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It is approaching what passes for night in the starship Aurora's ship-bound artificial light cycle (instituted primarily to avoid arguments between her crew members, not that it ever works) and Jonny D'Ville's schedule is blissfully clear.
This isn't by accident, of course. He traded his slot on the cleaning roster with Ivy in return for getting her something nice on the next planet they visit, and as luck would have it he's also managed to get out of dinner duty for the whole spweek. Tim's got it tonight, the sucker. So he's on his way to the armoury to get blind drunk and fuck around with some targets for a few hours.
As he climbs between sections of the tightly-packed starship Jonny wonders idly if the gunner is still mad at him for the little prank he played last week. Really, he doesn't know why Tim can't take a joke. It was funny. He didn't mean to destroy the guitar, it just got caught in the crossfire.
Thinking on this, he glances through the doorway of the galley as he passes and stops dead in his tracks.
Dinner prep looks to be underway. There is something simmering in a large pot on the stove with chopped vegetables sitting beside it. Raw meat sizzles in a pan and there's an octokitten eyeing it up from on top of the refrigerator. But in all of that, the part that really catches his attention? It's that Tim is cutting up chillies. Large ones, shining red things that look fit to burst. Jonny watches as he slices off the stems with quick flicks of a paring knife, peeling the rest into strips and scraping the seeds into a small bowl. His mouth goes dry at the sight and the memory of his own panting, writhing gasps.
When Tim sees Jonny standing there he pauses mid slice. His mechanical eyes narrow and his fingers visibly tighten around the knife as he stares him down. Hah… Still angry, then. Jonny gives him an awkward grin.
Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, Tim plucks a handful of the unsliced chillies and slips them into his pocket.
Jonny's knees threaten to buckle. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and its then that he realises he's still staring. Hurriedly he yanks his gaze away and continues down the hall. Fuck.
Dinner is good. Meals on the Aurora are often first-come, first-serve, but they do make an attempt to eat dinner together semi-regularly. Even Nastya can occasionally be persuaded to come out of whatever vent she's hiding in for the promise of a warm meal, especially as the galley is one of the only no-violence zones actually respected by everyone. When Tim sends out the announcement everyone soon filters in and takes their spot on one of the mismatched chairs around the battered old table, passing around cutlery and bickering over glasses. Marius is showing off some watch he swiped off a corpse months ago and fixed up which is now for some reason ticking backwards. Ivy is reading under the table. It's normal. It's, dare he say it, homely. He can't focus on any of it.
Everyone praises the stew as Tim dishes it out. It fills the air with the aroma of hot spiced meat, thin slices of chilli visible drifting amongst the thick sauce as he ladles it into chipped and well-worn bowls. Jonny mumbles something offhandedly, because he's distracted by the quick thrill that runs down his spine every time Tim glances at him. He wonders if anyone else can feel the tension in the air or if that's something felt only between the two of them.
Ashes reaches for the chilli seeds immediately, of course. There hasn't been a meal cooked this side of the galaxy that was hot enough for Ashes O'Reilly. They toss a handful over their food and then offer the rest to him.
It doesn't escape Jonny's notice as he takes the bowl that there are fewer seeds than he'd expect given the number of chillies that Tim was cutting up, even accounting for Ashes' portion.
He grabs a few too many before he can consider that any longer, and passes the bowl down the table. Nastya pulls a face and passes it quickly onwards.
Tim sits down opposite him, taking Ivy's usual spot; she's moved to show Raphaella something in her book, stew abandoned. Jonny doesn't look at him. He finishes stirring the seeds into his food and lifts the first steaming spoonful to his mouth.
To hot. The spice sears his tongue immediately, intense and nearly eye-watering. But Tim hasn't so much as picked up his spoon, so he steadily chews and swallows it down without hesitation.
An appreciative sigh sounds out from his right. "Shit. This has got a good kick to it. Where did you get these peppers?" Ashes asks.
Tim's gaze doesn't waver as he replies. "Picked them up on the last planet. Came with a warning label and everything."
"Mm. Hope nobody else wants seconds."
Jonny stays silent. The chillies burn his mouth and throat as he eats, but he hardly tastes it. Through it all he can feel Tim's gaze on him, steady and intense.
Tim corners him immediately after dinner, of course. Jonny's expecting it. Thankfully Brian is on dish duty and everyone else cleared out quick, so there is no one to raise an eyebrow when the gunner grabs him by the collar and half-drags him out the door.
Not that it matters really, because they get all of twenty paces before he is being shoved up against the wall. The hum of the ship at the back almost sounds amused.
For a moment he and Tim just stare at each other.
"So… chillies?" Jonny begins.
Tim kisses him hard.
Yeah, that will do. Jonny kisses back with enthusiasm until Tim grabs his hand and guides it to his pocket, letting him feel out the handful of small, firm shapes within the fabric. Then he breaks the kiss and hisses directly into Jonny's ear with a voice like fire,
"I am going to make you suffer, you fucking prick."
Ah. Well, alright then. He lets himself be dragged towards the ladder.
Tim takes them to his quarters. He lets go of Jonny to slam the door open and the lights flicker disapprovingly overhead as they step inside. Might want to stop paying attention now, 'Rora.
The bed is… neatly made. Crisp sheets. Theres a length of rope tied to the headboard and two more laid out by the end, and a covered bowl resting atop a towel along with a small folded cloth. The whole 'premeditated' look doesn't bode well for him, if Jonny is being honest.
"Get on the bed." Tim's voice is wound tight and eerily calm.
He does, though he talks as he sits down, trying to keep his voice casual. He's lived with the gunner for long enough to know when he's not playing around. "You're still mad? Look, we can get you another guitar, it's not like you ever tuned that one properly anyway-"
Bad move. Tim pounces. Before Jonny can blink rough hands are yanking his shirt up over his head, nearly tearing the fabric. Then his hands are being pulled up towards the headboard and tied there. He tugs on the ropes automatically when Tim lets go, a nervous laugh leaving him as he registers just how tightly he's bound.
Tim meanwhile has already moved onto his trousers, yanking them down his hips and barely sparing the time to unbutton them properly. Jonny curses and wriggles about to help kick them off.
"Look- Tim. Not that I'm complaining, but is all this really necessary? I let you do this to me last time."
Tim laughs. There's a sort of mania about it. He yanks the last rope tight around his ankle and leans in, his grinning breath puffing onto Jonny's face.
"You'll see. You're going to fucking beg me for mercy by the time I'm done, D'Ville."
Tim sits back with that threat hanging in the air. He's still wearing most of his clothes, sleeves rolled up around his elbows, and he slips the knife he was using earlier out of his pocket. It glints in the low light. With his other hand he pulls out a gleaming red chilli.
Slowly and deftly, he slices it in two. One piece he pops into his mouth while making eye contact, his lips closing over the dark flesh. The other he takes between two fingers and starts trailing up Jonny's chest.
It's cool, just slightly cooler than his skin. The feeling of the insides of the pepper circling his nipple makes him squirm, pulling back against the bed as the skin begins to burn. Tim lifts it over the metal plate covering his heart and to the other nipple, the first one starting to stiffen as the chemical irritant kicks in.
Fuck, okay. He lets his head fall back against the bed, shifting about and making himself comfortable. He hisses out a breath as Tim rubs the capsascin into the soft pink flesh, eyelids fluttering shut at the feeling.
"We'll see about that," he replies belatedly, his voice a little dreamlike already. He's got to keep a handle on that - for his pride if nothing else.
When he doesn't feel the pepper for a few seconds he opens his eyes. Tim is leaning over him, hair hanging down like curtains on either side of his face. He touches the shell of a fresh chilli to his mouth, waiting.
Jonny slowly opens his mouth, and Tim feeds the piece between his lips. He bites down, the spice exploding on his tongue in a burst of fire.
Then Tim leans down to kiss him, tongue moving over his. He feels his cock twitch between his legs but the gunner's fingertips stay on his face, lightly guiding him as they share the heat of the chilli.
By the time the kiss ends he is panting slightly, hips lifting off the bed. His chest and lips are burning.
Tim meanwhile, has reached into the pocket of his discarded coat and pulled out two more chillies.
He meets Jonny's eyes as he crushes both of them in his hand. He rubs the juices all over his palm and his fingers, making sure to cover every last crevice.
Jonny's cock throbs in anticipation. Tim makes a show of slowly settling down between his legs, not breaking eye contact the entire time. Then in one movement he wraps his hand around his cock and squeezes almost painfully.
It feels good at first. It's a relief to finally have some friction on his aching cock, and Tim knows exactly how he likes it - he jerks him off hard and slow, steady pulls from the root to the tip that have his toes curling and his breath coming out in pants. But then somewhere around the fifth or sixth stroke, the prickling heat he's feeling stops being the mere embers of arousal and starts to burn.
He groans low in his throat as the pain of the chillies kicks in. It's slow but intense, punching the air from his gut as the skin of his cock lights up with fire. Anyone else might begin to scream; he lets out a low moan.
"There you go." Tim squeezes him a bit harder, jerking more roughly as he writhes against the bonds. "Feeling it yet? Fucking animal, breaking my things, acting like you're better than all of us. Been waiting all day to put you in your place."
"Tim-"
Tim covers his mouth with his free hand before he can get another word out. "No, don't you start. You don't get to complain after all the shit you put me through. You know what?"
Tim leans over him to rifle around in the bedside drawer, and returns with a ball gag. He shoves it into Jonny's mouth and cuts off his retort mid-sentence.
Jonny glowers up at Tim as he fastens the straps snugly behind his head. The rubber of the gag is familiar in a way that makes his head go slightly fuzzy, if it wasnt already getting there from the searing burn of the chillies. He automatically presses his tongue against it, laving over the smooth surface and swallowing down the immediate rush of saliva in his mouth before he can begin to drool.
Looking satisfied, Tim returns to touching him. His capsascin-soaked hand strokes down his cock to his- fuck, to his balls, massaging the burning pain into them and making him pant around the gag. He moans, the sound hitching into a grunt of pain as Tim squeezes them in his hand just a bit beyond the point of comfort.
The heat ramps up slowly. At first it's bearable, a startling but almost ticklish warmth prickling his skin to awareness. Then the pain sets in, like tiny needles pricking just under the surface. Then stronger, hotter, settling into a searing ache that makes him groan uselessly and tug on his bindings. Tim makes sure to cover every part of his sex - slick fingers caressing the soft patch of skin above his balls, massaging the entire shaft, sliding back the foreskin almost lovingly in order to rub slices of chilli over the flushed head, softly, then harder, until he is arching and sobbing wordlessly into the gag. No part is left untouched. No vulnerability left untaken.
He can't say for how long he is toyed with like this, bound and burning, each touch driving the heat further into him. Eventually the gag is removed. Jonny splutters and gasps for renewed air, panting hard. His hair is stuck to his face and he has to blink a few times to focus and remember where he is, so lost has he become in moaning, throbbing pain.
Tim's too-gentle fingers stroke through his hair, brushing the spit-slick strands away from his mouth where they had tangled in the strap of the gag. "Anything you feel like saying?"
"Tim, please-" He's gasping with every breath, umable to think beyond the pain.
"No? Fuck, well we can change that, can't we."
He writhes as Tim reaches for the bowl of chilli seeds, sobbing and bucking up into the air in the hopes of finding some sort of relief.
Tim picks up a handful of seeds and lets them run through his fingers, letting Jonny see. "I think there's one part of you that hasn't felt these yet, don't you?"
Fear and adrenaline race down Jonny's spine in equal measure as the other man unwraps the cloth and reveals the thin metal rod beneath. He shakes his head frantically but Tim just reaches for the gag and stuffs it back between his teeth, tying the straps securely behind his head.
The sound itself isn't too bad. It's on the larger side of the ones he's taken before, but not the biggest, and the cool, ridged metal slowly opening him up could almost be a relief if it wasn't for the terror of what will come next. He squirms as Tim grips his cock harder to hold it steady, fire re-igniting wherever he touches.
"Bastard, stay still," Tim scolds. "If something rips it will only hurt more."
He struggles to obey. When the end of the sound is finally nudging against his bladder, Jonny's eyes are rolling back into his skull. He whimpers as Tim twists it slightly, first one way and then the other. Tears are forming in the corners of his eyes as he squeezes them shut, but as he breathes through his nose he thinks he's just about calmed down. That's until Tim’s hand connects with his balls in an open handed smack and he jerks violently, yelling into the gag as his cock slaps against his stomach and the sound shifts painfully inside it.
"Pay attention," Tim snaps at him. He's grinning. It's not a nice grin. "You're going to miss my favourite part." And fuck, oh fuck, he's holding the bowl of seeds. Jonny feels something contract in his stomach and he pulls against the bonds, trying in vain to pull away from the sight.
He begs into the gag as Tim takes hold of the end of the rod and slowly pulls it out, inch by inch. The feeling is just as intense as when it went in. He whimpers as it slips out. Through bleary eyes he can see the way his urethra gapes slightly, unused to being forced open.
He watches as Tim picks a single seed from the bowl and holds it up just long enough to make sure he has his attention. Then, holding his cock steady with his other hand, he presses the seed to his slit until it slips inside.
The pain is immediate. It burns with the fire of exploding stars, of superheated plasma, of fifty sptons of dynamite. A singular part of him not fully inoculated against pain at this point in his long, long life, and every nerve is lit up like someone handed Ashes gasoline. He barely even registers Tim lining the tip of the sound back up again until that point of fire starts moving downward, and Jonny realises what is happening. He's using the rod to push the seed right down the length of his cock, and fuck if he didn't hate Tim so much for doing this he could kiss him for being that brutally clever.
Tim slides the rod all the way in, until the seed is as far as it can go, then he pulls it back out. Jonny sobs as he feels him pressing another seed into his burning slit.
Time passes in excruciating agony like that for a while. Each time Tim slides the sounding rod all the way out, he pauses to slip two, three seeds into his gaping slit. Then back in with the rod, forcing the seeds down his urethra and listening to Jonny's muffled screams reach an even higher fever pitch. The rough edges of the seeds scrape at him, the constant friction of the sound irritating the walls even further.
Finally Tim hums in mixed disappointment and satisfaction. He's poking the very tip of the sound into his slit and eyeing up the shaft. The rod bumps against the seeds about a half inch or so inside, but as he leans in Jonny sees with a ragged whimper that the bowl is empty.
"Should have cut up more," Tim muses. "Didn't think you'd stay hard this long, but clearly you're even more fucked up than I thought. Look at you, Jonny."
And he does. His cock is a bright rash-pink, smeared with chilli juices and despite it all still standing thick and insistent between his spread legs. It throbs in time with the tick of his heart. His balls ache and his slit burns.
Tim wipes off his hands on a cloth, then reaches for the clasp of the gag. He extracts it from his mouth without gentleness.
"Anything you feel like saying, Jonny?"
"M'sorry." It comes out as a weak mumble.
"What was that?"
Fuck. Jonny takes a few gulping breaths and swallows his pride, squirming on the bed. "I'm… sorry," he grits out.
Tim's expression softens. He leans in and kisses him, and Jonny melts into it, relief almost strong enough to dull the agony throbbing through him with every breath.
"You will be," he hears Tim say. The gag is pressed back between his teeth. His eyes widen.
As Tim hefts the lash apparently hidden under the pillow, he moans into the gag louder than he has all night.
-
After, his head tucked against Tim’s neck and thighs spread wide to take the pressure off his aching body, Jonny mutters grudgingly,
"I'll get you a new guitar. And embroider the strap, same as the old one."
"Good." The smugness in Tim's voice is only softened by the way his fingertips stroke down his back.
"…On one condition."
Tim snorts quietly. "And what's that?"
"You find more of those damn chillies."