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The Nimbus glided through the dark, its polished hull catching distant starlight. It didn’t cut through space so much as it floated. It was no Enterprise.
The stars were everywhere, crowded and endless, scattered like luminous dust across a black velvet expanse, and their glow clung to the ship in faint, shimmering reflections. A comet traced a faint silver line across the horizon, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
Amy stood near the glass, hands pressed to it, her face lit by the drifting glow of distant stars, “Kif, this is so beautiful,” she breathed, her voice soft and genuine in a way that he loved, “It’s like… space, but fancier.”
Kif’s shoulders loosened, just slightly, “I’m glad you like it, Amy,” he said, a small, relieved smile forming.
Then…
“Hey, does this button fire missiles or snacks?”
The smile died instantly.
Across the room, Fry had already found a control panel on the Captain’s counsel, his finger hovering with dangerous enthusiasm over something that was almost certainly not labeled for civilian use.
“Fry, don’t—” Kif started…
Too late.
There was a soft beep. Somewhere deep in the ship, something mechanical whirred to life, then… stopped.
“…Oh!” Fry said brightly, “It didn’t explode.”
“That was never one of the ….reassuring options,” Kif replied faintly, “Please… Don’t touch anything,” he pleaded weakly.
At the far end of the deck, Leela had stood with her arms crossed, and her eye narrowed, not at the stars, but at the entire situation. She had positioned herself as far away from the controls, the chaos, and Fry as physically possible while still technically being in the last place she ever wanted to be, “I just want it on record,” she said, “that I knew this was a bad idea.”
Amy turned, still glowing from the view, “Oh, come on, Leela. It’s peaceful!”
As if in response, the ship gave a soft, uncertain clunk.
Everyone paused.
Kif inhaled slowly, the kind of inhale that suggested he might never exhale again.
Fry glanced at the panel, laughing nervously, “…Okay, in my defense, that one was already blinking.”
Bender raised his flask, “To blinking things!”
Leela pinched the bridge of her nose.
Amy made a small, frustrated sound, it was soft at first, then it had began building into something unmistakably whiny, “Kif!!,” she dragged his name out, turning from the stars to face him with wide, pleading eyes, “This!! It was supposed to be romantic!”
Kif, still staring at the control panel as if willing it not to betray him again, blinked, “I—I thought it was,” well, he understood where it had gone wrong at least, “Before the… button.”
“Exactly!” Amy threw her hands up, then immediately grabbed his arm again, nails digging into the velour, lowering her voice into something conspiratorial and urgent, “Before the button, before the clunk, before them,” her gaze flicked, pointedly, toward the others. Even if she had asked to bring them along.
Across the room, Fry was attempting to peer inside a compartment that clearly did not open, while Bender offered deeply unhelpful suggestions involving “more force” and “less respect for authority.”
“I mean, look at this!” Amy whispered, gesturing dramatically,“You bring me onto this beautiful, dreamy spaceship—” she motioned toward the stars, still glowing softly beyond the glass “—and I can’t even have a moment because Fry is trying to…. whatever he’s doing!”
“I heard that!” Fry called, not looking up, “…And for your information, it’s going great!”
Leela sighed, “Amy,” her voice calm in the way that meant she was already over it, “you want a romantic moment?”
Amy nodded emphatically.
Leela jerked a thumb toward the hallway, “Then you should probably not have us in it.”
There was a beat.
Amy blinked, “Oh.”
Another beat.
“…Oh!”
Leela didn’t wait for further realization. She grabbed Fry by the collar and steered him firmly away from the panel, “Come on.”
“Hey!” Fry protested, “I was fixing that!”
“You can go to your assigned cabin,” Leela said, already dragging him toward the door.
Bender pushed off the console with a metallic creak, finishing his drink, “Finally,” he said, “I call the room with the mini-bar!”
“There is no mini-bar,” Kif said weakly.
Bender paused, “…Then I call the room I’m gonna install a mini-bar in.”
The doors slid open. The three of them disappeared into the corridor, their voices fading into distant bickering about who got which room and whether stealing ship parts counted as “interior decorating.”
The doors shut.
Silence returned.
Not fragile, something softer. Warmer. Quiet and serene.
Kif stood very still. Then, slowly, he exhaled, “Oh, thank goodness,” he whispered, shoulders sagging in visible relief.
All of the noises of the ship seemed gentler now, less like a burden of pressure and more like a quiet presence. Outside, the stars continued their sparkling drift, unchanged, waiting for the right moment.
Amy stepped closer. Her hands found his, small and warm against his, threading gently between his three fingers as they belonged there. She tilted her head up at him, her earlier frustration melting into something loving, something fond, “Okay,” she said, her voice dropping into a quiet, hopeful tone, “…Now we can try this again.”
Kif looked down at her, eyes wide, then softened, his nervousness still there, but no longer overwhelming. Just… being that endearing little part of him, “…Yes,” he said, a little breathless, “Yes, I-I would like that very much.”
She smiled.
Outside, a distant nebula bloomed faintly, painting the bridge deck in washes of violet and blue, like a beautiful bright dream settling around them.
The corridor outside the deck curved gently, its polished walls reflecting soft bands of artificial light that moved in time with the ship’s steady flight. It was quieter here, respectably quiet, the kind of quiet that suggested rules were being followed somewhere, by someone.
That someone was not Fry.
“Okay, listen carefully,” Leela huffed, stopping abruptly and turning to face both him and Bender. Her single eye narrowed with the weight of just knowing how things usually tended to go, “Now. Our cabins are right here—” she pointed down the corridor, “—just a few doors down from mine.”
Fry nodded eagerly, as if absorbing every word with deep sincerity, but the look on his face was blank.
Bender burped.
Leela pressed on anyways, futile, maybe, “You are going to go inside, stay there, and not get into any trouble.”
“Define ‘trouble,’” Bender said.
“I’m not defining it,” Leela shot back, “You already know what it is, and you do it anyway!” She took a step closer, lowering her voice, “And most importantly, do not draw any attention. Especially from the captain.”
There was a pause.
Fry blinked, “Why? Is he, like… Still into you?”
Leela hesitated, just for a second.
Bender grinned, “Oh great, I love that guy.“
Leela pointed a finger directly at him, “That’s exactly why you’re staying in your cabin.”
She didn’t wait for arguments. With one last, firm look, she turned, stepped to her door, and slipped inside. The door slid shut behind her with a quiet, final snap.
Silence settled into the corridor… For approximately one second.
“Well,” Fry said, rocking back on his heels, “that was a lot of instructions.”
“Yeah,” Bender replied, already heading for the next door, “Good thing I stopped listening halfway through.” He pressed the panel. The door slid open, revealing a cabin that gleamed with the same polished perfection as the rest of the ship. Bender stepped inside immediately, “…This place better have something I can drink,” he muttered, already scanning the room.
Fry lingered in the hallway, “…You know,” he said, peering down the softly lit corridor stretching off into the distance, “it’d be kinda irresponsible not to explore a spaceship.”
From inside the cabin, Bender didn’t even turn around, “Yeah, yeah. Go explore. If you find anything valuable, bring it back.”
Fry grinned, “Deal!” He gave the hallway one last excited look, like it might rearrange itself if he blinked, and then set off, sneakers echoing lightly against the pristine floor as he wandered deeper into the Nimbus.
Behind him, the cabin door slid shut.
Bender was already rummaging.
Fry was …already lost.
The Nimbus was, Fry decided after several long minutes, and at least two deeply confident yet very wrong turns, too well-designed and too big.
Every corridor looked the same. Every doorway slid open with the same exact sound as the other door, and the next door, and the door after that too. Every glowing panel on the walls had the authority of something that absolutely knew what it was doing already, which only made Fry feel more like he didn’t, yet he just wandered on anyway.
“At this point,” he muttered to himself, squinting at a wall that looked exactly like the last wall, “I’m not lost. I’m just… taking the scenic route through identical hallways.”
He turned another corner.
This one was different.
Subtly… but enough.
The lighting shifted, softer and warmer, less utilitarian and more… indulgent. The walls gleamed a little brighter, the floor a little more polished, like even the ship itself was trying to impress someone important.
Fry slowed, “…Ooooh,” he whispered.
At the end of the corridor stood a set of doors unlike the others, taller, sleeker, with gold accents that practically announced themselves. There was no label, no need for one.
Fry’s face lit up, he froze mid-step, the corridor suddenly blurring into irrelevance. He didn’t remember the turns, the angles, the glow of the lights… but he remembered this.
The smell.
“Well, if that’s not the captain’s room,” he said, “then I’m suddenly into very fancy janitors.”
It smelled… Pink. Not just pink, but if colour could be bottled and sniffed, this was it. Effervescent. Fruity. Bright and bursting in the way champagne could fizzle on your tongue, sweet in the way sugar teased you before it dissolved. Fry inhaled again, deep, slow, as if that single scent could navigate him more surely than any corridor map ever could. He stepped closer, drawn in not just by curiosity, but something softer, something he wouldn’t have had the words for even if he’d tried.
Zapp Brannigan hadn’t been around much since they’d come aboard.
Not that Fry was keeping track.
He wasn’t.
Okay… He absolutely was.
There had been those moments, brief, strange, and somehow lingering. Encounters that felt larger than they should have, wrapped in Zapp’s ridiculous confidence and that oddly sincere way he had of making everything sound important, even when it very much wasn’t.
Fry shifted his weight, suddenly aware of himself in the quiet.
“Not that I care,” he muttered quickly, to no one, “I mean, yeah, he’s got the whole… captain thing going on. And the blonde hair. And the… dramatic talking.”
He gestured vaguely.
“…But it’s not like I came all the way out here just because of that.”
A pause.
“…Mostly.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing once over his shoulder; as if Kif or Amy or Leela might somehow appear out of thin air just to call him out on it. Bender, especially. He wouldn’t miss a chance to laugh at him.
They didn’t.
The corridor remained still.
Fry turned back to the door.
For a second, he hesitated, not out of fear, but something closer to anticipation. The kind that made his chest feel a little tight, like he was about to step into something he didn’t fully understand but definitely wanted to.
Then he reached out.
His hand hovered over the control panel.
“…I’m just gonna look,” he said, as if that made it better.
The ship buzzed around him, the stars far beyond the walls sparkling like champagne, the captain’s door waiting, quiet, gleaming, and just barely under his fingertips.
The door loomed in front of him, unremarkable except for the way it seemed to recognize him, opening without a pause for codes, keys, or any of the usual security nonsense. The panel didn’t flash. No locks whirred. No question of authority. It simply knew.
Then that scent hit him all at once at full force. It flooded his senses like a wave of colour turned tangible. Pink, pink, pink; somehow alive, sparkling, so intoxicating that Fry’s knees almost buckled. He closed his eyes for a second, letting the fragrance curl around his head, teasing at memory and desire and something he didn’t entirely have words for yet.
“…Wow,” he whispered.
He stepped inside, and the plush carpet yielded to his feet like it had been waiting. His sneakers pressed against the plush, shaggy pink carpeting, and his feet remembered it before his brain did. Soft, yielding, luxurious, like walking on some absurdly decadent cloud that smelled of berries and vanity. Every fiber seemed to whisper, ‘yes, you’re here!’
Every step was a memory now, every soft press of sole into pile a reminder of previous visits he couldn’t quite forget, not that he wanted to, of moments he wouldn’t admit to Kif or Amy, of that strange, effervescent fascination that had lured him to beg to come along with Leela in the first place.
The scent wrapped around him, coating him, filling the space. Pink. Fruity. Electric. Alive.
Fry grinned, just a little, wanting his bare toes to press into the indulgent softness. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should stop. Should turn around. Should be responsible, like Leela wanted, but right now, that wasn’t what mattered.
Right now, he was home… but apparently, Zapp was not.
The room smelled like him. Scented candles flickered along the tables, soft light pooling over sleek pink surfaces, and the same unmistakable pink perfume, in its effervescent, fruity, intoxicating way, hung thickly in the air, curling into corners and tracing the outline of the furniture.
It was indulgent. It was exactly him.
Yet… at the far end of the room, the centerpiece of the absurd, extravagant spectacle, the hovering heart-shaped bed, big and fluffy and piled high with more decorative pillows than seemed possible, was empty. Not a trace of him moved the soft shimmer of the pink sheets. No figure stretched lazily across the silk, no blonde hair catching the candlelight, no broad grin.
Fry’s sneakers sank slightly into the plush carpet as he stepped closer. His nostrils flared with the scent, mouth watering a little, like pink champagne had hit his tongue without any liquid involved. The absence was confusing… how could something smell so present when the one who made it so was nowhere in sight?
He tentatively circled the bed, hand brushing against the soft pillows, some heart-shaped too. They were absurdly, ridiculously soft. Some even smelled faintly of perfume themselves, like little pink reminders of Zapp’s signature charm.
“Where… did he go?” Fry murmured, mostly to himself. His eyes scanned the room: the ornate mirrors, the faint glitter embedded in the candle wax, the tiny alcove with what looked like a champagne bucket half-filled with ice.
The air practically buzzed with expectation, with the lingering traces of flirtation and dramatics, but Zapp was… gone.
Fry’s stomach did a little flip. He should leave. He really should. Leela’s rules, Kif’s scolding, Amy’s eventual discovery… but the scent, the inviting pink tones, the absurdly soft carpet under his sneakers… it pulled him forward anyway.
So Fry just blinked at the empty bed, then shrugged, “Okay… maybe he’s hiding,” he muttered, “Zapp??”
He crouched low and peeked under the hovering heart-shaped bed. The pink carpet swallowed him up slightly as he stretched his neck. Nothing. Not even a stray sock. Kif was a good cleaner, “Hmm… not here.”
He straightened and noticed the little privacy divider Zapp sometimes used when changing, well, Fry assumed it was for changing, his uniform and corset had been left behind, swung up over the top, and his boots and gloves on the floor beside it, “Maybe behind that?” he said aloud, stepping over and peeking around the elegant screen.
Empty again.
He poked the corner of the divider with a finger, half-expecting a “surprise!” and for Zapp to spring out, but all he got was the faint scent of pink perfume and a slight shimmer from one of the candles.
“Okay… okay… maybe he’s hiding, like, really good,” Fry whispered, tiptoeing past a few potted plants that were suspiciously placed like sentries. He crouched behind one; just in case. It was one of those absurdly large decorative things, fake-looking but real, and somehow very, very heavy, its leaves brushing his hair.
Fry sneezed, “Not a good hiding spot for him… but maybe good for me.”
He wandered around the room, peeking behind chairs, nudging little decorative cushions, and somehow managed to knock a small sculpture that spun on its base. It made a tiny, elegant ping. Fry froze. It didn’t break, or fall, but the sound echoed in the room like a siren, “Uh… definitely not here.”
Now he was basically crawling on the plush pink carpet like some sort of stealthy space explorer, or possibly a very clumsy spy in a perfume factory. He stuck his head behind a floor-length curtain, almost got tangled in a string of gold beads, and whispered to himself, “He can’t be that good at hide-and-seek… can he?” Fry imagined Zapp’s dramatic grin and the slow, theatrical way he’d call his name, though the only response he got from calling Zapp’s was the faint flicker of candlelight and the persistent, undeniably pink perfume that had taken over every corner of the room.
“…I’m not leaving until I find him,” Fry said, his voice determined, even as he crawled under a chaise lounge that had way too many pillows on it, “Even if it kills me.”
Fry pushed himself up from the carpet with a soft ‘oof,’ with bits of pink fluff clinging stubbornly to his sneakers; and, somehow, his hair.
He turned in a slow circle.
That’s when he saw it.
A door.
Not hidden, not even a little bit, but partially framed by a cluster of tall, decorative palm fronds that swayed gently in the filtered air like they were in on some kind of joke.
Fry squinted at it, “…Huh.”
He stepped closer, pushing a leaf aside. It brushed his cheek, soft and cool, leaving behind the faintest trace of that same pink scent, “Ohhh,” Fry said, realization dawning all at once, “I remember you.”
Not the door itself, exactly, but what was behind it. He absolutely had overlooked it… And forgotten it?
Definitely both.
His hand pressed the panel.
The door slid open.
Then…
Bubbles.
They drifted lazily through the air, catching the candlelight from the other room and this one, candles along the surfaces, and scattering it into soft, shimmering rainbows. The space beyond was large, too large for a bathroom, really, and gleamed with polished surfaces, glass, and pink and gold accents that reflected the floating orbs like tiny, perfect worlds.
The scent hit him next.
Not the exact same as the bedroom… but close. Layered. Pink prosecco, sparkling and bright, mingling with something floral, crystal peonies, delicate and soft, and underneath it all, a warm sweetness, like amaretto crème melting on his tongue.
Fry inhaled deeply.
He stepped inside slowly, eyes wide, sneakers squeaking faintly against the pristine floor before sinking into a plush mat that felt suspiciously as soft as the carpet outside.
The bubbles drifted past his face. One popped against his cheek.
He blinked.
His reflection caught in a massive mirror, slightly distorted by the floating bubbles, and for a second he just stared at himself, standing in the middle of something so absurdly luxurious it barely felt real.
Fry turned slowly, still taking in the floating bubbles, the ridiculous size of everything, the way the air itself felt like it had been polished.
Then….
He caught it in the mirror.
Not the room.
Not himself.
Something else.
Fry blinked.
There, behind him, reflected first, then confirmed as he very carefully turned his head, was the tub. Massive. Gleaming. Overflowing with bubbles that seemed to multiply the longer you looked at them. They drifted lazily over the edge, spilling into the air like soft, wandering clouds.
…And inside….
Under layers and layers of froth, barely visible except for the shape of him, was Zapp Brannigan.
Submerged like some kind of extremely self-important sea creature.
His head rested against a small bath pillow, tilted back just enough to expose the line of his throat, his expression completely at ease. His blue eyes were closed. His breathing slow. One arm floated somewhere beneath the bubbles, occasionally shifting just enough to send another small wave of foam drifting upward.
He looked… peaceful.
Which was gorgeous.
Fry stared.
A bubble floated past his nose. He didn’t react.
Zapp didn’t move.
Didn’t stir.
Didn’t dramatically announce his presence.
Didn’t even seem to realize Fry was standing there, halfway between the door and the most luxurious bathtub in the known universe.
Fry’s brain, which had been doing its usual heroic best, simply… stopped trying.
‘Do I say something?’
‘Do I leave?’
‘Do I… also get in the tub?’
He clasped his hands behind his back instead, rocking slightly on his heels, like a guy who had accidentally wandered into somewhere he definitely wasn’t supposed to be, but didn’t hate it.
Another bubble drifted down and popped softly against the edge of the tub.
Zapp remained perfectly still, basking in his own scented, pink, champagne-adjacent serenity.
Fry didn’t make a sound.
Not because he was being respectful, just because, for once, he genuinely had no idea what the right wrong decision was.
Fry took one very slow step back.
Then another.
His heel bumped into something solid.
The vanity.
There was a delicate, terrible moment where everything teetered, glass cologne bottles wobbling, liquid sloshing, Fry’s arms windmilling in silent panic.
clink… clink! clink!
He caught them. Barely.
“…nnngh—” a tiny, strangled whine escaped him anyway, high and nervous and completely involuntary.
In the tub, Zapp Brannigan did not open his eyes. Instead, he smiled.
“Kif!” he announced loudly, voice rich with lazy satisfaction, as if this had all gone exactly according to plan, “You’re just in time.”
Fry froze.
Zapp shifted slightly in the mountain of bubbles, one arm emerging, dramatically breaking the surface. He fished around blindly for a moment, sloshing water and foam and bubbles, before producing… A very large scrub brush. He held it up with ceremonial importance.
“I was beginning to think you’d abandoned your post,” Zapp continued, still completely relaxed, eyes closed, head tilted back like a man being painted, “But no matter. A captain forgives… when properly …exfoliated.”
Fry stared at the brush.
Then at Zapp.
Then back at the brush.
His brain attempted several thoughts in quick succession:
‘Say something.’
‘Correct him.’
‘Run!!’
‘…Pretend to be Kif?’
He chose none of them.
Instead, he stood there, hands still hovering awkwardly near the cologne bottles, shoulders tense, mouth slightly open, making absolutely no sound.
Zapp gave the brush a small, expectant wiggle in the air, “Kif,” he said, a touch more insistently now, though still dreamy, “don’t be shy. The lower back has been criminally neglected.”
A bubble drifted between them and popped.
Fry did not move.
Did not speak.
Did not breathe correctly.
Fry hesitated only a second longer before stepping closer, each movement slow and careful, like he might accidentally wake something if he went too fast, even though Zapp Brannigan was already talking.
Still with his eyes closed.
Still holding the brush out like it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘Right…’ Fry thought, mostly trying to convince himself this was really, truly happening.
He reached out… Took the handle. It was warm. Slightly damp. Very real. No part of his imagination.
Fry swallowed.
‘Okay. Okay, this is fine. This is just… normal captain stuff.’
He glanced at Zapp, who looked completely at peace, like a man who had never once questioned being scrubbed by another person in his life.
And that’s when it hit him.
‘Oh,’ Fry realized, ‘Kif does this. Like… regularly.’
Like it was probably on a schedule.
Fry’s mouth twisted a little. Something in his chest shifted, not quite anger, not quite …jealousy, but something awkward and unfamiliar that sat right in the middle of both.
‘That’s… kinda weird. No, it’s not weird. It’s just… his job. …It’s a weird job.’
Fry shifted his weight, gripping the brush a little tighter as he looked down at the sea of bubbles hiding most of Zapp from view.
He couldn’t really see anything.
Which somehow made it worse.
‘I mean,’ Fry thought, frowning slightly, ‘it’s not like I can say anything about it…’
It wasn’t like he had a claim here.
One date.
One time they’d slept together.
That didn’t exactly come with rules. Or exclusivity. Or a ‘no other people can scrub you in a bubble bath’ clause.
Fry made a small face
‘Still,’ he thought. Then, just as quickly, he shook his head a little.
He knew it wasn’t like that.
Zapp wasn’t into Kif.
Everyone knew that.
This wasn’t romantic, or secret, or special by any means; it was just… Zapp being Zapp. Letting someone else do things for him because he could… Because he liked being taken care of in the most over-the-top, unnecessary ways possible.
‘Yeah. He’s just lazy,’ Fry reasoned.
That felt better, somehow.
Simpler.
He exhaled, then leaned in slightly, lifting the brush. Zapp gave a soft, contented hum, tilting his head just a fraction, “Ahh… I knew I could count on you, Kif.”
Fry froze for half a second at the name.
Then, carefully, uncertainly, he reached toward Zapp’s shoulder beneath the bubbles, beginning the slow, awkward motion of someone doing something they had absolutely no training for.
The bubbles shifted.
The water lapped softly.
Zapp leaned forward with a soft, satisfied sigh, pink coloured bubbles sliding down his shoulders as they emerged just enough for Fry to actually work with, “There we are,” Brannigan sighed again, eyes still closed, so completely at ease. “Firm, but respectful. Like a salute… from behind.”
Fry blinked, an eyebrow raised.
He adjusted his grip on the brush, dragging it awkwardly across Zapp’s shoulder blades. Too slow. Then too fast. Then sort of… zig-zagging like he was mowing a lawn for the first time.
‘Okay, say something,’ Fry thought.
Just say, ‘Hey, I’m not Kif.’ Easy.
He opened his mouth.
“Uh—”
Zapp hummed contentedly and leaned into the brush, “Lower.”
Fry closed his mouth.
Zapp stretched forward slightly, clearly settling in for a long, luxurious session, “You’ll be pleased to know, Kif, that tomorrow’s DOOP engagement promises to be particularly ….dazzling.”
Fry blinked again, continuing to scrub in increasingly questionable patterns, “…Yeah?” he said, before immediately freezing at the sound of his own voice.
Zapp didn’t react.
Didn’t notice.
Didn’t even flinch.
“Oh yes,” Zapp went on, blissfully unaware, “High-ranking officials, admirals, at least one ambassador who owes me a favour, and possibly his daughter,” he smiled faintly, not that Fry could see, but he was starting to feel jealous anyways, “A charming evening, all things considered.”
Fry’s brush slowed.
He tried again, his lips barely parting.
“—You, of course, will be at my side,” Zapp continued, gesturing lazily with one hand, nearly displacing half the bubble pile in the tub, “As always. Efficient. Loyal.”
Fry stared at the back of his head.
The brush resumed.
Zapp sighed, deeper this time, more thoughtful, “I haven’t secured a date just yet,” he added, “But I imagine you’ll be bringing Amy Wong.”
Fry’s hand paused mid-scrub. Something small and quiet shifted again in his chest. So, Zapp didn’t have a date yet? Fry stared down at the bubbles, dragging the brush slowly across Zapp’s lower back again.
He should say something.
He should correct him.
He should definitely not still be doing this.
Zapp, completely oblivious, tilted his head slightly, chasing the motion of the brush like a very relaxed cat, “Do pay extra attention to the left cheek, Kif,” he sighed, “It carries the burden of leadership.”
Fry blinked, the bubbles just kept drifting, soft and pink, like none of it mattered at all.
Zapp shifted again, deeper into the bath, hips rolling slightly under the brush as Fry continued his increasingly experimental scrubbing technique.
“Mmm,” Zapp hummed, “Tell me, Kif…”
Fry froze internally, ‘Oh, no, no, no.’
That tone.
Zapp’s voice dipped, despite the fact that his eyes were still closed, he seemed reminiscent, “Amy, does she still favour that delightful perfume?”
Fry blinked.
“And more importantly,” Zapp continued, leaning forward slightly like this was critical intelligence, “has she mentioned me recently? Women often do.”
Fry’s brushing slowed to a stop. He remembered that Zapp had slept with her, then again, he’d done so himself, too.
Zapp went on, completely unchecked, “And her affections… are they… consistent? Or does she require the steady, guiding presence of a more… commanding figure?”
Fry made a small, strangled noise.
This was no longer a ‘wait for the right moment’ situation. This was a ‘there is no right moment, only worse ones’ situation.
He coughed, “Uh—”
Zapp didn’t stop.
“One must always be prepared to step in, should the need arise—”
“Uh!!” Fry tried again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
“—purely as a service, of course—”
“I’m not Kif!! … ….”
Silence.
Immediate. Total. Absolute.
The fruity pink bubbles seemed to pause mid-drift, they hadn’t, not really, but the whole room felt like it.
Fry stood there, brush still in hand, arm half-raised like he’d just been caught mid-crime, “…Uhh,” he added, because it felt necessary, “I’m… not Kif.”
Zapp’s eyes snapped open.
There was a beat where his expression didn’t quite catch up with reality, calm, relaxed, mid-thought…. Then it hit.
He turned.
Fast.
Water sloshed. Bubbles surged. And in one swift, dramatic motion, Zapp sank slightly deeper into the tub, dragging a suspiciously large amount of pink foam with him in a valiant, and only partially successful, attempt at modesty.
“—Fry?!” he barked, voice cracking somewhere between shock and something else.
Fry gave a small, helpless wave. He hoped that something else was a good thing, “Uhh… hey,” he said, laughing nervously.
Zapp stared at him.
Fry stared back.
The brush was still in his hand.
There was a long, terrible pause where everything that had just happened hung in the air like one of the drifting popping bubbles, fragile, absurd, and seconds away from popping in his face. They were all popping.
Zapp narrowed his eyes.
“…How long,” he said slowly, “have you been… pretending to be Kif?”
Fry glanced at the brush… Then back at him, “…Long enough to get the left cheek?” he offered weakly, gulping.
Zapp stared at him.
Longer than was comfortable… Longer than was necessary.
His eyes flicked from Fry, to the brush, to the pink water, to Fry again, as if trying to piece together how, exactly, this had happened.
Fry didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even lower the brush, “…Okay,” he whispered to himself, “this is the part where I get thrown out an airlock.”
Zapp looked down at the bathwater, at the mountain of pink bubbles valiantly clinging to his dignity. Then, slowly, he waved a hand.
Dismissive.
Dramatic.
“Well,” his voice just as valiant, with sudden, effortless composure, “nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Fry blinked, grinned a little, “…Oh.”
There was a beat.
Zapp adjusted slightly in the tub, somehow managing to look more comfortable now, like the situation had corrected itself simply because, well, he’d just decided it had.
“If anything,” Zapp continued, tilting his head with a faint smirk, “this speaks to your initiative. A quality I admire in… a mate.”
Fry looked down at the brush still in his hand, “…Right,” he said.
Another pause.
The bubbles popped softly between them.
Zapp gestured lazily toward him,“Well? Must I formally reassign you, Fry, or will you resume your duties of your own… volition?” He didn’t even seem particularly thrown by the situation anymore.
Instead, he leaned forward, so very slowly, so very deliberate, like the entire universe had paused just to give him the space to do it …properly? Seductively? Fry wasn’t even sure which.
The water shifted with him, rippling outward in soft waves that sent the pink champagne scented bubbles drifting, parting, reforming. They clung to him for a moment, then slid away, trailing down the length of his spine in shimmering paths. Droplets followed, catching the warm candle light as they traced their way downward before disappearing beneath the surface again.
It was… very intentional.
Even if it wasn’t.
Fry forgot how to hold the brush.
Forgot, briefly, how to be a person when something low and familiar tightened in his chest; not panic, not quite embarrassment, something warmer, heavier. A slow, quiet ache that spread before he could stop it.
“…Oh.”
Zapp glanced back at him over his shoulder, just enough to acknowledge him, just enough to know he was being watched, “Steady as she goes, Fry,” he said smoothly, voice low and confident, like none of this was unusual in the slightest, “A captain must be handled with care.”
Fry swallowed.
Zapp allowed himself the faintest smile, turning forward again, settling just enough to invite the next motion, which was Fry’s grip tightening around the handle of the brush, knuckles going pale white as he stood there, so completely still, like if he moved too fast, the moment might shatter.
He couldn’t look away.
Fry had seen him like this before, but this felt… different. Zapp hummed softly, low and completely off-key, the kind of tune that didn’t belong to any really good song but somehow filled the space anyway, Rod Stewart, if Fry’s memory was right. It vibrated through the water, through the air, through Fry’s chest in a way that made everything feel heavier.
Warmer than the bath water.
Fry swallowed again. He could hear the sound ringing in his ears, “Okay,” he muttered under his breath, like he was about to do something incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.
Zapp sings off-key, more just talking than singing the lyrics, “If you want my body ….and you think I'm …sexy.”
Without really thinking about it, because thinking was clearly not helping, Fry shrugged off his red jacket. The motion felt louder than it should have, fabric sliding off his shoulders before he tossed it onto the floor beside the vanity.
It landed in a soft heap.
Zapp’s singing didn’t stop. Didn’t even falter. If anything, it deepened slightly, like he’d noticed without needing to look, “Come on, sugar, tell me so…”
Fry stood there for a second in just his t-shirt and jeans, suddenly very aware of himself, of the warmth in the room, of the soft scent wrapping around him, of the soft everything pressing in from all sides.
“…It’s hot in here,” he added quickly, as if explaining it to him, “Like, temperature hot. Not— not like—” He stopped.
Zapp shifted slightly in the tub, water rippling again. Before Fry could overthink it, which history had proven was literally always a bad idea, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one quick motion.
There.
…Problem solved.
He tossed it aside, and it landed in a soft, crumpled pile next to his jacket.
Right as it hit Zapp let out a low, appreciative whistle.
Fry froze, but his cock twitching in his much too-tight jeans. Slowly turned his head, “…You, uh, noticed that?” he asked.
In the tub, Zapp didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t turn around. Didn’t even pretend to acknowledge again what had just happened. Instead, he shifted slightly, sinking deeper into the bubbles with a satisfied sigh, “Morale is improving,” he said smoothly.
Fry stared at the back of his pretty blonde head. He’d always liked blondes… but that wasn’t the point.
Zapp sang another line again, completely unbothered, then paused, “A captain observes everything, Fry. ….Even when he appears …not to.”
Fry looked down at himself. Then back at Zapp. He bent down, grabbing the abandoned brush from where it had slipped slightly against the edge of the tub, shaking off a few clinging bubbles like that would also shake off his thoughts.
It did not.
Zapp shifted slightly in the water, the movement still slow, still unhurried, still like he had all the time in the universe and fully expected everyone else to move at his pace, like he had with everything else really. Then, casually, almost dismissive in tone, but somehow still inviting, “Plenty of room in here,” he said. Offhand.
Like he was commenting on the weather.
Fry froze.
The brush hovered midair.
“…I mean, yeah, I can see that. It’s a big tub. Like, very big tub…” Fry rambled out quickly. He stopped. The brush lowered slowly, “…You mean me?” he said finally.
Zapp gave a soft hum of acknowledgment, still not turning around.
Fry stared at the water. At the bubbles…. At the very obvious amount of space, “…Okay,” he grinned, like he was agreeing to something extremely simple, “Yeah. Okay,” then he toed off one sneaker.
Then the other. Both landed somewhere beside his clothes with soft, traitorous thuds. Fry stood there for one last second, looking at the tub like it might suddenly disappear if he made eye contact too long.
The moment didn’t feel like a decision.
It felt like slipping.
Like missing a step in the dark and finding, instead of falling, that something warm and weightless had caught him, like space was holding him up. He was barely registering his hands moving, the quiet rustle of denim, the soft, distant sound of his jeans and underwear joining the small pile on the floor. Everything felt… far away. Muted. Like the world had softened into the stars of the galaxy.
The air was thick with that same scent, the pink prosecco, bright and sparkling, crystal peonies, somewhere just out of sight, and the warm sweetness of amaretto crème wrapping around it all like a dream he didn’t want to wake from, if he could always be right with Zapp.
It filled his lungs.
His head.
His thoughts.
The heat of it spread through him, slow at first, then all at once, “Whoa,” he breathed, though he wasn’t sure he meant to.
The world tilted… Or maybe he did, because the next thing he knew, he was in the water. No splashing moment of entry, no splash that felt real enough to mark it. Just a soft, seamless shift from standing to just being there, surrounded by warmth, by drifting bubbles that clung to his skin and then floated away like they had somewhere better to be.
The water was pink.
It shimmered faintly, catching the light in a way that made it feel less like water and more like something imagined, something too soft, too perfect to exist anywhere but here.
Fry exhaled slowly, the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding dissolving as the warmth wrapped around him completely. Bubbles drifted up between them, rising lazily into the air, joining the others that floated through the room like tiny, glowing planets. For a second, his mind tried to catch up, with something like ‘you just got into a bath with Zapp Brannigan’ but the thought didn’t stick. It slid away, softened at the edges like fog, lost somewhere in the haze of scent and heat and quiet, then disappeared completely.
Everything felt distant.
Except this.
Except here.
Fry leaned back slightly, letting the water carry him, letting the moment stretch.
His brain, for once, didn’t try to keep up.
It just… drifted.
Like the bubbles.
Like the ship. Like everything, suspended somewhere in the galaxy between ridiculous and real, where space captains existed and dreams smelled like champagne and nothing had to make sense to feel right.
The water held him.
Not just around him, but through him, like the warmth and steam drifting up had found every tight, guarded place in his body and just helped it to let go. Fry let out a slow breath, shoulders sinking, muscles unwinding one by one beneath the soft, enveloping heat. The tension and anxiety he carried, without ever really noticing, melted away until he felt light, almost weightless, like he could drift off to the stars and never quite land again.
It wasn’t new.
That feeling had been there, long since the first time they’d slept together, messy and unexpected and confusing in a way Fry hadn’t been able to explain. Since the date that they’d had, which had somehow felt both ridiculous and… important.
Zapp, for all his dramatics, all his ego and ridiculous confidence, felt different in moments like this. Bolder at the edges. A real space captain in a way Fry didn’t think anyone else really saw, or maybe didn’t care to.
Fry did.
He leaned back slightly, letting the water surround him, the bubbles drifting lazily between them like those slow-moving stars out the window of the Nimbus. ‘You’re kinda like my version of Captain Kirk,’ he thought, but didn’t mention it.
It certainly wasn’t logical, and it definitely wasn’t something he’d ever admit to Leela, though that didn’t make it less real, didn’t change his infatuation, even if she didn’t share it. Zapp was… something Fry had chosen. Or maybe, right now, something that had chosen him, for once, Fry didn’t overthink it. So… Maybe he wasn’t overthinking it. Maybe that was the problem. He drifted in those thoughts, somewhere between thought and feeling, until the world gently shifted again.
Zapp moved.
Not abruptly. Not enough to break the softness of the moment. Just a slow adjustment, a little repositioning and then he was there.
Leaning back into him.
Resting against Fry’s chest like it was the most natural place in the universe to be. Like he belonged there. Like he’d decided it, and that was enough.
Fry went still.
Not tense, just… hyper-aware.
Zapp settled in with a quiet exhale, shoulders relaxing, head tilting just slightly back onto him as if testing the shape of the man behind him. The warmth of the bubble bath blurred the line between them, bubbles drifting lazily around their arms, their shoulders, the space they now shared.
For a second, Fry forgot how to exist again.
Then….
“You’re aroused.”
Fry’s attention snapped up instantly.
“Oh—!” he started, caught, eyes wide, but the panic didn’t follow, it didn’t crawl up his spine like fire and ice the way it usually did.
Instead, he found Zapp Brannigan already looking at him. Head turned slightly, just enough. Blue eyes glancing, not cutting, not accusing, but slow. Curious. Taking him in without urgency, without pressure.
Fry blinked, blushed wildly, all the pink in the room now invading his cheeks, “…I wasn’t—” he started.
Then stopped… Because… yeah. He was, and for once, he didn’t feel like he had to lie about it.
Zapp watched him for another moment… Then he chuckled.
Low.
Soft.
Something almost fond tucked into the sound, like he’d found something he liked and decided not to ruin it.
“I can feel you against me,” Zapp said, voice quieter now, like it was less of a performance and more of a true air of passion, like he didn’t have to fake the sound in his voice for once.
Fry’s brain came rushing back all at once.
Too fast.
Too loud.
“Oh! …uh s—should I—?” Fry stammered, breath catching as his chest rose and fell a little too quickly, “Like… move? Or— do something? Or, uh, not do something? I can also not do things. I’m really good at that…” his hands hovered uselessly at his sides, half-submerged, like they were waiting for instructions that were not coming. His pupils were blown wide, eyes darting, trying to land somewhere that felt less overwhelming than right here.
Zapp didn’t move away, he was just settled comfortably against him, like Fry’s nervous energy didn’t exist, or simply didn’t matter.
Fry swallowed, hard. His hands still didn’t know what to do. One twitched slightly. The other drifted an inch, then stopped, like it had hit an invisible wall.
Zapp huffed a soft, amused breath.
Then he reached back.
His hand found Fry’s. Warm and soapy. Fry froze again. Zapp’s fingers slid between his, slow and smooth, linking them together beneath the water where the bubbles drifted and hid the small, simple gesture from view. He thrusts himself backward, rolling his hips, his ass against Fry’s cock testing his reaction, Fry desperately muffled his groan in the curve of Zapp’s shoulder. Zapp turns his head and leans in to kiss him, sensuous and hot, like everything else he does.
Or… At least Fry thinks so.
His free hand wraps around his captain’s waist, pulling him closer just so he can rut against the plump ass pressed to him with the small bit of confidence that had returned to his brain cells. After all, if Zapp wanted to spread his legs and beg Fry to rub against him, what other confidence booster could he get?
After a second, Zapp’s hand drifted down, lightly guiding Fry’s wrist away. Not harsh.
Not rejecting.
Just… redirecting.
Fry paused, a little “…Oh,” escaping his lips, the realization settling in without much effort. He hoped that he didn’t make it weird.
He’d always known that Zapp wasn’t exactly subtle about… anything really, especially things about himself, but there were quiet hidden things to him too. Places he didn’t put on display, even if everything else about him was loud and certain, being overweight was not one of them. Right now there was less performance, more something tucked just underneath it all. No uniform, no girdle, no careful shaping or presentation. Just… him.
Zapp gave a faint, satisfied hum, still resting back against him, completely at ease, not moving away, “Try… lower,” he said quietly.
Fry’s fingers obey, having left his waist for his equally thick thighs, and with no further protest, his fingers wrap around Zapp’s cock, stroking him from base to tip beneath the water, strokes that have him burying his face against Fry’s neck and panting in his ear instantly.
Zapp groaned into his ear; he was so far gone already, and Fry hadn’t been far off from it either, the tension building in his own body, heat pooling in his lower belly, hoping he could last long enough with Zapp rubbing against him for both of them to enjoy it.
“Can… I, uh?” Fry isn’t sure how to ask, though he wasn’t sure the first time around either.
He can feel Zapp nodding against his shoulder, his answer coming in a loud groan that sends an ache throughout Fry’s entire body.
His hand moves to Zapp’s ass, plush and soft and perfect, his fingers easily finding a new position after a few handfuls of the captain’s rear; and had they not been in the water he knew the other man would have relaxed after a few hard spankings.
His fingers rubbed gently over the ring of muscle once he reached his rim, waiting until Zapp exhaled and relaxed enough to let it slip inside, crooking his finger forward as Zapp let out a moan of pleasure, his own hands surfacing to brace the edges of the tub.
It was obvious even to Fry that Zapp wanted more, wanted all of Fry, was just breathing through the desire to fuck himself senseless on Fry’s fingers, so he hadn’t felt the need to hesitate or ask before working a second and third finger inside, Zapp is two seconds away from pure abandon and Fry wants to keep him there, he pauses, just thinking he could let Zapp adjust, before pushing in deeper, his captain biting back the urge to beg him to go faster.
“Captain,” Fry said, low and rather impressed with the sound of his voice, a little sexy, a little possessive, and he bit down on Zapp’s shoulder, deep, hard, raking his teeth just so that his bite mark would be there even after he was back in uniform and covered up… which was somehow asking a lot, he realizes.
Zapp really thinks he should, maybe, possibly warn him that he didn’t think he could last much longer, that he could cum just from this touch alone, the teeth in the crook of his neck sending him over that edge where all that could come out was a loud groan and a husky, breathless, “Fuck me, fuck me,” until those fingers pulled back out.
Fry reached down to guide himself to Zapp’s entrance, slowly pushed just the head of his cock into his captain, who is tight, hot and perfect when he slides his cock into him, another loud groan escaping from his mouth, a little performative and a whole lot sexy.
Fry moved slowly, dancing around an intrusive thought and pulling Zapp by the hip into the perfect position, peppering kisses along the back of his neck while he moved, thrusting in slowly, waiting for Zapp’s hips to shift backward against his rhythm, finding the moment to speed up to piston against his body.
“Fuck, fuck,” Zapp gasped, breathless and panting, the sound of his breath mingles with the water that’s picking up a rhythmic splash, a wave curving inward and outward and pink Prosecco scented water spilling on the floor. It had, unfortunately, been too long since he’d had a man inside him, since he’d had anyone in his cozy velour bed, that the moment isn’t even ruined when Fry’s intrusive thought wins over and he asks ‘D-do you do this with Kif?…’ and Zapp huffs a breathless chuckle, “Hell no.”
It had been so long since Fry had started wanting something more with Zapp. It had lived in him longer than he’d wanted to admit. That quiet, impossible want. The kind that didn’t make sense, the kind that sat in the background of everything; soft and stubborn, like a song he couldn’t turn off, he had been dreaming about it since the realization that it hadn’t just been a one-time, weird, confusing thing.
It had stuck.
It reminded him, in a way he couldn’t quite explain, of being younger; of sitting too close to the television, eyes wide, watching some heroic captain who always knew what to say, what to do. That same pull. That same quiet awe.
That was the way he had felt the first time he’d seen Captain Kirk on television, but Zapp Brannigan wasn’t some distant, untouchable figure. He was here.
Real.
Warm against him.
The rim of Zapp’s entrance was spasming around his cock, it was hard to concentrate on anything but fucking a captain that was all his.
For so long, it hadn’t felt possible.
Not with everything orbiting around Leela; with both of them caught in that same gravity, pulled toward something that never quite settled the way it was supposed to. Or the way they thought it was supposed to.
Fry had told himself that was the story.
That was how it went. So this… This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Then again it was; and it hadn’t been the first time.
“Fuck...” Zapp groaned, fingers still clenching the edge of the tub.
Fry let himself get lost in the sensations, lost in the sounds escaping Zapp’s soft lips, his voice drenched with pleasure, his hips fucking backwards. The sounds he was making for him, not anyone else. Fry exhaled slowly, his grip tightening just a fraction where his fingers were still holding Zapp’s hip beneath the water.
He knows that the tips of his fingers are going to leave bruises, but it’s just another mark to remind Zapp he is now his and… floating bed be damned, maybe he can take care of those later.
He shifts his position, sitting more onto his knees, letting them take both of their weights, both hands gripping into his hips, tighter and harder, pulling him in until there was no gap between them, Zapp’s back, sweat and bubble soaked, pressed against him, letting him fuck him as hard as be wanted to because Zapp was his, and he was crying out for it, his muscles tense under his plush body, clenched tightening around Fry, his body arching, the bend of his body pushing into him and dragging forward with the flow of water; Zapp’s vision blurred around the edges like fading starlight; body shuddering as his hand stroked between his thighs.
Fry can feel every bit of Zapp’s walls squeezing around him, every muscle contracting in turn with the purr falling from his lips. He closed his eyes when he came from the sensation. Just a few more strokes and Fry’s own orgasm hit. His muscles tensed as he came, an arm wrapping underneath Zapp’s chest, his body falling forward onto him, his lips moaning a choked sound from deep inside him. He could feel himself spilling into him, cumming inside of his captain’s body, with Zapp a sweaty, soapy, slippery, shaking mess against him; his body satisfied, his sexual energy expended.
Fry let the quiet sit for a second longer before it bubbled up, just the panting and exhaustion floating between them before his voice found itself again, “Should we get out?” he asked, soft but a little unsure, like maybe leaving would break whatever this was.
Zapp hummed, low and thoughtful, still spent, voice gone, but he leaned forward, shifting away just enough to give Fry space; easy, unbothered, like the moment could stretch or end whenever he decided it would.
Fry, scooting backward in the tub, which turned out to be harder than expected when everything was slippery and pink and not designed for graceful exits, he made a small, undignified splash.
Fry stood carefully, legs trembling just slightly. He stepped out onto the plush mat, water dripping everywhere, and immediately spotted a stack of neatly folded towels nearby… The second his fingers touched the top one... The entire stack collapsed.
Towels slid everywhere. One hit the floor. One somehow wrapped halfway around his ankle. Another just… gave up and drifted off to the side. He crouched, rolling his eyes as he hurriedly gathered them up, folding absolutely none of them correctly, and finally managed to secure one around his waist with something that resembled confidence.
Behind him, Zapp rose from the bath like this happened every day; and for him, it probably did. Without missing a second between them, he grabbed a towel and draped it over his head, rubbing through his damp blonde hair with casual efficiency, like the earlier moment hadn’t happened at all; or like it had, and that was simply expected.
Water trailed down his shoulders as he stepped out, reaching for another towel to dry off.
Fry glanced over, then quickly glanced away… Then glanced back again.
Zapp smirked wide and his eyes looked Fry up and down like a new ensign to inspect, reached for his black velour robe and beckoned Fry toward the bedroom.