Dry, No Lube Ch. 04a: Desperado

"Anytime, Captain Cheys." She pulled up as they approached Ledecki's cabin, Pixy seizing his arm. "So. Here's the thing. My captain is a weirdo." He frowned. "Seriously."

He cocked his head. "Your captain," he replied quietly, "is fucking Lina Ledecki."

Pixy drew back in surprise. "I know. How do you know?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Lina Ledecki? She's intergalactically ranked in Parcheesi!" He patted his chest pocket. "I have my autograph book right here. She's fucking amazing!"

"What?" Pixy knew she looked like an idiot, but Amil Cheys had seen her worse. "You've heard of her?"

"Jesus Buddha, Pixy, who hasn't? The word is that she requested assignment out here so she could study for the Celestial Cup on Harbin IIb. It's like two months from now, and she's favored." He squinted. "You're serious, right? You really had no clue?"

Pixy shook her head. "Wow." A lot became clear all of a sudden. "Look, enjoy your little fangirl moment then. Maybe she'll let you suck on her clit."

He laughed. "That's you, projecting." She smacked his chest. "Look, I'll make it quick and then I'll come find you. We can catch up for a few minutes?"

"Okay!" The tingle in her nipples spread abruptly southward. "Um. I'll be in my quarters, most likely. Is your supply guy a fast worker?"

He chuckled. "From the looks of that Charlatul kid, they're going to be awhile."

"Take your shoes off, Amil," she added as she started off. "And really, have fun. Her steward is really short; don't freak out."

"Freaking out used to be your job," he called after her, and she felt her neck go scarlet as she strode toward her quarters.

* * *

When he came to her quarters after twenty minutes, he was trembling with excitement. "She was so down-to-earth!" he gushed. "You never really know how these pro athletes are. Behind the scenes, you know." Pixy burst out laughing, leaving Cheys with a half-smile as her hatch shut. "What?"

Pixy leaned back at her desk chair. The XO suite was beautiful, by far the largest space she'd lived in since she left her parents' house. "She's inefficient, distant, and probably inept. She comes to the bridge once every ten days or so, nods, and then leaves." He was glancing curiously around. "You've probably had more face time with her than I have. What are you looking for, Amil?"

"Just marveling. Her cabin is amazing. But yours is nice too. Nicer than mine." He took a few steps toward her. Pixy was still smiling, still flushed, still tingly. "Much bigger."

Pixy nodded. "Who'd have thought it? Back in the day. Sidereus Nuncius." She felt a smile catch her lips, a secret smile. A feminine smile. "Your tiny little cabin there."

"Captain Bourbon-Parma. I heard he ended up killed off Plastic Nebula a few years later." He was still stepping, looming over her now. Still attractive. "That tiny little rack," he smiled.

Pixy giggled. "You mean the bed, right?" She squeezed her left breast; he'd always liked her coarse. "Or these?"

He nodded, as if he'd known exactly what was going to happen here, the two of them moving in this direction since the moment he'd stepped through the airlock. "I mean these," he nodded, one hand reaching for his staytab while the other reached out for her other breast, and then the tingle was everywhere all at once, intense, frightening as it had been twelve years ago when Junior Lieutenant Pfeiffer had agreed to bunk with Sublieutenant Cheys, and suddenly his fingers went tight, pulling on her little breast, coaxing her willing from her chair and to her knees on her own sumptuously carpeted deck.

She grinned up at him. "Why, Commander Cheys!" The staytab beeped, his trousers beginning to ease down his legs. "Do we really have time for this?"

"I'm the fucking captain," he rasped. "That shuttle's not going anywhere without me." They both watched, hungry, as his waistband scraped past his pubic hair, revealing the root of a cock gone hard and thick. Pixy laughed; he'd shaved, once upon a time.

"There he is," she sang, his penis popping out straight toward her waiting face. It was veiny, brutal, just as she remembered, ridiculously foreshortened behind a smoothly curved head glittering with precum. "I wonder whether he tastes the same. You've been keeping him all hairy these days, Amil."

When he stayed silent, his dick trembling with his deep breaths, Pixy looked up to see his dark, heavy-browed stare gazing straight into her soul. "Just suck it, Pixy, like you know you want to," he grated, and Pixy felt her pussy twitch out a little trickle of her juices as her fingers found his shaft, well-remembered even after so many hundreds, maybe even thousands, of cocks; supply officers got around. "Now."

"Fuck," she muttered, stroking already. He was warm in her hand, his smell filling her, and she grinned to herself when she felt his hips arching forward. She leaned back abruptly, glancing mischievously up. "I'm not the only one who wants to," she cooed, but she barely had time to take a breath before his hands found the back of her scalp, digging into her hair, dragging her down onto his cock; he knew she'd open for him, knew she'd be able to take him deep, her throat flexing madly in a flood-tide of saliva as his head plumbed the back of her mouth.

"Yeah, just like old times." His voice was silk with a ragged edge, both of them working to get his head as deep as they wanted it; it had been quite awhile since Pixy had tried to suck anyone with this kind of length. Jeyne was more fat than long. She gagged despite herself, straining forward with his fingers steel-strong against her skull, until she felt it pop into her neck. "Ah. Fuck yes," Cheys hissed, pulling her the rest of the way, holding her there with her face crammed hard against his hairy belly.

Pixy loved this, even as her hands scrabbled frantically at his thighs, flapping against his ass. She was already having trouble breathing, fruitlessly willing herself to relax even as he rocked her head around like it was his toy. "Having trouble breathing, Pixy?" he murmured, and her pussy fluttered again, stronger. "You used to be good at this."

"Grrph," she replied helpfully. She was deluging his root with her spit and snot, her eyes blurring from the tears. She felt herself being shaken violently around his meat, her body hunched awkwardly as she tried to keep him all the way in even though her blurry vision was starting to fade; almost two minutes now he'd been corking her neck, watching as her sharp face went purple and swollen, and just as Pixy was thinking she should maybe figure out a way to let him know she was about to black out, Cheys shoved her off him in a thick spitty mist. "Fuck," she grunted in an undignified mass on her own deck.

"Get up here." His voice was urgent, his eyes on her bedside clock. "Bend the fuck over, Pixy. Quick."

"Yeah?" She scrambled to her feet, her face shining with tears and lust, straining to clear her throat. "You want that pussy one more time?" She was grateful for the skirt. It meant she wouldn't need to make her shaky fingers work her staytab; he could just flip it up and jam it in. She sucked in great gasps of air, stooping over her own desk, giving herself to him. "Come on, Amil, time's a-wasting."

"I know," he groaned, his booted feet kicking hers wide. He looked down, hauling the stiff uniform skirt up and over the curve of her ass, his fingers feasting on the flesh there. She'd always been an outstanding lay, and now her long slit winked at him from between her smooth, sheeted thighs. Her back whined as she arched deep, and Cheys wasted no time: his wet cock met her wet pussy and entered easily, both of them sighing in deep satisfaction when his balls found her skin. "You still feel good, too." He gave two slow, experimental thrusts, enjoying the feel of her, loving her tightness.

"Hell yes I do," Pixy giggled. He filled her nicely; always had, but what she really liked about him was the way he loved to stick his thumb in her ass. Funny, the things you remembered; she'd been exit-only in those days, so it had seemed so naughty. "Hurry, Amil. They'll be wrapping up their supply shit soon."

He laughed deeply. "No worries. You're going to make me nut in about three or four strokes!" He gripped her butt hard. "Get that ass moving."

"Like this?" She churned her hips quickly, evenly, sensing his pace and matching it. He felt great, exultant, the unexpectedness of the fuck adding to the nerves frazzling in her vagina, and he began to nudge her toward orgasm almost immediately. "Fuck, dude. You're going to make me cum."

"You always were pretty easy," he gloated, his voice thick, the room filling with the slap of their thighs and the glutinous smell of sex. He thrust hard, her ravaged throat squealing. "Come on, Pixy," he muttered. "Cum with me."

"Oh, holy fuck. You've got to be kidding." The voice had that same harsh, strident tone from earlier, at the main hatch, the little redhead leaning in out of the corridor now with her head shaking disgustedly. Pixy and Cheys stopped abruptly, their heads swiveling in disbelief toward where the steward had just entered the room. "Jesus. Goddamn officers. You people can never control yourselves."

"Do you mind?" Pixy raged, wiggling back, needing the orgasm. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"I'm your steward. Your quarters are where I work." She waved her hand, crossing quickly toward the little galley by the latrine. "Don't mind me. Keep going, you two. Might as well. Uh, even though you could work on your form a little, ma'am. You want to push back more against his thighs, and less in a circle."

"Get the fuck out of here!" Pixy wailed. Cheys gamely picked back up, slamming back into her, but the spell was broken; Pixy was not going to be able to get there, and she glared at the saucy little smirk on her steward's face as the woman just leaned against the galley door and watched them rut. "Fucking pervert."

"Oh, pipe down, ma'am." She ran a hand carelessly through her fiery locks. "This is Fleet. People fuck. Don't mind me." Cheys certainly didn't, his face wrinkling, eyes squinting as he got ready to deliver. "See? He's about to finish. Good. It's almost time for your lunch." She paused abruptly, staring at the shelves over Pixy's head. "Oh, shit, a light-lizard? Cool!"

"Jesus H Buddha," Cheys panted, his voice a cracked and shuddering sigh as, at last, his cock slipped deep into her and started pumping out spurt after spurt. "So sexy," he gurgled, thrusting more easily now, using her. He had his head back and his eyes closed, oblivious to Pixy glaring murderously at her steward as she took his load.

The redhead was still smirking. "Make sure you don't get your skirt too cummy, ma'am," she advised over her shoulder as she passed into the galley at last. "Be thinking about what you want me to cook, too, hmm? Otherwise, you get a shakshuka; it's what I feel like making." She nodded politely, then vanished back amid a clatter of pans. "Hurry up, too. I'm already starting."

"So good," Cheyes panted, his motion easing, balls finally empty. He smacked her ass lovingly. "We've still got it, Pixy. Huh?"

"Sure." Pixy made herself sound like she'd just cum. She rolled her eyes, her fingers gripping the edge of her desk. "You know it."

* * *

She sat brooding at her desk, the steward futzing around in the kitchen. "I'll need your staytab code, ma'am," she'd said briskly as soon as Cheys left.

"What the fuck for?"

"So I can get the cumstains out of your skirt before they set, that's what the fuck for." She'd leaned back to look out from the galley. "No worries, ma'am. I'll take good care of you. But you have to help me. Subcommanders start out as frigate XOs; none of you are used to having a steward, so I'm used to breaking in new ones." It did seem that way; her shakshuka smelled wonderful, anyway. "So. What's your staytab code?"

Pixy fumed, feeling mulish. "I was about to cum. It evaporated because of you. Don't think I'm happy about that, you dumb twat. What's your name, anyway?"

"I'll tell you when you give me the code, ma'am. My job is to keep you looking sharp, and I'll do it one way or another." Pixy sighed and rapped out the code, at which point her clothes started sloughing off her sex-flushed body. She scowled as they made their way off to the steward's shiny new cleaning pod, leaving Pixy to swab ineffectually at the semen still leaking out of her. "Hey. Bring over some drywipes if you get a chance."

"At once, ma'am." She came bustling in, looking sprightly, eyeing Pixy's naked body with a professional eye. "I can tell why he wanted to fuck you." She laid the packet of drywipes on the table and summoned Pixy's bathrobe. "I'm Wrae Juno. Legal clerk in the morning, XO steward the rest of the day."

Pixy nodded, examining her. She practically vibrated with suppressed energy. "And by night?"

"Oh, you know. Whatever." She guided the robe over Pixy's shoulders. "Sometimes I warm beds, but not usually. Still, I don't mind until you find someone else?" She arched a sharp eyebrow. "I know it can be hard for the XO. With the rank, and all that. Usually, XOs and surgeons get together."

"Eww." Pixy wrinkled her nose. "Surgeons make shitty warmers, Juno. That's a Fleet maxim." She dabbed at her pussy. "I've got bedwarming taken care of, thanks."

"Oh. An officer?" Pixy glared up suspiciously. "What? I need to know who I can let in here and who I can't. Also, if you'll be slumming it down in her cabin, I need to know in advance so that I can get a chance to air out this one. And also, I'm going to find out eventually, anyway. I'll see you in bed with her when I wake you up." She turned back toward the galley. "I'm everywhere, Commander. Before long, you won't even realize I'm here."

"It's a him, not a her," Pixy called after her. "FNG. He and I arrived on the same transport." Her nostrils twitched as Juno came back with a steaming cast-iron pan. "Fuck. That smells good."

"I can cook. You'll find that out. Pretty soon, you won't be eating in the wardroom at all." She dropped off her pan, then stooped and picked up Pixy's medals and epaulettes where her clothes had left them. "What's your favorite food?"

"Macaroni and haggis."

"Ughh, that sounds like shit. I ain't cooking that. I do well with kidney. Sliced fine, my own recipe." She drew herself up proudly. "I just got a new chef's knife, a Sajusake Cyclone. Saved a month's pay to get it. Wanna see?"

"No." Pixy was busy chewing. "I'll take your word for it."

The steward shrugged and looked closely at the third medal. "What's this one? I've never seen it."

"Army Combat Cross." Someone had told her once that only about two dozen people in the whole Fleet had one. "I did a thing once. Army operation. Killed a bunch of Flasbards, saved a bunch of soldiers." She popped the yolk. "The usual."

Juno laughed. "Well. For you, maybe." She checked the settings on her cleaning pod. "I was curious who I'd be working for when I got done with my course. Your predecessor was kind of a shithead, if I'm being honest."

"I don't like gossip, Juno."

"I keep secrets, Commander."

Pixy snorted. "You're not keeping one now. What makes you think I care about the guy I'm replacing?" She waved her hand vaguely. "He took the Big Step out of an airlock, anyway."

Juno sent her back a strangely veiled look. "If that's what you've heard, then good."

"What?" Pixy glared sharply over at her.

"Nothing, ma'am." The steward's big eyes showed crafty satisfaction. "Just that Commander Jedwin's loss was lamented by all hands, deeply."

"You're smiling."

"No I'm not." Pixy stared in silence until Juno's eyebrow rose. "What? Maybe I'm exaggerating. Your predecessor could be abrasive at times. And he was trying to regulate peoples' bedwarmers."

"No shit?"

"None, ma'am. Certain crew members were... let's just say they weren't displeased at his untimely passing. Crew members like me, for example."

"Jesus H Buddha. If you had anything to do with Jedwin's Big Step..."

"Ma'am." Juno's eyes were twinkling now. "I told you. I keep secrets."

Pixy scowled. "Whatever. I don't dwell. I'm here and it's now, Juno. So if you have to be my steward, get your mind wrapped around that." She glanced at the chrono. "So, what, you schedule me? Clean all my stuff? Cook when I don't feel like the mess deck?"

"Crap like that, yes. I'm also a qualified hairdresser. And, you know, the legal bullshit. You're the ship's legal officer, so I do research and make recommendations, then you approve my ideas and the skipper signs off." Pixy chewed slowly, regarding little Juno, the trickle of Cheys' semen easing at last. A squawk came over the Mass Intertube: All hands rig for shuttle departure! Juno glanced over. "What, you're just going to sit here and eat? Don't you need to supervise or something?"

Pixy just stared back; Delmer had the bridge right now. He was an insubordinate asshole, but he was more than capable of supervising a mere shuttle departure. "You're pretty fresh, Juno."

The red hair bobbed as she nodded gravely. "I've been told, ma'am."

"Do you respond to corporal punishment?" Pixy asked hopefully. She always found it cathartic to kick the piss out of people, regardless of whether Captain Ledecki approved.

"Respond how?" She stepped forward, deftly pouring some sparkling water into pixy's glass. "Of course I respond, usually by beating the shit out of whatever officer tries to hit me."

Pixy pursed her lips, then nodded once. "Let me introduce you to my light-lizard, Juno. You'll need to know how to deal with him."

* * *

"Not bad, people!" Pixy was not often excited, at least not on this bridge, and the crew glanced around at each other with hopeful eyes. "You guys are on it today. Doglegs are going well." She glanced aside, nodding shortly at the OOD. "You're learning, Mr McZylenko."

"Thank you, ma'am." He feigned indifference, but she saw her praise blow into him like air inside a weather bladder. The whole ship was starting to flow better. Pixy was having a hard time believing she was the reason; there was no worse critic on the ship than she herself. But definitely, the past administration of Subcommander Jedwin, then the interregnum of Lt Delmer and SLt Welson, lorded over by the benevolent neglect of Commander Ledecki, was starting to smarten up, and fast.

Off to the side stood Charlatul outside the Star Plot, looking much more confident these days. The reports that had come back about his performance during the supply swap had been encouraging. "Fuck," Pixy had marveled in the wardroom the next day. "From what I'm hearing, JO, you're a natural for Supply. Which is both good and bad news."

"Yes, ma'am." Off to the side, Origami had chuckled.

As for maneuvering, Pixy Pfeiffer was at last in her element. The excellent shuttle pilot and very good GP shiphandler, it was turning out, was a natural with a space frigate, the helmsmen finally confident in her orders. She'd jeered at Delmer just the other day, in the wardroom. "I turned a GP Service ship into a fucking juggernaut at Detached Engagement 447. Can you imagine what I'm going to be able to do with this thing?"

Delmer had swapped a glance with his cronies, Welson and Zuus, shaking his head. "Shit, ma'am," he'd drawled, "we're way the hell out on the Perimeter here. Just what kind of juggernaut do we need to be?" But he smiled as he said it, the ship coming together, improving in every way. And they all knew it.

Even the captain. "I hear great things, Pixy," she'd burbled during one of her rare visits to the bridge. She was required to sign the log once a week, so at least she had to come up for that. "Things sound like they're really doing well. It's a credit to your leadership." Pixy had hung her head, always shy about public praise. "I'm putting a commendatory letter into your file, to go with the one Uulmar sent for you."