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writingsofhubris · 7 months

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Fight, Flight, or...

[AO3] Rating: E WC: 2.2K Tags: Kidnapping, Crushes, Trans Male Character, Transgender, Wall Sex Fandom: Spider-man Ship: Doc ock/ trans male Reader Disc: Otto accidently kept kidnapping the same passerby; dumb luck in this city of so many people. So, said passerby ended up finding the third option to the age old question of Fight or flight. This is written with Molina in mind but could work for a couple post-accident Ottos

Otto accidently kept kidnapping the same passerby; dumb luck in this city of so many people. So, said passerby ended up finding the third option to the age old question of Fight or flight. This is written with Molina in mind but could work for a couple post-accident Ottos

“I’ll get you this time, Spider-man!” The rich voice echoed through the cave of buildings, tones reverberated over each of the bricks in the walls. Each echo built your fear even deeper, multiplied the beats of your heart as the metal of his actuators tightened around your waist. A pinch of metal, and you knew that your skin was going to show little bruised lines from the catch of the metal.

Doctor Octopus jerked your body once again, trying to stay on the wall he had scaled. Dust from the destruction of the brick wall showered down onto your shoulders, and your arms barely managed to fly up and cover your eyes from the debris. The arm once again stilled, and your eyes opened, now parallel with the ground stories below. Nearly instantly, your arms wrapped around the metal arm, trying to keep your fingers from the slots.

Weak kneed, the only thing keeping your mind from the drop was just how tight the actuator was wrapped around your body. A tighter grasp, and you heard Spider-man’s voice as he swung past, trying to distract Doctor Octopus from you enough to save you. Another flash of red, and the metal was gone, ripped from your hands as your fear was confirmed. Doctor Octopus, the man in all his metal glory, threw you away from him.

The sharp snap of your pinky finger didn’t even register as you tried to hold in the scream, limbs flailing for some purchase, some limb to grasp. Air sliced by you, until your body quite suddenly froze, sticky filaments covering you and keeping you from falling in a splat on the ground. Metal collision and grunts of pain rang in your ears, telling you just how intensely the fight still rang on. You couldn’t shift, couldn’t move, and you weren’t entirely sure if the frozen feeling in your body was due to the silk Spider-man had caught you in.

Fear finally left your body after you heard the villain leave in a sound of anger. Shaking started in your limbs, and it only was quelled when Spider-man set you back down on the ground, with firm instructions that the webbing would dissolve in water.

No one was going to believe that you’d been kidnapped today. Absolutely no one; not you.

And no one was going to believe just how handsome this villain was in person.

Dropping your coffee always was a shitty start to the day. Being called a liar, even playfully, stung worse. You were mostly in good spirits when you’d left the coffee shop with your to go cup. The heat from the cup, the taste of coffee spreading over your tongue, even the smell of the roast fell away from you in the seconds you were lifted from the concrete. The dark coffee spread over the sidewalk, and it was a loss for your morning.

It took only seconds for you to realize just what was going on; The Doctor was back. The Doctor was back, and he had no issue lifting you and jerking you around. Your hands once again wrapped around the metal of his actuators, clearly not learning your lesson from last time. The cast wasn’t even off, and the metal was warm under your hands.

A red lens appeared in front of your face, clearly ignoring whatever it was that was transpiring between the Doctor and Spider-man. Butterflies appeared in your stomach as it whirled in a circle, twisting as it zoomed into your face, trying to gauge why it pinged in Otto’s memory. The metal snapped shut right in front of your nose, missing by mere centimeters. Another spin, and it redirected its gaze to the cast still on your finger, watching the slightly dirty gauze for just a moment too long.

“C’mon Doc!” The jeer from Spider-man barely ran through your mind. “Let the man go! We really don’t need to keep playing this-” The Doctor’s voice broke through Spider-man’s.

“Until my machine is complete, you won’t get a moment of rest!” With the amount of times you had been kidnapped in the last month, you had to assume that the Doctor’s progress was worse than slow going.

“You don’t need to kidnap random strangers to impress me, Doc!” A sudden jerk of his actuator, and you knew a piece of silk was connected to the metal. You cried out, before once again being dropped, and caught in that sticky substance again.

“I’ll finish my machine, Spider-man! You can’t stop me as long as you try!” Last time, when you had been faced to the cement, you instead were faced to the Doc, seeing the man in his glory as he scaled the building again, long leather coat flowing in the air. Each stab of his metal arms through the bricks spoke of how much strength was in each one, the power and form of his body.

When your feet met the concrete, with the aid of the hero, your knees were still loose, and it wasn’t entirely from the height this time. The dents in the brick once again stole your gaze, marks of him having been here only moments before.

Doc Ock smelled like a few things. Oil, smoke, sweat, and something spicy. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger onto. He smelled good, actually.

Doc Ock had treated you nicer this time. For some unbelievable reason, Doc Ock had treated you kindly, the actuator wrapping around your waist only tight enough to securely hold you, but not enough to pinch at your skin this time. Yet, he had also looked at you out of the corner of his eye, trying to hide behind the lens of his green glasses. The flush on his neck burned into your memories, red and coated in perspiration. His words had stuttered when your gaze was on him, a nervous tilt to his words.

By the time you were thrown yet again into the silk Spider-man produced, you couldn’t believe what being held had done to you.

That scent, the simple way Doc Ock’s actuator had been wrapped around you…

You knew about the flight or freeze response. Apparently, there was a third, less known option.

Fuck.

The next time the good Doctor found you, you were alone. Spider-man hadn’t yet found the Doctor, and by the way Ock was covered by a trench coat, he hadn’t been expecting to be recognized today, either. You tried to make a break for it, feet stumbling back over the uneven ground. A couple missed steps, and you nearly fell on your ass.

Instead of feeling concrete, a star of pain bloomed over your back, right between your shoulder blades. One of Ock’s actuators had flown out of hiding to grab the back of your shirt, trying to keep you from falling.

The resulting tumble you took was not unlike the times he would carelessly fling you to the side in the heat of battle, and once again, you fell onto the ground. The biggest difference was that your head smacked against a wall, a bloom of pain ricocheting in your head. It only took a few moments to look up, and see the villain standing in front of you still, that flush once again on his cheeks. He didn’t even have those lovely green sunglasses on today. Dots connected when you saw your shirt, in the actuator that had pinched your back, held high over your head.

“Want to try that again?” You shifted slightly, hoping that the scars on your chest were hidden from his angle. Your hand was offered, waiting for the shirt to be returned.

“What a delicious morsel,” he then started, lowered enough to level himself with your eyes. “Already being opened for me.” Otto’s tone had changed, a small smirk on his lips. “Will I get to finish unwrapping it?” He let you scrabble up the wall, hands grasped for any purchase you could find.

Your shoulders hit the wall first, a gasp falling from your lips as your breath left you. The back of your head throbbed from the movement. A new actuator had spanned over your chest, firmly pressing you against the brick.

Yet your arms snapped up to try and defend yourself, even still. The self defense classes you’d started taking suddenly kicked into gear. It was only for the metal arms attached to the villain's back to snap forward and press your arms against the rough brick behind you. Your eyes snapped up to his, the compromising position suddenly flared in your head. Your eyes were wide, and his deep brown eyes locked onto yours.

“Doctor…” His eyes flashed down your body, watching your chest rise and fall in quick puffs.

With a breath to steal yourself, your fists balled, and you pulled your legs up to wrap around his hips, pulling him closer with the little bit of leverage you could manage. That blush you’d been hoping to see flared in his face, and Otto slotted just right between your legs. Fear still pounded in your veins, but you finally had him where you wanted him. It had taken months of him playing cat, and you mouse, only for Otto’s body to fit just so in the circle of your legs.

His eyes were hungry when he next looked at you, stroking your sides as a lower actuator almost seemed to whisper in his ear.

A moment more of hesitation from Otto, a war waged behind his eyes. He seemed to want nothing more than to keep you pushed against the wall, dark eyes needy. Your legs tightened just slightly around him, trying to force the war behind his eyes away.

“We can keep playing this game, Doc.” Your eyes were locked onto his lips, waiting for his next action.

Your words seemed to be the only thing he needed to hear to settle his mind. His lips were on yours, and you felt his leather clad hand wrapped around your ribs. The actuators pulled you off the wall, the final one moved to support your ass, and wrapped around your leg, urging it from Otto’s waist.

You were surrounded entirely by him, from actuators to his hands, slipped into your pants, sliding down into your boxers. There was a moment of fear that flashed through you as his fingers slipped into your folds.

Otto’s lips moved from yours to bite a mark into your neck, and his finger slipped back to rub your hard tdick, pleasure suddenly flooding your body.

“Do I get to learn your name now?”

“Do you need it?” Your response was just on a breath in response, trying to cling to the pleasure of his fingers already. Otto’s lips spattered another line of kisses on your shoulder, before he bit a mark into you.

“With how wet you already are, I just think you need mine.”

“Then fuck me, Otto.” Your jaw lifted, a challenge to him in the most pure form. His hand, gloved in leather, grabbed onto your jaw, pulling your face to press against his, a demanding kiss pressed to your lips as a distraction.

The actuators used your distraction to flip you around, pushing you to the wall. Both your trousers were pulled down, and you felt Otto press his cock between your legs.

"Can you, ha, take me to dinner now?" His deep chuckle shook through your chest. Lips pressed to your ear, a quick kiss. His cock pressed into your hole, and you weren't sure if his moaned yes was an answer to your question, or just from slipping into you.

Otto’s hands rubbed your hips, but it wasn’t to make you relax. Once his hands grasped onto your hips, Otto started to thrust in earnest, rocking your hips back and forth on his cock. His head tilted to the sky as you tried to keep yourself upright, the only support the wall in front of you.

“That’s it, just moan and enjoy yourself.” His hands released your hips and wrapped around your waist, actuators taking over on your hips, an extra bit of support. You were lost in the sensations of being pulled against Otto’s thick body, his gasping, moaning breaths in your ear. You were little more than a toy for him, and you couldn’t find it to care just how rough he was being. The bite of the brick against your cheek and shoulder didn’t even deter how hard you were pushing back against Otto. He had you pinned against his body, nothing more than something for him to rut into. You slipped your hand down between your legs, stroking along the growth of your dick, only needing a few strokes before cumming around Otto’s dick.

“That’s it, that’s what…” Otto’s words trailed off into a moan, and his lips pressed to the top of your neck. His breathing followed, hot and wet, moaning softly as he let himself release in you. The warm glow that washed through your body was welcome, and just what you needed. “You know, Doc…” you took a deep breath, letting yourself rest against the wall as Otto’s arms relaxed. “You don’t have to keep kidnapping me. Unless this is the result when you do.” Your hips shook slightly, and Otto’s relaxed laugh washed over your shoulders.

#.w #doc ock/reader #reader #x reader #doc ock x reader

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writingsofhubris · 5 months

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a new mercy a new grace

[AO3] Rating: E WC: 4.3k Tags: Falling In Love, Blood and Injury, Introspection, Hand Jobs, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Intimacy Fandom: The Outer Worlds Ship: Vicar max/OMC Disc: I sorta fell in love with another old man, my bad anyway, speculation into Max's thoughts as an unexpected man suddenly appeared in Max's life, offering him a hand and an escape.

He still remembered the year he received his first tossball stick. It had been a warm year, the bite in the air was stronger than it normally would be. Max had stayed inside as much as he could, unwilling to bite the acid that had combined to mix in their air.

Finding the respirators on a dead body has just been luck, and he still remembered the open, crazed eyes that had long turned cloudy. His parents could do with this bon, a small gift to help with the ghastly smells of the warehouse.

That was the first time Max had questioned what his role in this world was.

Would his eyes hold that same, glassy look? Would his life fall to a cold stillness, forgotten outside the strong walls he was born behind?

Max saw the dead eyes reflected in the people in his town. The metal rusted randomly, indicative of the holes of faith in those around him, proof of the plan continuing on with the monotony of the heavy falls of shoes against corrugated metal, lines as employees would clock in a few minutes earlier.

“Wouldn’t want to get that minute docked again. They stack with how many times you’ve been late, and wouldn’t you know, they don’t go away.” The words and regulations were familiar to Max. He’d long since learned what was to be expected of him.

When he would run his father an extra coat during the day, anything extra to protect him from the sparks of the welding equipment, Max could see the worn holes in the laborer's souls. Young as he was, Max could only see happiness in the pews of the order; when he could sit and listen to the whispers of those around him, he felt the answers he was searching for, just outside of his grasp.

He was fifteen, and already the corporations were eager to sink their claws into his soul. He'd have to sign a contract soon, if he would have any hope of life.

The vicar walked by in blue robes, sound in his steps. He was consoling someone over a concern they'd been mulling over. He recalled how bright his mother’s eyes sparkled in the night when she would return home after a hard day’s work.

“You must remember the Grand Architect knows what you are best suited for. You must trust in his teachings…” The ruined voice, too many years of acid in the air, rang between the steel walls of the commune. Max closed his eyes, and held tight to that voice that he’d grown so familiar with over his short life.

The architect… perhaps he’d find some truth there in the arms of the creator. Perhaps that joy that he saw in his mother’s eyes, the calm that his father held, would proliferate him in the order of scientific inquiry.

Perhaps his part of the Plan would at last be shown to him, given a taste of his part to play in the tapestry that was life.

It started in the pit of his stomach; crawling into his guts and staining his blood. Anger, sure and unmistakable. Rage that corroded worse than a Raptidon acid, the very marrow of his bones shook. And the edges of his vision held pink.

"If you pay enough bits, no one on the board is going to go looking. Anything you want…” Max tried to allow his mind to settle down, to ignore the words as he so often did. The despicable things that had been admitted to within these walls, how could he have been put here with these monsters? For daring to -

He cut that thought off. He wasn’t safe in this changing room, he wasn’t safe in his mind, by the law, he had to hold onto the Plan that had been predetermined. Everything was perfectly in place. Every action had a reaction, every time the pendulum swung, the balls would be thrown from one player to another.

Max didn’t realize the transition between locker room and field. He just felt the blood pumping through his veins, trying to evacuate his ire and rage. Max could feel that irritation, the heft of the tossball stick in his hands. The callouses over the months had well built up,. he could feel how well the tossball stick felt in his hands. The ball was caught in the little basket, his turn for focus as he discombobulated the others, avoiding his combatants’ attention until he had well and properly distracted those watching him. He was the only focus the other team could see; qnd in the slightest motion of his hand, he kept their attention whilst hiding the handoff of the ball.

By the time they’d scored, Maximillian had already fell into the feeling of catching a ball in the net of his stick.

When he felt the heft of his tossball stick suddenly digging into a mouth, a jaw that was now well demolished, Max almost stilled. This was right, this was the plan. The Architect knew what it was that he was here for, and the illicit discussions the man had been providing only made the bile threaten to leave his lips.

The net was red now, the edge of the hoop pressed against the man’s throat. He was nearly already dead.

Maximillian felt the shock of a stun baton, and he was down on the floor, the disgusting degenerate to be taken to medical bay, and Max once again punished. The plan was snapping him back to where he should be; what he should be doing.

His father’s eyes flashed through his memory. Calm, looking up from his work, meeting Max’s eyes. He found his peace in his work.

Why hadn’t Max?

They listened to him. Max found his flock, as unexpected as it was. Those incarcerated as he; a family was found in his teachings, teachings he had once poured his heart into. He had more than enough desire to impress that which he knew fully into these poor lost souls. Those who had turned their back to the plan once again listened to reason, understood what they were, who they were. They listened to his guidance, as that woman once had when he was a child. The men surrounding Max in this damnable place heard his voice radiating out from his cell. The guards simply ignored his words, allowing the message to drift from his bars to their helmets, and no further. No talk of escape, no radical preaching, Maximilian was helping their charges keep quiet, and manageable.

The Vicar helped them understand their transgressions against the architect, against the board. They repentant, and spoke with the guards about their wrongful transactions. Few found their way out of tartarus before their sentences were up. Perhaps they’d find solace when they left.

She’d been amicable to his message, at long last. Miss Holcomb seemed to find some sense of understanding, standing next to this stranger that was new not just to this land, but clearly more.

What a stranger he was; quiet and commanding. Strong, he looked like he would be able to help the vicar on his quest. He just hoped he’d see Miss Holcomb again, alive as opposed to dead.

He leant back in his chair, looking at the modest decorations he had gathered in the room. He could hear those in the church, praying to themselves about the Architect. Perhaps their roles would be changed, but they did not understand the momentous toll that would take on the rest of them. Perhaps there could be some form of upward movement for a few; moving to Byzantium perhaps, or if they were lucky, ascending up a business like a ladder. But it was unlikely, Max was well aware of that. Most of these people would smell saltuna, and have little else to refresh themselves with their entire lives. It was just the word of the Architect that could provide them with any kind of security.

He didn’t know what that security really felt like. He took on the concerns and fears of those living in this shithole, and held onto them instead. Those fears became his, and allowed each of the members of the community to find their work.

At least until he found that damn journal. Reginald was stupid, but he wasn't stupid enough to lie that blatantly. He was certain there was a book in that abandoned outpost, so long as someone could find it for him.

But the cold dead eyes that had attacked him before still rang behind his eyes. He didn't have the bits to purchase enough protection to keep him safe, he had to wait; hopefully for this very man.

Those cold, dead eyes looked up at him. Blood drifted from the tossball stick, the edge embedded into skull. He tugged the handle, and felt white matter spill into the basket at the end. He shook off the decayed brain to look up at his crewmates. Felix, his captain, both were alive and safe. Both were okay. This wasn’t the blow that would take them, the sudden uncertainty of this life that he was settling deeply into.

He felt useful; scripted in a way he'd been searching for. The scenes were unexpected, the settings Moreso.

A marauder was a maurder was a marauder. Max knew how to swing his tossball stick in just the rich arch to deal the most damage. Pulling the trigger to his rifle could pull forth jubilant cries, seeing the crazed bodies drop lent to success with celebrated, approved and looted, liqueurs.

Max trotted up to his captain, putting his stick back in its holder. That anger that had landed itself deep in his chest was at last freed in a constructive outlet. He’d always held his own in fights against his fellow man, but finally holding his own against creatures that long since relinquished their humanity was refreshing.

Viktor’s gaze met Max’s, and Max felt a small smile on his lips, hidden from view by the helmet.

“Think we’ll see a mantiqueen?” Felix’s jubilation was indicative of his bravery, his excitement… his naivety.

“By the law, I hope not.”

He jerked up from his bed. Taking a deep gasp of air, Max could hear the engines firing softing, ADA taking control of their course well enough.

Those damn eyes.

Cold, dead, crazed. The figure in his doorway shifted, leaning against the frame. His captain, standing and blocking out the light, dressed down in casual clothes. It didn’t stop the bulk of a bandage around his arm, a bullet graze that has caught them unawares. Scabbed-over broken lip, hair no longer smoothed back over his head.

“Max.”

“Captain.” He stepped into the bunk, and pressed the button to close his door again.

“Nyoka heard a shout.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll..”

“What’s wrong?” His captain was at the foot of his bed, sitting down and looking him in the eyes. Red eyes, irises still holding proof of his slumber.

“I’m alright, captain.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

"Are you accusing-”

“Yes I am. What’s wrong?” For not the first time, Max found himself quiet with the rage flaring in his chest.

Those red eyes, full of determination and promise, staring into his soul. "Tell me how to help, Vicar."

The rage flooded once again, and despite his age, he flung himself into the captain. Both bodies flew across the small room, a thump as hundreds of pounds of muscle hit the floor. The wrists he had in his hands struggled, trying to get free.

The captain stilled when he felt lips pushing against his, the Vicars teeth suddenly biting down on his lip. His moan stilled them both. Max didn't allow it to be for long, instead just shoving his hips down against Viktors. Lengths ground against each other, teeth painfully hit the others. Flares of pain ment nothing. Not the metal under Max's knees that ground against his patella, the strain of an old stab awakening, the sudden tight grip of the Captain's hand on his hip.

He realized he'd let go of that hand to grab at his Captain’s throat, keeping his face still.

That speed he so often forgot about from the Captain reared it's head at last. Max found himself turned over on the floor of his cabin, a leg hitched around his Captains hips, his hand on the Captains throat, and his hand now being pinned as his just was.

Viktor didn't need him to explain any further. Max could have deluded himself into thinking Viktor wasn't interested, if it wasn't for their hips, pressing and grinding together.

The hard metal ground into Max's shoulder blade, but he just pushed his hand harder against his captain's neck. Another moan from Viktor, and Max once again stole a kiss, his teeth grabbing the scabbed over cut, blood falling into Max's mouth.

Max felt absurdly empty, the passion ripping through him needing an escape. Viktor’s thrusts were hard and rhythmic, and Max ached for him to fulfill his role in this tryst, to allow Max to fully release the tension built inside, the anger that wanted to pour between them.

“By the law,” Max hissed out, his hand tightening on Viktors throat. He felt Viktors cock jump, only to grind deliciously hard against his body.

“If this is what you need, Vicar,” Viktor took a messy breath, hips stilling as his hand moved between them. “I expect you to ask, not attack.” Viktors hand slipped under his waistband, sealing his hand around Max's shaft. Max couldn't help his hips canting into the first touch from another human in years, couldn't help the spurt of cum that spilled when Viktors thumb brushed over the head of his cock. He ruined his underwear, tension draining from his body. Vik’s thrusts slowed, then stilled with his own groan. Viktor took his hand back, looking at the cum that clung to his digits. Without missing a moment, his tongue darted out to taste the bitter liquid.

“Fuck.” Max’s hand moved from Viktor’s throat, settling on his shoulder, allowing their breathing to normalize again.

Viktor’s fingers moved back to his own lips, but this time he felt the blood on his chin. Sitting back on his haunches, he used the hem of his shirt to dab at the blood, waiting for it to finish bleeding.

“Maybe we should go hunting together. Get the lay of the land, do some scouting together.” Another dab, and he was satisfied with how much his lip had slowed down bleeding.

“I’d like that, Captain.” Max’s eyes were locked onto the tip of his banner, the OSI logo glinting in the recirculated air.

The strong arm around Max's waist pulled him back into the bed. A deep voice reverberating against his back.

"Dreams?"

"Memories." A kiss from rough lips pressed to the nape of his neck.

The stars lit the room just enough; the lit planets threw hues over their bodies. Max turned around, looking into his captain's eyes. A wide hand moved to curl around his jaw, amazingly tilting his head only slightly into the comfort.

Max thought about how this was the happiness that his parents had chosen. They had fought through worse, they had fought though monsters of another type. He was the second generation born on these terraformed planets, long away from the life of his forefathers. Max and Viktor quite entirely came from two different worlds, yet found themselves well suited for the other.

"What kind?” Without asking, without prompting, Viktor took Max into his chest, allowed Max’s arms to wrap around his body, forced him into the understanding of waking from dark dreams.

“Ones I’d thought were lost.”

“Not willingly.” Viktor’s hazarded guess stilled Max; his words found his lips after just a moment, not willing to let the words misunderstand him.

“Not unwillingly. Both; memories that didn’t serve my purpose then, or now.”

“And what’s your purpose now?”

“Hacking for you, if it’s on a terminal or a tossball stick.” That rumbled laugh was calming. Max could fall asleep to that more often than not, he decided.

“How about sleeping?”

“Perhaps.” But his eyes once again closed, letting the memories of cold eyes, not dead nor living, fade from the recesses of his mind.

The hand on his hip was warm, rough. He could feel where the callous was from the trigger of a gun. Then, it slid forward, cupping his balls, a shock of contact. Viktor was breathing too strongly to be asleep, even without a word spoken yet.

From his balls, the hand slipped up his half hard shaft, pressing the top against his stomach, simply idly stroking him to hardness. A kiss was pressed to Max’s neck, a moment of softness in the darkness of the cabin. Viktor’s hand formed a loose circle around his dick, sliding up and down in the most teasing way. Max let his head fall back, to rest against Viktor’s for just a moment.

This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Max didn’t lend himself well to surprises, but as the fingers wrapped around his half hard cock, he was finding himself caring less and less. The spontaneity was a kindness Max didn’t realize he needed. The teasing, the pleasure, the sudden flicking of Viktor’s calloused thumb against his cockhead, all was new each time.

Viktor’s hand moved up, palm resting in front of Max’s lips.

“Lick my palm, Max.” A smear of saliva on his palm, and Max took Vik’s finger into his lips for just a moment. A suck, a promise for another time.

This time, both of Vik’s hands went under his waistband, one hand to Max’s balls, and the other back to the shaft. Saliva smoothing his actions, Viktor started to stroke his cock. He wasn’t hurrying this along, he wasn’t allowing anything to speed him along, Viktor simply was enjoying teasing Max and bringing soft moans from him.

His hips were pushing back against Vik’s, feeling his hard on grinding against his ass. He started to reach behind to take Vik in hand, offering just a bit of pleasure. Vik’s hand wrapped around Max's wrist, stilling his action.

“Don't. Just sing a hymn for me, Vicar.” Vik twisted his hand just so around Max's cock, a deep groan falling from Max's cheat. “Just like that. Just perfect.” Viktor took the moment to grind against Max's ass, falling into a duet of a hymn sung to an uncaring creator.

Those eyes were mindless. They were unseeing, crazed with a lust to a drug that couldn’t be substituted. Screams of babbled gibberish still rang in his mind, cold and not simply inhuman; unhuman in a way that forced his skin to turn to gooseflesh, the nape of his neck rise, a twist in his gut.

“Captain, on your left!” A raise of his gun, a sight quickly leveled, and the recoil of his gun was stopped by the armor on his shoulder. God damn, he would feel that, but the gun that had been trained from far above fell the stories down. He saw the barrel bend as it hit the ground, the clang waking something much higher on the cliffs. Max just didn’t want it to find him before it forgot about him.

Vik swung around to his left, the rifle in his hands level to nearly touch the forehead of a marauder. One swift bullet, and once again the Captain was safe. Once more, Viktor was alright. He looked around the ruins, seeing nothing of consequence. A light job, and he was looking at the other man, scanning up and down his armor for any noticeable signs of cracks. Already, Viktor was scanning ahead, looking for the next threat. If they hadn’t been ambushed so many times, Max might even have thought he was paranoid. They both knew better, on this rock.

Max’s eyes landed on Felix, pulling his tossball stick from the dead maurader’s head. An eyeball, not mindless, not cold, nothing more than a broken sphere, fell from the net and onto the ground. Max looked back at the two other men, regrouping again.

“This planet reeks of death.” Max’s observation was unthinking, and it was all the worse that he had grown familiar with the stench himself.

“Perhaps Phineas and Adelaide will be able to use this for the next few years.”

“Morbid, and practical as always, Captain.”

“We need to get back to the Unreliable. You fellas ready?”

“Ready when you are, boss.”

The shower was always cold, and didn’t clean as deeply as one could hope. But Parvarti had just worked with Ada to redirect the water near the engine, and for the first time, there was hot, recycled water on the Unreliable. The shampoo was worked into a lather in Viktor’s hair, scrubbing the green curls into a faint lather. It was relaxing, feeling his worn body pressed against a similar one.

“Lean forward,” Max instructed. Viktor used his hands against the wall to lower himself into the stream, keeping his feet in the same spot as before. He pushed back after a moment, standing up smoothly on his feet. Max was almost distracted by the muscles flexing, stretching under Viktor’s skin.

There was red under Viktor’s nails. He could see it over the man’s shoulders, spread against the wall as he was.

“Let me clean your hands.”

“My…”

“Hands.” He turned around, looking at Max with a bemused smile.

"Planning something, are we?" Those strong hands moved to slide from Max's hips up to his waist, nothing more than a teasing motion.

"You still have Raptidon blood under your nails. It's acidic enough to eat through your skin if we let it sit only a few more hours."

"Right. No, I knew that." Soap, a scrap of fabric as the rag, and Max started to clean each finger. He allowed Vik's free hand on his hip, until he let go. Vik, shocking as always, turned them around, pressing his chest against Max's back. The dirty hand was looped under Max's arm, and settled into his; fingers lacing for a moment, knuckles rubbed against each other. Max could feel the mishealed bone on Viktors left hand; pinky and ring shattered days before Ellie had joined the crew. Too late to set the joints, but she had offered to dare break and set the fingers.

Viktor had quickly changed the topic back to the distress call, and who would be joining.

Max ran the rag over each finger, rubbing under the nail.

"I think they're clean," Viktor softly broke in. He looked closer, opened his eyes to what was once again in front of him. Each finger was cleaned, a little red from Max’s scrubbing. Viktors hand moved to rest on Max's lower stomach, pulling him back against his captain.

"Ruminating?" Max softly laughed, and nodded.

"Yes, you caught me." He felt a kiss press to the worn skin of his shoulder, the thick bristles of Viktors beard scratching him. The water turned off quite suddenly, and Ada's familiar voice chimed into the bathroom.

“Though I can create an unlimited amount of water, three crewmates have been loitering in the kitchen. Felix is about to start a revolt.” One more kiss from Viktor's lips, and a towel was thrown at Max.

“So who's the oldest?”

“I am.” Max and the captboth spoke at the same time.

“Max, I'm older than you.” The Captain's eyebrow raised, wrinkles punctuating his point.

“But we look about the same age.”

“Hibernation pods really do something for wrinkles.” Max's confusion cleared up, realizing his mistake.

“The hope.”

“How old are you, Captain?” Nyoka walked up, Purpleberry Crunch in a bowl in her hand.

“119, at my last count. My final year of being a teen.”

“Meaning you were born in… 2236?”

“And the only one of us from Earth.” There was a best of silence before Felix spoke up.

“does that make us aliens to you?”

“Technically.”

“Whoa.”

His call was too late this time. The crunch of his captain's leg disintegrated into shards in his leg. It would be too much for him to take care of with a supplement, Max could tell. Yet somehow, he was able to swing the scythe in his hands up and pull through the muscled neck of the primal standing on the shattered leg. Head half decapitated, alkalized blood spilling mere inches from Viktor’s skin.

The large head tipped forward, and Max only barely managed to throw his weight against the shoulder of the now dead beast. The carcass fell to the side, and he was on his knees next to the captain. So much for watching the man’s back.

“Captain, are you alright?” Heavy breathing, and Viktor sat up minutely. The shock of pain through his leg made him grimace, and he at last looked at his Vicar.

“I need you to listen carefully to my instructions, and get me back to Ellie as fast as you can. Do you understand?” The order was given, and Max allowed himself to wall off those pesky emotions, emboldened from the temporary fear of losing Viktor.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good. I need a splint immediately.”

Everyone was on the Groundbreaker. Felix and Parvarti needed to talk with Gladys over the book club, Ellie and Nyoka to drink and catch up with a few people. Everyone was gone, other than Vik and Max. The captain’s bed was comfier than his. Not by virtue of a better mattress, though there were some extra blankets.

The bed smelled like Viktor. Sweat and metallic blood, but an earthiness unlike anything Max had ever smelt. The smell of terraformed planets held that smell, bit it was never as strong as it was in Viktors pillow. Max's arm wrapped around the thin pillow, taking a deep breath. He could smell the spectrum black that had been on Viks tongue last night, the celebration that had been hosted for another job done well.

Where the captain had gone, Maximillian wasn’t sure. The world was in flux, in a status that Max wasn’t entirely sure he could understand. He didn't know what tomorrow would hold, what the random chips would fall and survive into the next day. It scared him, the future more faceted than the supposed technicality that was the BOLT-52.

#the outer worlds #.w #vicar max #fanfiction #maximillian desoto #viktor wirth

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