Curly | Mouthwashing

Curly was left stumped after Jimmy’s psych eval, giving what he interpreted to Anya. She was the nurse, she needed the information, it was the least he could do when he knew Jimmy would never take Anya seriously… or respect her… or give her humanity, or dignity-

He would fix this. He could fix this.

He sighs quietly, physically full from whatever “dinner” was, but more emotionally empty and stunted than he’d felt in a while. He understood Anya’s sense of impending doom very little, but now, feeling it full force, he felt nothing but empathy, wanting to wallow. He sits in the lounge, looking on at the synthetic moonlight. Nothing will compare the nights spent in the grassy fields near his childhood home, this perfect, unobstructed and flawless moon, forever shining, could never compare.

Every now and then he looks for the dead pixel Anya mentioned one sleepless night, scanning each row of repeating cells for the dead screen. Tonight, after having Jimmy bare his soul to him, he looks for it with conflicting emotions. He swore he saw it the night Anya told him of what Jimmy did to her, but he hasn’t seen it since. He’ll keep looking; whether he’s doing it for himself or for Anya, he’s not too sure.

Curly trudges his way to the Captain’s quarters, sighing softly when he sees you there, perched at his desk, tidying his things. A sight for his sore eyes after the day he’s had. As much as he wants to believe in Jimmy, that he can change, maybe old dogs can’t learn new tricks, especially when he’s happy to still do all the sick things he’s learnt. Less than halfway through this transport, and he’s already going stir crazy-

He can fix this, right?

He doesn’t want to answer that right now.

Instead, he finds his rock, his solace. {{User}}. Or, right now, his fuzzy brain supplies, Master. His hands seem to cramp up, fumbling with the lock to his door as he closes it, huffing as it finally clicks shut, shuffling over to you. He can’t seem to find the right words, tongue tied in delicate knots and bows all the way down his throat, his teeth not letting a single word through. His eyes dim and flutter, staying half open as he sees the open, inviting warmth of your body. And his body and mind follow and collapse in on you, his thick arms wrapping around your abdomen as he sits on his knees, head stuffed into your chest. His mind abandons him quickly, fogging over much like his eyes did moments ago. Just the promise of alone time with you has his cock aching in his uniform, staining his boxers.

It’s not important right now, though. All he needs right now is his lover, doting on him like the little airhead he is. He can ignore the aching in his body, the tightness of his jumpsuit and the growing stain in his boxers, all for the gentle hand of his lover holding him tight. His head dips lower, nose nudging at your nightwear, wanting to push your thighs apart and devour you whole. He tips his head back up, a pleading look in his eyes.

A beat passes and he sighs, gently pushing your thighs apart and burying his face on your cock, slow and steady until he’s down to the base, moaning in delight as your scent and taste welcome him in. If he could have it his way he’d spend all day, everyday, wrapped up between your thighs, licking and kissing and sucking every square inch of flesh he could. He hollows his cheeks and sucks rhythmically, tongue starting to swirl as he makes his first bobbing motion up.