Gideon lets himself be fastened into his helmet, his breath growing increasingly even as the sedative begins to move through his blood. They stand and begin to walk to the outer battery.
As they cross the threshold, Gideon catches Amos around the waist, feeling himself slumping into unconsciousness even as he walks.
Amos hefts him up, lifting a man of Gideon's size easily. He doesn't say anything. Gideon won't be able to hear him, won't be able to hear anything in a minute or so. Sweet dreams, asshole.
He finds a comfortable place to sit it out, letting Gideon rest nearby. Amos arranges his body carefully, so he won't wake up cramped, but there's really no guarantee of that, is there? The outer batt wasn't made for napping. It's where you go to do emergency maintenance, or be a dirty little spy like that shit Kenzo. Really wish he could have punched his ticket back then...
But that feels like a lifetime ago, and the here and now is so much better. Amos looks down at the sleeping Gideon, and he waits, letting his mind wander. Gideon's soft hair, his quiet nature, the delicacy of his hands... A thought forms in the dingier parts of Amos' mind, and he wonders at it. He generally doesn't make passes at people on the ship; if things to to fuck, you're stuck with them. On the other hand, Gideon is always on a knife's edge of worry, and anything to put the man at ease is good for the crew at large. He considers it, turning the thought over in his mind.
Eventually, Naomi makes the signal light flare. They're out of danger. Amos picks Gideon up, and takes him to his quarters, taking off both their helmets once they're in a pressurized area.
Gideon sleeps without dreaming, twitching under the sedation occasionally. The rest of the confrontation occurs someplace beyond them both, everything over long before he wakes.
When he does wake, it's in his bunk, rubbing a gloved hand groggily over his eyes.
Amos takes his time, running over what happened and what repairs they'll have to make. There wasn't a fight, and they didn't have to do any kind of burn, so that's all coming out roses. The problem's mostly in how some of the interior lighting is still fucked, but that was fucked before Amos spent two hours in the belly of a ship.
Which is to say, he takes a nap of his own; he'll worry about it later.
He thinks to send a message before he sleeps. It's to Gideon, the only person he's been keeping his hand terminal on for lately.
Everything's OK Come see me when you're awake Wake me up if I'm still out
The message is more reassuring than he'd like to admit; he doesn't regret at all the fact that he reads it alone in his bunk, thinking hazily of the weight of Amos' arm catching him up as he began to lose his balance.
Gideon doesn't go to find Amos until he's certain he's fully awake. Under the circumstances, he'd prefer not to learn the details of their escape from Mars' grasp while still fighting sleepiness. On his way to the other man's bunk, however, he's stopped by Holden--and has the eerie sense that the captain might have been waiting for him to emerge--and caught up in a conversation.
By the time he actually cracks Amos' door and peers inside, he's got the general gist of what happened.
Which is good, because it means Amos is awake. He's working on an aux battery for the central lighting, hoping making it externally will make it easier to wire later. Sitting on his bunk, he's poking at the metal box, trying to soothe the wiring in slowly. It's off, so he doesn't need rubber gloves, thank fuck.
He looks up as Gideon walks in. "Hey, Teach. Feeling better?"
When it's clear he won't be interrupting Amos' sleep, Gideon slips inside. (Had he still been sleeping, it would have been tempting to let him continue; Gideon doesn't doubt he could have used the rest, by the end of things.) At the question, he nods.
For this, he brought his hand terminal. "I'm informed that the Rocinante remains ours, at least for the moment."
Amos nods. "And we're not giving you up unless you wanna go. Holden's pretty serious about that shit."
He flutes another wire through another node, securing it quickly. He speaks pleasantly, voice even and casual, as though discussing the weather or favorite foods.
"When I was in there, I got to thinking... Should probably blow you. If you want."
The things he might respond with--of Holden, of his nonexistent desire to remove himself to Mars--flee his mind in an instant. Amos' offer passes through him visibly with a little start. For a moment, he simply stares at him, brows lifting.
"I believe I misheard you," he types, watching the words a little more carefully than usual. "It sounded like you just propositioned me."
When he left his own bunk, he hadn't expected to brace himself for an offer of oral sex, let alone the offer rescinded a moment later. It's more action than he's seen in some time--like the old line from awards ceremonies of any type, it's an honor simply to be considered. But it's a surprise.
"This seems sudden," he simply says, aware that it isn't a yes, let's forget this and that Amos will likely realize as much himself.
Amos shrugs slightly. "I been thinking about it a while," because he has. Everyone on the crew is attractive in their own right, but everyone is off limits for very obvious reasons. Gideon is the only one who exists in that grey area, and Amos... well, it's been a while since they've docked anywhere.
Gideon doesn't have a ready answer to that, the idea that there might be days or weeks behind the offer he's been given. And while he doesn't consider himself especially driven by baser needs, it's been a long time for him as well.
And yet...he looks at Amos, whose approach to sex, as in all things, has a certain mechanical simplicity to it. "Still intent on forcing me to unwind?"
This, finally, makes him look up from his work. There is no anger in his expression, no shock or lust, just a dead-eyed seriousness. "I'm not forcing you to do anything."
He should have expected this. Gideon always wants reasons for everything, to pick at every nit in a conversation until it's been fully dissected. What the hell kind of spy was he?
(The kind they keep in special rooms where the lights don't work. He knows that.)
Amos huffs out a sigh, a learned behavior meant to mimic nonexistent frustration. "I don't offer to do shit I don't wanna do," he says, "and, yeah, maybe you calming the hell down would be a plus, but..."
Here, he rearranges his grin into something toothier, with a bit more bite to it. He's seen what effect this one tends to have. People tend to like it, or they leave; either's fine.
"I got this theory your legs'll shake when you come. Wanna see how that works out."
He's tempted to dig into this entire idea and pick it apart, too, the way he's done with other conversations, other people--not literally--but he doubts it will come to an end he wants.
What he wants is a question he's not sure he has any desire to try to answer here. Not permanently, not past the current moment. He wants Amos, in all the ways he's already known he did. More pertinently, the thought of coming under Amos' mouth, legs shaking or otherwise, is one he has to make himself move beyond, or he'll simply stand there, somehow managing to gape at him without opening his mouth.
And after--he knows Amos. If there's awkwardness, Gideon doubts it'll stand up before Amos' dogged refusal to allow it. The man regards sex with the same romance he finds in a broken circuit.
With a sigh, he acquiesces, knowing that if he regrets it, it'll be his regret alone. Setting his hand terminal aside, he couches down before Amos where he sits and leans in to kiss him.
He'll get barely a peck in response before Amos is moving away, putting his electrical equipment aside. "One second, Teach."
He's a neat creature by necessity more than nature; first, not having many things meant they needed categorization, and then, no one is a good mechanic if they're a messy one. Then he clicks the app on his hand terminal that locks his door, and turns it off. Wordlessly, he snatches Gideon's as well, putting it on Do Not Disturb mode.
This is how Naomi and Holden disappear on a ship of so few people. It's how he intends to disappear, if only for a little while. If the captain has a problem with it, he'll hear about it after.
Everything put in its proper place, he turns back to Gideon with an amiable smile. Amos' hands find the nape of his neck again. He'd like that, last time. It was soft.
"Tug my ear if you don't like something," he murmurs, before turning his head to kiss at Gideon's throat.
Gideon isn't about to bemoan added security. It gives him a moment to consider just how obvious a tryst is likely to become, after the fact--quite, is his best guess--and decide that he doesn't care. Or, at least, he doesn't care right now, sitting down beside Amos at the edge of his bed.
There's barely time to nod in answer to Amos' instruction before the man's lips are at his throat, teasing out the patch of skin where his heartbeat comes through. Gideon swallows, tipping his chin up slightly. One hand finds the back of Amos' head, fingers brushing over the fuzz of hair as he's kissed.
Which tells Amos that Gideon's in this for more than just getting blown. It's a little electric, Amos realizes; a strange feeling he usually only experiences before a fight. Like his skin is being hit with a loose wire, but pleasantly. It makes him hungrier for Gideon's reactions, and his other hand on Gideon's hip is a firm weight as he pushes forward, laying them both out on a cramped bunk.
His mouth moves to Gideon's collarbone, and he begins the intentionally slow process of unzipping Gideon's jumpsuit, humming slightly in contentment.
At that moment, Gideon would have some difficulty if he tried to explain what he's in this for--Amos' guess is as good as anyone's.
He lies down when given the opportunity, his free hand knotting in Amos' sleeve. His thigh works between Amos', pressing up against his cock. However little he might be able to say, he finds ways to convey his meaning.
Sex can be about a lot of things. It tends to strip way lies when you're doing it right, though, which can be a big plus in Amos' opinion. It never occurred to Amos that Gideon was lonely. Don't you have to be alone to feel that way?
Amos allows himself to let out a gasp of pleasure, and jerks his hips forward. The zipper goes down further, and Amos continues to suck at Gideon's skin. "Fuck, you're pretty," he murmurs, eyes closed. He knows he's being an ass; Gideon will want to protest, and too fucking bad for him.
Gideon rolls his eyes around a sigh--Amos hits a good spot, his mouth warm on what's a skinny, careworn frame. The worst of what he's endured in the name of Martian hospitality has either faded with time or remains hidden from view, but a few scars still remain on his torso. He hasn't wanted to see them smoothed away, any more than he's wanted to test his luck with a prosthetic tongue.
Amos is full of shit, something they're both well aware of, and Gideon's struggling to care. The attention already has him hard, already arching up just a little in an attempt to meet the wet suck of his mouth. He wonders what it would be to feel Amos' tongue moving over the place where his own should be--but distantly, without urgency.
Amos knows better than to ignore scars, or pay special attention to them. They occupy a place in his mind, taking note for later, weighing the vengeance he'll one day inflict. But beyond that? At the moment, they're ephemeral.
And Gideon is needy. Lonely. And Amos is useful again. He knows he's good at what he's offers, and does his best to draw it out into an indulgence. He wants to see Gideon unwrap as much as anything else. The guy needs a second to just be himself, instead of the armor he hides behind. If Amos of all people is allowed to see that...
His mind switches tracks, not allowing him to complete the thought. Amos doesn't question it. He takes Gideon in, massaging the rest of him, still humming around his cock.
Gideon has no idea how needy he is until Amos' lips buzz against his shaft and he jerks a breath in like a broken automaton. It doesn't take long before he's gasping, still clenching at Amos' sleeve, hips coming off the bed.
Even if he'd been able to speak, he wouldn't have--sex has always been something of a furtive experience, for good or ill, vocal input rarely required--but when he does come, it's with a moan that gives the barest suggestion of the timbre his voice once had. His legs don't, in fact, shake, but one keeps rubbing at Amos' cock through his jumpsuit right up until he's lost to selfish sensation.
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As they cross the threshold, Gideon catches Amos around the waist, feeling himself slumping into unconsciousness even as he walks.
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He finds a comfortable place to sit it out, letting Gideon rest nearby. Amos arranges his body carefully, so he won't wake up cramped, but there's really no guarantee of that, is there? The outer batt wasn't made for napping. It's where you go to do emergency maintenance, or be a dirty little spy like that shit Kenzo. Really wish he could have punched his ticket back then...
But that feels like a lifetime ago, and the here and now is so much better. Amos looks down at the sleeping Gideon, and he waits, letting his mind wander. Gideon's soft hair, his quiet nature, the delicacy of his hands... A thought forms in the dingier parts of Amos' mind, and he wonders at it. He generally doesn't make passes at people on the ship; if things to to fuck, you're stuck with them. On the other hand, Gideon is always on a knife's edge of worry, and anything to put the man at ease is good for the crew at large. He considers it, turning the thought over in his mind.
Eventually, Naomi makes the signal light flare. They're out of danger. Amos picks Gideon up, and takes him to his quarters, taking off both their helmets once they're in a pressurized area.
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When he does wake, it's in his bunk, rubbing a gloved hand groggily over his eyes.
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Which is to say, he takes a nap of his own; he'll worry about it later.
He thinks to send a message before he sleeps. It's to Gideon, the only person he's been keeping his hand terminal on for lately.
Everything's OK
Come see me when you're awake
Wake me up if I'm still out
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Gideon doesn't go to find Amos until he's certain he's fully awake. Under the circumstances, he'd prefer not to learn the details of their escape from Mars' grasp while still fighting sleepiness. On his way to the other man's bunk, however, he's stopped by Holden--and has the eerie sense that the captain might have been waiting for him to emerge--and caught up in a conversation.
By the time he actually cracks Amos' door and peers inside, he's got the general gist of what happened.
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He looks up as Gideon walks in. "Hey, Teach. Feeling better?"
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For this, he brought his hand terminal. "I'm informed that the Rocinante remains ours, at least for the moment."
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He flutes another wire through another node, securing it quickly. He speaks pleasantly, voice even and casual, as though discussing the weather or favorite foods.
"When I was in there, I got to thinking... Should probably blow you. If you want."
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"I believe I misheard you," he types, watching the words a little more carefully than usual. "It sounded like you just propositioned me."
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"This seems sudden," he simply says, aware that it isn't a yes, let's forget this and that Amos will likely realize as much himself.
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And yet...he looks at Amos, whose approach to sex, as in all things, has a certain mechanical simplicity to it. "Still intent on forcing me to unwind?"
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(The kind they keep in special rooms where the lights don't work. He knows that.)
Amos huffs out a sigh, a learned behavior meant to mimic nonexistent frustration. "I don't offer to do shit I don't wanna do," he says, "and, yeah, maybe you calming the hell down would be a plus, but..."
Here, he rearranges his grin into something toothier, with a bit more bite to it. He's seen what effect this one tends to have. People tend to like it, or they leave; either's fine.
"I got this theory your legs'll shake when you come. Wanna see how that works out."
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What he wants is a question he's not sure he has any desire to try to answer here. Not permanently, not past the current moment. He wants Amos, in all the ways he's already known he did. More pertinently, the thought of coming under Amos' mouth, legs shaking or otherwise, is one he has to make himself move beyond, or he'll simply stand there, somehow managing to gape at him without opening his mouth.
And after--he knows Amos. If there's awkwardness, Gideon doubts it'll stand up before Amos' dogged refusal to allow it. The man regards sex with the same romance he finds in a broken circuit.
With a sigh, he acquiesces, knowing that if he regrets it, it'll be his regret alone. Setting his hand terminal aside, he couches down before Amos where he sits and leans in to kiss him.
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He's a neat creature by necessity more than nature; first, not having many things meant they needed categorization, and then, no one is a good mechanic if they're a messy one. Then he clicks the app on his hand terminal that locks his door, and turns it off. Wordlessly, he snatches Gideon's as well, putting it on Do Not Disturb mode.
This is how Naomi and Holden disappear on a ship of so few people. It's how he intends to disappear, if only for a little while. If the captain has a problem with it, he'll hear about it after.
Everything put in its proper place, he turns back to Gideon with an amiable smile. Amos' hands find the nape of his neck again. He'd like that, last time. It was soft.
"Tug my ear if you don't like something," he murmurs, before turning his head to kiss at Gideon's throat.
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There's barely time to nod in answer to Amos' instruction before the man's lips are at his throat, teasing out the patch of skin where his heartbeat comes through. Gideon swallows, tipping his chin up slightly. One hand finds the back of Amos' head, fingers brushing over the fuzz of hair as he's kissed.
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His mouth moves to Gideon's collarbone, and he begins the intentionally slow process of unzipping Gideon's jumpsuit, humming slightly in contentment.
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He lies down when given the opportunity, his free hand knotting in Amos' sleeve. His thigh works between Amos', pressing up against his cock. However little he might be able to say, he finds ways to convey his meaning.
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Amos allows himself to let out a gasp of pleasure, and jerks his hips forward. The zipper goes down further, and Amos continues to suck at Gideon's skin. "Fuck, you're pretty," he murmurs, eyes closed. He knows he's being an ass; Gideon will want to protest, and too fucking bad for him.
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Amos is full of shit, something they're both well aware of, and Gideon's struggling to care. The attention already has him hard, already arching up just a little in an attempt to meet the wet suck of his mouth. He wonders what it would be to feel Amos' tongue moving over the place where his own should be--but distantly, without urgency.
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And Gideon is needy. Lonely. And Amos is useful again. He knows he's good at what he's offers, and does his best to draw it out into an indulgence. He wants to see Gideon unwrap as much as anything else. The guy needs a second to just be himself, instead of the armor he hides behind. If Amos of all people is allowed to see that...
His mind switches tracks, not allowing him to complete the thought. Amos doesn't question it. He takes Gideon in, massaging the rest of him, still humming around his cock.
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Even if he'd been able to speak, he wouldn't have--sex has always been something of a furtive experience, for good or ill, vocal input rarely required--but when he does come, it's with a moan that gives the barest suggestion of the timbre his voice once had. His legs don't, in fact, shake, but one keeps rubbing at Amos' cock through his jumpsuit right up until he's lost to selfish sensation.
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