Dry, No Lube Ch. 02: Pixy's Choice

Well. Seemed she'd find out soon.

Pixy sighed. Why, oh why, did she always do this? Pixy was an overthinker when it came to sex, capable of meaningless fluid exchanges by the dozen as part of the unspoken pact that united supply officers everywhere, but take away the transaction? Do that, and she'd always had problems deciding who to fuck.

It had started, if she thought about it, with old Lieutenant Cadwell. He'd been kind and thoughtful to Pixy, then just another young Junior Lieutenant from Aries IX on her very first duty assignment, and when he'd asked her shyly if she'd agree to warm his bed, she'd accepted with no lack of worry; bedwarming was an ancient Fleet custom that had given her the shakes even before she commissioned, but she'd thanked her stars ever since that Cadwell had been as gentle as he'd been.

But there'd been the negative impact, too, the kind that made her crave a different kind of connection than just the physical. That could be dangerous in Fleet, where even the Service ships took casualties; your bedwarmer could die anytime, in a hundred different ways. Pixy had never learned to moat herself off from that kind of hurt. She could overlook it when she did all the mindless fuck-work that was part and parcel of a supply officer's trade, but she needed more from her shipboard connections

Such a man, though; she wondered, as the water clock counted down, whether he'd really have a body sublime enough to make up for the coldness she'd caught in his eyes. She half-smiled to herself then, remembering Ana the Tygon Whore and those giggling sailors at Cooper's docking ring, that first day; any of those would have already been sucking his dick. And yet here she stood, overthinking and, yes, oozing; her body had its demands, even though her brain hadn't caught up yet.

Well. Nothing for it. She shut off the water and raised her voice. "Cooper. Make yourself useful and bring me a towel. They're by the sink." She'd ordered the auto-dryers shut off earlier, to conserve power until the ship hit another star.

The tenor drifted musically into the latrine, with more than its share of confidence. "Should I close my eyes again, Pixy?"

She decided. "You're a big boy, Cooper. You do what you have to do." And then she waited naked, hands on hips while she heard his feet on the tiled deck. He whisked aside the curtain, her towel in his hand, and nodded at her as if seeing her nude in the shower was the most natural thing in the galaxy. "Your towel, ma'am."

She felt her lip curl into a grin. He was a sly one. "I thought you were calling me Pixy these days, Cooper."

He'd made no effort to step away. "And I could have sworn I heard you call me Bull, right after you started up the shower." He chuckled. "Or were you practicing for later?"

The sheer confidence of the man! He was enjoying this thoroughly, even apart from the visual stimulus. Pixy just stood there dripping, making no effort to dry herself. "No," she decided, "later, I'm sure it'll be a little louder."

He laughed at that, a loud and entitled bray of enjoyment. "See? I knew you'd come around." He winked at her. "I never take no for an answer, Pixy. It's how I get ahead in this Army."

She swiped the towel teasingly between her legs, finally starting to get into this. At least she knew he was using her. That made it easier. And he certainly did want her; the finely cut uniform pants were not made for hiding hard-ons. "So. About that live-fire..."

He grinned like a predator. "Your captain would never agree to it. But," he said, risking a step toward the shower, "it got me in here, didn't it?"

She ran her eye down his body, shivering, telling herself it was the chill from having the dryers off. She sauntered out of the shower then, her body brushing deliberately along his arm. "Excuse me, Bull," she told him quietly, pausing with her naked tits straddling his arm. "Close quarters; frightfully sorry."

"Oh, don't mention it. Can I hang up your towel?" She glistened still, having made no real effort to dry off, telling herself she looked sleek and gorgeous with the water beading on her flesh. He ran a finger along her arm down toward her hand, taking the towel, and she reciprocated by reaching calmly up to twist his staytab.

"Thank you." His uniform began to fold itself off his body, and just as his upper chest came into view Pixy teased his lips with a finger. "Make yourself at home, Bull." She strode naked across the deck to her bunk, buzzing now with her decision made; she reminded herself how much she'd wanted this man between her legs back when she'd first seen him, before he'd been anything but sexy. She slid onto her bunk, the sheets damp immediately, feeling the tight twinge of pain as she stretched her arms toward the plot repeater with her ass high above her spine.

Pixy liked displaying herself.

She heard his clothes still climbing off him and restrained herself with difficulty, wanting the excitement of seeing him naked and rampant all at once. "I'm sure we're stretching any number of Fleet regulations, ma'am." She heard lust in his voice, well mixed with amusement, and she snorted.

"I'll make sure the First Officer signs off on it," she sighed, facing the wall. "She'll probably want to have a private word with you. But this is the Service Fleet, Bull." She sighed. "Regulations are for combat ships."

"You're beautiful." His voice had gone thicker, louder as he approached, and she heard his uniform slinking off toward the refresher. Bare feet on the deck, then he stopped. "What happened to your back?"

Another twinge from the scar. "Laundry accident. Wasn't pretty," she joked, and then she swiveled her head against the pillow and, at long last, took him in.

There are people, she'd long ago learned, who look better clothed than naked. Many of them were men: the male body, unless it was in perfect shape or unless it was occupied by an unusually appealing personality, tended to be more than a little gross. She was very pleased to see that, as expected, Bull Cooper was indeed in perfect shape. "You seem happy to be aboard," she murmured lazily, reaching out a deliberate hand to bat gently at his penis. The thing was hard, almost threateningly so, pointing at her like an enemy ship. Beneath nestled a tight young pair of balls, jiggling merrily as his shaft bobbed. He was totally hairless. "Is that for me?"

"If you want it." She knew his type, so common in the Fleet as well: life had given him everything and taken nothing, and now he was an insufferable asshole. Albeit a naked asshole, with a large hard dick. "This," he told her, making it flex and bounce, "is what we in the Army call an 'irritating prick.'"

She giggled despite herself. "I thought that was a Fleet term." She drank him in. "You're hot," she blurted, hoping her smile was under control; she'd seldom had such a lovely man. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to know what I should appreciate," he teased, and then he was on the bunk with her, and it was starting as suddenly as it always did; Pixy closed her eyes, felt his muscled thighs bracketing her hips, heard and smelled the loom of his body above hers, with a softly insistent pinpoint of warmth where his cock prodded the big scar low on her back. She relaxed slowly, in time with the kisses he began to lay across her clean, cool skin, the water still beading. "You smell nice."

"I just got out of the shower, moron." The gasp came unbidden then, goosebumps already rising from the kisses when, without warning, her pressed his dick into the crack of her ass. "Mmm," she smiled. "Hello."

"Hi," he drawled, his hips starting to rock. "I wanted to thank you for your close, personal attention so far." His penis tantalized her as it moved against her body, and without even thinking she began to move with it. "You'd suggested masturbation, earlier? In your office?"

She was starting to like him; his body was coiled power above hers. "I did, didn't I? Did you try it?"

"As we speak," he admitted, speeding up, and then his shaft was sawing deep between her cheeks, her body moving faster to keep up, the two of them already in synch. "I like it so far."

"It's only masturbation if you do it yourself, you stupid Army fuck." She was purring. "This isn't masturbation."

"No?" He was still trailing kisses along her shoulderblades, his strong hands propping him over her. She smelled sweat and that intoxicating male aroma, the one that only the really hot, really horny ones seemed to have. "So what's this?"

"This?" She felt the gluey warmth of his precum now at the top of her crack. "This is just... relaxation."

"Bonding." He licked her neck, making her giggle. "Interservice cooperation."

"Team building." She strained herself to rock her hips up and back, pressing her legs against his, inviting him. He obliged, moving his own body, and suddenly there was a warm, fat Army cock between her legs, pressing gently against her pussy lips. "That's very relaxing," she cooed. "I could relax like this for hours."

"No shit." His fingers tickled at her armpits, her ribcage, the sides of her breasts. "You're trembling."

"Should have dried off properly," she lied.

"I think you like this." She held her breath, her whole body arched taut as she felt him moving vibrant and massive along her slit; she let out a slow breath once, as his cockhead gently prodded the front of her pussy. "Yeah. You do."

"Mmm." She was ready, no, more than ready, but then he lifted his hips high. And the absence of him was suddenly supremely frustrating. "Fuck!"

"Not yet," he murmured into her ear, and then he was steering his body across hers, rolling his balls along her skin. "It's not time yet."

"Bullshit," she barked, but she lacked command; he had her, and that's when she knew just how turned on she needed to be before she overlooked his cynical attitude. "It's time, Lieutenant."

His response was a soft, moist breath in her ear, setting her to quaking all over. "Then roll over, ma'am." He delivered one more kiss, soft against her neck. "I need to watch you while I fuck you."

"Jesus," she whimpered, but her legs were already flailing her body around, feeling and smelling him everywhere. She knew her eyes, purple and huge, were dilated wide as she came around, lifting her face wordlessly toward his, craving the kiss, and her limbs were still scrambling into place even as she pushed her tongue rudely into his mouth. She needed it, needed to feel that closeness, even if it was temporary, and he seemed happy to oblige.

At last, flopping and heaving, her dignity gone, she managed to get her sleek legs outside his with her feet high above his broad back, and she thought she'd never been more ready to take a dick. "Oooh," she whispered into his mouth, absolutely soaked, for he was already there: the hot, spongy bell-head of his cock was already lodging itself inside her, just barely in, and they weren't even trying yet. Jesus, he was built perfectly for her.

She forced it, humping upward, and before he'd even begun to thrust he was already three inches into her; a hitching gasp from Pixy, and he went ahead and drove in the rest of the way, his arms still holding his body up off her chest. They both exhaled hard into each other's faces as he slid firmly, perfectly, neatly home, two smoothly muscled pelvises meeting solidly as he pushed into her.

Pixy felt her eyes go back into her head, but they were closed so tightly it hardly mattered. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to be racing, sending urgent messages toward her pussy, her feet scrabbling along the outside of his legs. Jesus Buddha, but this guy was big! Solid and insistent, he filled her with that delicious sense of seamless, perfectly shaped comfort, like his penis had been custom-made to live in her vagina.

"Holy shit," he murmured, and her violet eyes spread open slowly; they took a moment to get used to each other.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Very irritating, that prick."

"So, like, have you changed your mind?" He sounded like he wasn't even straining, that muscular body tensed hot and tight above her. "Are you available now? Because I'll be honest, Pixy: we should be fucking."

She responded with a flickering lizard-lick of her tongue along his lips, tightening her vag around his invading cock. "Should we." She winked. "Well, I'm not busy at the moment."

"Yes you are," and then his eyes narrowed, his hips rose slowly, and then he was shoving himself straight back into her. Out, in, and then the race was on, the timeless race to see how quickly he could empty his balls into her twisting body. Right away Pixy knew she was in trouble, desperate trouble, risking a humiliatingly easy orgasm; she liked to make other people feel good sexually, and it bothered her when she came first.

But there was no shame in this, his face told her; he was just as into her as she was into him, their brains on fire with mutual lust and satisfaction, and he felt so good in there, his hips driving in perfect, smooth motion, even the lewd slap of their legs and the softer pattering noise as his balls struck her perineum; all of it was perfect, dreamlike, so she gave herself up and wrapped her arms around his surging body and just let herself go.

If Cooper was surprised at how easily he got her there, he didn't show it; just endless, fluid fucking, their bodies flowing so sweetly together, and vaguely through her pink, smoky haze Pixy hoped he'd finish soon so that they could rest, flirt, and do it again. She wedged herself up against the repeater, her arms still achy from her workout but more than capable of bracing her body so that he could jam himself rigidly into her, so he grinned wryly and picked up his pace, one hand around her ass and the other pawing at the nearest tit, and for a few more minutes their bodies moved in a growing, desperate frenzy.

Pixy might have reached another orgasm, smaller and less explosive; she wasn't sure, the whole thing felt so amazingly good, but at least there was no mistaking his own release. "Take it," he grunted, his eyes crazy, and then he was deep-dicking her with that slackly driving, lengthened rhythm some men got when they were close, and there he was, reaching far up toward her cervix, and his dick leapt like a goldfish in her snatch as he flooded her. "Yeah," he groaned, shooting again, and then, finally, his arms gave out and he fell against her body and the two of them could not possibly have been any closer.

* * *

"Well. That was..."

"Fucking intense. That's what that was." Pixy knew what she was good at, and she was absolutely certain he'd felt as good as she had. They both lay there, panting and glistening, with the scrubbers struggling to deal with all the sudden humidity in her quarters, the systems overtaxed twice now by their wild bodies. She reached up to pick her nose, and when she let her arm flop back down it clapped squarely onto his balls. "You were right, Bull. You and me? We definitely belong fucking." She giggled as she squeezed, and then rolled over to plant her feet on the deck. "Want some water?"

"Sure." He stretched out on her mattress, his feet hanging way off the end. She could feel something in the silence, then, as she headed for the dispenser; when she turned around to look at him, she saw the glorious naked man lounging, golden and perfect, studying her intently. She felt obscurely embarrassed.

"You need to ask me to marry you, if you're going to look at me with eyes like that," she said quietly, smiling. "What the fuck?"

He continued staring in the low light, the stars everywhere through the night-transparent hull. "Pixy, you're beautiful," he said, all hushed, and even though she knew it was merely the kind of bullshit gorgeous men said after sex, Pixy still glowed. She swallowed her smile, striving for indifference; she had an image to maintain, even though he'd just seen her thrashing uncontrollably. For the second time.

"Shit," she observed. "Tone it down, boy. You already fucked me." She brought him his water in a real glass, the bubbles shimmering up and down the sides. "I don't need to be praised."

"No," he agreed, still staring, "but you deserve it."

Well. Maybe it wasn't bullshit, Pixy reflected, so she leaned down and captured his lips in a slow, deep kiss, tasting her body on his tongue, and she shocked herself when she grunted into his mouth, though that wasn't the kiss: that was the feeling of his fingers, probing back into her pussy, and then when she reached back down to reciprocate he was so, so hard again, and this time she was on top.

He lay afterward, toying with her hair. "I'm glad he assigned us to your ship," he announced softly. Pixy snickered.

"I can tell." She digested the words then, said, "Wait. Who's 'he?'"

Those fingers, leaving her own greasy discharge in her hair... "What's that?" Bull frowned, his head cocked.

"Who assigned you to our ship?" He had to feel her tense up; her body was glued to his, both of them naked and sticky. She felt she wouldn't like what she saw in his eyes if she twisted around; besides, he was warm and comfortable and perfectly built, and she wanted to stay in his arms for just awhile longer... "Who's 'he,' Bull?"

The fingers never did stop. "You know what my last name is," he replied quietly, and then he waited while she made the connection.

Pixy was out of the bunk in an instant, standing with her fists balled. "No. No fucking way." She shook her head in complete disbelief, her eyes still scanning his sublime body even as he sank back into the blankets, unconcerned. "Motherfucker. What, are you his brother or something?"

"A cousin," he shrugged, "but we're a large family. I don't know him well." He stretched out a languid hand and took the glass of water she'd brought him earlier. His eyes narrowed. "You didn't even think about it? How many Cricks can there really be, after all?"

"Out." Pixy was no longer interested in his presence, even with his semen still running down her thigh. Three loads, and from a Crick! She felt sick. "Now."

"If it's any consolation," Bull added carelessly, "the family doesn't like him either."

"Get out." She felt used, and stupid, and did not know which was worse. Bull swung his legs easily to the deck, his tone soothing.

"Come on, Pixy," he reasoned. "Was he really that bad a captain?"

"Last chance, Lieutenant Cooper-Crick." She was seething at that plump smile on his gorgeous face. A pity; he'd been an outstanding fuck. "I'm First Officer aboard this ship. I'm senior to you in rank. And I can kick your ass. So, last time: get the fuck out."

He raised his hands, placating, and signaled to his clothes. "Okay, okay." The pants came first, sliding up his greasy legs. "I can't get a shower?" She lowered her head, glaring out through her lashes, and at last he got the message. "Fine, Pixy. Or rather, Lieutenant Pfeiffer; I can see this has become a disappointing evening for you. But I had a great time, I assure you." Her fingers were flexing as she came up onto the balls of her feet; her whole body was bright pink. "I'll be going now."

"Yes," she boiled. "You will." The welcome snick as the hatch closed behind him felt like failure.

And Klonmyre was on watch. Fuck. She needed to vent.

* * *

As was becoming normal these days, Pixy was dragged from yet another bruising and fitful sleep by the droning chime of the intertube. "Ma'am? Lieutenant Pfeiffer?"

"Guhh." Her rolling eyes showed nothing hullside but empty space, meaning the night-cycle was still on, the hull transparent. She refused to look at the plot repeater; she could not have been asleep for more than an hour, and knew it would be too depressing to confirm that. Her whole body was achy and gummed with fluids, hers and Cooper's. No, Cooper-Crick's. That piece of shit; the whole fucking family, systematically ruining her life. "What?"