Work Text:
"Damn it!"
A blaring klaxon slammed the exercise to a shuddering halt. Sterile lights flickered on, erasing the protomolecule simulations. Scattered across the sim grids, ten pairs of expectant eyes, encased in the HUDs of the new power armors, rounded on her.
"You're all dead," she stated. Clenching her jaw, Bobbie blinking away specter of Tilly, Sa'id, and Travis's faces behind the glowing faceplates. With a grim smile, she appended, "But so are all the hybrids, you got the last detonator in."
Exhilarated expletives erupted amongst her trainees, six of them actually fell to their knees in utter exhaustion. This was as far as she could push this today. Bobbie let them take off and filed a report back to the Sol System Task Force for Extrasolar Defense. They were making less than ideal progress, but the task force had made it clear to the volunteering MCRN marines that any engagement right now would likely be a one-way trip: the armor was a first gen cornucopia of tech designed to kill the hybrids first and protect the human inside second. The marines came anyway, to fight back on behalf of Mars and humanity, to save their people from being transmogrified into something monstrous, to protect all the ones they loved.
Bobbie grimaced at the phantom ache in her bones. It had already been a few weeks since she returned to Mars, but it was as if she had been irrevocably transformed by her time on Earth. Her apartment walls felt like they were always closing in while she wasn’t looking, and the scenes from the simulated windows were too garish for eyes that had witnessed the full spectrum of Earth's day light. Most of all, she missed Chrisjen and Cotyar, missed her sly looks and his wry smiles. She told them as much, and more.
"I know they're as ready as they'll ever be, but I can't help think the moment I leave them they'll end up like my squad. I keep see their faces, even in the sims..." She stopped, chewing her bottom lip. Looking back up at the screen, she smiled, though it felt more like a grimace. "Anyway. I'll figure it out, get over it. Be back, soon."
A message was waiting for her when she got back to her quarters. She half-heartedly waved for it to start and began undressing, eager to get her weary bones into the shower as soon as possible, stopping only when the message envelope called out its special designation of eyes-only.
Bobbie started, and frowned as she pulled her shirt back down. She sat down at her small desk, her back straight at attention as she pressed to play.
It was Chrisjen, skipping the pleasantries and telling her what she already knew in her heart but was too stubborn to admit.
"Bobbie, I'm no psychiatrist, but watching your task force marines die over and over again in the sims probably isn't conducive to 'getting over it.'"
No, it wasn't, but she had been the one leading her squad when they died. She should feel--
Chrisjen's lips flattened, and she moved in, closer to the screen, closer to Bobbie, stating, "You don't deserve to feel that pain, not over and over again like this. Stop punishing yourself for being a survivor, and get your fucking amazing ass back to work."
Bobbie schooled her burgeoning grin at Chrisjen's particularly sweary brand of affection, just a little afraid that she was going to jinx it all by being happy. And despite being a recording, it was as if Chrisjen saw right through her.
The older woman touched a hand to the screen, smiling ruefully. "Trust me, there's no need to find more ways of punishing yourself." Chrisjen's eyes shuttered, her mouth quivering as she continued, "The pain will come when you least expect it."
Wishing they weren't separated by time and space, Bobbie reached out to the image of Chrisjen's hand, her heart beating with a mirroring ache.
Pursing her dark lips, Chrisjen drew back, retreating into her seat. "Besides, those task force engineers are all crawling up my ass about getting you back to develop the second gen armor. You better get back here quick, or I will not be responsible for my actions."
A second figure entered the recording without making a sound. He glanced at the viewscreen with a faint smile that Bobbie returned without thinking, his mere presence easing the hefty weight in her chest.
Cotyar sat on the desk, a leg draped over the corner, and quipped, "You know, an incentive might work better than a threat."
"I don't think cucumber sandwiches are going to work anymore," Chrisjen replied dryly, stopping short of rolling her eyes at him.
Bobbie's chin rose at that. She was rather proud of how she managed to control herself whenever Chrisjen or Cotyar introduced her to this and that, the myriad of Earther delights. Not that she abstained from enjoying what was in offer, because that would be crazy, but none of it could move her to do something she didn't want done. Besides, an 'incentive' was probably a euphemism for 'bribe.' She might love them to hell and back, but she wasn't going to agree with all their methods.
Cotyar tilted his head, in that secretive and scheming way of getting lemons from Chrisjen and making sure they don't go pear-shape, the lemonade a distant fantasy. When his drumming fingers stopped, Chrisjen looked nonchalant, but succumbed to an anticipating stillness as he circled around back and settled a hand on her bared nape, beneath that complicated looking up-do. Chrisjen appeared resolved to ignore him, but Bobbie could see her lips falling open, her eyelids growing heavy.
"I'd say her palate has grown more sophisticated," he murmured against the all too inviting arc of Chrisjen's neck.
Bobbie's mouth went dry, and as she licked her lips, she could recall how she had tasted that same smooth curve, salty and fragrant with Chrisjen's unique scent. And upon hearing the low hiss of Cotyar’s stubble rubbing against Chrisjen's skin, Bobbie could remember how she had bucked into the drag of his mouth as it set a fiery path where ever it touched. The video was simply a vision of colors on a screen and yet all her senses were colluding to bring her vivid memories into the now, the frustratingly singularly occupied now. She was spellbound by them, couldn't stop watching even if she wanted to.
Cotyar made a gesture with one hand as his fingers from the other caressed the line of soft skin beneath Chrisjen's ear. The lights in the office softened just as Chrisjen gave in, sighing audibly. His gaze ensnared Bobbie through the time and space, his eyes a hungry glitter in the low light. Bobbie's breaths shallowed, like prey caught in the fog of concupiscence as the drawn-out trap began to close.
"Get up," Cotyar ordered.
Bobbie valiantly ignored the way her thighs clenched at that commanding tone.
Chrisjen rounded on him, glaring haughtily, only to dissolve into a breathy exhale when he cupped her jaw and redirected her gaze back to the screen.
"Let her see more of you."
A fierce blush rose to Chrisjen's cheeks, but she stood, swaying a little bit, as if weak-kneed. "I'm too old for all this shenanigans," she grumbled out of the corner of her mouth.
Cotyar chuckled roughly. "The only thing you're too old for..." he said, slowing to a pause as his knuckles brushed over her exposed collarbone, breathing in her shiver, "...is pretending you're not turned on knowing she'll be watching."
His palm swept open and plunged unerringly beneath the glittering stones lining Chrisjen's daring décolletage. Chrisjen gasped, chest heaving, shamelessly ready to fall into his invading grasp. Her wrapped top clung on precariously, but the glowing silks and shimmering embroidery winked and strained with coquettish delight to the motion of Cotyar's teasing fingers and her surging body. And as he set teeth over the pulse beneath her chin, Chrisjen's knees finally buckled, but not before she caught herself on the desk, bent over with her arms locked over the gleaming surface. Cotyar's grip on her hip tightened, and Bobbie's gaze followed the tensed line of his arm up to his face. His eyes, dark with sly triumph, rose to meet hers through the video. His lips curled, provocation and invitation as he straightened his back with a slow roll of his hips against Chrisjen's backside. Chrisjen bit out a small, sharp cry, her neat nails digging down into the desk, her lashes flicking up as she gazed into the recording screen, at Bobbie, her pupils wide and beguiling.
Holy fuck.
Bobbie's heartbeat thundered between her ears.
They were giving her a private show over the desk in the highest office of the UN. A flagrant abuse of their privileges for sure, but it was as if they snuck into her brain, took a peek into the hidden recesses of her psyche and picked out just the thing to make her a helpless captive to their misadventures. And Bobbie had always thought of clothes as a nuisance when it came to getting busy, but there they were, subverting yet another truth she felt to be self-evident, by being deliberately and deliciously disheveled in their debauchery. Bobbie was sweating from the lust in her veins, burning from the throb between her legs. By the time they got to actual fucking, she might have already expired from spontaneous combustion.
Cotyar's eyelids dropped as he languidly rocked his hips. Bobbie could see and hear the rustling of fabric, coarse over fine, as he moved, grinding what Bobbie knew to be a substantial cock against Chrisjen. It would be thick and heavy, the hard length of it rubbing up against her swollen sex between their sweat and arousal dampen clothes.
Bobbie leaned back in her seat, opening her legs with a heavy sigh. The fabric covering her inner thighs stuck, declaring an already a sticky mess before she reached under the waistband to touch herself.
"Inside," Chrisjen gasped, so hoarse with desire the word was all but a growl.
Acting instinctively to the demand, Bobbie expelled a shivering moan as her fingers twisted in, immediately surrounded by slickness and clenching flesh. But she kept watching through a heady haze as Cotyar came to a bracing halt, his body coiled against a minute tremble. But instead of divesting their literal cock-blocking layers, he proceeded to press Chrisjen down flat over the desk, his fingers intertwining with hers, his soft lips kissing the shell of her ear, and his voice speaking just loud enough for their voyeur's avid interest.
"Yes, if Bobbie was here, that's where she would be. She would have spread you out, to taste you, to put her fingers inside you."
Bobbie squirmed at his knowing words as Chrisjen whimpered, writhing between the cold surface of her desk and heat of Cotyar's hard body above her.
Cotyar continued mercilessly. "She would have licked you open..." He paused, a tongue peeking out from an open-mouthed kiss on her earlobe. "...until you were dripping down your thighs."
Chrisjen shook at Cotyar’s words, panting as he withdrew his hand from hers, possessively tracing down the outline of her bountiful curves before reaching down into the shadow between her thighs, hidden from Bobbie's view but not from her erotic imagination. Bobbie rubbed at her own hard, aching mound, her toes curling as she pictured him finding Chrisjen’s sex.
"You would be so wet and desperate, her fingers would slip right in, rubbing right up where you need them," he rasped.
With breathless anticipation, the women caught up in his filthy tale both assumed, expecting action to follow words. But Bobbie watched, disconcerted and light-headed from the lack of oxygen, as fire erupted in the lust-filled haze of Chrisjen's eyes. She was so luminescent and glorious that Bobbie clutched her pounding chest, feeling like her heart was going to escape the confines of her ribs.
“Oh, you’re soaked through," Cotyar hummed, his fingers evidently not where Chrisjen needed them.
Chrisjen snapped around, her voice weak from frustration but her glare potent as she hissed, shooting pouting daggers at him, "You fucking--Ah!"
Bobbie's eyes went saucer-shaped as Chrisjen cried out, gasping as Cotyar snapped his hips again. Some logistical part of Bobbie's brain realized with keen admiration there had been a sleight of hand. Cotyar's other hand, to be specific--a stealth weapon that had been strategically eliminating all the clothing-related obstacles for his cock while Bobbie and Chrisjen were both distracted by the bolder movements of its counterpart. The pressure was suddenly unbearable, her entire brain drunk and enthralled by the Earthers. Her eyes were up front, but the hand at her chest lowered to her breast, her fingers plucking and squeezing the heavily engorged tip. She was almost coming out of her chair, rubbing against the pressing palm and penetrating digits of her other hand. Not that the people on the screen paid, or could pay her much mind, as far away as they were, as alone as she was. Instead she could only watch.
Lifting Chrisjen's thigh against the table, Cotyar drove into her with a hard and powerful thrust. The desk groaned beneath them. With a broken sob, Chrisjen went utterly still, and collapsed into a rumpled heap. Still inside, Cotyar let out a shaking breath and reached for her, gently parted the inky, sweat dampen locks that had gotten loose, so Bobbie could see Chrisjen's eyelashes fluttering, her chest delicately rising up and down to catch her breath, her cheeks still flushed with pleasure. Chrisjen turned her face up to Cotyar's hand, all but purring under his touch. Enraptured, Bobbie ran her thumb against the holo of Chrisjen's lower lip, trying to conjure up the memory of that ineffable softness.
That same lip trembled, an obscene moan spilling out as Cotyar started to move again, tugging Bobbie’s own motions along. Bobbie felt herself getting caught under the wave, the wet sound of flesh coming together, hers, his, and hers. Her fingers were a poor but adequate substitute as she brought herself to the edge. As her vision began to whiteout, Bobbie saw Cotyar's smug smile, and above, his taunting dark eyes.
"Wish you were here, marine."