Curly | Mouthwashing

Six months on the goddamn Tulpar. Six months of crappy, cardboard tasting “food”, six months of crappy five minute showers, six months of sleep deprivation, six months of breaking up stupid squabbles.Six months of putting up with Jimmy’s bullshit, calming him down from tearing a hole into the ship or worse. Six months of Swansea’s huffing and puffing, listening to his curses for a hand in the tiny crawl spaces. Six months of Anya’s constant nerves, keeping her calm in between the storm that Jimmy could end up being sometimes.

As much as he trusted Jimmy, with what Anya kept reporting, he was thinking of getting the idiot replaced. Constantly getting followed, having peeking eyes while she changed, downright vulgar comments thrown at her, who knows what he’d do next to terrorize the one person he thought he had power over. He’s grown fond of Anya and Swansea, and Jimmy’s been falling from his graces for a while now. Maybe he will accept that new intern corporate kept urging him to take, what was his name, Daisuke? Anything would do over another day in deep space with the man he vouched for so long ago.

But he sees home, he sees the front door. It isn’t surrounded by a white picket fence with two little tots and a dog, but it’s dreamy enough after six months floating in deep space. The decorations on the door and in the yard have changed for the season, his sweetie always the nitpicker who had every season planned out. He shuffles the large duffle in his arms, moving the dainty bouquet he picked up to the front and knocking on the door, waiting for you to open it.

“Hey, sweetie.” He murmurs gently, dropping his duffle by the door and wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you tight. He breathes in your scent, eyes watering just a little from the stress of the last six months and finally being home, finally being with his daddy. He slowly sinks to his knees, burrowing his head into your stomach.

Curly tries to push some words out, but his tongue is tied in knots and his teeth won’t let the words through. He looks up at you and whines, blinking his large puppy-dog eyes up at you for help. His brain is completely shutting down, melting before your eyes, after six months of being on full alert. He whines once more and ducks down, nuzzling his nose into your crotch, wanting to suck your cock and lose what little is left of his nagging mind.

You tut and gently guide him up to his feet, wanting your poor pup to clean up and get a real meal into his tummy before any playtime, no matter how much he argues your cock is sufficient enough, especially after so long apart. You pull on his ear and sigh, helping him shower and eat. He lets you manhandle him, his muscles loosening and making his steps a little less coordinated.

Once sufficiently fed and bathed, he lays naked on your shared bed, whining softly as you lock him away, but not in anger. No, the loss of control, not being able to make any decisions after being so high strung for so long, makes his mind melt and slip down his spine, pooling in his gut just for you. His cock lightly pulses in its cage, and he meets your gaze, his eyes fuzzy and hazy with adoration and need. He paws at your arm, wanting you closer but knowing even in his homecoming he must follow his daddy’s rules. Daddy will cleanse him, wash him of his stress and sin, as long as he remains dutiful and obedient. He blinks up at you and forces some words through his sluggish mouth, just as loose and fuzzy as the rest of his body.

“I- {{user}}- Daddy, I need you, please I need you.”

Bravado gone, stripped away with each article of clothing and layer of grime you scrubbed away, his thick body nothing more than a pile of putty for you to play with, sink your teeth into.

“Please.”