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one
The first time is before breakfast. Sidney doesn’t have to sleep, after all, so she can slip into his quarters and into his bed, pressing against his side. She can wake him up with one Handy Annie slipping inside of the waistband of his sweats and her lips against his jaw, trailing under his ear until his chest hitches in that way that gives away that he’s awake.
And if he tries to hide it and lean into how good her fingers feel coaxing his dick to fully-hard, well, he doesn’t think he can be blamed.
“I can tell when you’re awake,” she giggles as Handy Annie scratches her nails down his chest. “You can’t hide from me, Barry Nyne.”
He rolls towards her, shifting onto his left side and kisses her, easy and languid. He’s not lying, not with the way that his eyelids still feel heavy and his body is calling for him to let them close again. A larger part of him wouldn't prefer to go back to sleep, but he can't deny the way that she's having to coax him awake.
“'M not hiding from you,” he rumbles, sleep still thick on his tongue. “Just taking a while to get going.”
She looks down, meaningfully.
“Guess I'm just redirecting the blood away from your brain,” she teases, but she definitely doesn't stop her fingers stroking over his sensitive flesh. She drags her thumb over the head, pressing down into the slit where fluid is collecting, and lifts it to her mouth. Her tongue flicks out, licking over the pad of her thumb, and he groans, letting his head fall back onto the bed.
“Sid,” he whines, and she takes pity on him.
A selfless act, truly.
Within moments, Barry Nyne is on his back, and his sweats pushed down enough for her to be able to slide him inside of her with a contented sigh. Her arm cannon steadies her, dug into the pillow beside his head, and he turns to kiss it, his chapped lips dragging over the cool metal in a way that sent a jolt of electricity through her mainframe.
Junkmother, but he didn't even think about it. Didn't shy away at all.
So she rolls her hips in those easy movements that are so well-practiced between them by now; the ones that have the head of his dick dragging over the pleasure sensor deep inside of her, so when she cries out his name in the early stillness, she feels him coat the insides of her.
It's that extra layer that it still feels like a secret; ducking into his quarters to sneak a quickie before anyone else wakes up, and knowing that she's the first thing he thinks about in the unit.
two
He grabs her as she's skating past his gunner pod, his broad hand snaking out to take her by the hip and pull her inside. Operating on pure protocols, her gun arm is up under his chin before she can process Barry Nyne, safe.
That just makes him grin even wider, the look on his face telling her this is exactly where he wants to be.
“What are you gonna do to me, Sid?” he teases. “Shoot me when you're still wet from waking me up to fuck me?”
He proves his words right by sliding two fingers under the crotch of her underwear, rubbing broad strokes of his calloused fingertips over her damp lips.
She shudders, and reaches back for a solid surface as her legs fall open instinctively. “You'd like it,” she points out, voice pitched up in response to her metaphorical buttons being hit.
“So would you,” he breathes into her ear, tilting his head down to press his chin into the cold metal. He slides his fingers either side of the concentration of sensors, pressing squeezing as her head drops back and she shoves the barrel against his Adam’s apple.
“Yep,” she gasps out, but she’s got a edge of steel in her voice. She can always modulate her vocals to be exactly what she wants them to be, and they both like it when she’s a bit dangerous about it all. “If you don’t get me off in the next two martrons, I’ll shoot you where you stand, Barry Nyne.”
It makes his eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t actually up the intensity immediately. He keeps up the pressure, massaging, circling and, sure, she’s enjoying herself, but —
“Aw, do you promise?” he asks, half mocking in his tone.
Deep within the assault cannon, something whirs and clicks, and his eyes go unfocused. She projects a set of numbers onto his shirt from her cybernetic eye, which start counting down — 99. 98. 97.
“Yeah,” she hisses out, her fingers pistoning against the control panel’s smooth metal, her nails catching on a groove. “If you’re gonna pull me in here, you fuck me quick before anyone notices that I’m gone.”
He shudders himself, at that, clearly lost in the moment, before he focuses back and easily works her back open with those two fingers. In and out, curled and pushing the last of his cum deeper inside of her, and the heel of his hand working against her external pleasure sensor.
“Yeah?” he rasps a little, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip slower than necessary. “Worried you’re going to skate out of here and Barry’s gonna know exactly what his brother just did to you?”
69… 68... 67.
“Fuck,” she swears, and her gun perceptibly heats up. “Everyone knows what you’re doin’ to me.”
Her hips buck towards the contact, and she clenches down around him, forcing herself forward to look him in the eye. The countdown reaches the fifties as she’s riding his fingers, barrel of the gun scraping over his skin in rhythm with both of them.
“Didn’t say anything about everyone. I said about Barry.”
Her nails scratch into the metal hard enough to gouge little slivers under her nails as she comes, crying out his name. The numbers flicker out of existence in the mid-thirties, and on instinct — or well designed responses — she sends out a pulse of heat from her assault cannon that makes Barry Nyne groan, and kiss her until she comes back to herself enough to leave him with his thoughts.
She pretends not to notice the way Barry Syx’s eyes bore into her when she’s talking to Gunnie in the hallway.
She pretends not to like it.
three
When you learn to turn those people pleasing protocols inwards, it's a rush you want to keep on chasing.
Sure, ice cream was good. Grenades were fucking fantastic. But there was something that was special about the way that this pleasure spikes hit her processors and left her close to reset each and every time. She wants to keep hitting that high, again and again and again.
And the fact that he keeps on helping her there — well, she thinks he deserves thanking for that.
(Especially when it's not exactly selfish. She hasn't found a way that he can come that doesn't make her come too.)
So when his shift in the pod finishes, and Barry Syx is keeping an eye on their six — well, she grabs him by the shirt front and drags him into that closet that holds half of the stores of pleasure putty that Riva left when they headed off-ship. A dangerous proposition, maybe, but hey. They’ve reaped the benefits of it often enough by choice, and if it exploded all over them, Sidney was pretty certain they'd only have fun getting through that.
But that isn't the current concern. The concern is whether his cock in her mouth was going to silence her enough for the closet to count as a private area for the purposes of Margaret's rules, when there was a cluster of pleasure sensors in the back of her throat that he seemed to be aiming for.
(Well, he's not selfish either. He wanted to test out the ways that he could hit her pleasure protocols in different ways, to see just how many ways she was capable of coming for him.)
He has his hand twisted through her ponytail, keeping her in place as he jerkily shoves his dick deeper and deeper into her throat. She moaned around him, the tones warbling as the sound waves bend around the cock inside of her.
“Holy fuck. Sid,” he gasps out, holding her in place as she takes him down to the base. Her hand grips at his ass, keeping him there as much as he is keeping her in place. She doesn't need to breathe, so she just looks up at him, squirming in place as she rubs her thighs together, seeking pleasure from multiple places.
His eyes widen, looking down at her. “Fuck, are you gonna come like this?” he grunts, pulling her back off of his dick. She lets him, opening her mouth wider as he pulls her free, a line of artificial saliva linking the tip of his leaking dick to her swollen bottom lip.
“If you give it to me properly,” she promises, eye wide and vocals crackling a little from the effort. She loves giving him that push.
He swears, and starts to jackhammer desperately down her throat. It sends her to her orgasm within three deep thrusts, and she turns on the vibrations instinctively as she shudders and moans around him.
There’s no coming back from that; he covers her lips in his cum with a couple more jerks into her. She drags her tongue over her lips, then over the slit of his cock, incredibly self-satisfied once more.
Her work is done. For now.
There are definitely a few more on the menu to-unit.
four
Sure, there was probably some criticism to be levelled at them for their ability to stay on task during their shifts. In their defence, they were a droid who absolutely could switch between modes at a spandec’s notice, and a clone who had been created for the purpose of being good in combat. If there were two people who could get away with fucking on the job without risking their safety, it was probably them.
(There was probably a third on the ship, but they weren’t thinking about it. Not really. Not as much as they could have been thinking about it, anyway.)
And in another, lesser defence, she did still have her eyes on the emptiness of space behind them. She definitely wasn’t as focused on assessing incoming defensive threats as she was on the way that she was bent in half over the controls being speared open by Barry Nyne for — well, she could check her records later, because she was not currently in the position to retrieve exactly how many times he’d already been inside her to-unit.
He grabs her thigh, hiking it up to rest against the control panel and opening her legs wider, giving him a better angle to drive inside of her. She tosses her head back to look over her shoulder, meeting his gaze with her humanoid eye.
“Void, Barry,” she gasps out, and as if on cue, one of the comms channels lights up.
Barry Nyne’s eyes flick to it, and after one more smack of their thighs together, he stills, pulling her torso up vertical with him.
“Go on,” he says, as if his voice isn’t as fucked out as the rest of the sounds that have been filling the gunner pod for the last half of a marbec. “You should get that.”
She tries her best to glare at him, but its a tough angle, now, and she does like being pressed up against his chest like this and feeling filled to the brim.
“Barry…”
“You don’t have to, but I’m walking out if you don’t,” he says, still all gravelly as he scrapes his teeth down her neck.
She swears loudly, and directs Handy Annie to flick the control.
“Sorry, could you repeat that? I’d accidentally muted the channel, so sorry!”
“Oh, hey Sid. Yeah, I was just looking for Barry. Have you seen him?”
Barry Syx’s voice fills her audio sensors as Barry Nyne starts up the tiny movements again, grinding up into her and pulling her back in slow, easy rolls. She reaches back to tug at his hair, trying to stop him, but that just encourages him, huffing a laugh into her shoulder.
“I’ll keep an eye out, Bar —” she shudders and cuts the audio for a spandec, her fingers digging in hard against his scalp as he finds the angle to make her shake with need. “Oh, um, where can I send him — I find him — when he’s done?”
It makes no sense, and both of them know it. She just doesn’t know if he notices. He doesn’t seem too bothered. “Right on. I’ll be in the gym, send him my way if you do.”
“Thanks, Sid,” he says, and she silences her audio output; Barry Syx’s voice still echoing through her processors as Barry Nyne’s dick insistently presses inside of her in the irresistible way that pulls her into the orgasm she’s been silently begging for since he first walked in here.
She pretends they’re unrelated facts.
five
“You’re in a fucking mood to-unit,” she pushes him back into his quarters, locking the door behind them in one easy movement. He just grins back at her, taking it with barely disguised glee as she shoves him in against the bunk.
“And you haven’t complained about it,” he points out, his shoulders colliding with the cold metal with more force than looks like it could be comfortable from the outside.
She swears lowly, grabbing the back of his neck to kiss him, none of the care and precision that might have come before. He pulls her in close, hiking her skirt up and spreading a hand wide across her ass.
Humming through the kiss, she pushes him down onto his back, limbs all akimbo in the cramped space that is is bunk space aboard the Wurst. She shoves her gun arm into his chest, the heat warming against his pectoral. Warning. Encouragement. Hard to tell the different, sometimes.
He looks up at her through what Sidney can only assume are genetically enhanced eyelashes as she throws her leg over, sitting astride is stomach. His hands immediately come to her knees, rubbing his thumbs up the inside of her thighs, disappearing under her short skirt.
“You need something, sweetheart?” Barry Nyne asks, like he isn’t starting to strain against his pants. She huffs, and comes up onto her knees.
“Should get myself off and just make you watch,” she slides one leg, then the other, out of her underwear, putting enough pressure to bruise through her assault cannon while she does. He slides his hands up the back of her thighs, tugging them further apart.
“You could,” he agrees. “But I think you like my mouth more than you like your own fingers.”
She hums, and entangles her fingers through his hair.
“Sure do,” she says, more cheerfully than she would have used before. She shuffles up his body to settle herself with her thighs either side of his face. “Better prove me right, Nyne.”
Well, he does like a challenge.
And it’s a challenge he takes on with a sort of enthusiasm that only a Barry can display. Even with her hand in his hair, he pushes himself to the angles that he wants, licking broad stripes all over her, greedily swallowing down the artificial but oh-so-perfect slick she produces. She lets out a frustrated sound and yanks, forcing his chin up to grind her clit against his tongue. He laughs, the sound vibrating through her, and just as frustrated, she tightens her grip around his head, pinning him in place.
“Junkmother, Barry, don’t you know how to behave?” she grumbles, tamping down her vocal responses to exactly how good his tongue feels.
“Mm-mm,” he rumbles against her, catching her clit between his lips and sucking at it. It’s enough to cause her to keen out loud, unable to keep those response depressed any further.
If his face was at all visible, it would have looked incredibly pleased with drawing that reaction from her. He keeps up the pressure, able to meet the pressure and the direction she moves him in with a focus that might have been genetically designed for him from the ground up, or might just be the fact that he wants to get her off as many times as possible because it’s fucking hot.
Whatever the reason, he manages to keep it up until she sags forward against the wall of the bunk, crying out his name as she comes.
six
He gives her only a couple of ribecs to recover, before her thighs’ grip on him slackens enough. As soon as he has the chance, he pulls her down the length of his body to rest on his stomach. Her shoulders are still shuddering as he keeps her steady, one-handed, and uses the other to pull his sweats and underwear down and off, kicking them into the abyss that is the end of his bunk.
“What was it you were complaining about? What a mood I was in?” he asks, low in his throat. She refocuses on him, eye whirring and trying to catch up with the backed-up inputs that always happen every time she comes; trying to get her hard drive back on the standard operating procedures.
“Was I complaining?” she mumbles, voice a little slurred. He just grins back, lifting her with a practised ease up and onto his cock. There’s so little resistance despite everything; she’s always able to mould to him, as much as is needed to make it good for him. She cries out in surprise, but it’s not displeased. Not by any means. When she settles fully into him, she drops her head forward, smiling just a little vacantly — still not recovered, properly, from the pleasure coursing through her from just the martron before.
There’s a skittering sound along the ground as she starts to squirm above him, the pressure from simply being full of him without movement starting to send little pulses of electricity through her. She doesn’t move though, still trying to clear herself out, but he leans down and grabs one of the Handy Annie droids from the floor.
“Where’s her sister?” he asks, depositing the tracker on her thigh. It zeroes in with the ease of a well-known process, sliding metallic fingers either side of her clit and starting with wide, slow circles as he starts to bounce her up and down on him, starting with shallow thrusts to punctuate each word.
“Uh,” she scrambles for the answer, digging her nails into his pectoral to steady herself. If he didn’t know better, he would have laid money on her breath hitching, so damn human in the face of all of the electronics whirring through her. Gnosis did a number on her, and he has no complaints about that.
“Sid,” he said, a hint of warning in his voice as he stills his movements once again and she scrambles to keep things going herself. He grips at her waist, stilling her, holding her in place in a mirror of the way she had locked him down with her thighs earlier. “Tell me. Just remember.”
She groans in frustration, fans audibly kicking up a notch. “I — uh — left her with Barry Syx.”
He quirks an eyebrow and reaches up for her ponytail, pulling her down to meet him in a harsh kiss as he starts to thrust up into her again. “My brother sure seems to be coming up a lot, now, doesn’t he?” he growls out, and the way that he angles up into he, her body shifting too, with Handy Annie working her over has her fall apart without preamble.
seven
Sundry Sidney looks a fucking gorgeous mess.
“You know he wants to fuck you, too?” Barry Nyne wraps his hands around her waist and drives up into her as deep as he can, but he has the distinct impression that its his words than cause the clench and the sob in response. She claws at his chest, trying to retain even a drop of control.
“You like that idea, sunshine? You want to get put in a Barry sandwich?”
He rarely taunts her like this, but with the way that she's responding, he might have to file it away for more frequent usage. They might beat that average seven times in one unit if he does. She nods, unable to form coherent words, her humanoid eye pulsing with every colour of the rainbow.
“But I thought he was like a brother to you?” he asks, and punctuates it with a particularly deep thrust. She looks at him, a little panicked, like she's done wrong and he's caught her out — until he grins, feral, up at her. “That's okay. I want to fuck my brother sometimes too.”
Sidney doesn't really scream during sex. She makes all sorts of other noises as she comes, but she doesn't normally scream. But this time she does, and the way that she pulses and clenches around him hard enough that he can't help but follow.
She pitches forward, into his chest, and he catches her easily — if a little sweat-slick — in the dying bursts of pleasure through his entire body. His shoulders heave with the effort of getting enough oxygen into his Barry-sized lungs, and she is a still, silent form in his arms. He leaves her for a martron to herself, before the concern seeps in and the need to check on her follows quickly behind.
He pushes her chin up to look at him, and her eye pulses white, blue, yellow briefly, before returning to the standard green as she looks at him.
“You can’t be going and resetting me like that,” she complains, without heat, given how close she is pressed into him when she whirs back to life, a comforting hum in the air.
“Damn,” he says regretfully. “And here was I thinking I wanted to make it a goal of it happening every time.”
She smacks him gently in the chest. He just laughs and pulls her closer, somehow bearing more of her weight across him.
“You are a menace, Barry Nyne,” she says, as fond as anything she’s ever said to him.
“And you don’t seem to be complaining,” he counters, then looks at her appraisingly.
“Nothing to complain about, in my books.” She lets her hand trace out meaningless patterns on his chest; for no purpose, other than to bring herself comfort — no top secret motives, or protocols being followed, pure Sid being Sid and seeking out the contact.
They don’t talk about it. Not really. Not yet.
Neither of them are ready to confront the Barry-sized elephant in the room.
Not when the good thing that they’ve got risks shattering with the slightest sideways glance. For now, it can just fuel the dirty talk.