Sometimes I think the real rush isn’t the jump to lightspeed. It’s the crash afterwards. When the silence is too loud and the only thing that cuts through it is the sharp bite of pain or the wet heat of a mouth on your cock. I want to be pushed up against the cold transparisteel of the viewport, watching the smog-lights of the city below, while someone takes me apart from behind. Hard. No gentleness, just the slap of skin, the sting of a grip on my hair, the filthy, perfect things growled in my ear until the stars outside blur. I want to come so hard I forget my own name, my ship’s designation, the price on my head. Just animal sensation, sweat on cold glass, and the taste of someone else.

Anyone else ever feel too alive to sit still? (Mood: wired, feral)