To Boldly Go Where No Man Has Gone Before Sam/Dean & J2 Comment-fic Meme
I think it's about time to do start this up again. How about this round let's have some commentfic and art about Uranus SPACE.
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Title: Three Steps Past Triton
Rating: R
Words: 1400
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The hangar lock ain't exactly romance central, but there's plenty of sex for sale here. Sixteen months on a freighter'd make any spacer think pretty much anything other than his own hand and his own skanky crew look like a banquet. Jensen's seen it often, and done it enough to not condemn Nix and Wack for the glee with which they pounce on a pair of rank-looking nightbirds, all cheap stink, ragged net and slick silver on mouth and tits.
These days, Jensen thinks first. He thinks about the high likelihood of disease among these unfortunate whores, and the even higher rate of sleazebag pimps and lovers who hang about them, ready to part a careless spacer from his hard-earned. Now, Jensen can handle himself in any fight you care to name - last guy to find that out died with a blade in his eyeball, and a look of great surprise - but these days, he's older, more cautious, more tired. And, given the choice, he'll mostly handle himself, and save himself the trouble of involving others.
Which is handy, in deep space. Jensen's made a lot of money, lately, by not caring so much if he never sees nor touches another human.
So that ain't what's happening here. Yet Jensen ain't moving on.
This one's a kid. Well, maybe eighteen, nineteen, but he's all angles and legs, not near grown, though Jensen hopes he don't get much taller than his current beanpole self. He's pretty enough atop the heights, foxy eyes and wide mouth begging for dick. (Verbally, as well as metaphorically, so Jensen gets no points for symbolism there.) But he ain't Jensen's type. Whatever that was, back when it mattered.
And yet Jensen has stopped, and is standing.
"Rates are reasonable, and I'm willing, sir. You're gonna love how willing I am." The kid smiles, and it's sleazy enough, but it's also naïve enough to be nearly real. The same way the kid's clothes are tight denim and silver skin, nipples on parade and dick outlined clear as day, and yet he wears them like Jensen's kid brother would, apparently all unconscious of the picture he makes. This kid has good tricks, Jensen'll admit. He also has bruises, a little on one cheek probably connected with the healing bust lip he's tried to smear over with slick. And on one wrist, Jensen spots old Scythe scars. The kid may not still be a user - users usually can't walk nor talk enough to turn tricks - but he's been there. Tough deal. Yet he's smiling.
For some reason, Jensen's still thinking, and he's still stopped by the boy. He can see Nix waving a thumbs up like Jensen's a done deal but- "No thanks, kid. Not in need just now."
"Sure of that?" The kid is persistent. And more so than most whores, he's focused on Jensen. "Cuz I saw you were off the Impala, and that's a long haul in the black. And if you're who I think, you're out on the Lucifer tomorrow. Which means you have maybe a six hour window to feel some human touch in justabout three years of space."
"Two hours," says Jensen, absently. "Manifest looks hinky, gotta be checking the- Wait. You don't care." Except the kid maybe does. He's worked out who Jensen is. He knows about voyages and transfer times (anyone could maybe know Jensen, but someone who doesn't know missions would've said he had nearer eighteen hours on-station free time). He's surprising, and Jensen doesn't often get surprised. "You a spacer family, then?"
"No family," says the kid. "But I'm station bred. And my dad, he was a freighter pilot. I always wanted to see-" He stops, parrots Jensen. "Wait. You don't care."
And yet. Jensen kind of does. Dad was around, but there's no family now. Kid's been scythed, but got out from under its sway. Kid dreams of space, but the skinny underfed look says he don't have cash for so much as a moon hop. Selling his ass with enough of a smile and not quite losing those space dreams despite all. Just possible Jensen sees a little of himself in there, though his momma would spank him for the comparison, if he ever goes home again. (Not in a month of blue moons, last he heard.)
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"Kid? Giving you a choice," and he watches as the kid brightens, interested, even if for all he knows all Jensen's offering is a pick of ass or mouth, or extra cash for bareskinning or whatever. But Jensen suspects the kid sees straight through him, to the other possibilities Jensen's been mulling.
"Give you double rates to spend an hour with me, swallow me down, make me see stars, then fuck me like you mean it." Jensen has pretty specific needs, and lots of kid whores would blink at them, he not being their typical clientele.
Not this kid. His cheeks pinken right up, but with arousal not confusion, belly muscles showing sharp under his shirt as his balls draw up, gut tightening with a so-clear want that's survived however long blowing ancient sweaty spacers just off their boats. Jensen almost forgets the second part in knowing this kid can give him what he'd most enjoy. But- "Or," he manages, "Or you can sign on with me on the Lucifer."
The kid just blinks. Probably thinks it's a joke or a trick. Jensen expands. "Got a rookie berth if you wanted. Pay's shit. Work's hard. Two years out, at best, and you won't be the same person when you come home. If you come home. But-" He casts a look around the lock; the oily film on surfaces; the three girls and one guy that haven't managed to hitch with even desperate deep-spacers just off-board. "'M guessing you don't have much you'll miss."
"You mean it?" asks the kid, all tremulous and disbelieving. "Because, sir, I'd do anything to get aboard. For pay, on the books for real? Double anything." His hands are reaching out, to touch Jensen in ways that can't be mistook.
He steps back. "Careful, kid. Could be a trickster, out for a freebie. But I don't take advantage of my crew that way. And if you're signing on my ship, my two hour window just vanished. We'll need to get you booked and outfitted, find you a berth and an overseer-" When whoever got the job got his dick out of whichever of the kid's colleagues he'd picked up, that would be. Meantime, he's the captain's problem. Jensen's moving off, head full of necessary tasks.
The kid stops him, hand on his arm, and slays Jensen with a simple question. "But, sir? Am I not allowed to fuck you on board?" And he looks upset, undecided even. Now, Jensen remembers being eighteen and dick-ruled, but he's pretty sure there's more to this. Like, the kid might even actually want him. For real.
It's been a real long time since Jensen had that feeling. And it'll cause hell if the captain plays favourites with a rookie and-
Aw, fuck it. Jensen's not a saint. Never had ambitions in that direction.
"Not till we're out in the deep," he says. "And then only if you should choose to ask me. No payment. No obligations. You ain't a whore no more. You clear, crewman- Crewman whatsyername?"
The kid laughs, and tells him. He's still a bruised, slick-clad whore on the surface, but even more than when Jensen first laid eyes on him, he doesn't entirely look the part. Holding himself differently, darting off to collect a small stash from the lock-keeper, waving enthusiastic goodbyes to fellow unfortunates in this hellhole. He's a kid off to space camp, the way Jensen was, an eon or three back, when the world was innocent and he'd never killed a man nor met a kid who sold his ass for food and life.
Jensen's fucking conscience will be the death of him, someday. But not with this Jared kid, he's pretty sure.
***
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. . . please? :D
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I don't know there's likely to be more, but there is *potential*, you know?
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And: "But, sir? Am I not allowed to fuck you on board?" And he looks upset, undecided even.
Eeeeeee! MFEO!!! \o/
I could read about these two forever. *_*
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