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nesaluvstherecoms · 9 months ago

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𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴏɴᴇʟ ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴍ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Sickness, mentions of vomiting, Miles and Lyle being a bit sexist?, mentions of death in battle, descriptions of dead Recombinant bodies, foul language.

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ʟɪɴᴋ

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖: 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

“Ya know…. Ya ain’t had ta tell ‘er.”

Toddy’s voice comes out softly, her tone filled with sadness that she tries conceal, coming from her small form on the folded bed. Her delicate fingers gently move over the strings of the guitar that’s resting on her lap, testing the notes and tightening them as needed. Meanwhile the male Recom watches carefully from the doorway, his Na’vi eyes cascading over the beautiful human girl, her figure tiny in contrast to his as she remains sat up on the medical wing bed, with her back leaning against the raised cushions behind her.

“They hadn’t refrigerated your insulin properly again, had they?” Henry replies instead, ignoring her statement as his dark pupils follow the woman’s gorgeous face, paler than usual. By looking at her, he can tell what has happened. She throws up for hours on end if the insulin she takes for her diabetes has gone bad, her body forcing her to expel out everything and anything that’s in her stomach during those hours. It drains her body of any strength in her muscles, and she becomes as pale as a ghost, ending her up in the medical wing each time.

Hearing that, Toddy’s dark brown eyes hood over either in sadness or disappointment, the Recom can’t tell.

“Yeah…” She whispers softly, before adjusting the position of the acoustic guitar to rest against her thin body so she can start playing it. Soon, the gentle notes of the music fill the cold medical room, bouncing softly against the dull colored walls. Henry watches as a small smile forms on Toddy’s plump, scarred lips, the music comforting to her. Her wavy blond hair falls forward on her shoulders as she leans onto her guitar, her long fingers stroking the strings expertly.

“I know how to hold a grudge.

I can send a bridge up in smoke.

An’ I can't count the people I've let down, the hearts I've broke.

You ain't gotta dig too deep.

If ya wanna find some dirt on me.

But I'm learnin’ who you've been.

Ain't who you've gotta be.

It's gonna be an uphill climb.

Aw honey, I won't lie.”

Henry listens to the girl’s beautiful voice as she sings her comfort song, the melody of her tone immediately calming his racing mind as well, his tail no longer stiff and now slowly flicking from side to side behind him. He remains silent, just watching her from the doorway while he sips some carbon dioxide from his Recom Breather, mesmerized, as she seems to momentarily forget her troubles while she continues, her angelic voice steady and controlled despite what her body has been enduring for the day.

“I ain't no angel.

I still got a few more dances with the devil.

I'm cleanin' up ma act, little by little.

I'm gettin’ there.

I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see.

I ain't as good as I'm gonna get.

But I'm better than I used ta be.”

The melody from her guitar continues as her nimble fingers dance upon the strings, accompanying her singing voice. She soon closes her eyes, focusing her mind on nothing but the notes that are coming from the instrument.

The Recom uncrosses his muscular tattooed arms and slowly walks over to the hospital bed she’s sitting up on, careful not to hit his head on the ceiling, before sitting down at the end of her bed, by her feet. He then rests his elbows on top of the military knee pads strapped to his legs, before turning to look at her, his tail flicking once behind him, draped over the bed and falling on the other side.

“She had a right to know, Toddy. Sometimes, people need to prepare for the death of someone, emotionally.” He explains to her softly, addressing her earlier statement. The girl doesn’t answer. Instead she continues playing the song on her guitar, her elegant fingers not stopping their beautiful strokes upon the strings.

“I've pinned a lot of demons to the ground.

Got a few old habits left.

But there's still one or two I might need you to help me get.

Standin' in the rain so long has left me with a little rust.

But put some faith in me.

And someday you'll see.

There's a diamond under all this dust.

I ain't no angel.

I still got a few more dances with the devil.

I'm cleanin' up ma act, little by little.

I'm gettin’ there.

I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see.

I ain't as good as I'm gonna get.

But I'm better than I used ta be.

I ain't no angel.

I still got a few more dances with the devil.

I'm cleanin' up ma act, little by little.

I'm gettin’ there.

I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see.

I ain't as good as I'm gonna get.

But I'm better than I used ta be.”

She finishes her angelic singing, accompanying it with a bit more music from her guitar as she beautifully plays the end notes. After a few more seconds, her movements halt, the music dissipating with her hand hovering over the instrument. Silence falls. Then she speaks.

“She don’ care about ma death. She don’ know me that way. Ya didn’ have ta tell ‘er. Now she gon’ treat me differently.” She replies as she raises her voice slightly at him, her pretty eyes, thickened by contact lenses, mirroring the sadness in her tone. Henry frowns, his cropped ears folding back at her words.

“Why would you say that?” He asks, his eyes looking at the tiny human’s beautiful face. A shiny coat of tears forms on the girl’s waterline, wetting her long lashes.

“It’s the truth.” She chokes out, her soothing voice running out near the end of her sentence. The Recom’s frown deepens, his brain working to figure out why the hell she would even think this way. He leans towards her, his upper body weight shifting to his left elbow, as his amber eyes focus on her tearing up, human form.

“Toddy, do you know how many people on this base get to spend time with Y/N?”

The girl raises her head at that, her pretty, wet eyes, looking over curiously at the large Recom sat at the end of her bed. Henry’s frown then falters, slowly turning into a soft smile.

“None.” He says, his own eyes looking over at her gently. “Not me. Not our team. Not even Captain Keller. Yes, we do interact with her, and yes, we all care about her and she cares about us, but Y/N is a loner. She doesn’t like showing people anything else than her commander side. And there’s no one else who she prefers to spend more time with besides her and herself. Meanwhile only some months in, and she has already been friendly with you since you met. Joined you in one of your direhorse riding afternoons, and rode one herself no less! Do you know how many times I have begged her to even come check out the botanical labs’ gardens with me? And you got her to do that, form a neural bond for the first time AND ride a direhorse in less than two hours!”

Toddy giggles sweetly at Henry’s enthusiastic and amazed expression, lowering her head to look down at her guitar with a beautiful smile. The Recom tilts his head at her reaction, a gentle smile of his own on his lips as his cropped ears slightly tilt back. He slowly reaches towards her, placing a comforting hand on her thin but firm right shoulder. She looks up at him, her doe eyes staring into his amber ones.

“Besides, she keeps coming back to you. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have even spared them a glance. You’re more special to her than you think, Toddy.” He tells her gently, squeezing her shoulder. A small smile forms on Toddy’s plump lips, her cheeks blushing lightly in a beautiful soft red.

“I… I didn’ know that.” She whispers softly, looking down. Henry gives her a gentle smile, before shifting in place, going back to leaning with his elbows on his knees. He takes a moment to take a sip of carbon dioxide, the gas feeling like pure relief in his lungs as they expand to receive it. His ears twitch for a moment, while his wrapped tail flicks once behind him.

“Tell you what. In two weeks, Y/N has two days off. Courtesy of Ardmore since she has done an amazing job throughout these months. Why don’t you take her to that special spot in the forest? The one where you go to when you want to escape the world?”

Toddy’s dark brown eyes light up at the idea, as she immediately raises her head to look up at Henry. Her heart starts pounding in her chest, and she clutches the instrument on her lap.

“D’ya think she’d come with me?” She asks, a certain glint in her pupils, clearly excited but unsure about it. The handsome Recom soldier smiles sweetly at her, leaning over to gently brush a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try now, would it?”

“What’s this?” Y/N asks with a raised brow, staring down at the slim stack of printed papers that the large man in front of her just passive-aggressively put down on her desk, right in front of her.

“The report you requested, ma’am.” Miles replies, an almost irritated tone in his raspy voice as he speaks. Y/N takes a good look down at the thin stack of papers on her desk, before raising her eyes to look up at him instead, one of her elegant brows remaining arched.

“And you finished, this early? It’s only been two weeks.” She more states than asks before lowering her eyes down again. “Paper? Really? Where are we, the 20th century? Where did you even find it?” She adds, gripping a corner of one of the white pages to tug at it in annoyance. Miles purses his lips, his eyes following the movement of her elegant hand, encased in a fine, black tactical glove.

“It’s an important report. It ain’t worth risking havin’ it in a database where other people can access it.” He replies, moving his head to look over at her face. But that answer does not seem to impress Y/N.

“You do realize we have the most secure database in the entire Universe, right?” She states back, raising her head to look up at him like he’s slow.

At that, Miles’ tail twitches behind him in annoyance. He takes a moment to reach below his neck and pick up his Recom Breather mask, bringing it up to his face for a sip.

“I don’t understand why you’re makin’ such a fuss out of this.” He replies, looking back at her more intensively now, as the first tingles of irritation creep on his blue skin. Upon receiving that response, Y/N’s sharp eyes narrow down at him.

“Watch your mouth.” She warns calmly but firmly with her ears slightly folding back, before her right gloved hand slides the stack forward on the smooth, polished surface of the desk, towards him.

“Remake this.” She then orders, staring down at the papers, before her pupils move up to his face again. “And next time when you’re finished, I want it in my datapad. I don’t want you storming into my office again for insignificant matters like this. I don’t care how you remember things being done around here, but it’s been fourteen years and things have changed. How can you call yourself a Colonel and not even be able to write a report correctly?” Y/N then adds in annoyance, not missing how Miles’ eyes narrow down at her as she gives her verdict.

“You want me to remake it? Ya ain’t even spare it a glance.” He retaliates as he tilts his chin down, his deep voice laced with slowly flaring up anger.

“I don’t need to.” Y/N replies back, continuing to stare up at him as she remains seated on her desk. “I know it’s not good enough. It’s approximately five pages long. And considering how much you fucked up at the Three Brothers alone, it should be at least twenty pages long.”

“Twenty pages?! Ya want me to write twenty pages on what I did wrong? Are you kidding me?! Do ya know how much twenty pages is?!” Miles’ voice raises in tone, his brows furrowing deeply at the woman in front of him, still sat comfortably on her spacious office desk.

“Is that a problem?” Y/N replies, her own tone now lowering dangerously, her sharp saffron eyes narrowing at his large form, pinning him. Her gloved hands clasp together on the surface of her desk, slim fingers intertwining.

Miles’ jaw clenches tightly, his masseter muscles contracting at the sides of his handsome face as his long tail twitches behind him in agitation. Now he remembers why he disliked her so much that day of the meeting. He hates how she speaks to him. All high and mighty in her comfortable chair, sitting in one of the most luxurious offices in the entire base, treating him like another rogue soldier, like a pest she can’t seem to get rid of. She seems to think she’s better than him, way above him in every single aspect. Well not by a fucking long shot. He earned his rank, honorably, while she was handed hers like candy. She has no right to even let her eyes look down on him like that. What the hell was Ardmore even thinking, making this spoiled bitch Major General?

But somewhat, he is used to the constant reminders of his failed mission by now. The most prominent being how the Deja Blu dorms are completely empty, with only him and Lyle occupying the space. The laughter and chatter of his team and Spider doesn’t fill the halls anymore, doesn’t comfort him, doesn’t snap him out of the void when he’s thinking. When he’s in his room, alone, questioning his identity, his purpose. It’s just quiet. Dead quiet.

His large, veiny hand reaches forward, gripping the thin stack of papers firmly, and picking it up from her desk.

“No, ma’am. No problem. I’ll remake it.” He replies in a low tone, his deep voice now smooth and controlled again. He makes eye contact with her one last time, his pupils lingering a bit more than they should on hers and her beautiful eyelashes, before saluting her briefly out of respect and turning on his heel to walk out of her office, long tail flicking behind him. His heavy combat boots thud on the hardwood floor as he walks out, the sound filling the large, otherwise silent space. When the sliding door finally closes behind his tall, muscular frame, Y/N brings her gloved hands up to rub her temples, elbows resting on her desk as she sighs heavily.

“God, he’s insufferable.”

。。。

The metal door slides closed behind Miles with a click. As soon as he’s in the clear, his fists clench, the report easily bunching up, the paper crumpling to a crisp in his left hand. He stands in the hallway outside her office, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. His right hand moves up, soon his long fingers running through the short strands of his black hair, out of habit. They’re longer than he remembers. Looks like he needs a trim. How long has it been since the last one? Weeks? No, months.

He’ll have Lyle do that later. The man might be bald but he’s good with a trimmer. The corners of Miles’ lips curl up a bit as a memory suddenly resurfaces at the thought, his cropped ears twitching in amusement. Lyle might be good with a trimmer but he never got to cut those god awful dreadlocks from Spider’s head. He even chased him around multiple times, going from suggesting - to threatening- to practically begging Spider to let him give him a haircut, insisting that his hairstyle was borderline a biohazard and a breeding ground for fleas. But the boy never faltered, instead flipped him off each time while cursing at him, sometimes in English, sometimes in Na’vi, telling him that he’d rather have this hairstyle than look like a striped blue ballsack. Miles lets out a soft huff of amusement at the memory, his problems momentarily forgotten, before his smile soon falls again, and his piercing stare hardens, the light in his amber eyes draining completely in a flash at a new memory.

“Son… come with me.”

He reaches out towards the boy, his palm open, waiting for him to grab on. He pants hard, his lungs still burning painfully from almost drowning to death in the icy waters of the sea, as the metallic tang of fresh blood lingers heavily in his mouth. His banshee lets out a heavy grunt, its neck vibrating, as it senses its owner’s state, beaten and battered to a pulp.

Spider also pants, his stripe-painted chest heaving up and down with each breath, the fresh cut from that animal woman’s blade now deeply engraved upon the human’s flesh. Miles’ eyes are vulnerable, pleading, just wanting the boy to come to him, like a father yearning for his son’s warmth, and Spider has never seen something alike. He hesitates for a second, hypnotized at the sight, at the desperation in the man’s pupils, before his brown eyes soon harden through the oxygen mask at the Recombinant, filling with anger, resentment. He leans forward just slightly to hiss threateningly at the man, as best as a human can, before forcefully throwing upon the rock below them the yellow rescue vest that he used to pull him out of the water. He turns, turning his back towards the Recom, then he jumps. The cold water splashes, foaming at the surface, and just like that, the boy is gone. His boy is gone. Miles’ amber eyes immediately sadden deeply, staring at the ripples on the surface as they disrupt the waves of the sea, splashing forcefully against the shore.

“Spider!” He calls out, letting out a final breath of desperation. He has no other choice but to quickly gather himself, and turns to climb on the saddle of his banshee, his chest now weighing painfully from the inside.

Miles lets his eyes squeeze shut for a moment, trying to calm down his heart that seems to have started beating rapidly at the memory. He brings his Recom Breather mask up, and takes a few deep breaths, clearing his mind. Soon enough, his eyelids lift again, his demeanor returning to normal, as if nothing ever happened. He can’t think about that. At least not right now. He has a bigger problem.

He lowers his head down, his sharp eyes falling on the thin stack crunched up in a death grip in his left fist. He takes in an annoyed breath, shaking his head in disbelief before exhaling through his feline nose with a sigh.

“Goddamnit. She gets under my skin like no one else.” He mutters to himself, before his boots move from their spot on the hallway floor, and he starts heading for his own office, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

Lyle Wainfleet knows what it feels like to be watched. Especially in the bitter forests of Pandora, where all kinds of eerie, alien creatures keep their multiple pairs of eyes on him every breath he takes, their ears moving in rhythm with the crunch of every leaf or plant that he steps on. He knows what it feels like to be the center of attention in a mission, where human soldiers keep their focus on him, taking in his actions in the battlefield, some looking for guidance, while the rest look to judge. He knows what it feels like to have the natives watch him, yellow Na’vi eyes following him in fear as he moves while others following in hatred, their black pupils filled with the desire for blood, to hunt him down, kill him. He knows what it feels like to have Quaritch’s sharp, intense gaze on him when he’s given an order, ensuring that his team lieutenant and his right hand man completes it flawlessly to the last word. And let him tell you, the sheer pressure in the Colonel’s crushing stare is enough to make the toughest of men cry.

However, none of the experiences above seem to have been quite like the one he’s experiencing right now…

“God, he’s so bald.”

“Is he just like that or does he shave it? I mean his neural whip is covered by hair.”

“That’s just an odd fuckin’ combination, innit?”

“Wot is he even doin’? Bloke’s been at it fer forte minutes already.”

“God, give me patience…” Lyle mutters annoyed and under his breath, the heel of his gloved palm pushing the freshly reloaded clip of the handgun he’s holding into the magazine, its click ringing through the artillery room. He tries to tune out the voices of the four large Recom men behind him, instead focusing on the task at hand as he grabs the next pistol out of the pile of guns on the table, before carefully dismantling it for cleaning.

After the clusterfuckery of a mission at The Three Brothers, Quaritch has been busy twenty four-seven with the punishments laid onto him by the Major General. The training has proven to be hard on him, especially since Second Lieutenant Jones insists on engaging him for prolonged hours every day, straining every last one of his muscles to the point of exhaustion. Apparently, General L/N was not happy with his report either, as Lyle learned later on that day when Miles came back to the dorms around midnight, after having locked himself in his office all afternoon, trying to redo the document to her standards. He was huffing and cursing under his breath, calling the General all the names in the book, and Lyle doesn’t blame him. This is just excessive at this point. She is blowing this completely out of proportion, acting like Quaritch killed those men by his own hand. I mean what does she expect? This is war, of course things will go south sometimes. But this is just making things more complicated. Lyle huffs. Women. Always so damn dramatic for nothing.

But after Quaritch was given his reprimands, Lyle didn’t escape unscathed either. The General’s right hand man, Captain Keller, took it upon himself to hold Lyle responsible too. In his words: “For enabling an officer to act against rules and regulations, and aiding him in unauthorized war conduct.”. And for this, he gave Quaritch’s right hand man a whopping four months of weaponry maintenance and cleaning duty, along with discharging him from his position until the Colonel is given back his privileges.

Lyle’s jaw tightens in dissatisfaction as that conversation starts replaying in his head. It’s not like he could’ve done anything besides following his Colonel’s orders, it’s his job after all. With Lyle being his team lieutenant, then what Quaritch says goes, and who is Lyle to defy orders? I mean, Quaritch’s punishment was fair to some degree because some of the fault was his, but of course somebody had to share the blame. Still, to Lyle, this whole ordeal is just bullshit blown out of proportion. Punishing Quaritch for something that was ultimately out of his control, and then going after his trusted aide for good measure? How were they supposed to know that the mission would turn out that way? How were they supposed to know that suddenly the tulkun that had never in years been aggressive towards them, would suddenly bellyflop their shit when they had just gained the upper hand? So every time a mission fails, people get punished for it around here? Is this what the RDA has become? A bigoted hierarchy?

Lyle had tried arguing with the Captain, but Keller had immediately shut him down, making it clear that his opinion was worthless in the matter. And now, Lyle sits in the artillery room, taking care of the weapons for the lower raking soldiers, while four of General L/N’s men stand a few feet away, judging him from the distance. The embarrassing part is that he’s not even taking care of Recom weapons, but just the regular ones, used by your everyday RDA soldier. The reason for this apparently was that ALPHA have their own artillery man, some German Recom, who they trust most with their guns and equipment, and would never let anyone else touch their stuff besides him. It’s a tedious and thankless task for Lyle, but he pushes through, reminding himself that he could have it worse. Like the Colonel.

However, the chatter of the four men behind him is slowly getting on his nerves more and more as days go by. They’re always somehow there, judging every single move he makes, watching him like hawks. And it’s incredibly frustrating. In a military environment like the RDA, hierarchy is king and these men are slowly pushing him further down the ladder, putting him at a great disadvantage. He also has learned their names by now, hearing soldiers salute them and all. First Lieutenant Fernando Álvarez, Sergeant Major Diego Silva, Master Sergeant Oscar Bailey, and First Sergeant Scott McCaskill. They’re all already higher in rank than him, but no higher officer has ever been on his ass like this. Especially Álvarez. He’s the worst. A complete ass if you will. He’s arrogant, loud mouthed, aggressive, and has a tendency to want to humiliate Lyle in front of lower rank soldiers. He never misses a single opportunity to insult or belittle him, making snide remarks and condescending jabs at Lyle’s expense, and seems to take great pleasure in seeing the other Recom struggle with cleaning duty specifically. The tasks Álvarez assigns him are no better. They’re endless. Routine. Degrading. He assigns him to clean the artillery and training rooms regularly, help the weapon technicians with taking care of the gun and missile systems in the Armor Bay, and sends him to clean the sloppy mess of Na’vi arrows and mud caked on the vehicles that come back from the battlefield. It’s constant tiring work, over and over again, and just when Lyle thinks he’s done, Álvarez is right on his ass piling more exhausting physical tasks and checking on “calvo’s” work.

But what can Lyle do? Álvarez is L/N’s third in command, his orders are practically law. His authority and skill in the battlefield are said to be unmatched, he’s a bully by nature, and while Second Lieutenant Jones torments the recruits coming from Earth and makes them cry, Álvarez has made multiple of them piss themselves. Nevertheless, the man is an insufferable prick whose favorite pastime seems to be tormenting Lyle, and reminding him of his place in the chain of command at every opportunity he gets. At least that’s Lyle’s perception of him.

The three other Recombinants are annoying, but not as bad. Sergeant Major Silva is the only one out of the bunch that’s tolerable. He doesn’t really bother Lyle, except for the occasional jabs when Álvarez spurs him on. But sometimes he comes by when Lyle is working, and like a cat giving you a dead bird it just killed and thinking it’s a gift, he hands Lyle some form of equipment that would make the task at hand easier for him. He does this discreetly and doesn’t really speak to Lyle when he does it, just stares at him, holding out his hand and waiting for Lyle to grab the tool. Actually in some form of way, it reminds Lyle of Lopez. Friendly bullying him in front of others, then being nice to him one on one.

Lyle’s brows then furrow at that thought. No. What is he thinking? These pricks don’t even come close to his old comrades.

He actually hasn’t met the rest of General L/N’s team yet. Well at least up close. Because they were all there the day of the meeting after the failed mission, and they’re always moving around base like rats.

Lyle takes a deep breath as he puts away the freshly prepped gun he just handled, placing it nicely by the rows of other firearms he has taken care of in the past hour. He slides his chair back just enough to arch his back and lift his toned arms to stretch upwards, the joints in his spine popping while his tail raises in an arch behind him. The Recom lets out a sigh of satisfaction as he straightens his back again, his broad shoulders relaxing, and takes a blank look around. The smell of gun oil and cleaner is practically imbedded in his sensitive feline nose by now, and he squeezes his eyes shut briefly. He can still hear the chatter of the four men behind him, but it seems like they aren’t paying attention to him anymore, rather focused on their own conversation amongst each other. Lyle then stands up from the chair he was sitting, his long legs feeling sluggish as he supports his body’s weight on them. Some fresh air would actually do him good, he hasn’t had his break since starting work that morning. A can of cold beer wouldn’t hurt either. He doesn’t ponder too much on that thought, and within seconds he’s already heading out the room before Álvarez can notice, the metal doors sliding shut behind his broad frame.

。。。

The base’s large bar is the only location in Bridgehead where everyone unites together, whether that be military, scientists, scouts, Avatar or Recombinant, or any other division within the RDA. It’s the one spot where everyone can come together after a grueling workday in Pandora, and have a drink or two to calm their nerves and ease their muscles. The place itself is quite large, with rounded tables, booths and lights, which have a lit cozy orange hue during the day, and a dim purple durning the night. And as most people on base, Lyle is no stranger to this place either.

Quaritch and his team used to come here quite often after missions. They all would sit at the largest booth in the corner and order food and drinks, while reminiscing about the past and usually celebrating their accomplished missions. They even brought Spider with them a couple of times, watching as the human boy shoveled food in his mouth while the Recoms laughed in amusement and spurred him on. Meanwhile Quaritch’s brow would twitch each time as he stared at the bill, going higher and higher with every item that the boy devoured.

But now, Lyle is sitting alone on a bar stool, recalling these happy memories of his now dead comrades, as he waits with slumped shoulders for the bartender to finish pouring his beer. His jaw is clenched, his long tail flicking gently behind him, while he blankly stares down at the wooden surface of the bar where he has rested his elbows on.

“Rough day?” The human bartender asks with a polite smile as he puts down the Recom sized beer mug in front of Lyle.

“Like hell.” The Recombinant replies, immediately grabbing the handle of the mug to lift it to his lips and take a large gulp. The cold alcohol flows down his throat nicely, quenching his thirst and cooling down the heat in his chest. He sets it down on the surface of the bar with a satisfied exhale, his tail flicking behind him in appreciation.

“Start me a tab.” He then murmurs, his voice low and raspy, as the bartender moves to the screen of his tab system to do as instructed.

Lyle lets his eyelids close, his large hand sliding over to the beer mug again. His long fingers grip the cold handle, bringing it up as this time he takes a normal sip, just trying to enjoy his drink and the few moments of peace he has managed to acquire. He sets the mug down gently, the glass thudding as it comes in contact with the wooden surface of the bar. The Recom keeps his eyes closed as he continues leaning on his elbows in front of him, his tail moving behind him gently. His breathing is soft, ears folded back lightly as he takes his time to try and unravel his thoughts.

It’s been about a month since the battle at The Three Brothers. Lyle hasn’t had much time to himself, to process anything that’s happened. He’s been so busy during the day, and just exhausted during the night that he hasn’t even had time to think let alone mourn his comrades. Yet some nights, after he has closed his eyes and laid beneath his sheets, he sees them… in his dreams.

First he finds himself submerged in the icy waters of the sea, where he almost lost his chance to life again. He swims desperately, trying to not let his head sink beneath the surface, but the raging waves make it hard for him to stay afloat. His arms and legs burn, the muscles beneath his blue skin begging for some relief as he continues using them mercilessly to survive. He finally reaches the shore, gasping for a breath and coughing out salty water, his hands desperately gripping the rock beneath him for support. And then he turns his head, blinking rapidly to squeeze the water away from his pupils. But as his vision clears, the sight before him makes his water filled stomach drop, his heart pounding harder in his chest. He finds Lopez and Ja there, on the shore, their uniforms drenched. They’re both laying on their backs, with an arrow deeply lodged in Lopez’s chest as his now soulless eyes stare at Lyle, mouth slightly agape. Next to him, Ja’s own eyes are closed, his head turned towards Lopez, his body unharmed. He looks calm, like he’s in deep slumber but his chest isn’t moving, and he isn’t showing any signs of life. Lyle flinches, his eyes staring into Lopez’s, his breathing getting more and more rapid. And for a moment everything around him stops.

Other times he’s still on the ship. He quickly replaces the clip of his Recom M69-AR, lodging a new one into the magazine as he takes position to start shooting again. He hides behind a pile of discarded tulkun hunting machinery, trying to listen through the chaos of the ship burning and turning over. And then he hears something. He clutches his long gun, droplets of sweat mix with the sea water on his skin, as he takes sharp inhales. His chest heaves, his ears ring, but he must push forward, he must survive. Immediately he jumps into action, pointing his firearm at the source of the sound.

His blood then runs cold.

A spear is skewered right through Prager’s chest, the Recom laying on his side with the head of the weapon having come out of his back, crimson blood pooling beneath him. Zdinarsk’s lifeless body lays just a few feet away from him, fingers still clutching her long gun, with one arrow lodged deeply in her left side. An open wound is visible through her right eye, past her eye socket and into her brain, as it gushes out blood from the second arrow having been yanked off after fatally hitting her. Her other eye is open, her mouth slightly agape, as she stares blankly into the void while the surface of the pooling crimson beneath her head reflects the scorching flames around them. Lyle’s own eyes burn, a thin coat of wetness forming on his waterlines. He wants to rush over to the both of them, try to do something, anything. But he can’t. He’s frozen in place. He can’t move. He tries to turn and call out to Mansk, but he’s nowhere to be seen, no sounds coming from his side of the moon-pool either, only silence. Lyle then presses his throat comm, desperately trying to connect to Miles but the line goes dead, no reply from his Colonel. The Recom then lowers his hand slowly, his fingers sliding over the long gun in his other hand, clutching the cold metal. He’s all alone now.

Lyle takes another sip from his beer, trying to drink the memory of the nightmares away as he swallows thickly. He places the mug down, his jaw settling tight as he lowers his head again.

He hadn’t actually seen them in the ship. He was too focused on fighting and they each were spread through the moon-pool. Their bodies were only recovered about two days later, a miracle they were even found really. Wainfleet and Quaritch were called in later to pay their tributes one last time before they took their bodies away. That’s when he saw them, in that sterile medical room, the scent of antiseptic filling his nose and the white lights above making everything look so unnatural. It wasn’t his first time in that room. He had been there before, after their first altercation with Sully and his bitch, where Fike, Walker, Zhang, Warren and Brown had lost their lives. He had been there with what was left of his team, the same team who now found themselves in the same room, but on the opposite side.

The doctors had pulled back the white sheets covering them one by one, just enough for the two still living Recoms to be able to see their faces. They all looked so peaceful, so calm, like they were just sleeping soundly, with Zdinarsk’s right eye sewed shut and patched up as she rested, her other eye closed peacefully. But their faces were unnaturally pale, and for a moment Lyle had become nauseous as his pupils took in the grimy blue their skin had turned. He had immediately moved his eyes to Miles, who on the other hand had no expression on his face. He was just staring blankly at them with his jaw firm, his sharp eyes moving over each one separately, while the pathologists described to them their causes of death after having performed the needed autopsies. Then the two remaining Recombinants had paid their tributes and left without another word, turning their backs to the corpses of their comrades, never to see them again. After that, it was never brought up between Lyle and Miles. Not that they even see each other often anymore, especially last week during a particular couple of days. Miles had locked himself in his room every night for three nights, doing God knows what, while Lyle would catch the scent of something on him as he passed through the hall to get to the shower. He’s not quite sure what it was, he just knows that it smelled good… a bit too good in fact, as it was mixed with Miles’ natural scent…

Lyle swallows down thickly the last of the alcohol, setting down the now empty beer mug, as he motions for the bartender to come over again.

“Make me a Black Russian. And double the vodka.” He grumbles, his voice low. The bartender opens his mouth to say something about not being allowed to serve highly alcoholic drinks to soldiers on duty, a rule the Recom knows too well, but Lyle shoots him a glare and he immediately flinches, moving to comply. Despite their usually friendly behavior, Recombinants are still absolutely terrifying to humans, and the poor guy behind the counter doesn’t seem to want to test the large Na’vi’s patience, especially not today.

As the new drink gets put in front of him, Lyle immediately takes it, bringing it up to his lips. The cold coffee liquor mixed with double the usual vodka burns his tongue and his throat so nicely as he swallows it down, his brows furrowing lightly in satisfaction before the glass gets set back on the table. The Recom soldier then takes a deep breath, his brain returning to sifting through the thoughts in his head.

It’s not always nightmares. Sometimes he’s just hanging out with them, having a calm conversation as they finish some sort of task at hand. He sees them as they run through the lushness of Pandora, playfully trying to push each other off vines and branches, his mind probably recalling their training with Spider in the rainforest, bringing those memories into his dreams. He joins them as they all fly through the colorful skies on their banshees, yelling and laughing like kids as they try to do tricks midair, while Quaritch who always rides in front of the group snaps back at them to stop behaving like reckless idiots.

Lyle swallows another gulp of the strong drink, his large hand tense as he settles the glass down gently. He doesn’t know why, but since that day at The Three Brothers, he has felt the constant need to want to talk to Miles. Whether he wants to admit it or not, this whole ordeal is slowly eating at him from the inside, and Miles’ silence on it is not making things any better. They haven’t shared more than a few sentences since the day of the meeting, not even after having seen their teammates’ lifeless bodies. Lyle usually comes home earlier than the Colonel. He sits in the shared living room and just stares at the ceiling, the same thoughts roaming his head over and over again until he falls asleep on the couch. He then gets woken up a few hours later from the sound of Miles returning from training, or from being locked in his own office all afternoon. They exchange a few words, a bit of bland chatter, before Quaritch heads to shower, and immediately after; falls asleep exhausted on his own bed with the towel still wrapped around his trim waist, snoring throughout the night. Lyle is then left to drink himself to sleep to try and silence out the thoughts in his head, sipping from a stash of whiskey bottles he paid quite a coin to get, that he keeps hidden in his room.

And it’s the same thing, over and over again, for an entire month now, as nothing has changed. Lyle doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. These weird emotions are foreign and highly unusual for him. He never dwells on the deaths of the people around him, he’s a Marine after all, his skin is thick and tough. But for some reason this time it seems to have left a bigger impact on him than he would’ve liked, much bigger. Something is bothering him from the inside, and he can’t even identify what it is exactly. He just knows there’s an emptiness in his chest; he’s feeling lost, stranded… alone.

“Hi, can I have a tall glass of sweet tea please, iced?”

“Of course Toddy.”

Lyle’s ears perk up at the feminine voice a few seats away from him on the bar. It catches him off guard for a moment, because he hadn’t noticed or heard anyone come near. As the bartender moves over to prepare the requested drink, the Recom lifts his lowered head, turning it to curiously take a look at the owner of the voice.

His jaw drops to the floor. About two seats away from him is the most drop dead gorgeous Na’vi woman he has ever seen in his entire fucking life, sitting with one of her elbows leaning leisurely on top of the wooden surface of the bar as she waits for her drink. Lyle’s breath gets stuck right in his throat, his tail starting to flick rapidly in fast strokes behind him as he stares at her like a deer caught in headlights. Her black hair looks silky soft and smooth, tied back into a low ponytail that includes the long braid of her neural whip. A small hairpiece, which has hand crafted beads and a bunch of long feathers, sits on the right part of her head, above her long right ear. Her face is absolutely gorgeous; with elegant soft arched eyebrows, long lashes, plump pink lips, beautiful doe eyes and a feline nose in a shade of soft pink that Lyle has never seen in a Na’vi before. Holy fuck, he’s come across plenty of beautiful women before in his life, but this girl takes the entire cake and more.

He immediately darts his eyes down to check her out. Her body has the usual appearance of a Na’vi woman, very thin, toned and elegant. The top she is wearing is dark blue with a thick dodger blue stripe on both sides that forms half a circle, with black utility straps which have been sewed on to the rest of the fabric, the entire piece hugging her upper body so well, leaving the perfect opening for her collarbones and cleavage. The lieutenant’s mouth waters as his amber eyes follow a silver gothic cross necklace, from the base of her thin neck where she has a black choker on with a tiny viperwolf charm, to right above her cleavage. He swallows thickly, then lets his eyes travel further down, looking past the black modular shooters belt where she has strapped multiple pouches and a gun holster to, to stare at her long, toned legs. Fuck, she’s got a nice ass. Those black pants are doing wonders for her-

“Here you go, Toddy. Would you like me to start you a tab?” The bartender asks as he sets down the tall glass full of sweet iced tea in front of her. She gives him a gorgeous smile, her five elegant fingers wrapping around the item.

“No, that’s not necessary. How much do I owe you, Clint?” She replies as she takes out her personal datapad from her belt. The guy behind the counter takes a look at the receipt.

“Ah, that would be-“

“I got it.”

Those words left Lyle faster than he could think about them, his amber eyes darting to the bartender.

“Put it on my tab.”

The guy turns to look at him for a moment but then complies, putting the order in the requested tab in the system, before giving them both a smile and moving away to continue what he was doing before. The girl then puts her datapad back into one of the pouches of her belt, her gorgeous eyes moving over Lyle’s face.

“Thank you.” She says with a beautiful smile, and Lyle nearly breaks his tail by subconsciously slamming it down on the bar stool he’s sitting on. He clears his throat, ignoring the pain in the appendage behind him and swallowing down thickly.

“You’re welcome.” He replies with a charming smile of his own, before turning to his own drink in front of him. He makes short work of it as he lifts the glass, swallowing what’s left of it down with a single gulp, and sets it in front of him again. The woman also turns to her drink, taking a small, relaxed sip. Her brows furrow in satisfaction as the incredibly sweet drink fills her tastebuds, her own tail flicking behind her slowly in approval. Lyle watches her through the corner of his eye as she swallows, his amber eyes running over her pink plump lips, now wet from the drink. He gulps thickly, his Adam’s apple moving as he forces down the saliva that seems to have rushed again in his mouth.

“I didn’t know they made ladies as pretty as you ‘round here.” He says with a smile, turning his head to look over at her directly. The girl chuckles sweetly in response, the sound immediately prickling goosebumps on Lyle’s striped, blue skin, as her ears fold back shyly.

“Yeah well… the scientists try their best with the Avatars.” She replies, bringing the glass to her plump lips again to take a sip. Lyle chuckles at her words, his head tilting as he looks at her.

“What’s your name, buttercup?”

The girl puts the glass down gently, before also turning her head to look at him directly, her beautiful doe eyes staring into his.

“Williams. Toddy Williams.”

Lyle's pupils glint with interest as Toddy introduces herself to him, her voice soft and pleasant in his cropped ears. So she’s an Avatar. He can’t help but feel his tail involuntarily flick at the sound of her name. He takes a moment to bring the mask of his Recom Breather up, sipping some carbon dioxide.

“Toddy." He repeats slowly, lowering the mask from his face, his voice raspy as he tests the feel of her name on his tongue. It suits her well, he decides, warm and friendly, just like the woman sitting beside him.

"That's a pretty name, buttercup." He says, his lips curving into a charming smile. “What department are you a part of?”

Toddy takes a nice sip of her sweet tea before answering.

“Science department, Scouts division.” She replies, her tail flicking slowly behind her as she tilts her head. “What about you? I think I’ve seen you around actually, with Colonel Quaritch?”

Lyle chuckles, his ears perking up at the mention of Quaritch. Of course she's seen him with the Colonel, almost everyone in Bridgehead knows who he is.

“Yeah, you've got it. I'm SecOps, one of the Colonel's men."

He leans back slightly, motioning for the bartender to come over and make him another drink. He feels his tail thump on the stool once, his eyes turning back to her pretty face.

“My name’s Lyle. Lyle Wainfleet.”

Toddy smiles back, her own long tail flicking once behind her as she brings her CO2 breathing mask up to take a sip.

“Lyle…” She repeats, the way his name rolls off her tongue making Lyle’s tail shiver.

“So you’re one of General L/N’s men then?” She adds, her ears perking up in interest as she turns her pretty saffron eyes to look at him.

Lyle’s own ears fold back at the mention of the Major General, and he clears his throat, his pupils darting to the bartender who sets a glass of whiskey on the rocks in front of him.

“Ahah… yeah technically. I mean, I have never worked directly under her but, she is one of my commanders.” He replies, lifting the cold glass of whiskey to take a sip from it, while he misses how Toddy’s enthusiasm seems to fade at his answer. “So, Scouts division, huh? What’s that?”

Toddy slowly leans back, giving herself room to place one leg over the other, and Lyle can’t help but watch transfixed as her toned thighs press against each other.

“We’re environment experts who go out into the wild to gather requested samples for research or medicine.” The Avatar replies, bringing her glass of sweet tea up to her lips to take a nice sip, her throat bobbing as she swallows down the cold drink.

Lyle's eyes rake over her form, his gaze lingering a little too long on the way her throat moves as she swallows. He's sure she has noticed the way his eyes roam by now, but he doesn't really care. She's absolutely gorgeous, and he can't help but openly admire her.

"So you spend a lot of time out there in the bush, huh?" He asks as he lifts the whiskey glass to his lips, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. "You ain’t afraid of running into any trouble? A pretty lady like you, all alone in the forest?"

Toddy shrugs, setting her own glass down on the surface of the bar counter as she leans forward more comfortably.

“Not really. It’s my job to roam around the forest, I know what I’m doing. As long as I keep a low profile and follow Eywa’s order of life, there’s really not much danger for me out there.”

Lyle’s ears immediately fold back at that. He nods once, cringing internally as she mentions the “Eywa” entity that every delusional native believes so hard in. He swallows down another sip from his drink, trying to ignore how her acknowledgment of the “deity” as if it was a real thing just turned him off immensely. Sometimes he forgets how delusional science chicks are. But it’s been too long, and he needs a piece of that ass, so just a small quirk be damned. He clears his throat, shifting slightly in his seat.

"Yeah, Eywa, whatever." He says, his voice a bit dismissive. "But still, there's a lot of nasty creatures out there. And those natives ain't exactly friendly either."

He takes a larger swig of his drink, his eyes moving down to wander once again over her pressed thighs. Toddy’s own pupils move over the ice cubes that peak over the surface of her sweet drink, not paying the same attention as before to the man beside her.

“The natives aren’t friendly because we’ve dug up their dead to run experiments on them, obliterated their homes, slaughtered their animals, created Avatars which are frighteningly uncanny to them, blown them up, tortured them, burned their forests, and an ongoing list of other crimes against them which I’m sure would be insanely illegal back on Earth. So, I wouldn’t be friendly to us either.” The Avatar replies, the tone in her voice calm despite her sharp words.

Lyle's tail flicks irritably behind him at Toddy’s answer, his amber eyes narrowing slightly. He's heard this spiel from the scientists and the bleeding heart hippies many times before, and every time it makes him roll his eyes to the back of his fucking skull. He takes another swig of his drink to resist the urge to bite back at her, his brows now furrowed lightly in dissatisfaction.

"You really believe all that bullshit, huh?" He growls lowly as he sets his drink down. "You think the Na’vi are all innocent little angels, and it's all our fault? Well, we’ve tried, sweetheart. We’ve tried making peace with them a million times before. We gave them medicine, equipment, technology, we built them schools, taught them English, all that shit. And they repaid us by lighting up our machines, with people still inside. The RDA is here to develop this planet, to make it habitable and useful for humans. That's our mission. And if some monkeys get in the way, well, that's just collateral damage."

At his last sentence, Toddy’s head snaps over at him, her pretty eyes now narrowed dangerously as she pins him down with an angry stare.

“Collateral damage?! Really?!” She exclaims, her grip tightening around the tall glass of sweet tea in her hand. “Ya think that the lives of innocent people who you and yer fellow brute head folks have fucked over fer decades are just collateral damage?”

Lyle scoffs in annoyance at her outburst, also taken aback by the sudden southern accent she just spewed as his ears fold back in irritation. The grip he has on the whiskey glass also tightens dangerously, his tail lashing angrily behind him. He's never been one to shy away from confrontation, and he's not about to back down now.

“Innocent people? They’re savages, buttercup." He scoffs, leaning towards her slightly as he speaks. “We’re bringing them civilization, order. We're doing more for them than their primitive beliefs ever could. And if they can't handle it, well, that's not our problem."

Toddy’s eyes narrow tenfold, her own long tail now lashing behind her rapidly. She leans back slightly in her seat, taking a moment to calm herself down by bringing her carbon dioxide mask up to take a sip.

“Ya really haven’t comprehended the circumstances of yer own situation, have ya?” She replies as she lowers the mask, her tone still irritated but much calmer than before. “Tell me, do ya really believe that the RDA gives a single fuck about’cha and yer kind, Lyle?”

Lyle is half taken aback by that question, and half irritated beyond measure. Why must this happen to him right now? He just wanted to get laid once after such a long time, goddamnit. Why does she have to be so attractive but so stubborn and opinionated at the same time? He glares at her as his ears flatten against his skull, his brows furrowing, the idea that the RDA doesn't care about him and the other Recom soldiers hitting a bit too close to home for comfort.

"What kind of dumb ass question is that?" He replies, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "Of course they do. They went through the effort and expense of making us Recombinants. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the RDA. They gave me life, a purpose. They literally brought me back from the dead. Yeah, we do part of their dirty work, but they give us everything we need; food, shelter, clothes, technology, medicine, equipment, a future. I don’t know what the hell you’re implying but I’m not gonna sit here and listen to any anti-corporate, hippie bullshit you have to say.”

Something dies in Toddy’s eyes at his response. She shakes her head slowly in disappointment, her stomach churning in disgust at his answer as she grabs her drink to take a final, angry gulp. The Avatar then sets the now empty glass down with a rough thud, the ice inside clinging within the object.

“They’re probably gonna put a bullet right between your eyebrows as soon as the greater mission is accomplished.” She replies as her beautiful amber eyes stare down at the melting ice with a hint of foreboding, her voice low and accent gone again, her tone filled with dismay. “They’re creating a future for humans, not for you. Even if they do leave you alive, the world they will create will be unlivable for the Na’vi, including your kind. You and the rest of the Recombinants are just expensive weapons to them, nothing more. But you’re all either too fucking dumb or blind to see that.”

With that, the Avatar woman hops off the bar stool she was sitting on, her black Tactical Side Zip boots thudding on the polished wooden floor of the place as she begins walking away, her tail flicking behind her slowly. Lyle watches her, his heart suddenly pounding, his stomach churning uncomfortably with a feeling that he can’t identify.

“And yet, you wear an RDA badge.” He speaks out at her with a hint of irritation, his amber eyes narrowed and glued on the back of her head.

Toddy stops on her tracks at that. She remains still for a few moments, her tail flicking behind her rapidly. But she doesn’t turn, doesn’t say anything else. She then just continues forward, until she’s out of the bar and her form is no longer in Lyle’s field of vision, leaving him alone once again.

“Damnit.” The Recom grunts as he turns back around towards the counter, grabbing his drink angrily and downing what’s left of it with a single gulp. He slams the glass down on the counter, almost breaking it, before calling the bartender over to pay the tab. His ears stay pinned back as he pulls out his datapad, tapping it against the payment device, holding it there until the transaction is complete.

Every word she said, he wants to dismiss as bullshit. As tree-hugging hippie crap, as lies. But there's something in her words that gnaws at him, a sense of unease, of doubt that he hasn't felt in a long time. It makes his stomach churn, his heart pounding in his chest uncomfortably; the same feeling he’s been having for a month since his entire team were killed bubbling again in the pit of his core. And despite the anger and frustration he feels, there's a small part of him that can’t understand why her words have gotten under his skin so easily, why her opinion seems to matter more than he wants to admit.

He hops off his seat, giving the bartender one last nod of acknowledgment, before turning around and walking away. His heavy steps thud on the wooden floor as he leaves, cropped ears relaxing while his long tail starts flicking slowly behind him. Fuck this shit, he thinks as he takes an aggressive sip of carbon dioxide from his Recom Breather. There’s no time for such crap, he needs to go back to work before Álvarez is on his ass again.

“Come in.”

The massive doors of the conference room slide open, letting Miles’ large form pass through. He steps inside, sharp amber eyes scanning the place intently to find the woman he came here for.

The main conference room of the Admin Zone is the largest one out of all in Bridgehead, placed on the highest floor of the tallest building. It’s reserved for important meetings between the top members of the chain of command; usually Ardmore, L/N, their men, corporate officials, and head shareholders. The room is massive, as it was built in consideration of the Recoms’ sizes, made out entirely of expensive Italian wooden panels, the walls adorned with royal style framed oil paintings and accent spotlights. A lush red carpet decorates the entire floor, where upon it rests a massive oak conference table with exactly twenty cushioned chairs, all enlightened brightly by a large semi flush ceiling light. Another much smaller oak table faces the room from the right side of the doors, set upon a lifted platform where seven other cushioned seats are placed, seats reserved only for the highest in authority. From the current military personnel on base, this includes only Ardmore, Y/N, and also would include the Lieutenant General who’s still on his way to the extrasolar moon. The five other seats are meant for the people who own the RDA as a whole, who are supposed to arrive only after General Ardmore has succeeded in her greater mission and has fully colonized Pandora, that’s why this table has never been used. Yet. On the opposite wall on the other side of the room, a large panel touch screen is placed, the surface now black as the device was turned off before Miles stepped in.

The Recom’s eyes find the woman he’s searching for, her smaller form standing in front of the wall made out of glass windows, opposite the sliding doors and facing the entire view of Bridgehead as eclipse has just fallen. He takes a few steps closer to her, letting his long legs carry him as he watches her wrapped tail flick behind her slowly, until he’s an appropriate distance away.

“General L/N.” He greets firmly, his blunt fingertips pressed against his right temple as he salutes her. Y/N turns around slowly from watching the view of Bridgehead, her elbows bent as she holds with both hands a crystal glass filled with ice and a drink of some sorts. Her beautiful eyes land on him, dark pupils focusing on the features of his handsome face and for a moment, something twists in the pit of Miles’ stomach. He swallows thickly.

“At ease.” She says calmly, motioning with her head towards him for him to relax. “You wanted to see me, Colonel?”

Miles nods, lowering his muscular arm, as he grabs the mask of his Recom Breather and brings it up to his face. He had indeed asked to see her. She has just finished an important meeting with the heads of the other departments, and Quaritch was waiting outside for her agenda to open up until now. He lowers the mask after having taken a filling sip of CO2, and clears his throat before addressing her.

“Did you receive my reflection report, ma’am?” He asks, his voice low and raspy as usual as his amber eyes search her beautiful face for an answer. Y/N lowers her own pupils to stare blankly at the carpeted floor, still not facing him properly as the right half of her body remains facing the windows.

“I did.” She replies, her tail flicking once behind her, as her ears tilt back slightly. Miles nods, waiting for her to continue. But after some moments of silence he raises his brows, looking at her expectingly.

“Well… did ya read it?”

The Major General nods slowly in response, her pupils trailing over one of the oil paintings in the room. Now that Miles notices, she looks tired… her pretty eyes half lidded as they roam anywhere but on him.

“I did. You didn’t do a great job, but for what you wrote it wasn’t half bad.” Y/N replies, taking a slow sip of her drink, stopping for a few seconds to let it flow down her throat before she parts her lips to speak again.

“I want you to remake it.”

As soon as that sentence leaves her mouth, Miles’ brows furrow deeply, his eyes immediately darting to pin on her form, before he takes a slow, calculated step forward.

“Excuse me?” He asks, lowering his head to stare at her fully, his deep voice firm, yet filled with disbelief, as if he can’t comprehend what she just said. But Y/N doesn’t falter.

“I know you’re not hard of hearing. Remake it. You did good on what you wrote, but you still missed a lot. I can name you at least seven other rules that you broke that you haven’t included in your report.” She replies, sparing him one single glance as she speaks, before turning her head towards the windows again.

Miles’ jaw clenches tightly, his sharp amber eyes now glaring daggers at her. This shit again?! No. It happened once, he tolerated it. This time, he won’t.

“Are you serious?" He speaks up, frustration clear in his voice. "Why the hell are you being like this? I spent weeks on it, writing every goddamn detail in that report like you asked me to, and now you're tellin’ me it's still not good enough?" He takes a step closer to her, his large frame tensing as his eyes narrow in irritation, the frustration from what he has endured for almost five weeks now slowly starting to boil over. "Is it some sort of sick game yer playing? Ya wanna see how much you can push me before I snap? Do you enjoy this? Makin’ me run around like a damn lapdog, undergoing training with a psychotic Brit, and write and rewrite the same thing over and over again for your amusement?"

Y/N now turns her head towards him, her features falling serious, beautiful amber eyes pinning up on him through long black lashes.

“Well, what did you think? That you could just mess up however you wanted and then get by with just a slap on the wrist? Is that what you think this is? That you can do whatever the hell you want without any consequences just because you hold the rank of Colonel, and you carry the identity and experience of someone who called the shots fourteen years ago? Well, that’s not happening. Not as long as you’re under my command. You fucked up. Badly. Because of you we lost countless lives. Lives of our soldiers. Our people. Deaths that could’ve been prevented easily. And much more. Not only that, but you went right ahead and started a war with the sea clans. Someone amongst my ranks who is supposed to be my right hand, and who is the Colonel of the organization saving humanity, should know what mistakes he did and how he should’ve acted, so that they don’t repeat. I didn’t give you the task of that report for nothing. And you didn’t do it well. How can I trust you to lead my soldiers when you can’t even identify your own errors? So if I tell you to remake that report because it’s not up to my liking, then that’s what the fuck you’re gonna do. Period point blank.”

Quaritch takes one step closer at her response, his head lowering down to focus his sharp eyesight on her shorter form, cropped ears folded back against his head. His broad shoulders are now tense, so are his muscular arms.

“Do you think this is a game, General? You think I enjoy wasting my time on this bullshit?" He finally snaps, his voice low and cold. "Just because you hold a higher rank doesn't mean you can treat me like I'm your goddamn puppet." He steps even closer, his chest now nearly touching the edge of her left shoulder as he glares down at her. “I’ve been out there, fighting for this company, for humanity, and you’re in here askin’ me to write a fucking novel on why I did what I had to do. I've fought my way through hell and back. I've bled, and sweated, and worked my ass off for the RDA, way before you were even handed that shiny new title. I’m good at my job, you damn well know that. And ya talk to me as if I'm some rookie who just stepped foot in this place yesterday. While you're in here, playin’ General with rules and regulations.” His voice then lowers in irritation, but remains firm. “You know, showing some respect wouldn’t hurt. I’m only one goddamn rank below you.”

Y/N takes a slow sip from the crystal glass in her hand, now unbothered yet again, taking her time to swallow down leisurely before replying.

“You’ll have my respect when you’ve earned it. And at the pace you’re going, that day is getting further and further away.” She replies, not even sparing him a glance as she turns to continue watching the night view of Bridgehead. “Besides even if I did, where would it even go? Straight into the never ending pit in your heart, filled with fragile ego?”

Quaritch’s lips press into a thin line at her response. His eyes glare daggers at the side of Y/N’s beautiful face, as she sips from the crystal glass in her hand. Swallowing down, her soft lips purse momentarily as the cold liquid flows down her throat, and she continues.

“You’re lucky you still have your life, let alone your rank after all the shit you’ve pulled right in front of my face for months.”

She finally turns her head towards him again, her saffron eyes focusing firmly into his own, her stare pricking surprisingly pleasant goosebumps upon Miles’ skin.

“Keep fucking up and that too will be taken away from you.”

Quaritch clenches his jaw tightly, a cold wave flowing down his veins, breathing now intensifying with the anger that is starting to flare up in him.

“Is that a threat, General?”

“It’s a promise.“

Miles’ teeth grit as he listens to her speak in that calm, infuriating tone yet again. His large fists clench at his sides, thick veins bulging in slowly piling up anger. He sneers down at her, his cropped ears folding back.

“That so? Well let me tell you the reality of that, General. You can’t take my rank or my life away from me even if you wanted to. You’re second in command, with Ardmore’s boot still up yer ass you cannot make a decision like that even if your life depended on it, and you know that. But if by some miracle you did; I am a pillar of this organization, I have more experience and expertise in this goddamn death trap of a moon than you or any of your ass-kissing men have combined. I've been doing this longer than you've been fuckin’ alive, and I know what I'm doin’. I am your most valuable soldier, deny it as much as ya want, and “getting rid” of me will do nothing but shove your head ten feet deep into the cold, wet mud of Pandora, General. So go ahead, “get rid” of me. Let’s see how well that works out for ya.”

An amused chuckle comes from the base of Y/N’s throat at his words, her head tilting slightly. Her ears raise up and her tail swishes behind her, slowly, as if to add to his irritation. She turns around, walking towards the conference table, to place the cold crystal glass upon its polished wooden surface, the object chiming with a clack as it makes contact. She then slowly, makes her way back, steps long and calm as she returns, this time facing him. Miles’ eyes follow her movements, his breathing heavier as she steps in front of him, raising her head to look up at his handsome face. She then speaks, gloved hands clasped behind her back, resting above the very base of her long, wrapped tail.

“You haven’t grasped the gravity of the situation you’re in, have you?” Y/N starts, her smooth voice calm, yet ice cold. “I don’t know where you constantly find the audacity, but let me check your fragile fucking ego for a moment, Colonel. You are certainly not my most valuable soldier. That would be my Captain; John Keller, who is currently trying to fix the sloppy mess of dead bodies and horrid damage you did to the sourcing of our most profitable and precious material, while you were trying to assassinate a single target that’s twice your age; lives with savages and that still beat you into a pulp. Adding on to that; while you were spending months running around the forest, barefoot, riding wild animals, learning Na’vi and bonding with nature like you’re fucking Pocahontas, I was breaking my back in the front lines, wiping out entire clans with natives’ arrows sticking up my ass. That earned me more respect from Ardmore alone than you’ve ever had in your entire fucking life from all of your troops combined. Yeah, that’s right, I’ve been out there too. But how would you know that when you haven’t even stepped foot properly on base for months? And guess what; not only can I take away your rank and even your life, but I can skin you alive, torture you to death and wipe your entire existence from this Universe, to the point that God himself will have to crawl into the deepest, darkest hellholes of Pandora’s asscrack to find the endless ditch of insecurity that is your soul. And on top of that, not only would I not be affected in the slightest, but Ardmore would fucking praise me for it. So let me rephrase in case your slow, infant brain still hasn’t grasped it yet; you are not a valuable soldier, you are a failed experiment. You had your chance to prove that you’re someone, that you’re the commander that our people deserve; and you failed, miserably. Now you’re gonna spend the rest of this war bending over while I shove my fist up your ass; and you’re gonna enjoy it.”

Quaritch’s lips press tightly into that thin line again, as his sharp eyes widen to glare daggers at the woman in front of him. The veins in his neck pop out with the sheer amount of force that he is using to clench his jaw and ball up his fists at his sides, his frustration mounting tenfold, muscles shaking. For a moment, he's speechless, completely taken back by the sheer audaciousness, the sheer disrespect in her words, her tone. Nobody, NOBODY has ever had the balls to speak to him like that in his entire fucking life. And coming from a woman no less; from this stuck-up, arrogant, condescending bitch of a woman, it's all the more infuriating. Who the fuck does this whore think she is?!

“Is that right?” He more states than asks, his voice filled with pure venom as he nods his head once towards her, as if to give her one last chance to take whatever the fuck she said back. But she doesn’t budge. Not even one bit.

“You bet your striped, blue ass.”

Quaritch’s stare upon her turns deadly, maintaining the icy, poisonous glare between them for a few more seconds, before his right foot then slides backwards, and slowly he puts a bit of distance between the two of them. His fists remain balled up tightly, large muscular arms and broad shoulders tense, feeling the adrenaline course through his flared veins; the urge to retaliate with a fiery temperament threatening to overtake his judgement. His whole frame seems taunt, shaking lightly, his muscles ready to snap like rubber stretched too tight. It takes all of his physical and mental strength to restrain himself from pouncing on her and slamming her bitch ass against the large glass windows that she finds so fucking interesting to look at. But Miles knows better. Y/N’s own expression dares him to challenge her with set eyes and a firm jaw, prodding him to fuck around and find out if he dares and Quaritch takes the deepest breath of his life to ground himself before he does something that he will later on immensely regret. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, turning his entire body away from her for a few seconds, and taking his time to bring his Recom Breather mask up, calming himself down. After some moments of tense silence he puts the breather down and turns towards her again, having found the mental state and energy to speak to her without committing a number of consecutive, insanely illegal actions.

"You want a long report? Fine. I'll give ya a long report. But don't you dare question my methods or my experience ever again. You want to know why I did what I did? Why I spent months in the forest, tryna live like a savage? Because it worked. Because despite the failed mission, I got one step closer to understanding our enemy, and I got most of the job done with what little was given to me, before every odd turned against us. I did my duty, and I did it well. Something you seem to have forgotten how to do, General.”

He gets close to her again, his large form towering over hers with amber eyes holding piercing venom, getting all up in her space with no care.

"You know, you're damn lucky you outrank me," He growls, his voice low and laced with disdain. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be havin’ this little discussion. Not even close. I didn't spend over three decades in the Marines to be treated like some rookie recruit by a spoiled brat, General.”

After a few seconds of poisonous eye contact, he then pulls back again, long legs dragging his body to create distance from her. Having gotten so close, her scent lingers in his nose and he can’t quite figure out why it smells familiar, but for the moment he’s too tense and irritated to pay attention to details. And if Y/N has something in her mind, she doesn’t express it. Instead she stares at him unamused, with half lidded eyes, before slowly she turns, going back to facing the large conference room windows. Quaritch watches her for a few more seconds, his long tail flicking rapidly side to side behind him in agitation. When silence fills the space, he gives her a slow nod and then a firm salute just out of procedure, before turning on his heel and starting to walk away without another word, fury still coursing through his bulging veins. His heavy footsteps echo through the dim conference room, bouncing off the pristine walls as he leaves without waiting for her dismissal. Just as the doors of the entrance slide open for his large, barely contained seething frame to pass through, Y/N’s calm yet cold voice is heard again behind him, entering the eardrums of his heated cropped ears.

“You’re in my house now. Don’t forget that again.”

He halts in his tracks, his large fists balling at his sides, and he doesn’t turn around, his broad muscular back still facing her direction. But Y/N does turn her head, her sharp yet beautiful amber eyes staring at him over the carrier plate utility strap on her shoulder as she continues speaking.

“I was nice, just this once. Next time, I won’t be.”

The doors then slide closed behind Miles.

Title explanation:

Spit and Polish - Extreme individual or collective military neatness, extreme devotion to the minutiae of traditional military procedures or ceremonies; from spit-polishing boots and dress shoes. In this case it describes exactly how Miles sees Y/N throughout the entire chapter; as this procedure freak and rule obsessed General who never considers or leaves room for things being done outside of the book.

End of chapter notes:

The song that Toddy sings in the beginning: Better Than I Used to Be by Tim McGraw

Also poor Lyle, he got cockblocked so hard. R.I.P to his chances to get sum. (︶︹︺) <\3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛ��ʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

#miles quaritch #avatar #avatar the way of water #atwow #atwow fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #miles quaritch x reader #atwow recoms #atwow oc recoms #avatar recoms #recom lyle wainfleet #recom miles quaritch x reader #recom miles quaritch #recom oc #colonel miles quaritch #miles quaritch x y/n #miles quaritch fanfic

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nesaluvstherecoms · 1 year ago

Text

𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴏɴᴇʟ ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴍ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Mentions of male and female Na’vi reproductive cycles, combat training, light injuries, semi-animalistic instincts, pheromone induced arousal, male masturbation, perv Miles?, erotic fantasies (includes: sexual intercourse, breeding, dirty talk), masturbation with inanimate objects, light angst.

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ʟɪɴᴋ

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕: 𝐆𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐀𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭

“I’m sorry, what the fuck did you just say to me?” Y/N presses, eyebrows raised at the female scientists as they stand in front of the check up bed in the medical wing, where the Recom is currently sat on. The women squeeze their eyes shut for a moment at the General’s reaction, embarrassment creeping up their necks.

“Ma’am please, let’s keep this professional-“

“Professional? You lost that the second you compared me to a horny animal.” Y/N replies, arms now crossed under her bust.

“That’s not what we said ma’am, please listen to us.” The same woman continues, a faint, frustrated blush on her face as she tries to make the Recom in front of her understand.

“As you and the rest of the Recombinants continue to develop, your bodies are fully waking up. It’s a natural part of the Na’vi reproductive cycle, to go into your heat-

“Oh my god, there you go again with that word. I am NOT going to go into heat. I’m not a fucking animal!”

The scientist woman clenches her jaw, taking a deep breath to ground herself while the other two women, her assistants, exchange worried glances behind her.

It’s been several months, getting closer to a year since the Recoms first boarded on Pandora. The science and health department has been monitoring their wellbeing for quite a long time. Through the most recent blood analyses, slight changes in their behavior, and changes in the reactions of their bodies like sweating more, enhanced senses etc., it is clear to the scientists that they can not avoid what they have been avoiding for this long. The hormone blockers that they doused them with in their amnio tanks, when they were still developing, are wearing off. The Recombinants are getting closer and closer to their reproductive cycles. However, because they were filled with hormone blockers since before coming to life, the department is concerned about the intensity of these cycles. They have not come up with a solution yet, however the Recoms have recently been put under intense supervision. After weeks of analysis and different check ups, the scientists have decided that it’s time to inform them of their own situation.

That’s why they are being called into the medical examination rooms one by one, with male scientists explaining it for the male Recoms and female scientists for the female Recoms. It was supposed to be an easy task, however it turned out differently than what they had expected. As Y/N sits there on the examination bed, arms crossed under her chest and neck deep in denial, the woman in front of her is getting frustrated. If Y/N doesn’t understand what’s happening to her body, then things will get complicated for everyone.

“General L/N, please, for the love of God listen to me.” She speaks up calmly after moments of deep breaths, trying not to run out of patience. Y/N rolls her golden eyes, uncrossing her arms to use them to lean back, long tail flicking next to her nonchalantly.

“We are not saying that you will lose control and turn into an animal in heat. You are misunderstanding. Just like when you were a human, as a Recombinant you also have a reproductive cycle. As I explained it to you before; you were fed certain hormone blockers in your amnio tank that prevented your reproductive cycle from functioning normally. But now these hormone blockers are wearing off, and your body is trying to adapt. The problem is that it’s going from one extreme to another, firstly having no hormones to work with, and now starting to get bombarded with those of a nearly twenty one year old Na’vi, which are very strong hormones. We are concerned that when your cycle gets to ovulation week, your behavior and the reactions of your body will change significantly. Again, not saying that you will lose your mind, don’t get me wrong, just saying that you will undergo changes that are too intense even for yourself. That’s what we mean by heat. It’s not literally heat like an animal’s, it’s just the ovulation part of your cycle, stronger than a human’s but weaker than an animal’s.”

Y/N sits there, listening to this woman with displeasure plastered all over her pretty face. She doesn’t like this conversation. Not one bit. She’s being talked to like a child who’s going through puberty.

“With that being said, what we want from you is to monitor the changes of your own body and behavior because we cannot be there with you 24/7. You should keep a note in mind and tell them to us in your next check up. Alongside that, we would like you to take these pills.” The woman continues, turning her medical swivel stool around and sliding away to grab a prescription bottle from the counter behind her, that’s filled with medical and lab equipment. Y/N raises a brow as she slides the stool back in front of the Recom, bringing the prescription bottle up to her.

“What are they?” She asks, eyeing the orange color of the object.

“They are light hormone blockers. We do not want you and the rest of the Recombinants to experience a very intense heat for your first time. Therefore we are prescribing you these blockers to water down the intensity of your ovulation. And we’re prescribing your male Recombinants blockers to reduce their testosterone levels. This goes for all of you.” The doctor in front of her explains. Y/N watches the bottle for a few seconds, not moving even though the woman is waiting for her to grab it from her hand.

“No, thanks.”

The three scientists in white lab coats turn to look at her with wide eyes, confused. Y/N puts on an unamused expression before continuing.

“I don’t need your hormone blockers. I will not fuck with the balance of my own body by taking them. You all fucked us up by putting these hormone blockers in our amnio tanks in the first place, and now even though you’re “concerned” for the misbalance of our reproductive cycles, you tell us to take them again? What kind of logic is that?” She replies, her significantly larger body already moving to stand up. The woman’s eyes in front of her widen further, panic setting in.

“Please, General L/N, you don’t understand!” She starts saying, but Y/N is already on her feet as her combat boots start heading for the door. Her ears remain folded back in annoyance, long tail flicking behind her to mirror the irritation.

“Without a mate, the intensity of your ovulation will harm you-“

“I’m done with this conversation. I’ll come to your next checkups and I’ll take a note of the changes in me, but I’m not taking those pills.”

And with that, the door slides closed in the doctor’s face behind her, and the Recom is gone. The scientist stands there, prescription bottle in hand, as she stares dumbfounded at the dull surface of the metal and lets out a deep sigh, squeezing her eyes shut. One of her assistants stands up from the medical swivel chair she was sat in, and walks up to her, turning to look at the side of her head.

“Do you want me to try explaining it to her again?”

The woman shakes her head, opening her eyes to turn around, and putting the orange prescription bottle back on the counter where it was before.

“No, it’s fine. She’ll be back for them, eventually.”

“Move yer fucking arse, if we were in combat I would’ve sent you back to God seven times already!”

Miles’ breathing is heavy, saffron eyes focused on the male Recom in front of him as he clutches a dull combat knife. Riley returns the stare, glaring hard enough to burn a hole through wood, as both men circle each other, steps slow and calculated while their tails swish behind them slowly. Miles’ body is covered in a thick layer of sweat, dripping down his partially healed face and falling on the training room floor below. It slides down his bare chest in droplets, between his pecs and down his firm abs. His short black hair sticks to his drenched forehead, poking the skin uncomfortably. A week has passed. A week since that cursed meeting occurred. And here he is, panting and struggling for his life against someone who’s lower in rank than him. This is so fucking embarrassing.

Riley strikes forward, swiftly handling the combat knife to slice Miles’ right ribs, but the other Recom quickly dodges, missing the weapon by a hair strand. He clutches his own knife, preparing to counterattack, and just as he’s about to, Riley’s combat boot collides harshly against the side of his right knee, and Miles soon finds himself on the floor, staring up at the other man in shock.

“Pay attention to your fucking legs! They’re the foundation of your body! Ground them firmly on the floor so you don’t end up arse first on the ground with one bloody kick!”

Miles clenches his jaw, staring up at the Lieutenant. God, he’s fucking unbearable.

Riley scoffs, his long tail flicking behind him in annoyance. He walks a few steps, circling Miles’ form on the floor, his piercing amber eyes narrowing down at him. Miles follows him with his own narrowed pupils, staring up at the Lieutenant’s large form. Even for a Recom, Riley is large. His body looms over the humans, Avatars and some of the other Recombinants. His muscles are hard, firm and bulky, arms covered in sleeve tattoos with massive biceps and large pecs that even Lyle expresses jealousy over sometimes. And not only are his muscles scary to look at, but they’re much harder to fight against. Throughout this entire week’s training, Miles has been able to land three hits total, and Riley is getting impatient. As Miles has come to learn, Jones is very aggressive in his training. Not only physically but verbally as well. He yells and cusses like Miles’ old drill instructors when his predecessor was just a young recruit. And besides tearing him down with his use of profanity (in his British accent which in Miles’ opinion is even worse), he shows no mercy in his attacks as well. Since Miles is a Colonel, Jones did not see the need to hold back on him like he does with the recruits. That’s what happened the first three days anyway. After almost stabbing Quaritch over fifty times those three days, he realized that he does indeed need to take it down a notch, at least until the Colonel becomes better in combat. They switched the real combat knives for training ones, and put on boxing hand wraps. But yet, he’s still brutal, using nearly all of the force in his powerful muscles to hit him, while not wasting a single opportunity to let Quaritch know how useless he is, as he batters and bruises him.

But for Miles, even though Jones’ behavior pisses him off immensely, his training is actually of really high quality. You can tell by his sharp reflexes and the sheer control he has on his body alone, how much expertise and experience he has in combat. His moves are immensely fast, calculated and precise, always hitting their target effectively and dealing great damage in the process. If Miles would’ve fought Sully with this amount of skill, he would’ve killed him easily no doubt. Guess this is the level of an elite special operator.

However, even though Miles can get over Riley’s yelling and belittling in favor of getting quality training, there’s one thing he cannot get over no matter how hard he tries. And that’s the scent that seeps from the other Recom’s striped blue skin. His scent is masculine, a sweet, soft musk with pheromones that attract a lot of attention. To humans and to some of the female Avatars & Recoms, Riley actually smells very enticing. But to the rest of the male Na’vi on base; whether that be Avatar or Recombinant, this scent is not as pleasant. Matter of fact, the more Miles remains in Riley’s presence, the worse the scent gets. Not that it smells bad, but the way it fills his nasal cavity, blocking his airflow, is aggravating him more and more.

Riley’s fragrance is thick in Miles’ feline nose. It’s filled with masculine pheromones that irritate the shit out of him, and he wants it gone. And by the way that Riley is staring back at him, jaw clenched and breaths short, it seems like Miles’ own scent has the same effect on the Recom Lieutenant. Matter of fact a few minutes ago he had walked away mid fight to open the windows of the training room fully, nearly tearing them off their hinges as he let the Pandoran air flow inside, the ventilation not having been enough. Miles was in fact very grateful for that, as it faded greatly the scent in the air. But now as he stands up from the floor and starts circling with Riley again, a few feet away from each other while clutching the dull combat knives, his scent fills his nose yet another time.

Riley is in no better shape. Miles’ own scent is so overpowering, musky, with strong pheromones that reek of testosterone. Not only is he annoyed with the Colonel’s skills in combat, but he has to deal with his fucking smell too. And the worst part is, he shares the living quarters with seven other pheromone-filled male Recombinants, who also reek of testosterone and musk. Just the thought of going home after this training session and being hit with seven times the male essence that he’s inhaling now, makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. Although… Scott’s scent isn’t actually that bad-

Miles has lunged forward, quickly swinging his arm backwards into a sharp motion that for sure will let him drag the blade into a thin line across Riley’s face. But Y/N’s Second Lieutenant remains quicker. He immediately steps back, leaning backwards to dodge it effectively, with his fists balled up. As soon as Miles’ arm goes into motion, Riley’s sharp eyes catch sight of his now vulnerable stomach. Powering the muscles of his strong tattooed arm, he sends a short, quick and sharp punch on it, that knocks the air out of Quaritch’s lungs immediately. The other Recom releases a choked gasp, the momentum of the swing he had on his arm breaking. Riley then places the same hand he used to hit him with on the middle of his chest, pushing him away firmly and Miles stumbles back several steps until he catches his balance again. There’s a sharp pain in the very back, bottom of his throat, his gag reflex having been triggered with Jones’ punch to his stomach.

“You’re slow. Extremely slow. You can’t dodge or hit effectively without taking some form of damage yourself. We need to work on your bloody agility.” Riley growls, throwing his training combat knife up slightly so it can make a full 360 degree turn in the air before falling back in his palm, a habit he has picked up over the years. Miles straightens up his posture, staring back at him with his lips pressed in a thin line.

“I’m just tired.” He argues as he clutches his own knife, his tail flicking behind him in annoyance.

“Tired?” Riley frowns back with his voice raising in tone and his eyes pinning Quaritch’s form down. “What’s tiredness got to do with this? You fight when the fucking necessity arises, no matter how tired you are! NOW FIGHT!”

And with that, Riley takes a spacious step forward, his long legs allowing him to reach Miles’ space with only a stride, before he too swings his knife in the same cutting motion. This time, Miles manages to dodge, again by just a hair strand, before he thrusts his own arm forward to try and jab the knife into Riley’s ribs. But Riley immediately blocks it with his elbow, forcing Miles’ hand away, before his other arm comes up to throw a punch in the Colonel’s face. Miles ducks, effectively missing the incoming punch but just as he’s about to throw one of his own, a sharp pain pierces his side. He grunts, looking down to see that Riley has quickly but forcefully jabbed the handle of his training combat knife into his side, surely having left a painful bruise. Riley then quickly shoves Miles back with a surprisingly soft kick to his stomach, creating distance between the two of them and sending the Colonel stumbling back with a grunt.

“As I said: slow.” The Recom Lieutenant comments condescendingly, his amber eyes judgmentally staring down at Quaritch. Miles clenches his jaw, glaring up at him as he presses his palm against the newly forming painful bruise on his side. This is going to be another long and exhausting training session.

There’s a bunch of things that Y/N dislikes about her Na’vi body. Like her tail, flicking around and hitting humans in the face everywhere she goes. Or her neural whip, which sends the most nerve wrecking throbs into her head every time it’s slightly harmed. But over the months, she has come to like and cherish the traits of her new body, even if she still finds them alien. However, Y/N hates every fucking thing about this cursed cycle. One week, one fucking week, and she’s already losing it. Her body feels on fire, the heat so intense that she isn’t able to fill her lungs with air. Her form is sweating profusely, her military tank top uncomfortably tight and damp against her striped cerulean skin. She feels like her body is maintaining a constant layer of heat around her, feeling like steam is emerging from her pores. But at least, luckily for her, she doesn’t feel any… needs… yet. Just this god forsaken heat. She doesn’t even know why. One day she was fine and dandy, and the next she’s sweating like a racehorse. By this point, she has removed her carrier plate, her tactical jacket, her gloves, the gear from her modular shooter’s belt, and has unwrapped the military-grade black adhesive camo tape from her long tail. The exposed skin feels much better under the cool air of the base, but it’s nowhere near enough to suppress the heat.

Her steps are long and hurried as she walks in the direction of the medical wing. The halls are deserted, with people having gone back to their dorms or quarters after the end of the workday. It’s 8PM as Y/N speed walks quickly through the building. The medical examination rooms should be closed for the day but the emergency wing is for sure active. After suffering this awful heat for two days straight, Y/N can’t take it anymore, especially with the amount of gear she has to wear all day, every day. She thought long and hard about having to take the hormone blockers that that doctor scientist prescribed her a week ago, and she came to the conclusion that if they lessen this goddamn heat, then she will have no choice but to take them.

She frowns as she keeps walking through the halls. It’s not even ovulation week, and this heat is already unbearable. A shudder rakes down her spine at the thought of how much worse that week could feel like. Fuck these animalistic Na’vi genes. When she signed that Project Phoenix contract no one had told her predecessor that for one week of every month she would be overcome with the unbearable carnal need to get dicked down. The worst part about it is that she even researched before signing it, and none of those books had anything in them about this “heat” part of the Na’vi reproductive cycle. Matter of fact none of those books had anything in them about any reproductive cycles. Research her ass. What do they even pay these scientists for if they’re gonna write half-ass informative books? And now here she is; breathless and sweating bullets, having to face the absolute fucking embarrassment of telling those humans that she needs her hormone blockers, because her body is preparing to want to be treated like a common brothel whore. Disgusting.

A new wave of scorching heat washes over Y/N. She almost cries out at the frustrating intensity of the temperature that overcomes her body, hotter than anything she has experienced these past two days. Her jaw clenches tightly, teeth pressed hard against each other, holding in the urge to release a cry of frustration. Her RDA standard-issued military tank top dampens even more with the new wave of sweat that soaks into it, feeling uncomfortably hot and sticky against her skin. Her throat closes up briefly, blocking her airflow. She grabs onto her Recom Breather desperately and brings up the mask to take the deepest inhale of carbon dioxide she has ever taken in her life.

“Fuck.” She breathes out in frustration, keeping the mask on her face for a few more seconds before putting it down, and clasping it against her belt again. Her body now feels worse, like there’s an open source of heat burning from inside herself. Her tail swings fast behind her, as if crying out at the discomfort. Immediately she grabs onto the end of her tank top, elegant fingers digging into the fabric before pulling it up and over her head in a quick and desperate motion. As soon as it’s out of her arms, she lets it drop on the hallway floor, closing her eyes at the cool air that hits the now exposed toned stomach, back and cleavage. Fuck that feels a bit better.

Y/N forgets about the fabric she just discarded as she continues walking faster towards the emergency wing, now in only her tactical pants, boots and bra. Her jaw is tense, cropped ears folded back and golden eyes searching angrily for the entrance of the facility. She needs those fucking hormone blockers. Immediately.

。。。

Miles pants like a dog, still catching his breath after that gruesome training, even though Riley left twenty minutes ago. He remains laying down in a starfish position on the training room floor, staring up at the ceiling as he fills his lungs with air. His heartbeat is still fast, the organ pumping blood rapidly through his exhausted body, deoxygenating its cells. His broad chest moves up and down with each breath, filling his lungs fast to get as much CO2 in his blood as needed. Fuck. That was intense. Jones had yet again beat his ass, as he has been doing for the past week. That damn cocky brit bastard. He hadn’t even spared a glance his way as he mumbled a “Tomorrow, sixteen hundred.” before grabbing his military jacket and walking away, leaving Miles breathless and exhausted on the training room floor, with new bruises littering his body.

Miles clenches his abs, lifting his upper body from the floor and sitting up, leaving behind a large sweat print of his back, while his bruised arms come up to wrap around his knees. His tail swishes slowly behind him on the black floor mat. He lowers his head and stretches his long fingers, clenching and unclenching his fists to feel around for any pain in his knuckles, and to see if the boxing wraps are still tight and fitted on his large hands. He had never tried these wraps before. When he had walked into this training room, the day after that meeting on the Holofloor, he was quite impressed at the amount of quality training equipment provided for the Recoms. Since he and his team had switched training in Bridgehead for training in the forest, he did not have a clue about any other facilities provided for them, except for the private gym that his team had. That was the only place in base that they frequented regularly.

He clenches and unclenches his fists again, his sharp eyes trailing over his hands. A deep sigh threatens to come out of his chest as he remembers that the day is not over, matter of fact he has so much more work to do. That report is proving to be a whole other pain in his ass. He remembers a good part of the Manual and Handbook, so he’s not having much trouble going over them, but the fact that he has to rack his brain to find each rule and regulation that he broke is really bothering him. Imagine then having to write whole paragraphs of explanations and reflections for them. He frowns at the thought. That damn woman, reducing him to this as if he’s an elementary school kid who has been punished with writing “I will be good.” one hundred times. At the pace he’s going, this report alone will take him at least two months to complete. He has to act faster. The sooner he is done with these damn punishments, the sooner he can get back on the field. He just needs to do everything according to the Major General’s liking. He has been a military man for long enough, he knows how to get on a General’s good side. She might be pissy right now because of what happened at the Three Brothers, but she will surely pipe down. When that happens, he can easily charm her, like he did with Ardmore. Surely, it will be easy work for him. He knows how to stroke a woman’s tail after all.

His throat bobs, swallowing down a fat glob of dehydrated spit that has pooled in his mouth. That General… She’s quite different from Ardmore. While Ardmore is calm and indifferent, L/N seems cocky, arrogant and clearly full of herself. The way she acted a week ago, dismissing people like they were trash littering her base, walking around like she owns and pays for the place, and condescendingly staring down at him and Lyle like they were just some other savages that stepped in her space. Miles’ lips press into a thin line at the thought. His brows furrow and he glares down at the floor mat below him. He had met plenty of military officers who looked down on him during his career, however this woman was by far the worst. She had no respect for his rank as she spoke to him, treating him like she would treat any other amateur soldier, in front of Ardmore and a two story hall full of people no less. The audacity.

With a grunt of effort, Miles stands up from the floor mat of the training room, hopping on his feet. It’s been a week now since he has started wearing combat boots and full tactical pants again. Because of the amount of time he spent barefoot, the new footwear and fabric on his sheens and calves feels very uncomfortable. It’s tight, harder to move in, and it leads his feet and legs therefore his body to overheat. But he has no choice but to get used to it again.

He walks over to one of the benches from the row placed against the east wall of the training room, where he has set down his personal backpack. Bending down, he grabs his large Recom-sized water bottle and towel, bringing them both up. Another thing he discovered besides the Recom facilities in Bridgehead, were the equipment and gadgets provided for them. (Well except for the ones he already knew about.) Like the water bottle he’s currently holding. The hydration bottles for the Recombinants are large, even for them. That’s so they can have a large amount of water without having to duck into human facilities to refill their bottles. They’re made with stainless steel, they’re triple layered insulated and the most useful thing for Miles is the bottle’s spout which has an open mouth with a built in straw, giving him the option to either chug or sip from it.

He pops open the lock of the water bottle to reveal the spout, before bringing it up to his mouth and putting it between his lips. His striped cheeks hollow as he tilts the bottle up and chugs down the much needed water, finally providing some relief to his dry mouth and throat as he gulps. Miles continuously drinks nearly two thirds of the bottle, before setting it down with a satisfied sigh and locking the cap over the spout. He places it in his backpack before unwrapping the thick white towel in his other hand, and bringing the fabric to his drenched skin so it can soak up the sweat his body has produced for the past six hours. He carefully drags it on his face and head before moving it down to his neck and chest, his tail moving behind him at the soothing motion.

Another thing that bothers Miles about Riley is that he doesn’t let him drink water or take breaks longer than five minutes during those six hours of training. He argues that he wants to strengthen Miles’ durability, because in battle you don’t have time to take a break or quench your thirst (debatable, considering the hydration packs on their backs), but man is it a pain in the ass. Especially after just starting to somewhat recover from his injuries.

After soaking up all of the sweat on his body with the towel, he places it behind his neck, letting the sides hang around it. He zips his backpack shut before throwing it over his right shoulder, the rustle of fabric echoing through the now empty training room. Prior to leaving, he walks over to the windows, taking one last deep breath of fresh air before closing and locking them. He shuts off the lights, plunging the training room in darkness, and walks right out the doors, letting them slide closed behind him.

Miles’ steps echo loudly through the empty halls of the building, even though he’s not walking firmly. His eyelids feel heavy, the exhaustion of the past six hours setting in as he continues walking through the SecOps facility. To get to the Deja Blu dorms, which are almost entirely empty now that his team is gone, he must find his way to the main hall, a large, open corridor that connects most of the departments in this part of Bridgehead. He really wants to just go to his quarters, take a shower and head to bed. He desperately needs sleep. Maybe he should postpone that report, work on it tomorrow…

He suddenly stops in his tracks, the echo of his footsteps dissipating with his halt. Turning to look around, Miles’ sharp eyes widen slightly, as his cropped ears raise up in interest. His sensitive feline nose has picked up something that has caught his attention, immediately clearing all the sleep away from his brain. His long tail swishes behind him curiously, as he tries to figure out what he’s picking up. There’s a very faint scent in the air, something that smells so damn good, piquing his interest strongly. His eyes roam around, trying to process what’s happening. His jaw clenches, and he swallows. What’s going on? Why is he suddenly so hyper focused on a scent in the air?

Not being able to help himself, he sniffs around lightly, taking in focused breaths to try and figure out where it’s coming from. His feet start moving on their own, following the information that is being picked up by the sharp V1R receptors in his nasal cavity. With now faster steps, he starts walking through the empty hallways again, now taking a different route. Continuing to focus on sniffing for the scent, he moves hurriedly, taking multiple turns through the corridors of the building, until he finds himself in the medical wing. The more he walks, the stronger the fragrance in the air gets, filling his airways nicely and making it easier for him to follow. Fuck. It smells so good. It’s so…. enticing…

With a final turn, he stops in his tracks. The intensity of the scent in the air is high, blocking his airflow in the best possible way. He lets out a soft sigh, closing his eyes as he takes a deep inhale. He can tell what it is now. Pheromones. Female pheromones to be more precise. But Recombinant or Avatar, he can’t tell. His mouth starts salivating, pooling and dripping down the sides of his tongue as he swallows it down, opening his eyes again. With his tail swishing behind him, he looks around, trying to figure out where his feet have taken him. Isn’t this the hallway that leads to the emergency wing? What’s going on here? Suddenly his sharp eyes catch something on the floor, a patch of forest green color that doesn’t match the dullness of the hallways of Bridgehead. His head lowers, ears folding back in confusion as he looks down at the floor. A military tank top? Why is there a random piece of clothing on the floor, in the middle of a hallway no less? If there was such a rush to remove someone’s clothing for an emergency, there would be much more noise coming from the emergency wing. But quite the opposite, it’s dead silent, the only sounds in the corridor being those of his now heavier breathing.

His feet are a bit hesitant as he takes a few steps forward, towards the fabric. He bends his massive frame down, reaching out for it. His large hand grasps the piece of clothing before he straightens up again, bringing it up with him. His tail is now fully raised up in interest as he stares at the fabric in his hand. It’s damp, and still warm. Unbeknownst to him, his pupils have dilated, now larger as the concentration of female pheromones in his nose completely fills his entire head. It’s this. This tank top is where the scent is most prominent. He swallows down again, staring down at it for a few more seconds, before slowly raising it up and pressing it against the flat pinkish tip of his feline nose, inhaling.

Immediately, a hot rush of pressurized blood travels down his body, washing down his crotch in an intense wave. He lets out a groan at the sudden pleasurable sensation, forgetting that he’s in the middle of a hallway, as he holds the tank top against his sensitive nose harder. His cock completely pops out of his sheath folds, pressing against the fabric of his boxer briefs and forming a bulge beneath his tactical pants. Miles’ mouth salivates uncontrollably at the mind blowing fragrance that rushes through his entire nasal cavity. His eyes squeeze shut and his brows furrow, as he deeply inhales the scent that emits from the forest green fabric clutched between his fingers. It smells so fucking enticing, keeping a hot rush of blood flowing through his dick, making it twitch in his pants. It’s so similar to the one he jerked off to a few days after he had just woken up for the first time. Yes, yes that’s it. It’s that specific scent!

His eyes snap wide open as a sudden wave of wetness seeps into his boxer briefs. With his ears folded back, he panics, thinking that he just creamed his pants, and immediately unbuckles his tactical belt and pulls the zipper of his camo pants down. His thumb hooks under the elastic band of his boxer briefs and pulls it away from him, allowing his eyes to peak down at the hardened thick cock between his legs. The light purplish head of his length is leaking a copious amount of precum into the fabric that it’s confined in, forming a considerable wet patch in the process. Miles lets go of the elastic to slide the same hand underneath his boxer briefs. His large palm wraps around his thick shaft, giving it a tight and pleasurable squeeze. He moans softly as the sensation courses through the genital, the sound echoing through the empty halls. His cock is sensitive, leaking another wave of precum under the touch and he squeezes his eyes shut. The Recom slides his hand out of his boxers, letting the elastic band fall back into place, before he zips up his camo pants but leaves his belt unbuckled. His long fingers clutch onto the fabric in his hand tightly, as a few drops of sweat form on his temple. He brings it up to his face again, taking another deep inhale and letting his eyes roll back at the scent that fills his head once more. His mouth salivates further, cock twitching desperately in his pants.

Noises emerge from the emergency wing, footsteps following shortly after. His head snaps up, amber eyes widening in caution as his heartbeat quickens in his chest. Someone’s coming. He needs to head to his room. Now.

Miles is no stranger to masturbation. Matter of fact, he used it a lot as a way to overcome his insomnia the first few months of waking up as a Recombinant. The rush, the pleasure and the fatigue it gave him when draining his balls empty was everything he needed to fall asleep soundly. But as things in his life started changing rapidly week by week, he stopped. Didn’t even cross his mind once. However, the position he currently finds himself in, threw all of that self control out of the window.

Miles is laying on his back on the bed, completely naked and with his thick thighs spread. His feet are planted on the mattress below him, and his large right palm is wrapped impossibly tight around the fat, veiny shaft between his legs. No lube or spit is needed as thick precum leaks from the slit of his penis, wetting down his cock and providing filthy squelching sounds with each jerk.

“Fuck.” Is the only grunt that manages to come out of his salivating mouth, as he inhales deeply the scent that emits from the fabric pressed tightly against his sensitive feline nose. His room is dark, the only light coming from the large window that faces the monotone landscape of Bridgehead. With eclipse having fallen hours ago, the beautiful night sky is illuminated with the array of stars and constellations that decorate the Alpha Centauri System, casting light in his room and over his form, as he indulges in his filthy, perverted self-pleasure.

A soft moan escapes Miles’ throat as he inhales again. His arm rapidly works to pump his solid hard cock, eyes closed in concentration and brows furrowed in pleasure. The muscles of his abdomen are tense, clenched under the pleasure he’s providing himself with, while his heavy balls jerk upwards with each tug of his dick.

Fuck it smells so damn good. It smells so enticing, inviting him to come over and force a horny bitch underneath him, before stuffing his cock into her hot, ready to be bred cunt. The pheromones that are soaked into the dark green fabric of the tank top have awakened every single breeding instinct within his brain, immediately rushing hot blood into his length to prepare it for impregnation. His head is dizzy in lust, intoxicated by the scent of female essence and the thought of milking his cock with a tight, drenched pussy.

Another light moan leaves the base of his throat at the thought, his deep and raspy voice echoing through the silence of the room and the claps of his hand fisting his cock rapidly. He takes another deep inhale, pressing the tank top harder against his face as if trying to inhale the piece of clothing itself. With his amber eyes squeezed shut, it’s easy for him to fantasize in his head the image of him fucking into a hot, horny female Na’vi. Her blue, striped skin is drenched in sweat, secreting out the same pheromones that are soaked into the fabric against his face. He’s taking her doggy style, large dick wrapped in the hot velvety walls of her cunt as he plows into her from behind like there’s no tomorrow. She moans like a whore as she arches her back for him, her tail raising up in pleasure as he grabs it by the base to use as a handle so he can stuff his cock in deeper. Her plush asscheeks recoil each time his lower abdomen comes down on them with loud claps, echoing like music to his ears.

“Fuck my cunt, please! Stuff it to the brim with your hot cum and breed me!!” The faceless woman below him pleads with a horny moan, moving her ass back to meet his heavy thrusts.

Back to reality, Miles grunts loudly, eyes still squeezed shut to prevent his mind from losing the filthy image in his head. Immediately he pulls his upper body to sit up, turning around impatiently to grab one of his large Recom-sized pillows on his bed. He moves himself on his knees, opening his eyes as his long tail raises behind him in an excited high arch. Maneuvering the pillow in front of him, he makes short work of it as he folds it in half. His large hands bring it closer to himself, until the bulbous, leaking head of his cock touches between the folded sides. He moves his right hand down to grasp it, giving a few tight pumps before sticking his hips forward and sliding it in between the fluffy sides of the pillow. With a horny moan he grabs the pheromone drenched tank top again, putting it in front of him on the mattress. This time he leans forward, his stomach and chest resting over the pillow as he holds himself up on his elbows and knees. Wasting no time, he smashes his face against the tank top on his sheets, nuzzling the clothing with his muzzle before his hips start thrusting, fat cock fucking into the fluffy headrest below him. His eyes squeeze shut again, mind going back to his fantasy. This time he has leaned forward on his elbows above her sweaty, naked frame, still in doggy as his firm stomach and chest press against her toned back. Her soft ass is mushed against his lower abdomen, cushioning his hips nicely as he fucks into her hot, drenched pussy. Instead of the fabric against his face, he imagines that it’s the crook of her neck; the part where her pheromones are more prominent, as it secretes more sweat with the heat that has enveloped her.

“Ohhh yes~” She moans out beneath him, her vice tight cunt gripping onto his fat cock for dear life as he splits it apart. Miles grunts, increasing his pace before his wet tongue darts out to lick at her neck, tasting her sweat off her skin. The saliva that has overfilled his mouth drips down on the fabric against his face, forming a dark wet patch as he licks a long broad stripe on it before taking that part of the cloth into his mouth. Another filthy moan resonates from his throat as the sweat drenched into the tank top falls upon his taste buds, his brows furrowing further in delight. His eyes roll back into his skull, even though they’re squeezed shut in pleasure, as a new wave of precum washes down his length, soaking into the plush mass of the pillow below.

“Ahh~ Miles~” The object of his desire moans beneath him in his erotic fantasy, her elegant fingers clutching onto the soft, messy fabric of his sheets. He bites and sucks on her supple skin with fervor, loving every bit of the sweat that he licks off her and into his hungry mouth.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He purrs against her dewy neck, his breath caressing it lightly as he continues ramming passionately into her from behind. “Ya wanna cum? Is that what yer asking for?”

His voice is raspy, the pronunciation of his words more slurry and rushed, as his head gets lighter. She whimpers underneath him, nails digging into his velvety sheets as her cunt swells and stretches with each drag of his shaft along her hot walls, wonderfully tight around him.

“Yes~ Yes~ Cum with me, please! Dump your load all inside of my womb and breed me!” She screams hungrily, fucking back onto his cock passionately like a bitch in heat, her pussy clamping so impossibly tight around him as her hot arousal drips down his full, heavy balls.

Miles moans loudly, fucking harder and faster into the pillow beneath him with his eyes squeezed shut. His tongue darts out to lick another wet, broad stripe on the cloth mushed against his muzzle, taking in the taste of those delicious female pheromones again. The room is filled with ruffling, heavy breathing and raspy moans as he continues indulging in his self-pleasure. Another grunt leaves his throat, tingles starting to creep up his thick thighs and on his testicles which are continuously slapping against the soft, fluffy pillow he’s using as a fleshlight. By the heaviness in his balls and the strong tightness in his penis, he can tell, this is going to be a big load. Now he starts fucking into the pillow like there’s no tomorrow, his mind simulating the feeling of plowing like an animal into the woman beneath him, pistoning his hips to slam against her plush ass. Since he’s getting closer to his high, the image in his head gets a little blurry, some of it fading. He frowns, trying to focus, to create a clearer one so he can get himself to cum. Swallowing down hard, he concentrates, thinking to himself. What does she look like? His brain works, the image appearing again, h/c hair coming into view beneath him, soaked in the sweet sweat that covers her smooth, striped blue skin. Her beautiful moans echo like music in his ears, the voice sounding oddly familiar.

“Breed me Miles~” She whimpers softly, her thrusts back on his cock still as fast and desperate as before. “Breed me while I cum for you~”

And she follows on her promise. Her hot cunt clamps impossibly tight around his large dick, pulsing around him hard enough to milk the fattest load he can muster from his balls. And that’s all it takes. With an animalistic growl, Miles bites down hard onto the fabric against his face, imagining that it’s the crook of her neck as he sinks his strong teeth into it. His jaw locks on the fabric, before he slams his hips one last time into the pillow and lets go. His thighs flex, urethra throbbing intensively, pulsing hot pleasure coursing down his veiny cock, as a fat, heavy load shoots uncontrollably from the head of his penis into the depth of the pillow. His balls are tight as they empty their reserve, his tail raised straight up in the air, with the hair at the end of it now fluffed out and puffy. He cums for what feels like forever, grunting and imagining that it’s her hot cunt where he’s dumping his load instead of the headrest object beneath him. As he does so a shudder rakes down his spine, the idea of breeding a hot female Recom or Avatar and stuffing her round with his child prickling goosebumps into his bruised skin, the pain mixing sweetly with the pleasure of his mind blowing orgasm. After some moments, his body slowly relaxes, muscles unclenching and letting him fall down softly onto the pillow beneath him, squishing it with his weight while his spent cock remains inside of it. He pants, finally opening his sharp eyes only to find out that his vision is dizzy from the intensity of his high. His own body is now covered in a layer of sweat, cooling down the slowly rising heat of his skin and flesh. With a bit of effort, he swallows down the excess saliva in his mouth, that sweet, delicious taste still present in his tastebuds. His cheek is now mushed against the fabric beneath his face, as his half lidded eyes focus somewhere random within his room.

Fuck. These must be the urges that the science pukes explained to him a week ago. Heat in his body, constant boners, the overwhelming urge to have offsprings, enticed by the scent of the female Recoms and Avatars but irritated by the males’. These all sound like nightmares to him. Imagine having to walk around Bridgehead with a constant boner, which is in the humans’ eye level no less. Luckily, those hormone blockers that he was prescribed seem to be working. Hopefully there won’t be any more side effects.

Miles frowns. Reproductive cycle. Yeah right. Sounds like a whole load of shit to him. These science pukes probably fucked them up in some way that they weren’t supposed to and now they’re blaming it on this “reproductive cycle”, as a way to save their fragile asses. Fuckin’ wimps.

His thoughts are interrupted as the scent that comes from the fabric beneath his face, overtakes his airflow yet again. He closes his eyes, letting out a satisfied hum. It’s so good. So fucking good. How can a Na’vi woman smell so goddamn mind blowing? To the point that it catches his attention in the middle of a hallway and makes him rut into his own pillow desperately? He can only imagine what the real thing smells like. Must be even more than divine.

With a bit of effort, he pushes himself backwards to sit up on his calves. He looks down, before opening the fold of the pillow. Just as he predicted, it was a huge load. It has soaked into the fabric and left a large, wet patch, that glows softly in a blue hue against the darkness of his room. A week ago, the science pukes explained this to him too. Apparently, the more fertile the emission, the more vivid and bright is the glow. It depends on the male’s desire to conceive, and his sperm can glow just like the bioluminescent freckles on his body. Weird, isn’t it?

His cock lays there, spent and softening, having taken enough of the abuse by the cloth. It’s covered in cum, wet and slimy as it rests above the pillow, cooling down. Miles’ jaw clenches as a new thought pops up in his head.

Slowly, he reaches his large hand forward for the tank top on his sheets, his fingers grasping it before bringing it to his crotch. Carefully, he takes his sensitive cock into his other hand and places it on the forest green cloth, wiping it on the fabric and leaving behind patches of the mess of cum from his length. As he does so, a new but softer tingle of pleasure creeps down his genital, making it twitch against his rough hand.

Miles lets out a small sigh of satisfaction as he slowly wraps the tank top around his thick cock. His eyelids close, now more gentle as he throws his head back softly and soon enough starts jerking his dick again, now with the piece of clothing itself. Screw work for tonight. That report can wait.

“And then, he hit me with a “It was part of a strategy.” as he was standing there, in the middle of the Holofloor with his bare toes on display.”

The laughter of both women travels sweetly through the air, under the beautiful orange hues of the sky above them, right before eclipse. It accompanies the distant sounds of the aircrafts as they land for the day on the LZ, and the screeching breaks of the high-speed maglev trains stopping far away in the distance. Y/N and Toddy are sitting on the roof of an unfinished building, sipping from a respective can of “Viperwolf Ale”, with a large leaf on the ground between them that contains roasted sturmbeest skewers, served with hex root and beanpod potato over citrus, grain seasoned with rock salt and prepared exquisitely by Toddy. The dish now remains half eaten as both women tell each other about their week while enjoying the view in front of them. Toddy takes a sip from her can, letting the alcohol flow down her throat smoothly, before a small smile appears on her gorgeous face.

“Man, I wish I had this much of an effect over people as ya have.” She comments in a gentle voice, her beautiful saffron eyes tracing the clouds far away in the sky. Y/N chuckles, turning her head to look at the side of the Avatar’s face.

“It’s nice, up to a certain point. You can get shit done but then you realize that at the end of the day people are never true to you. They just fear you.” She replies, turning her head back again to watch the eclipse, before adding on to her reply with a shrug. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Toddy chuckles, sweetly as always. She then looks down, as if pondering on something, before she turns towards Y/N. Leaning on the heel of her palm behind her, her upper body faces the Recom. Toddy’s eyes slowly trail up Y/N’s form, almost half lidded, tracing every detail on her uniform, before they land on her pretty face. Y/N’s amber eyes stare back at her, her pupils reflecting the beautiful array of colors up in the afternoon sky.

“I ain’t afraid of ya.” Toddy says softly, her melodic voice low and smooth in the Recom’s ears, while her eyes move down to trace the Recom’s soft lips. Y/N’s scent has been filling her airways for hours now. It’s so delicious, soft and enticing, and Toddy holds back the urge to roll her eyes to the back of her head. Her scent was always so good but this time it has tripled. Judging by the beads of sweat on her temple and the way her pheromones leave no room for air in Toddy’s pink feline nose, Y/N’s body must be preparing to start its reproductive cycle. A soft, purplish blush emerges on her beautiful face at the thought, coloring the vivid cerulean skin of her cheeks, dotted by the unique pattern of bioluminescent freckles. Y/N looks back at her with a softened expression, her eyes hooding over briefly at the sight of Toddy’s soft blush before a deep chuckle leaves the bottom of her throat.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to conclude my judgement, Toddy.”

The Avatar breathes slowly as she continues looking over Y/N’s features with half lidded eyes. Before long, her elegant hand comes up to Y/N’s eye level, her soft fingers trail up her jawline, until they reach one of her cropped ears. Toddy’s gorgeous eyes hold a mix of sadness and anger as she softly touches it, stroking the cartilage gently.

“I can’t believe they’ve done did this ta ya. Cut yer long, beautiful Na’vi ears. Reduce them ta this as if they’re handlin’ animals. I wouldn’ even treat ma animals this way, I love ‘em too much.” She says softly, her smooth voice mirroring her mixed emotions as she continues stroking the cropped ear in her soft hand with her thumb. “This is just cruel.”

Y/N’s eyes are glued on Toddy’s gorgeous face, tracing over her beautiful feminine features. Her tail swishes softly behind her, as a foreign feeling starts to bubble in the pit of her stomach.

Toddy’s breathing gets heavier as she realizes that Y/N is letting her touch her like this, without saying anything or pulling away. They’re now even closer than they were a few moments ago, and Toddy can feel Y/N’s soft breath on her face. She swallows down, her plump pink lips coming apart briefly before closing up again. Her eyes slowly move away from Y/N’s ear, to her beautiful face, and then back down to her soft-looking lips as they were before. Toddy’s sharp jaw moves sideways once before coming back to place, as she considers something.

“Y/N…” She whispers softly, her melodic voice smoothly entering the Recom’s ears and prickling goosebumps on her blue skin.

“Will ya…” She hesitates for a moment, letting out a soft breath. “Will ya k-“

Footsteps echo behind them. Both women come apart quickly and turn their heads back, until their eyes land on the friendly male Recom approaching. Henry gives them both a smile as he makes his way towards them, stopping a bit further away from where they are seated.

“General L/N. Scout Williams.” He greets politely, giving each of them a respectful nod. Toddy smiles back at him, giving him a small wave of her hand and Y/N’s ears raise slightly as she nods in return, signaling for him to be at ease.

“General, I have a few documents that General Ardmore wants you to go over before she signs them off for tonight. It seems that her patience is starting to run thin, so it would be appreciated if you were to go over them at this time.”

Y/N nods in understanding, already moving to stand up from her place on the edge of the building’s roof. She gently dusts off her tactical pants, before turning to look down at Toddy with a soft smile.

“I’ll be back in a few.”

Toddy nods in reply, with a small smile of her own. However, Y/N doesn’t miss the faint trace of disappointment in her beautiful eyes as she turns to watch the horizon again. The Recom then turns around and walks away. But this time, she misses how Henry and Toddy exchange a look between them, before he turns around as well and follows behind his General.

“So… Toddy Williams, huh?” Henry comments with a slight smirk, watching as Y/N continues signing one of the documents on the datapad.

“What’re you on about?” The female Recom replies with a raised brow, sharp eyes already tracing over the rows of the next document.

“Nothing.” Henry chuckles in response, his head turning to look away at a random corner of his General’s office. Silence falls between them, the only sounds being the ones of the pen on the screen in Y/N’s hand. However, after some moments, the expression on Henry’s face soon falls, his eyes slowly hooding over as he stares at random decorations on the shelves.

“Can I ask for a favor? As a friend, not as a soldier.”

That catches Y/N off guard. The pen on the screen halts its movement as Y/N stares up from her datapad, towards the Recom sitting in one of the two cushion chairs in front of her desk.

“What?” She asks unsurely, with her cropped ears slightly folding back, wondering if she misheard the low-spirited tone in his smooth voice.

Henry hesitates for a moment, swallowing, wondering if he should continue. After a few seconds, he finally turns to look at Y/N, his handsome face bearing an expression that she is much too familiar with seeing on him. Sadness, pity.

“Be nice to Toddy for me, please. She has had a very hard life.”

Y/N’s jaw clenches, still caught off guard at the sudden change in atmosphere. She remains like that for a few more seconds before lowering her eyes and nodding her head slowly.

“I see. Well, if it puts you at ease, I was not planning on turning on her anytime soon. She’s… a pleasant acquaintance.” She replies as her hand starts moving again, continuing to sign the rest of the pages on the document. “But, if you don’t mind me asking, where exactly is this coming from? You don’t usually do this.”

Henry’s eyes lower again. He remains silent for a few seconds, breathing gently.

“I’ve had the chance to work with Toddy since we landed on Pandora. She has been nothing but kindhearted and gentle to me since day one, guiding and helping me at any chance she got, and I actually thought of recommending her to you as our very own personal scout. A part of our team.” His voice holds emotion in it, melancholic yet happy. But soon, his tone falls, plunging back to the sadness that Y/N is now sure that she didn’t mishear.

“However…”

He hesitates, allowing himself to take a deeper breath. Y/N now lifts her head to look at him again. Her beautiful face soon morphs into concern at the layer of wetness that has coated Henry’s amber irises. He swallows down hard, blinking a few times to clear his eyes before continuing.

“Toddy’s human body is very sick. She has terminal cancer, along with uterine cancer and type two diabetes. The retina of her eyes are badly damaged and she is partially blind. Her body is thin and her immune system is weak, she can move and run but it tires her very quickly and if she doesn’t rest enough she faints and vomits constantly. On top of all of this, you can tell by her human body that she has struggled heavily with depression, you’ll know when you see it. Her family is very dysfunctional, and they have caused her a significant amount of severe trauma, that haunts her every step of every day. She grew up in a farm and knowing how polluted those parts of the Earth are, she has developed these diseases throughout her life. By being poor, she could never get the right treatments, which means that the cancers in her body have developed to the point of no return.”

Y/N clenches her jaw painfully tight, her two rows of teeth clamping hard against each other. The upper canines and lateral incisors of her mouth dig into the inner flesh of her bottom lip, enough to hurt but not to pierce through. Her sharp eyes are frozen in place, pinning the man in front of her down. The grip she has on the electronic pen tightens strongly, the knuckles of her hand turning white.

“What are you saying?” She asks, her tone firm and commanding, yet the expert soldier in front of her doesn’t miss the traces of fear in it. He shakes his head, closing his eyes to prevent the wetness that threatens to form on the waterline of his lower lids from doing so.

“She doesn’t have much to live, Y/N.”

The electronic pen snaps in two in Y/N’s hand with a loud echo. The blunt fingernails of her hand dig into her palm below, forming painful half moons. Her golden eyes threaten to widen in disbelief, as she stares at her Master Gunnery Sergeant with her elegant brows furrowed. Yet something inside of her has already started moving through her chest, eating away at those feelings she let herself form these past weeks. What..? Toddy… is going to die? No, that can’t be. That can’t be true. A harsh, choking tightness forms in the depth of her chest, preventing her lungs from expanding fully.

Toddy…. is dying?

Y/N finally closes her eyes, focusing on grounding her mind. She bottles the emotions running through her chest, letting herself take a long yet imprisoning inhale. You’ve only known the girl briefly, Y/N. You can’t feel for her. She quickly tells herself, shutting out the other voices that have started speaking up in her head.

She swallows thickly, immediately forcing herself to push aside any emotions within her, as she has always done, all her life. She looks down at some random corner of her office, before nodding once in understanding.

“I see… I’ll be sure to treat her accordingly then. Thank you for filling me in on the situation.” Y/N says softly, before turning her attention on the datapad again, to try and distract her mind. Henry doesn’t answer, instead he watches as she goes back to work, fetching a small box from her desk drawer to take out another electronic pen, the last one laying snapped upon the surface of the wood. The male Recom’s eyes trace her movement, sad yet a hint of disappointment hidden within them. Y/N isn’t showing any hints of sadness. She’s avoiding feeling any emotions again, isn’t she?

After a few silent minutes, Y/N hands the datapad back to Henry, the documents reviewed and approved for Ardmore to sign off. The Sergeant takes back the device, a large gloved hand grasping it before putting it away somewhere in the pockets of his carrier plate. He stands up from the chair, giving Y/N a salute of respect. The General nods in return and stands up from her desk as well, watching him with focused eyes as he turns around to take his leave. Henry’s combat boots thud loudly on Y/N’s hardwood floors as he makes his way through the spacious office and to the sliding door, but they stop just as he’s about to cross the entrance. He turns his head, his handsome profile peaking over the right utility strap of his carrier plate, as he opens his mouth to speak again.

“You know… she kind of has a crush on you.”

Y/N’s amber eyes widen at the sudden statement, snapping towards him before blinking her long lashes rapidly, staring at her Sergeant as if he just grew a second head.

“Huh?”

Henry looks back at her over his shoulder, a deep chuckle gently leaving his throat at her reaction.

“Yeah. She really likes you.” He continues with a light smile, his eyes looking at Y/N softly. “Treasure that. Please.”

Y/N swallows thickly, her tongue moving to press against the soft inside of her cheek. She nods, looking down at her desk. A warm, soft feeling starts bubbling in the pit of her stomach, twisting like velvet against her insides, feeling so wonderfully gentle in contrast to the heavy pit that still weights into her from the earlier conversation. She tries to ignore it.

“I see… I’ll uh… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Henry smiles kindly, looking away before nodding and continuing to head out as before. Y/N stands there, fidgeting with the electronic pen in her hand and trying to hide a smile that threatens to show on her velvety lips. Then suddenly, her eyes widen in realization, head snapping towards Henry’s direction just as he steps foot outside of her office.

“Wait, how long have you known this? Were you the one who let her into my office that day?!”

But the Sergeant quickly takes his escape, his joyful laughter resonating through the empty hall outside.

Title explanation:

Gear Adrift - Gear found left lying around or unguarded. It comes from the military saying "Gear adrift, must be a gift!". It means that unguarded gear just became your gear, whether you need it or not. It’s also a warning to Marines to secure their equipment and personal belongings before they get lost or stolen. In this case, the gear adrift refers to Y/N’s discarded military tank top, which ultimately became a “gift” for Miles.

End of chapter notes:

Whose footsteps do y’all think came from the emergency wing before Miles escaped to his room? Take a tiny guess <3. (・ω・)ノ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

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