Title: Pillow Talk, or Silly Arguments Ky Never Thought He Would Have about Sex
Fandom: Guilty Gear
Contains:pretty much just what the title says
or Silly Arguments Ky Never Thought He Would Have about Sex
In his second year of training, Commander Undersn had transferred him to headquarters' own communication center. Ky didn't understand why at first, one of the only times the Commander had prepared a lesson without first detailing its purpose, couldn't even have said whether the arrangement was a temporary one when he stepped over the threshold, and into a world of silent efficiency.
The center was under the command of a steel-gray lieutenant who directed the radio officers like a general would his troops out in the field. The only noise to be heard was the scratching of pens on paper, even the footsteps swallowed up by the need for silence, the iron-clad rule that nothing was allowed to disrupt the hundred faint, tenuous connections across the ether. No one spoke unless the radio required them to respond, each operator absorbed in the world inside their headphones.
His stay lasted four weeks. Four weeks in which the lieutenant had him doing transcriptions while listening on the close-range radio, and updating maps with his other hand. Four weeks in which she would descend on him without warning, order him to recite a list of coordinates or triangulate a point of reference in his head, without ever ceasing in his transcriptions.
It was there that he learned, with his mind filled to the brim with information, what would be expected of him as a future Candidate, every day and every hour of the day, for as long as there was breath in him to do his duty. When he told that to the lieutenant, she wrote up a note shuffling him back into the Commander's care, and handed it to him with her first and only smile.
In a way, this was a situation exactly like any other for which his training had prepared him, and yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that the lieutenant hadn't been thinking of this when she'd taught him the value of multitasking.
"You're in the way."
The herculean task currently enamored with his jawline made a noncommittal noise, and decided that the side of his throat really wasn't that bad of a compromise. Taking a moment to adjust to the faint tickle of lips feeling around for his pulse point, Ky reached up to card a hand through Sol's hair, as much to return the gesture as to brush the unruly mop out of his line of vision. All of this really would have been easier if Sol hadn't decided on a frontal assault.
"Try not to leave anything too obvious. There are only so many times I can cite a Gear attack as an excuse."
A snort, followed by teeth skimming along the tendons in his neck in silent provocation.
"I can still shock you in the mouth," Ky said idly, shifting towards the edge of his seat to find an angle that wouldn't end with the weapons requisition list slanting diagonally across the page.
"Mhmm," came the reply from somewhere close to his clavicle, Sol either entirely too pleased or entirely unconcerned with the threat. Possibly both.
Deciding to let it slide, Ky returned his attention to the form. He couldn't expect Sol to stay in non-critical territory for very long, concerned as he was with getting in the maximum amount of groping in the minimum amount of time, but he could at least try to advance to the grenade shipments in the five minutes it took for Sol to start getting bored with teasing out a bruise in a semi-discreet location. Negotiable damage in exchange for unstained paperwork, and if he really hadn't been able to afford the distraction, he would have stopped the festivities before they even began.
Perhaps he ought to put his foot down more often on principle, Ky thought as he lifted the sheet to check the carbon, just to avoid being thought of as too compliant. This was Sol pushing the envelope, fully aware whenever Ky's "not now" carried a vibe of "convince me." At least the unstable nature of the folding desk had moved the semantic argument from what constituted "on the desk" to "involving the desk," Sol managing to wedge himself in the space between the edge of the top and Ky's chair, all the while feeling unduly smug about his feat.
Ky's pen found the signature line blind, completing the last flourish without the hint of a wobble despite the insistent tugging at his collar. The heavens only knew what possessed Sol to try and undo zippers with his mouth when he had a perfectly serviceable pair of hands. He'd had it explained to him, of course, alongside the mystery of why ruined uniforms were hot and why he should really keep his boots on when the rest of him was naked, but that didn't mean it made any more sense afterwards.
"For the sake of brevity, let's say I see how this is sexy but that I'd thank you to leave my shirt intact," Ky murmured, one hand reaching for the sealing wax while the other sought to nudge Sol away, only to find his fingers subject to some attention of their own. He couldn't quite help the hitch of breath, the rough swipe of tongue against his fingertips an unexpected move even if the message wasn't, and felt Sol grin against his knuckles.
"I still have to make a speech in this tomorrow."
The zipper became unstuck, and he left it to Sol to do what he would, instead dribbling a bit of the wax in a corner of the form and pressing his seal down.
"Don't need a shirt to make speeches," Sol said, the "don't need pants, either" portion getting lost when he chose to nip an outline around the crucifix resting in the center of Ky's chest.
"I'm sure the archbishop has a somewhat divergent view on the matter," Ky said, shifting a little to see how far he could reach without either toppling the precarious arrangement or accidentally kneeing Sol in the stomach. "Speaking of which, grab that stack over on the left for me. I still need to finish the laudation."
Sol's answering grumble told him exactly where in his esteemed opinion the laudation could go, but he eventually complied, the papers spilling across the surface in a less than graceful maneuver.
"Don't tip my ink well," Ky warned, setting about piecing the speech back together. "And no grinding, please, you're jostling the desk."
"Why is this so hot?"
"You're asking me." Ky dipped his pen again, sliding one leg over Sol's shoulder to accommodate his steady downward path and still keep the writing legible. "I can't balance like that. Put your hand on my waist. Lower."
Blinking, Ky risked a glance to where Sol was currently enamored with the pale curve of the scar above his hip, just to make sure he'd heard right, the tone entirely devoid of sarcasm. He could count the amount of times Sol had acknowledged his rank on the fingers of one hand, never without irony and never like this.
"For the record, that's pretty disturbing."
A warm puff of breath as Sol huffed out a laugh. "It's pretty sexy, finally getting bossed around by you in bed."
"We're not even in bed," Ky pointed out, sure he would have felt more concerned about being rude if he weren't currently in the process of formulating an address to a hundred high-ranking officials. "And it's weird to get respect from you when I'm ignoring you."
"That's what makes it hot," Sol said as if it were all self-evident, preoccupied with opening the latches on his belt.
"You think it's hot when I treat you like an object," Ky said flatly. "And focus entirely on myself. Unlike, say, everyone else on Earth."
"Are you being judgmental?"
Out of options for a dignified reply, Ky settled for glaring at the top of Sol's head, in the vain hope of osmosing his annoyance straight into his skull. One of the things that made Sol's points so obnoxious was that it was impossible to tell when he was serious and when he was just yanking his chain, sharing the most nonsensical thing he could think of solely to throw him off his game. It would be better, he supposed, if he could at least detect the logic in Sol's less outlandish kinks, the kinds he seemed to share with most of the rest of camp. He hated feeling like there was something wrong with him.
The desk rattled, Sol sliding up in the space between to watch him with a contemplative expression on his face.
Ky sighed. "What is it now."
A grin. "Nothing. Just making a deposit in the spank bank."
The words were out before he could hold them back, his own curiosity over the nonsense words peppering Sol's speech overriding the realization that he'd just asked for the definition to something undoubtedly perverted.
"You're busy, you're demanding, you're annoyed. It's like Fort Knox."
Ky stared, exasperation warring with confusion at the joke that was obviously at his expense, though he'd be damned if he knew what kind of fort Sol was talking about.
"I can't talk with your tongue in my mouth." Sol's eyes were gleaming with a positively wolfish light. "Just a suggestion."
"Je connais pas plus casse-pieds que toi," Ky sighed, and bent down to stifle the inevitable, insufferable, "..hot."
- TBC -
A/N: And thus Sol's kink for French dirty talk is born! XD Ky's last line basically reads, "You're the most annoying person I know." Thanks go to Twig, who knows why.