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When he left his own bunk, he hadn't expected to brace himself for an offer of oral sex, let alone the offer rescinded a moment later.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.
That's good. That's what he wanted. Gideon undone is fucking nice to look at, and there's a cool stillness at knowing Amos was the one to cause it.
Casual as anything, he turns on his side, unzipping his suit so he can jerk himself off after spitting in his palm. His face, he puts in the crook of Gideon's neck, inhaling shamelessly.
Gideon's too shaken by the entire experience to offer to help Amos finish. Teasing him during the act was about the most he was capable of, without a moment or two to recover--and by the time he realizes Amos has taken himself in hand, Amos' breath is moving over his skin, and he's disinclined to interrupt him. The most he does is wrap his arms loosely around him, both palms moving over his hair.
So, yeah, it's nice. It doesn't take Amos long-- he's been waiting this for a while-- and it's a few well-practiced moments of cleanup to keep a cloudy mess from accumulating in low G.
Amos stays there, face pressed into Gideon's neck, breathing deeply. "Fuckin' nice," he murmurs.
He makes a soft hmm sort of noise, for want of anything else to add to the conversation. Fortunately, there's little to say--where he might be inclined toward quiet talk with someone else, Amos has never been a chatterer. What he could offer now wouldn't be received with more than a laconic answer.
Instead, in the silence after Amos speaks, Gideon reaches into his jumpsuit, his hand moving over the hard muscles of Amos' side and back. It is to say, yes, this is fucking nice, though I might have chosen a different phrase to describe it.
Amos looks down with mild surprise, almost amused that this is what's caught Gideon's eye. "Shit," he says, a little triedly, "knew you were into that, would'a taken the thing off."
Gideon snorts, then shrugs--considering just how quickly the entire encounter happened, it hardly matters whether Amos disrobed or not. But he can hardly deny the fact that Amos' figure is one he's spent more time thinking about than he'd prefer to admit. Splaying his hand over even a fraction of that broad expanse is a quiet pleasure.
(And he can't remember the last time he touched someone else's bare skin.)
And Amos can tell what Gideon likes, it's pretty fucking obvious. He takes Gideon's hand and lays it on his chest while he nuzzles into Gideon's too-long, too-soft hair.
He'd like to think he's a fairly subtle man on the whole--but there's little to guard against in this moment. Amos knows what he needs to about Gideon Thraxios; the things Gideon doesn't want him to know, he won't learn from lying in silence together on a bunk barely built for one man, let alone two. And to be given this moment, the weight of Amos' bulk beside him, under his fingertips, his nose in Gideon's hair, is a gift he hadn't expected. A silent sigh escapes him as he stares at the ceiling.
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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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Casual as anything, he turns on his side, unzipping his suit so he can jerk himself off after spitting in his palm. His face, he puts in the crook of Gideon's neck, inhaling shamelessly.
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Amos stays there, face pressed into Gideon's neck, breathing deeply. "Fuckin' nice," he murmurs.
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Instead, in the silence after Amos speaks, Gideon reaches into his jumpsuit, his hand moving over the hard muscles of Amos' side and back. It is to say, yes, this is fucking nice, though I might have chosen a different phrase to describe it.
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(And he can't remember the last time he touched someone else's bare skin.)
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