With HORNET-01 under repairs from his last sortie, Fray has an entire week that he knows cannot be cut short by a distress signal. It’s nice, mostly. A nice break. Glint is always telling him he needs to be more purposeful about breaks. It’s been ages since he had one this long.
But, as it always does, the boredom sets in quickly. On the first day, even. Fray has to do something.
So: he makes a point of tracking down his favorite (and least favorite) mod rat, as soon as possible. “Yeah, I got the memo,” Tin says, brandishing a wrench at his support team when they get too close. (It’s always odd to Fray, being reminded of how unusual his close relationship with his support team is.) He grins a sly grin, leaning casually into Fray’s space. “A week of downtime, eh? What’s a guy like you going to do with himself?”
It’s been less than a year since Fray’s … relationship? Situation? Since his arrangement with Tin and Lorelei began. He’s far more at ease now than he was at the beginning, but it’s still easy to throw him, and he still hasn’t figured out the best way to talk about it. Talking is not his strength even at the best of times. The leer on Tin’s face suggests he knows exactly what is on Fray’s mind.
Fray does his best to ignore it. Just be confident, he tells himself, you know he likes to see you squirm.
The problem then becomes the fact that Fray kind of likes the squirming. An illicit thrill rolls down his spine at the thought of what’s surely going through Tin’s head. “Thought we could block off an afternoon or two,” he says.
“Or seven,” Tin says, all mockery. “I got an idea. You let me tie you to my bed and we can keep you good and stuffed all week long.”
It’s embarrassing to even begin to admit to how immediate and vivid the fantasies that follow this suggestion are, overlapping memories of his time under the couple’s, ah, tutelage. Fray does his damnedest to keep a straight face. “Sounds kind of boring.”
“Yeah right!” Tin crows—loud enough to get attention. This was the point. Absolute monster man. Fray’s going to kill him. “Don’t you worry, sweetcheeks, the only boring there’ll be is me boring that pussy open.”
That woman on Tin’s support team definitely heard the end of that sentence. And unfortunately, one cannot simply will their face not to turn red. Again; this was the point.
“Maybe I’ll just go find Proxy, then,” Fray says, and takes a stretch to cover him turning his back on the eavesdropper. “She doesn’t give me the run-around.”
“You’ll be back,” Tin calls after him.
Proxy’s busy.
Tin’s shot right past undressing Fray with his eyes and directly to trying to spread his legs through sheer psychic determination. It’s day two of seven and Fray is deeply annoyed with himself. Why Tin? Lorelei he can admit to, but the pink otter? The one that blows smoke down his throat and treats him like a cheap whore?
Well, but he knows why.
Still: it’s annoying that he has to watch Tin’s smug grin when Fray turns up at the lounge. “Look what the cat dragged in,” Tin says over the lip of his whiskey. “Come to beg me to take you back?”
“No.”
“Yeah right! I can smell it on you, kid, you need it. Bad.” Tin takes another drink and swirls the amber liquid in its glass while Fray tries to remember if he’d showered that morning. “Too bad for you, though. Ain’t interested in your busted ass right now.”
Fray’s glower does not move him. “What?” he demands. Tin’s never turned him down.
“Said what I said. I got other interests, hero boy. Your holes ain’t that good.”