them again and throws a look at Phil.

“Hope you’ve got lube around here somewhere,” he pants, smiling haphazardly.

Phil stretches out on the bed, presenting himself a little.

“Bedside table.” The bedside table is also where he keeps his small but distinguished collection of toys and, as predicted, ‘Chris’ gasps for breath slightly.

“So how do I get to see you use these?” he asks, turning back around to Phil. He’s got the lube, but he’s also dangling the dark blue anal beads from his finger.

Phil grins and undulates slowly against the sheets. “Mmh, you have to buy me dinner for that.”

‘Chris’ laughs and tosses them somewhere behind him. Ordinarily Phil would object (he loves those beads), but ‘Chris’ has his eyes fixed on him, lips almost curled to a snarl.

“Hands and knees,” he growls. Phil complies easily, stretching his body out and then resting in a rather sexual puppy pose.

“Shit, please tell me you do yoga.” ‘Chris’ runs his hand over the swell of Phil’s ass and he pushes back into it, purring a bit.

“And I’m naturally very bendy.”

“Fucking perfect,” ‘Chris’ mutters, licking over Phil’s spine. He shudders. This guy is proving to be an absolute bomb.

‘Chris’ teasingly runs his fingers over Phil’s hole, just the barest hint of pressure. Phil presses back immediately, and ‘Chris’ obligingly slides his finger inside. Phil sighs. Yeah, it’s definitely far, far better when it’s not your own fingers.

‘Chris’ teases almost gently, running his thumbnail over the rim. Phil groans softly into the pillow. ‘Chris’ nudges a second finger in, still so slowly and gently, curling them, spreading them, twisting on the outpull.

“Aaahh, fuck,” Phil breathes.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“God, yes.” ‘Chris’ spreads his fingers again, forcing Phil to open even further. “Fuck, your fingers are amazing.”

“Your ass is amazing,” ‘Chris’ counters, spreading Phil’s cheeks. “You really were hoping to get lucky, huh? What with the shaving and the -” He curls his fingers again and that! That was a damn close call to Phil’s prostate.

“Left,” he gasps out, suddenly a whole lot more preoccupied and unable to do smalltalk.

“Huh?”

“Do that again, but a little further left! Please!”

‘Chris’ laughs. “Why should I?” He nudges ever-so-close to Phil’s prostate again. “You’ve been pretty damn set on torturing me too, so why shouldn’t I get some revenge?” This time his fingers pass over the bundle of nerves lightning-quick. Phil gasps into the pillow, suddenly rock hard again. ‘Chris’ worms his other hand into Phil’s hair and forces his head up.

“I wanna hear those sweet sounds you make,” he whispers into his ear, biting gently at the lobe. “Wanna hear you scream while I open you for my cock.” He pulls his fingers out, rubbing at the rim for a few far too long moments while Phil pants, little whimpers in his throat.

“Please,” he gasps out through this strained throat. “Please.”

‘Chris’ kisses him and pushes his fingers back in, fast, homing in on Phil’s prostate, sending burning hot sparks through his groin and up his spine and into his toes. Phil’s head falls forward again, ‘Chris’ letting it go, and he presses his forehead into the mattress, moaning desperately.

“Again,” he demands.

‘Chris’ laughs again, the fucker, twisting his fingers perfectly over the little bundles of nerves. Phil’s toes curl and his hips thrust back of their own volition trying to fuck himself on ‘Chris’’ fingers. ‘Chris’ lets him, holding his fingers strong and steady, and Phil starts keening with every thrust. He doesn’t hit his prostate every time, but that only makes it better, little rivulets of sweat running down his back adding some extra stimulation, and then there’s the all-encompassing fire of ‘Chris’’ fingers. His partner plays with his cheeks, fingers quickly dipping down to press against his perineum, play with his balls, and stroking the inside of Phil’s thighs. Every damn thrust shakes Phil. Then ‘Chris’ starts pressing the pads of his fingers upwards, putting even more pressure on his prostate until Phil sobs, clawing hard enough at the sheet to nearly tear it. He’s on fire, every sensation on his skin extra sensation, heat pooling more and more in his gut, every thrust making him clench down. So, so close.

‘Chris’ pulls his fingers out.

Phil presses back against him, fruitlessly, until he understands.

“No… no, please! Chris, please, please.”

‘Chris’ presses gentle kisses to every processus spinosus while he very carefully lubes up his fingers again, the slick sounds contrasting with the gentle touches of his lips, and going straight to Phil’s cock. Maybe it had been a bad idea to let Chris dominate him like that, because damn, Phil needs to come now, right now, with ‘Chris’’ beautiful fingers pressed against his prostate, and then another time with his cock.

“Need to come, beautiful?” ‘Chris’ asks, right into Phil’s ear again. He shivers at the breath ghosting over his skin.

“Please. Please.”

“Think you can come a third time after that?” ‘Chris’ chest hair is dragging over Phil’s sweaty back, synapses shooting the sensation everywhere.

“On your cock?” Phil grinds back against ‘Chris’ breathlessly. “Hell yeah.”

“Good.”

Then ‘Chris’ pushes his fingers back inside, three this time, stretching Phil nicely, making him feel every knuckle. Phil whimpers as they hit his prostate, the barest hint of sensation, and it’s making him tighten up even more, the sheer anticipation.

“Hmm, I’m wondering -” ‘Chris’ murmurs, and no, no, can’t he wonder later, not when Phil is so close? “- since you probably want to sleep in this bed, was wondering whether we shouldn’t maybe get a towel.” Phil can barely understand what the fuck ‘Chris’ is talking about, because god, he wants, he wants, he wants so badly.

‘Chris’ pulls his fingers out. “Guess I’ll have to find the bathroom myself then.”

He’s back within moments, running a gentle hand over Phil’s spine.

“You stayed in position. Man, it looks like you really want to be fucked.”

Phil whines in response, trying to spread his legs even farther. ‘Chris’ tucks the towel under him, running his fingers over Phil’s twitching dick, and then his fingers are back inside Phil’s ass. Phil groans and presses back immediately. ‘Chris’’ fingers hitting his prostate perfectly.

“Come for me, Phil,” ‘Chris’ whispers into his ear, wrapping his fingers around his dick and tugging.

Phil shivers, entirely too on-edge, sensations shooting along his nerves, cock thrumming to the presses on his prostate.

“Come for me,” ‘Chris’ says again, biting his neck, and Phil does, gasping into the pillow, clenching around ‘Chris’’ fingers, body undulating with the shockwaves.

‘Chris’ pulls his fingers out, petting Phil’s rim while he starts breathing again, having completely collapsed into the mattress.

“Fuck, you’re attractive when you come.”

Phil pushes himself up and flops onto his back, still panting.

“You got damn talented fingers,” he gets out, eyes half closed. “God.”

‘Chris’ runs his hand along the inside of Phil’s thigh.

“I hope you’re not planning to nap now,” he teases.

Phil smiles blissfully. “Oh, I could.” He doesn’t need to look at ‘Chris’ to know he’s pouting, and again it’s scary how close he already feels to him. “Haven’t gotten any action in, hmm, aaaages, so what if I’m a little exhausted now?”

‘Chris’ pounces on him, biting his way up Phil’s chest and neck until he’s kissing him, harsh, nipping at Phil’s lips and forcing his tongue inside. Phil can’t help himself but run a hand up ‘Chris’’ arm, admiring the bunched-up muscles of his shoulders, strong neck. He threads his legs out from between ‘Chris’’ and wraps them around his hips instead, ‘Chris’ groaning appreciatively and nudging his pelvis against Phil’s.

“Fuck, you’re gonna feel so good.” He kisses along Phil’s jaw again, hips already subtly thrusting against his skin.

Phil wiggles, and from the sound ‘Chris’ makes he obviously enjoys it. “All yours.”

‘Chris’ guides himself in, a broken sound leaving his throat. Phil tilts his hips upwards, going a bit cross-eyed as he’s finally, finally getting that beautiful dick. He’s so full, can feel it in his throat, and he’s not even anywhere close to getting hard again.

“So tight,” ‘Chris’ gasps against Phil’s neck, shaking with holding himself back. “So fucking hot, Phil, god.”

“Baise-moi,” Phil says, grinning stupidly at the ceiling. “Viens, baise-moi, donne-moi bien.”

“I got no idea what that’s supposed to mean but please, please Phil, let me.”

“Dieu, oui, s'il vous plaît.” ‘Chris’’ dick is almost burning and Phil needs it, needs it so badly.

‘Chris’ pushes himself up, haphazardly shoving his hair out of his face. He looks obviously desperate.

“Please, please let me, Phil, oh God, I have no idea what you just said, but please.”

Phil laughs breathlessly and runs a hand through ‘Chris’’ hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, go ahead, fuck me, put me into next week, please.”

‘Chris’ head falls back onto Phil’s clavicle and then he snaps his hips into Phil, dragging his cock over seemingly every nerve ending, littering shakey kisses over Phil’s neck, hand on his coccyx, pulling his hips up further. Phil locks his ankles behind ‘Chris’’ and presses back, nails digging grooves in his scapulae, and Phil is definitely fast on the road to recovery, because every snap of ‘Chris’’ hips sends sparks up Phil’s spine. ‘Chris’ changes the angle a bit and hits Phil’s prostate dead on. Phil gasps, half in shock, bucking back against ‘Chris’, the hot slick drag of the head of ‘Chris’’ dick against his prostate becoming the center of his universe.

‘Chris’ pulls back for a moment, brushing his hair out of his face again, a wild look in his eyes. Phil winks and lets his leg wander from around ‘Chris’’ waist to on his shoulder, and ‘Chris’ grins a bit maniacally.

“Right. You’re bendy.”

“Damn right I am.”

‘Chris’ kisses the inside of Phil’s knee, suckling on the skin, and gives an experimental thrust of his hips, cock dragging perfectly over seemingly every nerve ending. ‘Chris’’ head falls back, lips opening of their own volition.

“Fuck, feel so damn good, Phil, so fucking tight.” ‘Chris’ presses in deep again, slowing down as if to savour every sensation. He runs a hand down Phil’s leg to pet at where they’re joined, press gently against Phil’s perineum, and then up again, playing with Phil’s sac. Phil gasps out a shivery breath because he’s approaching oversensitive, clenching down even harder around ‘Chris’, making him moan high in his throat and thrust again and again, slowly but surely setting Phil on fire from the inside.

“I’d love to see you ride me, move those hips, bounce on my dick, god, you’d look so fucking good, Phil, so damn beautiful.” ‘Chris’ is babbling now, clearly rapidly losing all higher brain functions.

“Then let me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Just get on your back and let me have free rein to sit on your dick.”

‘Chris’ pulls out faster than humanly possible, dick slapping up wetly against his stomach, and he flops on his back. Phil grins and straddles him immediately. He’s already getting an idea on how sore he’ll be tomorrow. ‘Chris’’ dick catches on Phil’s rim before it slides through the cleft, twitching slightly.

“Actually,” Phil says and grins at ‘Chris’. “I don’t think that’s the position I want.”

Before ‘Chris’ can object Phil turns around, pressing his ass out to rub against ‘Chris’’ dick, knees bracketing ‘Chris’’ hips.

“I think you’re getting a better view like this,” he remarks coily over his shoulder. ‘Chris’ moans softly, already nudging his dick against Phil again. Phil rises up high on his knees and runs a hand over ‘Chris’’ dick, thumb dragging over the slit, before he puts two fingers inside himself, spreading his hole for ‘Chris’ to see, bending over a little.

“Oh god, please, Phil,” the other man breathes, hands having settled on Phil’s hips.

Phil puts the head of ‘Chris’’ dick against his hole, letting it rest there for a few moments before slowly, carefully sliding down, clenching around ‘Chris’.

“Fuck,” ‘Chris’ whispers, throat obviously dry. Phil grins and wiggles a little, pushing his ass out and rotating his hips a little.

“You happy back there?” He asks with a smirk.

“Fuck, yes. Your ass is so great, you could probably make a fortune selling it.”

Phil freezes for a second before he laughs, bucking his hips a little. “Wow, I don’t wanna know the kind of people you usually pick up if you expect that to work.” He lifts his hips, almost letting ‘Chris’ slip out, before slamming back down, quickly working up a fantastic rhythm that takes some pressure away from his prostate. ‘Chris’ is all whines and moans and a ton of sexy little sounds, squeezing the globes of Phil’s ass and playing with his rim, every thrust making ‘Chris’ make another sound from deep in his throat. Phil’s thighs quickly start aching pleasantly, every thrust ‘Chris’ gives back to him making another little shake strain them.

“Turn around,” ‘Chris’ says suddenly, giving a soft little whimper as Phil stops moving. “Please, turn around, I wanna see you.”

Phil pulls off and turns around, delight blooming in his chest as he sees how absolutely wrecked ‘Chris’ looks.

“Don’t tease me, Phil, please, just give it to me.”

Yeah. Yeah, ‘Chris’’d probably earned that. Phil spreads his legs some more and positions the lovely cock he's getting, and then he slides down again, spine bowing in pleasure. ‘Chris’ grabs his hips desperately, immediately trying to push deeper. Phil lets him, lets him lift Phil off and slam him down again, falling into a punishing rhythm that makes Phil see stars with every drag of ‘Chris’’ cockhead against his prostate. Phil's dick slaps against his stomach, adding to the lovely sounds of sex. ‘Chris’ is staring at him, biting his lips red, little sounds of encouragement escaping.

“Fuck, you're taking it so well, like you were made for my cock, made for taking it. So beautiful, so fucking gorgeous, Phil, wanna do this forever, fuck, yes, yes, Phil, god, please.”

Phil laughs eventually, sanity quickly slipping against the rhythm of ‘Chris’’ cock in his ass, so deep and hard. He holds on to ‘Chris’’ forearms in a desperate attempt to balance himself. He's so close he can taste it, even though it's the third one.

“God, fuck, Phil, please tell me you're fucking close, I can't - unf, can't stave it off much longer, but I want you to come on my dick, please.” He's desperate, he's obviously so fucking desperate for it. Phil wraps a hand around his dick and tugs roughly, shaking with every touch. It's too much, too much, and he comes with a quiet scream, shuddering apart on top of ‘Chris’. ‘’Chris’ gasps, swears softly, bucking his hips once, twice more, before flipping them around roughly, pounding into Phil, who blissfully takes it.

‘Chris’ groans lowly in his throats as he comes, hips snapping of their own volition, teeth buried in the soft skin of Phil's neck. Then he stills, and they both just breathe for a couple minutes.

Eventually, ‘Chris’ pulls out, dragging against Phil's painfully sensitive rim. Phil is barely even awake anymore - he registers ‘Chris’ haphazardly wiping them off with the towel, and then he's out like a light, post-orgasmic tingles delivering him into the sweetest dreams he's had for a long time.

Phil wakes up gradually, the world slowly filtering back in. He’s only aware of the presence next to him as he’s almost completely awake.

‘Chris’ is still there, the morning light that’s coming through the windows making his hair glow, which should look stupid and take the saturation out of it, but of course he makes it work. He’s lying on his side, one elbow propped up to rest his chin in his hand, watching Phil with some sort of quiet amusement.

“Good morning!”

He’s a morning person. Great.

“I would’ve made you breakfast, but then I thought you might not want to wake up to a nuclear war zone, so I didn’t.”

He’s a person who talks in the morning. Fucking fantastic.

Phil lets his face fall back into the pillow, groaning softly. What kind of caveperson talks before half a liter of caffeine?

“Not a morning person?” ‘Chris’ is obviously delighted.

“Fuck you,” Phil muffles into the pillow.

“Now, don’t be so eloquent, doctor.”

Phil wants to flip him off, but he also kind of wants to get laid again and maybe grab coffee with the guy later (and date him and kiss him every night and “how was your day, darling?”, but that’s besides the point). He’s awake enough to know that being rude might diminish his chances of seeing (feeling) ‘Chris’ in action again, and really, getting fucked into the mattress again (by the way: he’s sore in all the right places. It’d been quite a while.) is far, far better than giving in to his grumpy, morning hating self. Fuck, ‘Chris’ is talented.

“It’s way too fucking early,” he accuses no-one in particular, and ‘Chris’ giggles.

“It’s oh-nine-oh-eight.”

“My point exactly.

‘Chris’ - god, he should really ask the guy for his real name - runs a teasing finger over Phil’s spine and Phil sighs, almost dozing off again.

“Lucky for you -”. It’s hard to concentrate with the way ‘Chris’ is touching him, completely non-sexual, palm of his hand over Phil’s shoulder blades, but it feels great. “- I’m a good cook.”

“And a vegetarian.”

Phil pushes himself up to glare at ‘Chris’.

“So what?”

“I’m afraid that puts a definite damper on our great, poetic romance.” ‘Chris’ is grinning, but a tiny, hopeful part of Phil feels punched in the gut. Oh. Okay. ‘Chris’ is … decidedly not interested then. (‘And why would he be? Jesus, Phil, get a grip!’)

Instead, he sighs in mock-defeat.

“There’s also a café just around the corner, where they cater to carnivores as well. Make damn good coffee too.”

“Fantastic.”

Phil rolls on his side and observes ‘Chris’. He’s hot, of course, but there’s something else there too, a hardness like steel. Definitely not anybody.

“You never told me what you were at the party for,” he asks, a bit shy. ‘Chris’ doesn’t seem like the kind of person who likes divulging personal information.

“Eh. Same as you. Drinks, a good time, finding someone to spend the night with.”

“Which ship are you stationed on?”

‘Chris’ watches him warily. “A ‘fleet one.”

“Is Chris your real name?”

He snorts. “Yeah. No worse turn off than your partner screaming out the wrong name during orgasm because you didn’t give them the right one.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“No, of course I don’t.”

‘Chris’ shrugs. “Can’t help that, I’m afraid.” There’s a hint of something Phil doesn’t recognize in his eyes, dark and hard. “Look … I don’t want to, I don’t know, crush your hopes or anything, but I’m shipping out tomorrow and I’ve got a meeting this afternoon so … this is a one-time thing for me.”

Phil grins. “I know. Wish it wasn’t, ’cause hey, you’re hot and not completely stupid and a bomb in bed, too, and it’d be nice to have you waiting on me in nothing but an apron when I come home, but I guess it’s not meant to be.”

‘Chris’ laughs. “Seriously, you do not want me to touch a kitchen.”

“Oh, I don’t eat much at home. I’m more interested in the mental picture of you in a tiny apron.”

“Well, I’m much more interested in that café you were talking about.”

Phil shifts, morning erection dragging pleasantly against the sheets, and he wonders whether he can cajole ‘Chris’ into one last round of enthusiastic fucking.

“See, here’s the problem: you’re going to leave me here, all alone, with nobody to fuck me as well as you did, so I think you should put out once more. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

‘Chris’ stares at him with wide eyes before beginning to laugh.

“You have absolutely no shame, oh my god!”

Phil shrugs lazily. “Look, you’re damn good in the sack and this is probably the last time I’ll see you in my life; and once I have my assignment I’ll probably get stationed on the only ship in the ‘fleet where everyone is either ugly or female or straight or, if I, by some miracle, find someone willing to bang me, they’re probably not as good as you are. So I gotta make the most of having you in my bed.”

‘Chris’ chuckles and drags a hand over Phil’s spine, ending up with this fingers in his hair.

“Well thank you for the endorsement.” He scoots closer and bites at Phil’s shoulder. “And if we’d spend more time together, you’d find out that the way into my heart really is through my stomach.” His fingers slide lower again, pushing back the sheet draped over Phil’s ass and gently dipping between his cheeks.

“Fuck, you’re still wet.”

Phil stretches himself out some more. “Mhm. But if you go in without additional lube I’ll chop your dick off.”

‘Chris’ snorts. “Right, fine.”

He stretches out to the bedside table and grabs some, popping the cap one-handedly and lubing up his fingers. Phil moans and presses back against the intrusion. ‘Chris’ moves on top of him, and Phil spreads his legs readily, and then ‘Chris’ presses inside again. Phil buries his groan in the pillow. He’s sore from last night and of course ‘Chris’ managed to grab the heating lube, so there are a ton of sensations going on back there.

‘Chris’ settles, gasping hot breath onto Phil’s neck.

“Fuck, you still feel so fucking good, so tight.”

Phil clenches and predictably, ‘Chris’ twitches and groans.

“Come on, fuck me already.”

‘Chris’ growls and snaps his hips forward quickly, Phil crying out with the sudden sensation.

“Aah, wait a second, now where was ... “ Chris trails off and twists a little, changing his angle until shoving in again. He hits Phil’s prostate, hard and hot and heavy, and begins pistoning his hips in and out, setting heavy bites all over Phil’s shoulders and neck, strong fingers encircling Phil’s wrists and holding them over his head while he fucks into him, and fuck, that is such a turn off, technically; being absolutely mercilessly held down, completely immobile, tripping pretty much every trigger of Phil’s, but Chris makes it work. Again, the incredible amount of trust Phil puts into this stranger should terrify him, but it’s hard to think when there’s a dick so hot and hard inside of him, rubbing over all the good spots, electricity shooting up Phil’s spine and heat pooling in his gut. Every thrust nudges his dick against some creases in the sheet, wet and sticky with precome already, rough enough to feel really damn good.

Phil comes sobbing into his pillow, knocking his hips back erratically and tightening around ‘Chris’, who doesn’t stop until he’s fucked Phil all the way through his orgasm. He comes with a low moan bitten into the side of Phil’s neck.

They both pant harshly for a couple minutes until ‘Chris’ rolls off of Phil, flopping onto his back.

“Best ass in the galaxy, that’s for sure.”

Phil huffs. “Best dick in the galaxy.”

“Why, thank you.”

Phil's stomach takes that as its cue to growl loudly, and they both laugh.

“You wore me out,” Phil accuses.

“You said you'd buy me breakfast,” ‘Chris’ counters.

“That I did. Shower?”

“Alone; I doubt it'd be a particularly productive one if we'd take it together.”

“Fair. You go ahead, I'll try to find a shirt or a jacket that might fit you. Think I owe you, considering how I ripped your dress uniform. There should be a spare toothbrush in the dresser under the mirror.”

“Cool, thanks.” And off Chris goes. It feels like the first goodbye. God, Phil really hopes it won't develop into a crush. He doesn't have the time to cry after a one night stand. Well. One night and one morning.

Breakfast with ‘Chris’ turns out to be hilarious. They talk about Starfleet cadets - unequivocally agreeing that they're the worst and when they were in that age, they were nowhere near as bad. They talk about the concept for the Lancelot class, which leads them to a discussion about space depression, which leads them to astrophysics, which Phil doesn't know too much about, but thoroughly enjoys ‘Chris’’ insights on.

It's like a date, except ‘Chris’ isn't interested and will be off planet tomorrow.

Phil gets an amazingly filthy parting kiss and the loose promise to hook up again when they maybe see each other on a Starbase, and then ‘Chris’ is gone like he was never there. Phil turns around and heads home.

His bedroom smells like them and the sheets are still damp with sweat. He should probably change them. (He doesn't.) There’s also ‘Chris’’ destroyed jacket hanging over the back of the couch. Phil picks it up and inhales the smell.

It's like ‘Chris’ changed his entire life just by fucking Phil into the mattress twice.

He’s a bit late for his shift, but he hopes nobody will notice

“Well someone got laid tonight,” Martha says as way of greeting, smiling cheerfully. The elderly couple she seems to be talking to at the moment fluster immediately, and so does Phil. He loves Martha, trusts her implicitly, and if he had to name a favorite nurse he’d name her without a moment’s hesitation, and he also considers her one of his few close close friends. But that doesn’t mean that such crudeness in public embarasses him any less.

“Tell me all about him later!”

He tries to ignore her, cheeks on fire, and ducks into his office.

She shows up a few minutes later, carrying a steaming mug of coffee as an apology. He wants to glare at her and be angry so, so badly.

“So!” She scoots close to him with the chair she appropriated. “I’m incredibly happy your bad case of blue balls is now alleviated, and you have the bearing of a man who had the time of his life, not to mention a lovely looking, barely covered hickie, so it must’ve been a very special guy if you let him mark you up. Tell me!”

Phil sighs and takes a sip of his coffee. It’s scalding hot and perfect.

“He was perfect. Tall, built, gorgeous blond hair, long enough to play with, beautiful grey eyes … smart. Teasing. Great smile. Fantastic voice. Skilled fingers. A god in bed. Literally sex on legs. The second I put eyes on him I knew I wanted him.” Phil groans and hides his face in his hands.

“Oh my god, Philip. You’re in love!”

“I’m not in love, Martha, come on, I just met the guy. I don’t even know his name!”

“Wait what?”

“I just - I don’t know, I felt something with him.”

She giggles. “Yeah, from the way you can’t sit still I bet you felt something.”

He throws a stylus at her.

“No, seriously. There was something. I trusted him pretty much immediately. It was like .. not like we were meant to be or something, just … I trusted him.”

“Wow. Okay. Are you sure he didn’t slip you something?”

Phil’s mind flashes back to ‘Chris’ stealing the sugar from the rim of his glass, the only time the other man touched his drink. Could he …? But no, Phil hadn’t touched his drink after that.

“I know it’s stupid. But … there was something. I liked him.” He sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see him again one day. Those command types get themselves injured all the time, and if I really do get assigned to a ‘ship - I don’t know, I might meet him again.”

“At the very least you got laid.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be thinking about it for the rest of my life. Man, he was fantastic.”

“Dick size?”

“Oh for - Martha!”

“What?! A girl is allowed to be curious!”

“Like I said, he was perfect. Beautiful, gorgeous, everything you could ever want. Exactly who I’d hoped to find. Mmh.” Phil pillows his head on his arms and stares into the distance. “God, he was gorgeous. And funny. We had breakfast together this morning, and … whoever he was, he was hilarious and smart and witty and I want to talk to him forever. Fuck, maybe I am in love.”

Martha snickers again. “Sounds like you had the time of your life, and some very well deserved rec time.”

“That I did, that I did …” Phil trails off, remembering the way ‘Chris’ kisses, subtly incredibly dominant, and part of Phil wants to put him in his place, make him do what Phil wants, hear him beg.

Martha pats him on the shoulder. “I gotta go back out - we’re a bit understaffed today. You enjoy your daydream. Don’t forget your rounds!”

Phil nods, still a little spaced out. He’ll never forget those eyes. Hard, but also filled with mirth, and not the quiet enjoyment Phil gets from life … something different, something more energetic. And those hands, fuck, those hands.

His first assignment is the Regulus, a heavy duty border patrol ship, some good twenty years old and more than needing a refit. The officers are more brawny than Phil imagined, hard on the edges and not too welcoming of him, even though he manages to bring the yearly fatalities down to twelve percent, which is stunning for the kind of work the Regulus does. She gets into more firefights per year than the average starship in her lifetime and due to a lack of patrol ships she’s falling more and more into disrepair, Starfleet only ever sending out new hands to restaff.

It’s … not what Phil imagined. Not what he wanted. Of course everyone dreams of being assigned to a shiny new ship, discover exciting planets and space anomalies; he knew that the reality would look quite different, but he hadn’t thought it would look so drab and dark.

He gets the recommendation for CMO onboard a deep space cruiser within two years, the Regulus’ CMO immediately fond of him, but it takes another three years until he’s transferred - back to Earth, where he waits for another eight months for his ship, the Yorktown to be completed and her captain to end their current assignment. He uses his time to complete the psychology degree he’d been working on for a while, and then he spends his time at ‘fleet Medical, reconnecting with old colleagues and friends. Martha worms out of him that yes, he had actively been searching for Chris’es to have sex with, if at all, but that he hadn’t found his Chris again, and she laughs a lot.

“You know, what if he’s your new captain? You are reassigned, right?”

“God, I hope not. And yes, I’ll be on the Yorktown, once they manage to complete her. She’s six months overdue by now.”

“No way! The Yorktown! She’s a pretty one. Starfleet’s pride and joy.”

“Yeah … can’t be worse than the Regulus.”

Martha waves a hand in dismissal. “Heavy duty border patrol vehicle that’s older than my grandma. Please. Everything is better than those.”

Phil finally gets the summons for the staff meeting three days later. Ironically, his captain is named Chris - Christopher Pike. He doesn’t bother looking up the guy’s face because hey, what even are the chances? He’s (mostly) over ‘Chris’ anyways, only keeping the memories alive for lonely nights. He might have a lot of those, so the memories are very alive, but that doesn’t matter.

When he walks into the meeting room a bit too early, all decked out in his uniform, hair not as messy as he usually keeps it, there’s only one occupant so far. He’s sprawled in the chair at the head, fiddling with a PADD, and the two full and one half stripes denounce him to be Phil’s new captain. He looks up as Phil enters the room, a lock of burnished blond hair that’s a bit longer than regulation allows falling into his eyes. His eyes lock onto Phil, and it’s different now that they’re in a professional environment and not at a party, but there’s no doubt that Captain Pike is ‘Chris’.

Phil’s heart misses a beat. He remembers Chris on his knees, swallowing down his dick; how he mouthed at Phil’s neck; the sounds he made when he pushed inside of Phil; his quiet endorsements as he watched Phil fuck himself on his dick; his face when he came.

The room is stifling all of a sudden, dress uniform choking him and what would he say anyways?

More importantly, what does he do, just walk up to the guy and say hi and pretend he isn’t hard as a rock in his pants? Beg him for a repeat performance? Just get on his knees? Fuck, Chris - Captain Pike probably doesn’t even remember!

Chr- Pike sets the PADD down with a flourish.

“Doctor Boyce! Fantastic to meet you!” He’s still all boyish grin, but he grew into those long limbs some more, put on some more muscle, voice just a hint deeper, grip on Phil’s hand sure and strong.

“Captain Pike,” he manages, dizzy with Chris’ presence.

Lieutenant Commander Number One’s entrance somewhat saves Phil and gives him a moment to breathe as Pike goes to greet her.

He doesn’t know how he keeps his head level throughout the meeting, and his entire trip home is filled with nothing but Chris. It’s not at all hard to find the resemblance between Chris and Captain Pike, and Phil wonders what he’d be like now, with almost six years more experience. He really shouldn’t think things like this about his CO, especially not his brand new CO, but he wants so badly.

A quick image search gives him tons of beautiful, beautiful pictures of Pike, and he randomly selects one to send to Martha.

She replies only moments later: So, um, surprise, but that dude isn’t just pretty damn cute, but also my new captain … surprise? I got myself assigned and we’ll see each other on the Yorktown!!

Phil stares at that message for a minute.

What?!

Yeah, I know :P

But he’s cute, isn’t he?

Martha … he’s Chris

She rings him immediately.

“That Chris?” she asks, mouth vaguely o-shaped.

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” she gasps. “Oh my god! What are you going to do?!”

Phil runs a hand over his face.

“Fuck if I know.”

“Does he remember?”

Does he? It didn’t seem like he did. Probably he doesn’t, since it’s been six years. Who would remember (other than a sociophobe with no considerable sex life)?

“Uh, I don’t think so… It’s probably for the better. I’m happy you’ll be on the Yorktown though!”

“Oh nononono, don’t make this about me. Phil what are you going to do? How do you even stand being in a room with the one guy you’ve been thinking about for more than half a decade?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. I probably embarrassed myself majorly in the staff meeting, and I could barely think straight or take my eyes off him. It was bad. I have no idea how to survive on a ship with him, but I can’t get a reassignment either.”

“Philip. Seriously, if you’d get a reassignment, I’d kill you myself. CMO onboard the new flagship is the best thing for your career you could think of, and it’s what you deserve. You just have to find a way to get that damn captain out of your mind.”

Phil sighs. “I know. I just … don’t know how, I feel like I’m in too deep.”

“The Yorktown is big enough and you’ll have enough work that you won’t see him too often, and I’ll do everything I can to find a beautiful young lieutenant you can focus your affections on. You’ll be fine.”

“You do realize that frat regs are still a thing? The only people on the ship that I can legally sleep with are the captain or the first officer. Because we’re the only three people of equal power, so to speak. If one of them goes nuts and the other one follows suit because they’re in love with them, the third person can stop them, and so forth.”

Martha shrugs. “Alright, bang the first officer, problem solved.”

“She’s female.”

“Oh. Well, sucks for you, um … I suppose becoming heterosexual all of a sudden isn’t going to happen?”

Phil grins despite himself. “At the very least it’d be difficult.”

“Hm. That sucks.”

It does. Because the problem isn’t that Phil found the guy he’s been lusting after for years; it isn’t that this guy is his superior; it is that he’s now even hotter than before, pure sex on legs, seemingly no memory of Phil, and Phil will have to work closely with the guy. He is so fucked.

He spends a while scrolling through the pictures of Chr- of Pike. They’re all official, so he’s in uniform and often in dress uniform. Commendation for this, Medal of Honor for that, looking always either lovely, sometimes cute, and always hot as fuck. Phil stops at one that seems oddly familiar. Christopher Pike, promoted to captain. Phil stares at the uniform he’s wearing in the picture, stares at the stardate and connects the dots. He’d picked Chris up from his own promotion party, ripped his brand new dress uniform and had incredibly hot and incredibly filthy sex with him. They’d done it without barrier film. Hell, Phil hadn’t even gotten himself checked afterwards. Starfleet’s youngest, best and brightest captain - and Phil still had the promotion dress uniform.

And it’s not like Christopher Pike is the only Pike Phil has ever heard about. There’s Commodore Pike, now admiral, who single-handedly hardassed his way to a fantastic resolution of the Beluga incident; Charlotte Pike, probably Chris’ mother, a brilliant biologist with a focus on underdeveloped humanoid species; Honorary Commander Pike, first name probably Marsha, one of Starfleet’s most esteemed lawyers; Grace and Helby Pike, twins, the best navigator-pilot team in the ‘fleet; and those are just the one’s Phil remembers ad hoc.

So he hadn’t been that wrong about Chris probably having a trust fund.

Phil sighs and sets the PADD aside. God, he hopes he can somehow make it through his service under Chris Pike without the man finding out about Phil’s infatuation. Or, heh, he’d also gladly serve under him the other way.

He glares at Phil Junior, who has been tremendously interested ever since Phil found the pictures. Well, fuck. Time to get the jacket then. Not that it still smells of Chris at all, but it has come in very … handy.

Yes, Phil is that pathetic. Ugh.

And if he’s not completely wrong, it won’t be the last time he accidentally gasps out his new CO’s name when he comes.

look at it it’s my (current) fave child!!

i hope you enjoyed it... it’ll be on ao3 uhh eventually :p

prompts are still open btw, i’m just chipping away at one of them currently, and it’s not doing what it’s supposed to, but eh. (also if you wanna shoot some spuhura my way i’d love you forever!!)

#chril #christopher pike #philip boyce #star trek #star trek aos #fanfic #my writing #my post

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