hahahaha, this is yet another instance of Bad Things Happening to Tarrant, this time courtesy of THE MAN himself. Honestly, it’s similar enough to Sun and Heir that I could weld the verses together, except that would probably get silly.
This snippet is going under a cut bc for once I wrote the noncon first.
“Captain Jarvik picked you out especially, did he?”
Tarrant laughs as he packs his survival kit. “There's no need to be jealous, Samson,” he says. “You know it's a two person mission. The captain simply wants the best pilot with him, that's all.”
It's not a particularly subtle boast, but Samson isn't a particularly subtle man. “If you say so,” he smirks, but Tarrant ignores it, and whatever gossip or innuendo he's been listening to. “Oh well, good luck to you.”
[Rest of plot goes here]
Tarrant wakes up in the dead of a freezing night with a sharp pain ringing through his spine.
“Shut up, shut up,” he hears Jarvik whisper to him, although Tarrant hasn't said anything, but he does start to struggle as it becomes clear what's happening, trying to grab hold of something and coming away with nothing but handfuls of desert sand. “Shut up, you can take it, you're a man. This is what men do when they're alone together, this is fine, this is normal. You can take it, just let me...”
Tarrant whimpers under his breath. He is starting to process what's happening to him as his body comes back online; he can feel Jarvik's cock, thick and crude, pushing shallowly inside his tight rim and popping out again with each reckless thrust. But he can't understand it. This can't be happening, can it? Not to him. Jarvik wouldn't do this. Jarvik respects him, admires him, thinks he has a bright future ahead of him, why would he?
“God, you're so beautiful.” Jarvik bites violently the crook of his neck, making him cry out. “Such a beautiful boy, I had to, at least once – god–”
It's over within minutes. Tarrant feels Jarvik shout against his skin, and then the sickly feel of something hot and wet sliding between his cheeks. Jarvik falls asleep easily, still clinging to him for body heat, leaving him stunned.
He still can't believe that happened. It must be some sort of dream, right? People like him don't get–
Icy winds brush against his bare skin, revealed by his torn open uniform. The angry side of him wants to run. But it would be stupid – they are still waiting for the transporter out of here, and he won't survive in the desert on his own. It is his captain's duty to take care of him.
