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It had been a hauntingly long time since he’d gotten laid. Not that many people really gave your typical transgender, “over-enthusiastic” college kid much opportunity. He wasn’t a stranger to hate, even his own parents didn’t think it would last long enough that top surgery would be a thing, but well… here he was. Seven years later, living the life he wanted. Well, maybe not exactly. He didn’t expect to find himself on the Tulpar, first of all, and certainly didn’t see himself getting to intern after an old grouch that their top-notch Captain had told him, with a firm hand on the shoulder, that he’d ‘come around eventually’. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
Seriously, the man never seemed to give Daisuke a break. Both literally, and figuratively. As much as the young adult could think, could talk, could breathe—there was always more that Swansea had him doing. Checking the cryopods, rechecking the cryopods, playing around on the tech board meant to teach him things and a manual pressed in his lap as he worked, and then, double checking his rechecks of the cryopods. Honestly, how much did a guy need to hate him for Daisuke to catch a break?
Not that he didn’t take what he could in stride. The smile on his face as he completed each task, as diligently as the last, seemed enough to earn a spot in Swansea’s good books. Hopefully. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?
He felt like an idiot after the first three months aboard, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Not a moment to himself, besides when he slept—a mattress out in the common space where everyone came and went, either to get a water packet throughout the night, or to drift between lounging on the chairs near the big paneled window-screen… thing, and in all that time—three months of back and forth, not a single ounce of privacy, and a long journey still to go… well. A man had to do what a man had to do. But damn, did he wish he had his sex toys.
It’s well after Curly’s first few rounds of the night, to which Daisuke has noticed he doesn’t usually come back out. Sometimes a stray Anya would wander in to watch the big screen, but it was surely too late now for that. Jimmy seemed to sleep like a rock, and Swansea? Well, Daisuke didn’t want to think about Swansea—tonight was about himself, about his own pleasure. He’d spent the first half hour testing the waters, biting down on his thumb as he let his other hand explore—spreading the lips of his cunt wide as he dipped another finger into the slick warmth.
It was good, definitely what he needed after all the crap he’d dealt with, and he was barely getting started. Still, Daisuke lets his shoulders go lax against his mattress, head dropping against the stiff pillow as he presses his fingers deeper, moving them in slow circles and hooking as he passes the sweet spot that feels the best. A soft whine escapes, and the boy takes a moment to let the other hand explore his chest, rubbing and touching the skin and trying to imagine other hands. Warm and heavy. There’s no porn in space, no sex toys, so he’ll do what he can with drawing the images to his mind and his own hands.
He’s well into his own world—panting and heaving into the open lounge, slick definitely coating his thighs and breathless whines slipping out when he doesn’t have the decency to stifle them—when he hears movement, the tapping of footsteps against metal—and stills his efforts through quickly silenced pants and breathing. Someone’s already come into the room before he can pull his fingers out, and he’s just grateful that he hadn’t lifted the blanket or thrown it off entirely. What a scene they’d find if he had.
In the dim light of the nighttime panel, Daisuke can’t make out who it is. Especially as he tries to pretend to be asleep, one eye squished shut—the other is half-lidded, but from what he can tell from broad shoulders and a steady gait, it’s got to be one of the men. He’s still breathing hard, and from the beeps and workings of the machine in the kitchen, whoever it is seems to be up for a nighttime drink. Good. Good, they’ll go back to bed and his heart will feel less like it’s lodged in his throat. He’ll be able to breathe without feeling like his chest might explode, because it’s been three fucking months of Swansea’s bullshit and he just needs this. Needs a moment of this, to lose himself in the pleasure.
Then someone is stepping closer, and in the dim light—Daisuke can make out a messy mop of dark hair. A few people aboard could have hair like that, but with broad shoulders? No way in hell Anya has beefed up that much in one night. He can feel a tentative knot form in his stomach as Jimmy kneels down next to where he is in the dark, reaching out tentatively to clasp Daisuke’s shoulder.
“Hey kid,” comes the voice, tired and gruff from either just waking up, or something else. The boy thinks he could be a smoker back on Earth. “You awake?”
Heat floods his cheeks still, and he can only squirm against his fingers as a breathy noise escapes, letting his eyes peel open in a way that might faux sleep. When he looks up at the man full on, he can see the signs of worry on his face; brows etched upwards and lips pulled into a frown. There’s a half opened water packet in the hand not clasping his shoulder, and he’s dressed down to nothing but the Pony Express shirt and some sweats.
“Oh,” Daisuke mumbles, flushing up to his ears with this awful situation. He thinks he’d prefer to be pent up, or have been found by Swansea at this rate. The captain was one story, he knew about Daisuke being trans, and had gone to great lengths to make sure he was included and felt safe. Jimmy on the other hand, he wasn’t sure he could trust. “Jimmy?”
“Yeah, kid.” He muses, releasing the boy’s shoulder with a relieved expression. Though it never quite reaches his eyes. “You sounded like you were havin’ some kind of shit dream.”
His face flushes again. Was he really that loud?
He flexes his fingers out of sheer habit, before remembering promptly that they’re still inside of him. The sensation is enough to make him jolt a little, exhaling harder than he’d planned to. Jimmy’s face doesn’t change, but a single brow arches at the behavior enough that the intern wishes death upon himself a thousand times over.
“‘m fine,” he says, voice more slur than words, and he prays Jimmy will choke it up to having been woken up so suddenly. He can’t help but squirm under the scrutiny of the co-pilots gaze, eyebrows furrowing upwards as he bites down on his lip.
“You sure?” Jimmy asks.
Daisuke tries to seem convincing enough to shake his head.
“Um,” he clears his throat, breathing hard. “yeah, man. I-I’m totally fine.”
“That doesn’t sound very fine to me.” The man says, flatly, and the boy blows air through his teeth. He wants to curl up and let the world eat him.
“It’s uh,” he tries again, pathetically. Jimmy is focused on his face, and it’s enough so that he’s capable of sliding his fingers free without making much of a face. They’re sticky and covered in his own slick, and he avoids putting them anywhere near anything so he doesn’t end up needing more to clean up. Instead, he simply lets the hand rest between his thighs, “Probably missing home.”
“Yeah.” The brunette man says, shrugging one shoulder. In this light, the younger thinks Jimmy looks him over a little too hard, and then suddenly, there’s a hand brushing back his hair—feeling against his forehead. He tenses under the gesture, but there’s something about the warmth of the man’s hand that makes it hard for him to feel like he can lean away. Jimmy notices enough to click his tongue. “Just checkin’ your temperature. I’m not any nurse or anything, but I can tell at least when someone has a fever.”
He absently leans into the touch a little more, and Jimmy, in all his seeming innocence, lets it be. Hell, he practically moves his hand to cup one side of Daisuke’s face. The boy breathes hard again, squirming under the thin blanket. If the co-pilot notices this, he says nothing, but instead dips his fingers to cup under the boy's chin and lift his face to look him over. “You do feel awfully warm.”
“‘m fine,” Daisuke tries again, a little breathless. His gut coils, and he wishes that he had a vibe in. Maybe a dildo. The universe clearly hated him for separating him from his toys.
“It gets awfully lonely on this tin can.” Jimmy says, curtly, and Daisuke blinks up at him with a half-hazy gaze. He feels hot again, and while he was never very good at imagining, the weight of Jimmy’s hand is enough to fill in the gap. He hates himself for it, feels like a pervert—but Jimmy doesn’t seem ready to let him go.
There’s no real reason behind any of it, a fever check didn’t take this long, nor was there any need to touch Daisuke this fondly, but then he’s sliding the blanket aside—freeing his bare lower half to the cool air of the lounge, and the boy whines. Jimmy peels his eyes up and down the boy’s frame, and for a moment, there’s a flooding panic. A startle response of being so exposed in front of the man.
And then there’s fingers around his throat.
Hands dart up, coiling around Jimmy’s wrist as he fumbles with the hazy for purchase, but he feels high, and maybe a little drunk. “Thought so,” the man practically purrs, looking almost a bit sheepish. “That’s real ballsy, you know. Like you were just asking someone to find you.”
The boy whines, shaking his head beneath the weight of Jimmy’s grip, even as the man moves. Positioning himself between Daisuke’s legs. He flails them for a moment, eyes widening as panic turns the heat in his gut frigid, and then Jimmy fumbles with the ties of his sweat-pants, pulling them down enough that when he frees the hardening length there, the boy feels his legs lock up.
“Jimmy,” Daisuke whimpers, even as the man strokes at his cock.
“Shh,” The man whispers, leaning in closer. “It’s alright. You’ve been stressed and lonely, yeah? I can fix it. Make you feel better.”
The boy should yell, maybe do anything else besides just lay here, but he feels rooted. Frozen in place.
Then, all at once, there’s a cock stretching him. The older man doesn’t wait for him to respond, nor does he give him any warning before pushing in. Daisuke is wet enough that it doesn’t hurt, but it’s bigger than he was expecting. The girth itself pulls his lips apart, head dropping back and moaning just loud enough that Jimmy shifts the fingers around his neck to his mouth, forcing him silent as he steadies himself with the other hand. “Fuck,” he breathes, “Warm and tight. You’re real pretty, kid.”
It shouldn’t feel good. It shouldn’t be stretching him in the places he’s imagined, but it is—and gods. Daisuke feels like he could die. He digs his fingers into the front of Jimmy’s shirt as he rocks his hips once, and the boy whimpers against the palm that’s silencing him.
“You really have been lonely, haven’t you?” Jimmy presses, rocking slow—he pushes deeper with each grind, working his way further and further into the boy’s warmth that by the time Jimmy’s hips meet Daisuke’s ass, tears prick the corners of his eyes. “Keepin’ this greedy cunt all to yourself. No wonder Curly wouldn’t let me look at your file,” he mumbles, still grinding. “He probably wanted to get you alone like this too.”
A wicked smile pulls against the man’s lips. “Unless he already has?”
Daisuke whines, unable to speak against the hand covering his mouth, and Jimmy laughs. “I’m right, aren’t I? You’re letting the Captain fuck you, what a little slut.”
With that, Jimmy rolls his hips.
He sets a ruthless pace, with no real care for Daisuke’s pleasure or how adjusted he seems to be. Tears prick his eyes. The stretch is borderline painful, too much in all the right and wrong places, and he can feel each shuddered breath as Jimmy fucks into him. The onslaught of insults doesn’t stop there, pressing that Daisuke would let any man have “a piece” so long as he got some use out of it. Curly, Jimmy, even Swansea himself. He mumbles awful nothings into the boy’s ear, who's gut is a coiling mixture of pleasure and discomfort. Absently, Daisuke rocks against the hips, letting the man have his fill while he moans and whines.
The intern can’t help himself. As much as he feels ruthlessly violated, the heat coiling against his gut, bringing him closer to the orgasm he’s wanted for three long months, the less he cares about the how and the why. The less he can even think to deny it.
Jimmy pants against his ear, hips growing sloppy as Daisuke’s want teeters on too good, too much, and he moans against the man’s palm when he cums—white hot blinding his vision as his body spasms beneath the bigger man’s hold. He goes tight around the co-pilot’s cock, enough so that the sloppy movements of the other’s hips stagger into his own finish.
When Jimmy cums, he doesn’t bother to pull out, letting the beads of warm and sticky coat the insides of the man’s cunt before promising that this time ( or the next, so long as this stays their little secret ), Daisuke will have a baby fucked into him. He’s blinded by the post-high to do more than whine, cunt throbbing when the man pulls out and has the audacity to slide his boxers back on.
Even more so when he uses the weirdly thick sludge of his abandoned water packet to wipe both Daisuke and himself down ( be it to deny it ever happened, or for some twisted attempt at self care), before promptly abandoning the used boy on the floor, panting and heaving into his pillow. Between the heavy fog of being fucked and the delirium of what just happened, Daisuke wills himself to pull the blanket back over his body—and decides that he probably isn’t going to sleep. Not when the nighttime screen is already starting to go pink with the sunrise.