Note: This is a follow up to a Cowboy Bebop fanfic written by JoAnn. It is not necessary to have read that one first. I think.

courante for two voices

For the first little while, it had just been enough to crawl into Jet's bed and let friction do its work. It had been enough to just taste the metal on Jet's cheek, to feel the contrast of his two arms.

But.

Spike wanted more.

Although, apparently, Jet didn't, because the first time he'd reached down and tried to work a finger in, Jet had pushed him off the bed and frowned down at him. "My bunk, my ship," he'd growled, and Spike had let it rest. Because, really. He didn't need to fuck Jet, he didn't need to move beyond friction. He was happy with the contact he got.

Mostly.

Spike sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He sat, spread legged, on Jet's bunk and shook his head.

Yeah. Right.

There was...something missing.

He lit a cigarette and looked up at the ceiling, as if the shadows could tell him what was lacking. The door opened and closed and Spike looked over at Jet, watched him strip down. The bed dipped as Jet sat, creaked as Jet pulled his boots off. Spike took a drag on his cigarette. Decided that subtle wasn't the way to go here.

"Hey Jet," he said. "Let's fuck."

Jet paused, still bent mostly double. He rose, slowly, and looked at Spike.

"What?"

"Come on." Spike put the cigarette out. "This isn't enough." He reached out, reached down, stroked Jet's erection. "It's sukiyaki without the beef."

Jet's eyes closed, for a moment, and then opened, clouded over with lust. "Yeah."

"So?" Spike reached down, grabbed the small tube he'd picked up the last time they'd been on Ganymede. "Let's fuck."

"Only if you're on the bottom," Jet said, and he looked so determined, so strict, that Spike had to laugh. That? That had been the hang up? That was what had kept them rubbing against each other for so long, pulling out orgasms that never quite satisfied?

"Okay."

Jet's jaw dropped. He looked about as gobsmacked as he had that first night, when Spike had given in to his impulses and licked a trail from the edge of Jet's beard to the tip of his scar. "Sorry?"

"I said okay. I'll be the bottom." Spike tossed the lube over to Jet. "Come on."

Jet held the tube and just stared, unblinking. Spike sighed and leaned over. He pushed Jet's arm out of the way and put his mouth on Jet's erection, tasted the same smoky flavor that he'd tasted on the rest of Jet's skin. Tasted clean water and the traces of soap, and a slight bitterness. He wrapped his fingers around the base of Jet's cock, stroked in time with his mouth. He could feel Jet shuddering, and apparently this was just what he needed because Jet grabbed him, pulled him off, pushed him down into the bed. Spike laughed and wiped the excess spit off his lips with the back of his hand.

"You're sure?" Jet said.

"Yeah."

Jet closed his eyes again, then opened them. He used his left hand to squeeze the tube, to coat the fingers of his right hand. Spike flipped himself over, craned around to watch, and even though he expected it he shivered in pleasure at the cold touch of the metal arm on his ass.

Jet probed him slowly, slid one cold, slick digit in with the same care that he showed for training his bonsais. Spike closed his eyes and relaxed, let Jet stretch him with gentle care. The slide of Jet's tongue along his spine startled him and he moaned. Jet licked him again, and entered him at the same time, sliding in so smoothly that it felt as if the two sensations were one. Spike shivered. Jet's body pressed down on him like gravity.

"Okay?" The words rumbled between them, and Spike nodded. Jet slid his hands underneath Spike's body, lifted him a little. Spike moved up with him, moved with the same, flowing grace that he had when he fought. He got his knees underneath him, and Jet gripped his hips, and began to move.

It wasn't a fight. And it wasn't like the gentle rocking of the Bebop when it lay cradled by the warm seas of Ganymede. It was something more primal than both of those. Something harder than the pound of adrenaline, softer than the tides. And when Jet found the right rhythm, found the position that let him move in just the right way, send his cock pistoning into Spike at just the right angle, it was more wonderful -- more glorious -- than the sight of a gate forming.

Spike moaned, pushed back, and Jet leaned into him, reached down, grabbed Spike's cock with his warm, right hand. He squeezed and pulled and Spike yowled when he came, then collapsed, falling to the bed.

Jet thrust a couple more times before he, too, came, grunting and sweating. He fell onto Spike and Spike didn't mind the weight. The rasp of Jet's breath in his ear was comforting and Spike could feel himself starting to drift off, wrapped in the warmth of Jet against his back and the bed against his front, and Jet's hand still holding his cock.

"Ahh," Jet sighed, and he pulled out. Spike roused himself enough to roll onto his back. He stretched, wonderfully relaxed, and smiled lazily up at Jet as Jet wiped him off.

"Well. That was nice." He poked at the mess he made of Jet's sheets. "We should sleep in my bunk tonight."

Jet looked down and nodded, slowly. He had a slightly dazed look to his eyes, and that just made Spike smile more. "Yeah."

Spike pushed himself up, swung his legs off the bed. He licked the bit of metal on Jet's cheek again -- he could never get enough of that taste, that contrast between the tang of steel and the warmth of Jet. Jet grabbed his wrist, pulled him down onto his lap. He captured Spike's lips, licked away the sweat that dampened his skin. Spike could feel the stirring of Jet's erection. He smiled.

And made a note to buy a bigger tube.

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