[Closed; Mushverse Past] Basco/Marvelous voice testing/history sharing.

[captainmarvelous]

It still feels like I'm inside a dream as the startlingly red captain takes me onto his ship. I have the image of it first coming into view still burned to my eyelids; when I blink I still see it as it rose in the sky behind him, as red and bold as its captain. I haven't felt so drawn to something in my life, its call as strong to me as the song of the stars. It's as if even the blood in my veins longs for it; I don't think I could have refused the captain's offer to join his crew, even with how strong my pride can be.

He shows me the engine room, the impressive inner mechanisms that keep the ship airborne, keep it humming with life. And it does have life, more than any ship I've been on before. I can feel it humming under my touch as I grip a railing. This ship has a voice, has a story to tell me, or maybe one to make with me.

The brief yet concise tour eventually comes to the main living room, what I can feel just with my first steps is the heart of the ship. It's sparsely furnished, a small table with a pair of chairs, a tiny couch with coffee table, the main controls for the computer screen on the far wall. And of course the captain's chair.

I hover at AkaRed's elbow for a moment, drinking in my surroundings as he points out the stairs that lead down toward the crew quarters, the doorway that leads to the galley, and the other stairs that lead up to the crow's nest.

It already feels like home. Like I've lived here all my life.

AkaRed moves to sit in his chair, tells me to make myself at home, pick out a room for myself. I shoulder the small pack I brought with me, all I usually travel with, and spin around, drinking the room in all over again.

Comments

[curryjolokia]

He wants to try and stare me down? Fine. Bitch eyebrow on full volume, I give him a pissed, pursed little frown and lean back, crossing my arms with a dignified little 'tsk'.

"Oh? Then perhaps you should really go eat something." Me, I'm not moving. Does this look like the face of a guy who goes out of his way for you? Nope, didn't think so.

[captainmarvelous]

I sigh at him, rolling my eyes. My mood is still shit, my pride still wounded from my injury.

"Fine." I shrug, moving to get up off the couch and head for the kitchen.

[curryjolokia]

Oh, now he's the offended one?

I cover his ass through the whole fucking battle, bandage his wound, don't once imply any sort of disdain or even silent commentary on the fact that he got wounded on what was supposed to be a milk run (and though I can't expect him to give me credit for what he doesn't realize, which is that I'm pointedly not dissing his hero Aka-Red in front of him, that's another little effort I'm extending him).

And now I'm a jerk for sulking because I don't like getting turned down?

"Don't flip off your cook if you don't want to have to cook for yourself," I shout after him, rather more petulantly than is probably reasonable.

I tell myself I don't care. He started this bullshit. I get off the couch too, stalking over to the barrel we've recycled into a small table and workbench. I've got a new trumpet shiny thing to poke at.

[captainmarvelous]

"I'm hungry." He knows I can't focus on anything else when I've got an empty stomach.

And it's not like he was the one wounded in the fight.

I grab a large bit of cured sausage, some cheese, and a hunk of bread, tearing the bread vaguely in half and then squashing the sausage and cheese between between the pieces. It's sort of a sandwich. It's food, at any rate.

I take a large bite as I leave the kitchen. After that first mouthful I'm already feeling a lot better.

[curryjolokia]

Great. He's happy; it doesn't take much to fill his head. I don't much care about how uncharitable that might be right now; I'm pissed, and he's a simpleton.

And for some stupid reason, I care.

While he's in the kitchen getting food, I'm headed up to the crow's nest with my trumpet. I don't know how to play it, but the air's cold up there and sharp, which is what I'm in the mood for. I'll tool around and see if I can't get a few useful notes out of it.

[captainmarvelous]

I munch on my slapdash sandwich as I wander back into the main room. Basco isn't there, and for a few moments I simply don't care.

But then I think maybe I should go find him, I know I would be a tiny bit irritated if I was turned down for sex.

I head up to the Crow's Nest. If he's not up there then's he's probably in his room, and the Crow's Nest is closer.

[curryjolokia]

Na na na na nananana nrreeeekk--

Basco lowers his new trumpet with a grumble and a scowl. He fixes it with a glare that lays upon its brassy shoulders the faults of all undignified sounds in the known universe, particularly the very undignified one he just managed to produce from it. All he was trying to do was repeat one note, the same note, in a uniform manner. Was that so much to ask?

Back to the mast, Basco slides down to a crouch, then to sit, long legs folded over on themselves to allow him to sit on the small floorspace of the Crow's Nest. The wind up here is sharp, not too chilly, but after a while it begins to cut through a body, especially if that body's a breed not used to even moderately cool temperatures. Like himself.

The shawl isn't just a fashion statement. He pulls it tighter 'round his shoulders, toying with the rotating sphere mounted to the bottom of the trumpet. He hasn't found any function for it yet, but it seems to relate to the other copper and bronze-toned parts of the instrument.

It's almost like a normal brass trumpet had other bits grafted onto it, and rather than let his thoughts drift through topics he doesn't want to think about, or even know how he feels about -- examining this new shiny is the much safer option.

[captainmarvelous]

It's a warm night, with a comfortable breeze blowing. The view isn't much to look at, this system is pretty dull, but it's not the worst I've seen.

I'm already halfway through my sad excuse for a sandwich when I make it up the stairs. Basco is seated against the mast, and he seems... troubled, I guess? More moody than normal anyway.

He can't still be irritated that I turned him down. It's been, what, ten minutes already?

"Nice night." I lean on the railing as I work on finishing off my sandwich.

[curryjolokia]

He's followed me up here, and I'm not sure if I'm surprised or not.

"Hnn. Chilly." Even my afghan isn't enough, quite, and the bugle trumpet thing - for which I've been working on inventing names - is becoming painfully cold against my fingertips.

My nose tells me what he's got in his hand; I don't need to glance up. The compulsion to say something can just as easily be spent on idiotic small talk as an argument, and the former's far simpler. "You got food. That's good."

[captainmarvelous]

"It's alright." I shrug, and take another large bite from my sandwich, sort of humming vaguely while I chew.

After a heavy swallow I gesture at the instrument Basco's holding, his new little treasure. "Any luck with that thing?"

[curryjolokia]

"Oh, yeah. Figured out how to play the Zangyack Imperial Anthem, too." I pause just for a second, just long enough to hear Marvelous choke on half his bite of sandwich, and snort.

"Kidd~ing. Fssh, it's harder than it looks. But I got it t' make a note. Kind of." I shrug, tossing the thing to the floor of the crew's nest, where it hits and makes a dull ringing noise. It looks like I'm irritated but really, I just couldn't bear the cold metal against my glamour-skin any longer.

[captainmarvelous]

I watch him carefully, as I finish my sandwich, at the way he tosses the trumpet aside. His fingers look a little stiff, not something worth commenting on, but still something I note.

I flop to the floor beside him, right pressed up against his side. One of my legs is bent, the other outstretched, and I lean back against the mast with him.

"You look cold."

[curryjolokia]

It is not something I'm proud of, how fast I press my shoulder as hard as I can manage against his, how my whole body leans against his side before I even have awareness I'm moving. I don't outright grab him, gods below, but I'm pressing against his offered side from top to bottom, and he'll surely feel the cold stiffness of my skin, even through his clothes and mine both.

It's not so much that my temperature is objectively icy, by almost any measurement scale. But in comparison to my normal radiant heat, which I've been told more than once can be overwhelming even without bodily contact? I might as well be a cold-burning star.

"...Yeah," I admit, since it's obvious anyway.

[captainmarvelous]

I nod, but don't comment further. It's not something he wants to share with me, the why he's so cold on nights so warm, and so I won't pry.

I simply slide my arm around him, and guide him a little closer, and let him lean into me and draw whatever warmth he can gain from me.

Unspoken affections, nonverbal love.

Hn. Love.

[curryjolokia]

Marvelous's hug is warmer than anything else up here, least of all me, and it's a temporary comfort, a brief respite. But the cold creeps in anyway, and shortly I'm almost as uncomfortable as I was before.

After a while, I've un-grumped a bit, enough to nose against Mabe's throat, nuzzling for warmth and places for my kisses both.

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" It's never an assumption with us, no matter how rare it is when we don't share a bed, either his or mine. Assuming would mean there was Something between us. Assuming regularity would mean we'd have to have a Talk about whatever that Something is.

Easier to have to find out every time. Even though a 'no' from him about this would do something to my hearts I'm not ready to find out.

[captainmarvelous]

I tilt my head so that he can nose more easily at my neck, humming low in my throat at the pleasant feel of his kisses.

"Sure," I answer with a small shrug. I could say something like 'of course', or, 'always', but that would give away more than I am willing to share with him yet.

I sit with him for a few more moment, then finally detach from him, getting to my feet and offering him a hand up.

[curryjolokia]

He swings me easily to my feet, and I'm once again reminded of the amazing strength contained in his compact frame. Not that I ever truly forget about it, but at some moments it's more obvious than others.

Such as today's battle. The only reason he took a wound was that, for that crucial moment, a Sugoumin was more agile than he was strong. It's a balance he hasn't yet perfected, but despite his age he's already a powerful fighter and when the experience of years tempers his raw strength, he'll be a fighter unlike any seen before.

Standing, the cold's even worse, and I tip against Mabe with a shudder. We're nearly the same height, and his earlobe's in easy nibbling range.

"Let's go to bed," I purr against his cheek, scraping the line of his jaw with my teeth - gentle only for the moment.

I don't want to talk about the emotion that drove me up here, or the physiology that is forcing my retreat. I don't want to talk at all, because the only time we fight with each other, not at each other, is on the battlefield, or between the sheets.

Or on the kitchen table, to be fair, but tonight I don't want to compete with the galley for his attention, or affection. I just want him.

[captainmarvelous]

He shivers against me, and I get my arm around him again, holding him for a moment and rubbing at his back. I know this probably won't fix his chill, but it feels right to do it, so I do.

He nibbles at me, and purrs, and I chuckle softly, nodding once before leading us back down from the crow's nest. Back to the warmth of the Galleon, and off toward my room.

Once inside my room I detach from him for a moment, unzipping my vest and shrugging it off my shoulders. I toss it onto my desk chair, and then start to work some of the buttons of my shirt open. I wince a little when this action pulls a bit at my still all too fresh wound.

[curryjolokia]

The friction of his palm on my back seems to linger, even by the time we're in Mabe's cabin. And the chill in my bones is already fading as he shucks off his vest, and I'm working on the laces of my trousers. But he flinches, a little twinge in his motion, and a tiny spot of red blooms on the bandages around his wounded wrist.

I cross to his side on automatic, taking his arm in both my hands and turning it over carefully.

"...Lemme help."

[captainmarvelous]

I frown at first, when he rushes to me, like a wounded child. But I can't deny that it hurts, and I will have to push my pride aside and let him help me, or risk further damage to himself.

So I sigh heavily, and let him move my hand away from my buttons, and examine my arm.

"I just twisted it funny," I supply, looking down at the floor, doing my damnedest not to scuff one boot across the floorboards, like a petulant child.

[curryjolokia]

My voice is soft, fond, as I snicker quietly, as I unbutton his cuffs, unbutton his shirt, starting at the waist, moving up one by one until all the buttons are opened and his breastbone and hard stomach are revealed. Palms flat, my touch as warm as my gaze, I stroke my hands across his skin, drawing idle patterns, gliding up to his shoulders.

I push the shirt off, smirking, letting it fall to his wrists, baring his nape and shoulders and arms and chest, lightly binding his arms with its inconvenient folds.

"Let me take your mind off your wrist," I purr against the shell of his ear, lips barely brushing its curves.

[captainmarvelous]

He snickers, and I almost pull away, but then he's undressing me slowly, working my shirt open, and the promise of a pleasant evening finally wins out over my stubborn pride.

I relax a bit as he gets my shirt open, sliding it down to my wrists. He purrs against my ear, and I feel a pleasant shiver run through me, down low to the base of my spine.

I tilt my head slightly, offering him a bit more of my skin, inviting him to kiss and nip at all the places he's learned I enjoy it most.

[curryjolokia]

Marvelous hasn't been on the ship that long, but it's already hard to remember how things were without him. I don't think I'll ever tell him so, but he is, without a doubt, the greatest treasure I ever could have found.

AkaRed brought me on board with the promise of treasure and riches beyond imagination, and while gold has a price, I had thought that the specific treasure he had offered me - the treasure of a life safe from Zangyack's hunt and the charnel house of their Goumin interbreeding farms - was truly the greatest imaginable boon that could be granted me. I was more than willing to give up my independence and submit to AkaRed as my captain if it meant a chance at grasping that dreamworld, the closest thing to happiness that I imagined any wretch of my race could hope to claim.

My mistake, I suppose, that I didn't imagine Marvelous.

The fear of the hunt enters my mind more and more infrequently these days. Extremes like tonight's exercise in masochism, when I subject myself to temperatures which to me feel nigh unbearable, just to keep my beast at bay, used to be everyday occurrences for me. Now. . . Not so much.

I nip and growl against Mabe's throat, loving the way he tenses against me, offers his skin in a way that is actually a command, a demand that I pleasure him in the ways he wants to be pleasured. And so I do, teeth scraping a tingling path before I find the perfect spot and bite down, suckling a sanguine mark to fullness under my lips. When I pull back to look at it, it's utterly lovely, but lonely. I give it a few friends.

He shivers against me, everything from his shoulders through his hips quivering lightly, and I press my body closer to his, one hand spread possessively over his rump, fingertips digging into the vee of his crack, through his pants. I mean to bury myself there, and I know he knows my intent. This, right now, is all the warning he'll get, the only consent I'll ask for; if he lets me proceed now but decides to fight me later, he won't win. I know what I want from him and I'm going to have it.

My teeth nip his earlobe, tongue tracing the shell and tickling in deeper. I'll have me in every opening he's got, maybe. It's a mindblowingly hot thought, but really, creativity like that takes so much PATIENCE. And I just want to shoot my load into him, as many times as he can stay conscious for. Tonguefucking his ear might have to wait.

[captainmarvelous]

He works my neck over until I'm quivering against him, clutching lightly at him to maintain some sense that I can still stand. Still have control over my own body. It's when his hand presses suggestively at the crack of my ass that I just fucking give in and lean into him proper, almost growling at the suggestion.

"Basco..." My voice is rough and heavy, and I clear my throat a little to make it stronger, a bit louder. Not that I have anything else to say, but just in case he wants words.

I tug at him, and back up as I do, not wanting to pull away from him, just wanting him to move us to the damn bed already.

And maybe undress me since my arm is still vaguely bleeding under the bandage and I don't think I can manage my own pants right now.

[curryjolokia]

He guides us toward the bed; I take control back, taking his hint and carrying on with it. I lay him down, letting him move himself as much as he bothers to. Not like I'm going to make it easy on him - my mouth is at his neck the whole way, and as I lower myself down over him as he lays back on the pillows, my teeth settle down into a firm, not quite gentle bite straight around his windpipe. His chin is tipped back, and the tip of my tongue traces little wet lines between the points of my fangteeth, pressing in just enough to dimple his skin.

He makes me feel feral, mindless with want and fixation on him. I barely have breath or thought for much else, and certainly not anything that doesn't account for him in at least some way, whenever we're in the same room. When we're like this...

...well, bites and bruises and wrenching force and clenching fists and more, all of it, it's heavenly.

I kneel above him, releasing his neck, watching the hunger in his eyes as I quickly work open his pants, yanking them down and off of his body. I jam one shoulder under the fold of his knee, forcing it up til his thigh presses his ribcage and he's laid open and delectable under me. My fingers go to his entrance immediately, rubbing lightly, taunting. My other hand's at my own trousers, working the laces clumsily, hurrying too much.

I have to swallow before I can speak, which is irritating. His own unsteady voice a moment ago makes it somewhat less embarrassing, though.

"Mabe."