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The apartment was quiet for once. No explosions, no training, no Phighting sirens in the distance. Just the low hum of Rocket’s charging station in the corner and the soft clack of Sword’s sword against the coffee table as he absent-mindedly spun it like a fidget toy.
They were both in full lazy mode.
Rocket was sprawled across the couch in nothing but an oversized red hoodie (one of Sword’s) and a pair of loose gray shorts that barely clung to his hips. His prosthetic arm was detached and plugged into the charger, leaving his right shoulder a smooth, crystalline port that glowed faintly blue. The left leg was still on, but powered down to idle so he could stretch out without the servos whining. His fluffy white hair was a mess, axolotl gills half-flared from the warmth of the room, tail lazily swishing off the edge of the couch.
Sword sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, helmet off, hoodie unzipped just enough to show the red tank underneath. His fluffy feathers were flopped over one eye, scar twitching every time he grinned, which was a lot, because he was in prime horny-dumbass mode tonight.
He poked the detached arm on the charger with the tip of his sword.
“Man, look at this thing just sitting here all hard and metallic. Kinda hot, not gonna lie. Bet if I rubbed it just right it’d—”
Rocket groaned, throwing an arm over his face. “Sword, I swear, if you make one more ‘sexy cyborg boyfriend’ joke—”
Sword’s grin went absolutely feral. “Too late. Already did. But seriously, babe, you ever think about how your arm’s basically a fancy sex toy? Like, five-fingered, detachable, rechargeable, vibrates when it’s low on battery…”
Rocket peeked out from under his arm, cheeks already going blue. “You’re the worst.”
Sword leaned forward, resting his chin on Rocket’s good knee, looking up with the most insufferably smug face imaginable. “Worst? Or best? Because I’m thinking, you’ve got one arm off, one leg half-asleep… you’re basically helpless right now. I could do whatever I wanted.”
He dragged one finger up the inside of Rocket’s thigh, slow and teasing, stopping just under the hem of those dangerously loose shorts.
“Could just… flip you over, pull these down, see if the rest of you still works when the limb-sync brain chip’s in low-power mode…”
Rocket’s breath hitched. His tail gave one sharp thump against the couch.
“Sword…”
Sword’s voice dropped an octave, playful but edged with heat. “What? I’m just saying. You’re already halfway undressed. And this leg,” he tapped the powered-down prosthetic, “isn’t gonna kick me away. Your good arm’s busy holding that pillow like it’s gonna save you. You’re trapped, Rocket. Completely at my mercy.”
He slid his hand higher, thumb brushing the soft skin just above the prosthetic port on Rocket’s hip.
“Bet if I keep talking like this, something else is gonna come out to play, huh?”
Rocket made a strangled noise, half-laugh, half-moan. His hips shifted involuntarily, and Sword’s eyes went wide with delight as the front of those gray shorts started to tent.
“Oh my Swords, look at that,” Sword whispered, reverent and ridiculous all at once. “It’s happening. It’s everting. Holy shit, babe, you’re so easy.”
The slit between Rocket’s legs parted with a slick sound, and his tentacle pushed out slow and eager, deep blue with faint glowing ridges, already curling toward Sword like it had a mind of its own. A bead of pre-cum already gathered at the tip.
Sword’s brain short-circuited for half a second, then rebooted straight into chaos.
“Holy fuck, it’s prettier every time. Look at it saying hi! Hi, buddy! Missed you!” He actually waved at it. “Swords above, Rocket, you’re literally dripping on my hoodie.”
Rocket was bright blue from gills to chest, trying to hide his face behind the pillow but failing because he couldn’t stop staring at Sword staring at him.
Sword leaned in until his breath ghosted over the sensitive underside of Rocket’s tentacle, making it twitch hard.
“So here’s the plan,” he murmured. “I’m gonna suck you off until you forget your own name, then I’m gonna ride you while your leg’s still offline so you can’t buck me off when you lose it. Sound good?”
Rocket’s answer was a desperate whine and his tentacle wrapping around Sword’s wrist like it was trying to drag him closer.
Sword grinned like he’d just won the entire Inpherno.
“Thought so.“
He dipped his head and took Rocket in one slow, deliberate slide, lips sealing around the thick base of the tentacle where it emerged from the slit. Rocket’s entire body jolted like he’d been electrocuted; the pillow fell off his face and hit the floor with a soft thump. A broken, high-pitched “f-ffuck—” tore out of him, gills flaring wide, tail thrashing hard enough to knock another pillow to the floor.
Sword hummed, pleased and filthy, letting the vibration roll through Rocket’s length. The tentacle pulsed against his tongue, ridges catching on the roof of his mouth, slick and warm and tasting faintly like the air after a storm. He pulled back just enough to swirl around the tip, then sank down again, deeper this time, cheeks hollowing.
Rocket’s remaining hand scrabbled for purchase, found Sword’s fluffy feathers, and gripped hard. “Sword—Sword, fuck, slow— I’m gonna—”
Sword popped off with an obscene wet sound, grinning up at him with spit-slick lips and feathers sticking out in every direction. “Nah. You’re gonna hold it. I’m nowhere near done tasting you.”
He wrapped one hand around the base (thumb pressing just under the knot to keep Rocket from tipping over too soon) and went back to work. Slow, luxurious licks along the underside, little flicks against the glowing ridges that made Rocket’s hips jerk helplessly. Every time Rocket got close, thighs trembling, tentacle trying to force deeper into Sword’s throat, Sword eased off and kissed the inside of his thigh instead, nipping the soft skin.
Rocket was a mess in under two minutes: whimpering, babbling nonsense, trying to rock up and getting literally nowhere because his left leg was dead weight and Sword had him pinned with a single hand on his hip.
“Please—please, Sword, c’mon, I need—”
Sword finally took mercy. He sucked hard, took Rocket all the way to the root, and swallowed around him. Rocket shouted something incoherent, back arching off the couch, tentacle flaring wide before it knotted fully and spilled in thick pulses down Sword’s throat. Sword drank him down greedily, humming the whole time like Rocket was the best thing he’d ever tasted (which, to be fair, he was).
When Rocket sagged, boneless and wheezing, Sword pulled off slowly, letting the spent tentacle slip free with a wet kiss to the tip. It curled lazily against Rocket’s stomach, still twitching with aftershocks, smearing shiny streaks across the red hoodie.
Sword licked his lips, crawled up the couch, and flopped half on top of him, smug as hell. “Hi.”
Rocket stared at the ceiling, chest heaving. “I hate you.”
“Love you too.” Sword nuzzled under his jaw, nibbling at the gills until Rocket squeaked. “But I’m not done. Told you I was gonna ride you, remember?”
Rocket made a weak, protesting noise that died the second Sword sat up and peeled off his own hoodie. The red tank underneath went next, then the pants and boxers in one impatient shove. Sword’s own tentacle was already out: crimson with white marbling, thicker than Rocket’s, knot already half-swollen, dripping against his thigh.
Rocket’s eyes tracked the movement like a starving man. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Only a little.” Sword grinned, straddling Rocket’s hips carefully (mindful of the powered-down leg). He reached back, guided Rocket’s still-half-hard tentacle to his own slit, and sank down in one smooth drop.
Both of them groaned, loud and wrecked.
Sword was hot inside, slick from his own arousal, walls fluttering greedily around Rocket’s length. The angle was perfect; Rocket’s tentacle curved upward naturally, ridges dragging against every sensitive spot Sword had. He braced his hands on Rocket’s chest, rolled his hips once, twice, then set a slow, grinding pace that had Rocket keening under him in seconds.
“Fuck—so good, fuck, you’re so good—” Rocket babbled, trying to thrust up and only managing tiny aborted jerks because of the dead leg. His remaining hand clutched at Sword’s thigh hard enough to leave marks.
Sword leaned down, kissed him messy and deep, tasting himself on Rocket’s tongue. “Told you,” he panted against Rocket’s lips. “Can’t buck me off. You’re stuck taking it exactly how I want.”
He sped up, riding hard, wings fluttering uselessly with every bounce. Rocket’s second orgasm built fast, knot swelling again, catching on Sword’s rim on every upstroke until Sword slammed down and stayed there, grinding in tight circles.
Rocket came again with a strangled cry, spilling deep, tentacle pulsing and locking them together. The pressure shoved Sword over the edge right after. His own knot caught, cock jerking as he painted Rocket’s stomach and the borrowed hoodie in stripes of light red.
They stayed like that, locked and trembling, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. Sword’s wings draped over them like a blanket. Rocket’s tail curled weakly around Sword’s ankle.
After a long minute, Rocket huffed a laugh, voice shot. “You’re cleaning the couch.”
Sword grinned, nipped his lower lip. “Worth it.”
He carefully lifted off once the knots went down, both of them wincing at the mess. Rocket’s tentacle slipped free with a wet sound and a gush of baby blue cum, and retreated back into its slit, spent and happy. Sword flopped sideways, dragging Rocket half on top of him, prosthetic port pressing cool against his ribs.
Rocket mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “love you, dumbass,” into Sword’s neck.
Sword kissed the top of his fluffy head, fingers carding gently through white hair. “Love you too, sweetheart.”
. . .
The apartment was dim now, only the faint blue glow from Rocket’s charging port and the soft orange streetlight leaking through the blinds. The air smelled like sex, ozone, and the faint metallic tang of prosthetic coolant. Neither of them had moved much in the last ten minutes except to breathe. Sword had one arm tucked under Rocket’s back, the other lazily tracing circles on the bare skin just above the waistband of Rocket’s ruined shorts.
Sword was the first to stir. He sat up, wings giving a little stretch that knocked a throw pillow to the floor. He padded barefoot to the bathroom, still gloriously naked, tail swishing, scar twitching with every satisfied step, and came back with a warm, damp washcloth and a dry towel. The little domestic ritual was second nature by now: he knelt between Rocket’s thighs, gently wiped the mess from his stomach and the inside of his legs, taking extra care around the slit that had already sealed itself again. Rocket’s spent tentacle tucked safely away. Rocket shivered at the warmth, gills flaring softly, but didn’t protest when Sword cleaned the sticky streaks off the borrowed hoodie too.
“Gills,” Sword murmured, tipping Rocket’s chin up so he could dab the cloth gently over the axolotl-like fronds. They were starting to look a little dry from all the heavy breathing; Sword made sure they were properly damp again before pressing a kiss to the biggest one. Rocket melted with a sigh.
Next came the prosthetic leg. Sword powered it back up with a quiet whirr of servos, watching Rocket’s face for any wince as the limb reconnected to the neural port. When Rocket just flexed the foot experimentally and gave a lazy grin, Sword leaned down and kissed the crystalline joint at his hip.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he said, like it was a fact he needed to remind the universe of daily.
Rocket’s cheeks went brighter blue. “Sap.”
“Your sap.”
Sword finished by wiping himself down too—quick, efficient—then tossed both cloths toward the laundry basket (he missed by a mile; neither of them cared). He crawled back onto the couch, rearranged them so Rocket was half-draped over his chest, good arm tucked around Sword’s waist. Sword pulled the big fuzzy blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over them both, tucking it around Rocket’s shoulders and tail.
Rocket made a small, exhausted noise as Sword manhandled him. His prosthetic leg was heavy and awkward from exhaustion, so Sword just hooked it over his own thigh to keep it from sliding off the couch. The prosthetic arm was still happily charging on the table, so Rocket’s right side was bare skin and warm crystal port pressed to Sword’s chest.
“Warm enough?” Sword murmured, voice soft now that the horny side of him had been fed and put to bed.
Rocket nodded, gills fluttering. “Mhm. You’re a furnace.” He scooted back until there wasn’t an inch of space between them, tail curling possessively around Sword’s calf. “Stay.”
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, dummy.” Sword wrapped both arms around him, one sliding under Rocket’s neck, the other splayed over his stomach where the hoodie had ridden up. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles just above the slit, careful not to tease; just gentle, grounding pressure.
“Hey,” Sword whispered, voice soft and floaty. “You’re not allowed to move. Ever. New rule. Couch is ours forever now.”
Rocket huffed a laugh, tail curling in to wrap around Sword. “Pretty sure the couch is a biohazard at this point, but deal.”
Sword chuckled softly into his hair. He nuzzled the fluffy white strands, then reached for the little bottle of coolant gel on the side table. “Lemme take care of the ports before you overheat, yeah?”
Rocket grumbled but didn’t protest when Sword squeezed a dollop of the cool blue gel onto his fingers and gently rubbed it around the crystal interface at Rocket’s shoulder. The port had gotten warm during everything; now it drank the gel greedily, glow dimming to a calm pulse. Sword did the same for the hip port on the leg, massaging in slow circles until Rocket melted even further against him.
“Feels nice,” Rocket mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “You’re too good at this part.”
“Only ‘cause I like you all soft and clingy after.” Sword kissed the back of his neck, right where feathers met skin. “Plus, if I don’t cool you down, Zuka will literally murder me next time your arm shorts out.”
Rocket snorted. “He’d murder you for a lot less than that.”
“Fair.”
They stayed quiet for a while, just breathing. Sword’s wings draped over them both, the bigger back pair folding forward like a feathery blanket, the little ear-wings tucked close. Rocket’s gills slowly settled from bright, flustered blue to their usual soft blue. His tail kept up a lazy, rhythmic swish against Sword’s ankle, like a cat’s.
Sword broke the silence first, voice soft. “Hey. You okay? Nothing hurting?”
Rocket made a sleepy affirmative noise. “Jello. Good jello. The kind that got fucked into next week.”
Sword snorted, kissed the top of his fluffy white hair again. “I’ll take that as a five-star review.”
Rocket’s hand found Sword’s, fingers lacing together. “Love you,” he said, quiet but certain, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Sword’s heart did that stupid fluttery thing it always did when Rocket said it first. He squeezed back. “Love you more, explosion boy.”
Rocket huffed a tiny laugh against his collarbone. “Not possible.”
They stayed like that until Rocket’s breathing evened out into proper sleep, gills fluttering slow and steady, tail giving the occasional happy twitch. Sword watched him for a long time, counted the little glowing flecks in his prosthetic arm, traced the curve of one carved horn with his thumb, memorized the exact shade of blue Rocket flushed when he came undone.
Eventually he let his own eyes drift shut, wings folded loosely around them both like a feathery cocoon.
The couch was definitely ruined. The hoodie was probably a lost cause. Neither of them were moving until morning.
Worth it.