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Shin’s impatiently requested transmat for the second time before he starts to give thought to what Drifter must be doing to not accept his requests. It never takes Drifter more than one request to at least acknowledge him. He’s gotta be up there though, ‘cause Shin’s already checked the alley. Shin’s in the alley, actually, looking over it while he waits for Drifter to fucking see the third request he’s sent.
The Man with the Golden Gun knows the Drifter a little better than he would prefer to know him, and he thinks it’s unlike the guy to leave his shit out all over the place while he’s gone, especially holed up in a dark corner of the Tower like he is; unzipped duffle bags full of gun parts and Hive chitin populate the dim alley. There’s also a bowl of half-eaten ramen noodles left out on Drifter’s table, and Shin knows for a fact that Drifter wouldn’t leave that laying around. Clearly something’s off, but Shin’s not exactly sure what it could be.
It’s the fourth transmat request Shin sends that finally gets approved, but he hesitates before going up. His gut’s telling him something’s wrong, but his paranoia’s telling him about all the possible worst-case scenarios, like maybe the Drifter’s setting up some sorta ambush. As a precaution, he’s got his cannon at the ready and the Sun in reach in case Drifter wants a gunfight.
Shin’s met on the Derelict with… nothing. No gun in his face like he was expecting, no Drifter purring through comms. In fact, Drifter’s nowhere to be found. Shin finds himself going toward the Drifter’s dingy back room—because there would be the natural place to check for him—and not because he wants something in particular from him.
He gets near the room and hears the Drifter’s voice, low, raspy, and muffled by the door. Shin definitely ignores how his body heats up at the sound of it and goes in. He’s not sure he’s seen somethin’ quite as unexpected as what he sees in here, and Shin’s seen a lot in his day. But, he supposes bitterly, he can check this off his list of things he'll see before he dies his last death.
Drifter’s on his back, completely bare, with a leg propped up, two fingers knuckle-deep in his ass, and his other hand twisting around the base of his cock. He’s arching up; Shin can’t tell whether it’s into his hand or onto his fingers. He’s flushed red, and sweating, and moaning—damn, he’s got quite the voice—and of course Malphur’s already equally interested—and confused.
Before Shin can get a question off his lips, Drifter rasps, “Fuckin’—mmh—Royal Pollen. Could really use a hand, if you’re so inclined.” He doesn’t stop at all, doesn’t even falter for a second while addressing him. Shin doesn’t let himself think about how hot that is, no, not at all, and instead tries to make sense of the words coming outta Drifter’s mouth.
Of course, Drifter doesn’t do too much to clarify why he’s like this… but if a fuck is what Drifter wants, who’s Shin to turn down such a tempting offer? He could, he should, but the way Drifter’s whole body shudders when he crooks his fingers has got his mouth real dry. He pushes away concerning thoughts about his willpower as he strips down, helmet included, and climbs into bed between Drifter’s legs—and Drifter drags him down and kisses him, hard and needy, stealing all the air from his lungs.
Shin has to fight to break the kiss. When he does, he asks, “You sure?” And it seems to piss Drifter off; the reaction he gets is a painfully exasperated sigh.
Drifter looks at him, pupils blown, almost trembling with need, and manages to say, “You ain’t ever asked me if I was sure any time we bumped uglies—” before he’s got his oil-slick hand around Shin’s cock, getting him interested. “Yes, I’m fuckin’ sure,” he reassures him, still sounding incredibly irritated. Shin doesn’t need to be told again.
Unfortunately, he meets Drifter’s gaze again before he lines up and pushes in, and Drifter takes it as an invitation to continue running his mouth (as if he needs one). “Don’t hold back either, y’hear?”
Oh, Shin hears. But he’s not letting Drifter off easy, despite whatever’s got him aching for it this time. He still hasn’t forgotten about their last encounter, when Drifter fingered him so expertly Shin doesn’t know how many damn times he—
Anyway, Shin’s still cross about that, and that spiteful part of him wants payback before he can even think about doing anything to relieve that burning need in Drifter.
Shin’s quiet as he bottoms out, just exhales hard through his nose and bites his tongue to keep from groaning. Drifter, on the other hand, seems like he can’t shut his mouth; his groans are all Shin can hear. When Shin starts moving and Drifter’s hand slides back down to fist his cock, Shin grabs both his wrists and pins them down on the bed. ‘Course, that gets a loud, unhappy sound from Drifter, who bucks against him to no avail, and isn’t that a nice feeling? It’s even better when Drifter whines Malphur, you son of a bitch, fuck me, and struggles some more. He can feel his frustration, and it’s got to say something about Shin that it’s doing something for him.
Shin readjusts his grip on Drifter’s wrists, leans over him, and starts rolling his hips into him nice and slow, building heat low in his stomach. It feels great like this, if only because he can piss Drifter off. He doesn’t think he’ll ever let him live down the embarrassingly desperate noises he makes as he moves at that leisurely pace, waiting for Drifter to lose his mind.
He doesn’t have to wait very long. “C’mon, please,” Drifter begs, just shooting his mouth off at this point. Are his cheeks—is he embarrassed? “Need you to fuck me into this mattress real damn bad.”
“Why?” asks Shin, voice husky, looming over him. Sure, it’d be great to know why Drifter’s so easy for his cock (as if he ever isn’t), but as soon as the question’s outta his mouth, he regrets it, not looking forward to what Drifter could possibly say.
“Lemme come first,” Drifter bargains, and Shin can deal with that response. He lets his hips move harder and faster and he releases one of Drifter’s wrists; that hand shoots right down to pump his cock in a tight grip. Shin can feel how strung-up Drifter’s body is, can see it in his expression when Drifter gives in to the heat. He wraps an arm around Shin, hanging onto him while he’s thoroughly fucked, never stopping his litany of praise, quiet encouragements of fuck yes, that’s it, keep goin’, so fuckin’ close.
Drifter doesn’t stop running his mouth even as he comes hard over his fist, so Shin kisses him to shut him up. Even that only works to an extent, because Drifter’s groans are only slightly muffled by their sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. When he’s done, he flops back on the mattress and catches his breath while Shin continues. Drifter’s uncharacteristically quiet for having just finished, and Shin closes his eyes to both shut out the blissed-out look on Drifter’s face and to help not to think about what that might mean as he keeps moving his hips in an increasingly erratic rhythm.
Shin’s groaning through his release by time Drifter’s come back to himself, and Drifter just breathes out heavy. Shin’s a little unnerved at the whole thing, feeling like he’s only poked a deep-seated, hungering beast of a libido. He pulls out with a sigh anyway and stays sitting up beside him.
“Well?” Shin prompts impatiently, still breathing a little heavy, after Drifter doesn’t provide immediate explanation.
“Well what?” drawls Drifter, lazily rolling his head over to look at Shin. He props himself up on his elbows. “That’s the third time I’ve come, and the first one that’s given me some fuckin’ relief. You want me to say thanks or somethin’?”
Shin stares at Drifter, brow furrowed. He hates that his gaze travels down Drifter’s body to verify if he looks like he’s come that many times. Maybe he doesn’t look like it, but the oil that Shin’s just noticing is staining the sheets and spilling onto the ground plus the rag on the edge of the bed both tell a different story. Fuckin’ gross. “No, dammit. The hell happened to you?” he finally manages to ask through gritted teeth.
“Oh, I ate some Royal Pollen. Y’know, what the Cabal got up at the Leviathan? Didya know it’s an aphrodisiac? ‘Cuz I sure as hell didn’t. I’ve got no clue how long it lasts,” says Drifter, just sounding normal, if a little out of breath, not like he just allegedly came three times in a short period of time.
Shin finds himself about to ask why Drifter wanted Royal Pollen in the first place—and why he ate it, but then remembers the half-eaten noodles in the alley and remembers he’s talking to the Drifter, space food connoisseur, and figures that’s enough of an answer for him.
Silence falls between the two of them for a couple minutes, and if Shin didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Drifter had fallen asleep. But he knows how Drifter feels about having the Man with the Golden Gun in his space, and he also knows that even without the pollen, Drifter might be angling for more.
And for now, Shin’s willing to indulge—as long as he’s able to scratch his own itch.
“You stayin’?” asks Drifter, with an odd edge to his voice. He’s still naked, having made no move to cover himself after they finished, just lounging on his bed. The man’s got no shame, no atom of modesty in him. For some reason—and Shin hates it so, so much—he likes that about him.
“You need me to stay?” Shin shoots right back, wary, watching him carefully.
Drifter’s lookin’ at him weird. His voice is rough and his eyes are lecherous when he says, “Might. Feelin’ like this is gonna be a while.”
Shin’s not sure what’s gotten into him when he fits himself between Drifter’s legs and shifts down so his face is right in front of Drifter’s hardening cock. He tells himself it’s all in the name of payback, ‘cause he wants Drifter shaking beneath him, begging for it, especially when he wants it this bad, but as he fits his hand around his length and gets his lips on the base, Shin knows that it’s not just petty vengeance. It’s control, it’s power—but it’s a little fun, too, in a very specific way.
“Fuck. You know just how t’get me goin’, huh?” Drifter murmurs as he runs a hand through Shin’s hair, getting a nice, firm grip, tugging lightly. And as much as Shin might enjoy it, that just won’t do this time. If Drifter’s gonna be like this for an extended period of time, Shin wants to have as much control as he can. Might even be interesting to see how much control he can wrest from him.
Shin pulls away with a scowl, looking up at Drifter from between his legs. Drifter gets to slinging a leg over Shin’s shoulder and tries to tug him a little closer to where they both want him to be. Drifter starts to say something—you plannin’ to blow me?— before Shin interrupts him with a sharp, “Be good, Drifter,” and his voice carries all sorts of delightful and dangerous promises that really get Drifter sitting up a little straighter.
Satisfied heat stirs in Shin’s belly at the sight of Drifter, silent, still, achingly hard, but obedient. Maybe he should get into that pollen more often when Shin comes by. “Hands off. And don’t move. If you’re good, I’ll let you come,” Shin says, voice low, warm breath washing over Drifter’s dick.
“And if I don’t?” Drifter asks quietly, already moving his hand from Shin’s hair and tangling it in the sheets instead. It’s not too often they play this game, but Shin’s satisfied to see that Drifter’s caught on quick, much quicker than usual, despite being in his current state. “If I’m not good enough for ya?”
Shin huffs some mocking, half-hearted attempt at laughter and doesn’t respond. Instead, he licks a broad stripe up Drifter’s cock, tongue flicking lazily at the slit, and Drifter seems to love that, ‘cause Shin hears a breathy groan above him and feels his hands curl tight in the sheets.
Wanting to hear more, Shin takes Drifter’s cock in his mouth and dips down, his hand twisting around what he can’t fit in his mouth. And yeah, the way his mouth stretches around his cock is nice, but it’s also great to feel Drifter tryin’ to keep still and hear him moan like a cat in heat.
Shin’s a little surprised at how obedient Drifter’s staying. His hips and hands are twitchy but remain on the bed. To reward his good behavior, Shin bobs his head up and down and sucks, groaning around his mouthful and shit, that’s good, it’s really doin’ somethin’ for him to hear Drifter’s trembling voice as he moans fu-uck Shin, you’re killin’ me.
Be good, Shin wants to warn him, but instead he keeps his mouth and hand doing wonders for Drifter. He draws it out, keeping Drifter near the edge but not close enough. Through it all, Drifter’s so good for him, keeps his hands to himself, just keeps askin’ to come so fuckin’ nicely, all please, Shin, and lemme come, and Shin doesn’t think Drifter’s ever been this polite when they’ve fucked.
Shin gets a hand underneath himself to palm his cock, pants already undone, getting closer and closer with every little sound that slips past Drifter’s lips. In the end, Drifter comes with a trembling oh, fuck and a full body shudder, his head falling back onto his flimsy pillow. Shin doesn’t follow too far behind, making a mess of Drifter’s sheets and his hand while he tries his best to swallow.
“Woo,” sighs Drifter, going boneless against the bed. Once Shin pulls off and sits up, Drifter props himself up again and with alarming awareness so soon after finishing, asks, “Hey, did you come in your pants?”
“No, I didn’t,” Shin snaps, a little too quick and angry for his liking. It’s the truth—mostly. Of course Drifter’s there enough to notice that Shin finished without his help. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but Drifter seems to notice every time, like he’s got an extra sense for it.
“Suuure,” Drifter drawls, smug.
Feeling vulnerable, Shin automatically lashes back at him. “Least I’m not the one beggin’ for it.”
There’s a long pause while Drifter looks over at him with the most inscrutable expression; maybe something between amusement and frustration. “I can remember plenty’a times you couldn’t shut up. Last time you were here—”
“I wouldn’t finish that thought,” Shin interrupts, tone dangerous.
“S’long as you know what I’m talkin’ about,” he says, shrugging, transmatting a bottle of water into his hand. Drifter throws Shin for a loop when he offers the bottle to him after drinking half of it.
When Shin just stares at it, at a loss for words, Drifter recaps it and tosses it in Shin’s lap. No way in hell he’s drinking that. There’s probably some of that fucking pollen in there, and judging by the way Drifter’s handling the aphrodisiac in his system, Shin’ll probably get just as needy as he is. Not happening.
“You’re probably gonna need that,” Drifter says when Shin gingerly sets the bottle aside.
“Since when did you start caring about me drinkin’ water?”
“Just get some damn water, Malphur,” Drifter says sharply, speaking like he ain’t got the time to be talkin’ about this with him. Shin gets his own water bottle via transmat; as he’s drinking, distantly hoping to wash the taste of Drifter outta his mouth, Shin can tell how antsy Drifter’s getting for another round.
As soon as Shin sets aside his water, Drifter’s pulling him in close, almost as impatient and needy as he was when Shin first got here. Soon, Shin’s just thinking about all the sounds he can get outta Drifter before this is over as they start rolling around in bed again and continue for the rest of the night.
Shin really doesn’t want to know how long they’ve been going… but it sure feels like they’ve been at it for too damn long; Drifter’s ship is so poorly lighted that it always seems like it’s the same time of night when he’s on it. Sure, the breaks between each round got longer—but not by much. His muscles ache, he’s tired, and he feels filthy. Even if Drifter wanted to go another round, Shin doesn’t think he could. Despite all that, as Shin starts picking his shit up off the floor, he’s pretty satisfied. He’ll probably sleep real easy tonight thanks to Drifter’s pollen fiasco, but he’s not about to tell him that.
“Drifter,” says Shin suddenly when something occurs to him as he buckles up his pants, “I sent the transmat request. You didn’t want me up here or somethin’?”
He was picking up his cloak off the floor, but when he looks back at Drifter, the man seems to bristle. He freezes, lookin’ like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “Was too damn horny to think about anything else.”
Shin manages to keep a straight face and hums his acknowledgement, only to scowl when Drifter says, “Might get you to try some’a it. Makes ya sensitive as hell—I think you’d like it.”
“‘M fine,” Shin says, shutting that down quick. He’d really prefer not to have another bout of hours and hours of fucking. Besides, it may not be real smart to loosen up like that in front of Drifter. “Got stuff to do.”
“You sure? You spent the whole night fuckin’ me. Seems like you ain’t got anything better to do,” Drifter points out, and Shin would wanna wipe that smug look off his face if he had the energy to.
In the end, Shin does stay just a little longer—catching a nap on Drifter’s desk chair under the guise of helping him get the back room looking a little less like a sex tornado hit it. Drifter had to know that Shin wasn’t really going to help him gather his come-stained sheets, so he doesn’t feel bad for lying.
It's probably karma that his quick nap turned into him waking up abruptly and blearily on the desk an indeterminate number of hours later, sore as all hell, a pool of drool by his cheek and… a bowl of ramen in front of him, probably instant judging by the seasoning packets there too. Upon closer inspection, though, those packets have the same symbol as those tokens Guardians give to that fucked-up frame in the Tower. To top it all off, Drifter even left him a cheeky note that just reads: “Give it a shot ;).”
Drifter’s probably officiating Gambit matches. Ghost lets him know they’re over Kell’s Grave. Even if the ramen wasn’t cold as shit, Shin still wouldn’t have given throwing it away a second thought.
But just as he’s about to toss the seasoning—pollen?—packets away, he changes his mind and slides a couple in his pocket. Never know when that could come in handy.