Work Text:
The first thing Nureyev realises after his consciousness lands with a thump back into the blessed cradle of flesh and blood, after the blind panic of the explosion recedes, is that his ear cuff has fallen out and is hanging loose by his neck. He knows this because he’s looking straight it. He’s looking at himself in the leftmost seat, wrenching the diodes of Rita’s contraption from his sweat-slicked scalp with a frown. While his brain tries to jam that impossible puzzle piece into place, the other Nureyev turns to look at him and screams.
“Ahh! Doppelgänger!”
Nureyev looks to his other side and meets Rita’s bugged-out eyes, terror and relief pushing them to bulging out of her face. But that isn’t correct, because he was sitting on the left, and to his right was…
He looks down at a crumpled trench coat and two thick-fingered, scarred hands. He turns his palms upwards. The hands in his lap turn upwards. Next to him the other Nureyev is struggling out of his seat, having trouble with the belt, his voice rumbling low and furious like a hover engine.
“Ohh no. Oh no, no, no. Nope. Not this. I refuse.”
Nureyev pats himself down from chest to knees, noting the alien shapes and textures alongside a yawning chasm of horror on the horizon of his mind with business-like coolness. “It’s me, Juno.”
“I know you are, but what am I?” retorts Juno, rising to his feet and immediately lurching too far to the right. “Fucking heels, you - Rita. Rita.”
“Boss?” Her voice is tremulous as she looks rapidly back and forth between them like a ping pong match. Juno raises Nureyev’s hand and gives a sardonic wave.
“This one. Over here. Which, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, is a pretty big fucking problem, because it looks like my body -“ he gestures accusingly at Nureyev, “is having a little vacation over there without me.”
Nureyev stands mechanically, cataloguing how the room looks shifted fractionally to the left and stretched a few inches higher than normal. “I’m going to be very calm about this, Rita.” he says, voice grating with unfamiliar gravel. “Because I’m certain this is a very fixable and very temporary miscalculation, which we will all look back upon and laugh. Preferably, as soon as possible.”
Rita is already at the control panel, short fingers flying over the buttons and words tripping from her pink painted mouth. “Oh you bet Mistah Ste- Ransom, you betcha. There ain’t nothing a Rita can do that can’t be undid. Now like I said I don’t know how the neurolink tech actually works, but I guess it’s a teensy tiny little bit of gamma wave displacement, the weeniest eeniest disconnect in the neural net, so I just need to - “
“How. Long?” grits out Juno.
“A couple…”
Nureyev stomach sinks as he watches green numbers flash reflections across her glasses.
“Hours. Give me four - okay three, three hours!” she squeaks at Juno’s thunderous look. He crosses to the entrance of the cave and Nureyev follows automatically, suddenly very keen to not let his body slip out of sight.
“Not a minute more.” says Juno. “And once this is fixed and I’m done chewing you out, go ahead and block out the next twenty minutes. ‘Cause I wanna congratulate you on what we just did but I am - literally - not in the right headspace right now.”
When Juno exits he casts his eyes over his shoulder to see Nureyev following carefully behind. It’s like walking while trying not to appear drunk; every step takes extra effort as his brain clamours something is wrongwrongwrong about his body and the way it takes up space. Looking into his own face Nureyev knows the panicked expression in it will be reflecting back in Juno’s. He steels himself and decides to be calm enough for the both of them.
“It’s going to be okay, Juno. We are alive, we are back planetside, we are unharmed.” Juno scoffs hard enough he might pull a muscle in his forehead. “Well, current predicament aside we are uninjured, and all will soon be well.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down.”
“I very intentionally did not.”
Juno scrubs his face in that achingly familiar way. Nureyev watches his fingertips linger on the socket of his right eye. When he speaks he sounds exhausted.
“One existential nightmare per day, is that too much to ask.”
Nureyev hums sympathetically, putting his hands in the trouser pockets and wrinkling with distaste to find a used tissue and nothing else; good god he needs to slip some useful things into here next chance he has. “I would rather not face the rest of the crew in such an existentially precarious state. Your place or mine, detective?”
Juno growls and sets off at top speed through the undergrowth in the direction of the Carte Blanche. Top speed in Nureyev’s shoes and limbs however proves quite manageable to keep up with; Peter trails him with relative ease all the way to the ship bay doors, ears alert for any sign of the others who appear mercifully engaged on repairs elsewhere. He thinks Juno’s hearing might be even better than his. Over the journey Juno’s mouth has drawn tighter and more unhappy with every minute and he snaps quietly when they reach the cool interior.
“Can you stop following me? I think I need some space.”
“I don’t think it’s our cleverest idea to be apart at present. Who knows the effect it might have in this state.”
“Don’t take that tone with my voice, Nureyev.”
“Which tone would that be?”
“This one right now - all supercilious and shit.”
“My, it seems you’ve taken possession of my vocabulary as well.”
Juno grumbles “I read, you ass,” sotto voce and strides away, directly into the edge of a storage locker. “Goddamnit.” Juno kicks the locker; Nureyev winces. Those shoes are patent. “You bust your guts for a year getting used to one eye, turns out it’s not so easy to switch it off again.”
Nureyev knows better than to say anything to that. He reaches out a hand to the wall and follows Juno down the corridor. It feels like a dream, watching his own back receding down the hallway, albeit with a distinctly more stomp in its gait than typical. He eyes it critically - the mussed hair near the nape, getting too long; the cinched waist not as narrow as it used to be; the snug trousers tight around the curve of his - well, that looked pretty flattering, actually. There are small mercies.
When Juno reaches the door to his room, he turns and watches dryly at Nureyev’s approach.
“I’m literally running away from myself. Psychologists would kill each other with the rocks to get their hands on this.”
“We’ll write to the journals, dear. In the meantime, we will let Rita continue her work.”
Juno’s trademark growl as he pushes into the room sounds unfortunately kittenish coming from Nureyev’s throat and he has to swallow a smile. He continues, “She got us into this situation and I have faith, just as before, that she will get us out of it.”
When the too-broad shoulders bounce off the door frame as he misjudges the distance, Nureyev delicately counts two beats in his head and angles sideways to follow through. Juno is watching with a mix of horror and amusement, but at least there is amusement there. He starts pacing in odd parallelograms around the small cabin, and wary to get too close, Nureyev hovers by the closed door.
“I never made a hobby of looking in the mirror all that much.” says Juno after a minute, unable to keep still. “So if I’m not looking at you, don’t take it personally.”
“Understandable and understood, Juno.” he replies, crossing his arms. “This is just as strange for me as it is for you. We can do nothing for now but wait.” He pauses for a moment, eye tracking Juno’s movements, then continues conversationally, “I keep thinking there’s something crawling on my neck.”
“I’ve been meaning to get a haircut.” Juno stops in front of him then and looks sheepish, an incisor pressing into his bottom lip. “I’ll get Rita to put it in my diary. When my hair is actually attached to me again. For now I’m still dealing with the fact the ground is too far away.”
“Funny, I was going to say the ground is too close.”
They smile at each other and the tension eases. Or rather, Nureyev smiles up at Juno; at himself. Juno’s usual moue of frustration is endearingly familiar. His first thought is to wish for a pair of heels in Juno's size. His second thought is that the novelty is not altogether unpleasant. The distance between their bodies feels thick and malleable in a way that’s not entirely an issue of depth perception. The steady heartbeat in his chest starts to thud a little more solidly. Interesting.
The dark eyes staring him down dart almost imperceptibly to his mouth, then back up again. They stand carefully at the border of each other’s personal space and then speak at the same time.
“This is really weird -”
“This could be erotic -”
“What do you mean, erotic?” hisses Juno beseechingly. “This is fucking bizarre.”
“It presents a massively impossible and unique opportunity, Juno. We do very well with impossible opportunities.”
Juno is looking a little guilty. “I… guess?” It comes out very much as a question. If Juno doesn’t want to, of course it’s not going to happen, but the lure of Nureyev’s favourite thing (something rare, exciting, something his for the taking) is too strong not to try. And there is plan B, option C even, if Juno would graciously grant him twenty minutes alone, or maybe watching, yes, now that… His extremities, which had already been warm in that way Juno’s hands and feet were never cold, tilt toward overheated.
Nureyev takes half a step closer and notes with satisfaction Juno doesn’t move away.
“Dearest?” Nureyev intones. “Might you possibly be thinking what I’m thinking?”
“The shrinks will actually never leave us alone.” Juno grumbles and does a lap of the room for good measure before returning to the same spot. He looks perturbed but hopeful, like he’s ready to be talked round to a bad idea. “Because it would be kind of stupid, and, and weird. Right. Right? If, hypothetically… what exactly were you thinking?”
Nureyev summons his most sultry tone and is pleased with how frayed it goes at the edges, a way his own vocal cords have trouble producing. He reaches out and traces a fingertip along the line of his - Juno’s pulse, jumping in his neck. “You told me that you would try anything once.”
Juno licks his lips. He looks away.
“Turn the lights off.”
Nureyev is as thrilled as he is secretly relieved. With the overhead light off and the porthole covered, only the faintest illumination creeps around the curtain and suffuses the space, enough to make out shapes - the bed, the body in front of him. Enough to go by without really seeing.
They stand in the darkness unmoving. It is more awkward than sexy. Nureyev suppresses a powerful urge to giggle.
“Juno?” He speaks into the gloom. The answer is immediate, and exactly what he needs to hear.
“I’m right here.” They stand for some of the longest seconds of Nureyev’s life.
“Well say something.” hisses Juno.
“You first.”
“Alright. Alright. This is fine. If it gets too weird we just stop, and it’s fine.” Juno runs a hand through his hair, makes a small hmm and Nureyev knows instantly that he was thrown by the change in texture. “But it could… it could be really fun.”
“It’s always fun with you.” Nureyev takes a step closer and after a moment of fumbling catches hold of both of Juno’s wrists. He marvels that these fingertips meet as the hands encircle them entirely. He tugs Juno toward him and can feel the formidable reserves of brawn in these muscles. Nureyev’s body had enough wiry strength enough to hold his own against Juno - or so he had believed. The idea Juno might have been letting him think that, and could always have overpowered him any moment he chose is - infuriating. But it makes some embarrassing caveman thing in the back of his brain twitch. The swift image of Juno properly pinning him down and taking him roughly seizes him very by surprise and Nureyev’s spine tingles.
Juno seems to be having the same realisation in reverse as he stumbles closer, like his gravity is turned too low. The faint outline of his eyes that Nureyev can make out in the gloom is very wide.
“Oh no,” murmurs Juno coyly, seemingly braver in the dark. “What are you gonna do to me?”
It both sounds like Peter and doesn’t. To hear one’s voice aloud without it coming through one’s own throat renders it foreign, like hearing a song he should recognise but struggles to place. It’s easier without sight to tune his ear to Juno’s cadence and remember who is standing before him. A pricking similar to fear still itches at the back of his skull, like the curls alien against his scalp.
It’s Juno who breaches the distance, leans his face down to Nureyev’s and lovingly kisses him squarely on the side of the chin, missing his mouth. They both giggle. “Sorry,” breathes Juno, and adjusts, and then there are warm lips against his own, searching and sweet. How could he not melt into that tenderness. When Juno’s tongue slides against his there is a rush of warmth south through his gut and he can feel movement below the belt, the cock beginning to stir. It’s a little off-putting. It’s quite fascinating. It’s very distracting.
Nureyev lays his palm on Juno’s chest in the centre of his open shirt, except it isn’t Juno’s chest, none of that delicious coarse hair or comforting bulk of muscle under the fat; it’s smooth and lean, and he is repulsed for a second as if he’s touching a stranger. Peter removes his hand and places it on his own chest and there is the sensation he knows, and he laughs once, feeling a little dizzy.
“Stay with me,” murmurs Juno, and kisses him deeply until he’s back in the room. When Juno grips his ass in both hands Nureyev’s hips jump forward of their own accord. He has a strange craving to bite down on something. The cock is hot and heavy now, caught between the straining to be free from Juno’s pants and enjoying the frisson of the denim every time he shifts. Which is happening a lot, Nureyev realises hotly; rocking slightly against nothing but the inside of Juno’s jeans as the detective digs his fingers into the meat of Nureyev’s backside.
“That is… insistent.”
“Yeah, hard to ignore. A guy can get himself in all kinds of trouble listening to his dick.” Juno licks a stripe up Nureyev’s neck and he curses faintly as he feels the cock throb in response. “Like right now, if you needed an example.”
“Is that a promise?” says Nureyev breathily. They move as one to the bed, shedding clothes artlessly, sheltered by the dark. Nureyev palms himself experimentally through Juno’s underwear and finds it quite difficult to draw his hand away. Soon they are arranged with Juno on his back, Nureyev kneeling beside; he rests a warm hand at the base of Juno’s throat.
“Do you feel - ready?”
“Emotionally or like, wet?” Juno’s voice is a little thin.
“Both, ideally, Juno.”
“I would say both, yeah. Let’s find out.”
Nureyev’s hand slides down sightlessly, guided by touch and the fluting of Juno’s breath. He reaches the neat pubic hair, brushes his fingers through and down in one confident stroke across the clit. Juno’s chest heaves.
“O-kay!”
Nureyev has lived two lifetimes now, lives of danger and thrills and experiences beyond his wildest imaginings as a boy on Brahma, but this might be one of the best moments yet. He dips down to the silky wetness at the entrance (Juno sucks in a deep breath) then back to roll the pearl steadily between his fingers. The reaction is instant; he can see and feel Juno’s torso shifting as the detective begins a low litany of words but his tone is something Peter hasn’t heard in bed before, a kind of incredulous surprise.
“So that’s - okay, that’s - wow, right, fuck - Nureyev, holy – ”
He does so love to surprise his lady. Peter switches direction into a counter-clockwise circular massage and the words stop with an abrupt ‘haah!’ as Juno’s head lands heavily on the pillow. It’s been quite a few years since Peter has done this for someone else so it’s interesting to translate the things he likes best to a hand outside his body - and a moment of vertigo washes through him at the existential challenge of exactly what situation he’s in - but he brings his second hand to press against the entrance and feels more than hears the thump of what must be Juno’s fists against the covers.
“Fuck that’s a lot - warn me if you’re going to, you know…”
“To finger you?” says Peter as mildly as he can, though he can’t modulate the roughness out of his tone. “To fuck you, hmm?”
“Yeah, that.” Juno’s whole back arches as Peter changes to clockwise. “Holy Shit. I mean - if you’re okay with that, given it’s your…?”
“I am more than okay with it, dearest. Now. Consider that your warning.”
Juno gasps in the second’s pause that Peter leaves, just to be sure, but Peter can also feel the cunt literally throb under the pads of his fingers and after that moment his first fingertip teases past the welcoming folds one inch, then another, until they’re buried to the knuckle. He begins to pump slowly, letting Juno adjust, who has gone quiet.
“How are we feeling?”
“It’s strange.” Juno sounds a bit strangled. Nureyev stills immediately.
“Good strange or bad strange?”
“Definitely good strange. Ahh - I didn’t think it would be - never mind. Keep going.”
So Peter takes him at face value, as he always tries to do these days, and begins to curl the pumping digit in a way that knocks a beautiful ‘ooh’ out of Juno’s lips. He works both hands steadily, hearing Juno’s breath grow heavier, and after Juno has begun thrusting back against him adds a second finger easily. He thrills at the pleased gasp that rings out.
“Nnnhh - that’s good.”
“Isn’t it just?” croons Nureyev, “I wonder if you’ll like this as much as - oh, I think you do.”
Because Juno has started spitting a string of nonsense consonants as Nureyev stills the thrusting of his hand, focusing on flexing the tips of fingers firmly against the front wall of his cunt, keeping tandem with his thumb rhythmically pressing his clit. He hears Juno’s feet scrabbling against the bedcovers and after a minute relents, returning to stroking him from the inside. Juno breathes like he’s fleeing the scene of a crime.
“Would you like another?”
“I think my fingers are bigger than yours.” whispers Juno into the darkness, which isn’t an answer either way.
“I’m sure you can take it, dearest.”
“I’m sure too.”
Nureyev doesn’t know why Juno is whispering. But he’s finding it a little uncanny, wants to pull them back into more uncomplicated sensation. His index finger joins the other two and drags down the front wall, pulling a messy groan from Juno. Then Peter begins to thrust in earnest, fucking the detective on his fingers as he grinds circles into his clit until the sounds that are punched out of Juno become sharper, breathier, climbing an octave scale of ecstasy, and he feels a hungry pride swell in his chest as his detective writhes beneath him. He knows they’re getting close when Juno’s moans drop right back down low and guttural, and Peter’s so excited to hear him, so excited to share this -
“Wait, wait -“
He stills again, and can hear his own heart pounding like a drum.
“Juno? What’s wrong?”
Only shuddering breaths beneath him, then,
“Wow - nothing, nothing’s wrong, just didn’t want it to be over so quickly.”
Peter almost wishes the light was on then. Hopes that Juno can make out the glimmer of evening light against his incisors as his face splits in a devilish grin and delight bubbles up through him.
“My darling.” he purrs, “Why would this be over after the first time you come?”
When he starts up that same unrelenting rhythm Peter feels Juno’s whole body jolt, a gasp punched out of him. It sends Peter’s stomach swooping and it doesn’t stop roiling with heat and want as Juno arches, as Juno’s flailing hand grabs his forearm and digs his fingers in, as he mumbles I’m I’m ohfuckfuck
A wail pierces the darkness as Juno’s hand locks like a vice around his arm. His hips try to buck wildly until Nureyev leans his weight down on Juno’s thighs, pinning him as he fucks him through it and Juno’s cry stretches into a warbling keen, shaking against Nureyev’s hands until eventually he slows. It seems Juno is for once at a loss for words; he gasps for air as his whole being goes slack.
Nureyev feels a strange sense of pride for his own body and what it can do - given proper care and encouragement. He wastes no time in starting up again. Juno groans.
“God that’s really - wet.”
“You did marvellously.” He’s a little rougher than before, quite a lot faster. When Nureyev touches himself he knows exactly how he likes to catch the comet trail of the first orgasm and drag himself dirty and quick into the next. Juno swears a few times, breathing hard, then within the minute clutches Nureyev’s arm as the telltale fluttering around his buried fingers starts again.
“What - already?”
“Don’t chase it, but don’t fight it. Deep breaths.” Nureyev instructs, and Juno obeys; his body relaxes around Nureyev’s fingers allowing them to slip a few more millimetres inside that silky grasp and then squeezes tight, then again, and Juno mumbles something incoherent before he curls almost in half, shuddering violently.
When he finally, delicately pulls his fingers free Nureyev puts them in his mouth out of habit. He watches the faint outline of Juno’s chest lift and fall rapidly for a while.
“And it’s like that every time?” Juno’s tone is split between wonder and accusation.
“If you’re doing it right.” hums Nureyev.
“It just keeps going -”
“I’ve had a lot of practice with this particular model. It’s good to know those efforts have not gone to waste.”
Juno puffs out a long breath then props himself up on his elbows. “Can I touch you?”
“I am so glad you asked.” Now Nureyev is no longer focused on the breathless spectacle of making Juno come, every nerve in his cock is shouting for attention. He’s not sure how much harder it’s possible to get but extremely willing to find out.
Juno’s hand lands on his upper thigh and he jumps. The fingers slide quickly north and start to roll the balls between them. Nureyev’s chin drops to his chest as he begins to take deep, gulping breaths. It’s a pleasure several degrees to the left of what he needs, a tease that makes him feel stupid with want. His hips are rocking forward without conscious thought, desperate for contact. When Juno grips him firmly and starts to stroke root to tip Nureyev’s eyes screw shut and he is shaking; every sense narrowed down to that glorious friction. Juno lets go and licks his palm sloppily before returning to steady, rolling strokes, then twisting slightly at the head which makes Nureyev’s brain short-circuit and a sound like a hiccup explode from him.
“Fuck.” says Juno. “Do you want to - ”
“Yes, yes.” Nureyev doesn’t remember what it feels like to want anything else. He pushes Juno backwards and clambers between his thighs, knocking them apart none too carefully with his knees. Juno makes a very interested noise and Nureyev pauses, reaches to find his shoulder then his cheek in the dark. He wills his breath down from the high speed getaway it’s currently performing from his lungs so he can speak.
“Are you okay? Is this good?”
“Yes and yes.” Then Juno’s tone shifts into a challenge wrapped around adoration. “Now show me what all the fuss you make is about.”
Nureyev growls a little, which surprises them both. He lines himself up, sinks into the welcoming pressure in one smooth motion, and yelps.
Peter is entirely unprepared for the intensity of every millimetre gripping him, the volcanic heat that radiates through the base of his spine to the tips of his toes and ears, pushing all thoughts to the edge of his mind. When Juno moans wantonly he pulls back, thrusts forward and it’s bliss, does it again, gods this is unbelievable, once, twice more and Peter has only a second of horror to recognise the lightning up his spine as white-hot heat rockets through him, a tidal crash of pleasure that blows out his whole focus as he yells. The sound is oddly muffled by the blood ringing in his ears. Nureyev takes a long second to come back to himself, now panting but still and buried to the hilt in Juno, because Juno beneath him -
Juno starts to giggle. The quivering against the cock is bizarre and Peter shivers violently. His cheeks have gone hot.
“Nureyev, did you just -?”
“I –” Peter tries automatically to defend himself but a frantic embarrassment is blocking his throat. “I…”
From the darkness the giggle dissolves into full throated laugh, peppered with a snort or two for good measure.
“Did you just - ahaha - did you just come like right away? Hahaha!”
Peter pulls out and lets slip a wholly undignified sound, his only consolation being Juno does exactly the same. Humiliation threatens to claw at his neck.
“I was - not expecting that.”
“What?” He can hear the shit-eating smirk around the words. “How incredible you feel? How hard your boyfriend has to work to fuck you properly?”
“Alright, enough.” Peter hisses, swats at where he thinks Juno’s shoulder is and more or less hits it. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Happens to the best of us, Nureyev.”
“Dear gods, strike me down now.”
Juno giggles again, then hums deep and contentedly as he settles back against the sheets. Nureyev feels - a lot of things.
“I’m sorry that was a little underwhelming.” He says with as much dignity and cheer as he can muster.
“Underwhelming? Nureyev you cannot be serious.” Juno’s hand finds his shoulder and pulls him down to lie half on top of him, then fumbles for the curtain and reveals enough ambient glow to cast their faces into shadowy relief. “Look at me. Mind? Blown.”
Nureyev can pick out the dark blush in his cheeks, the shining wetness of his eyes. “You flatter me, Juno.” he says, but is mollified all the same. He tucks his head into the warm crook of Juno’s neck.
Juno’s fingers spider-walk up his bicep.
“And we can always give it a little while…”
“Give me five minutes,” Nureyev insists, “and I will make you forget your own name.”
“I appreciate the enthusiasm but you are writing checks my dick cannot cash. Try twenty and some change, then we’ll talk.”
They manage to wait fifteen.