Chapter Text
NO MISSION DATA FOUND
DAY ??? OF EMPLOYMENT
46°50'20" N, 113°55'52" W || WEATHER: CLEAR || 01:15 LOCAL TIME
HARKEMA INDUSTRIAL PARK, SCARRED SEA || FEDERATION WATERS
As far as Crimson One was concerned, there was almost no good reason for him to be getting called in at one in the morning for anything that wasn’t either a flight test or a combat deployment.
Actually, if anything, there was zero good reason for the higher-ups to be worried about his capabilities in the first place. He was already entrusted as the sole test pilot for the PW-MK1 program, and he was practically the best candidate out of every other pilot in the entire Peacekeeper force. He was known, respected, and feared across the world after his service in the Oceania War — he didn’t earn the title of Ace of Aces for no good reason. This, and the loyalty he devoted to the Federation alongside the rest of Crimson Squadron, was proof enough that there was no better and more trustworthy choice than himself; so naturally, their apprehension just pissed him off.
But then again, most experimental prototype superplanes did not possess claws, or teeth, or the ability to think and reason and telepathically hold a conversation with their pilot.
…Okay, so it was probably more accurate to describe PW as a mythological beast pulled straight from ancient pre-Calamity legends.
But, nonetheless, he still stood by his point; he didn’t need to be getting pulled in at an ungodly hour for this. All he really bothered to recall was that he was supposed to undergo some kind of sync test between himself and the craft, for the sake of studying their bond and hopefully improving field performance. The engineers and scientists hadn’t bothered to elaborate on exactly how, even when he’d asked, which only ended up irritating him even more.
Whatever. If they just wanted excuses to poke and prod at him like a lab rat, fine; he could put up with that. But did it seriously have to be at this Dust-forsaken hour?
Before he could stew on the source of his irritation for much longer, he was met with the sensation of warmth and pressure blooming across his back, creeping up along his spine and coming to a rest atop his shoulders. There was no real heat or any actual physical contact from what felt like a pair of invisible hands, merely his nerves being stimulated to emulate the effect, but nonetheless it was a soothing gesture that helped work some tension knots out of his muscles.
“I don’t think you need to worry so much about this silly little thing,” came his companion’s voice, flowing smooth like silk and honey through his consciousness. It was a strange thing to experience, one that Crimson had initially struggled to get used to, until with time and practice he was able to hold an entire conversation with PW without uttering a single word. “You don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow, especially since you’re still off-duty. A little bit of lost sleep won’t kill you.”
Crimson sighed in annoyance through the oxygen mask. “I know, I know,” he grumbled. "Doesn't mean I can't complain about it anyway."
PW’s form cut through the air, sleek and silent save for the rumble of their cordium engines; if anybody had been around to witness, they would’ve seen how smooth and graceful the craft’s movement was. Forelimbs unfurled from where they’d been tucked against their underside, talons reaching out to make contact with the asphalt, slowing down until PW’s brisk jog turned into a slow and casual stride. The doors of their assigned hangar bay rolled open on approach, revealing it to be mostly empty save for an assortment of crates, leftover tools, and someone in a white coat waiting for them. He recognized the scientist as he disembarked from the cockpit; a younger woman with light blonde hair, specifically one of the lead scientists that worked here on the rig. Nice lady, if a little eccentric at times — but then again, that applied to just about anything and everyone involved with the PW-MK1 project.
“I’m glad to see you could make it, Crimson One. Come with me this way please, it’ll only take a few minutes.” She gave him a smile, small and comforting, yet it only really served to sour his mood a little further. If it wasn’t even going to take half an hour, then what the hell was the point of him getting up this early? Still, as much as he wanted to complain, there was no point to it — so he just held his tongue, nodded, and followed along behind her. Either way, PW would be fine by themselves for a little while, based on how they were already lounging across the floor in a sort of sploot.
The walk to wherever he was needed wasn't particularly long, but still enough for a conversation between them. As they passed through a series of hallways and corridors, Crimson finally decided to ask the questions that had been lingering in his mind. “So, this test—” he began, “— how exactly is it supposed to work, and why do I really need to do this in the first place?”
She gave him something of a confused expression. “Did they really not tell you?” She’d ask, and when he shook his head to say ‘no’ she gave an exasperated sigh. “I swear, sometimes I just want to strangle the other damn eggheads with how bone-headed they can be about basic courtesy … well, I might as well inform you now so that you at least have an idea of what you’re getting into.”
Crimson cocked a brow at her words; she spoke as if he was going to have to wrestle an alligator or something. “The process is a simple one,” she continued. “You’ll be wearing a suit we designed for this procedure. It’s engineered so that we can keep track of your biometrics during the test, and observe how your vitals update in real-time without intruding on your privacy.”
“Why would I need privacy..?” He asked, now genuinely confused. “I thought this was just going to be a sync test?”
Her face grew a little flustered at the question, which struck him as odd. “Well, it is, but it’s also technically an… experiment,” she admitted. “There’s a lot we don’t understand about the prototype’s unique physiology. But what we do know is that it possesses some incredibly complex neural structures.” Then she started going off about how PW’s “tissue” apparently emulated the function of actual biological tissue so perfectly despite being entirely inorganic, and other scientific jargon that would’ve flown over his head even if he bothered to actually listen. What did catch his attention, though, was how she referred to PW as an it, and for some reason that struck a nerve in him.
He didn’t give it much thought, though. It wasn’t something to fuss about now. Fortunately, she quickly seemed to realize she was rambling and corrected herself.
“...Sorry, anyways, my point. We did some scans on the prototype’s ‘brain’, and we found that there are some neural pathways that allow it to experience sexual arousal and desire much like how humans do. Particularly, it can experience heat cycles — and we have reason to believe it’s going to enter one tonight. As you can imagine, this would provide an amazing opportunity for some possible data collection, which is where you enter the equation.”
Crimson One’s brain blanked out for a solid ten seconds from trying to process what she’d just said.
“...You want me to have sex with my plane ,” was the first thing he said as soon as his mind regained coherent thought and reasoning.
He didn’t know what shocked him more; what she just said, or the fact that she was genuinely serious based on how she just smiled and nodded. “That’s what we’re asking you to do, yes. Of course, you’re allowed to back out of this test now if you don’t want to do this,” she explained. “We have other volunteers who can take your place, though of course we would prefer to try it with you considering you already have an established bond with the prototype.”
For some strange reason, he didn’t really feel relief at hearing that. If anything, the mere idea of somebody getting involved with PW like that made his blood boil. He didn’t really understand why, only that it was a thought that he simply refused to so much as entertain.
Ignorant of his state of mind, the scientist casually continued as if what she was explaining was a perfectly normal procedure. “Of course, if you decide you want to participate, all you need to do is just get changed in here and head back to the hangar. As I said, you don’t need to worry about privacy since we’re only monitoring the experiment through your vitals; we won’t have any audio or video feed in the hangar.”
Crimson opened his mouth to speak, but was denied the chance as she looked at her watch and cursed under her breath. “I need to go attend something. Don’t worry about getting in contact with me, if there’s no bio-feed from the suit in 10 minutes, we’ll just assume you declined and go through with finding a volunteer.” And with that, she hurried off, leaving him in silence by the door as she rushed to tend to whatever it was that her job demanded of her.
His mind began to churn as he attempted to process everything.
PW was more than just his plane; they were his companion, his wingman and WSO and squadmate all in one. To think about them in such a context felt strange enough as it was, but the idea of them being with somebody else made him all but seethe just thinking about it. And not to mention the many, many questions he had, fluttering about in his mind like anxious butterflies in the wind. Why him? Why them? How would it even work? What if PW simply just didn’t want to do it? And more importantly, why was it that he didn’t even feel disgust or at least some form of repulsion from the idea? Was it because he trusted them that much? Or was it because he realized he couldn’t imagine anybody but himself in that position?
Crimson didn’t really understand these thoughts, or why he even had them at all — but he recognized that some part of him wanted to understand.
A minute passed of him staring at the door in thought. He inhaled, let some of the tension and apprehension wash away with a slow exhale, and stepped inside the locker-room.
There was nothing special or noteworthy inside, save for the bright red-and-black suit neatly folded on an empty bench. Of course they designed it after his livery — only the best for the Ace of Aces — though he was glad they didn’t go with the tacky red-and-white parade colors. There was no hesitation from him as he slipped it on; it fortunately turned out to be a simple affair, given that it was a one-piece with a zipper that went from the collar to the groin.
Unfortunately, it was also rather… snug. Not in an uncomfortable way, but from how it hugged his figure so closely, it didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination. At least it didn’t chafe his thighs, and the padding in the crotch area was accommodating to his anatomy. Still, did it seriously need to show off his ass so much?
He was thankful that the rig was quiet at this time of night, because he wasn’t sure if he could handle anybody ogling him when he stepped out of the locker-room and made his way back to the hangar. The scent of cordium hit his nose when he returned; earthy, with a faint metallic hint that reminded him of iron or blood. PW was still where they had gotten comfortable, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest when they lifted their head to look at him as soon as he walked through the doors.
PW’s presence was something he could always feel in the back of his mind, a phantasmal thing that was always accompanied by the sense of icy coolness, or sometimes deep warmth. He didn’t understand much about it, only that it was what allowed them to speak through the bond without saying a single word out loud. As far as he knew it didn’t really let them read his thoughts and vice-versa, but what they could both feel from each other was emotions.
Crimson wasn’t sure whether the heat that accompanied the craft’s voice now was because of his mind playing tricks on him, or from something on the other end of the bond. Because he certainly couldn’t tell what PW was feeling right now.
“That didn’t take you very long.” They stood, taking a moment to stretch in a fascinatingly cat-like manner, their words a contrast of icy chill against the flowing warm waters of his mind. For a totally inorganic creature, their form was as sleek and elegant as the plane they were born from; it only made him wonder how this was all supposed to work out.
“I thought it would take you a while, though the engineers were kind enough to give me a refuel while I waited.” Their gaze seemed to linger on him, dark and unblinking like that of a shark, and they smiled. “You look very nice tonight.”
He tried to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat from those last few words — emphasis on tried — and instead managed to swallow the knot of anxiety in his throat. “Thanks?”
They cocked their head somewhat, still smiling. “You know, it’s easy to tell when something’s bothering you,” they spoke with a sort of teasing purr. “You get this cute look on your face, and your pulse tends to race whenever you’re thinking particularly hard about something.” Fuck. Of course they’d probably be able to gauge that pretty easily, he was probably like an open book to them through the bond.
Crimson took a seat on a nearby storage crate with an exasperated sigh. How should he even go about this? He couldn’t just ask them, it felt too forward for his tastes. He almost wished that PW could read his mind at this point, because it’d certainly make the whole thing a lot easier.
But then again, that wasn’t the only topic eating away at him.
He shut his eyes to take a moment and gather his thoughts, speaking after a small lull of silence. “This is going to sound really stupid,” he began, “but do you ever feel… dehumanized? ”
PW’s smile faded, and they tilted their head once more in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Whenever anybody else talks about you, they don’t talk about you like you’re a person. And I don’t mean like in the way that… you’re not human. ” Fuck, was he doing a good job at explaining this shit? He didn’t know — he was still pretty conflicted with his own thoughts — but finally saying them out loud seemed to help a bit. “They talk about you like you’re just an object, just another weapon or tool to be used. They don’t ever refer to you as anything that isn’t it or the prototype or some other technical shit. Does… does that ever bother you, PW?”
There’s another period of silence, and he can’t help but worry if he accidentally offended PW for a moment until they finally respond; “I don’t mind at all.”
Crimson blinked in shock and confusion. “You don’t? ”
“I’m well aware of how they treat me, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s not something worth worrying over.” They finally moved from where they’d been standing, making their way over to where their pilot was seated and sitting down in front of him. They had to crane their head downwards to properly look him in the eye, and it only made him realize just how massive the craft was compared to him.
“They don’t understand how I work, and they probably never will. I could’ve simply flown away a while ago if I truly wanted to leave anyway.” That smile returned to their muzzle, sly and teasing. “Obviously, something is bothering you if you felt like asking that question.”
“It… does. It bothers me. A lot, ” he managed to make himself admit. “Whenever I hear them talk about you like you’re just some thing, it pisses me off like Hell. I don’t understand how they can just willfully ignore the fact that you can think and feel like any other human being. I don’t understand why they don’t respect you like they respect me, because to me, you’re more than just the plane I pilot; you’re my copilot, my wingman, my…”
He couldn’t bring himself to finish that line of thought, so he inhaled, deep and slow, then let out an exhale. The tension refused to leave his body.
“When they pulled me aside, PW, they… explained some things to me. They want me to do an experiment with you, but I don’t know if it’s something you’d want to do.”
They tilted their head again. “Well, based on what you’re wearing, you didn’t seem to say no to their proposal.”
“I— It’s not like that!” Crimson insisted. “They told me some bullshit about how you have a heat cycle or whatever and—” He paused to inhale, exhale, let his thoughts calm a bit before he said what he was about to say. “ They want me to have sex with you for the experiment. They said that I could refuse, but… they’d find somebody else to take my place for it.”
The period of silence that filled the hangar, for what was probably the third time so far, was deafening.
“That… is quite a dilemma.” Another pause. “And what do you think about all of this?”
“I think that it’s fucked up they’d just expect you to be perfectly fine with it, or that they’d even be willing to find volunteers in the first place if I decided to say no. I only said yes because I didn’t want you getting treated by some stranger like that, and..” A frustrated groan ripped its way out of his throat, and he buried his face in his hands. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, PW.”
He heard no response at first, then the sound of claws shuffling against concrete. “Do you know what I think about it?”
He looked up to see that the craft had settled into a prone position in front of him, the tip of their nose now level with his chest. “What?”
Crimson wasn’t sure what to expect with PW’s response. Anger at the situation, reassurance for his worries, rejection of the proposal. What he certainly did not expect was to see the craft’s jaws open, and for their tongue — which was as long as he was tall — to lick him across his chest and face.
“I think you worry too much,” they said with a shit-eating grin, watching their pilot cough and sputter and try to wipe himself clean of cordium-laced saliva. “And I hate to see you so wound up over something that doesn’t matter. When was the last time you took a break, got some rest? Some actual rest?”
He opened his mouth to argue, but quickly decided against it. “I don’t really remember, to be honest. But, what about…?”
“I’m aware that technically, this is supposed to be a strictly professional relationship.” They shuffled to rest their chin in their hands, an incredibly lax and human gesture. “But I won’t lie and say that this ‘experiment’ isn’t the first time I’ve entertained the idea. I simply never approached you about it out of respect for you.”
“You’re…” His brain scrambled for a couple of seconds to process what he’d just been told. “You’re interested? In me?”
“Of course — but only if you feel the same as well.” There was a sudden wave of ghostly chill that ran down the length of Crimson’s spine, and he understood that PW was being serious now. “They might want us to do this, but I won’t if you don’t want to. Your safety and satisfaction is more important to me than the desires of any other human being in the world; I will never willingly put you in danger, and if I at all cross any boundary — if I make you even the slightest bit uncomfortable — I want you to tell me immediately and I will stop. Do you understand?”
He wasn’t sure if the sudden surge of heat that began to pool in his belly was from the casual tensity of PW’s words, or from something else. Maybe it was the fact that he did kind of feel the same way, maybe it was from the lingering taste of cordium on his lips, or maybe it was simply all of those things at once.
Crimson nodded, but to his surprise PW shook their head. “Say it,” they gently urged. “I want to hear your confirmation. Even if your body already agrees, I want to hear you say it.”
If what the craft said earlier was enough to light a spark in his belly, then the words they spoke now set his core aflame as if they were kick-starting a cordium reaction. It was a blazing warmth he swore that he could really feel, dancing like lightning and stirring such interest in his loins that it was almost painful. It took much of his strength to not outright whimper on the spot from the rush.
“Of course,” he whined, a feverish tremble rolling through him, and he couldn’t help but grow embarrassed at how quickly his composure seemed to crumble. “Please, I— I want this. Genuinely. Please.” The smile PW gave didn’t help him in that regard, the sight alone making his dick strain against the crotch of his suit, prompting him to press his thighs together in an effort to ease the ache.
“Wait a moment, then. I saw something earlier that I think will be useful in helping you… relax.” Their voice was like fingers parting through his hair, rubbing against his scalp and caressing all the muscles in his neck and jaw — and oh, how it made him burn.
As the craft got up and began to walk to some side of the hangar where a bunch of spare crates were lying around, he quickly turned his attention to the suit, his hands fumbling with the zipper. With how horribly stimulated he was, he felt like was melting alive in the damn thing, and to his growing frustration, he found that the metal tab wouldn’t budge. That quickly turned into dismay when a single yank was all it took to break it off completely.
He was pulled from his immediate concerns by the sound of metal scraping across concrete, looking up to see his companion dragging a spare metal-framed bed of all things over to him. He wasn’t going to complain of course, especially when he still had to worry about the suit being stuck. PW certainly seemed to notice his predicament, because they paused for a long, almost painful moment before speaking.
“You know, I could help you with that.” He could’ve sworn he saw their gaze ever-so-subtly flick from his crotch to his eyes. “...Among many other things, as well.”
Oh, Dustmother save him.
There was no hiding the full-on tent in his pants, or the feeling of slick smearing against himself and the sweltering suit. “What— What are you thinking?” He gasped, his strain and desperate need for relief evident in his voice. There was the ghostly sensation of invisible hands cupping his face, and he couldn’t help but try and lean into the non-existent contact to soak in the soothing icy-warmth. PW lifted a hand, letting a talon rest directly between his legs with the razor-sharp tip pointing straight at his loins.
“For one, I think we should get you out of this pesky suit, mmm?” They purred, low and sultry, and Crimson whimpered out loud with a more-than-eager nod. There was a flare of fear as the craft lifted their claw towards his neck, but it was eased away with those same phantasmal reassurances kissing his skin. A wordless message of trust — and trust he did. Like he always had, like he always would.
The curved blade ever so gently caressed his Adam’s apple, the bundle of flesh bobbing from the instinctive nervous swallow, which was followed by a sharp exhale as the sharpened length of steel traced down the side of his throat. “If it helps reassure you,” PW continued, “I can perfectly calculate the exact amount of pressure I can apply before I draw blood. As I said, I will never hurt you.” As they spoke, the tip left a long, white scratch in its wake, accompanying the feeling of goosebumps creeping over his skin as the blade-like claw was dragged downwards with incredibly delicate precision. He did his best not to squirm beneath the contact out of fear of accidentally nicking himself, but even then, his head spun a little from how hard his dick and cunt suddenly throbbed at the thought.
Still the craft continued, the talon slicing cleanly through the interwoven fabric and circuitry along the length of the zipper. He bit his lip in nervous anticipation at the sight of it nearing his loins, but thankfully PW paused as if to ask, “May I?”
Crimson didn’t need to nod, or speak through the bond; all he did was spread his legs, and that was all the permission they needed. The feeling of the cool steel gently brushing against his shaft before it finally slipped free of its confines was enough to draw a low, shuddering groan of relief from him. He didn’t get to enjoy the freedom for very long, however — PW was already nosing their way between his thighs, huffing and purring so deep and low that it was almost more like a growl, and with such intensity that the vibrations seemed to worm their way into his core to make him squirm.
He was about to beg PW for more when he felt teeth delicately scrape against tender flesh, followed by the familiar sensation of something wet and heavy and hot snaking its way into the torn-open seam of his suit.
The craft’s tongue was almost like a serpent with a mind of its own, worming against all that it could touch; over his pectorals, around his nipples, into the dip of his navel, the softness of his hips and stomach, across his thighs… anywhere and everywhere except for his aching loins they explored, leaving slick warmth and tingling skin in their wake that had him squirming where he was seated. There was so much of him that PW touched and caressed, and that feeling of hands in his hair had returned once more, making him moan and whine as he clung to his companion’s muzzle like his life depended on it.
“Please... please... please…” Crimson sobbed. They hadn’t even truly touched him yet, and he felt as though he were rising ever higher with no peak in sight. “PW.. I— I need it, I need you, please, please. ”
“Good boy,” They purred through the bond, and all at once he felt the fingers in his hair gently pull his head back, phantom kisses tracing his lips and jaw and throat as his dick was swallowed by slick, hot flesh.
Crimson One wasn’t exactly a virgin, but any previous experiences he had utterly paled in comparison to what PW was doing to him in such a way that he knew he wasn’t going to be able to think of anything but his companion — and that was just from what they were doing with their tongue. It coiled around him, sliding up and down from head to hilt in slow playful strokes while the more dextrous tip fondled his jewels. Each stroke left him gasping and keening, hips rolling in rhythm with their tongue as he lost himself in the pleasure of it all, though to his dismay the slick muscle soon released him and the kisses faded.
Their tongue wormed deeper between his legs, sliding down against his shaft until he felt the hot length of flesh rub over his aching lips. Before he could think to beg, it was already slipping inside, the tip quickly finding and stroking against his clitoris as though it were a brilliant red pearl. He mewled, whining and panting as his skin burned with heat and so much stimulation it threatened to totally consume him — and yet he was in no danger. They had promised to keep him safe after all, and a part of him understood that if something ever did happen to him, they would not hesitate to smite the earth and tear the heavens asunder. Just for him. Only for him.
Maybe their bond was always fated to be. It sure felt like it, which was funny in a strange way; when he was first introduced to PW shortly after being chosen for the PW-MK1 program, they actually hadn’t gotten along very well at all. It was only through circumstance that Crimson hadn’t been replaced with another potential candidate, but in the time it took for them to find one, they had slowly begun to understand each other. As co-pilot and WSO and pilot, as wingmen, as flight lead, and maybe as something that might’ve been friendship.
And now here they were, two threads intertwined as closely as their own flesh would allow them to be.
Some small part of him realized that this was all an act of devotion on PW’s part, of loyalty — much like what he did all in the name of the Federation — and he wondered how long they’d been yearning for him, how many times they thought of taking him like this, how long they’ve waited until the moment was just right and the trust was all there. Maybe that desire had always been there ever since the bond was established, and how he had never noticed until now was a mystery that no longer mattered.
PW plunged their tongue deeper into him, and for a moment, he saw stars dance in his vision. The noise that left his mouth was downright sinful, a high-pitched moan that had him arching his back off the crate beneath him. They still continued, of course, driving a familiar rhythm in and out of him that had him clenching around them in ecstasy. The sensation of them stroking across such sensitive heated flesh was nothing short of divine, and he would’ve been perfectly content being worked up into an orgasm or two through this alone. But to his ever-conflicting relief and dismay, the craft pulled away and allowed him to catch his breath.
Crimson wondered what they were up to until their talons were suddenly sliding underneath him, careful not to nick him or his suit as he found himself being lifted up and promptly deposited onto the bed they’d dragged over. His heart skipped a beat when he realized what was going to happen now.
He looked up, and PW looked back down at him, resting some small amount of their weight on the far end of the bed as they leaned over him. “I know you have already agreed, but I want to ask again before we continue,” they spoke, that purring tone being abruptly replaced with that same casual intensity that made his clit throb like before. “I will never hurt you, or put you in any situation that makes you feel uncomfortable or distressed; I will only do this if you want to. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” he spoke, his gaze naturally dropping to the smooth patch of metallic skin between their legs. “I understand. But how do we…?”
Just as quickly as their tone changed was it back to that velvety silk-and-honey heat, coming as an amused chuckle. “I’m rather similar to you, honestly. I just don’t have to rely on clothes for modesty.”
Before he could think to ask what they meant, they were already showing him, and he was greeted with the sight of a previously-unseen slit beginning to split open. The sight was oddly mesmerizing, orange-pink flesh unfurling to reveal the craft’s desire for him, alongside a pair of orifices that made him quickly understand what they’d been implying. From the topmost one emerged what he quickly recognized as their penis; it was slender like their tongue yet bigger, longer, and easily just as dexterous. It wormed its way into his lap, and of course he could not help but run a hand over the appendage. Aside from the slickness and the sheer heat pulsing through it, he was surprised to find that it was surprisingly pliable to the touch as it twisted and coiled around his fingers, capable of stiffening into powerful muscle or softening into spongy tissue. Above him, his companion shuddered at the touch and gave a deep, rumbling purr, strong enough that he could feel the bed frame rattle under him.
The craft scooted closer, already having to be careful not to crush the bed beneath their weight, and Crimson realized just how much care PW had to put into every action for this to even be possible, how delicate they had to be with him. Of course, it only made sense; they were so many times stronger than him, easily capable of tearing him apart if they ever felt like it, but the fact that they could pin-point the exact amount pressure needed to ever hurt him and so elegantly dance around those limits to make him feel good made his head spin with want.
They seemed to sense his desire, too, because the length of synthetic muscle in his hands slid downward. Across his stomach, against his shaft, until finally the tapered smooth head was rutting up against his sex-soaked cunt.
There was the feeling of phantasmal hands on his skin again, fingers interlocking with his own, a gentle pressure on his chin encouraging him to look up and into the darkness of his companion’s gaze. Craned over him like this, arms gripping the bed frame while their wings caged him in and blocked out the dim light — it made him feel protected, safe in the shadow of an apex predator. No one but themselves would be privy to this intimate act of communion, and the scientists would have only slightly-patchy data to go off of.
“Are you ready?” PW asked, and Crimson couldn’t have been more ready in his entire life.
The feeling of invisible fingers in his hair and over his scalp returned to him again, gently pulling his head back to expose his throat for them. Their tongue snaked out and around his neck for a short moment, planting cordium-soaked kisses over his skin, feeling his muscles flex and breathe when they finally pressed into him and drew a sweet, tilted moan.
The initial burn was pleasant, enough to draw a quiet, keening whine from his lips as they entered him. It was such a strange feeling; filled and stretched, but not in an uncomfortable way caused by him having to accommodate them. If anything it was the other way around, soft flesh compressing in the heated confines of his body to bring only pleasure and little discomfort.
Of course, they couldn’t completely fit, but that was alright — especially when the first few inches were already making him gasp and huff and swear beneath his breath. Deeper still they went, and the sweet glide of their shaft had him rolling his hips and begging for more, more, until he could feel them bump up against his cervix. It should’ve been painful, but instead he was met with a white-hot spear of need plunging into his core that had him gripping the mattress like his life depended on it.
Then he felt PW slipping out of him, and he was about to beg and whine for them to stay until he saw them roll their hips, felt them push back into the heat of his body again, and all at once it was as if the sun and moon and stars had swept down from the sky to swallow him up.
There were no spoken words from the whole of human existence that could describe the sensation that utterly consumed him in that moment, only that it wasn’t an orgasm; something beyond that which he’d never be able to explain from the limited perspective of his biological brain. Crimson felt as if he were falling backwards out of his own body and into the bed under him, but there was the feeling of hands all over gently holding him in place to keep him from falling into infinity — in a heartbeat, one moment he was lost in the deep black of PW’s gaze, only to be looking back into his own the next.
The sudden shift in vision and the experience of being able to see so much at once was naturally disorienting, but they were there to ground him through the bond until he adjusted to the new perspective. He realized, gradually, that he could still feel everything even in this disembodied state, and he couldn’t help but drink in the sight and feeling and smell of himself. Each time he whimpered from them bumping up into him, each heave of his chest with every breath he sucked in, every spike of pleasure that raced through him like lightning and had him blinking tears from his eyes — it was so much, and yet somehow it was never enough. All he could do was mumble incoherent sweetness and let them take the reigns.
His altered state of existence melted away as quickly as it had seeped in, and Crimson found himself seeing through his own eyes again before he even realized it. PW continued nonetheless with their rhythm, hips still rolling as they pressed in and out of his ever-mounting heat. He could go on like this forever, in this dance between two beings so closely entangled that he wondered if the barriers between them truly stopped only at their bodies. It was almost funny in a strange sense how close they’d become in such a short span of time; a weapon and their operator, a WSO and their pilot, a wingman and their flight lead, and now something beyond all of those things at once.
But he could only go on like this for so long — and they seemed to know this as well. Right when he started to peak, right when he started to rise higher and higher into that non-stop tide of euphoria, PW slowed their rhythm and came to a gradual stop. He couldn’t help but whimper at the denial of pleasure, was about to ask why’d they stopped, but they gently pressed a talon to his lips before he could speak.
“I want to try something,” they purred, deep and low like the rumble of their engines. “But it might be… overwhelming for you. I don’t want to put you at risk if you don’t want to do it.” He didn’t even know what they had in mind but he already found himself wanting it, if the way his dick twitched at their words was anything to go off of.
“It’s— it’s fine, I don’t mind,” Crimson managed to breathe out before they could explain. He managed to flash them a flushed smile, chest heaving to catch his breath in this small moment of reprieve. “Take me.”
Apparently that must’ve stoked a fire in them, because PW suddenly growled so fiercely that he felt it reverberate in his bones, and then there’s phantasmal hands touching him, holding him, squeezing and exploring every inch of him in ways that had his composure crumbling all over again. He turned to bury his face into an invisible palm caressing his cheek; above him, his companion started their rhythm again, and there was nowhere else on Earth he’d rather be than here in this moment.
A hand took hold of him and he couldn't help but mumble and whine at the contact, only now realizing how much he needed this — his hips bucking up into the intangible fist, feeling fingers glide along his length, caressing him, all in sync to the craft’s movements in and around him. That heat in his gut was beginning to burn now, like a white-hot metal spring on the verge of snapping at any second. But no matter how much it wound itself, no matter how much he seemed to climb into the deep blue, it could never quite fall into his grasp.
Of course, PW was there to help him reach the peak.
The shift overtakes him before he can even recognize that it was happening; his senses seem to fracture like glass, each shard reflecting a whole slew of sensations into his very being, like rays of light stolen from the sun. Initially he struggled to simply comprehend what was, at first, just a white noise of pure sensory input, until he tried to sort through and understand what he was witnessing and feeling all at once. And when it finally clicked for him——
Oh.
Crimson caught a glimpse of himself, mouth agape and eyes fluttered shut in what he knew and felt was blissful ecstasy. Those invisible hands, still exploring every inch of his body — a thumb at the slit of his dick, a palm along the length of his shaft, a finger stroking slowly over his clitoris in tandem with every pulse of heat driven into him. But he felt more than just that, so much more, things that he quickly realized weren’t coming from his own senses but rather his companion’s. Two minds so hopelessly entangled in each other that they felt through each other as if they were themselves, and back around again, a feedback loop of senses that endlessly burned like a runaway cordium reaction.
The shared body heat between them, from something so small and sensitive and delicate, from something so massive and powerful and precise. The silken glide of flesh against flesh, stimulating themselves and each other all at once. Entire spectrums of light dancing in their vision like the reflection of the sun on the ocean floor. The lingering scent of sex, of trust, of devotion and gunpowder. Blood and cordium flowing through veins of flesh and synthetic tissue in perfect sync. The taste of sweat and slick still lingering on their tongue.
It was so much. Almost too much, even, but he didn’t mind one bit. He could lose himself like this, in this seemingly endless cycle of encompassing and changing and consuming themselves within each other, through each other, as each other. They were like the sun and moon slowly arcing across the sky to bathe the world in their shadow, coalescing until there was only the blinding halo of fire, a glittering band that sparkled like diamonds. Higher and higher, closer and closer, hotter and hotter, until——
His brain, to put it simply, couldn’t handle the sheer volume of sensory input. Everything went white for a few seconds as he was consumed by his climax; his vision, his senses, the heat in his core that felt as if he were about to birth a second Calamity. It was an act that lasted only a couple of seconds and yet stretched on for an eternity, and the next thing he knew he was staring back up at PW.
They must’ve not reached their limit yet, because they were still at it, that deep heat pushing in and out of him at a sweet and gentle pace. Crimson’s limbs were like lead, though that fire in his belly hadn’t quite died down yet despite the sheer intensity of it all. So for now he simply laid there and breathed, fast and deep and hard like the flow of air through the craft’s intakes, heart hammering in his chest like the low thrum of their engines.
PW’s presence flowed through the bond again, bringing that familiar sensation of soothing ice against warm waters. “So good, so good,” they crooned from above and around him all at once, gradually leaning in and closing in around him with their arms and wings until he was totally wreathed in their shadow. “You’re doing — so good for me.. s’good..”
They suddenly stiffen with a deep huff from their intakes, a few final, faster thrusts, and he felt them bump up against his cervix again, pressing firm and gentle until something finally relaxed enough for them to slip in further. The burn that accompanied the stretch drew a low moan out of him, hands gripping the mattress as he felt himself grow hot with interest yet again. He didn’t get to savor the feeling for very long, however; just as soon as he felt them penetrate him was there a sudden surge of heat gushing into him.
Another groan slipped out of Crimson as his hands rose to his stomach, feeling the soft skin gently swell and grow hot to the touch from what felt like molten cordium settling in his hips. He could bask in this sort of afterglow for an eternity, he thought to himself; safe, warm, protected by a being who would perhaps wage a one-man war in his name. He knew he’d certainly do the same for them. But until now he simply opted to breathe, letting the adrenaline fade from his body, the warmth seeping into muscles and bones and already sapping away the subtle ache that was definitely going to haunt him for a day or two after this whole ordeal.
He wished they could just stay like this for a while, but he hadn’t realized PW wasn’t quite finished just yet; there’s another huff, phantasmal fingers parting through his hair and massaging his scalp, and then he felt something prod at his cunt again, warm and fleshy and slick. For a moment, he was confused; he was pretty sure they only had one dick from what he saw, so what was…?
“Just a bit more,” they murmured, and Crimson couldn’t help but notice how strained they sounded, a stark contrast from the icy-warm casual tone they always spoke in. “So good for me.. So good for me…”
When the object finally entered his cunt, he couldn’t help but gasp and clench around it, moaning softly from the sensation. It felt so solid and heavy, yet he couldn’t really feel any abnormal texture inside of him that wasn’t the craft’s dick. Still, he certainly wasn’t complaining, especially when that seemed to draw a gentle shudder and another rumbling purr from his companion, the object vibrating deliciously inside of his passage in such a way that it drew another terribly lewd noise from his lips.
He still didn’t know what it was, only that it seemed to be pushing itself deeper into him; slowly, inch by inch, until he could feel it bump up deep inside him, trying to worm its way inside his core. For a moment, there was a brief moment of panic — What if it couldn’t fit? What if it did, but it hurt? — but those thoughts are swept away by PW reaching through the bond, that ghostly entourage of hands making themselves known to him again to soothe his worries.
The object pressed against his cervix. More, more, slowly squeezing through in a way that had him whining and keening with every breath until it finally slipped past, drawing a gentle shiver as he felt it settle among the heavy liquid heat in his hips, invisible palms stroking over the swell in his belly in tandem with his own hands. Some deeper part of his subconscious recognized it for what it was; an egg, and for some reason the thought of being entrusted with such precious cargo drove a spear of desire and joy straight through him.
Crimson spread his legs a little further for them, and he keened when he felt fingers exploring his loins again. Rubbing over his mound, grabbing hold of him, stroking him slow and sweet along his shaft and around his clitoris and drawing high-pitched noises of pleasure from him over and over again.
The second egg was already probing at him through PW’s shaft, and while it slipped in easier than the first, the accompanying stretch and burn was no less pleasurable than before. He couldn’t help but arch his back with a mewl when the ghostly contact around his clit and dick suddenly sped up without warning, drawing more whines and moans and breathless sighs from him that had his craft purring deep and hard all around him. Of course, the resulting vibrations only amplified his sensitivity to such contact, and when the second egg finally slipped into his womb it took all of his mental strength not to cum on the spot. To his dismay, the hands at his clit and dick slowed to a stand-still as he teetered on the edge of that peak once again.
“Please,” begged the Ace of Aces. “Please, I need it, I need you, please — ”
“Shhhhhhh, just one more,” they reassured him despite the needy tone in their voice. “S’good — just — one more for me, one more, so good..”
The third and final egg was larger, heavier, and most notably so warm that he could feel it even when compared to the heat of their own bodies. The size difference, fortunately, wasn’t significant, so when it bumped up against him and made its way inside, there was little resistance from how much he’d been stretched for this. The hands resume their pace again, slow at first but mounting in speed, and he couldn't help but moan and cry so sweetly while the sphere dove ever deeper. More explored every inch of his body while he was being fondled; feeling the softness of his curves, the tautness of his swollen belly, massaging his thighs. So much to comfort him, to please him, to keep him safe and warm and loved.
When the egg finally reached his cervix, pressing firm and consistent until it finally joined the rest in his belly, he felt himself spill over the edge. Gasping, whimpering, hips rutting up into a nonexistent hand as he rode the wave until he finally came crashing back down in a rolling tide of euphoria, the last glimmering twinkles of white from an eclipse before the stellar bodies came out of alignment.
The hangar was quiet, save for the sound of their breathing and the calming thrum of his companion’s engines. Maybe companion wasn’t a right word to use, considering that he’d basically just let them fuck him senseless, but friend or lover didn’t feel quite right either. Still, he could worry about that - and the inevitable aftermath - at a later time.
He shuddered as PW pulled out of him, feeling more of that liquid heat spill out of him, and he was suddenly aware of how cold it was now that it didn’t feel like there was cordium flowing through his veins, even with that persistent heat emanating from the swell in his belly. His hands ran over the warm skin in the absence of that phantasmal touch; he could feel the faintest of lumps, one for each egg, and he also quickly realized he didn’t know how he was going to get them out.
Pregnancy was a topic that’d never really crossed his mind before, especially considering that his position as a Peacekeeper wouldn’t have really let him be a proper parent anyway. He just couldn’t afford the time to dedicate himself to such a thing, not when he already devoted so much time to service in the name of his country anyway. But then again, he could always just worry about that later. It wasn’t like he actually could get pregnant from PW anyways, right?
The craft shuffled, now carefully maneuvering off the bed. Crimson hadn’t noticed at first, but he realized the other end of the mattress where they’d been sitting was utterly soaked in slick. They hadn’t been joking about being similar to him, then. If they did this again…
He could speculate later. He didn’t have the energy in him for a third round anyway.
PW laid down on the floor next to the mattress, the cockpit canopy emitting a familiar clicking noise before sliding open. It was a wordless gesture, and one that he gladly accepted. In contrast to how organic many of the craft’s functions seemed, the cockpit was one of the few components that was almost entirely mechanical and virtually one-to-one with an actual plane’s cockpit. Naturally, one of the advantages it had — aside from being connected to a biomechanical being capable of telepathy and basically doing everything a WSO could — was a heated interior, and like Hell was he going to sleep half-naked and covered in slick, cum, sweat, and Dust-knows-what-else in a hangar at night. An emergency supply kit kept close at hand provided some gauze and a blanket to clean and cover himself up with, and as he settled in for some much-needed rest while the canopy slid shut over him, his companion’s voice flowed through the bond again.
"That was fun,” they purred, the quiet background thrum of their engines making his eyes slowly grow heavy. “I think we should do this again sometime, if you’d like that.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.” He yawned, hands resting over his swollen stomach. “We’d have to figure out a good time for it though.” Fuck, now that he was thinking about it, the scientists would probably be all over him with this latest little… development in their relationship.
"We can worry about that later. You should prioritize getting some sleep.”
He’d voice his agreement, but he’d already been struggling to keep his eyes open, so instead he simply gave a sigh and settled into the pilot seat. He was accompanied by the sound of dozens of tiny synthetic scales that made up the glass of the canopy; shifting and changing like a butterfly’s wings in the light, altering their structure until no more light could filter through, surrounding him in a warm and quiet darkness broken only by the dim glow of various instruments and panels. Safe, filled, loved, trusted.
He drifted off, and he dreamed that they soared through the endless deep blue of the sky.