Summary: Miles has a secret admirer and apparently, she has a thing for photography.
Warnings: explicit smut, sex pollen, possessive behavior, mentions of jealousy, semi-public sex, dry humping, creampie, mentions of anal, praise kink, size kink, oral, somnophilia, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, they’re obsessed with each other, Miles is a little stupid in this
Note: Surprise!! 🤭 I know this took me forever, but now I can finally show you guys the little secret I’ve been working on. Let this be my thank you for all the support you guys have shown me for this little series. For this special chapter I thought it would be fun to see Miles as the desperate one of the two, but I’ve realized halfway through how difficult it is to keep him true to his character even while he’s high on sex pollen, so please let me know what you think of it. Also please excuse any bad grammar and whatever mistakes you may find, I couldn’t proofread this properly because of how the past few weeks went for me and I didn’t want to keep you guys waiting for another week or so. 🥹🩵
Here’s the thing: you loved answers more than anything.
Some of your earliest memories are of sitting in the front row of class, bum scooted right to the edge of the seat, hand shooting up before the question was even finished. The teacher would turn to you with a kind smile and ask:
"Yes? Do you have an answer for me?"
And you’d nod, heart thumping, because yes, you always did. At the end of every week, nobody ever had more gold stars on their chart than you.
Oh, and isn’t it simply glorious to just know things? Is there anything more gratifying than the pursuit of knowledge? No. No, most definitely not. There is always something new to be learned, some old assumption to be tested, some scientific mystery waiting to be solved. You are, after all, the sort of person who needs to be fully informed.
And so, naturally, it is most infuriating when you don’t know something. And as of late, a particular question has been gnawing at you. It’s a question you hadn’t considered before, mostly because no one had ever been allowed to consider it.
The boundaries of Bridgehead’s kill zone kept everyone penned in, the same ground surveyed and resurveyed, studied until it felt like there were no secrets left.
These past few weeks, you’ve been studying Pandora’s flora, specifically a species the botanists call lumafera. At first glance, they look like ordinary vines, coiling across the ground in tangled mats, their tendrils pulsing with soft bioluminescence. But you noticed something strange in the archived drone footage: they don’t just glow randomly. Entire patches seem to flare in sequence, almost like they’re passing signals from one cluster to another.
And there comes the question that’s been gnawing at you into play: were these plants communicating?
Inside the lab, you’ve tested clippings under microscopes, ran chemical analyses, watched as pieces of vine dimmed and brightened under controlled conditions. But it’s all fragments. Whatever pattern might exist is lost the moment the plant is cut from its root network. After all, you can’t replicate the complexity of a living ecosystem inside sterile glass tanks.
But things were finally changing. You don’t know why and who gave the final green light, not that it really mattered, but for the very first time, a crew was cleared for a field trip outside the perimeter. And not just any crew for any field trip, no, Dr. Garvin himself had put your name on the assignment!
Holy hell.
You’ve replayed the moment in your head at least a hundred times, the way he barely looked up from his tablet and said, "You’ll do it." Like it was no big deal. Like you hadn’t been waiting your whole damn life for this opportunity.
Because let’s be honest, not many people get this shot. Ever since the avatar program got shut down, most researchers spend their careers trapped behind the reinforced glass, poking at samples that were chopped up and half dead before they even made it through quarantine. But you? You were going to see the plants where they actually live. You were going to walk out into Pandora proper and put your boots in the same soil that Dr. Grace Augustine herself had!
And yeah, you might’ve been a little over the moon because of that. You had wanted to experience this ever since the day you first learned what Pandora even was!
But you’d be lying if you said your stomach wasn’t in knots at the very thought of leaving the safety of these walls. Because out there was no controlled environment, protected by walls and soldiers and heavy machinery. Out there, one wrong move and you’d be someone’s dinner.
However, even considering the possibilities of not making it back from your little field trip, you couldn’t help but grin every time you thought about it. This was it, the big leagues! Your very first mission. The kind of opportunity that makes all the late nights and busted experiments worth it.
However, being as excited as a little kid on Christmas morning was only half the story.
The other half, the part that tied your stomach in even tighter knots, had less to do with Pandora’s forests and more to do with the man who’d made himself a permanent fixture in your life. Specifically, about having to leave him behind for a couple of weeks.
The past few weeks with Quaritch had been… well, they had been something.
Behind closed doors, the Colonel was a whole different person. The rough, iron-willed Soldier everyone else knew turned strangely soft when it was just the two of you. Sweet in ways you’d never expected, protective in ways that sometimes bordered on ridiculous. Hell, he had once brushed a strand of hair from your face with more care than you ever thought was possible for someone with hands this big.
But out in public? That possessive streak of his could make you want to crawl under the nearest desk. The man had a way of making every single one of your coworkers shrink two sizes the second he walked into the lab. He didn’t even need to raise his voice, a single look was enough to clear the space around your desk. No one lingered too long near your station anymore, not unless they had a death wish. And while part of you burned with embarrassment at the spectacle, another part of you thrilled at the unspoken claim he had on you.
You liked it. Being his little secret. His favorite girl, as he liked to call you.
No one knew about the two of you. At least, not officially. It was too new and certainly too risky to put out in the open. But, his squad wasn’t stupid. The way they grinned and winked when you walked by told you they’d put the pieces together by now. More than once, you caught the low chuckle of a recombinant when your cheeks flushed scarlet at the sight of Quaritch in the hallway. Those bastards lived for your embarrassment, and you hated how easily they got it out of you.
And this is what a trophy wife must feel like, you thought sometimes. Quaritch got a kick out of showing you off, though never outright, never in a way that could blow your cover. It was all subtle.
In the canteen, for example, he’d drag his whole squad over to sit directly opposite you. Doesn’t matter if there were fifty other empty tables, he wanted you pinned under his gaze, your fork clattering just a little too loudly against the tray while his recoms snickered into their rations. He’d lean back, arms crossed, eyes locked on you with that smirk that said he knew damn well you were squirming in your seat.
Then there were the marks, little claims of ownership no one else would ever notice, but you always did. A necklace he clasped around your neck one evening, a bite on your thigh, a hickey on your collarbone, just barely out of view. Sometimes it was as simple as the faintest trace of his cologne lingering on your jacket, or when he would lend you his dog tags while he was away for a mission and they were hiding beneath your shirt.
He understood the risks. Knew full well that if word got out, it could cost both of you your positions, maybe more. And yet, beneath all his ironclad discipline, there was a part of him that wanted to throw subtlety out the nearest airlock. To put you on a pedestal, high and untouchable, where the whole damn base could see that this sweet cherry was his and his alone.
The Polaroids however had become rare.
In the beginning, he’d wanted stacks of them, little snapshots of you to tuck away, to keep him company in the dead of night. Now, though? He barely asked. Said he’d rather have the real you that he could bury himself in, than some flimsy piece of glossy paper. Not that you‘d stopped leaving him a few here and there, especially before his missions. You would slip them into places you knew he’d find: one inside the field manual he pretended to read, another tucked between his cigarettes. A breadcrumb trail of you for him to stumble over while he was gone.
And maybe it was sappy, maybe even pathetic, but leaving those pictures behind was your way of saying what neither of you dared out loud. That you’d miss him. That you wanted him thinking of you while he was out in the wild. A reminder to stay safe, that this was what he would come back home to if he were.
And now it was your turn to leave him behind.
Which is why you decided to leave him a couple of extra spicy Polaroids before heading out on your own mission. Like a soft little goodbye, hoping he would miss you just as much. The last few days had been a blur of double shifts in the lab, endless preparations and stacks of reports to sign off on, and in all that chaos you hadn’t seen much of him. Barely more than a nod in the hallway or the brush of a hand when no one was looking. There hadn’t been time to tell him about the trip, not properly anyway, so you hoped the Polaroids would speak for you.
You slid them under his door when he wasn’t there, quick and quiet, before you could lose your nerve. Then it was a straight shot outside, heart hammering, trying not to think about whether he’d find them before lights-out. Even after all this time, you still couldn’t help your reaction to the knowledge of him seeing something so private, seeing you this vulnerable.
A cluster of your lab colleagues were already waiting by the landing zone outside, faces pale, yet still grinning in excitement, arms weighed down with packs and gear. A few of the higher-ups stood stiff at the edge of the platform, barking last minute instructions like school teachers before a field trip.
They ran through the final instructions in clipped, precise tones, their words falling heavy in the night air.
"And remember, keep your comms open at all times. Do not wander from the group, maintain strict cataloguing protocols for every specimen collected. You have two weeks to find what you are looking for, before the supplies will run out. Then, you are escorted back, no excuses and exceptions. We expect each and every single report by 0900 upon your arrival."
You tried to focus, to let the instructions anchor you, but your thoughts kept slipping sideways, drifting back to the Polaroids you’d left behind and the look you imagined would flicker across his face once he‘s found them. Would he be pissed you had left just like that? God, you hoped not. You had made sure to wear his favorite set of lingerie when you’d taken them, the red one with the pretty lace panties and the bra that was nearly see-through. Perhaps that would lighten his mood a little.
Distantly, you overheard a line that made your ears prick up: "Oh and before I forget, your team will be accompanied by a special security detail, arranged upon request to ensure safety during this research project."
Security detail? For a handful of botanists and xenobiologists poking around in the mud? Nobody said it out loud, but you could feel the unspoken question burning behind every set of eyes.
Who the hell had made that request and why?
The man‘s voice then trailed off mid-sentence, his gaze sliding past the assembled group to fix on something behind you. His tone changed instantly, the sharp edge of authority softening into crisp formality. "Ah, Colonel. Just in time."
The familiar title hit you like a physical jolt. Slowly, you turned, your stomach lurching even before your eyes confirmed what your body already knew.
Out of the shadows at the far end of the platform, three figures emerged, their boots ringing against the metal deck with a rhythm that was steady, unhurried and completely assured. Quaritch walked at the front, broad shoulders squared, his stride carrying that unmistakable weight of authority that seemed to bend the space around him. Just a step behind were Wainfleet and Mansk, both towering, both wearing the same faint smirks that never quite reached their eyes.
You couldn’t believe it. Colonel Quaritch— your Quaritch, Miles, was standing there in full gear, and from the way the higher-up stiffened at his arrival, there was no doubt about what he was there for.
He would accompany your team!
Your mouth fell open in the most obvious, least professional way possible, lips parting like you’d just been smacked upside the head. Heat flooded your face as you scrambled to school your expression into something resembling composure, but it was too late. Wainfleet caught it instantly, his smirk stretching into a grin, while Mansk gave the faintest huff of a laugh, low enough that only you could hear it.
Quaritch however didn’t so much as glance your way at first. He came to a stop beside you, posture relaxed but commanding all the same, and addressed the group with that gravelly confidence that made your knees go weak.
"Morning, folks. Colonel Quaritch, here to make sure you don’t get yourselves killed out there. My squad and I will be accompanying this mission for the full two weeks— security detail, perimeter checks, threat assessment. You focus on your plants, we’ll handle everything else."
A ripple of uneasy relief went through your colleagues, half grateful for the protection, half unsettled by the sheer presence of him and his men. The higher-up nodded approvingly, seizing the chance to hand the spotlight back over to him. And just like that, all eyes shifted forward again, back to the soldier giving final instructions.
That’s when he finally looked at you.
"Miles!?" You shrieked in a half-whisper, then quickly cleared your throat as you glanced around for any unwanted listeners. "I- I mean Colonel, Sir."
For a heartbeat, it was only his eyes on yours, pinning you where you stood. Then the corner of his mouth tugged upward and he tipped you the quickest wink.
"Hey, kid," he drawled, voice pitched low enough that it barely cut through the surrounding noise, but still enough to give you goosebumps.
Your throat went dry. God help you, because you knew the blush that spread across your face was giving his squad exactly the reaction they would later tease you for if they get the opportunity.
"What are you doing here?" You whispered in disbelief.
"Protectin’ your ass from gettin’ swallowed whole by whatever’s crawlin’ out there," he said with a grin. His tone was casual, like he was discussing the weather, but every syllable hummed with satisfaction, as if he’d just pulled off some masterstroke you hadn’t even realized was in play.
Your mouth opened, then shut again, brain struggling to catch up with the fact that he had just inserted himself into your mission. Your carefully prepared, long awaited, first field mission, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. The Colonel wanted in, so of course he got in. Rules, chains of command, mission rosters… none of it mattered when it came to Miles Quaritch.
You stared at him, half stunned, half amused, because the means he must’ve gone through to get this, pulling rank, twisting arms, maybe even rewriting the damn assignment sheet himself, were almost unthinkable. And the way he stood there now, smug as a cat that got the cream, left no doubt in your mind that he’d enjoyed every second of it. And all of this, just to be with you?
You let out a deep sigh as you looked up at him, before your lips curled into a sly smile.
Oh, wasn’t that just so him, to bend the whole damn world to his will, all for the simple reason that he refused to let you out of his sight.
However, even with all the briefings you had to go through these past couple of days, you still weren’t prepared for what it felt like to actually land out here. And god, were you suddenly grateful for your big blue protector.
The samson helicopter had dropped you and your team, as well as the three recombinants into the heart of Pandora’s forest, and the second your boots hit the ground, the reality of it hit harder than any slideshow or safety lecture ever could.
The air around you was thick and damp, so different from what it was like back home. Every direction you looked, the trees stretched impossibly high, their roots twisting into knots big enough to crawl inside, while the sounds of chirping, growls and low thrumming calls from the animals you couldn’t see filled your ears.
Immediately, goosebumps rose all over your skin.
Everything around you was just so big, you felt significantly smaller out here. And so very vulnerable.
Just mere minutes after landing, your team scrambled into action, hauling crates onto the clearing’s edge. Within an hour, the portable field laboratory stood assembled, all gleaming white panels and sharp corners, looking small and temporary against the living wall of jungle that surrounded it. It was sturdy enough to keep the gear safe, but standing there, you couldn’t shake the thought that it wouldn’t take much to tear the whole thing apart. A single hammerhead thundering through the clearing could flatten it like a tin can, or one swipe from a thanator’s claws would peel the panels back as if they were paper.
Not to mention what would happen if the natives of this moon discovered the lab and decided they didn’t want all of you here…
Shaking your head to shake off these thoughts, you tried to focus back on the excitement of being here. No point in spiraling over what could happen.
After years of studying clippings under sterile lights you were finally out here and everything was basically waiting to be observed in their real environment. It made your pulse race.
In the corner of your eyes, you spot Quaritch moving through the treeline with his rifle slung loose across his chest, shoulders surprisingly relaxed as he swept the area. Wainfleet and Mansk trailed a few feet behind, equally alert. The Colonel looked like he was born for this, muscles loose, eyes sharp, completely at home in the wild that left the rest of you jumpy and clammy with nervous sweat. Watching him like that stirred something low in your stomach that you immediately shoved aside.
Focus. You were at work, this was about being a good scientist and finding answers. Not about the way Miles looked utterly delicious like this, his tank sticking to the muscles of his chest, his biceps bulging.
You tore your gaze away before it lingered too long, heat already creeping up your neck. Jesus. The last thing you needed was one of your colleagues catching you drooling over the man meant to keep all of you alive.
Stuffing the last of your kit into the field bag, you slung it over your shoulder, double checking the seals on your exo pack and headed straight for the man pacing along the treeline. He didn’t so much as flinch at your approach, though one eyebrow ticked upward when you stopped in front of him, basically blocking his way. You looked about ready for a safari trip, you noticed a little too late. With your datapad in hand, smelling a bit too much of anti-mosquito spray and sun blocker, while wearing a worn out fishing hat to make the look perfect.
"I want to walk a little further, if that’s possible, sir," you asked, voice tight with barely contained excitement.
Quaritch shifted his rifle against his chest, eyes narrowing just slightly as he took you in. You didn’t miss the way his lip curled upward in a grin. Oh, you would never hear the end of this, you already knew it.
Then, he shook his head with the click of his tongue. "No can do, kid. Sun’s droppin’ fast, and this jungle turns mean as hell soon as the lights go out. You want your scans, you haul your ass out there tomorrow when we’ve got daylight on our side."
You gave a quick shrug, already half bouncing on your heels. "But I’ve unpacked already and checked everything twice. Waiting until morning isn’t an option, Colonel. I just want some first scans, that’s all. The rest can wait until tomorrow."
For a long moment he just looked at you, silent, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth like he knew he’d already lost the argument. Then came the eye roll, his head tilting back as if he couldn’t quite believe the headache he’d signed himself up for.
"Christ, cherry," he muttered under his breath when he was certain nobody would hear, then jabbed a finger at you. "Fine. But I’m stickin’ to your hip the whole damn time. You ain’t takin’ three steps into that brush without me. Clear?"
The grin you gave him was bright enough, Quaritch had to squint his eyes at you before turning away.
So off you went, the two of you slipping past the edge of the clearing and deeper into the forest. The camp noises faded fast until it was just the crunch of your boots and the low rasp of your exopack filtering the air for you.
After a while of walking in silence, you found your focus slipping once again without even meaning to. The scanner in your hands hummed quietly, but your attention wasn’t on the screen. It was on Quaritch and the way he walked ahead of you, clearing the way. There was something stupidly comforting about having him at your side like this, like nothing could touch you as long as he was there.
Of course, the thought didn’t stop there. Your mind, unhelpfully, went a little further, wandering into territory that made your cheeks burn. How damn good he looked in his element, muscles flexing under the tank that clung to his chest, the confidence in every step he took. And how good it felt, how dangerously good it felt, knowing all that strength and focus was trained on keeping you safe.
And suddenly you were thinking about this strength that could carry you so easily. The way he could hold you up by the hips or shove you against the nearest wall like he had done so many times by now. If only he would just turn around, grab you by the hips and—
Heat crawled up your neck before you could shove these thoughts away. Distracted, you caught your boot on a gnarled root jutting out of the soil and stumbled forward with a soft yelp.
Quaritch’s hand shot out instantly, catching your arm and steadying you before you could face-plant into the dirt. His grip was firm and the corner of his mouth twitched upward as he gave you a look.
"Eyes on the ground, cherry," he drawled, voice low and amused.
You opened your mouth to stammer out an apology, or a half-hearted excuse for why your brain had decided to short-circuit, but before you could think of anything, your eyes catch on something behind him. Just past his shoulder, tangled around the base of a tree, was a flicker of soft blue pulsing light.
Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
"Wait, hold on," you gasped, eyes going wide as you wriggled out of his grip. The rush of excitement hit so fast you barely noticed the confused sound he made behind you as you practically bounced toward it.
There, coiling delicately through the roots and stretching toward the damp air, was the unmistakable shimmer of the lumafera you were so desperately looking for! The vine pulsed faintly with bioluminescence, its glow rhythmically dimming and brightening like a slow, steady heartbeat.
"Oh, finally!" you exclaimed happily, crouching low until your knees sank into the soft soil.
Behind you, Quaritch huffed out a breath, half amusement, half exasperation, as he shifted his stance and took up position a few feet away to stand guard.
"Alright, cherry, half an hour ‘til the lights go out," he called over his shoulder, "so better hurry that sweet ass up."
Kneeling down, you powered on your field scanner, humming softly as the screen flickered to life. Vines coiled lazily over the roots at your feet and you slipped your gloved fingers into the tangle, careful not to snap anything, before you ran the scanner along a thick stem.
"Yes, sir!"
— ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ —
It was hot as a whore in church in this goddamn jungle. As per usual.
Sweat was already sticking to his skin under his vest, rolling down his spine in a way that made him want to rip the whole damn uniform off and wring it out. Humidity sat thick in the air, like trying to breathe through a soaked towel and the buzzing insects sure as hell weren’t helping his mood either. Pandora always found new and creative ways to piss him off it seems.
Quaritch stood a few paces behind you, boots planted firm in the mossy ground, rifle slung loose but ready across his chest while his eyes swept the treeline.
He didn’t trust a single inch of this place.
Didn’t want to be here, either. He’d spent enough time in Pandora’s wild to know better than to go wandering around for fun. Jungle didn’t care if you were trained, armed or prayed to every god in the book, it would chew you up and spit you out with your ass backwards if you weren’t careful.
But then there was you, in your little nerd on safari tour outfit.
Crouched in the dirt, talking to that glowing vine like it was a damn house pet, face all lit up with that excited little spark you got when science-shit started making sense in your head and you got all the answers you were so desperately looking for.
It was cute, really. Even Quaritch couldn’t deny that.
Oh, you definitely needed him here. Who else would protect that sweet oblivious ass of yours out here if not him? You were so focused, so lost in your work, you didn’t even notice the sweat dripping off your temples or the way some mean neon colored bug nearly landed on your neck. He swatted it away before it got a chance, grumbling under his breath.
Quaritch had his fill of Pandora’s forests a lifetime ago and nothing about the place made him feel any friendlier toward it now. Still, if he had to be stuck in the middle of this humid nightmare with someone, it might as well be his little cherry. Better than babysitting the brats back at Bridgehead, that was for damn sure.
But God, time was crawling.
After what felt like twenty minutes, he checked his watch just to find that only three minutes had passed.
Quaritch sighed under his breath and started pacing behind you, slow circles in the clearing— five steps one way, turn, five steps back. Leaves crunched, a branch snapped under his boot. He circled again. Anything to keep himself from falling asleep where he stood.
Another glance at the watch. Two more minutes.
"You done yet?" he called over his shoulder, not really expecting an answer, because you were still humming to yourself as you poked and prodded at that vine. When you finally shook your head with a slightly delayed reaction, Quaritch rolled his eyes and made another loop, boots leaving a faint path in the moss from the constant pacing.
Guard duty was one thing. Guard duty while you happily talked to plants was another level of torture entirely.
Another few laps around the same patch of ground, and Quaritch was ready to claw his way out of his own skin. Watching your back while you whispered to glowing weeds was probably the most boring thing he had ever done in his entire life and also the one before that. But it was necessary to keep you safe, so he wouldn’t dare complain. Not yet, at least.
After a while his eyes drifted, scanning for anything remotely interesting, and then caught on a cluster of round, reddish-pink fruits drooping from a low branch a few yards away. About damn time something broke the monotony.
He shot a look toward you over his shoulder. Still kneeling, still murmuring into your recorder, still oblivious to the world spinning around you. Figures.
With a quiet huff, he wandered over to the branch, brushing aside a curtain of vines as he got closer. The fruits were smooth, slightly translucent and each one pulsed faintly with bioluminescent specks under the skin. This damn rock couldn’t just grow normal apples, no, everything had to glow or buzz in this freakish way that made his skin crawl.
Still, he reached out and prodded one with his finger. It was firm, springy and didn’t immediately try to melt his skin off. Good start.
He gave it another poke, watching it wobble, then closed his hand around it and plucked it free from the branch with a quick tug. It almost came off too easily for his liking. Earth produce at least put up a little resistance before you tore it from the stem. This thing practically volunteered.
Slinging his riffle from his chest over to his back, Quaritch slid his knife from its sheath. With a flick of his wrist, he cut into the fruit. The blade sank through with a soft, wet sound and the inside revealed itself in a shockingly bright pink, almost fluorescent, like someone had dyed it for a damn carnival.
He scrunched his nose at the sight.
"Jesus. That’s aggressive."
Back on Earth, fruit looked like fruit. Apples, peaches, oranges, simple and straightforward. They didn’t glow like that and rarely ever came in colors like this. Quaritch hadn’t even realized how much he missed the normalcy of biting into a crisp apple without wondering if it was something sacred the natives prayed to.
He held a small slice between his thumb and the flat of the knife, studying it. The juice glistened, and a faint, candy-sweet smell rose from the cut.
He sniffed it once, cautious but curious. Then, because boredom and stubbornness were a dangerous combination, he brought it to his mouth. The slice pressed between his lips and he let it sit on his tongue for a moment.
Sweet.
Weirdly sweet. Like someone had taken cotton candy, mixed it with a sugar coated cherries, then cranked the sugar up to eleven.
Definitely sweeter than any Earth fruit he’d ever had, but not in a bad way. Just… too much. Like one bite was fine, maybe two, but any more would make his teeth ache. But it was good enough for now.
Still chewing, the Colonel casted a glance back at you.
Instead of eyes narrowed in judgement, he found you still completely oblivious to what he’d just done. At the very least, you were finally rising to your feet, brushing soil off your knees with a grin so wide it could’ve powered the base’s generators. You looked proud and fulfilled, like you’d just solved three equations that had been haunting your dreams.
Hell, if that wasn’t satisfying to watch.
"Guessin’ you found what you were after," he said, tossing the remaining fruit behind a bush and wiped his hand on his vest.
You nodded enthusiastically, practically buzzing with energy. "Yes! I mean, maybe. I need to run the scans through the database, but this sample— this one wasn’t just reacting to light. I’m pretty sure it was signaling to another cluster. Like an actual exchange, Miles. Communication! That’s huge, oh, I can’t wait to tell the others! We have to come back here tomorrow."
Quaritch didn’t know jack shit about any of that plant gossip or vine Morse code or whatever the hell you were implying. Didn’t really care about it either. But the excitement in your voice was enough to tell him it must’ve been important to you. And if he learned something crucial over the past few months then it was, when you got that look, the universe had better step aside because you were coming for answers with teeth bared.
He jerked his chin toward the direction of the camp. "Good. You can brag about it once we’re back behind walls. Let’s move, sweet cheeks."
Boots sinking softly into the moss, you quickly fell into step beside him. As you walked, the forest dimmed around you, bioluminescence slowly beginning to spark to life in the underbrush.
Meanwhile, you were running your mouth without even pausing for breath, hands gesturing as if you were presenting to a damn lecture hall instead of hiking through a predator infested jungle. Words like "bioelectric currents," "root networking," and "signal relay pathways" were spilling out of you in one long, excited stream. A never ending waterfall of words he had no intention of even trying to understand.
Quaritch didn’t follow half of it and the half he did follow made his brain itch. He wasn’t here to unravel plant telegraph systems or whatever theory you were chasing. He was here to make sure nothing with teeth turned you into a chew toy.
Still, every few minutes, when your voice hit a certain pitch or you bounced on your heels at your own conclusions, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He’d never say it out loud, but there was something tolerable about your rambling. Almost —almost— enjoyable.
Didn’t change the fact that after ten straight minutes of listening, he rolled his eyes hard enough to see his own skull.
"Christ, kid," he finally muttered, stepping over a root. "Breath for a minute."
Either you didn’t hear him or you simply chose to ignore him, because the stream of useless information that poured out of you simply continued.
Up ahead, a curtain of fern-like leaves blocked the narrow path. You ducked toward it, ready to shove through, but he reached out first, grabbing a handful of the foliage and lifting it so you could pass under without getting a faceful of plants.
You slipped beneath his arm and for half a second, his eyes tracked the movement automatically. The swing of your hips, the way your gear shifted across your back. Completely normal for a soldier to notice terrain, footing, the person in front of them.
But his brain didn’t log it as tactical information. It logged it as something else entirely. How fucking perfect that sweet ass of yours looked in those tight pants, for example. Something in his fingers itched to reach out and touch what Quaritch knew damn well belonged to him anyways. Goddamn, had it been a while since he had last played with what was his…
A wave of heat rolled through him at that, settling thick beneath his skin. Felt like someone had lit a fire just right beneath his navel. He blinked, pulling in a breath that didn’t cool him down at all. The air was damp, sure, but it wasn’t this hot. Not a few minutes ago.
He tried to brush it off. Humidity, exertion, vest sticking to his back, heavy gear and pretty little lady with him in the jungle. Yeah, it made sense.
Still. Clenching his jaw, he gave his head a sharp shake as if he could knock these thoughts loose.
Focus. Eyes up, perimeter clear, watch for threats. This wasn’t the time or the place for his brain to go wandering where it damn well shouldn’t.
Quaritch wiped his palm across his forehead, irritated to find fresh sweat pooling along his hairline. It felt like someone had shoved him under a heat lamp. His tank still clung to his skin uncomfortably and he adjusted the rifle strap, rolling his shoulders. Christ, he was overheating.
He blamed the heat. Had to be the heat.
But the burn crawling across his skin lingered, stubborn and wrong. Even as the night air cooled and he reached the safety of their camp.
Back at the lab, a shower was the first order of business.
He felt sticky, grimy, and altogether contaminated by the jungle. Sweat and dirt had collected under his gear, turning his skin into a slick second uniform, and by the time he stripped it off he was pretty sure the inside of his vest could’ve grown its own ecosystem. Disgusting.
The showers here weren’t built for comfort, just a cramped metal stall with a timer that cut off after a few minutes, but hell, it was water and it wasn’t recycled through the same filter as the toilets. That was good enough.
He twisted the knob and stepped under the spray, letting out a low breath as the water hit his shoulders. The pressure wasn’t much, the temperature flickered between lukewarm and freezing, but the grime slid away in gray streaks. For a second, it helped. The heat eased, just barely. Then the timer beeped and the water cut off with a click that echoed too loud in the tiny space.
"Figures," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. Just two minutes in paradise was all the luxury one would get out here.
A towel slung over his shoulder, Quaritch made his way back to the barracks, a repurposed cargo module that smelled faintly of metal, detergent and too many bodies in too little air. The recoms didn’t get much in the way of luxury. Thin mattresses lined up in a row, one set of bunks squeezed into the corner.
Mansk and Wainfleet had called dibs on the bunk beds early, with Wainfleet already grumbling about the top bunk creaking. "Real professional setup," Mansk snorted, throwing himself down on the lower mattress. "What are we, ten?"
The beds were hard as rock, the blankets thin. Quaritch stretched out on his own mattress near the wall, hands folded behind his head, eyes tracing the rivets in the ceiling. If they’d packed the room any tighter, he thought, they’d be stacked like goddamn firewood.
He let out a huff. The air felt stale, hot. Even without his gear and most of his clothes, his skin still prickled with heat, the kind that stuck under the surface and refused to quit. Dizzy, maybe a little off balance. Probably the long day catching up to him.
"Sleep it off," he muttered under his breath, shutting his eyes.
Through the thin wall, he could hear faint shuffling and a door sliding shut, the scientists’ quarters next door. The nerds, of fucking course, got their own rooms, if you could even call them that. Little more than metal boxes with single bunks and just enough floor space to turn around without knocking into something. Cramped, but at least private.
Miles wondered if you were already asleep.
Probably. You’d worked yourself half to death over those damn glowing vines and knowing you, you’d crash the second your head hit the pillow. Then again, maybe you were up late, logging samples or writing notes like the perfectionist you were.
He shifted on the cot, exhaled through his nose.
Wondered if you’d taken a shower too.
Two minutes of cold water prickling down your skin, turning your pretty nipples into hard pebbles. Did goosebumps raise where your hands brushed soap over your skin? Quaritch swallowed thickly.
The heat just wouldn’t quit, crawling slow and stubborn beneath his skin, pulsing like it had a rhythm of its own until it reached his cock. He rolled onto his side, facing the wall and forced his eyes to keep shut. He was already half hard just thinking about you.
Two minutes would’ve been more than enough for you to rub yourself down, get your pretty ass squeaky clean. God, how bad he’d wanted to take a bite out of it earlier. You would’ve looked so good on your hand and knees before him in the jungle, his hands on either side of your hips, just pounding you into the dirt.
The image of your ass bouncing with every thrust made him think of the last set of Polaroids he’d received a while ago. Specifically the one where you had bend over your desk and spread yourself open for him, pretty pussy all soaking wet and the cute little heart shaped plug in your ass. The red one, of fucking course. Quaritch remembers the day he got back from his mission after that. Never before had he cleared a room full of scientists that quickly just to fuck you against the wall of the laboratory in the middle of the day.
He still grins when he thinks back to the way you scolded him afterwards for having to come up with a plausible explanation for why the Colonel wanted a private meeting with you right then and there.
Fucking hell.
With an irritating groan, Quaritch turned to lay on his back for a while, staring at the ceiling, willing his body to cool off. It didn’t. On the contrary, the heat under his skin even kept climbing in a way he knew had nothing to do with the room temperature. He kicked the blanket off, rolled over, rolled back again.
No, not happening. He couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t even think straight.
His mind drifted without permission, back to the showers, the sound of the pipes, the hiss of the water, the short sigh that always slipped out of you when the day finally caught up. He pictured you standing under the spray, hair plastered to your neck, eyes half-closed from exhaustion. Water running down your navel, the curve of your hips, your tattoo. All the places his tongue had already explored, skin he’d soaked in cum or bruised with bites when he’d been too lost in the pleasure of your body. Those images hit harder than he expected and he let out a low curse, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"Jesus, get a grip," he muttered.
The barracks were quiet except for the soft snoring from the bunks across the room and Mansk shifted, muttered something in his sleep. Quaritch sat up a little with a sigh, sweat beading at his temples before he finally pushed a hand past the waistband of his sweats.
He was fuckin‘ leaking, he noticed quickly. A filthy amount of pre-cum had already soaked his briefs, making his cock all slippery once he closed his fist around the head and stroked down to the base.
There’s a tightness, a throbbing warmth that swells inside him and it gets even worse when he starts stroking his cock to the thought of his sweet cherry.
— ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ —
Sleep came easy after a day like this.
The air in your room was cool enough to make you shiver, but you didn’t mind. Wrapped up tight in the thin standard-issue blanket, you were comfortable and cocooned. The low hum of the base’s power systems was steady and almost soothing and you were out cold the moment your head had touched the pillow.
The day had really wrung you out, but it had been so worth it. The image of that glowing vine still floated somewhere behind your eyelids and the thrill of it lingered too, that quiet satisfaction of having chased down a question and pinned it long enough to glimpse an answer.
And tomorrow would bring even more! More samples, more data, maybe even confirmation that you’d found something new. The thought made your chest tighten with a sleepy kind of excitement. You could almost feel the hum of the scanner in your hands again, hear the soft chime of the readings coming through.
Your notes from earlier that day mentioned a secondary cluster nearby, possibly fruit-bearing. That was next on your list. You’d read some old reports from Grace Augustine’s time, about the Na’vi using those fruits for ceremonial purposes, even calling them an aphrodisiac. Most of the science teams had dismissed that as myth, but you wanted to know what they actually did. What compound triggered that reaction? How did it affect their biochemistry?
The questions lined up neatly in your half-awake mind, answers waiting to be chased come morning. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips at that.
Distantly, you register movement. It slips into your half-dream like a ripple through still water. Your brow tightens, a faint furrow forming as the mattress gives beneath some new weight. You exhale, a soft sound, and your body shifts instinctively toward the disturbance instead of away from it.
The rustle of fabric follows, somehow muffled by the haze of sleep. You can’t tell if it’s you turning over or something else brushing against the sheets, but you’re too tired and too comfortable to care.
Then comes the warmth. At first it’s faint, easy to dismiss, just a change in the air, maybe. But it spreads slowly, soaking into your skin, climbing from your calves to your knees, up along your thighs in a way that feels achingly familiar and comforting. Your muscles loosen one by one, the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding ebbing away.
The chill that had clung to the room fades. You breathe in, slow and deep, the corner of your mouth curving faintly in your sleep. The warmth feels good and you stretch your limbs to embrace it. You don’t know if it’s gravity or if it’s yourself doing it subconsciously, maybe even something else entirely, but your knees slowly fall open and a gentle breeze brushing over your body makes you shiver.
Suddenly there’s more warmth and it’s starting to bloom deep in your core. It builds and tingles and you spread your thighs wider as if to chase that sensation. You make a humming sound when warmth morphs into heat and when you’re slowly coming back to your senses, you notice that your breathing heavier than before.
Sleep still clings to your mind, trying to pull you back in, and you squeeze your eyes shut to drift back. But then something warm and wet slips through your folds and your back arches of the bed when it suddenly plunges into you without warning.
Your hands instinctively reach out and it’s only when a familiar soft stubble of hair glides between your fingers that you finally peel your eyes open.
"M-Miles?" You squeak, but the sound cuts off into a moan when his tongue slides out and glides over your sensitive clit. You feel dizzy.
"Well, look who’s finally up." Quaritch grins from between your thighs.
"What—", you want to sit yourself up on your elbows, but a big hand on your chest pushes you right down against the pillow.
"Easy, kid. It’s just me. Didn’t mean to spook ya." He murmurs and you notice that he sounds a bit out of breath. For a moment your brows furrow, but before you can take him in fully, his mouth is back on you again. Instantly, your hands clasp over your mouth to hide all these noises from escaping and possibly waking up the rest of the crew.
Miles was starving, it looked like. He was licking and sucking on you as if he were possessed by something, smothering his entire face between your thighs, not even caring for the fact that he couldn’t possibly be getting enough air into his lungs like this.
"O-H! M-Miles, what– what are you doing? We’re gonna wake the others!" You tried, barely able to lower your voice with how fiercely he was sucking on your clit.
"M‘sorry, cherry," you hear him murmur, his voice muffled against you. "Just couldn’t help myself here. You’re just too damn sweet, could smell ya‘ through the wall."
This time, you’re not prepared for the sudden suction on raw nerves created by his puckered lips, and you nearly cry out in surprise. It feels too good, too much, too hot, and he has your legs quivering in so little time that you almost question if this is even reality or if you’re still dreaming.
Your back would arch off the bed, if it weren’t for his hand keeping you in place. It felt like his tongue was everywhere at once, licking every inch of you, all those places that had your orgasm rushing forward and then shatter your entire being into a thousand pieces.
Once you feel your senses come back to you and you register the sound of Quaritch still slurping up your juices, your hands weakly find the stubble of hair on top of his head. Your fingers softly brush through them, before you find a good grip and gently tug him off of you.
You can tell Miles is not entirely pleased with being removed from the wonderful space between your thighs. There’s a scowl on his face, his eyebrows drawn tight, but other than the fact that the entire lower half of his face is dipping wet, you also notice his impossible wide blown eyes.
You frown. The hand that’s not in his hair cups his cheek, and you almost flinch away from the temperature of his skin.
"Oh my god, you‘re burning up," you whisper, half concerned, half still dazed from the intensity of your orgasm.
His breath comes rough, uneven, like he’s trying to wrestle it under control. For a second, he doesn’t answer, just closes his eyes and exhales through his nose, jaw flexing. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse, low.
"Yeah," he mutters, half a grimace, half a tired laugh. "Somethin’s off, alright. Feel like I’ve been sittin’ in a damn oven since we got back. Christ, I can’t even keep my hand off myself."
He shakes his head, dismissing the concern clearly written all over your face. "Don’t matter." A pause, softer this time, his eyes flicking toward you. "Ain’t what I’m worried about right now."
You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off before you can find the words, voice rough but steady.
"Later," he says. "We’ll deal with it later. Can’t think straight with you here, cherry."
He exhales, the sound rough, shaky, almost a growl. The space between you narrows until you can feel his breath against your skin, warm and uneven. It sends a shiver through you that you try, and fail, to hide. His lips move from your navel, up your stomach, until he’s brushing your shirt up to lick a long teasing path over each nipple.
A shaky breath escapes you before the rational part of your brain finally kicks back in. The scientist in you claws its way to the surface, pushing past the confusion, the heat radiating off him, the way his words are starting to slur.
You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "Miles— what did you eat today? Anything unusual? Did- Did you cut yourself, or get stung by something?"
He blinks at you, slow and unfocused, like it takes effort to piece the question together. "Nah," he mumbles. "Didn’t touch nothin’. Well—" A pause, and suddenly the world around you tilts. The next time you blink, he’s sprawled out in your entirely too small bed, with you straddling his hips. "Maybe that fruit."
Your stomach drops, and not just because his hands find your waist and he’s starting to move you on top of him. "F-Fruit?"
He nods, eyes half-lidded and focused only on the way he’s using you to grind his still clothed cock against your folds. "Yeah. Pink thing. Looked fine. Didn’t taste bad either." He gives a sluggish grin, almost proud of himself. "Kinda sweet."
For a second, you just stare at him, disbelief rooting you to the spot. You let him move you, the pleasure tingling in your clit when the hard seam of his pants brushes over it again and again. Then your voice comes out louder than you intend, a harsh whisper that cuts through the quiet room.
"You did what?"
He doesn’t even flinch. Just gives a lazy shrug, like it’s no big deal, eyes still glued to the way your arousal forms a wet patch on his fabric. "Relax, doc. I’m still breathin’, ain’t I?"
Of all the reckless, infuriating— he’d eaten an untested alien fruit without a second thought! Your mind races through the possibilities: toxins, hallucinogens, biochemical agents. Pandora’s plants weren’t harmless curiosities, they were unpredictable and—
"Wait," your blink. It was getting significantly harder for you to concentrate the harder he moved you over his cock, pushing you right against that throbbing bulge. "What…", your eyes flutter, "what color was it again?"
"Pink," he says finally, voice rough. "Bright damn pink inside. Like candy. Or your…"
His grin widens when his thumb brushes against your clit and he gently pushes its hood back to reveal the tiny wet nub.
You stare at him with crimson cheeks. "Pink."
"Yeah," he mutters. "Found it hangin’ off a branch near where you were pokin’ at those vines. Looked harmless enough."
And then it clicks.
The samples, the faint chemical traces you’d seen in the reports, the notes from Augustine’s old logs— the fruit. The one the Na’vi used in ritual contexts, the one they claimed "woke the blood."
Your heart lurches. "Oh god."
Finally, he looks up at you, confused. "What?"
"Miles, that wasn’t just some fruit. It’s— it’s bioactive. It messes with body chemistry. The Na’vi use it as a stimulant, an enhancer." All these words seem to do about nothing to him, so you roll your eyes and groan, "It’s an aphrodisiac!"
He blinks again, slow, as if your voice is coming from a long way off. "That so?"
"Yes, that so!" you snap in a half-whisper, frustration spilling over your worry. "You could’ve poisoned yourself or— or worse! We don’t even know what it might do to you!"
He gives a low, unfocused chuckle, head falling back against the wall. "Well," he breaths, "guess we’re about to find out."
Before you can contradict him, Quaritch already moves to unclasp his jeans. His hands move with an urgency you’ve never seen on him before. He might try to act as calm and collected as possible, but you could only guess how hard it must be for him to hold back in this moment.
His skin felt clammy and hot at the same time, which made you excuse the strong and desperate grip he had on your thighs once he’d managed to free his cock from his briefs and started moving you up and down his base, slowly lubing himself in your arousal. Like this, you felt every vein, every hard ridge and bump along his length.
"Christ, cherry", Miles was beginning to pant, "Been thinking about this sweet pussy for hours. You’re gonna be a good girl and ride me, yeah? 'Cause if I take the lead I’m gonna break more than just the bed."
Goosebumps made themselves known along your skin the faster he moved you along his cock, the glide growing more slippery and wet the more time passed. God, yes, you wanted that. But there was a crucial fact that you needed to remind him of…
"I- you know, we need…"
The Colonels hand wandered up your stomach and over your chest as you spoke, before it briefly closed around your throat. Not hard enough to squeeze, but enough to make you follow his lead and lean down where he caught your mouth in a rough, desperate kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips as he laid claim to them. Your surprised little yelp was lost between your mouths, and he devoured you until you nearly couldn’t breathe.
A soft click like the sound of a small bottle cap flipping open made you finally break the kiss.
"You took that with you?" You breathed softly as you stared at the familiar tiny bottle of lube in his hands over your shoulder. There was the faintest smile on your lips at the thought of him packing this with the handful of other belongings he usually bought on his missions.
"Figured I might want to bend you over a log or something sooner or later to celebrate your first mission." He grinned proudly.
Still straddling him, but with your chest flush against his now, Miles then began to spread a great amount of the clear liquid to your cunt. One hand on your ass spreading you open, while the other one teased your folds and circled your entrance.
You hissed softly when it touched your skin, too cold for your liking, but the uncomfortable sensation quickly faded into that warm, fuzzy feeling that melted the tension in your muscles away.
You could tell Miles was impatient, more than what was typical for him. His whole body looked coiled, tense, like he was just waiting for you to be loose enough so he could plunge his length into you, but he couldn’t stand the waiting part. The part that he was normally so much better at than you. Normally, he was your self-control.
But his pulse was still running too high, a faint sheen of sweat had gathered at his temples and he was muttering curses under his breath about how bad he needed you right now.
Once he’d deemed you ready enough to take him, you let him guide you until the thick head of his cock prodded at your entrance.
With a lot of concentration, you reach between your bodies and wrap dainty fingers around his base to keep him there, then carefully lower your hips.
You make a surprised sort of noise, a little gasp once the tip slips halfway inside, but Quaritch isn’t even looking at you. You’ve moved to squad over him, hands balancing your weight on his thighs behind you and he’s much too occupied with staring at the space where you’re connected, that he almost forgets to breath.
Carefully, you rock your hips, gasping for air when the movement sends a spark of pleasure and a little bit of familiar pain through you. And when you finally get the head inside and a couple of extra inches too, Quaritch clasps your mouth shut with one hand and slams you all the way down with the other one grasping your hip.
The moan that’s muffled by his hand is almost a scream, and your thankful he’s decided to be this mindful of the rest of the crew for once.
For a very long moment, it‘s quiet. There’s only the sound of his heavy breathing and your little pants muffled by his hand. Quaritchs chest is heaving, his eyes shut and his head resting on the pillow, just enjoying the feel of your walls softly fluttering around his cock. It must feel heavenly, like sweet relief he’s been waiting for too long now by the look on his face.
Even with that generous amount of lube that made your insides tingle, you still felt that familiar kind of stretch from having him fully inside of you. But it was the good kind, the one that made you feel warm and full paired with the way Quaritch was looking up at you now, it did made you feel powerful too.
His hands then both find your hips again, squeezing the soft flesh there and gently pulling you back and forth, moving you inch by inch.
"C‘mon, sweetheart," he purred in that low, gravelly voice, "I’m… losin’ my damn patience here."
Now that you’re looking at him like this, you notice how blown his pupils are. How much trouble he has just laying still, getting his breathing under control. How much sweat has gathered on his forehead. He looks about ready to come apart at the seams.
You don’t even mean to, but you involuntarily flex your pelvis as you put more weight on your feet and Miles groans a little too loud. His cock throbs heavily inside you as you lift yourself up and sink back down on his length slowly.
You feel every vein as you push yourself up and down his cock, slowly but steadily gaining rhythm. Rolling your hips, you let the tiniest whimper escape. It feels so good to have control of him like that, to push and move him right where it’s feels best, watching his dazed expression like a man drunk off the sight of your cunt swallowing him over and over again. Wet squelching sounds fill the silent space around you, but there’s nothing you can do to prevent this. You’re sweating too, and it feels so incredibly hot between your thighs, your wetness smearing everywhere, making it easier for you to fuck yourself on his cock.
But you can tell it’s not enough. The hands on your hips are slowly starting to bruise you, moving you just a little faster, a little harder. Soon, his hips are raising off the bed to follow your movement, until you’re not even moving at all and he’s just holding you there, thrusting into you from below.
His cock is hard as it drives into you, again, again and again, more moans spilling from your lips until it’s your own hands clasping your mouth shut to keep you quiet.
"Good girl, just like that." His voice was more breathy than commanding. You rocked your hips, alternating between fucking yourself with short, sharp thrusts, hardly moving on his cock at all, and rising in long, slow pulses, pulling him nearly all the way out of your body before slamming back down. In between, you closed your eyes so you could feel Miles below you, the flex of his thigh muscles, the roll of his own thrusts, the grind of his body against yours.
It went on and on, tongues soon sliding slickly over each other, hands clutching your bodies close, hungry, pleasured noises muffled by the press of mouth on mouth. Bodies tangled together, hips grinding, until you made a startled sound and came suddenly, your whole body locked tight trying not to make a sound.
"Atta’ girl," Quaritch managed between heavy pants, fingers brushing your jaw, hardly able to resist diving back into the kiss. "You're getting ahead of me, cherry."
Miles moved his lips from your lips over to your jaw, licked a spot on your neck, just below the curve of your jaw. You sighed and slid one hand into the back of his hair, raking your fingers against his scalp. He groaned at that and opened his mouth a little wider and bit down on the spot he had just licked. His cock throbbed inside you, pulsed so vividly it made your whole body shiver and you bit back a moan.
But it was so incredibly hard to keep quiet when he was suddenly slamming into you like a man possessed. Both of your bodies slick with sweat, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing through the small space.
"Fuck, yeah." Miles groans under his breath. "My little fuck toy, letting me use you like that. You like that, don’t ya‘ cherry?"
What is he even saying? God, you had no idea, the words were filtering through you until all you could pick out were bits and pieces, and he drives you down harder at "my little cockslut," while you’re shaking and whining in complete agreement.
"So good, you’re doing so good fr‘me. Making me feel so much better."
After these words, Miles didn't seem capable of going slow. He thrusted into you harder and harder, faster and faster, until you could only moan and push back into the thrusts, heat flaring within your body over and over again.
It seems like he wanted it to go on forever, the clinging friction of him pulling out of you, the rush of your body giving way before his thrusts.
He was loosing control, you could feel it.
Soon, your moans deepened, gaining a measure of desperation, probably matching Miles‘ own. The still rational thinking part of your brain was screaming at you to bite your tongue, so you lean over and burry your face in his shoulder, letting him fully take control.
And that’s when he lost it.
Hands squeezing the pillowy flesh of your ass, Miles used the newfound leverage to drive himself impossibly deeper inside you and then buried his face in your hair, while slamming his hips against you wantonly as he released all of his cum deep inside.
Quaritch’s entire body shook as he emptied himself inside of you, and you could feel it warming around you as his hips refused to stop moving, just using it to slick the way even further.
Blinding stars explode behind your tightly closed eyes as hot pleasure fills you to the brim, leaking out in thick spurts where his girth fills you.
The desperate urgency that wracked Quaritch seemed to ease the moment he came down from his pleasure high.
For a moment.
There's silence at first, broken only by harsh breaths. You feel kind of used and raw and open, and you know you’re going to have bruises on your hips from how hard he was gripping you there. Quaritchs come is starting to drip out of you in a way that's kind of squelchy and faintly disgusting, but every vein inside you thrums with satisfaction. Despite it all, you feel warm and content laying on him like this, his cock still inside you and…
"Miles," you slur later, when your brain and your body have reconnected and you feel movement between your thighs. Your brows furrow.
He‘s still… hard.
The tip of his cock is nested tight against your cervix in this position and you can feel it pulse, the hard length of him sliding just the tiniest bit back and forth, little rocking motions that you barely registered at first.
There's a beat that seems to go on forever before he replies, "again," short and quipped, like it takes effort to get the words out.
There’s a sudden shift in the air, his muscles going tight beneath you, coiling like something inside him snapped into motion. Before you can process it, his hands find your waist, his grip hot and unsteady, and in one swift, startling movement he rolls.
The world tilts.
You gasp as your back meets the mattress, your breath catching from surprise rather than pain. Miles ends up above you, braced on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you, his body trembling with the strain of even that small exertion.
His face hovers just inches above yours, breath warm and uneven across your cheek. His eyes are half lidded and focused on something, so you follow his line of sight to the space between your bodies. Swallowing thickly, you watch the way he slowly pulls his cock out of you, until it’s only the tip inside you. He’s entirely covered in slick and cum and the sight is beyond filthy, but then he groans and pushes himself right back in.
The movement makes a squelching noise and your thighs begin to shake when he repeats the motion, slowly, but rocking back deeper than before, knocking the wind right out of your lungs.
"Jesus fuck, you feel so good," he groans, pressing his hot forehead against yours. "One more time, cherry. You‘ll help me out one more time, won’t ya?"
He‘s not even waiting for a response. You’re both just watching, entirely transfixed, how he’s thrusting in and out of your pussy, more cum seeping out of you to make room for his cock.
That’s… not good.
The thought flickers through your mind even as you lie there beneath him, his heat soaking through you like a second pulse.
The fruits effects clearly haven’t died down.
Not even a little. A normal spike of heat should’ve faded by now. The chemical intensity should’ve tapered off. His body should be stabilizing, at least a little. But none of that is happening.
You thought the aphrodisiac characteristics would wear off after ejaculation, so why wasn’t he getting better? You should be worried.
Objectively, clinically— you are.
But then he shifts just enough for his forehead to rest against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin, his weight settling over you and he thrusts into you in that angle that makes your toes curl and you practically melt under him, and yeah.
Oh, yeah, you're definitely doing this again. And again. And again. In fact, you could envision quite a lot of again’s in the next couple of hours. And you absolutely don‘t have a problem with that. You‘re kind of looking forward to it, actually.
You’d get your answers. Tomorrow, or the next day, whenever his body stopped burning and his brain stopped swimming and he let you get more than six inches away from him.
For now, there was one thing you loved way more than getting an answer. And it was this.
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