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writetomyheart2013-12-14 06:55 pm
orangegreenlove.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2013-12-14 06:55 pm
[Team Two] Until our sky turns purple for the final time
Space aliens, gun kink, angst... I have no idea how this happened.
Hard vacuum, only held at bay by a thin pane of translucent plastic. Most people, human and otherwise, avoid the windows in the outer part of the space station.
Second Officer Totsuka is weird. His refusal to use a sensible energy disruptor or at least a laser is just one example in a long string of eccentricities. Fraternizing with aliens is another, lesser known one.
“Please return my gun,” Totsuka repeats, his voice inching closer to a scold.
Hashimoto shakes his head, his antennae vibrating above his fluffy hair. He drops the six rounds onto the table and shows Totsuka the empty chambers. “See? Empty.” He snaps the cylinder back into place and aims the revolver at the floor, an empty click the only thing that happens when he pulls the trigger. “Empty and save~”
When Totsuka nods slowly, Hashimoto finally hands the gun over. Holding onto the barrel, he offers it to Totsuka grip first. Totsuka accepts the revolver, but doesn't put it away just yet. “What's this about, Hasshi?”
Hashimoto grins at the use of his nickname – humans are not supposed to show this degree of friendliness to other species. “I like Tottsu.”
“Hasshi...” More than the dubious legality of inter-species relations, there is the matter of largely incompatible biologies to consider. It's not the first time they've had this conversation.
“Trust me.”
Totsuka shakes his head but doesn't resist when Hashimoto takes a hold of his wrist, careful not to touch his bare skin. Raising Totsuka's hand until the gun is at a height with his face, Hashimoto leans in and licks a slow stripe up the length of the gun's barrel, his healthy green tongue looking darker than usual against the gray metal.
“Hasshi.”
“Watch me,” Hashimoto demands. He keeps his gaze locked on Totsuka, nictitating membranes occasionally moving horizontally over his eyeballs to keep them moist in the dry, artificial air of the lower loading deck.
Silently, Totsuka nods. A quick flash of a grin, and then Hashimoto wraps his lips around the upper part of the barrel. He sucks his cheeks in and bobs his head, but his eyes stay trained on Totsuka.
Totsuka isn't unaffected, far from it. He's no biologist, but he does have a second degree in xeno-psychology. He has spent entirely too much time in the ship's library, researching the customs of Hashimoto's people. He doesn't have wings, not even the vestigial remnants Hashimoto's species retains, but there's a reason he chose to wear this coat today. He wraps the wide, flaring coat around Hashimoto, taking care not to cut himself on the small, protruding bone spurs.
Hashimoto's eyes widen, the gun slipping out of his mouth. “Tottsu?”
“I would share my nest with you,” Totsuka recites, the words foreign on his tongue, “until our sky turns purple for the final time, I will love you.”
“Yes,” Hashimoto sobs, “yes.” He looks as if he wants to pull Totsuka into his arms, but the risk is much too great. Their skin might touch, which would mean burns for Hashimoto and a severe allergic reaction for Totsuka.
Instead, Hashimoto presses his lips to the gun's barrel, much the safest option. They remain like this until the gong that announces shift change startles them out of their thoughts.
“My great-great-grandpa was on the first ship that landed on Earth,” Hashimoto says, his voice still a bit shaky.
“Is that so?” Totsuka asks, willing to let Hashimoto change the topic for now. Everything is changed, yet nothing CAN change, not really.
Hashimoto nods. “I heard him tell the story once, shortly after I was hatched.” A grin. “Tottsu's ancestors must have been kinky. First thing they asked was if he was gonna kidnap people and do anal probes.”
Your turn,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rikikomori
Hard vacuum, only held at bay by a thin pane of translucent plastic. Most people, human and otherwise, avoid the windows in the outer part of the space station.
Second Officer Totsuka is weird. His refusal to use a sensible energy disruptor or at least a laser is just one example in a long string of eccentricities. Fraternizing with aliens is another, lesser known one.
“Please return my gun,” Totsuka repeats, his voice inching closer to a scold.
Hashimoto shakes his head, his antennae vibrating above his fluffy hair. He drops the six rounds onto the table and shows Totsuka the empty chambers. “See? Empty.” He snaps the cylinder back into place and aims the revolver at the floor, an empty click the only thing that happens when he pulls the trigger. “Empty and save~”
When Totsuka nods slowly, Hashimoto finally hands the gun over. Holding onto the barrel, he offers it to Totsuka grip first. Totsuka accepts the revolver, but doesn't put it away just yet. “What's this about, Hasshi?”
Hashimoto grins at the use of his nickname – humans are not supposed to show this degree of friendliness to other species. “I like Tottsu.”
“Hasshi...” More than the dubious legality of inter-species relations, there is the matter of largely incompatible biologies to consider. It's not the first time they've had this conversation.
“Trust me.”
Totsuka shakes his head but doesn't resist when Hashimoto takes a hold of his wrist, careful not to touch his bare skin. Raising Totsuka's hand until the gun is at a height with his face, Hashimoto leans in and licks a slow stripe up the length of the gun's barrel, his healthy green tongue looking darker than usual against the gray metal.
“Hasshi.”
“Watch me,” Hashimoto demands. He keeps his gaze locked on Totsuka, nictitating membranes occasionally moving horizontally over his eyeballs to keep them moist in the dry, artificial air of the lower loading deck.
Silently, Totsuka nods. A quick flash of a grin, and then Hashimoto wraps his lips around the upper part of the barrel. He sucks his cheeks in and bobs his head, but his eyes stay trained on Totsuka.
Totsuka isn't unaffected, far from it. He's no biologist, but he does have a second degree in xeno-psychology. He has spent entirely too much time in the ship's library, researching the customs of Hashimoto's people. He doesn't have wings, not even the vestigial remnants Hashimoto's species retains, but there's a reason he chose to wear this coat today. He wraps the wide, flaring coat around Hashimoto, taking care not to cut himself on the small, protruding bone spurs.
Hashimoto's eyes widen, the gun slipping out of his mouth. “Tottsu?”
“I would share my nest with you,” Totsuka recites, the words foreign on his tongue, “until our sky turns purple for the final time, I will love you.”
“Yes,” Hashimoto sobs, “yes.” He looks as if he wants to pull Totsuka into his arms, but the risk is much too great. Their skin might touch, which would mean burns for Hashimoto and a severe allergic reaction for Totsuka.
Instead, Hashimoto presses his lips to the gun's barrel, much the safest option. They remain like this until the gong that announces shift change startles them out of their thoughts.
“My great-great-grandpa was on the first ship that landed on Earth,” Hashimoto says, his voice still a bit shaky.
“Is that so?” Totsuka asks, willing to let Hashimoto change the topic for now. Everything is changed, yet nothing CAN change, not really.
Hashimoto nods. “I heard him tell the story once, shortly after I was hatched.” A grin. “Tottsu's ancestors must have been kinky. First thing they asked was if he was gonna kidnap people and do anal probes.”
Your turn,
rikikomori